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mynameistori · 6 years

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entry 7 (sept 26)

Dear Balloon Boy,

I know this letter is late, considering we broke up about 2 months ago. I was talking to Makeup Addict and decided to let her know that we weren’t dating anymore (since she brought you up) and also told her the reasons that led to our separation. Even after all this time, thinking about where we were and how we ended up still makes me tear up, and you know that few things in this world have the power to do that to me. And you also know that I hate letting something make me feel so vulnerable and weak. But here it is, a letter to you that addresses tons of things from our time together and some of the residual thoughts I have.

When I think about how we met and how we eventually started dating, I sometimes don’t understand it. We met in Spring 2015 but never really talked to each other for the whole term. You were also obsessed with Fearless Director, or rather, she was obsessed with you. But things unfortunately didn’t work out for you guys. You left for your next co-op term at Facebook and also left whatever relationship you guys had to rot (“I was an asshole back then but now I’m one of the nicest guys I know”). We met again in Spring 2016. Well, we met again because Smol Bean was infatuated with you. But things didn’t work out between you guys either. Though she had the biggest crush on you and would talk to me for hours about you and your serenades while you were on co-op in Toronto, I didn’t think anything of it and supported the possibility of you guys being a couple like a normal best friend would. She eventually lost interest in you or something like that because you guys didn’t end up together and we did.

We actually started talking when you came back to Waterloo in Fall 2016. To be honest, I don’t remember the specifics of when or how this started happening, but you, Smol Bean, and I would sleep on the same bed a couple of times and sometimes you’d hold my hand or run your hands up and down my leg. Eventually, we would make out and that’s when Smol Bean would stop sleeping in the same bed as us. Ha.

I remember talking to you for hours at night about how shitty my situation was at home and how much I hated my family. I remember being unsatisfied and trapped in my relationship with Kpop Shawty and how difficult it was to let go of that relationship even though he didn’t appreciate me. I remember how much I hated you after you ratted me out to him too. I lied for us and yet you betrayed me. Even if he and I weren’t officially in an exclusive relationship, you had no right to expose me like that. I remember how torn I was when I had to choose between you two. I remember crying on the couch in the basement and yelling at you to leave me alone.

Looking back, I think I was stupid to let you coerce me into a relationship with you. “What difference does it make? We already know that we’ll end up in a relationship, so why push it back? What are you waiting for?” I shouldn’t have given in to you so easily, but I did.

Our time together was good for the most part. Considering we spent most of our time away from each other and our relationship being your first, I think it went pretty well. We explored so many cities together and did some pretty cool things as young 20-somethings, and I don’t think I’ll be able to do such extravagant things with anyone else for quite some time. I still want to go to Masa before you do, though.

I have a lot to thank you for. Thank you for being so generous, not only just in a monetary sense though I know plane tickets aren’t cheap and neither are Michelin star dinners. Thanks for putting up with my obnoxious and disrespectful ass and being patient with me. Thanks for trying your best despite how much I nag you. Thanks for editing my sheet every month when you’d have to manually add in a new row for me because I’m incompetent in Excel. Thanks for elevating my palette to the point where most grocery store ice cream just doesn’t cut it and cheap cold sushi a big fat no (how on earth did I eat that stuff when I was younger?!). Thanks for taking me to watch Hamilton and subsequently ruining every other musical out there because Hamilton is the best musical that exists.

There are also things I’d like to credit for and say “you’re welcome” to you for (because you know that that’s how I roll). You’re welcome for all of the advice I gave you, despite how criticizing and harsh it may have come out of my mouth. I will never understand why you thought buying 6 paintings was ever a good idea given how much (lack of, really) wall space you had in your apartment. You’re welcome for all the times I made you say “oh truuuuueeee” after making some intelligible comment. You’re welcome for coming up with better plans that yours that saved us tons of time and money.

And last but not least, I have things to apologize for. I’m sorry for being a rude ass bitch and how demanding I was sometimes, especially at the end of our relationship. Maybe a daily video call was too much to expect given our time difference and widely different schedules and responsibilities. Maybe I should’ve respected your time more. I’m sorry for hogging your desktop when you had your wisdom teeth pulled because I know you probably would’ve appreciated the games amidst the pain (though holding your ice pack probably would’ve been a better idea, just saying). I’m sorry for making you pay for most things we bought, because I probably could’ve went into my savings instead of using the excuse of income differences. I’m sorry I asked you to come visit me so often, even though it never really ended up happening. Maybe I’ll understand more once I get a real job. I’m sorry for being an immature child sometimes. I should’ve respected that you had different responsibilities as full-timer and that I shouldn’t have expected you to keep the same ones as we had when you were still here in Waterloo. I’m sorry for saying insensitive shit like “you never satisfy me”. I’m sorry for not being an accurate representation of what a good girlfriend is and not showing you how to be a good boyfriend (I guess I also apologize to your future girlfriend for not showing you da wae).

The thing I’m not sorry for: snooping around in your messages. Though I went through a hardship that had me spiralling deeper than I ever had before, I think I’m glad that I’m no longer living in the dark with respect to the opinions of the ones I used to call my friends. I think I’d rather live in pain than continue to live a lie, and I hope you understand where I come from.

I never told you this, but my mom figured that we broke up when I started hanging out with KDC every night. When she’d call and hear that I was still out, she knew that we weren’t calling. I actually thought that was a weird assumption to make, but I suppose it wasn’t wrong. When I asked her what her thoughts on our relationship were, she told me that she thought we were too similar. And I agreed -- we were very independent, intelligent people who had plans that unfortunately didn’t have much room for another person. And I think I’m at peace with that now.

Anyway, I hope you continue to develop your career and make the big bucks you always wanted to. Keep eating all the Insta-worthy food and visiting places that are equally as beautiful and majestic, but don’t get too fat. Continue exercising despite how tired you might be after work, because you need to focus on your image again if you want to get another girlfriend (I’m not saying you’re ugly or fat, I’m just giving you a helpful tip). Our time together was short in the grand scheme of things, but I hope that our paths may cross again in the future. And if they don’t, I guess I’ll see you on the other side.

Much love,

tori

#entry 7 #Balloon Boy #Smol Bean #Kpop Shawty #soon? more like soonTM #Makeup Addict

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carshowz · 6 years

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The more time you spend in the automotive industry your mindset changes, you start to look at things differently. Instead of zipping through a parking lot at a car show and taking notice of the shiny paint with a bit of pearl glistening from the sun because, that is what grabs your attention; you find yourself taking your time, enjoying the moment. I guess you can say it comes with age or just the appreciation of what goes into a build, no matter what the style or genre is. You start to question why a builder built a vehicle the way they did, not in a cruel way, but more of wanting to understand the story behind the build, why they incorporated certain elements, etc. When we caught a glimpse of Wild Torquey and CMESLAM created by Tinman 2 Kustoms at SEMA, the creativity meter instantly shot up for us.

With the power of the interwebz and social media, it doesn’t take long for a cool automotive build to trend, especially at SEMA. Our team caught wind of Wild Torquey and the CMESLAM rig parked in one of the lots at SEMA. We saw pics being shared via social media and we knew we had to check it out. We came across the Tinman 2 Kustom rig and we all stood there for a bit taking it in, checking out every detail. The rat rod style is an acquired taste, many people cannot see past the patina paint and they automatically dismiss the build in their head and move on. When you pay attention to the details of the build, you will find an amazing amount of fabrication and engineering that is well thought out, creating a purpose-built machine.

Luke Merrill (Tinman 2 Kustoms) is the man behind the build of Wild Torquey and CMESLAM. What is more attention grabbing then a 1931 Chevy Rat Rod with a custom built PJ trailer and a 1966 C10 in tow? It’s a massive rig in a parking lot full of show vehicles and we needed to learn more about the build and the man behind it.

Wild Torquey & CMESLAM

The BUILD Details of the Tinman 2 Kustoms Rig

While Luke placed his professional goals on hold after college to continue to build his foundation of becoming a known builder at such a young age, the 1931 Rat dubbed Wild Torquey proved to be a challenge Luke was willing to tackle.

Some of the build highlights may go unnoticed by the untrained eye. For example, the ’31 was originally a 4-door made into a 2-door. Luke, welded, trimmed and blended the back doors to make the 4 door into a stretched 2 door.

Many people do not realize the fabrication that goes into a frame. For this build, Luke partially used the stock frame (front frame rails and a small section of the middle), the majority of the frame created was fabricated from 7 gauge steel that took a few months of engineering.

While outfitting any vehicle on air, there is a considerable amount of architecture that is involved. As Luke describes the fabrication of the engine cross-member was challenging the end result allowed for the oil pan to sit a 1/2″ from the ground at the lowest point of suspension travel. The entire frame weighed 650 pounds when completed.

Luke scoured the internet to find assistance on building his first diesel engine, the results of all of his hard work? A 800hp and 1500 ft. lbs. of torque (on spray with the hx52 primary and wh1c secondary). That is just a glimpse of what went into the Wild Torquey build.

Photo by Mike Mieczkowski

CMESLAM is a 1966 C10 body transplanted on to a 1994 Silverado chassis. As much attention as the ’66 build is getting along with Wild Torquey, this particular build marks #4 for Luke and his Team. Although Tinman 2 Kustoms has begun building their build portfolio with 3 prior builds, Luke began engineering this build in his mind throughout the years. As air-ride technology evolves, Luke knew he wanted to outfit CMESLAM with a bad ass air suspension setup. The ingredients to that recipe consist of an AVS 7 rocker switchbox, powered by Viair 444c dual compressors, directed by ½ SMC valves, Air Lift bags and an 8 gallon tank. For frame/suspension the truck is equipped with a new back half (parallel 3-link) with a mini c-notch. The frame is not Z’d. Bags were fabricated into the front control arms and the frame was reinforced and plated.

With functionality in mind, Luke built a custom steel bed floor that allowed him to haul dirt, car parts or whatever his heart desired. Many do not realize to build a vehicle that can be slammed to the ground while using air suspension, there is a considerable amount of fabrication, engineering and work that needs to be done. The end result, 8.5 of travel and a 10,000 lb. capacity, proving that CMESLAM is not just for show.

While the exterior appears to be an old school C10, there are a ton of creature comforts that was outfitted into this truck. As Luke notes, the wiring was probably one of the biggest challenges of building CMESLAM. Luke spent two weeks straight, over 100 hours of running custom wiring throughout the C10. An amazing challenge, but overall Luke is happy with the results. All of the dash lights in addition to retro fitting features such as cruise control, gauges and custom gauge pods gives the truck a stock / clean look. While the untrained eye may not notice all of the custom work put into these builds, the person who has the patience and the time to look over the details will certainly appreciate the amount of work put into this entire rig. The final weight for Wild Torquey with a full tank of fuel is at 4000 pounds. The total weight of the entire rig, with the trailer loaded is 13,000 pounds.

Photo Courtesy of Tinman 2 Kustoms

Who is Tinman 2 Kustoms, Luke Merrill

Question and Answer session with CarShowz.com

CARSHOWZ: There is a seed planted in all of us at one point or another that kicks off the urge to become a gear head. Was the 1965 Chevy C10, that your Dad gave you, the seed to get you started? What started it before the C10, give us a glimpse into the Luke Merrill lifestyle?

Luke Merrill: Yes, I’d say the 1965 C10 was the big seed. However, before the C10, I started out with just doing little audio things, tinted windows, and basic stuff to my 2000 impala. I first learned how to change my oil on this car when I was 18, so mind you; I hadn’t really been all that into cars growing up, despite waxing my dad’s show truck almost every weekend. Around the time I was 18 is when I started my YouTube, to sort of show some of the stuff I had been doing with the audio and whatnot.

Here is the story on that 1965 C10 and how it came to fruition. My dad had always promised he would give me his truck when I graduated high school. A little background info; he built a very nice 1941 Chevy show truck that has won numerous awards and is one of the jaw droppers that people dream of building and owning. So, all the time through high school I was excited to get that truck (I thought) when I graduated (2010)…. Well, little did I know, when I came home after I graduated he had this piece of shit C10, which had been rotting into the ground behind our garage, sitting in the front yard with my name & balloons on it. He wasn’t lying; he gave me his truck…. LOL…I was super disappointed at first. But then I said to myself… the hell with it and started to build it. I figured it couldn’t get any worse, so why not see what I could do with it (it literally had trees growing through the floorboards).

My dad has always worked on cars and was the original “Tinman”. He is a fabrication wiz, but has limited knowledge about drive-train or many other facets of cars. On the C10 I had him help me make some rockers for it as well as some redneck style lawnmower fender cab corners. I think the thing that was amazing and most exciting to me was the fact that he saw a pair of lawnmower fenders in a scrap pile and recognized that they could be used as cab corners for my C10. I have always been a cheap bastard, which will probably never change, so the re-purposing of junk parts was just awesome to me.

I did some pretty novice body work on the truck, did the basics on the engine, frame, etc. and just made it into something that could be driven again. It was painted with a 60$ gallon of automotive paint and all done for less than $600 with everything. Nothing crazy, but it turned out pretty cool for the little bit of money involved. Although it was a lot of work, it was rewarding to see that something I built went from 0 to 100 in just a few months and a few dollars.

Then I started doing more metal work and it just kind of went from there. No schooling, classes, seminars or anything in the automotive field. Just trial, error & lots of internet research time. After high school I did however go to the University of Minnesota for 4 years and graduated with 2 honors bachelor’s degrees (2014). Psychology and Economics were my fields of study. While I was successful in college and pretty seriously recruited by some companies, I never got a job offer that seemed to “fit” perfectly with who I was and what I wanted. So I decided to pave my own path.

My weekends & holidays, throughout my time in college, were spent at home working in the garage. Specifically, building my bagged ‘66 C10, a ‘73 Nova SS and lots of little odd jobs on other vehicles. While I was back up at school, for the few weeks at a time between home visits, I would edit the video footage and upload to YouTube. Because some of these build videos got some good publicity, I figured why not see if I can take it to the next level and do some more serious videos? After college graduation, I started to put a substantial amount of effort into my YouTube, sponsors and building, not only vehicles, but an internet presence for the vehicles.

Anyone can build vehicles. With today’s media exposure opportunities it opens a whole new set of doors, which I wanted to unlock and walk through. That being said, every week since I’ve graduated college, I’ve committed 60-70 hours a week to building, videoing, editing & obtaining sponsors. It’s been a very, very hard financial thing for me to do, but I’m hoping in the long run it pays off. As with any business, the first few years are always the hardest, right? If it doesn’t work out, at least I have built some bad-ass rigs and learned a lot about internet marketing and how to communicate with different people at different companies, so it’s a win either way. And that’s the way you have to look at building cars. There are going to be challenges that seem like they are just a waste of time, but life is a constant learning battle that you have to CHOSE to win and make the best of the situation.

CZ: For those who are not familiar with your builds and your YouTube channel and are just getting a glimpse into your SEMA build, I wanted to introduce our followers to your roots. Not to take away from your feature, but to give the viewers an idea of how deep your roots go, can we talk a minute about your Dad’s 1941 Chevy Pickup? I want to let the people know that the Merrill family covers all spectrum’s of automotive builds.

LM: While I have found my creative passion in Rat Rods, my Dad has been more of a conventional street rod guy all of his life. He did a lot of sheet metal fabrication in his adult years and had always had various cool cars around. In 1980 he found a 1941 Chevy body in a field in pieces. He decided he had to have it and wanted to build himself a hot rod. 18 years later, the truck was finally finished.

I remember the first show we took it to, he won first place and me and my little sister were super excited! After that, I started cleaning it for him almost every weekend. I enjoyed it at the time, but eventually it made me dislike shiny paint, because of the work involved and the constant worry when driving it.

At first, he & my mom absolutely hated the fact that I wanted to build a rat rod truck (my bagged C10). They told me that it reminded them of trailer trash and they didn’t want it at their house. Well, I built the fuck*r anyways! After they saw how much I was able to use the truck, without ever worrying about scratching it (their worst fear with dad’s truck), without ever having to clean it, etc. they finally understood why I had chosen that direction. The creative aspects of rat rods are outstanding (SOMETIMES) and my parents have grown to appreciate that as well.

CZ: There are several great automotive builders out there, who is your inspiration and why?

My Dad, he always has so many creative ways to do things, it’s nuts.

Steve Darnell, because he realizes that the beauty is in the craftsmanship & resourcefulness of the build and not the 100,000$ paint jobs.

Obviously Chip Foose is an inspiration for most, but the stuff he builds is out of my (and many others) means.

Jamey Jordan, Jesse James, and any craftsman that puts his heart into his art and isn’t a cockbag. Richard Rawlings? Don’t be like him.

CZ: You have a great following on YouTube and post a lot of different builds and you post a lot of fun shenanigans. Tell us about the creation of Tinman 2 Kustoms? Is it strictly a YouTube channel as a hobby, a business, tell us more about Tinman.

Tinman 2 Kustoms started out as just a YouTube page where I could post some of the minor automotive stuff I was doing in my spare time after I graduated high school. I never intended it to become, sort of, who I am & my full time efforts.

CZ: Out of all of the builds at SEMA, once we got a glimpse of “Wild Torquey” and “CMESLAM” we had to take a closer look. What gave you the inspiration to build such a rig?

LM: Drugs, all the drugs! Haha jk. I have always wanted a classic “rat rod” with the 30’s lines and sinister looking chop, etc. I also never built a diesel, and wanted to do something different. At the time I started this build (2014) there were very few diesel rat rods on the road. 4 years later and that has definitely changed. I was also sick of asking people to borrow a truck/trailer when I needed to haul something. With the diesel, the airbags and the overall quality of the build, one night I just had the idea to put a hitch inside and worked around that from there on out. All the measurements were meticulously considered and a customized trailer was ordered from PJ Trailers. The trailer was the single largest purchase I have ever made, but I am so stoked that I made the choice to spend the money and now have a car & trailer that I have been able to use to haul a bunch of projects. If a car isn’t useful, why build it?

CZ: Being in the automotive industry for some years now, we have come across many different styles and genres. Rat Rods are always evolving and for most who do not understand the culture, they started as a revision of hot rodding from the late 1940s and early ‘50s. If you had to explain the style and the culture to others, how would you describe the Rat Rod community?

LM: The question of “What is a Rat Rod” is one of the most commonly asked questions in the Rat Rod community. I write a column/article in every issue Rat Rod magazine and am always trying to tailor my column to the blue-collar hotrod community. That’s really what rat rods generally are: A blue-collar hotrod. “What is a rat rod”, can only truly be defined by the owner. It is all preference and opinion. While the typical rat rod is an original patina 30’s car that has been chopped and has a bigger engine and lots of cool touches, rat rods have evolved into a lot more over the last 10 years and are finally getting the love they deserve. I prefer rat rods because of the creative freedom associated with them. Everyone’s rat rod is unique. Unlike a restored car, which are generally just less interesting to look at (in my opinion).

CZ: Being such a young builder and an inspiration to others, what advice would you give to new up and coming builders? If you had to do it all over again, what would you do differently?

LM: Work hard & passionate!!! Use the internet to your advantage. It’s a fantastic tool to learn, talk with others and network yourself and your business.

If I had to do it all differently I would have spread myself a little bit more away from YouTube and more towards Facebook and other social/media platforms. I put almost all of my effort into YouTube. They have really made it difficult for people like me to be successful on YouTube now, and I wish I hadn’t spent so much time with it, because I know eventually YouTube will become a dead end. It’s sort of like the rule of thumb with investing… don’t put all of your eggs in one basket, in case you lose that basket and have to start over. I am working more on Facebook and other stuff now however.

CZ: How do you perfect your craft, metal work, fabrication, etc. What do you recommend to young builders who want to learn how to weld and fabricate, etc.?

LM: I am NO WHERE NEAR perfect, just wanted to say that right off the bat. There are people that are more skilled in every aspect of vehicles than I am. I distinguish myself with my hard work and media efforts. The key to good fabrication is patience & critical thinking. Quality tooling is a huge plus, but not mandatory. Want to learn how to build your own skills? Watch my YouTube! https://www.youtube.com/tinman2kustoms

CZ: As a follow-on to the previous questions, not everyone has the ability or the space to build cool rides. How can young enthusiasts get involved in the automotive industry. We realize social media is a huge tool, tell us how you have grown your YouTube channel and what has helped you?

LM: Social media is THE REASON that I have the tooling that I have. Working my ass off to get the viewership I have and then working even harder to get sponsors on board. It’s been a long term commitment. I grew up in a household that never had money. We were actually considered poor. I never saw that as a hindrance to what I could do. Whether it was hustling audio or writing papers for people, I always made my way. That’s the thing with today’s kids. They like to make excuses. Sure, I was fortunate our house had a big garage for me to work in, but there are always ways to get things done otherwise.

On average, I’d say I spend 25 hours a week on social media/email, just promoting myself/my brand or answering questions. Spending time sending pages messages and networking is crucial. The more times a company or page sees your name, the more they will see your dedication as well. Send links to anyone involved in every video. If you have a product in one of your videos, send that company the video link with the time mark of their mention. They may even share it. It’s a slow process but that may get you an extra follower or two. Just keep with it!!!

CZ: What’s next for Luke and Tinman 2 Kustoms? Another SEMA build?

LM: I’m currently working on a SEMA build for 2018. This one is particularly special because it is a car that my dad started for my mom in 1995, and has never been able to finish due to money & health reasons. Now that I have a solid foundation in hotrods and awesome companies that work with me, I can give her a vehicle that is much nicer than they would have ever been able to afford otherwise. If I can bring home another award next year, I will be ecstatic. This build is more of a conventional street rod. So to be able to build an award winning rat rod and follow it up (hopefully) with an award winning street rod would be amazing.

Tinman 2 Kustoms Wild Torquey & CMESLAM Photos

Tinman 2 Kustoms – Giving Back to His Fans

This is pretty cool to come across. There are a lot of humble people in our industry, but I do have to admit they are becoming harder to find. Luke enjoys giving back to his fans. Check out the below video with the following description from Tinman 2 Kustoms YouTube:

Aiden opening his surprise holiday “care package”! Finally got to edit and upload this. Thought it was pretty awesome! Thank you Aiden for being an avid follower and friend.

CZ: Please take this time to give a shout-out to those who stand by you, those who have helped you along the way (friends, family and sponsors).

LM:

Shoutout to my parents for letting me use their garage all of this time. Also thanks to them now that I am back living at home because I don’t make hardly any money doing what I love to do.

Any of my friends who have purchased & rock the Tinman 2 Kustoms Apparel!

Shoutout to all the great sponsors that have helped with parts or knowledge.

Tinman 2 Kustoms Sponsor list

Air Lift Performance https://www.airliftperformance.com/

ARP Fasteners http://arp-bolts.com/

Auto City Classic http://autocityclassic.com/

Autometer https://www.autometer.com/

AVS https://www.avsontheweb.com/

Airslamit https://store.airslamit.com/

B&M Racing http://www.bmracing.com/

B&W Hitches http://www.bwtrailerhitches.com/

Bilstein Shocks https://www.bilstein.com/en/

Black Sky Racing https://www.blackskyracing.com/

Cambridge Upholstery https://www.facebook.com/CambridgeUpholstery/

CNC by Altered Image http://facebook.com/nicholas.schintgen

Dexter Axle http://www.dexteraxle.com/

Dynomite Diesel http://www.dynomitediesel.com/

Farrell Diesel Service http://farrell-diesel-service.business.site/

Federal Tire http://www.federaltire.com/en/

FiTech http://fitechefi.com/

Flowmaster http://www.flowmastermufflers.com/

Fluidampr http://www.fluidampr.com/

Hamilton Cams https://hamiltoncams.com/

Hurst http://www.hurst-shifters.com/

Hypertech http://hypertech.com/

JAZ Products http://www.jazproducts.com/

JET Chips https://jetchip.com/

Larry B’s http://www.fostertruck.com/

Mahle Motorsports http://www.mahle.com/

Maradyne http://www.maradynehp.com/

Nitrous Express http://www.nitrousexpress.com/

OPTIMA https://www.optimabatteries.com/en-us

Oracle Lighting http://www.oraclelights.com/

Pj Trailers https://www.pjtrailers.com/

Por15 https://www.por15.com/

Race Ramps https://raceramps.com/

Rostra Precision http://www.rostra.com/

SLAM Specialties http://slamspecialties.com/W/

Sinister Diesel https://sinisterdiesel.com/

TKO Clamps https://www.tkoclamps.com/

Viair http://www.viaircorp.com/

XS Power https://4xspower.com/

Yukon Gear & Axle https://www.yukongear.com/

Tooling thanks:

ArcOne Welding https://arc1weldsafe.com/

Blue Demon Welding http://www.weldingmaterialsales.com/

Drill Doctor http://www.drilldoctor.com/

Eastwood https://www.eastwood.com/

Empire Abrasives https://www.empireabrasives.com/

JZ Designz https://www.facebook.com/JZ.Designz/

Milwaukee Tool https://www.milwaukeetool.com/

Mittler Bros Tool https://www.mittlerbros.com/

Artwork thanks:

Nick Weisner (Fineline Kustoms)

Upscaled Designs

Keep the Bitch Floored

This list of sponsors has been hard earned and something that I am proud of. Maintaining all of these relationships as well as everything else, exclusively on my own, is very tough and stressful. I don’t want anyone to get discouraged because they can’t get sponsored or can’t do what they want to do. It’s never easy, even if it seems like it’s easy for me behind a computer screen, it’s just not. Work hard and prove your worth, don’t get upset because it’s not all coming to you fast. The best things in life are often the most challenging.

Tinman 2 Kustoms SEMA ’17 Experience

CarShowz Tinman 2 Kustoms Conclusion

As we travel the country, we are extremely honored to come across humble and motivated Builders like Luke Merrill. We would like to congratulate Luke and his accomplishments, especially his latest achievement of winning Top 40 overall & Top 10 Young Guns in the Battle of the Builders at SEMA 2017.

Follow Tinman 2 Kustoms

To keep up with Luke and Tinman 2 Kustoms, check out Luke’s social media pages, give them all a follow:

YouTube

Facebook

Instagram

Tinman 2 Kustoms – Luke Merrill – The Builder of Wild Torquey The more time you spend in the automotive industry your mindset changes, you start to look at things differently.

#feature #shop talk

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atomic-r0x · 7 years

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Atlas | Part Nine

That’s all it took. One sentence, and her life was officially ruined, in the most literal sense of the word. “I never knew you were the type for morning runs.” Henry’s voice was dry and awake, but there was no feeling behind the words, almost like he’d said it matter-of-factly.

And with those words, Atlas completely froze. From her feet, suddenly cemented into the tiled floor, to her heart skipping two beats and sending out a wail of pain inside her whole being, she just stopped in the doorway between their bedroom and the bathroom she’d spent the last thirty minutes washing away the remnants of Damien’s lovemaking from the night before. “I’m not. I just got sweaty under the sheets and I couldn’t sleep” she tried to shake it off, convincing herself that a step forward wouldn’t hurt anybody, hands clinging to the towel wrapped around her shrinking body.

“You weren’t here tonight though” His voice was still calm, Henry standing with his hands slid in the pocket of his sweats like it was nothing. “I couldn’t sleep last night, that’s how I know you weren’t sweaty under /our/ sheets.”

She couldn’t remember at which point she’d lost her voice, but it must have been around the time when her glass of water, silently waiting on her side of the bed, crashed against a wall and Henry’s bloodshot eyes pierced her until she curled on the mattress, wanting to scream, but not finding the energy to do so anymore. They’d been fighting for around four hours now, the world outside was approaching noon and they were still there, locked up in her childhood bedroom, spitting out words lovers should never tell each other. Atlas’s head was dizzy with tears and shouting, Henry was weeping for the first time in forever.

When he picked up his jacket and stormed out into the hallway then down the stairs and into the streets, she didn’t get up from the bed, asking where he was headed and if she’d ever seen him again. Instead, she lay on the mattress, trying her hardest not to burst into tears again, planning her next steps. It had never before occurred to her how dependant of Henry she was, the stability his existence brought in her life, how much he felt like a lifesaver that she was currently in painful need of. What would happen to her life now that Henry wasn’t going to be a part of it anymore? It seemed impossible to figure out even the days that would follow, counting down the hours till Henry’s plane took off and she’d be waving him goodbye for the last time.

Damien. His face popped up in her mind like a dream, a hallucination she couldn’t shake off. She imagined his face, beaming with happiness and euphoria, stunned by the sudden realization that Atlas was, finally, once and for all, his to love only. Before she knew it, she was punching the air, her troubled tired mind wanting so badly to make him pay for all of this, for all the words left unspoken those ten years ago, for all the heartache unresolved, for all the loose ends that led to this affair. But until the imaginary Damien got to feel the helpless punches, her mind completely dozed off.

She woke up to the sound of Henry walking in, a polite ‘good night’ throw in her father’s direction before his steps, heavier by the second, made their way towards the staircase, and up towards her bedroom door. Atlas got up from the foetal position in time for him to push the doorknob and find her sitting on the bed, hollow-eyed, but waiting for him. Only, the door was still closed. Holding her breath, she crawled closer to the edge of the bed, senses acute – a small sound was all she could make out, and even with this barrier between them, Atlas could see his furrowed forehead resting against the painted white wood, fingertips feeling the hard surface in an attempt to clear up his mind, or build up the courage to tell her something heart-breaking.

When Henry did step inside the bedroom, Atlas’s eyes were already glassy. He closed the door behind him carefully, as if not meaning to disturb anyone else in the house, as if they hadn’t been screaming at each other like crazy in the most ridiculous hours of that morning. She didn’t ask where he’d been all day, and he didn’t look like his whereabouts might have been worrisome to her.

He didn’t approach the bed, well-calculated steps carrying him to the windowsill, where he finally turned to face her, eyes meeting only for a brief moment. “I’ve been thinking…” he began with a ten-ton heavy sigh, “and maybe this is something I should have realized a while back.” Atlas wanted to vomit, watching the man she’d completely given her whole self to serving her a speech too similar to the ones he’d give in diplomatic contexts. “You’re not a woman to be forced into things, Atlas” he continued after having formulated the words in his brain for the past couple of seconds. “And that’s fine. It’s alright, I really can’t blame you…” another brief moment of silence followed, Atlas’s eyes desperately wanting to find his, until they finally did, and she couldn’t hold his gaze. “I want you to be happy, even if that doesn’t involve me, or our wedding, or any of our plans together. I don’t want to force you into loving me.”

She wanted to stop him, to erase the past twenty four hours of their lives and start over, come clean, confess how she could not love anybody as much as she loved him, no matter how much Damien or anyone, for that matter, tried to trick her into thinking. Atlas wanted to cut her chest open and pull her heart out and give it to him, the ultimate proof of her helpless adoration. And yet, she couldn’t push herself into saying anything of the sort, so she just waited, following his Adam’s apple to determine whether he was going to carry on with his speech or not. He did. “I think it’s better if I… I think maybe I should just give you some space, sleep on it, talk to anyone you feel like talking to” he cleared his throat, but found himself pushed into being more explicit, the confused frown forming on Atlas’s face like an incentive for him to put it bluntly. “Atlas, I think I should get myself a room at the hotel before you… Well, before you make up your mind. I just want you to choose without feeling pressured by my presence here.”

There she was again, losing sense of time, trying her hardest to let the words out from behind her clenched teeth and the wet lines on her cheeks, hands desperately gripping at clothes and throwing them at him as if Henry was the real, sole reason why they were fighting, for the second time in twenty-four hours. She was trying to make him stay, but too caught up in her thoughts to realise how much it looked like pushing him away. When there were no more clothes to throw or to stuff in an overflowing backpack, he shut the door behind him and she threw the remote control at it, the only remaining object in her whole room that could break into pieces and satisfy Atlas’s need to destroy something less meaningful than her life and her lovers and everything around her with a heartbeat.

But this time, she couldn’t daze off. She couldn’t curl up on the bed again and fall asleep until he came back, charming and lifesaving and forgiving. The mind is something not to fool around with, and although she’d always been weary of that, Atlas was only now facing the real consequences of her actions. /You’re a goddamned adult, get a grip of yourself, learn some self-control/

Before she knew it, she was pacing around the room. Not really thinking about anything, she was just moving, feet burning with the red tickle of needing to know things weren’t completely fucked, that she could fix this. Barefoot, bloodshot eyes, runny nose and strands of golden hair sticking to her pale cheeks like those tears were superglue, Atlas kept wondering whether this was what Christians thought about when they created purgatory – not yet going to hell, but certainly not heaven bound. Just lingering around, rotting in her own damage, the front-row seat to her own decay.

Atlas was walking again. Walking on something that was not her bedroom floor, somewhere with no walls and natural light and even a little bit of wind, something that felt oddly similar to reality, but it couldn’t be. This did not feel like outdoors. This did not feel like the streets she knew so well, the streets she used to walk up and down all day until she boarded that damned plane and left everything to turn to shit behind her. This did not feel like home.

And maybe that was so because her brain was doing a really good job at overheating itself, turning and twisting the same problem on all edges until there was no problem left and just the maniacal mechanical exercise of turn, twist, tear apart, repeat.

Maybe the choice had already been made. Maybe she should have just ran towards Henry’s new hotel room knock on his door until her knuckles were nothing but small ponds of blood, and tell him she’d made up her mind. Atlas’s mind was trying to recall whom she’d heard saying that if you really did love the first person then the second would have never been more than just a friend and she thought of Damien and him being just a friend and it felt like such a travesty. But then again, she was going to /marry/ Henry. She, Atlas Collins, who’d been convinced her whole life that love is a losing game not worth the hype. Maybe she should have listened to herself back when she believed those words, and maybe all of this could have been avoided. Henry’s cheeky smile popped up in her mind and she was crying again, for the countless time since returning to Beaufort, for the countless time walking headfirst towards the Flamingo Motel.

It was four o'clock in the morning now and she must have been crying for almost a whole hour on those stupid stairs leading up to Damien's room. She needed to see him and fall into his protective arms and be reassured that things would eventually look up, but all the while she knew there was no way she could face him in such a state - he'd smell it on her, somehow, that things were fucked. Instead, Atlas just allowed herself to pour her eyes out, hoping that drowning all those tears would make her calm down eventually, and allow her to walk inside his room, door unlocked so that she wouldn't have to knock every time she managed to sneak out and see him. Her eyes had gotten so puffy it was almost a pain to keep them open, and her head was dizzy, like a weird high she never asked for. The more she thought about Henry, the harder she cried, and it took all her might to push him away to the back of her mind and come to terms with the cold hard truth - maybe the time to flee was right now. God knew Damien had been waiting for this to happen for too long, and it seemed like she was finally ready to accept her fate. A six-year long relationship gone to sh.it, a wedding that was never gonna happen anymore, a sense of dignity she couldn't feel was still in her. 'You did this to yourself' Atlas's mind kept reminding her that over and over again, like a broken record. 'You asked for this disaster to happen'. And probably, this was the truth. Her body immediately jolted up when she heard the door open, hands frantically wiping at her face to get rid of all the tears, only to redden it with the violent moves. She knew Damien was probably awake, waiting for her, but it surprised her to hear him walking out of his crib. Only, they weren't Damien's familiar footsteps she heard, but a voice she needed a second to associate with a face. It was Isabella, and the mere realization of the fact surprised Atlas like an unexpected full-blown kick in the stomach. She had no idea why she'd done that, but she turned around nonetheless, only to see Damien standing in the doorway too. "If you want... I can stay" he speaks and Atlas's knees weaken, but collapsing to the ground only became an option when she heard his next words. “For a few more days, I mean.” The same man who would constantly remind Atlas of his car and who'd check airdnb every two nights, making plans for pit stops on their way to New York was now gladly postponing the escape of a lifetime, and her tears immediately stopped flowing from her eyes and her body temperature went back to normal and she was calm as ever, the sort of tranquillity you'd see in horror movies with criminals having quiet coffee after slaughtering a whole building. But then, his following actions paralyzed her body, and she was sure as h.ell her feet must have been cemented to the staircase she was standing on. That hand she could still recall wondering down her body, those calloused fingerprints, were now caressing someone else's skin, and it was only now that Atlas really understood what jealousy meant. “Damien… Atlas is here and she’s watching us.” Isabella spoke, and the way she phrased things made Atlas feel like an intruder, an impostor boycotting their moment of secret tenderness. Nausea was forming in her mouth, making her teeth burn from the acid, tongue like a thorn, but it proved to be the only fuel she had left in her, feet moving before she could process it. She was walking quite fast now, elderly marathon style, running even, running like her life depended on it, and there was a voice in the far distance who was stabbing her, each 'Atlas' more violent, causing a deeper wound to pierce though her wrecked body.

Eventually, her lungs gave in and she had to stop, and now they were in the middle of the highway that was connecting the Flamingo Motel to the rest of the town, and she was trying to make a point out of not facing him, but Damien kept trying to seek her gaze, reaching out his hand to catch hers. "Don't touch me" she hissed, and now she was a snake, a hybrid between a wounded falcon screaming though her final moments and a snake who was ready to attack. "Just go" Atlas added when she heard him stopping right behind her, facing the back of her head stubbornly. He was about to say something, she could tell that by the sound of his mouth opening, but she wasn't going to have any of it. "No, no, don't. I don't want to hear anything. I'm going home."

But then he fought back, and it startled even Atlas to hear such a force coming out of the lungs of a decade-long smoker, the man she’d shared her first cigarettes with back when things were still alright and there was no sign of change. “No! No, I’m not going to do that, I’m not letting you go, not again” he so stubbornly replied, and even with her back turned at him, she could feel his frown, those piercing eyes creating hot holes in the back of her neck like laser. A small silence followed, Atlas too stubborn to say anything, he probably too puzzled by her sudden coldness, but when he spoke again, Atlas wished she were deaf. “I love you, Atlas…”

He didn't need to be physically violent, because his words were hurtful enough - bringing up their unfinished business in the past felt like a mockery now, like he was using some pretexts from a how-to-get-a-girl-back book, like those were lines he'd simply learnt that she knew all too well, didn't mean shit. Not anymore, at least, with the taste of Isabella on his lips. What a fucking traitor, she kept thinking, walking stubbornly like her legs were something to put her trust in, but judging by how things were going, her body was everything she had left. Everything. It was a tough time not meeting his gaze, because his eyes were so forceful and determined to lock with her own, but they're both too proud and none giving in, so she walks right past him, hands tightly crossed, eyes so filled with tears it felt like walking blindfolded. She wanted to kick him so bad, to do something that would give him an idea of the pain she was going through, but at the same time, she couldn't blame him. All this heartache, and she still couldn't find a blame bigger than her own - she was the monster of this design. And then he said that, those words that felt like bullets shot straight at her head, heart and stomach, so there was no way she could survive. Those three words she's spent her entire life waiting for him to say, words she'd only heard Henry say when it was already too late for Damien to catch up. 'You fool, you could have been so close' she wanted to say so desperately her teeth were aching, but there was no way she'd leave her guard down. "Don't fucking say that" she snapped instead, with far more anger and frustration than she'd previously deemed possible of herself, considering how tired and desperate she was. "Is this what you're really up to?" and now she was facing him, and it took all strength for her to meet his gaze. "I must have been such a convenience to you, it only struck me now - how comfortable it must have been to be entertained every night without even having to search for fun" Atlas was red nosed and glass eyes, but nonetheless she persisted. "Go run away with Isabella, God knows you both need to get the hell away from here." It failed her to understand how she'd managed to spit out all those words, but now that they were out there in the open, it felt like her shoulders were made of lead.

“You think I f-cked her!?” He croaked, a tiny ironic laughter making its way out along with those several words. His hand was extended now, index finger pointing towards the direction of the motel’s parking lot like he was trying to separate reality from that mythical place where anything could happen, where she’d given herself away to him, where he’d presumably turned down Isabella’s moves. And yet he persisted – shaking his head as he kicked an invisible rock with his bare foot just for the sake of demonstration, a showcase of frustration. “Atlas, she needed me! I needed to be there for her!” He was the one yelling now, and it made her flinch, the unexpected force of his words aiming at her with invisible forces. “Nothing happened, Atlas! Nothing! I… I don’t… I could never look at her like that.”

The mere recollection of that moment sent a fresh wave of uncontainable tears to her swollen eyes, hand reaching up to cover her mouth as she stared him dead in the eyes, gasping for air desperately before carrying on. "She needed you? How is that? Did she need you like I needed you? Or was it something to clear her head, get you both high?" There was only one time in her whole life when Atlas felt truly jealous, and that was four years ago, when Henry had a brief moment affair with a woman he'd met while working with a charity in Africa. She remembered how the bed was burning and how she couldn't sleep anymore, how her skin would itch with hurt and frustration, how she felt the mental, completely abnormal need to follow Henry around the town, watching him from afar as he battled with his own shame. Of all things, Henry was mortified and ashamed of this affair, and what it'd done to Atlas. When he came back, he was a changed man, the type of change people associate with seeing god. The bed was once again a safe place to find herself in. "You know what? Never mind it. Just, go, your feet are gonna freeze" she suddenly found herself dismissing him, wiping the tip of her nose with the back if her hand before starting to walk again, the first fee steps backwards, still facing Damien, before turning around and biting her lips until little beads of blood popped up, anything it took to prevent that animalistic cry of pain and desperation from escaping her throat.

But he couldn’t care about that, so he followed her for what seemed like ages, although in reality it was only couple of seconds before he began running after her, catching up in a matter of moments. “What do I have to do?” Hands raised as if he was defending himself from an unseen force, Damien bravely fought to find her gaze and looked like he’d never let go of it once their eyes locked. “Tell me what do I have to do to make you believe me and I’ll do it.” His voice was cracking again, but he continued, making it so hard for her to stand it. “I’ll do anything… /anything/.”

Atlas's tongue kept licking at the drops of blood that were springing out of her sore lower lip, and in that moment, she looked so defeated, like a wounded animal in the wild, seeking refuge until the pain was over. Only, the pain wasn't over, or wasn't going to be so in the foreseeable future, because the Atlas's mind seemed to fail taking in the lengths to which her damage had gone.

"But that's exactly the problem, Damien. This is where you're wrong" Atlas finally replied and she wanted to be angry, she wanted to be able to let everything out and be light-headed for once, but instead, she was speaking in a lower voice now, exhausted and helpless. "Look at us, Damien, look how fxcked up this is, this is not what happiness looks like. This is not the type of love you deserve" she spoke truthfully, and as soon as the last words exited her mouth, a new wave of tears threatened to roll down her cheeks, but she held them back, determined to make a point. "You'd do anything for someone who's so far away from what you need, Damien. You've placed your love in a love that will kill us."

“Bullshit.” He cussed under his breath – eyes glued on hers with no intention of leaving them any time soon. “All of that is bullshit and you know it! Atlas, what don’t you understand?! I love you! I love you so much that I hate myself for it!” It didn’t occur that he started yelling once again, his own eyes filling with bitter tears that clouded his vision and made him spat his words in anger. “I haven’t this happy in years! Atlas…”

She watched his reaction without breathing, trying with all her might to keep a grasp of herself, at least keep a standing position if nothing else. He was closer to her now and she just wished things were simpler and the only things he could do were either give a friendly pat on the back or have her children. His monologue went on and she was getting dizzy from shaking her head, sucking down on her lower lips to both keep herself from saying anything she might regret and stop the blood from coming out, and when it finally did, her teeth were stained with the salty taste. Atlas desperately wanted to be able to prove how wrong he was, have scientific proof of his misery, of their inevitable doom, of what a monstrous thing she truly was for letting any of this happen. She wanted him to hate her, resent her, push her as far away as he could, so she could pack her bags and flee the town and go back home and cancel the wedding and call Matthias and ask him whatever she was going to do with her life now. Empty, drowning in self-resent, heartbroken beyond repair, but ultimately free?

But then it didn't matter how she was feeling and whether her lips were bleeding anymore and how she'd pack her bags and go, because it must have been a meteorite or the actual moon might have fallen off the sky, hitting her right in the head when he spoke those crucial crucifying words. "I would do anything for you. I’d settle down, get a boring job and health insurance and wears stupid shirts and ties and maybe even quit smoking and ask you to marry me. Is that what you want? Do you want me to marry you? Because I’d do that, Atlas I’d do that in a heartbeat..." A gasp was all she could summon, and a muffled "oh my God", almost lost in the mess that was her tears and her hands trying to hide the wetness of her face. She squatted down, because her legs had given up on her the moment he proposed, much like the air filling her lungs. She was staring at his feet, through his feet, through the pavement and down towards the magma, the fiery core of the Earth, something to compete with the burning sensation inside her chest. "You don't know what you're talking about, Dam, you really can't marry me, I won't let you do that..." she barely whispered, falling on her butt, dumbfounded and weak, goosebumps all over her skin although she knew for a fact it wasn't the cold morning air, but the ugly truth she was finally facing, after ages of chasing around. She was exasperated and tired, but still trying her best not to give in to his words, and how close their lips were, once again for the millionth time those two weeks. It took nothing but raising her chin a little, and they would be kissing again, but Atlas couldn't allow herself to do it again, no matter how much he wanted it. But god, she was sinking in the crevice of his calloused hand resting on her dry cheek, the warmth it radiated, how her tears rolled down and melted on his fingers, confused and angry at the sudden barrier keeping them away from the rest of the tears forming a knot underneath her chin. She was about to say something when he started again, words making her thrown in agony, words that meant more than either of them could really wrap their minds around. "Why not? Am I not good enough for you? Is that it? Because Atlas..." his voice was crooked and his breath hit her lips following the rhythm of his words. "I can change. As a matter of fact, I already am changing. And it’s all because of you! I want to be a better person because of you. I want to be…-" Damien stopped dead in his tracks and she immediately covered his mouth with her fingers without even thinking through this action. It felt as if the natural state of her eyes was to be glassy and her nose to be runny from all the crying, and she was disregarding any of it, because the truth needed to be out there, although Atlas had neither the courage nor the heart to put it bluntly. "Dam, listen to me..." she began, her hands cupping his jaw line in an attempt to touch him, the first of its kind in what felt like ages, although it really must have been just twenty-four hours. "Don't you see what I've done? What I've turned you into? Dam, we can't be married, because..." She paused for a few moments, hand once more covering his mouth in a precautionary attempt at stopping whatever words might come out from his side, because this was really important. This was something she'd been wanting to tell him for so long, but only realised now, when it was too late and too much damage had been done. "Damien, I love you. I love you so much it's conflicting with my principles, with the life I have back home. Fucking hell, with the man that I learned what love is" she spoke, and again, just thinking about Henry sent a few more tears down her cheeks. "But no matter how much I love you, it's just not right. We cannot be together, we cannot be married, we..." It took all the strength in the world not to break at the sight of his eyes, and so she placed a soft kiss on his forehead, before resting her own against it. "I really thought it could work out. I was ready, tonight, to give myself away, to you..." she paused, biting her lower lip before continuing. "But I know, and I realised it now, that neither of us deserves each other. God knows I don't deserve your heart, and you... you don't deserve to let your demons come out and be entertained by me, only to make them worse, because Damien, you know this is the only way things are gonna happen. Look at us now..." finally, her voice broke, and she pulled away from his forehead, terrified of what might come next. But there were no words coming out of his mouth, nothing breaking through that impenetrable frown dangerously forming on his forehead, those eyes suddenly made of broken glass that she was never going to be able to fix.

“Just go” he finally said, and it seemed as if he’d spent a million years to produce those two words. “Go back to your loving fiancé and the villa you share in Italy and have all the things I can’t give to you…” His hands were in his pockets now, but Damien still wasn’t walking away. There was something holding him back, something mighty and frightening that Atlas wasn’t sure she wanted to know of. “I’m never going to be good enough for you, am I Atlas?”

"Damien!" It was like a swan's song, or the last cry of defeat you'd hear from dangerous birds with bloody wings, landing on the ground with a crash, although still proud and hopeful they'd survive. She screamed his name from the top of her lungs, disregarding the tears and the tiredness that had settled in her bones like cold air, freezing to the back-bone. They were face to face now, a few meters away, and all she wanted to do was jump into his arms like she'd done so many times these past two weeks and let him take anything and everything he wanted from her. Instead, they just stood in silence for a few moments, his venom activating her own. "Damien, you know just as well as I do that it's not about being good enough. Fxck, if you really want the truth, you may be better than Henry. But not for me - I will not let myself ruin you" she found herself shouting the last words, anger building up by the minute in a very twisted and inexplicable way. "Damien, look at us now - if this is love, than why are we so bitter? If this is love, why is this so painful?" Atlas retorted as if they were at war, and it broke her heart to realize she was actually fighting the love of her life. Only, she had grown to learn, the love of her life wasn't the same person she was meant to spend the rest of it with, and the mere thought of having to move on and forget Damien seemed like an impossible task now. Because, as much as it sucked, he was a part of her now, he was so deep inside her skin and so stubbornly stuck inside her bloodlines that it was impossible to pull him out. No matter where life was going to take her, Damien would always be a part of Atlas, however small, and she knew all too well this would haunt her to her grave. She was about to say something, but found her mouth all clenched, and it only occurred to Atlas then that she was crying again, so hard her whole face was paralyzed. "Damien, I never..." she began, but her voice completely abandoned her, so she just took the bravest few steps forward of her entire life and pressed a kiss on his lips, the most honest and sentimental type of goodbye she could come up with. Atlas could have sworn he'd pull away, but he didn't, probably too tired to fight anymore. And the kiss wasn't bitter, like all the other things they'd said - it was truthful and emotional and it made Atlas want to curl up in a bowl and die, because having to choose between Damien and Henry only meant killing a certain part of herself: there was no easy way out. But she kissed him with all the feelings she'd grown for him, all the things left unsaid, all the emotions she'd locked up ten years ago. When she pulled away, his eyes were glassy too, and the mere sight just broke her heart into countless pieces. "Damien, I want you to know that I love you, I love you more than anybody in this whole damn town had ever loved you. But I can't do this to you... I can't keep contributing to your decay. I don't want to be a part of that..."

His gaze was now on the crown of her head and she inevitably began biting her lips again, anxious and mortified but nonetheless willing to hear whatever it was he was going to say. “Fine…” He pushed the words out of his mouth – hoarse and tired and emotionless. “… It’s fine.” Damien repeated, but he was now glassy eyed and it was breaking her just to see him like that, let alone realise this might well have been the end of everything. The last day of her life. “Goodbye Atlas.” The words exited his mouth with unexpected smoothness and the smallest, most genuine of smiles in the midst of all that chaos that was taking over her mind, and now her vision was clouding with tears that she was desperately trying to push away because she needed to see this. She needed to see one of the greatest loves of her life walk away forever, into the great unknown. She needed her eyes to be clear to remember him beautiful and strong and charming and undefeated, the one who got away, the one who managed to escape her poison. She wanted her vision to be as clear as possible to remember him like he deserved to be remembered – Damien Nichols, the boy searching for a fire.

Atlas would have never believed it if someone had told her she’d find so much comfort in crawling on her childhood bedroom floor, hollow-eyed, lacking sleep, heartbroken and hopeless, but there she was, in her underwear and a t-shirt, hands dirty from having felt the ground beneath her for the past two hours, moving around four-legged like a baby. There was smoke clouding up towards the ceiling, and an emptying pack of cigarettes laying on the floor, and the only light creeping through the solemn darkness was the blue-toned Skype app waiting for Atlas to get a grip of herself and finally make the call.

When he did reply, he was joyful, starting with a celebratory ‘hellooooo there’, those friendly eyes and bearded grin from the lux of his sun-kissed balcony overlooking a bohemian garden, but his face immediately changed one the connection was stable enough and he got to see her face, all painted with black mascara tears, smoking the butt of a cigarette like she was on the brisk of a nervous meltdown.

“Matt, I need to tell you something but it’s a long story and I need you to listen to me carefully because I think I am dying, I think this is it, I think I’m never coming back to Italy, and you’re gonna burry me and you and dad are going to be the only ones crying at my grave because I am the most horrible human in the whole history of mankind and I deserve to be alone and sad but I’m not strong enough to face the consequences of my own actions and the ground is slipping from underneath my feed and Matt, oh my God… I have fucked up so bad this time, so, so bad…”

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