#also farrah is SO teeny tiny in this Help | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

incorrectdeceptionquotes · 5 years

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A History of Secrets Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Jonathan took Farrah down to the FBI archives office. The woman he was looking for was sitting by her desk with her head down, looking at some book. Her red hijab framed her face, she wore long-sleeved yellow top with a long light pink cardigan on top along with a pair of jeans. He hesitated for a moment before knocking on the open door. Lara looked up to find the magician by the door with a stroller in hand. He gave a nervous smile, “Hi.”

The archivist gave a small grin, “Hi. Jonathan, right?”

“Yeah, I’m surprised you could tell.”

Lara shrugged, “You and your brother might look identical but you carry yourselves very differently.” Jonathan’s eyebrows raised slightly in amusement. “Plus your leather jacket is a bit of a giveaway.”

Jonathan looked down to the black leather jacket he was wearing and chuckled slightly, “I guess you’re right.”

“How can I help you?”

“Well... I was wondering if you could help us with something... I don’t know if it’s really your expertise but-”

“I can do what I can. Have a seat.” She gestured to the chair in front of her desk.

Jonathan was about to bring the stroller in when he realized that Lara’s office wasn’t that big. It could definitely fit Farrah’s stroller but it might make things a little snug. He placed the stroller outside the door, lifted up his niece into his arms. He was about to walk back in when Farrah pointed to the stroller and exclaimed, “Bunny!”

“Oh, sorry kiddo. Forgot about your bunny.” He took the bunny out of the stroller and Farrah was quick to wrap her arms around the pale blue plush. Jonathan came in and sat down, placing Farrah on his lap. He hesitated again for a moment before speaking up, “I-I was wondering if you had any information in the Blanc family.”

Lara raised her eyebrows in surprise, “Well, off the top of my head, I know that they’re a rich family. A combination of old money and new money. May I ask why?”

Jonathan nodded, “They’re kind of... our in-laws.”

“In-laws?”

“Our sister was married to Shawn Blanc.”

Lara looked at Jonathan then took a quick glance to Farrah who was still playing on Cameron’s phone. She knew from what Kay told her that Cameron and Jonathan were raising Farrah because she lost her parents. All she could say was: “I’m sorry.”

Jonathan nodded in appreciation. “And now, there’s this.” He took the letter out of his pocket and handed it to her.

He noticed how her expressions changed as she read through the letter. Her nostrils started to flair slightly. When she was done, she almost slammed the paper down, “They want to take her away?” Jonathan nodded, a little confused by her reaction. “Why now?”

“That’s the same question we have.” Jonathan sighed, “I was wondering if you could find anything on them that could prevent them from taking her away... you’d think Bennett Blanc being in prison for actual coldblooded murder wouldn’t have them so confident.” He tried to joke.

Lara gave a tiny smile, “I’ll do what I can. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Jonathan shook his head, “I think that’s all for now.” Just then Farrah lifted the phone to Jonathan’s face to hand to him. He took his brother’s phone from the little girl, “You all done playing?” Farrah didn’t say anything and instead tried to wiggle her way onto the floor. Jonathan gently placed her on the ground and let her walk around a little, “Sorry, she just needs to stretch her legs.”

Lara’s smile only grew as she watched the little girl in denim overalls, white puff-sleeved t-shirt with pink flower clips in her hair waddle around her office with her stuffed animal in hand. “I don’t mind at all. I think she’s very sweet.”

“Thank you.” Jonathan replied with a grin, “I think so too.”

Lara was about to say something when she heard Farrah coo at something behind her. The archivist turned around her chair and found the little girl pointing at the bottom shelf of children’s books. She smiled at Farrah, “Do you wanna pick a book?” Farrah just shyly looked at her shoes, “It’s okay if you want to try to read one.”

Lara pulled out the book Farrah had been pointing at and handed it to the little girl. Farrah hesitantly took the book and gave Lara a toothy smile before she toddled back over to her uncle and showed him the book. Jonathan pretended to be incredibly amazed by the book as Farrah sat down and placed the book on her lap as she clumsily opened it to page through it. He looked to Lara, “Why do you have children’s books in your office?”

Lara shrugged, “Usually, some of my co-workers who had to come to work last-minute can’t get someone to look after their kids so I let them stay here. It’s kind of the calmest place a kid can be in a building like this.” She chuckled, “Plus I don’t really get that much to do outside of finding files for people.”

Jonathan was surprised, “Really?”

She nodded, “Yeah. Mike sometimes has Diego and Jaime hang out here while he has to finish up paperwork so I figured it made sense to just have a few kid-friendly books you know?” She glanced at Farrah who was tracing her tiny finger over the illustrations of the book. “Do you read to her a lot?”

Jonathan shrugged, “Uh, yeah, I guess. She really likes to be read to.”

“That’s really nice.” Lara gave slight grin as she got up from her chair. She walked over to the second bookshelf to the left, “So you said that you needed dirt on the Blancs?”

Jonathan chuckled, “Not really dirt. Just a reason that can prevent them from taking Farrah away.”

Lara raised an eyebrow in amusement, “So dirt?”

He let out a laugh this time, “You said it, not me.”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Kay ran a hand through her hair as she looked through traffic camera footage, trying to see if she could identify Cornelia Berossi in the crowd. She had been told by the prison guards that the former mystery woman was now blond as her roots had grown out so that was something to look out for... but she could have already dyed her hair. She took another sip of her coffee, frustrated that somehow the fugitive had evaded all the cameras. It wasn’t until her stomach growled that she finally looked up from her screen. At that same moment, Cameron knocked on her office door. She smiled, “Hey.”

“Hi.” He walked in, closing the door behind him, “Do you wanna get some lunch?”

Kay sighed, “I’d love to but I’m still looking through this footage.”

Cameron walked over to her, “Any leads?”

She shook her head, “Not yet...” She ran her hand through her hair again, “I just don’t understand it. How is she not in any of this footage? There’s only so many ways to leave that prison and they’re all under surveillance.”

Cameron placed a hand on her shoulder, “Maybe you need to step away from it for a little while. Maybe get yourself some food.”

She placed her hand on his, “Cameron-”

“I’m not saying take the whole day off but you do need a break. You’ve been working non-stop for hours and you’ve only had coffee since breakfast.” She gave him a curious look, “You think that after all this time I can’t tell when you’re running on just caffeine?”

She rolled her eyes. She looked up to him, “How’s Farrah?”

“She’s alright. She’s with Johnny right now.”

“Why isn’t she at daycare?” Cameron averted her eyes, “Cameron...”

He sighed, “I know... I’m just worried.” He lightly gripped her hand as he looked back to her, “You should eat something. It might help.”

“You’re right.” She got up from her seat. She picked up her jacket, placing her phone and her wallet in the pockets, “Where to?”

“How about that diner down the street? I hear they have good pie.”

She smirked, “I thought we were getting lunch.”

“Lunch can include dessert.” He playfully argued.

“Do you want to ask the others if they want to join us?”

“They already went for lunch half an hour ago.”

Kay nodded as she put her jacket on, “You didn’t go with them?”

“And leave you to forget to take care of yourself? What kind of man would I be?” She rolled her eyes at him again as they went out the door.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The day had gone by and they still had no leads on the former mystery woman. Kay decided to stay at her place seeing as she was going to get up early again in the morning.

Cameron and Jonathan went back to their apartment with a tuckered-out Farrah. The two brothers just discussed what they had managed to get done and were trying to figure out if there was something they were just not seeing. Upon arriving home and locking the door behind them, Jonathan let out a yawn. Cameron smirked at his brother, “Tired?”

“Yeah... I guess. I’ll get Farrah ready for bed.” He said in a bit of an exhausted tone.

Cameron shook his head as he took his tired niece out, “You go to bed, I got her.”

“You sure?”

“Take an early night. We’ll be fine.”

Jonathan gave a grateful sigh, “Thanks Cam. I’ll see you in the morning, good night.”

Cameron smiled, “G’night Johnny.”

“Nigh’ nigh’ Johnny” Farrah babbled.

Jonathan chuckled, “Good night Jellybean.”

Jonathan went into his room as Cameron took Farrah into her room. Once he finally got Farrah into her footie pajamas, after a few escape attempts by the toddler. Once he also gave her hair a quick brushing, he scooped up his niece and placed butterfly kisses on her cheeks making her giggle. Farrah grabbed his cheeks with her teeny hands. Cameron smiled as he cooed at her, “Did you know that I love you very much?” Farrah giggled as he took them to the kitchen to get her a bedtime bottle, “Yes I do, I love my little girl.” He placed her on the ground for a moment.

When he got out her bottle out, she started jumping up and down and pointed, “Botta! Botta!”

Cameron smiled at her excitement and held out his hand, letting her grasp his index finger. When they got back to Farrah’s room, Cameron placed her bottle on a table so he could pick her up. “Now. Are you going to go right to sleep after finishing your bottle?”

Farrah grabbed his nose and giggled, “Botta!”

“Aw, come on Fare Bear, I thought you grew out that.” Farrah just giggled again making Cameron smile again as she let go of his nose. He gave her a hug before placing her in her crib. He handed her the bottle, she was quick to grab it and start drinking it. Already, her eyelids began to droop. Cameron tucked her, and handed her the blue bunny she loved so much. As he walked out of her room and turned off the light, he just wished that whatever happened, Farrah would be alright.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

One year ago...

A young doctor with bright brown eyes furrowed his brows as read through some official-looking documents. “Shawn?” He heard a voice call out. A young woman with dark curly hair and blue eyes walked over to him and sat down with an eight-month-old child drinking a bottle.

Shawn smiled, “Hey Fifi.” He held out his hand, letting the little girl in his wife’s arms grasp his finger, “Hey Farrah... how’s my little princess doing?”

Fiona smiled down at her daughter as Farrah grinned at her father, “Well, I got her into her PJs and hopefully the bottle will help get her to sleep.” She looked to the papers on the desk, “Whatcha doing?”

“Oh uh... just... finalizing our will.”

Fiona raised an eyebrow in amusement, “We have a will? When did we get so fancy pants?”

Shawn chuckled, “Lots of people have wills Fiona.”

She just shrugged, “I never have. Never had a reason to.”

He gave a sad smile, “Well, I have two reasons to. One reason is the beautiful woman sitting next to me.” Fiona rolled her eyes as Shawn leaned over to kiss Farrah’s forehead, “And the other reason is my little princess.”

“Shawn, it’s past 8 o’clock. Does the sap tap ever turn off?” Fiona joked.

Shawn playfully rolled his eyes, “Oh ha, ha. This is actually pretty important.”

“How so?” Fiona asked as she took the empty bottle from Farrah and placed it on the desk.

“Well, I just mean that we have a baby and it’s not a bad idea to just have some things ready for her just in case...” Shawn couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Fiona intertwined her hand with her husband, “Shawn... I get that you’re worried about Farrah and it’s really sweet but you gotta remember that we’re going to be just fine.”

“I’m sorry, I guess I just feel better knowing that no matter what might happen, you and Farrah will be okay.” Fiona raised an eyebrow. “I just mean financially.” He showed her one of the papers, “See, this is my inheritance that I had already separated into my own separate account before my parents...”

“Cut you off?”

Shawn shrugged, “I don’t ever plan to use it because I don’t trust how my parents made that money in the first place and I have decent job where I make good honest money.”

“Why does your father keep sending you checks then?”

“I don’t know...” He replied, squeezing his wife’s hand, “But I’m not taking any money from that man. There’s always a catch with him.”

Fiona gave Shawn a sad smile as Farrah held her arms out to him wanting Shawn to take her. “So what does this will do for Farrah?” Fiona asked as Shawn took his baby girl in his arms, letting the baby rest her head on his shoulder.

Shawn handed her the paper, “I’ve turned my inheritance into a savings account for Farrah. That money will be hers.”

Well! Does that clear things up a little? No?

...Don’t worry, it will all make sense soon...ish...

Hope you guys liked this chapter, something big will be happening next chapter so stay tuned for that! <3

#deception #deception fanfiction #jonathan black #kay daniels #cameron black #kaymeron #a bundle of secrets #a history of secrets #renewdeception #savedeception #deception abc

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fakingitfanfiction · 7 years

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Her Latest Flame Chapter 17: A Few More Days (aka Be The Ball)

Previous Chapters

Day One

It's technically Day Two, since they spent the whole day - yesterday - together, after Amy fled or escaped or ran or whatever, but all they did was drink beer and sit on Reagan’s couch - very very separately - watching one bad movie after another and they didn’t even talk, like at all so, really, that hardly counts as a day.

So, this is Day One. Day One A.A.

After Amy, not the other AA though, in all fairness, that AA might be appropriate, what with the amount they had to drink on Not-Day-One and what they’ve already had today, on the real Day One, even though it’s the second one, like it’s the second sunrise and the second day noon and it’s closing in quick on the second night noon (t-minus an hour and counting) and Regan’s head hurts and where was she?

Oh… right.

Day One

On this Day One, they talk.

Or, rather, Sophie talks and Reagan listens. And, by ‘talk’ she really means 'rants’ cause young miss Sophie’s already put away her half of today’s (Day One’s) six pack (the first one) and she’s halfway through Reagan’s half, or at least Reagan thinks that’s right cause, well, she might have started on her half of the second one - the second of the like four they bought - but, really, that’s too many fractions and too much math and so here’s the skinny…

They’re both a bit drunk.

Or, you know, at least halfway there and Reagan knows that she’s only like halfway sober from yesterday (Day One that wasn’t) and so Sophie’s probably still sorta halfway shitfaced and half is more than enough to turn talk into rant and far more than enough for that whole 'listen’ thing to mean… well… it still means listen. It’s listen as much and as well as she can while the silent movie of her walking away from Amy - of leaving her sitting there with ice on her face and blood on her lip - plays over and over in Reagan’s mind.

Over. And over. And over. And over. And there could be about a thousand more 'over’s here and it would still be only a teeny-tiny, like supa tiny, like ridiculously tiny (like Liam tiny) (or so she's heard) fraction - fucking math, again - of the number of times that little scene has played inside her head.

Reagan hasn’t seen a movie this many times since Titanic.

(She likes 'draw me like your French girls’ and yes, she would so draw Kate Winslet, probably so much better than Leo ever did and no, she didn’t buy the DVD just for that scene.)

(There’s the one where the dude bounces off the propellor too.)

(Don’t judge.)

So Sophie talks and Reagan sorta listens and really, that’s OK cause, honestly, after the first hour or so, it’s pretty much the same package, just in different wrapping. And it goes a little (or a lot) something like this:

“I can’t believe she would do this.”

It all - every word - boils down to that, even if the phrasing changes slightly or there’s sometimes a 'fucking’ tossed in (and a 'motherfucking bullshit’ once) but, in a nutshell (Amy hates nuts) (in more ways than one) (and Reagan really needs to stop relating everything to Amy) that is what Sophie says, several times punctuating the words with some sort of aggressive and more than a little bit angry gesture for emphasis (read: a punch to the air or a smack and it’s not the sort of smack Reagan usually likes though she can tell Sophie would be good at that though probably not as good as Amy was and oh, for fuck’s sake) and, really, Reagan can only hope that her coffee table or her wall or her, you know, her, doesn’t end up going the way of Amy’s face.

“I. Cannot. Believe. She. Would do this.”

See? Slightly different. A remix if you will. Next verse, same as the first.

She’s not sure if it’s because she’s drunk or if it’s cause she’s not drunk enough, but Reagan’s getting a bit… confused. She knows the 'she’ is Amy - for her, every 'she’ is Amy - but it’s not altogether clear what ’this' is. After all, there are options.

Option One: This = Reagan and, by 'do this’, Sophie is saying she can’t believe Amy would do her.

Reagan suspects - probably rightly - that option one is also option wrong. Mostly because she’s quite sure Sophie (and most anyone else who knows Amy) (or her) would have no difficulty at all believing Amy could and would and did do her.

Also, she’s a bit foggy on the details now (not enough sleep) (far too many beers) (walking away from Amy memory overload) but she’s pretty sure that she, not Amy, did most of the doing.

Not that Sophie would know that. But still…

Option Two: This = Lying to Sophie about doing Reagan.

Again, Reagan thinks that’s probably not it, either. After all, Amy didn't technically lie. Which, when you think about it, is the one near constant in Amy’s life since the moment she agreed to fake it with Karma.

She never technically lies.

But, really, Reagan knows, Amy didn’t lie, not technically or otherwise. No, she didn’t tell Sophie about it, but the first time she saw her - post coitus - Sophie dragged her to the diner and talked her ear off and then, before Amy could find the courage to speak up, Reagan was just… there and, really, Amy could be forgiven for not saying anything just then, amidst that shock and the shock of finding herself in the middle of Sophie’s exceptionally well laid plan.

It was, she had to admit, a good plan. Like, seriously, Karma could take fucking lessons. (And why, oh why, did that name have to pop to mind again?)

And then, even after the shocks wore off, it was only like two, three minutes and then there was the punching and, again, Amy could be forgiven for not saying anything then.

It was too late, anyway. And there was the whole fist in the face thing. That tends to make people a bit reticent.

And, side note?

Coitus? Reticent? Since when did three Corona’s turn her into a fucking Webster’s?

Anyway… blamable or culpable (she should play Scrabble when she’s drunk) or whatever Amy might or might not be, Reagan’s pretty sure that Sophie’s not talking about the lying - or the not lying - at least not by itself. So, maybe it's…

Option Three: This = Amy walking away or, more likely, driving away, probably in her mom’s car. Because she didn’t have hers and, even more because who else could come to pick her up?

Lauren’s not in town and Shane is… well… who the fuck knows where Shane is and, really, Reagan only barely remembers him anyway and that only leaves Farrah.

Well… technically.

Cause there is the, you know, obvious answer. But 'obvious’ - and no, she’s not even thinking the name again - is in New Orleans and that would seem to be a touch too far away for a good getaway driver.

At least, Reagan thinks 'obvious’ is in New Orleans, she’s not really sure, she’s only going by what Amy might have mentioned that day (you know the one) during a brief hydration break.

And that’s all she wants to think about that.

But she does think - and probably rightly, again - that option three is no more the right option than one or two (or, most likely, four or five or six) because if that is what she means, then all it does is highlight how little Sophie really knows about Amy.

Amy, running? Who wouldn’t believe that?

“I just can't believe that she would -”

And here we go again, except it’s been one too many beers and like five or six or all too many versions of this one particular number and, sadly, it doesn’t have a good beat and Reagan just can’t dance to it. But what she can do is cut Sophie off mid-thought, cause she’s grown tired of guessing and so tired of options and, well, just fucking tired. “Amy didn’t do anything,” Reagan says and, if she were just slightly less slightly drunk, she’d probably know better than to say that or, at least, be smart enough to be regretting saying that already. “I mean, she did, but it’s not like she did any of it alone.”

Sophie stares at her as she stands - slowly - and reaches out a hand to grab the counter and steady herself. Reagan wobbles and Sophie starts like she’s going to help, but then…

She doesn’t.

Color Reagan surprised.

“She… Amy slept with me,” Reagan says and oh, it’s going to take more than one hand to keep her up much longer, but maybe she can at least finish what she’s saying, like she really even knows where that’s going. “Amy kept it a secret with me. She smashed your heart and crushed your friendship and probably broke every one of those rules you two have,” she says. “But she did it all with me.”

Sophie’s not moving and she’s not talking and Reagan’s not entirely sure she’s even breathing, and she’s even less sure what the hell to do about any of that or if there is anything to be done about any of that and even if she weren’t drunk and tired (and still thinking of the wrong damn woman) she’s not sure that would be any different.

“I know what you did,” Sophie finally says, and it’s all Reagan can do not to sigh in relief at the end of the silence. “I’m well fucking aware of what you did.” She turns on her heel - rather gracefully for someone as tipsy as she is - and heads toward the bedroom, and now Reagan’s just lost, cause the door, the one she expected Sophie to storm out of, drunk or not, is the other way. Sophie pauses just before the bedroom, her hand resting against the wall and if she only knew what Reagan did with Amy pressed against that wall…

(When she’s not quite so drunk, Reagan's really gonna hate herself.)

“I also know what you didn’t do.” Sophie’s words are whispers.

“And what was that?”

Sophie glances back over her shoulder and God, if Reagan thought she’d seen pain in Amy's eye after that punch…

“You didn't leave,” she says, disappearing into the darkened room, and now it's her doing the leaving, as in leaving Reagan to sink slowly to the floor, her back pressed against the base of the counter cause her legs just don’t work and yeah, maybe she’ll just sleep right here.

So, she thinks, guess it was option three.

Day Two

She doesn’t sleep by the counter.

That’s not to say she doesn’t stay there, cause she does - for a long while, like past midnight and beyond (hence the day two) - and not just cause her legs won’t cooperate and actually lift her up.

The soft, muted sounds of crying - Sophie apparently doesn’t do anything loud, and no, Reagan isn’t considering the implications of that, at all - coming from the bedroom might have something to do with it, too. And, by something, she means like everything. And yes, she’s well aware that that does make her, at the absolute least, a shitty host - don’t leave your guest crying alone has got to be rule A-number one in the host handbook - but then again, Reagan doesn’t remember actually inviting Sophie to come over or to stay or to share her bed.

Not that they're sharing, mind you. Sharing might be too strong a term, what with Sophie being in the bed and Reagan being out here - still - and, if she’s being honest, her own bed is pretty much the last place she really wants to be right now. See, there’s a few too many memories and they’re all a bit too fresh and, more than anything, it’s got the wrong person in it.

And that’s the killer, that’s the thing that’s got her leaning against the counter and not really thinking about moving any time soon. The place she wants to be is actually less a place and more a person and the fact that, even now, even after everything, Amy is still where she wants to be?

Count that as one more really good reason to stay out of her bed. And to drink more. If she could, you know, get up.

So, as much as the idea of another drink tempts her, Reagan stays right there and doesn't that just feel like the story of her fucking life? (And, to be clear, her non fucking one too.) Staying right there. Sometimes, she thinks, she’s stayed too long, too stuck in one particular moment, and she knows exactly which one. She sees it every time she closes her eyes and, far too often, even when she doesn’t.

It’s a simple moment, one she thought was all too clear, all to cut and fucking dried when it, you know, happened. A moment all about different places in lives and maybe never getting over someone and a goodbye kiss and it was all so much bullshit - every reason she had - and she was so sure that every one of them just screamed 'I’m scared’ and 'I don't really want this’ at the top of its lungs, but, apparently, she was the only one who heard that.

Or, maybe, the only one who wanted to.

That moment has stayed with her no matter how hard she’s tried to shake it though, really, she hasn’t tried all that hard. It’s one thing to say you want to forget, one thing to pay it lip service and say all the right things. It’s a whole other thing to actually mean it, to actually be ready to forget and, for so very long, that moment was the only thing she had left of Amy.

Yeah, there was the other one, the 'it’s Karma, isn’t it’ moment but, really, can you blame her if she forgot that one like five seconds after it happened? Losing that one took her no time at all, but that other moment… it just proves the funny thing about time.

It never really works the way you want it to.

Want proof? It’s hanging right there on Reagan’s wall, just to the side of the bedroom door. It’s a clock, a big one, with hands the size of one of those racks of ribs Amy loved at that BBQ joint in Dallas they went to. (So, you know, huge.) It’s one of the very few things she kept from her old place, maybe the only one she actually wanted to, even if she’s got no real idea why. The first time Sophie saw it, she spent like half an hour just staring at the damn thing, a habit that Reagan could identify with.

“It makes me feel like I’m in school,” Sophie said. “So big and round and those hands… they just move so slowly, like all the clocks did back in high school, hanging up on the wall, totally teasing the shit out of you, making the end of the day seemed like it would never come.”

Reagan remembers smiling, not just at how closely Sophie’s thoughts on the clock mirrored her own, or at the way the blonde spent the next hour or so glancing back at it, taking quick peeks over one shoulder whenever she thought Reagan wasn’t looking. (And no, Reagan’s so very not remembering how hard it was that night not to look at Sophie.) It was all in the way the younger woman had said it - 'back in high school’ - like that was such a long time ago, maybe even in a galaxy far, far away and not like it was just, you know, last year. Reagan had heard plenty of college girls trying to sound older and wiser, putting on airs about being all done with that high school crap.

Sophie was the only one she ever actually believed.

Now, it’s not Sophie she’s looking at, it’s that clock. Reagan watches as it ticks and it tocks and no, it doesn’t actually make any noise, and yes, those hands do move slowly, so very slowly that they almost seem to be standing still (and we’re back to that), frozen in a moment (and that too) and she’s amazed, every time, when she blinks and discovers that five or ten or twenty minutes have passed.

It’s 12:45 or so (she can’t tell for sure, but Reagan thinks the hand has moved a bit past the nine) before she actually moves. If she were counting, it would be Day Three, technically - if she doesn’t count Day One - and, really, there’s little she wishes for more than to stop thinking about everything in her life in 'technically’ terms or to be able to stop wondering what counts and what doesn’t.

Did telling Sophie she was ready to forget count as some sort of commitment? Did kissing her and making it very clear she wanted to do that (and a few other things) a whole lot more count as leading her on? Did sleeping (like they slept) with Amy count as cheating?

Maybe. Probably. And no. Technically.

Like technically is any sort of comfort - cold or otherwise - to Sophie. Or to any of them.

Maybe someday, Reagan hopes, she’ll be able to think like that, to see things simply and easily and not wonder about the complications and the catastrophes and if she’s going to need to be able to parse every word and and every action like she’s testifying before Congress. She can see a day like that, out there, in the distance. But the clock ticking off the days and nights between then and now?

Turtle fucking slow.

She hauls herself up slowly, not clock slowly, but not a whole lot faster and that, she knows, is a function of the booze still bubbling through her bloodstream and, even more, of the fact that she doesn't want to move. Moving means… well… trouble. Moving means going and going means forward and that’s never been a direction Reagan’s found to work all that well for her. It’s safe here, in her little corner, pressed up against the counter. Nothing behind her but wood (fake wood, but it still fucking counts) and she likes that, likes the sense of all the other shit walled off, blockaded away where it can’t hurt her.

It’s quiet here too (Sophie’s finally gone silent) and, best of all, she’s alone and, let’s face it, that's for the best.

Reagan does well alone. Other people, they’re the ones that fuck it all up. Especially the blondes.

But she can’t stay here forever. She knows that because she’s tried. Sooner or later, Reagan knows, life decides it’s had just about enough of you and your moments and it comes along, a playground bully, pushing you ahead, whether you like it or not. It’s better, she’s come to think, if you at least try to go with the flow. And, if the flow happens to push her forward and across the living room and into her bed?

(The one with the wrong person in it.)

Well… at least she can sleep a little. Maybe. And it’ll all look better in the morning. Maybe.

And maybe, she knows, is about the best she’s gonna get.

Sophie’s asleep.

At least Reagan thinks she is. Yes, they’ve spent the night together before and, even if it’s only halfway through the night now - still closer to midnight than daylight, but just barely - they’re doing that again, but that’s still only twice (or is it three and oh, how can she not remember?) and that’s just not enough.

Not enough to know the difference between slow and steady cause asleep breaths and slow and steady cause laying there, awake, overthinking and trying desperately not to think and trying - even more desperately - to seem asleep cause seeming asleep makes it easier for the other person to believe (or pretend) (much more likely to be the latter than the former) that you’re asleep and that means no talking (no more talking) (not like they did a lot of that today anyway, but in this case, less is definitely more) and if all that made you tired just hearing it?

Imagine Reagan thinking it.

Which, really, she isn’t. Oh sure, it crosses her mind, it drifts in on the current of Sophie’s breath but then it drifts right back out again, just as fast. And really, that’s just so much more bullshit, which seems to be Reagan’s specialty lately (self deluding bullshit, to be precise) cause it just doesn't drift out.

It gets pushed.

It gets pushed aside and pushed out and - in the case of the more stubborn thoughts, like the one about how it feels to have Sophie, or parts of her anyway, pressed up against her as they 'sleep’ - run over, just like every other thought she has or tries to have or even considers having that isn’t a thought of the one thing (person) she’s trying (and failing) not to think of (and yes, it’s Amy, like you didn’t know) and, really, Reagan’s not surprised. She hasn’t stopped thinking of her for more than like a day (if, you know, your calendar defines a day as something closer to an hour) (or half of one) (or, you know, one-sixtieth of one and yes, that’s a minute if you’re math challenged, like Amy, and see?)

(thinking of her again)

(took all of thirty seconds that time)

Sometimes, Reagan thinks a bit of Amy rubbed off on her. That, somehow, a bit of the pinball wizard way the blonde’s brain works must have soaked into her. Like osmosis.

Or, you know, syphilis.

Yes, she’s reached that point.

She used to be level headed. She used to be calm and cool and collected and, you know, sane and she remembers - vaguely - when those were all things Amy was attracted to, things nobody else in her life quite had.

Except maybe Lauren. Sometimes. When she wasn’t flinging chicken cutlets at people or outing herself or, as rumor had it, hooking up with Liam fucking Booker.

(And by rumor, Reagan totally means things she heard, not stuff she might have found through a Facebook stalk or two cause calm and cool and collected - and sane - didn’t do that sort of thing.)

(Riiiiiight.)

But now, here she is, in her bed with a beautiful woman who, despite every single reason in the world not to, still somehow wants her (and no, Sophie hasn't said it, but Reagan’s not so drunk or so drunk on Amy that she can't tell) yet her mind keeps spinning back to the other woman, the one who - despite every single reason in the world to - doesn’t want her.

That’s the thing about pinball. You can be aces at it, you can know every angle and hip check against the machine and be a fucking geometry whiz (which is so not her)but, in the end?

You’re at the mercy of the ball.

And there’s something Reagan never imagined anyone would say about her. Like ever.

But it’s true. And right now her ball (oh, she’s gonna need a new metaphor) keeps bouncing and spinning and ricocheting in one direction, no matter how hard she tries to make it not, no matter how much she pushes back.

Where did Amy go?

(Does where even matter? She went.)

Is she OK?

(She's Amy. Of course, she’s OK. She's always OK.)

How’s her eye? How’s her heart? Is this it? Is this the end?

(Black.) (Also black.) (If it isn’t, it should be.) (Yes, the 'end’ needs to be emphasized and not just for dramatic purposes, but they’ve 'ended’ before and we all saw how those worked out, now didn’t we?)

Reagan knows she should stop. She knows thinking about Amy leads her nowhere good. She knows that all she’s doing - all she's been doing - to Sophie what she did to Heather - minus the frequent fights and the even more frequent make-up sex when both of them were thinking about someone else - and she knows that isn’t fair. Not top Sophie and not to her.

But see, knowing it’s wrong and that she should stop is a far fucking cry from actually doing it and, no matter how much she wants to do it - to stop thinking, to stop thinking about Amy, to just be here and be with someone who wants her, even if it’s the wrong person - Reagan just…

She can’t.

She can’t sleep. She can't fake sleep. She can’t just lay here, staring at the ceiling and thinking of Amy - in all the various ways she does - all night long. So, since she can’t do any of that, she does what any reasonable person would.

She pulls an Amy.

Reagan’s out the door and into the hall and halfway to the stairs before she even thinks about it, before she even considers what it is she’s doing or where it is she’s going. She’s down the stairs and out the front door and into the parking lot even as the thought - and oh, it’s properly insane, so that makes it just perfect - even has a chance to get pushed out of her mind.

And that’s how she finds herself behind the wheel and on her phone before she has a chance to second guess and let’s be real, OK? A second or a third or a hundred and third guess wouldn’t be enough cause if she’s crazy enough to think of this in the first place?

She’s crazy enough to do it.

“Hey,” Reagan says into the phone and that’s right about where the insanity runs out and the 'oh fuck what am I doing’ kicks in, but she’s already answered so it’s too fucking late for any second guesses now. “It’s me,” she says, like that’s not the most obvious fucking thing ever. “I know it’s late and this is probably crazy and I know… I just know, OK? But I need…”

She trails off, glancing back up at the window of her apartment, ignoring (as best she can) the light that’s just flickered to life behind the shade.

“I need a friend,” she says and that might be the most truthful thing she’s said to her in like forever. “We were that once, weren’t we?”

There’s a pause and then there’s a breath on the other end of the line - slow and steady and not faking a fucking thing - followed by a 'yes’ and an 'I’ll be there in ten’ and Reagan doesn’t have to ask where 'there’ is and she nods, even if she can’t fucking see, clicking the phone off even as she starts her truck.

It’s half past something, in the middle of the night, the hour of the fucking wolf, day fucking something or other, one more sunrise and sunset of the same damn movie.

And it’s high time, Reagan thinks, someone changed the script.

#faking it #faking it fanfiction #reamy #oc #submission #secret-monkey #secretmonkey #Her Latest Flame

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thegloober · 6 years

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‘How I found my discomfort zone’

Editor-in-chief of Cosmopolitan Farrah Storr, reveals how stepping into her ‘discomfort zone’ and using her BMD Method aka the ‘HIIT training for your life’ has allowed her to face the things that scare her most with confidence

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Exams – one thing we’ve all had the pleasure or displeasure of experiencing. Outside an exam room there are those who are freaking out, the ‘I can’t do this’ types, there are also those who are sat in excited anticipation with a coffee in one hand, some cue cards in the other saying, ‘I wonder if this question will come up’.

The people who look like they’re on the verge of breakdown are those that see an exam as a ‘threat’, whereas the excitable person sees an exam as a ‘challenge’.

‘It’s a funny thing, the human brain. It looks for easy absolutes to create a scary narrative’ says Farrah Storr, award-winning editor-in-chief of Cosmopolitan. ‘A narrative that if you’re not careful will paralyse you’.

An exam for most people will be slightly nerve-racking of course but sometimes you feel like you just can’t do it, that you’d give anything to run in the opposite direction and never look back, that feeling is when you have entered your ‘discomfort zone’.

Realistically, the discomfort of taking that exam is rarely as bad as we think it will be, it’s over before we know it, we haven’t died from the terror of it all and well if it isn’t your finest hour then you’ll figure something out in the end.

‘Discomfort is not constant, but fleeting, says Storr. ‘Neither is discomfort debilitating, it is empowering’.

In fact taking an exam aka being thrown into an uncomfortable situation, can even result in your best work – think of that essay that you did in just one night when you ended up getting top marks.

When the added pressure builds, you are challenged and pushed into what Storr calls your ‘discomfort zone’.

Although most people are pushed into their discomfort zone by forces outside of their control, pushing yourself into this zone will help you reach your full potential. ‘Stepping into your discomfort zone is the quickest way to find your potential,’ says Storr.

But how do we push ourselves into this ‘discomfort zone’? Enter Farrah Storrs ‘BMD Method’.

The BMD Method

BMD stands for ‘Brief Moments of Discomfort’ because that’s what discomfort is says Storr, teeny, tiny little frissons of pain that pass almost instantaneously.

Storr reveals that she has been using the BMD method over the past five years and it has not only transformed the way she lives her life, but also the quality of the life she lives.

Step #1: Find your fear

Storr explains that to find your fear you must identify where your comfort zone ends and your discomfort zone begins.

In identifying our fear we can then identify the exact moment in which we step into our discomfort zone, and all the associated feelings that come with that – the racing heart, sweaty hands and general sense of dread.

It’s important to acknowledge and understand these reactions, as only then are we able to control them. Once you understand the bite-sized nature of your fear you’ll be able to take on anything – maybe not the world but you get the point.

Step #2: Feeling comfortable with discomfort

Storr explains that there are two types of comfort, ‘deadly comfort’ and ‘active comfort’.

‘Deadly comfort is the sort that has people rotting in dead-end jobs and comatose relationships,’ says Storr. Deadly comfort according to Storr requires zero thought, zero discipline and therefore zero gains. Ultimately you’re going nowhere.

Active comfort however, means you are able to feel comfortable in an uncomfortable situation, for example having a line prepared should you be asked a tricky question at a job interview. This creates a positive state of being, rather than a lazy state of mind.

Step #3: Re-imagining discomfort

Storr explains that this is the fun part. This is where you start imagining all the things you could and can do with your life because you have sussed out what discomfort really is.

After recognising that discomfort is no more than a few seconds of feeling uncomfortable you’ll come to realise that discomfort is not disruptive but constructive. Storr says that once you can see through the clearing mist you’ll see discomfort as an invigorating challenge to overcome rather than a struggle.

��Those very situations where we feel alarmingly out of our depth are crucial for progression and success,’ says Storr.

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5 steps to finding YOUR discomfort zone

Learning to like adrenaline

Nerves – as horrid as they seem they are almost always a good thing. ‘Adrenaline isn’t a sign to stop but a sign to go on,’ says Storr. Adrenaline is your body’s way of getting ready for action or a challenge.

We all know the feeling of when adrenaline strikes right? It’s a natural feeling that comes to us multiple times a week, month or year. It’s human nature’s way of helping us thrive in difficult situations.

For example, walking home late at night, you probably walk a bit faster and cross the road if you see someone suspicious ahead of you. Adrenaline isn’t the best feeling in the world but in most instances, we need this flight or fight mode to get through even the smallest challenge.

So how do we learn to ‘like’ adrenaline? It’s simple, accept that you’ll need it in order to succeed. By retuning the way we see an uncomfortable situation, thinking positive thoughts such as, ‘I will perform better thanks to these nerves,’ chances are you probably will.

Recognise those nerves, accept them and realise that you need them. Having control, self-belief and focus will guarantee you success.

Montaging

When faced with an upcoming uncomfortable situation, Storr likes to imagine the who, what, where and why before she even gets there, this she calls ‘montaging’.

When thinking about a job interview, chances are you only worry about what could go wrong rather than thinking about what may go right, right? According to Storr, we ‘negativise’ everything, tripping up, spilling the water, getting tongue tied, we always imagine the worse.

How do we do this ‘montaging’ thing I hear you ask? Storr advises that firstly you set the scene. Taking the job interview example again, Google map where it’s going to be. What area is it in and what street is it on? Is there any traffic, a coffee shop? Keep adding detail as it comes to you says Storr.

Visualise what shoes you will have on, what your hair will look like. Create the sensory experiences too. The smell of a coffee machine, the noise of a ringing phone, aim for at least five associated sensory experiences to add to your montage.

Storr advises that as soon as you have an event you are feeling nervous about, start montaging, and do this as many times as you can. Start acting it out too with a script if that helps and slow your breathing while you practice.

Storr says ‘you’ve got to think it to be it, imagining yourself succeeding in a situation can have a significant effect on the outcome’. Although, if you aren’t a naturally in your face, confident person, don’t imagine that you are, keep it realistic to you.

Having a plan that you have rehearsed over and over will help you feel in control of the situation, helping you feel comfortable in an uncomfortable situation.

Journalling

Traumatic things happen, that’s just life. For some the trauma can be major and for others it can be minor, such as being yelled at by your boss in front of all your colleagues.

When these traumatic events happen it’s tempting to throw in the towel and give up. But Storr suggests that we take it on the chin and ‘write’ down our feelings.

‘Journaling is a great way of rinsing a painful experience of it’s discomfort’ this is also known as ‘exposure therapy’, forcing yourself to come face to face with the trauma time and time again. Dissect it, pull it apart like a jigsaw and examine every piece in detail, suggests Storr.

When going for a run do you often find yourself thinking ‘I’ll run to that lamppost and then slow down or I’ll run to the end of this road and then I’m halfway there? Thinking about each small landmark rather than the run as a whole makes it less painful and more enjoyable. You dissect that run into parts because thinking about the whole thing would mean you probably wont even leave the house.

It’s the same with something significant that has upset you. Thinking about the trauma as a whole will upset and overwhelm you, but breaking it apart, bit by bit will help you figure out which part really upset you, the rest you will probably forget about.

Storr says that we should take 15 minutes (set an alarm) with your diary open and your pen poised. Regale as much detail about what upset you as possible. Write down how did this happen? Why did it happen? And what could have caused it. Keep picking at the problem until you get to the core of the discomfort.

Heard of the saying ‘get back on the horse that bucked you’, turn your trauma into triumph by going over what caused you discomfort in the first place.

Letting go of what people think

We care what people think and that’s a fact. We both value and fear the judgement of those around us, we just can’t help it.

But in reality nobody really cares about what you’re doing. In fact they probably didn’t even notice that you fell up that step and if they did they probably thought about it for 0.3 of a second.

‘The truth is, most people are too busy thinking about themselves to think about you,’ says Storr. The discomfort you feel whilst giving a speech or walking out onto stage, truth is the audience probably aren’t thinking about you at all, instead they are listening to your amazing speech or thinking about what to have for dinner later – just joking, maybe.

We will always think that people are noticing more than they actually do. And guess what? Everyone feels the same. Simply knowing this should make you feel a hella lot better. By learning to get over what people think of you, you could probably cut your feelings of discomfort in half.

Ditching ‘the slog’ for ‘the grind’

When you hear the word ‘grind’ do you think of hard work, laborious discomfort, relentless, repetitive or all of the above?

According to Storr the grind is not something to be afraid of as it actually means you’re moving forward. Storr describes the ‘grind’ as a transformative act that is the run-up to your breakthrough leap. The ‘grind’ although it may feel relentless should involve small moments of change, that feel as if things are shifting and moving forward.

The ‘slog’ however is that relentless, unchallenging work that will have you feeling like you’re going nowhere. The ‘comfortable’ slog will just drag you down rather than challenge you.

If your job isn’t motivating you but instead crushing your spirit and making things feel impossible, chances are it is impossible and you’ll end up going nowhere.

The uncomfortable ‘grind’ however, although it may feel like the slog sometimes you should still feel challenged and thrown into discomfort in order to grow and achieve success.

So do you think you can find your discomfort zone?

‘Pushing yourself into your own discomfort zone is not easy. Often we only find ourselves there by chance, circumstance or the force of someone else.

‘Forcing yourself into a zone where things get harder, the pressure gets fiercer and you feel totally out of your depth is something only a few can do,’ says Storr.

From now on, say yes and figure out the solution later. Storr insists that we say yes to something we have always wanted to do. Every. Single. Month. Nod your head, agree and figure the rest out later.

And remember it’s only those BMD’s that are causing all the trouble. Embrace the challenge, charge through life and learn to feel comfortable with uncomfortable.

The Discomfort Zone, by Farrah Storr is available to buy now.