. mutant brain

[aisha van buren]

She wonders how different it would have been if she had told him sooner, maybe even factored him into the decision. What if he had wanted her to keep it? She could see how that would happen, him being so understanding and acknowledging that it was her choice, but letting her know with those big puppy dog eyes that it would break his heart if she went through with it. She also knew that had he decided she was right and now was not the right time, he would have carried the burden of that decision with him every day. It felt kinder to take it out of his hands, to allow herself to be the villain so he wouldn't feel culpable. She watched him as he lit up the bong, disapproval etched on her face since she suspected it would only make him more distant. She picked up the bottle of water she had discarded earlier, taking a long drink as she followed him out onto the balcony. Ever the sun worshipper, she couldn't help but close her eyes against the glorious New Mexico rays, stretching both arms out on the railing and leaning in to the warmth. She turns to face him abruptly when he tells her to fuck off. "No." On the cusp of slipping into a rant about not having to defend herself, she manages to hold it in. His body language is radiating a message contrary to the one he's saying. He needs time but she needs him, so she compromises with this low level of defiance, trying hard not to get riled up. "If I had told you it would have meant both of us agonizing over the decision," she said quietly, desperate to touch him but scared he'll flinch. "Not telling you seemed like the most logical thing to do."

[joseph mccarthy]

There was always one thing that Joseph did want to be and it wasn't a musician, it was a father. If he hadn't fallen into music he'd probably be married to someone in his hometown and with a couple of kids at twenty-five. But then was not the time and neither was now, and he knew this. So though it pained him that the opportunity had existed with the one he loved most, he was all too aware that the timing was completely off. Twenty-one year old Aisha was not fit to be a mother and with his schedule, neither was he. He stares out into the red dirt. Long straw-like desert grass grows in tuffs under the dry hot sun, and in the distant mountains he can see vultures circling something dead. "Yea, I'm sure you agonized," his words cut through his lips. "We're not talking about it. You didn't want to talk about it then, there's nothing talking about it now will resolve. Comfort yourself with your likes and leave me be. I need space."

[aisha van buren]

Even now Aisha can't help but look out at the desert with disdain. She could understand the allure of heat and the romance of solitude, she was not a hugely sociable person and a deserted beach was her idea of heaven. But there was something mean about the desert, it was so harsh, a land that still belonged to the wilderness. She missed her plush apartment with its concierge, she loved her valet, she even missed the gridlocked roads that were so iconic to Los Angeles. She liked polish, Joe liked authenticity. Despite the fact that she had literally no other obligations and all the time in the world, it was still her indulgent lifestyle that was most incompatible with parenthood - after all, when Joe was around he was around 24/7, and the small percentage of the time he was on tour could have easily been covered by Aisha and all the support she would have from her wealthy family. Alas, it was not a compromise she was willing to make. "You don't have to be so bitter. Of course I agonized about it-- even besides you, it's a horrible procedure to go through," she said, her gaze unwavering. "Not that you'd care about that. More horrible the better, right? Serves me right." She looked away from him now, finishing her bottle of water and feeling tempted to chuck the plastic out into the wilderness, just to piss him off. When he speaks he's uncharacteristically spiteful, falling back on the tropes of her superficiality to get to her. "That was cheap of you." Never one to be outdone, she chucked the empty bottle out into the desert. "It's really hard to pity you when I'm the one who had to literally bleed to keep your career on track, all while you were out here cracking open a cold one with the boys and fucking strumming your guitar. But please, tell me again how painless this was for me, how this is all about you."

[joseph mccarthy]

The more time goes on the less calm he becomes. Usually a hit from the bong would have him with his feet up and mellowed completely out, without a care in the world. This hit didn't phase him, he wasn't feeling the slightest elevated. Instead he feels himself becoming uncharacteristically boiled up over the conversation. And not even the nature of it, more how it was being handled. In truth, if he'd been told about this when it happened he would have taken care of it. He would have handled it calm and collected, holding her hand through the whole ordeal. It would have been better for the two of them and the way she's putting it out there now, this is what irks him. The more horrible the better, right? "Jesus fucking Christ," he throws his hands up, not looking at her. "Who the fuck do you think I am?" he questions, annoyed that she'd think him to be that way. He watches her throw her trash up over the balcony and stands up, the pot beginning to boil over. What she says next does it and he grabs her by the arm and pulls her inside toward the front of the house. "If you want to play victim, go the fuck ahead. Get your shit and get the fuck out of my house," he lets go of her. Grabbing his keys and throwing them at her, he lifts his hand and points to the door, "take my car and fucking leave. Get out."

[aisha van buren]

Craving a reaction always, Aisha can't help the little self-destructive part of her that gets a thrill when he gives her one. So easily riled herself, it's perversely satisfying to see him show some frustration, even if it is directed at her. "You want to know who I think you are? Really?" The venom comes much more naturally to Aisha's tongue, a textbook Slytherin if ever there was one. "I think you're someone who's all pissed off because he couldn't play white knight. Poor little Joey, he couldn't come in and save the fucking day like always." It's so wildly untrue, an absolutely opposing statement to what she really thinks, but she loses herself in arguments and this was no exception. It was easier to let herself be irrationally angry at him than it was to feel rationally ashamed of herself. Still, she's caught off guard by him grabbing her arm and she struggles against him, pulling her arm close and rubbing it after he's let go though he hadn't put anywhere near enough pressure to warrant that. "Oh great, so your response to me saying you're playing victim is to accuse me of playing victim? Jesus Christ, let's have a victim playing pissing contest then, fine. If you think pointing out the fact that I fucking bled is playing victim you're a fucking sociopath." She laughs a hollow, nasty laugh at him throwing his keys, though somewhere under all the adrenaline she feels a prickle of panic at the idea of being turfed out. "I'm in my underwear and a t-shirt, having had a beer, and you want me to fucking drive? You're a psychopath too. Fuck you, fuck you and your nice boy bullshit, you're a total asshole."

[joseph mccarthy]

Joseph is fully annoyed at this point, watching her lips move and bullshit pours from them. There's been few instances where he's felt himself become over the top angry, the last was definitely with Aisha and the time before that had been a teenage hissy-fit with Lily. Aisha had a tendency to bring out both the best and worst in Joe. Ironic, since one of the questions that she'd answered earlier was that he'd have to reveal himself as a different person to make her fall out of love with him. This realization comes to mind but doesn't drive away the madness. He doesn't give her more of a reaction, knowing full well that you can't fight fire with fire. Instead he opens the front door wide, grabs her arm again and pulls her outside. "Yea, I'm a raging psychopath. Walk," at that he slams the door in her face and locks the door. His movements back to his bedroom are a erratic and stormy. He grabs her excessive piles of luggage, shoves them into her bags and hauls them toward the front door. He makes his way back to the door, swings it open quickly and throws the luggage out to her "In case you need to put on pants," he gives a sort of crazed smile and pulls the door closed again.

[aisha van buren]

Perhaps because she was used to living her life on social media, Aisha had a tendency to live her life like she was in a movie, enjoying the dramatic tension of an argument as though she was a spectator and not an active participant. She found the whole image of them screaming at each other in a beautiful, newly built studio in New Mexico glamorously cinematic. She veered wildly between being an old soul and an extremely immature one, but it was in conflict scenarios that her lack of maturity really shone through. It wasn't until she was removed from the situation that her real feelings caught up with her, and knowing that reckoning was coming, she often stayed in heated situations longer than she needed to. No such luck here. Before she could so much as grab her phone she was outside, dust thrown up around her legs as the door was shut on her. Initially shocked, that subsided to outrage, then finally to acceptance. Slumping to the ground, she can't even get back on her feet in time to slap him, his crazed grin gone in an instance. Frustration bubbled up and over, making her scream as she threw herself at the door. This was not a moment she particularly wanted to imagine as a spectator. "Fuck you!" she screamed again, kicking the door and sending a sharp pain up her leg. She cursed a few more times, before sitting down on her luggage, frustrated tears leaving streaks down her cheeks. "Give me my fucking phone so I can call a fucking uber," she yelled, not knowing or even caring if he heard her-- obviously she had no plans to go anywhere. Instead she busied herself throwing stones at his car, finding the act and the subsequent ping as they hit it oddly soothing. Between each stone she took another breath, trying not to think about how angry she was, or, worse, how many snakes and spiders were bound to be mere inches from her bare feet.

[joseph mccarthy]

"Yea, I'd watch what you say, I'm livestreaming this," he yells back, though truthfully he's not and his phone isn't even in arms reach. He stands at the door for a minute, hearing some shuffling and then a yell for her phone. He decides to walk away and remove himself from the moment. Maybe some time to herself would humble her and give him some silence to think. In the next few hours Joseph busies himself. He watches a movie while doing laundry, listens to some tracks the band has recorded, restrings his guitar and tidies up the spacious apartment. When he looks at the clock, he decides to give her more time to let the anger simmer down and goes for a swim. Then, when still not satisfied with the amount of time past, he barbecues some chicken and potatoes. Joseph wanders through the house in his swim trunks and decides as the sun begins to set that it's been enough time. He opens the door slowly, and looks down to see a disheveled Aisha, "you're looking tan." He almost laughs thinking about how pissed off she must be, but he holds his grin and leaves the door open for her as he turns around. "There's food in the kitchen, I'm sure you're hungry. I've made the guest bed up, it's all yours."

[aisha van buren]

Though she suspects he's lying, as soon as Joe threatens to livestream Aisha is wiping away her tears like there's no tomorrow. She could count on one hand the number of people who had seen her cry and she was not about to take that number into the hundreds of thousands. Truthfully, she'd rather have an unflattering sex tape leak than have a handful of people see her shed a tear. Probably something to bring up with her therapist. It takes her about fifteen minutes to realize he's not coming back, and in the next half hour she goes through the cycle again: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, then finally, acceptance. As quickly as her temper flared it also calmed at a similar rate, leaving her with no option but to busy herself. Vanity winning out over her fear of snakes, she decides against pants and instead strips the t-shirt off, deciding to at least soak up some sun. Next she fishes out some make up. Since it's not something she tends to wear every day she's not particularly adept at applying it, so it takes some time for her to get everything nice and even, putting on some bronzer and mascara and enjoying it as a sort of warpaint. Like a toddler in a good long time out, she could feel herself becoming a better person as time wore on. After the first hour and a half she had calmed down enough to be glad that she hadn't keyed his car or broken a window, and by two hours she was making great strides towards maturity. Finding some shoes, she went round the side of the building, a hand up against the sun as she hunted. After stumbling across some rocks and losing her footing a couple times, she finally made it to the spot she was looking for, having almost broken her ankle to get there. Retrieving the water bottle she'd thrown over the side, she then went back and lay out on his car, spending the rest of her time in exile soaking up the sun. Finally she hears the lock turn and her temper flares up just a little, now that it's got something to hold on to. But she suppresses it, slipping down off the hot surface of the car. "Eat shit," she says to him, following him inside and shutting the door behind her. She takes the water bottle out from under her arm, leaving it on the coffee table as she makes a beeline for her phone. "I'm getting an Uber."

[joseph mccarthy]

Like Aisha in her time out, Joe has also cooled down significantly. His steps are lightly and his gaze, though not softer, is actually making contact with her. He watches as she walks with a quiet determination and smiles when she tells him to eat shit. When he notices her carrying a dust covered water bottle he touches his hand to his heart and sarcastically mouths his thanks. "Oh no!" he whimpers, "please don't go! That'd be such a shame if you left! Please don't go!" He's sarcastic in his tone, his eyes faking sad as he "begs". "Good luck getting an Uber out here. Might want to try hire a car instead," he walks past her and gets a whiff of sweat and desert, "maybe get a shower first." The blonde haired man makes his way to the kitchen and forks dinner onto a plate before settling in front of the TV. He makes sure to take up the entire coach so she has nowhere to sit beside him (not that she'd want to at this point) and flicks on a random Breaking Bad episode.

[aisha van buren]

She glances up from her phone, which has a depressingly low amount of battery left. Hearing him still be spiteful towards her actually cuts deep and it's an unusual response for her to have, one she is not at all comfortable with. Yet again she feels like she's going to cry but she forces herself not to, her mouth opening and closing as she tries and fails to formulate words. Confusion is what's making it all the worse, as she can't figure out why he's this mad at her, or how he's able to sustain it for so long. Was it just the not telling him thing still, or was it what she said after? She goes to apologize but doesn't trust herself to without crying, and besides, she'd been punished well enough. Dismissing all the precious battery wasting notifications from Instagram and WhatsApp and all the rest, she opens Uber right as he's telling her it's pointless. "Of course this piece of shit place doesn't have Uber," she muttered, more to herself than him. Her skin feels hot and she realizes there's a definite redness across her chest and arms, and this paired with his final comment makes her burst into horrendous, uncontrollable sobs, her whole body heaving with the effort of it. Mortified and exhausted, she locked herself in the bathroom, doing what she always did in scenarios like this. "Daddy? Daddy," her sobs intensify as she hears her father's familiar voice from the end of the phone, "Daddy I'm stuck in New fu-- New Mexico, I don't know what to do. Where are you, can you please come get me?"

[joseph mccarthy]

Joseph knows he's being unreasonable and mean, it's not a suit that he wears well. It's waning but the guard is still up, ready to spit back hurtful words when prompted to. He's lifting a forkful of chicken to his mouth when he hears her cries, his reaction immediately being to drop his plate to the arm of the sofa and rush over. "Aisha..." he turns the corner as she shuts the bathroom door, "Aisha.. it's fine." But it's probably not fine and he's probably traumatized her. He hears her talking to her dad on the phone and his heart sinks, "I'll drive you if you want.. you can sit in the back, we don't have to talk." He feels sick, but more with guilt than despair. His head presses against the door, "I'm really sorry. That got out of control and I'm really sorry. Let me pay for a car to get you home, let me... god, I'm really sorry."

[aisha van buren]

Of course Caesar wasn't going to make the four hour flight and two hour drive to come get her, but from the concern in his voice she could tell that he was considering it. Given that Aisha was resolutely not a crier in any circumstances, hearing her so undone understandably panicked her father, though hearing this calmed her down. She felt guilty for worrying him but infinitely better just for hearing his voice, and as she's talking to him she can hear Joe on the other side of the door too. She ignores him, though she's immensely relieved and it allows her to pull herself together. "Sorry, dad. Joe and I had a fight, I'm being stupid... no, no! Of course he hasn't done anything, I started it. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called you like this... I'm fine, I promise. I promise. I'll call you first thing tomorrow, love you. I'm fine, promise." Feeling better for having gotten a good cry out of her system (why didn't she do this more often?) she dared to glance in the mirror. Not cute. As well as angry red patches across her skin, her makeup had blended with tears and most likely snot, her ugly crying really having reached peak levels. She got in the shower and let the hot water rush over her, ignoring the stinging against her sunburnt skin. The shower gel smelled like Joe and she was relieved to find that this didn't make her cry again, proving she hopefully wasn't broken for good. Finally she emerged from the steamy room wrapped in a towel, sheepishly taking a seat next to Joe. "I'm sorry."

[joseph mccarthy]

He listens as she backpedals with her dad and lets a sigh of relief. Seeing Aisha squeeze out a few tears for the sake of getting her way wasn't alarming, but hearing her wail like a freshly spanked kid was. As she cries and lets everything out of her system, Joe feels any prior resentment he was carrying shed. He hangs around the door until he hears the shower turn on and then retreats back to the couch. He's lost his appetite completely, so wraps the food up in plastic wrap and puts it in the fridge. Though usually so enchanted by his rewatching of Breaking Bad episodes, he becomes so lost in thought that Walter White and Jesse Pinkman become blobs of colour on his screen. He puts his face in the palms of his hands and rubs his tired eyes. When he looks up, Aisha's joining him in a fluffy white towel. Her shoulders are burnt a hot pink and her eyes are puffy from crying. When she apologies he lifts his hand to pull her gently closer against his tattooed chest and kisses her on the head. "It's okay, we're fine," he can't help but kiss her again to reassure himself, "I'm sorry you had to go through it. No more secrets." Her skin is hot to touch and he's light with her, "I have some aloe if you want. You should have a drink of water, you're probably dehydrated from crying. "

[aisha van buren]

She feels lighter for her tears and she wonders if maybe, just a teeny little tiny bit of her was crying out of remorse for what she did, as well as everything else. It's a thought she files away for another day, too emotionally and physically drained to deal with it now. The one good thing was she could be certain of a good sleep tonight. He pulls her into him and she knows there'll be a big damp patch from where she lays her head, her hair still wet and pulled in a rough side plait to keep it out of the way. She doesn't say anything. Apologies always took it out of her, and even the temptation to mention that she was probably dehydrated from being out in harsh sunlight all day goes ignored in her moment of quiet reflection. It was always unpleasant to see a new side to someone you thought you had figured out, but when this died down she was sure she'd be grateful that he wasn't such a saint all the time. They were both more human than they let on. After a long silence she finally looked up at him, bringing her legs round so she was back in his lap, her favourite place. "I love you," she said, trying to make sure he could tell she meant it. "But now my dad definitely doesn't," she added with a grin.