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paisley-print · 3 years

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Near The Water’s Edge: Chapter Four

After fleeing your abusive husband, you find yourself in the small coastal town of July, North Carolina. Soon you meet Frankie Morales, Air Force Veteran and single dad. As the two of you grow closer, you begin to let go of your past and learn to love again. That is until a strange man shows up in town, and you ’re forced to choose between your safety or the safety of the people that you love.

Inspired by the novel “Safe Haven” written by Nicolas Sparks.

Series Master List

Frankie Morales x Female Reader Rating: 18+ / Heavy adult themes eventual smut. Trigger Warnings: Domestic Abuse, Mentions of death, PTSD, anxiety, mentions of police case, police. Word Count:

Note: Another heavy chapter, but things will let lighter as the chapters go on. Enjoy the first half of the beach day.

Tag List:@qytyy @winter-fox-queen @sherala007@inkededucatednnerdy @quica-quica-quica @hnt-escape @giizhkens-cedar@heythere-mel @toomanystoriessolittletime

The ride passed in comfortable silence, the three of you listening to the radio and Lucy looking out the window at the cars in the next lane. All Frankie could think about was how nice it was to have someone else there to spend the day. He knew Lucy must have been feeling the same way, since he hadn’t seen her so excited about a beach trip in a long while.

He appreciated how patient you were with her; it was something he noticed even on that first day. The way you refused help until you knew she was alright. That moment had stuck with him more than anything else.

The memory of what Will said earlier surfaced in his mind. He shifted in his seat and glanced at you. Yes, you were beautiful. Strikingly so. A woman who could walk into a room and turn every head in the place; both men and women alike. Of course Frankie had been taken with you. He tried to suppress it, scolding himself whenever he was alone in bed at night and found his thoughts wandering....

His only goal right now was to be your friend because he cared for you and knew that you needed help. He wasn’t sure what kind of help, but he sensed that you were alone and at some point in your life something very bad had happened to you. He wouldn’t pry though, he would wait until you were ready to share.

The beach wasn’t too packed; it was still early in the season and the tourists hadn’t moved into their summer homes yet. The boys had done an oddly efficient job at setting everything up. When Ben and Will got into a little spat about how to sink the umbrella into the sand , Frankie simply rolled his eyes and continued to spray Lucy with sunblock. It made you laugh, they all seemed so comfortable with one another.

The day was hot and everybody seemed eager to get into the water, everyone except you and Frankie. You had bought a bathing suit at the store, intending on going in... but somewhere during the car ride you changed your mind.

“You can go in if you want,” you told Frankie “I don’t mind just watching.”

He shrugged, “I don’t normally go in either.”

Then just like that the two of you were suddenly alone, both woefully unprepared for any sort of conversation.

You thought of something quickly, filling the silence “the marina was packed today.”

“Yeah, It’s always like that on memorial day. Most of the summer too, be prepared for the restaurant to start getting busy.”

“I prefer it that way. It makes the shifts go faster. So I’ve been meaning to ask, what exactly do you do? I assumed you owned the marina?”

He paused for a moment. “Uh, technically I do. It was a wedding gift from my parents. An uncle had died and left it to them. I think they just wanted to get rid of it, but I have an office manager that does all the upfront stuff….. normally I just work on repairs.”

Married. That wasn’t what you were expecting, but still no ring. “Did you go to school for that?”

“Kind of. I had training for planes, but you would be surprised just how similar the two are.” You gave him a look. He glanced at you and laughed sheepishly. “What?”

“I’m sorry, did you say planes?”

“Yeah”

“You fix planes?”

He smiled and crossed his arms, trying to seem much cooler than he actually was. “I fly them too.”

“You fly pl-....do you take constructive criticism?”

He laughed, “Of course.”

“Lead with that next time.”

He looked at you skeptically. “How am I supposed to lead with that, exactly?”

“You say, hi my name is pilot Frankie …..”

He shook his head, grinning. “Morales,” he informed you.

“Hi my name is pilot Frankie Morales, nice to meet you.”

He played along, “but how will I know if people actually like me for me, or they just want me to take them for a ride in a plane?”

You shrugged “it's tough being a celebrity, I don’t make the rules.”

“Oh yeah, celebrity, that’s me,” he said sarcastically.

You kicked at the sand with your foot. “Also I liked you before I knew you had the coolest hobby in the world. So, you know that you can trust me.”

He glanced over at you and immediately noticed your smile. He had seen you smile before, but they would never quite reach your eyes. This one, he could tell, was real. He opened his mouth to speak when, in the distance, a wave crashed and Lucy squealed with laughter. Both of you turned your heads to look.

“Will Lucy be okay out there?” you asked. She had on a life vest and was being supervised in the shallows by the rest of the adults. Santi was holding onto a boogie board Lucy used to keep herself up.

“Yeah, I know they seem like idiots but they are good men.” Frankie reached into the cooler to grab a bee and popped the cap off with the bottle opener. “Do you want one?”

You shook your head, “No thank you, but I’ll take a water bottle if you have it.” He set his beer down in his cup holder and reached into the cooler again. The bottle was freezing cold when he handed it to you. Perfect for a sunny day.

You wiped the condensation off on your dress. “Can I ask you something? It’s okay if you don’t want to answer.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, taking a sip of beer.

“Lucy’s mom is she….? Are you two still….? I don’t mean to pry, I guess I’m just a little confused.”

“You and I both,” he said with a sigh. “I’m married but we are not together anymore, haven’t been for a few years.”

“Oh,” you said simply, not finding any clarification in what he told you. If anything, you had more questions, but you didn’t want to push. Besides, it didn’t matter anyway…. you couldn’t, you were married as well. “Does your family live in the area?”

“Nope, they live up north. Katie never really knew her family. She grew up in the foster system and was bounced around until she enlisted at eighteen. It’s just me and Lulu now, and the guys when they find the time to travel here.”

“I’m sorry,” you said honestly. “It must be hard not having your parents support.”

He shook his head and took another sip. “I expected it, even when I was younger, it seemed as though they were only interested in keeping me alive.” He looked down and started to peel off the sticker on the bottle as he spoke. “They are both doctors, mom is an archaeologist and dad an engineer. He actually helped design parts of the international space station…. I think they valued their careers more than anything else... they still do. The only time they ever came down to see Lucy was right after she was born, aside from that it’s usually a phone call on a holiday and a card with money in the mail.”

Although he tried to play it off as if it were just another part of life, you could see that it still affected him deeply. For a moment you thought about reaching out to take his hand, but you stopped yourself. “It really is their loss, they are missing out on two wonderful people.”

Frankie adjusted the baseball cap on his head, a sheepish little smile playing on his lips at the compliment. “Well, thank you. Lucy and I could say the same thing about you. You’re great with her.”

You glanced back at the little girl. She was smiling happily as Ben pulled her along on the boogie board. “I think little girls need to be protected, but not only that - they need to be seen and heard. She is already so independent and fierce. I can see how you encourage her to be her own person and not fit into any one mold. That’s important for little girls to learn.”

He laughed, “Yeah, she definitely gives me a run for my money, that's for sure. She can already repair an engine better than most men I know.”

A large gust of wind came through and took hold of the multi-colored beach ball beside you. Both you and Frankie sprang from your seats to race after it. The thing was fast, and you could not stop it from crashing into the waves. You noticed just how much cooler it was near the water’s edge. Although the temperature outside was sweltering, the Atlantic still held that winter chill. Both of you stared at the ball as it bobbed up and down with the tide.

Frankie waved it away with his hand and squinted in the sunlight. “It’s fine, it’ll probably just float down the beach to another family or something.”

You smirked at him “or choke a poor dimwitted sea turtle to death.”

He paused and shot you a pretend glare, then took off his hat, dropped it in the sand and reached for his shirt.

You giggled “no, no I’m joking. I got it.” You said, starting to strip down to your bathing suit also.

“Well, you gotta be faster than that,” he said, half jogging to the water.

You slipped off your dress easily and ran straight past him into the waves. Frankie was not far behind. You two were pushing against the tide as you reached for the ball. Fingertips just barely brushed against the plastic before it slipped a couple more inches away. This left just enough time for Frankie to swoop in and grab it.

Your stomach hurt from laughing so hard “hey!”

He shrugged, “I’m sorry that I care more about the environment than you.”

You splashed him with water playfully.

The two of you swam for another fifteen minutes, chatting about the town and volleying the ball back and forth. Frankie pretended not to see the way the droplets of water clung to your skin and sparkled under the sunlight. When he noticed the little lace pattern on the bottom of your swimsuit, he knew he had been staring for too long and forced himself to look away. The very last thing he wanted to do was scare you away, or make you believe he had some sort of ulterior motives to helping you.

You both dressed again before walking back up to the chairs. When the two of you returned, the group had already come back from swimming. They were passing around Tupperware full of fruit while Santi was starting up the tiny little grill he had brought.

“You guys really don’t play around for beach days,” you mentioned to Frankie.

“I tried to warn you,” he said with a smirk.

Will had Lucy thrown over his shoulder, carrying her easily with one arm. “Has anyone seen Fry?”

“I’m right here!” Lucy’s little voice drifted out from behind him.

Will started turning, pretending to look for her “Fry! Fry! Where are you!”

Lucy was hardly able to speak through her fit of giggles, “I’m behind you!”

He put her down on the sand, pretending as if he had seen her for the first time. “Jesus Fry! You scared me!”

“Lulu,” Frankie said, “come here so I can put more sunscreen on you.” Frankie took the bottle from the bag and sprayed her again, making sure to get her ears and the tops of her feet as well. He sprayed some in his hands, and Lucy scrunched up her nose as he applied it to her face.

Watching the two of them together made you smile. You were reminded again just how different Frankie was from your husband. David would have felt emasculated by having to take care of a child. If he had attended today, you would be sitting beside him silently the entire time, only getting up to fetch him a beer.

“Do you want some?” Frankie asked, and you were suddenly snapped right back to reality.

Even though you weren’t threatened by a burn yet, you figured it would be a good idea. “Yeah, thank you.” You offered him your arms, then the front of your legs.

“I used to be terrible with remembering sunblock until I got sun poisoning in Iraq, god never again.”

“Iraq?” you asked, and turned so he could get the backs of your legs.

“Yeah, with the air force” he told you, assuming you already knew.

Breath hitched in your throat as he brushed your hair over your shoulder. You cringed at the feeling of the warm sunscreen hitting the back of your neck and jerked away. It was enough for the others to notice. You laughed and lied quickly “damn horse flies hurt when they bite. They say you should wash off the bite with soap to get it to stop the swelling. Is there a bathroom here?”

You sounded believable. Becoming an expert liar had been the only thing keeping you alive for so long.

Frankie felt horrible. He didn’t quite know what he had done to trigger you, but he knew it was something. “It’s pretty far, I can walk with you-”

You shook your head, a wide smile still plastered across your lips. “Nope, I just need a direction.”

Santi jumped in quickly. “That building when we first came in, near the tennis courts.”

You nodded and started forward, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. Why was this happening right now? You were fine a moment ago and now you felt as though you couldn’t catch your breath. You shivered, remembering the feeling again and putting your hand on the back of your neck to stop it.

A soldier…. it made sense. You were too stupid to have seen it, the nicknames and the holiday......

Thankfully, they were single stall restrooms; you pulled the door shut and locked it behind you. The bottom of the floor was disgusting and filled with wet sand. You lifted yourself up onto the counter and sat, trying to calm down. A soldier, a soldier, you kept repeating to yourself. It was too similar. The anger, the potential for violence…. just like your husband.

You placed your head in your hands, and suddenly you were back in New Jersey. It was a bitter February, snow still on the ground. You were in your bathroom hiding as David raged in the living room and screamed at his coworker on the phone. A little boy had been killed by his father weeks ago. David was assigned to the case. When the trial came, the jury found the man innocent and let him walk free, even though all the evidence pointed to him as the killer. It was an embarrassment to David and the entire homicide unit

“God fucking dammit, y/n! y/n!”

You pulled yourself up on shaking legs, straightened your dress and walked out. David was red in the face waiting for you. “I thought I told you to call Comcast, did I not?”

“They said that they could get someone out here Wednesday because of the snow-”

He took the television remote and threw it at you as hard as he could; he aimed for your face but it hit your shoulder instead. The plastic connected straight with your collarbone. You doubled over in pain, holding it as it throbbed. He stalked up to you and you moved back, the fear evident in your eyes.

His voice was teetering on the edge of lunacy as he screamed at you.

“I give you a simple fucking job to do and you can’t even get it done. You’re a lazy fat fucking bitch.” he shoved you hard but you manged to keep standing. “Spend all day sitting on your fucking ass while I have to go to work for the both of us! I need the television because I need to see the news coverage of the fucking case! You knew this! Or would you like me to get fired and the both of us live on the fucking streets!” He shoved you again, and you fell against the stone fireplace. Your hands came up to shield your face as he picked up the remote and hit you with it repeatedly. It caught your lip, busting it open.

You didn’t care about the blood, all you could think about was the gun still holstered in his belt. You got the television fixed the next day-

“Summer?”

You stood quickly and wiped away the tears from your cheeks, pretending like nothing was wrong. “Yeah?”

“Are you alright?”

It was Frankie.

You shook your head and smiled in the dingy plastic mirror in front of you. “Yeah, why?”

He could hear that you had been crying. He pushed on the door but it was locked.

You didn’t like that at all; you slipped off the counter and sat on the floor, against the door. Bracing it closed with your body “I’m fine-”

“You’re crying-”

“No, I’m not I- I get allergies and that horsefly hurt. I am such a baby I’ve always had a low pain tolerance-”

“If it’s something that I did -”

“Nope, it’s nothing that you did. I’m fine, I’m really, really fine I promise. I just got overwhelmed and needed some air. I’ll be back in a few minutes, and you guys can eat without me. Don’t let me hold you up.”

Frankie wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t want to force anything. “Would you like me to save you a plate?”

“Yes, please.”

You could hear his footsteps start to retreat and relaxed a little.

“Summer?”

“Yeah?”

Frankie was about to say something, but he thought better of it. He figured it was better to let you have your space now.

#ntwewy #nearthewater'sedge #pedro fanfiction #pedro fanfic #Frankie Morales fanfiction #Frankie Morales fanfic #frankie morales #Frankie fanfiction #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction

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sheabuttahwrites · 3 years

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[ I Know ]

. one : truth hurts...

abstract & introduction

**tw // Domestic Abuse

“You don't hear me talking to you?” he yelled menacingly, demanding an explanation.

My brain immediately scattered and I gasped for air as he shifted his hips, snatching himself out of me. “Baby... wh—what are you talking about?”

“Jade, you know what I'm talking about. You called me some other nigga’s name!”

I opened my mouth preparing to speak, yet, again, words were beyond me. Out of pure desperation, I closed my eyes, hoping that it was all just a terrible dream. But it wasn't. Sure enough, he was still right there in my face waiting for answers... that I did not have. I had called him Omari's name and I couldn't deny it.

But that doesn't mean I wasn't about to try.

“Cam, I didn't. You're hearing things.”

Without an ounce of hesitation, he began to shake his head. “Don't lie to me.”

“I'm not lying.”

He pushed himself up, hovering over me, and I watched his jaw tighten as he shut his eyes and took the deepest breath. He always did this whenever he was upset, but I don’t know why. It never actually helped calm him down. “What the fu—are you serious? I know what I heard. You think I’m stupid?”

“No,” I promptly corrected, leaving no room for assumptions. “But I didn't say someone else’s name, Cam. Why would I do that?”

He completely ignored me and left the bed, starting toward his clothes piled down by the foot. “...Yo, get up. I got something for your ass.”

At the sound of those words, I froze, paralyzed with fear. I already knew what he had for me, and I did not want it. I closed my eyes once again and filled my lungs, trying to figure a way out of this mess. I had seconds to save myself. I was in need of a literal miracle, therefore I could only take it to God. I prayed so hard, but nothing useful came to me, causing reality to set in. I had one choice, tell the truth or continue with the lie. “Cam…”

“Lying and fucking cheating? You know I don't play that shit,” he ranted, failing to even notice that I had just called his name.

“I'm not cheating on you, I swear,” I tried my best to reassure him. “I would never lie to you, baby.”

He turned to me and his glare cut into me like knives. “Bitch, I said get up.”

Tears pooled in my eyes as I slowly sat up and placed my feet to the floor. There was no way I was gonna change his mind. I was kidding myself ever thinking that I could.

He threw his t-shirt on and I reached down for my clothes as well, in hopes of curing at least a little bit of my vulnerability. “What you doing? I don't remember telling you to put shit back on.”

I swiftly opened my hand and let the shorts and cami fall back onto the carpet. “I'm sorry.”

“That means nothing,” he declared, walking over to me. All of those tears came crashing down; I was so scared. “You already know that shit don't faze me, Jay.”

“Cam, I love you! I'm not seeing anybody else! I don't even want anybody else! It's just you and me, baby. That's it,” I pled, but he ignored my defenses and raised his hand to me. Before I could even blink, it had landed on my tearstained face. I screamed as my neck violently twisted in the direction of his slap.

“Keep fucking lying!”

His volume had increased to new heights, and so did mine. “I'm not!”

Once I'd come to my senses, it was too late. I stared up into his eyes, so regretful for raising my voice, and he was looking back at me like I had lost my damn mind. It wasn’t my intent to be shouting at him, making shit worse for myself, but it was truly the pain talking. My skin was on fire. Within seconds, the same hand he had just smacked me with flew up around my neck. I instantly took hold of his wrist with both hands, shocked out of my mind. He had never gone this far before.

“Who the fuck you think you talking to? Huh?” He was standing right in my face. His tone was low, but still so intense. “Don’t you ever raise your voice at me. You hear me?” Terrified, I nodded to the best of my ability. “I can't fucking believe you! Everything I do for you, for us! I leave here for months at a time, working my ass off so your spoiled ass can have everything you want, and this is what I get in return?! You fucking around on me?” He looked so demented, watching me with narrowed eyes while I struggled to breathe and get him off of me. “You can't keep your fucking legs closed while I'm gone?” he questioned through clenched teeth, tightening his grip on my throat. My eyes doubled in size as tears continued to pour from them. I let him go and swatted at his hand crazily, my body begging for oxygen. I was beginning to panic. I never would've thought he’d have me in a situation afraid for my life. “What I tell you?! This shit is mine, you hear me? You are mine!”

“Cam... I can... can't bre...!” I honestly wasn’t sleeping with anyone else. I had only made a careless, stupid mistake and, damn, was I sorry. “Cam, please,” I mouthed to him. The edges of the room were starting to go dark.

“‘Please’ what? With your trifling ass!”

He slung my neck from his clutches and turned away in total disgust. I dropped to the floor, coughing and wheezing, trying to regulate my breathing. Foolishly thinking it was over, I put all of my attention on regaining some composure. I had to calm down. Losing the ability to breathe had always been a huge fear for me, and I didn't want to go into an anxiety attack. I had my hand on my chest, attempting to coax myself into taking deeper breaths, when I felt him grab the bun I had thrown to the top of my head.

“Get your hoe ass up!”

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed, just above a whisper. I knew I was wasting my time, but I still had to try. Maybe he would realize what he was doing and feel something for me past the rage. And cut me some damn slack. I felt like I was about to pass out.

But he refused to let up, yanking me by the hair. I shrieked in pain. “Shut your damn mouth! Don't let me have to tell you again.”

I went against his wishes and continued to try and plead with him. It was my only option. I couldn’t be quiet and I was always too fearful to fight back. I just wasn't ready for the type of trouble that hitting him would for sure bring. His temper had become outrageous and he was so much taller and stronger than me. And, anyway, I somehow managed to piss him off just fine without having to touch him first. I started to feel the burden of his strength as my body began to slide across the floor. I threw my hand up to my head, kicking and screaming, hoping my actions would convince him to release me. I quickly accepted that it wouldn’t be so simple, so I just toughed it out until I was in the doorway. As soon as I saw my chance, I reached out and grabbed onto it with both hands, holding on for dear life.

“Cameron, no! Please don't do this to me! I'm so sorry! Just let me up so we can talk, please,” I shouted in one breath.

“Shut the fuck up! And let the door go!”

Again, I didn't follow his orders; which caused me instant regret. He snatched my hair so hard that I knew some of it had been ripped from my scalp. “Aaaaah, Caaaaam,” I wailed, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to tug my locks away from him. “Stooooop!”

“Let it go,” he roared. Then he bent down and pried my fingers from the moulding. He lugged me out into the hallway and I started to reach for the walls, railing, tables, vases, anything I could attach myself to. But attempting to grip things with only one hand proved impossible. I was knocking shit over and it was falling everywhere, tears were flying from my eyes, the hurt in my voice was undeniable and he didn't give a single fuck. His only care was getting me to his desired destination.

I was somewhat relieved when I saw that he wasn't going for the stairs, but it was no time to celebrate. The carpet was burning the hell out of my hips. Time seemed to lag behind, as those were the longest seconds of my life, being violated by something that was usually so soft and gentle to me. Cam, on the other hand, I was used to.

After what had felt like forever, he finally brought the torture to an end in the upstairs media room about thirty-five feet away from where we’d started. And, without a pause, he picked me up and tossed my naked body onto the couch.

“Don't move.”

I was so winded and trembling horribly, but I decided to do as told and remained as still as possible. He started to walk up on me and I just closed my eyes, sure I wasn't doing well enough for him. Terrified of what might've been coming next, I pulled my knees up to my chest and put my face down.

“I'm not cheating on you, baby, I promise. I wouldn't do that to us.” I peeked up at him and hated how familiar this was. I couldn’t even lie to myself anymore and say I didn’t recognize the person standing before me, but he was still so different from the guy I had met and fallen for all those years ago. This version of him just didn't give a fuck. I could easily see that he had absolutely no remorse for what he was doing to me; or all he had done before today for that matter. But, embarrassingly enough, that didn't change the fact that some variation of him still had my heart. “You gotta believe me, Cam. I love you.”

Something I said must’ve been the last straw, because he balled his fist and punched me in the face. Hard! The force even knocked me over. I screamed out, grabbing a hold of my jaw. His blow had made my teeth puncture the inside of my mouth.

“Do you not understand ‘shut the fuck up’?! It means close your damn mouth,” he yelled, answering himself. “Stop fucking talking! Just shut the fuck up!”

There was no more fight left in me. I was in agony. The inside of my cheek stung and I could taste the blood as I checked for broken teeth, my neck was sore from battling against his hand, I could feel about three separate areas where I was sure I had no skin, my head hurt where my hair had been so forcefully pulled, my hands were beat up by the things that had denied my grasp, my anxiety was in overdrive, and one side of my face throbbed as it tried to recover from a slap and a punch. I was done trying to convince him of anything. He was free to think whatever he wanted.

“And you tell that nigga I'm coming for his ass next, ‘cause I'ma find out who the fuck he is! I swear, you got me so fucked up right now,” he huffed, pacing the floor and massaging his temples. “I don't want your dirty ass in my bed either, so get comfortable. And don't move.” His voice was calm, but, the way he eyed me, I knew not to get up. “When I get back in here, you better be in this same spot. Think I'm fucking playing.”

After his threatening lecture, he turned away and started to leave the room.

“Cam,” I reluctantly called, in a whisper. Blood was filling my mouth and I needed to spit badly. I needed my clothes, too.

“You ain't had enough,” he asked, coming toward me at a pace that caused my already high level of distress to rise. I put my hands out, in hopes that he wouldn't start up again. I knew I wouldn't be able to take much more.

“Yes, yes! I just want some clothes and I need to go spit,” I exclaimed in one hurried breath. Thank God, he stopped and kept his hands to himself.

“I want you naked. And swallow that shit.”

I frowned at his response. “But I can't swallow all this,” I gently opposed, tilting my head back to try and prevent it from spilling out as I spoke.

“Swallow it... or you'll be picking up your fucking teeth.”

Pure shock took over my expression. I couldn't fathom that this was actually happening to me. At his hand. The man I loved, who I thought loved me. I didn't even know what to do with myself anymore. I just felt drained. Dealing with him had become exhausting for me, in every sense of the word. And things weren't getting any better. Instead, he was getting worse.

New tears formed in my eyes as I fought to rid my mouth of the most foul tasting shit I had ever experienced. They quickly ran down to my chin where they dripped steadily onto my lap. Once I had succeeded, I looked up at him, longing for something--anything--and his face gave me nothing. At that point, all hope was lost. I turned my back to him, curling up and comforting myself, because I knew his ass wouldn't. And he just walked away.

As if it wasn't me who had stood by his side, rooting for him, when his ass had nothing; me who overlooked all of the bullshit he dished almost daily; me who had been nothing but good to him, done nothing but loved and trusted him; me who had gotten the abortion because he said he wasn't ready to be a father; and me who cooked for him, cleaned for him, did any and everything for him. Taking better care of him than I was myself. With no ring on my finger. That shit hurt more than any blow to the body could ever. That was a fucking blow to my heart!

All I could do was lie there in the dark, giving in to the desolation, weeping silently and praying things would turn around the way I always did. I ended up crying myself to sleep.

#original fiction #original characters #black characters #black writer #romance #drama #oc #love story #i know #SheaButtahWrites

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film-masochisme · 4 years

Photo

Trust (1990)

Directed by Hal Hartley

Doomsy’s Rating: 100/100 (My favorite film!)

Is Trust the best film ever made from a technical point of view? No. Is it my favorite film of all time? Hell yes it is. At this point, I think I’ve seen this classic going on fifty times and every time it’s just perfect and everything I could ever want in a film.

Before you read any further, I implore you if you’ve never heard of this film (understandable if you haven’t, it’s somewhat obscure), stop what you’re doing and make the effort to find it.

Trust, for lack of a better word, invented emo culture.

It didn’t popularize it—the film was little seen at the time of its release outside arthouse crowds and fans of the director—but it created the first modern emo protagonist way back in 1989 with the wonderfully unpredictable icon and quote machine Matthew Slaughter, seen below in all his jet-black, chain-smoking laconism:

Matthew Slaughter may be, in my humble opinion, one of the top five greatest cinema characters ever. Martin Donovan, who has to date, appeared in nine of director Hal Hartley’s films, brings this troubled, intellectual, confrontation-prone yet empathetic soul to life in a layered performance of gruff scowl and poetic wisdom. If Holden Caulfield’s internal musings of apathy were the skeleton, Matthew Slaughter is the muscular exterior, throwing glances of possession and clouds of smoke to whoever dares to question his integrity. His permanently clenched fists and avoidance of eye contact belie the traumatic home life that in another film would be presented as more serious. Here, instead of regarding parental abuse with the utmost sincerity, Matthew’s obsessive-compulsive, violent father (played with disturbing teeth-gnashing verve by John MacKay) is shown as a near caricature, literally exploding into his son’s room with nefarious intentions, the door being cartoonishly thrown off its hinges like some Looney Tunes gag. But Matthew’s father is no joke. His gaslighting and nasty streak are instantly relatable, evoking no laughs just as Hartley surely intended. Matthew’s half of the film is sad and lonely, but insightful and warm in a way that only a humanist at heart could affect. His deadpan aphorisms are endlessly quotable and influenced many romantic depressives for decades to come, including Jim Carrey’s Joel in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Donnie Darko’s title character, the protagonist of Submarine, and so forth. But alas, Trust is a film of two protagonists and their aimless lives on Long Island and their hope in each other. So, more on Matthew a little later on.

Trust’s other half is dominated by the luminous, adorable Adrienne Shelly in her greatest role, as Maria, a quick-witted and carefree 17-year-old girl grappling with an unplanned pregnancy at the hands of her pathetic quarterback boyfriend Anthony, and suddenly being cast adrift in a cruel and unforgiving town of sexual predators, toxic masculinity, and unstable homes. She begins the film an archetypal nubile, but through her interactions and ultimate romantic relationship with the older and likely asexual Matthew, she learns to believe in someone other than herself and to find her place and confidence. Adrienne Shelly, the beautiful, effervescent soul that was sadly murdered a mere fifteen years later, is a beaming ray of light no matter what room she enters.

Maria, as a pregnant teen struggling to find a path and possessing an acerbic tongue and a penchant for leaving accidental disaster in her wake, precedes Juno by nearly two decades and again, has clearly influenced emo culture with her hilariously dorky glasses (seen below) and sunken, eyeliner heavy aesthetic. She begins the film by unintentionally slapping her father into a heart attack-induced untimely demise, then spends the rest of her narrative attempting to make amends with her psychopathic mother (a fantastic Merritt Nelson) and make up her mind over whether to keep her child, played out in a highly-stylized manner that some would compare to the works of David Lynch (namely the domestic areas of Twin Peaks) but more closely aligns with the literary approach of Salinger or the Bronte sisters.

One thing that Trust managed to do, before perhaps any other piece of media at that time, was show how the alienation of youth from the commercialism of the 1980s was already blooming, and it captured, before grunge took it mainstream, the depressing lack of direction experienced by outsiders who couldn’t fit into Reagan’s model. Matthew and Maria do not fit in to the respective lives: Matthew is a thirty-year-old genius still living with a father who hates him, and despite his gifts, has sustained a failure to launch; Maria is a pregnant high school dropout with nothing on her mind besides what’s ten feet in front of her. These two, forced to rely on lethal safety nets, meet by pure happenstance on a cold night in a ramshackle building, and share four or five honest lines and a connection is forged.Their attempts to bring the other into their respective abusive homes are met with consternation and further verbal and physical altercations, almost all of which are darkly humorous in some way, but never successful. And yet, their initial desires to become responsible members of society only decay their psyches more. It is here that we realize while they may not get a happy ending, they have retained their independent identities and succeeded at what they set out to do.

The best scene in the film comes about halfway through, where Matthew comes into a bar, casually punches two people, then sits down with a massive “keep out” sign practically stapled to his forehead when he’s approached by Peg, Maria’s older, divorced sister. The dialogue of this scene, some of the best I’ve ever seen, somehow pales in comparison to the perfectly-tuned chemistry between the sexy, sassy Peg and the nihilistic Matthew, both of them playing off the other’s perceived weaknesses like the screwball comedies of old. The scene climaxes in a poisonous barb that leaves Peg speechless, and is the only time in entire film when Matthew utilizes a lowbrow dialectic.

It’s also one of the few instances in the entire film when Matthew looks at a character other than Maria while addressing them, leading me to believe (among other reasons) that he’s somewhere on the autism spectrum. His extreme difficulty in opening up to others is shown in painstaking detail, as is his extreme intelligence and lack of upward momentum. Whenever someone or something threatens his world and paradigms, he will often react violently or impulsively. This is a man who carries around a handgrenade “just in case.” He is terrified of change, but he is also aware of the fact that life is always changing. Sometimes quickly, perhaps even painfully, but it does.

The strange thing is that, even by the film’s end, despite his best efforts, Matthew’s changes as a character are minute. His growth, while not stunted per se, is reliant on whether he is understood, and even Maria, his soul mate, doesn’t get him sometimes. Relationships with a partner on the autism spectrum can be tricky (speaking from experience) but are so worthwhile because they are not unsure of who they are or what they want. Matthew spends much of his dialogue speaking his mind, at times perhaps even too direct (as above) but he is a singular and thoughtful person who wants to do right by the world, even when he doesn’t agree with it.

As the film progresses and Maria’s arc of the film takes precedence, the film shifts direction slightly into a powerfully feminist and deeply open-minded look at a woman’s right to choice, both in her life direction, and more bluntly, about abortion issues. A wonderful subplot involving a no-nonsense nurse (Karen Sillas) that nonchalantly offers her teenage abortion patients shots of scotch in celebration is both hysterical and sad, running the gamut of emotions with a tone of ambivalence. It is the flat prosody of the film that makes all these individual elements come to life, from top down.

Overall, Trust is a film without Hollywood glitz, but just as achingly romantic and heartfelt and emotionally fulfilling as the silver screen can provide, and most postmodern romantics and emo culture wouldn’t exist without its influence. It’s as honest, sincere and a real as movies get.

Please, everyone just watch this. It would be Tumblr’s favorite movie, just like it is mine.

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wolfpawn · 5 years

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Life is a Game of Risks

Summary - Tom walks into a cafe near RADA while working on Hamlet to see a woman sitting down in a corner, he knows her, but he is not sure from where. It finally dawns on him, an old family friend, the one that suggested to him to go into acting and whom as they ascended to adulthood, he had a crush on, but time passed and nothing happened. Now he meets Alexianna again and he is not going to miss the chance to speak with her once more, but there is an issue, time has not been good to her, her life is more complex now. Can Tom handle what it entails when the one you care for has a child already and can Alexianna deal with the pressures of being the real-life girlfriend of the internet’s boyfriend?

Chapter 3

Chapter Summary - Tom and Alexianna get coffee and discuss things in greater detail, leading to a few reveals about Alexianna's life over the past few years.

TRIGGERS - Past domestic abuse, Past emotional abuse, Past sexual abuse.

Previous Chapter

Request if you wish to be tagged

'So, is there someone, in particular, you need to be home for at five for?' He asked, trying to not sound nosy. In truth he just wanted Alexianna to actually talk about herself and thought it a good place to start.

'Not really, no.'

'So no boyfriend?'

'No, you?'

'Not really into guys myself, no.' Tom smiled before laughing slightly, 'No, I am single these days.'

'No more pop princesses?' Alexianna teased.

'No.' The way Tom looked at his cup told her a lot. 'That is not something I would ever consider again.'

'That's your choice.' Alexianna stated, not pushing the issue any further.

'Do you talk to your mother these days?' There was a sudden tension in the air as Alexianna looked at him silently. 'I'm sorry, I should not have asked.'

'I haven't spoken to my mother in four years.'

'I would have thought you would be happier about that if she was the same as she was when you grew up,' Tom prodded gently.

'I suppose I should, it came to a head, everything, and I needed her, but she wasn't there, I was really down about it. I thought she would be there, because she knew what it was like, but no.'

Tom frowned, unsure of what to say. 'I'm sorry.'

'Not your fault.' Alexianna dismissed.

'Was it even yours?' she did not answer. 'Lexi?'

'It doesn't matter. I know it wasn't, but still, part of my brain niggles at me that if I had done this or that better, it wouldn't have happened.' she explained. Tom took her hand in his and squeezed it gently, to show her he was there, noticing that it was hot and sweaty. 'I was married.' she admitted it as though it was something dirty, something to be ashamed of. 'But he left, four years ago.'

'I...' There was nothing Tom could think of to say to that.

'I have not heard anything from him since, nothing. I finally applied last year for a divorce, but I couldn't find him to sign the papers.'

'Where does that leave you?' Tom asked curiously, knowing nothing of such situations.

'I am doing it through a solicitor that deals with these sorts of cases, but it is not easy.'

'I dare say not. How long were you married?'

'Three years.' the manner in which she said it told Tom it was not the most pleasant of times. 'I made some terrible decisions, it cost me college, everything.'

'So that is why you are back in college now?' She nodded. 'You are so strong.' he commended, smiling encouragingly at her.

'I got a bit sideswiped, but I'm getting there.' Her smile was not as big, or as confident as his, but she still meant it. 'What about you?'

'No marriages or anything, I have been so busy with work, then last year...'

'You sound like you regret it.'

'I do, in many respects, I don't in others.' he decided to be honest, she was more than so with him. 'Is that why your mother...'

'When it happened her, it was my father’s fault, he was in the wrong, he was the problem, when it happened me, it was all me, I made the mistakes, I was the reason he left.' she stated.

'How does Daniel feel about it?' Tom asked, referencing her older brother.

'Daniel wants to know where he is,' she admitted. 'So he can find him and bury him.'

Tom smiled, Daniel was only two years older than Alexianna and they were always close, she almost mothered him in many respects, cooking, cleaning, being the mother they didn't really have. 'Do you still talk?'

'He works on the rigs up in the North Sea, he is down every few months, he pays my rent and everything, he forked out for me to get back to school.' She smiled fondly. 'I just make sure he is fed and his clothes washed when he is back. He is home at the moment.'

'Good, tell him I said hi,' Tom was relieved she at least had her brother for company.

'I will.' she promised. She looked at the expensive watch on Tom's wrist. 'I have taken enough of your day.' she rose to her feet.

Tom was somewhat startled by her jumping out of the chair. 'It's no trouble, Lexi.' she gave a small grimace of a smile. 'Do you not like that name anymore?'

'It brings back some memories.' she explained.

'Bad ones?' Tom guessed.

'No, not bad.' there was a distance in her voice and a smile on her face as she said that.

'I don't understand.'

'Your family always called me that, you guys and Daniel, so it just...it can be hard hearing it, I miss those times.'

'Have you spoken to Emma recently?'

'I haven't spoken to Emma in ten years.' Tom frowned. 'She went to college and I just...I never heard from her again, I guess she got busy.'

'Did you try to contact her?'

'Yeah, for a while, but things got bad then so...' She gently took the bag off the table, 'I better run, Tom. I need to get back before Daniel, he lost his old key so we got new locks in so he doesn't have a key, he'll be locked out otherwise.'

'Of course,' he rose to his feet, noting how she never grew over the five foot three she had been when he last saw her. He realised too she lied about someone waiting for her but said nothing. 'I know this is odd, but would you mind if we met again soon?' She looked up at him, perplexed. 'I enjoyed catching up with you, not many people have time for normal talk these days, they all want to know who I know and how I can help them.'

'The joys of celebrity.' Alexianna joked before becoming serious. 'I...' Tom looked at her pleadingly. 'You have my number now, you can talk whenever you're free.'

'I promise I won't give it to anyone.' he held up his hand like he was swearing an oath.

'I know, I have far more leverage than you in this. I am a nameless no one, you are a movie star with crazy fans.' she grinned.

Tom licked his teeth, 'Yes, the ball is in your court there.'

'I would never do that Tom, you know...you can trust me.'

'I don't know you as I did,' he acknowledged. 'But the Alexianna I knew would never tell anyone anything she knew she shouldn't. I think you're still her.'

'That's a lot of faith to put on a person you have not known in years. Has that bitten your ass before now?'

'Yes, it has. I guess I am a slow learner.'

'Or the perpetual optimist,' she smiled. 'I won't give it to anyone, I have a lot of shit on teenage you and I never even uttered a word to your sisters or my brother.'

'Like what?' Tom asked curiously.

'The time you stole your mom's car and went to buy alcohol and then dinged her car on the way back.' Tom's eyes widened with horror. 'I saw you, and I said nothing.'

'Thank you.' Tom smiled. Alexianna went to extend her hand to shake his, but Tom leant forward and embraced her in a hug. Part of her wanted to pull back, but the smell of his cologne engulfed her, along with his kind gesture, making her cease her protest and embrace him back. 'You've filled out.' She noted when they moved apart.

'You too.' Tom immediately stuttered. 'Not that you are fat or anything, just that you got breasts. I mean, shit.' In a mix of hilarity and mortification, Alexianna laughed. 'I'm so sorry, I made this so awkward.'

'It's fine. I will see you soon Tom.' she turned and walked away.

When she was out of sight, Tom put his hands behind his head. 'I am a fucking idiot.'

'Do I want to know?' he turned to see Branagh behind him.

'I just bumped into an old friend today.'

'Riiiight.' the older actor asked, not seeing how that was an issue.

'I just told her she filled out, then proceeded to tell her that I did not mean to imply she was fat, but that she got breasts.' he explained. Branagh stood still for a moment, computing Tom's words before erupting in laughter. 'Yes, I have just made a tit of myself.'

It took a few moments for Branagh to cease laughing. 'Please do not tell me this "family friend" is someone you wished to pursue as something more with.' Tom did not respond, 'You don't like making life easy on yourself, do you?'

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic #chapter 5 #Life is a Game of Risks

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sixmorningsafter · 6 years

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SMA Flashback, Maroline

Hey guys, I posted this flashback a while ago on ff.net but just in case anyone missed it or skipped it, it’s going to be pretty relevant to the next chapter, so I’m posting it here, too.

Summary: A surprise visit from Matt leaves Caroline reeling, and Bonnie gets a glimpse of what's been going on behind closed doors. TW: implications of domestic abuse.

Emory University Spring Semester, 2012

It was her fault.

He'd driven all the way from Texas to surprise her. Twelve hours in his rattling rust bucket of a 1982 Ford Pickup, windows down, stereo busted, likely listening to nothing but intermittent flares of talk radio between long, mind-numbing stretches of static. Twelve hours of no air conditioning in the southern humidity, of swampy Louisiana, muddy Mississippi, and balmy Alabama whizzing past him in a russet blur of not-quite-summer.

He'd stopped in Houston to get her favorite tacos from Ultimo's Taco Truck—extra guac, no sour cream—and they'd braved the heat in a dingy little cooler in the backseat. He'd even picked up a bottle of her favorite champagne, a bottle she knew he couldn't afford, because he'd wanted to celebrate: he'd been promoted to manager at the Grill. He could finally make a decent salary, enough to chip in for Vicky's rehab—maybe even enough to get a decent place in a year or two.

So really, it was her fault. Most of it, anyway. Maybe all of it.

She hadn't meant to seem unhappy to see him. She just wasn't expecting it. She'd been in the middle of cramming for her microeconomics final, brow furrowed, highlighter a citrine blur in her fingers, when she heard the knock on the door. Seeing Matt standing there with his crinkly-eyed smile, taco bag in one hand and champagne bottle in the other, made her giddily, soaringly, stupidly happy.

It always did.

But it also stressed her out. Her final was on Monday. She needed an absolute knockout performance to pull off a decent grade in the class, and she hadn't budgeted in Matt time. The tension began creeping in about thirty minutes after he got there, right as the rush of surprise began to fade, and like all of her emotions, it shone bright and obvious on her face.

He'd never been big on school, so the concept of caring about grades wasn't something he really sympathized with. She understood where he was coming from—he was only there for the weekend, she could probably just study Sunday night after he left, what did one stupid class matter in the big scheme of things, in the scheme of them, of their heady, hungry, songs-written-about-it kind of story—but obviously not enough, because it started a fight.

The first one, anyway.

The second fight was different, but also her fault. They were twined in her bed, lolling and lazy, naked skin auroral in the fading glow of the Georgia sunset, and even though they'd just made up, even though their last fight had ended a mere orgasm ago, she pushed a bit. About the job, about his goals, about Wimberley and whether he had any plans of getting out of their tiny Texan hometown.

She hadn't meant to sound pushy, she'd just meant to open up a realistic dialogue about their future and how they might navigate it together, but he immediately went on the defensive. He took it as her belittling his promotion, as her patronizing him and being a snob, and maybe there was a bit of truth in that, really, because Matt was smart as hell and it was hard for her to watch him sell himself so short, but at the same time, if that's what made him happy, she needed to support it, right?

The second fight was worse. A lot worse. It had all its own fire plus the embers of the first one, and it spread far beyond the bounds of its starting point. It spread to old resentments, past fights—to her signing him up for the SAT four years ago when he'd said he wasn't interested in college, to him being high more and more often when they talked on the phone, to Tyler and the time she'd accidentally passed out next to him while studying on her bed, on and on and nastier and louder until their throats were raw.

The sex that followed was different, too. Less 'make-up' and more 'make-a-point'. Bruising grips replaced meandering caresses. Sweet, whispered nothings became possessive growls, demeaning growls, growls of 'you think Tyler can make you moan like that?'. He didn't walk the line between pain and pleasure so much as zigzag it—one second she was on the brink of climax, the next she was wincing and trying to slow him down.

He'd chalk it up to rough sex. He always did, always gave her that baffled look of his, the one that made her feel like a moron for even saying anything. 'Since when is rough an issue for you?' She could never find the words to explain what was different about it, what made it feel like there was spite in his movements, like a part of him was trying to hurt her, trying to show her he could do whatever he wanted to her. So she'd flounder, and with a flare of amusement that screamed of humoring her, he'd concede that maybe he'd still been a little worked up from the fight, maybe he'd lost himself a bit in the leftover adrenaline.

Before he left, he told her, like he always did, that all the shit in his life was worth it if the trade-off was her. That he was sorry about the argument, that he'd start looking into the future, and that ultimately, the only thing that mattered to him was having her in it. She couldn't help but think that it was all said with a glint, though—the smug glint of the benevolent victor, of the person who knew he'd emerged in effortless control of a situation but wanted to seem gracious. It was an apology that had nothing to lose because it'd already won.

But then he pressed his forehead against hers and breathed her in, fingers gentle against her chin, angling her mouth up so he could brush her lips in light, nipping kisses, and she felt herself backtracking. Maybe he hadjust been a little too riled up from the fight—after all, how could someone holding her the way he was now, like she was the most delicate thing in the world, ever want to hurt her? It didn't make sense. Matt would die over hurting her. He was right, she was just being stupid.

He'd driven all the way here.

He'd brought her favorite tacos.

He'd splurged on her favorite champagne.

And she'd started two fights in exchange.

It was obviously her fault.

So why was she sitting alone in her bathtub, nauseated and trembling, unable to stop staring at the marks on her skin? Why couldn't she stop imagining the brief, terrifying flash of satisfaction she swore sometimes crossed his face whenever his mercurial fingers shifted her gasps into grimaces? Why did she feel like her bones were dissolving, like she was slowly caving in on herself one shaky breath at a time? Why did she feel so pathetically, inconsequentially, crushingly small?

The sound of the front door swinging open made her stiffen. "Sorry, guys!" she heard Bonnie's wry voice call out from the living room, and she immediately abandoned the bottle of wine in her hand, straightening up and scrubbing a hand over her face. "I don't want to interrupt the love nest, I just need to grab my—" Bonnie halted in the bathroom door, face crumpling at the sight of Caroline huddled in the bathtub in her underwear, "…curling iron."

Caroline's face broke into a fiercely bright smile. "Hey, girl!"

"Hey." The reply was puzzled, hesitant—Bonnie knew her well enough to know the bathtub never meant anything good. She blinked for a second before casting a glance over her shoulder. "Where's Matt?"

"Oh, you just missed him—he left about an hour ago." Her stare slowly shifted back to her, and Caroline felt her lips struggling to hold her smile. "He said have a safe flight."

Bonnie gave a slow nod, eyes fixed below her face, and it took Caroline a second to remember he'd grabbed her by the neck. Hard. She shot an instinctive hand up to her throat, blocking it from view, and Bonnie's stare flickered. "Care…"

Tears pricked at her eyes and she averted them. "It's nothing."

Bonnie dropped her bag on the floor and approached the tub, and Caroline wrapped her arms around her body to try and hide it, hot with shame, bracing for the inevitable reaction. It came in the form of a sharp intake of breath. "Caroline," Bonnie gasped, stopping about a foot from the tub in shock, and Caroline shoved a nervous hand through her hair.

"It's not what it looks like."

"Like hell it isn't," Bonnie replied, stare raking over the constellation of deep, burgundy bruises spanning her upper thigh in horror, and before Caroline could give another instinctive negation, could throw out a tinny 'I bruise really easily!', could invent some kind of accident that shifted the blame, her phone began buzzing against the sink. Even from a distance, she saw the name 'Matt' flashing on the screen.

Furious, Bonnie surged over to the sink and swiped it up, and Caroline felt her veins flood with panic. "Bonnie, no!"

"Matt," Bonnie hissed in greeting, voice wavering with rage, and she whirled around to look at Caroline. Upon catching sight of her desperate face, however, she froze.

"Please," Caroline whispered, shaking her head no, tears hot against her cheeks. "Just… just not yet." Bonnie held her stare for a long, heart-breaking beat before drawing in a tight breath.

"Hey," she said over the phone, pushing a stiff hand through her hair. "Yeah, I'm okay, I just…" she closed her eyes, running her hand over her face, and Caroline felt her heart racing in her chest, "I actually just got some really shitty news about my mom, and I'm not really sure how to deal with it, and I really need my best friend right now, so I was wondering if you could just talk to her tomorrow."

Her chest loosened in a wave of relief.

Bonnie's stare sharpened slightly, jaw locking. "Yeah, I know she has a test tomorrow." Her lips pressed into a humorless line, fingers tight around the phone. "Yeah. Yeah, I got it." A long beat. "She's in the shower right now, but I'll let he—" she let out a sharp sigh at what was likely an interruption, hand closing into a fist. "Matt. I need my fucking friend, alright? Just give me tonight. You'll survive."

She hung up without waiting for a response and proceeded to shut the phone off. Caroline stared at her hands, unable to bring herself to look her in the eye. Bonnie had always known Matt could be intense—she'd overheard enough of their fights to have a sense for that—but Caroline knew she'd never seen her quite like this. No one had.

She didn't know what to expect. Her skin burned with a paradoxical mixture of denial and shame. Was Bonnie mad at her? Was she mad at herself? Was she responsible for letting it happen, for letting it get to this point? She simultaneously wanted to convince her that it was all a misunderstanding and cry out all of the pent up emotions she'd been hiding, but before she could make a call, Bonnie's arms were around her, pulling her into a quiet, gentle hug.

And that was all it took for her to crack. She didn't know how long she cried. Minutes, hours—time blurred, dusk faded into night, and Bonnie merely sat with her in the tub, stroking her hair and occasionally murmuring that it was going to be okay. When Caroline finally managed to ease her sobs into the occasional hitched breath, she shot Bonnie a watery look.

"I'm s-so sorry."

Bonnie shook her head. "Care, you have nothing to be sorry about."

"No, no, I…" she swallowed, slowly pushing herself up to a full sitting position and letting out a strained little laugh. "This is my stupid melodrama and I dragged you into it and—"

"Caroline," Bonnie said firmly, pushing herself up along the side of the tub with a serious expression, "I don't know what you're going through right now, and I'm not going to pressure you to talk about anything you don't want to talk about. But please, please know," she reached forward to take light hold of her shoulders, giving her a loaded stare, "this isn't stupid. This is the antithesis of stupid. This is completely, heartbreakingly serious, and if he's somehow made you feel like any part of this is a joke, he's lying. The last thing this is is a joke."

Caroline merely stared at her, struggling not to start crying again—God, she was so sick of fucking crying—and before she could crack, she gave a quick nod and cleared her throat. "Can we talk about something else?"

Bonnie's expression softened. "Whatever you want." Caroline kept her bleary eyes on her trembling hands, struggling to come up with a topic, and after a long beat of silence, Bonnie slowly leaned forward. "Did you see yesterday's Real Housewives?"

Caroline slipped into a hoarse laugh. Bonnie hated The Real Housewives. "Orange County or Atlanta?"

Bonnie scoffed. "You know Hotlanta is the only way I roll."

Caroline's lips took on a weak smile. "No, I missed yesterday's." She waved a tired hand, smile straining. "Matt and all." Bonnie nodded, biting her bottom lip, and Caroline let out a shaky sigh. "I mean, I was supposed to be studying all weekend anyway, so… wouldn't have seen them either way."

Bonnie's brow furrowed. "Right, your final's tomorrow."

Caroline sighed, dropping her head against her knees. "I'm going to bomb it, Bon."

"You don't know that."

"Oh, but I do," Caroline said with a weak laugh. "I have twelve chapters left to cover and three of them are brand new."

Bonnie straightened up and checked her watch. "What time's your test?"

Her shoulders lifted into a vague shrug. "Nine."

"Nine," Bonnie repeated, eyes narrowing in brief calculation before she reached back and pushed herself up to her feet. Caroline's brow furrowed.

"What are you doing?"

"Switching my flight," Bonnie replied, stepping out of the tub and heading over to her abandoned bag, and Caroline lifted her head off her knees in alarm.

"What?"

"It's 8:30 now, which means that factoring in the time it'll take to get to campus, we have exactly twelve hours to get you ready to kick this final's ass."

Caroline merely blinked. "Bon, no, you're—" she shook her head as Bonnie fished out her phone and began typing away, baffled, "—you're done with the semester, people are expecting you back home, I can't—"

"Too late—done," she said, lips quirking at the corners, though her brow promptly furrowed. "Actually, should I fly out tomorrow night, or are we going to want to go out to celebrate your slayage?" At Caroline's dumbfounded silence, she nodded, lifting a finger. "You're right—figure that out later. Let's start with reinforcements."

She tapped her phone and brought it up to her ear, chewing her lip. "Lockwood," she said after a beat, "I need you to peace out of whatever party you're terrorizing freshman at and pick up literally every source of caffeine you can find from the 7-Eleven. Yep. Caroline's got a final tomorrow." Her brow furrowed after a second. "Obviously. And sour worms, too. And twizzlers." Her eyes flashed with attitude. "Do not snack shame me." She shot Caroline a 'can you believe this guy' look before turning around and waltzing out of the bathroom. "Oh, and see if the Delts have one of those study bibles for Micro…"

Caroline merely stared at the empty doorway, thoroughly overwhelmed, chest tight, tears once again pricking at her eyes, but this time they were from an entirely different emotion. She was so grateful she could burst. She'd been convinced her night would be her alone in their apartment, dreading the break of day, drinking cheap wine till she finally managed to pass out and forget for a while.

Instead, her night was Bonnie acting out vocab terms through overzealous interpretive dance, Tyler coming up with wildly inappropriate mnemonic devices for all the different laws, a constantly brewing pot of coffee, sixteen different heart-attack-waiting-to-happen snack options, and more five-hour-energy shots than should've been survivable. Tyler passed out on the armchair at about 5 AM, drooling on a stack of flashcards, but Bonnie somehow stuck it out till the bitter end, even going so far as to make her a 'healthy breakfast!' of pop tarts and runny eggs.

Caroline managed to survive the class with a B+.

A few months later, she would manage to survive Matt, too.

What she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to survive, wasn't sure she'd ever want to survive, was a life where her best friend and knight in 5-foot armor wasn't Bonnie high-kick-means-appreciating-asset-droppin'-it-low-means-depreciating-asset Bennett.

#six mornings after #sma caroline #sma matt #sma bonnie #sma tyler #sma maroline #sma baroline #sma forwood #writing #flashback

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Aja Naomi King on Makeup as Armour, Ice Baths and Being Inspired by L’Oréal Paris’ Women of Worth

Last night on International Women’s Day, L’Oréal Paris held its third annual Women of Worth gala, which honours Canadian women who volunteer in their communities and awards them $10,000 to put towards their causes. Nominees included Nicole White who started Moon Time Sisters, a project that provides menstrual products to those with little or no access in Northern Indigenous communities, and this year’s award winner, Lynne Rosychuk, who received an additional $10,000 to help fund The Jessica Martel Memorial Foundation which supports victims of domestic violence. It was an evening filled with moving speeches and stories–and plenty of tears. No wonder last year’s host, Dame Helen Mirren, said being at the event was better than attending the Academy Awards.

Before the festivities, we sat down with this year’s host Aja Naomi King, star of How to Get Away with Murder, to talk about makeup as armour, what it means to be a woman of colour in Hollywood, and why she’s into taking ice baths.

Before hosting this year, how much did you know about the L’Oréal Paris Women of Worth program?

“I went to my first Women of Worth event two years ago in New York. You read about it and hear about it, but it’s not until you are in that room and hear [these women] talking about why they’ve made the decisions that they made to do these things [that you understand how powerful it is]. It is so overwhelming, so incredible, so inspiring. These women were like, ‘I’ve got to do something about this.’ And they did. And I think that’s what makes it so powerful.”

I read that as a child you liked to watch your mom apply her makeup before she went to work, and that she seemed to really enjoy the ritual, rather than rushing through it or looking at it simply as another step in her morning routine.

“My mother was and continues to be a working woman, and I think for her that was her me time before starting a crazy hectic day. My mother works in television, which was—and still kind of continues to be—a very male-dominated work environment. And so as a woman—especially a woman of colour—it can be a bit of battle. For her it was almost like putting on her armour. It was about finding that sense of calm within her and not letting anyone destroy that.”

How did your mother feel about you wearing makeup?

“She was never like ‘you can’t wear makeup’ or ‘you can’t talk to boys’ or things like that. She trusted me. I was a goody-two shoes. For the bulk of my formative years I was in braces and glasses. My mom was like ‘you’re square and you’re a nerd. I have nothing to worry about with you.’”

What was the first beauty product you bought for yourself?

“I don’t remember the first, but I remember the thing that was the most impactful to me. I was at an age where I was really trying to explore makeup because all my friends were wearing it, and they were all looking so cute. I wanted to be able to do that too, but it was a struggle because I would buy eyeshadows and they wouldn’t show up on my skin. It was really frustrating. Then L’Oréal Paris came out with these high-intensity pigments, their HiP line [of eyeshadows and eyeliners]. I put one on and I was like ‘I can see it!’ When l think back to how that felt… I felt beautiful, and I felt like someone else thought I was beautiful, and deserved to be able to wear makeup and be included.”

You live in Los Angeles, the land of wellness. Are you into the movement?

“One of the biggest things that I’ve done for myself recently is that I don’t immediately look at my phone when I wake up in the morning. I actually have a morning with myself, instead of getting sucked into social media, email and text messages. That’s been really wonderful, to set my perspective and really key into myself. I really enjoy journaling during that time. And I love infrared saunas, with a bluetooth hook up so that I can listen to a meditation app. Lately, I’m also into ice baths. Every time I step out, there’s this feeling of renewal. Like, I can do anything!”

Knowing that your mom works in the entertainment industry, what has it been like for her to see things shift toward more inclusivity and transparency, and how do you both feel about these important changes?

“It’s been so great to see the tremendous changes over these past couple of years and the conversations that people have been having. But it has taken so long, and so many women have had to fight so hard just to get us to a place where we can be comfortable enough to really talk about things like sexual harassment and abuse, and then saying time’s up. I don’t think that would have been possible without the women who climbed to these places where no one could take their power away if they said something or supported another woman for saying something. [My mom’s experience working in television] was that she was always surrounded by white men. She had to be very comfortable being in a room with only white men, and being able to find her voice, speak up and disagree, which can be very challenging when you are afraid you might lose your job over being that one dissenting voice. We still have a ways to go in terms of making sure these boardrooms are diverse and inclusive, and that all these voices behind the camera are being heard.”

A key part of this movement is women lifting other women up. Who were some of your mentors in the industry when you were starting out?

“I loved watching Viola [Davis], Shonda [Rhimes] and Kerry [Washington] from afar, and seeing everything that they were doing. And then people who had been kind to me very randomly; my mom happened to know someone that was a friend of a friend of Angela Bassett and they asked her to call me to give me advice before I went to grad school. And she did. It was crazy! That’s why now whenever someone’s like ‘oh would you talk to my child about this, or have coffee with them,’ [I do it]. It’s so important to pass it on.”

See all the L’Oréal Women of Worth 2019 nominees and their causes below:

Photography Courtesy of L’Oréal Paris

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L’Oréal Women of Worth 2019 Nominees: Adeola Olubamiji

Adeola Olubamiji was the first black person to ever earn a PhD in biomedical engineering at a Canadian university. Having witnessed the lack of diversity in the STEM field first-hand, Olubamiji set out to encourage women and visible minorities to pursue the sciences as a career through STEMHub Foundation. The organization works to helps young people secure admission and scholarships to graduate and undergraduate programs through their STEM-focused mentorships opportunities and workshops.

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L’Oréal Women of Worth 2019 Nominees: Danielle Main

After Danielle Main found out she didn’t qualify for a service dog despite being legally blind, she decided to train her dog Pedro. It wasn’t until he successfully received his provincial guide dog certification that Main decided to found Leash of Hope, an organization that provides trained, certified service dogs to people on long wait lists or who are also considered ineligible.

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L’Oréal Women of Worth 2019 Nominees: Eliza Olson

Eliza Olson has been working to conserve Delta, British Columbia’s Burns Bog since 1988. The 3,000 hectares of wetland is home to 300 plant and animal species as well as 175 bird species and is responsible for the region’s water regulation. After years of devastation due to mining and farming, the bog was officially declared an Ecological Conservancy Area in 2005 and a Ramsar Wetland of International Significance in 2012 thanks to Olson’s work.

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L’Oréal Women of Worth 2019 Nominees: Isabelle Ducharme

Isabelle Ducharme became an activist after she was paralyzed in a car accident when she was 21. With a new understanding of the hardships people with disabilities face, Ducharme began working with the government, local businesses and tourism boards to increase accessibility through her role as the Chair of the Board of Directors for Kéroul and as a board member of the Foundation for Spinal Cord Research.

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L’Oréal Women of Worth 2019 Nominees: Ishita Aggarwal

Ishita Aggarwal is working to help other women see their worth. Through her non-profit Mom’s the Word, Aggarwal is helping new and expecting mothers in need by providing them with essentials like prenatal workshops, food stamps, milk coupons, bus tokens and prenatal vitamins as well as connecting them with nurses and doctors.

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L’Oréal Women of Worth 2019 Nominees: Katie Mahoney

Katie Mahoney was 22 when she founded her charitable organization, We Are Young. Inspired by her own grandparents, Mahoney’s work is focused on celebrating senior citizens’s accomplishments and granting their unfulfilled wishes.

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L’Oréal Women of Worth 2019 Nominees: Lynda Debono

Lynda Debono decided to start Sarah & Claire’s Food Drive after a conversation with her six-year-old daughter about local families who don’t have enough to eat. Ten years later, the project has become the largest community-based charity food provider for Toronto’s Daily Bread Food Bank and has raised more than 225,000 kilograms of food or 400,000 meals.

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L’Oréal Women of Worth 2019 Nominees: Lynne Rosychuk

In 2009, Lynne Rosychuk’s daughter Jessica was murdered by her common-law husband. Suddenly aware of the lack of resources for victims of domestic abuse in rural Alberta, Rosychuk set out to make a change through her Jessica Martel Memorial Foundation. With the primary goal of providing access to safe temporary housing and resources to people in need, the charity also helps to provide them with the opportunity and the tools to heal and continue their success after they leave the shelter.

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L’Oréal Women of Worth 2019 Nominees: Nicole White

When Nicole White was at university in Saskatchewan, she learned that girls in northern communities often missed school due to their periods. With a box of tampons costing up to $18 in these communities, White knew she had to do something to make menstrual products more affordable and accessible. So she founded Moon Time Sisters, which has since provided over one million pads, tampons, cloth pads and cups and raised over $10,000 for shipping costs to northern communities.

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L’Oréal Women of Worth 2019 Nominees: Toyo Ajibolade

When she was 16 years old, Toyo Ajibolade noticed a lack of accessible recreational activities for young girls in her community. In response, she started Lady Ballers Camp to provide girls from low-income households with access to free programming to develop their self-esteem and learn important leadership skills. In its six years of operation, the charity has also focused on employing and training minority youth who face discrimination in the workforce.

The post Aja Naomi King on Makeup as Armour, Ice Baths and Being Inspired by L’Oréal Paris’ Women of Worth appeared first on FASHION Magazine.

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