. dare devils

[kendra santisi]

When Kendra opens her eyes, she's quickly hit with the brutal reality that she's not at her own home. Sunlight pours onto the pale wall where a cluttered walk-in closet should reside, her tangled collection of things the only disturbance on the polished wood floors. Head pounding she rolls quickly from the soft covers, stumbling to the mirror in the far corner only to be met with her own alarming state. Smudged make-up, knotted hair, some faded concert tee and boxer shorts...the haze of last night is a blur as she opens the bedroom door, dead set on finding a bathroom until the warm light filtering into the open kitchen down the hallway catches her attention. Where was she? Her answer is found soon enough, familiar blue eyes on her the second she rounds the corner, hand flying to her heart. "Holy fuck, you scared me."

[taylor maitson]

Cab Calloway is playing from the surround sound system built into every room of Taylor's immaculate apartment. Set in the Hollywood Hills, the stark white walls were adorned with Hockney prints and Cats Cradle posters, the furnishings sleek and achingly modern. As he chopped celery and cucumber for his green juice, he was all too aware of his own cliche Los Angeles life-- it was part of the reason he never invited anyone here. That, and the fact that he enjoyed his peace. That precious peace is broken as his one time girlfriend reacts with shock to his presence in his own home. "I'm not sure you should be going round calling people scary, not when you're looking like that." He glances over his shoulder, a small smirk on his face as he took in her state. By contrast he was freshly showered, his hair still damp but drying in the breeze from the wide open doors leading to an expansive balcony. "I'll make you bacon in a second, just juicing. Aspirin's in the bathroom cabinet... second door on the left."

[kendra santisi]

Was she still drunk? God, fucking maybe. That would explain how this all felt like some alternate reality, blinking at some highly refreshed, glowing version of her ex boyfriend. "Fuck off," she groans, just to hear her own voice again and double check she was awake before spinning back down the hall to his instruction. Her eyes flit over the pristine framed artwork and the clean, tiled bathroom that she studies before deciding to make herself at home and take a shower. The steam jets were much too tempting. When she'd thoroughly inspected (and used) almost everything in his bathroom to salvage her humanity she returns back to the kitchen, smelling her familiar favorite hangover cure as she ties her wet hair into a bun. "Nice place - is your neighbor your wife yet?"

[taylor maitson]

Whilst exercise certainly released endorphins and that had been a motivator, truly it was smugness that kept Taylor going back to the gym, a smugness that he was feeling in full force now. As she speaks her voice has the hungover huskiness to it that he remembered well, a pang of nostalgia pulling at his heartstrings. "Good morning to you too," he calls after her, watching her reflection in the floor to ceiling windows as she disappears into the bathroom. He throws everything in the blender, about to hit the button when he thinks better of it -- it would be fun to torture her later. Instead he goes about making her a bacon sandwich, letting the bacon crisp up to almost ash, just how she liked it. Or used to, anyway. He squeezes her sauce of choice over the bread, pushing it down and slicing it cleanly down the middle, carefully placing it on a plate alongside a black coffee and glass of orange juice. "Don't trail water through here," he says as she emerges, his newfound desire for cleanliness apparently bordering on tyrannical. Still, he laughs, shaking his head. "Working on it, but her current husband keeps getting in the way. Annoying."

[kendra santisi]

It feels like a strange twilight zone, seeing a glimpse into a future where Taylor Maitson had grown up. If she'd known this was where she'd end up she'd half expect him to still be beside her in bed, probably having been awake for hours just waiting for her to stir. But in reality here he was, in way better state than she could claim, flicking water droplets off her hand in subtle defiance. "Ok clean freak," she pokes, folding herself onto a barstool and staring at the breakfast with a warmth of gratitude. He still remembered, taking a massive bite of the sandwich before she eyed the blender still yet to spin. "Minor setback - are you waiting to run that to watch me suffer in real time? That's torturous, Taylor. I'm very fragile."

[taylor maitson]

The squeaky clean apartment belied the true state of his new lifestyle, which was cleaner than before but far from pristine. Deep in the depths of his trash can were remnants of the In-N-Out he had for dinner the day before, and hidden away in what looked like an innocuous copy of Gravity's Rainbow was a secret compartment filled with little baggies, each filled with a powdered vice of one kind or another. But he decided against revealing this to Kendra just yet, relishing the false image of a totally reformed man that she was currently visibly struggling to come to terms with. "What, this?" A sly grin spreads across his face as he pulls the machine towards him. "What do you mean?" He presses it, vegetables and fruits in all their verdant shades suddenly whizzing together in a deafening din. "Oh, yeah," he speaks loudly over it, continuing to pulverize the mix beyond recognition. "I can imagine that's, like, really loud for you, right? How's your head?"

[kendra santisi]

The second his lips quirk into a devilish smile, she knows she's fucked. Both in the twist of her gut in familiarity at the grin, usually inspired seconds before they kissed in the past, and the monstrous roar of her head the moment the blender switched on. Immediately she drops her forehead to the counter, palms slamming over her ears to try to muffle the sound. It's cruel torture, something he's clearly relishing in as she groans in response to his questions. "God, how did I end up here!" She finally yells over the whir, eyes only peeking up when he finally quiets the godforsaken device. "You know I could have just hurled on the counter, how would that have worked out for you?"

[taylor maitson]

Taylor giggles childishly at her dismay, finally relenting and taking his finger off the button. "I'd clean it up, what else could I do?" He pours himself a tall glass of the vividly green liquid, taking a long sip as he leaned back against the counter, surveying her. Her question gave him pause. As easy as it was to slip into their old dynamic, things had changed and there was no use pretending otherwise. "Ken, you were really fucked last night," he says finally, looking away from her and into the swampy remnants of juice in his glass. Lecturing was not his thing but then nor was having women at his apartment, and here she was. "I took you here because it was closer, and I tried my best to get you into something comfortable to sleep in. Nothing else happened, in case you were wondering." Finally he looks up at her, relieved to be seeing a much healthier version of Kendra than the one he'd picked up off the floor the night previous. "Not unless you count me checking on you every half an hour to make sure you hadn't choked in your sleep as something."

[kendra santisi]

"Could've spared me and run it while I showered. So nice, by the way - the eucalyptus steam? Chef's kiss." She mimes the motion with her fingers to her lips, though her expression falters when he mentioned the past evening. If she's being honest she doesn't remember the end, a blur between powdered trips to the bathroom and tequila on the rocks, random faces and ill-fated heels on plush booths. "Don't even remember you being there, gotta be honest," she mumbles, eyes drifting to the pristine counter and the lingering coffee she eventually sips. Slim shoulders rise and fall, trying to lift herself of the burden of over indulgence until his next comments make her cringe. "I figured not. But shit happens to the best of us - thanks to our insomnia for not letting me die."

[taylor maitson]

It was strange to have a woman in his apartment after so long avoiding it, though somewhere deep down, he'd known that it would be Kendra who'd break that particular rule. "Don't get used to it, I'm going to take you home with a bag on your head so you can't find your way back here." He watches her reaction to his words, half expecting her to erupt. Younger Kendra would have, would have screamed that it was none of his business, that she'd never asked for his help and pointed out that he was hardly one to talk. All valid points. But she doesn't raise any of them, if anything she seems resigned to the situation. "You were at Chateau Marmont, Greg saw you and texted me. I wasn't going to come until he texted again a couple hours later saying you were in a bad way. You should send him a thank you text when you feel up to it, he really guilted me into it."

[kendra santisi]

Years ago, all they were was explosive. Captivated by his rising fame and her booming career, existing on the precipice of unparalleled harmony and complete and utter chaos. There was never any peace - something that Kendra still to this day didn't actively seek out. If there were any changes in her demeanor it was due to the exhaustion of a lifestyle she sometimes could no longer keep up with, whether it be age or time or jaded complacency. Looking at Taylor now, this strange, full glow and the ease at which he recounted her evening - it startled her. Staring into a version of someone she had, but never knew. Her heart drops at the thought, swallowing back prickly words as she wonders where her phone is. "Didn't know Greg was aware we were in contact...but classic him, never wants to sacrifice his own good time. Did you at least use the underground entrance so the paparazzi didn't get us together? God, what a field day - those pictures would revive Tumblr singlehandedly."

[taylor maitson]

Their eyes meet and there's a flicker of recognition there. She's holding back, biting her tongue, and he's not sure why she would do that, not after so many instances of her doing just the opposite easily accessed in his memory bank. Was it because she'd started to grow up, or was it because she didn't feel as comfortable with him now? He almost wishes she would blow. When she talks she's characteristically glib and he rolls his eyes. Ever aware of paps, ever evasive of accountability. He sets his glass down and hardens himself. "I'll take you home whenever you're ready. Or I can drop you off someplace else, you just can't stay here." He wasn't going to make any headway here, not today. "Your stuff is over there, by the way. I got it out of the coat check. They thought I was trying to rob you, think the door guy thought I was trying to take advantage of you too."

[kendra santisi]

"Why not?" She challenges, jutting her chin out for emphasis. There's some funny sense of protectiveness that she's picking up, whether it be about his own place or staying cautiously away from her she's not too certain. Her brain can barely process what's happening right now, let alone the sunshine pouring into the apartment from all over. "And what did I think you were doing?" She questions, curiosity getting the best of her. It wasn't like Taylor to protect her from herself, but then again - she didn't know this version of him.

[taylor maitson]

There it is, a spark of herself. "I have plans." Cryptic, evasive-- a spark of his old self, too. Her question irritates him, as does her lack of gratitude for the output of energy... it wasn't even so much the drive, which wasn't really very far, or even the bickering with her when it came to trying to get her into his car. It was the genuine worry. But then how would she know that he'd worried about her, that unlike all the times before where he'd been in just as bad shape as her if not worse, suddenly he actually paid mind to the consequences of their actions? "I don't know, you'd have to ask yourself that. Though I imagine you weren't thinking very much of anything given the state you were in. Maybe where the nearest toilet was for you to throw up in."

[kendra santisi]

Her eyebrow quirks, knowing this version of him all too well. "And what might those be, watching your plants grow?" Her eyes flick to the sparse greenery within the space before she fully spins around on her barstool, surveying his apartment with rapt attention. So at odds with him in his youth, relics of the band displayed in prominence and not just a haphazard set of music sheets tossed around on his floor. Strangely, it infuriates her further. "Well I can't remember because I didn't feel like remembering, so," she drifts, more curious what she said to him when he wouldn't divulge. She's sure she was combative, petty...but did she cry? Did she let on why she was so out of sorts? "Second door on the left," she finally murmurs, looking back over her shoulder before she takes another sip of her coffee.