Words, Words, Words...

Words are fucking hard sometimes.

I broke him. I feel like... maybe, maybe, maybe there was something I could have done to stop this from happening. Ages and ages and eras and eras back. Responsible. I was cold and cruel and mean and I couldn't have just given him a little more. Just a little more maybe. Maybe then he'd be okay. Well and alive and okay.

I can dream. Dreams are silly though.

There's this ache... it comes up between the moments where Lissie is holding me together and Shaun plays some comfort song to keep me from hiding myself entirely. It's guilt. I know the thing for what it is. And it is guilt. It's nauseating. It never goes away. And I think I deserve it.

Between the moments where Lis has her hand on mine to remind me that I am not alone and I am no longer bound and the moments where Shaun gives his sage-words of true comfort and sympathy... I retreat. Back to that moment. Could I have changed it? If I had been less petrified and thrown and betrayed and hurt... if I could've gotten a handle on my emotions, could all this damn ache have been avoided? I'm normally better than that. I keep my composure. I hate weapons.

Seems terribly selfish. My primary motiive. Make my own aching stop. I've never been to great at giving. Or getting. Where does that even put me on the social scale of givers and getters? Puts me in the 'I don't like people, not really at all, leave me alone because it's just easier that way' category. Where does that even fit into the spectrum? It doesn't. It's an outlier.

Ah yes. There I am. An outlier. A product of my own making. A societal freak of nature. Unwilling to receive or give trust.

I am fighting my own nature. Moment by moment I am fighting it. I want to go back, years and years back when it was so, so, so, so terribly much easier. Back, way back... to right about 8 years old. When I could trust and it was easy. When mom would tell me "Dad will be home in 136 more days," and I believed her. I believed her because she was my mother and I trusted her and trust was easy and not impossible. I believed her when she told me her Tiana was the sweetest, most beautiful, kind and caring little girl she had ever met. I believed her because she was my mother and these things were still true.

I was kind.
I was sweet.
I was caring.
Beauty was inside and out.

I have learned bad habits as I've grown up. I've grown out of childhood niavety, but I wish I hadn't. I wish I was still beautifully unmarred by the coldness of the world and the reality of the situation and the cynicism. So much cynicism. I wish that I could be childlike in my worldview, but adult enough to know the value of that worldview. Unfortunately I am only the latter. I drift in and out. Between hoping and wishing there's still that ache. And I know the world is not the place my childlike perception would have had it.

I am not 8 years old and I am not blessed with a kind, caring, trusting heart. And I am here. He's not. Won't be. Ever.

I'd never killed anyone before. And I trusted him. Myself. Us. So well.

My nature says retreat further Tia. Reatreat and shut them all off. Just keep them out. It will be safer for them. Safer for you. Because you don't like people and what could they possibly like about you? People are changeable, malleable, untrustworthy things Tia: reject them all.

I can't do that though. That's not fair. Not to Lissie nor Shaun nor the comforts they provide me. They're not people I tell my nature. I don't have to like or trust people, but these two are not people. They are worthy of my trust. They are not people, my cruel nature, they are my friends. I won't retreat. Not from them. They deserve better, so I will give them better.

Found and Lost

We found her.
Approximately an hour after that post went up this morning, I recieved an email from someone I've been talking to a bit over the last month or so. No name's given, ever. I have my suspicions, though. And I'm not overly happy with where those suspicions lead.

Shaun's been keeping me steady and focused. I feel like I'd have been flying in five directions at once if not for his getting me to focus better. It wasn't exactly panic. Something else. A mixture of manic energy and depressive anxiety, oscillating wildly. In all of this, this is the deepest anger and fear I have felt. For Tia. Maybe caring too much is a weakness, but if it is, I don't want that level of strength.

Anyway, I recieved an email with a street address in it. Nothing more, nothing less. The location was outside of the range Shaun and I had been searchign the last few days. There was some understandable supiscion, of course. I mean, obvious trap, right? Right? It was the only lead we'd gotten, though. I left some stuff behind at the hotel, but we moved into gear. We took a taxi from the hotel, and had the driver drop us off a few blocks from the location. Not an unreasonable precaution, I think. We stashed a few things and then went to check out the location.

Sure enough, the truck was parked outside. Is it bad that I'm glad that my truck wasn't trashed? I mean, I know it's selfish, but having a reliable vehicle is a plus.

The building seemed abandoned, but it did have power. That much was obvious. We made our way inside, and started searching. There was a basement apartment. Blake was there.

There was blood in the room. A good bit of it, too. The blood led off to the bathroom, where the shower was running. I was honestly almost afraid to go in, but I had to find Tia. No matter her state. She should have had to. She was there, huddled under the ice-cold spray, sobbing. We got her out and dried off, bundling her up against the cold. She was shaking so hard. I want to stop that pain.

Blake is dead. Shot with my revolver that he'd apparently taken from the truck. Believe me, I checked. I had to get the keys off of him, after all. He was dead when we got there. Probably happened not long before that post went up this morning. Tia's not talking.

That's when things went even more to pot for a little bit there.

Twisting, warping. Tearing. He was there. Standing over Blake. I called for Shaun to get Tia out. Maybe it's more accurate to say shouted? Cried? I followed, but it took a moment to get my legs to work properly. There are colors still. Colors and shadows and awareness. Blank spots that I wasn't even aware of before. Funny, that. This isn't about me, though. Can't focus on that right now.

Blake's gone.

We've been driving since then, and have finally stopped. Maybe we should keep driving, but Tia's not in the best way. I don't think there's anything physically serious, but... yeah. She's not talking about what happened. She's shocky, which obviously, I don't blame her for.

Blake was the most stable of the three of us, which is, of course, why he just had to fall. And possibly why he fell so hard. I don't want to know the extent of what happened in that little basement apartment, but on some level, I'm going to need to. Eventually. Comunication is invaluable. I'm hoping we can get her talking about at least normal stuff soon.

We have to figure out what to tell his family.

We'll manage. We have to.
We have to heal. Somehow.

It's Still Cold in Alaska

I'm so so sorry... I hope you find peace Lover.

Looking

Haven't found Tia or Blake yet. We're going to keep looking. She's not dead.
I'd know.
Shadows in my eyes and tired, but I'm steadier. I suppose I should just start expecting fun days to go wrong. We'll find them. As to my last post, am I not allowed to be angry? As always, I regret things I say. I'll deal.

Merry Merry merry

Compared to some I've been around
But I really tried so hard
That echo chorus lied to me with its
"Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on

He took her. He kidnapped Tia and stole my truck, stranding me and Shaun at the hotel. In the snow.  No. Nononono. 
Music. Breathe.

Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection.
The lovers, the dreamers and me.
All of us under its spell.
We know that it's probably magic.
Have you been half asleep and have you heard voices?
I've heard them calling my name.

See, the thing is, Blake, sweetie, you want to protect her? You want to steal her away and keep her locked up to keep her safe because you love her? It doesn't work that way, buddy-boy, if it's against her will. You are not the dashing prince in this story, sweeping back in after going missing, to save the princess. You are, if anything, the witch keeping her in a tower. You made a mistake, turning her into the damsel in your head. But you know what? You want to play Ladderlocks, that's fine. Let's play pretend. Just keep in mind what happens to the prince, my dear. And I don't think her tears will heal you in this story. You've got worse things to worry about than anything else that might be coming out of the dark after you... If things haven't gone a certain way before I even get there. I'll probably regret saying this within ten or fifteen minutes of posting it anyway. I regret lots of things. Heh. I don't want you dead, don't worry. I just want you incapacitated. I want you incapacitated a lot. This is not something you do to someone you claim to love. This is not something you do to my best friend.

For life is quite absurd
and death's the final word.
You must always face the curtain with a bow.
Forget about your sin.
Give the audience a grin.
Enjoy it. It's your last chance, anyhow.

She shouldn't have to make this choice. You have no right. Neither of you have any right to do this to her. Why? Why them? Why anyone? How much do people have to hurt and suffer? Shepherd, you're a dead man. No matter how long it takes, even if I have to go down, too. The second you touched them, you were dead. This is not a game, and even if it were, you are not the one controlling the pieces, sweetie. You never have been. You like to play pretend, though. That much, I've seen. You like to pretend that you're in control and manipulating things yourself. You make me laugh. Oh look, bravado. This should be amusing. Bit late for that though, isn't it? No. No, because you want me to want you dead. You want me to want to hurt you. I... No. Nothing doing. I

Sing for the bartender, sing for the janitor, sing
Sing for the cameras, sing for the animals, sing
Sing for the children shooting the children, sing
Sing for the teachers who told you that you couldn't sing
Just sing

focus
Focus
FOCUS
Need to do something. Breathing is a good start.
...Have a very Merry Christmas, everyone. I know mine will be memorable.

watching me. watching me. watching me.

Guess who showed up?

Shaun met up with us today. I've been talking to him a bit, and since he was apparently getting restless at Bondie's I figured I'd invite him to spend Christmas and maybe a little time after with us. I didn't want him spending the holidays streeting it, especially this far north, so yeah. Here we are. It's nice to see him again, and Tia definitely agrees.

I'm getting a few things ready for tomorrow. It's been a while since I've had much to look forward to on Christmas. Crossing my fingers that I can allow myself to now, even with everything.

In Memoriam. Because.

I had planned to do a post yesterday, but I am, for once, in no place to mourn the loss of people I never had the fortune or misfortune to meet. There is nothing in that area for me to say that has not already been said. May they rest in as much peace as they can manage, if that is at all possible.

Loss is a terrible thing, honestly. To lose someone you care for, someone you feel responsible for is no better. Shep offered to send me pictures of the state of the Sinclair house. I feel sure he knew I don't trust him as far I I can throw him. Which, given the differences in our height and weight and the fact that I'm not exactly... Yeah, I need to stop go off on a tangent.

Marie Jenette Sinclair. The vast majority of her posts on this blog have been unpleasant at the very least, and needlessly cryptic at times. Except for perhaps the very end there, she was not the girl I had promised to keep an eye on and protect. This much became obvious in the emails she continued to send me after some time. They were hurtful and bitter, barbed and intended to make me hurt, but it was no less than I deserved, yeah? I left her.

Do I feel guilt over her death? Yes. Despite everything, Marie was my responsibility. Maybe if, as soon as it had become obvious that she was awake, we had gone back to Alabama, this could've been prevented. I could have done something, as unlikely as it sounds for someone as ineffectual as myself.

Instead, she's dead, and her parents were slaughtered like so much cattle. I should've been there, even if it meant that I would've died as well or instead.

Marie was not a bad person. She never was. She was hurting and twisted by something outside of herself. There was an inherent frustration to her posts and emails. Whoever did this killed not someone who could even attempt to fight back. They killed a diabetic, paralyzed, weakened, brain-damaged, and mentally-altered teenager who was defenseless, and by all accounts, given into that state fairly willingly by her parents. That is the act of  a coward. Especially if Shep is right and it wasn't Slim Jim.

I'm going to leave this here, but I had to get this out. People are going to contradict me, of course, but this, on some level, is my fault. The least I can do is remember the good parts of her.