Borrowing Spaces

I guess you never really knew how much I love you.
I loved you enough to watch you shut yourself from everything and everyone, building walls, perfectly constructed walls around you, like you used to do with the dominoes and cards at the park where we met. Walls I had to break to get to you in the first place.
I never...

I had to watch you slip away, grow cold and distant, silently blaming yourself for everything that happened. If only you had been there, if only you had waited with me...if only.
But fate had different plans for us. We always preached about being strong, being good, wanting to help, and someone thought it would be funny to test just how willing we were to live up to our claims.
Sounds familiar, does it not?
When they told me you were in the hospital after having tried to kill yourself, I felt myself shatter. What could have possibly driven you to that, my love, the man who always saw human life as something sacred? It had been my fault. I had trusted them all a little too much, and you warned me about it.
And then they told me about the cancer.
I laughed.
There was no way...not you. You never did anything that could lead to it, barely even drank coffee in the mornings, let alone drink or smoke. And yet, there it was: colon cancer, evolved into an inoperable front lobe tumor. Your days were counted.
And you took us all down with you.

Now, don't think I hate you. I couldn't, John, you're my heart, my life. You meant everything to me, and I must confess I never lived a truly happy day since our divorce. I needed you to be complete. But you were not yourself anymore.

None of this had to happen, and you know it. You preached about justice, about keeping your heart and your feelings out of this, and yet, what was THIS? Your own personal revenge against everyone who you believed had ruined your life.

None of this had to happen. You didn't have to do anything. In the end, no one was saved, we just crossed paths, and it will be only after death that we will be able to start over.

We had a chance; an opportunity to start again, to leave the past in the past and move on, to be strong and bare the pain, knowing it would soon become nothing more than a memory. But you were too blind to see, to consumed in your own quiet rage against everyone who had "wronged" you, one way or another.
Who's still standing, John? Not me, not you. Not even the ones who still live are ok, they lost everything to your cause. A cause that didn't need to be.
No, I am not blaming you for this. In the end, it was us who decided to stay, to return, to believe...but it lead us nowhere. No one learned, no one was saved, and everybody, in one way or another, died.

Still, here I stand, with my hand outstretched at you.
You were the last thought on my mind, the reason why I didn't feel any pain, or fear in the end. You're the reason I stayed, the reason I'd do it all over again.
You are the love of my life, John. And nothing will ever change that.

Will you now give us a chance to start over?


Jill

The Rant In Red & Black

Automathon. Catatonic. Barely conscious.
I’m idle. I’m here without being, even when I started taking over again last night.
Thumb flickers slowly over the ever-smooth flesh of pink nipples, hands cupping the small, rounded breasts, squeezing them. Idle. It feels good, but I feel nothing.
What brings me back to myself is that final scene from the movie Marie Antoinette. It’s very simple, to be honest: the master chambers of the King and Queen of France, half-trashed and discreetly blood-stained. But I see it, in absolute silence, and it disturbs me. Even royalty can be ravished. Even the powerful can be violated.
I feel helpless, and memories start playing again.
My room. That room. The blood…the meaning. It hurts, but I can’t pinpoint why. Or rather, I can but don’t want to.

Tonight I want to be a queen. Marie Antoinette herself.

I was with Fae today, submerged in this catatonic state, the awareness of her hand, lead by mine, caressing her being the only thing to keep us from not existing. We ate and slept for most of the day. And God, I slept like the angels today. I dreamt of soft clouds and clear seas and stars and peace. Or maybe I didn’t dream, but I slept peacefully. And then I dyed her hair black and painted her nails red and made her me again. Fara doesn’t exist by herself, just like I wouldn’t exist if I wasn’t here. Fara and Amanda are not real, but Faramanda is. Complex as it may sound, it’s really very simple. Ask any Host.
I pick on my wounds, scratch them until they bleed again.Last night, I had an epiphany. It came as we were watching tv, staring transfixed as a woman choked her sister in law in a twisted form of erotic asphyxiation that, for reasons unknown, turned me on more than the real, “safe” thing. Yesterday I wanted to kill, and I knew exactly whom. Yesterday I opened a cut over a scar by letting Mark bring my father, and it hurts. He still hurts. But what hurts the most is that I’ll never really know why.
In a few hours Dee and Mark will be here, and I will face Matthew again.
And I’ll sleep peacefully again for the first time in 35 years.

Tomorrow, I'll become a Killer Queen.

Borderline

I ask things from people, even knowing that I'm not ready to give what I ask.
Pain is my fuel. I'm only happy when it rains.
I enjoy the feel of ripping skin, tearing flesh, my blood flowing down my arms. On that note, I love the taste of my own blood, her blood, metallic and sweet, coppery, as I lick it off our fingers.
I wish Helena would bite me.
It wasn't Fae's idea to take the Alprazolam.
Sex is my letout.
"Whore", "bitch" and "slut", when said to me in the right situation, turn me on like nothing else.
I hate vulgarity like nothing else.
I'm not one for PDA's. I value my privacy.
I believe in karma; it's my best friend, lately.
I fear I'll stop eating unless I'm starving after Ty's born.
If he left me, I'd die.
I want to be stronger.

Little things

...that you didn't (and probably didn't want to) know about me.
Oh, the fun.

-There was a time I hated red. Yeah, odd.
-Decent meal = Subway. Anything better that that can't be less than heaven.
-Tangerines and peaches are my favorite fruit, followed by cherries.
-In Di's words, I apparently smell of "citrus and coconut and nice."
-Insomnia's a bitch. but I rather not sleep than face my father again, even if it's all in my head.
-3 Monster Energy Drinks per day is completely normal and acceptable when you're in a body whose kidneys and liver work propperly (i.e. Not Fara)
-I believe that if that bullet didn't kill me, some failure in my body due to drug and alcohol abuse would have. A small part of me hopes I had some deadly STD, maybe AIDS, and I passed it on to him.
-The first time I met Di, I hated her completely. It was her 15 year old self, and she had more heroin and alcohol in her system than I ever did. She was celebrating her return from rehab.
-I have a fixation with scents, probably thanks to Fara.
-I'm slightly dyslexic, and it's more evident when I'm nervous.

-Also, Fae and I stutter when we're excited. Or nervous.
-Yes, I can apply make up fairly well. I also kind of rock at manicures.
-I always wanted to be an actress.
-I really hate dresses.
-You can keep me at peace and fairly entertained with a pack of gum. Actually, it's the best stress-releiver ever.
-Even though I love how it smells, I don't like the taste of coconut.
-My reading record is 5 books in a month, when I moved in to the warehouse.
-Stitch is the best Disney character EVER.
-I hate slasher movies. Yes, the irony.
-I'm slowly becoming a hardcore Potterhead. Fae's fault. And no, Bellatrix is NOT my favorite. It's actually Tonks and Ginny. And no, I would not be a Slytherin. It's Gryffindor for me.
-Before you ask, YES, I like fantasy and science fiction books and movies.
-No, I don't like Star Trek
-Yes, I'm also becoming a fan of Dr. Who, and may or may not have a crush on David Tennant.
-Tequila is not my friend. Neither is Rum.

-I learned the hard way to never underestimate Apple Martinis.
-I avoid painkillers or prescription meds at all costs, and may have saved my kid from an addiction to Excedrin.
-I love videogames, but I'm not exactly skilled at playing them.

-I may secretly like "Mamma Mia!". Yes, the musical. That one, with ABBA songs.

-Subways on themselves are a food group. The most important one, right up there with pizza, chocolate and energy drinks.

-"Paint it Black" by The Rolling Stones, kind of turns me on. Don't ask, I don't know why.

-I bite nail polish off my nails.
- I talk to Tyler all the time.
- The only one I'd cheat on Mark with, without a minute's hesitation or regret, is Jack Daniel's.
-I've been in love with Hoffman for longer than I like to admit. My pride will never let me.
-I bleached my hair when I was 19. There are pictures, and Mark must never know about this

Someone stop me. Distract me.
My mind is working. It's building, looking at prices, thinking about how to put things together. I'm planning.
"It has to teach them something. They have to pay the price of what they've done, the pain they've inflicted to those around them.."
And it will. Each of them. Forgiveness.
Pfft, what am I saying? No one ever learns forgiveness. Nobody forgives, nobody forgets.
I'm taking this a bit too seriously, I know...but that's how I am. Vindictive little Bitch.
Nostalgia. Missing a life that was, a life that, hopefully, will never come back. A life I would hide from my children, if there was a way.
But they will know. Eventually, they'll find out, and I don't know what we will do.

I better start building again.

A Glass of Water

It was always your simplest request, and yet it was something you needed. A glass of water always helped you feel better, think clearer, stay awake.
Last night, we watched each other die on the screen again, and I didn't let you touch me. You tried to reach out for me again, but this time I turned away. But you didn't let me; instead, you pulled me close and held me tight, then you told me it would be alright this time. I thought I would cry alone, as usual, and then I felt your tears on my hair. Without words, without sound, we cried in each other's arms, and I understood love in its purest form.
After that, we just turned, looked into each other's eyes and smiled, no need for words. Things were back to how they were before, and we would make things right this time around.
I slept in your arms, like a little girl seeking for protection under her father's wing. You're the father I never had, the one thing I always wished for. And as I wrote earlier, I'm not failing you this time.
Last night was perfect. And all because of one simple request.
"Would you...kindly get me a glass of water, Amanda?"
And my question remains the same:
"Do you need anything else?"

Musicality

"Just gonna stand there, watch me burn. But that's alright, because I love the
way it hurts"
Love Hurts. Physically. my skin says so, my heart screams that single truth as I feel myself crumbling down. We can't take it anymore. I'm growing numb, but I can only hope she won't. When you grow numb to the only thing that makes you feel alive...then you know you're dead.

"Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars? I could really use a wish right now..."
Wishing keeps our heart alive. She wishes, wishes with all her might, with every cell in her body, that it never has to be her alone. When you can't stand yourself like we do, you hope someone will save you from yourself. And we try. And I promise her her wishes will come true, kill myself to give them to her. But some wishes can't come true, no matter how hard either of us tries. Still, wishing is what keeps us alive. It's a sign of hope.

"I want your love, and I want your revenge. I want your love, I don't want to be friends!"
Kill me again. Hurt me. Slap me hard, bite into my skin. Make me scream how much I hate you. Pull my hair. Tie me to the bed and leave me there for days. Put my leg in a shackle, turn off the lights and go. Bleed me out. Nurse me back to health. Stroke my hair, heal my wounds and get me back on my feet so we can start over again. Push me away, make me believe I can be without you. I want to see the smirk on your face when I crawl back to you, licking my wounds and begging for more. This is how we work.

"Bend me, break me , anyway you need me. All I want is you"
You should now my antics by now. One minute I touch the sky, next I sink myself in a tar pit. You have to let me reach bottom so I can get out, and I know how much it hurts you. And it hurts me, too. I want to change for you. Be what you want, what you need...But i'm just me. Both of us, too similar to be true, and yet so different. And so eager to change, to believe we can be something better. We're giving you the power to shape us into anything you desire. Make of us what you want. As long as we're with you, it doesn't matter.

"She's not broken, she's just a baby. and her boyfrien's like her dad, just like her dad."
Broken. Shattered. Weak. Pathetic little thing, excuse of a woman. And then you take me in your arms, soothe me, tell me everything's gonna be alright. And I believe you, take in every word you say like oxygen, like I needed it to breathe. Because I do. I need your words to keep on going. I need to hear you say things will be fine to believe they can be.

"I kinda like the missery you put me through.
-Darling, you can trust me completely
If you even try to look the other way...
I think that I could kill this time"

Snippets and bits of what's been in my mind today, with some songs people sent me.

Talk about polarity....

Bitch Talk

Bitch

You get used to it. You hear it so often you're not even sure they mean it as an insult anymore. "You little bitch, get your ass back here, I'm not done with you!". "Fucking bitch, you're nothing. This is all you're good for". "Scream for me, bitch."
"You're nothing, bitch."
Hell, by now, it could even be your name. Every man in your life has called you that, at least once. Your father. The boys you've dated. The one who claims to love you. You've heard it so much you start to believe it. The Red Bitch. And then, you become it. You slowly become the bitch everyone claimed you were.

Whore

You're shocked the first time you're hit by this. Was it really that wrong? Everyone's doing it. Fuck, he does it every night, you can HEAR it from your room. But if you do it, it's wrong. "You fucking whore, where were you?" You hear it enough times to last you a lifetime , and only that night. He had you. He fucked you, and so did that boy at the party, and his friend. Everyone who's wanted to fuck you has gotten away with it, you've let them. So, maybe they're right again. You are a whore.
Everyone's.

Slut

It becomes your personal belief. You've let them have you, do what they want with you. And you've enjoyed every second of it. If you find a decent one,you'll eventually find a way of screwing things up. 'Cause it brings you pain, and pain is the only thing that makes you feel alive. Everything is fine as long as it hurts where it should. You can take anything, really. Even a bullet to the neck.

Few people in my life (and afterlife) have seen past the titles. To them, I am Amanda. Just me. They claim not to care about my past, or the things I've done. And I wish I could believe them. I really do. But the last time someone said that, last time someone gave me a chance, I ruined it.

I want to stop ruining my chances. For once,I want to look at true happiness in the face and smile back at it, take its hand and go wherever it leads me. I want something of my own. I want my dreams to come true. I want someone to love me for what I am, all of it: the whore, the slut,the bitch, the borderline-stockholm syndrome-bipolar psychopath killer, the former junkie, the abused child, the one that has always done everything she could to survive.

I want someone to love me for what I am, not what they wish I was.

I don't know why I had to write this, or why I suddenly want to cry. Fae's mood may not be helping at all. But then again, that's us.
Amazing how alike you and your host can be.

Fairytales- 1

Once upon a time in a faraway kingdom, a little girl was born. She was no princess, but as she grew older, she wished she was.
But the little girl lived in a dark cave, guarded by an evil dragon who kept the girl's mother as a slave. At night, he'd take the girl to the deepest, scariest part of the cave, and he'd keep her there so he could hurt her mother, scare her so she would never dare leave, even when the cave was not closed and the dragon left for days at a time.
One day, when the little girl ventured out into the woods and went back home late, the dragon became furious and hurt the little girl. How she survived, nobody could tell.
As the years passed by, the little girl dreamed about a brave knight who would rescue her from that awful cave, but she eventually gave up on that dream. By the time she turned sixteen, it was clear to her that, if she wanted to be saved, she'd have to save herself.
And so, she ran away.

"Adaptation"

It's always hard to come to terms with new situations in life. It's even harder when said situation involves realizing you were a "fictional" character, you're dead, and now your only chance for a continued existence is to inhabit a "Host": a person who's willing to share his or her body and mind with you. You've become some sort of parasite, the spiritual siamese twin of somebody you've never heard of . At first, it is as scary as it sounds. You question everything: the principles of reality, existence, God...you don't know what to believe anymore.
Then you have to accept that, from now on, your life becomes a democracy: every decision must be made in agreement with your "other you", from what you're having for breakfast today to what you'll wear, your career, love life, marriage... you're not free to fuck up your life at will anymore, and neither is your host. The arguing starts, but it's also how you get to know each other. I remember that day Faba told me to come to her and handed me a notebook with almost 15 pages of questions to answer, that ranged from the simplest ones like my favorite food, color, drink and movie, to deeper, more complex ones like my worst childhood memory, my most vivid nightmare,or the one dream I cherished most and never fulfilled. A week later, I made her answer the same questions, and we realized how much we had in common.

We talked at night, two insonmiacs stuck together in the same body, just talking each other to sleep. I'd take over at nights from time to time, plaguing her mind with my nightmares and letting her fill mine with her own. I'd wake up, covered in cold sweat, and head to the bathroom to wash my face,. Then I'd run my hands over my hair,and i'd find it was shorterthan I remembered. Then I'd lookupto the mirror and find a strange face there, looking at me from under a mass of (then) bright red curls, staring in shock. It was another nightmare, one I couldn't wake up from. How do you keep yourself sane when it's not your face you see every time you look in the mirror? How can you not lose all sense of self when it's not your body you're looking at? There's new marks to discover now ,new sensitive spots, new ticks, new scars.

For some, it would be too much.

Then I had a crises. I wasn't real anymore, she was making me up. I had lost all chance for a real life; my dreams of love and hopes for a real family of my own had gone to hell and burned down the day I had been shot. This was hell, and there was no way out. That night I cried, screamed, smashed everything in my way,even broke a mirror. And she let me do it. She let me hurt her body as if it was mine, because it was. This body, she said, was now just as mine as it is hers.
That day, I realized I loved her more than I thought I would. And she loved me, too.
From that day on, we became not only best friends, but partners in both life and crime.

She gradually introduced me to the people around her, sharing more and more of her world with me. Some of these people also became my friends, some other became my enemies. I openly expressed my dislike and love for some of them, and my complete lack of interest in the rest.

I almost screw us up when I fell for Ana. She warned me it wouldn't end right, that there was a reason they hadn't worked out, but she still let me do what I wanted. Faba was right: I turned the world upside down, stopped time and moved the stars for this girl without so much as a side glance and a paton the back for a reward. I learned my lesson the hard way, just as Faba would learn hers. When I say I don't trust someone, I have my reasons for it.

Adapting takes time. But eventually, you get used to it, like everything else. You keep on meeting people, making friends for both you and your host. The partnership turns into a friendship stronger than anything; when you share literally everything with someone, you create a bond that becomes unbreakable. Your past is not important anymore. You have been given the gift of a new life.

But then you find more like you and your Host, and you now know ANYTHING is possible and everyone is real. And as you meet new people, people you thought you'd never meet in your life, you become scared. Everyone can exist. People can come back from wherever they are as long as there's someone willing to take them in and share their existence with them. And as you realize this, you find yourself praying with all your might that your past will stay in your past, and that it can't find you. But when you've come back from the dead, you leave the door open for anyone to do the same.

So, the ghosts from my past are slowly, one by one, finding me. Most of them are just biding their time,waiting for their host to realize they're there and set them free to haunt us. But this time, we won't run. Running took us nowhere last time. Running is what wound us up here. And even when I'm thankful for that, I won't run this time. This time, I have someone else to be strong for,someone who's come to love me and need me just as much as I do her.
This time, we stand strong. If not for ourselves, then for our Kids. Our "other us".

We're setting out to live a movie-worthy life. But this time, I intend to write myself a happy ending.