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Girlfriend’s brother. Jeremy’s more than that. He’s his own person.
“Shawn?”
MY BABY <3
“I got a gift,” he forces out shortly. Quickly. “In the hospital. Someone made this for me. I-I can’t remember the last time anyone…”
Phoebe???
I don’t even know him, but that spooked look in his eye… Yeah, I’ve seen that before. In Waylon.
</3
I roll my eyes, and again, can’t shake the thought that he reminds me a certain six-year old petulant little brat I’d met so many years ago.
That's why Shawn and Phoebe are besties now
“I swear on the life of the girl who I’m pretty damn certain gave you that bracelet I’ll be careful and give it right back.”
This guy who is a stranger, and yet has met my sister…my mom… This guy who reminds me of Waylon, and who I feel weirdly drawn to. Like…like there’s something important here.
He's important <3
Mom and Dad are selling the house. Idk how I feel about it. Idk how I feel about a lot of things these days. For Mom and Dad’s sake, I’m glad, I guess. Relieved. They bought an RV. Plan to travel for a while… especially with me moving out.
I start college in January. Move into the dorms right after Christmas. I’m nervous, but excited too. Well, excited might not be the right word. Impatient is more like it. I just want to get the newness of it all over with. I just want my life to finally begin. It’s gonna be a huge adjustment. For all of us, but Mom especially. She’s in counseling though. Dad too. They’ve both come a long way these last few months. Really, ever since the funeral.
I wouldn’t say it was easy for them to accept your death. Those first couple weeks were dark. Really dark. And then we had the funeral, and it got even darker… I know they still have their bad days—days where they doubt if they made the right decision accepting what we were told. Days where they feel guilty for putting you to rest, and trying to move forward. Me too, I guess. Though I don’t really let myself think about any of it. In my head, you’re gone…dead…but also not? Idfk I know, I know—not healthy. But it is what it is right now.
You’ll be happy to know I’m back in therapy though, and I’ve upped my meds. One of the big things I’m working on right now in therapy is rewiring my tendencies to bottle up my emotions. Apparently I have an unhealthy tendency to not only intellectualize my feelings—hence why I feel nothing at all—but I also use other people’s pain to mask my own. Shocker, right?
But truth is…I don’t really wanna think how big of a deal all of this is. College. Being on my own. Leaving Shiloh and the only home I’ve ever known. Losing my childhood home and all its memories. Leaving Mason… I’m afraid I’ll back out if I dwell on it. Afraid I’ll beg our parents to keep the house—stay—when I know how hard it is for them. Hell, it’s hard for me. But then again, I’ve always been a bit of a masochist.
Mason was supposed to come home in time for Thanksgiving, but he decided to extend his stay in rehab. Is it wrong that I’m relieved that I won’t have to face him before I leave? We haven’t talked. Not since the hospital. Waylon said I could call him, but I’ve yet to build up the courage. I’m worried I’ll somehow fuck with his progress. Okay, fine, I’m just being a coward. I’m worried if I tell him I’m going to college—leaving Shiloh–I’ll lose my courage to go. This way, I won’t have to face him until it’s already too late. I’ll be gone.
I fucking hate this. You should be here.
Merry Christmas, Iz. I love you. And I miss you. I hope you’re at peace. I really, really do. Even if it means I might never find any again.
Tomorrow’s the day. I begged Mom and Dad not to make a big deal of it, and while they mostly respected my wishes…they still decided to throw me a small going away party tonight. And by small, I mean it was just them and Waylon and his cousin Ivy. For the first time in years, the house was filled with music again. Laughter. It was…nice. But bittersweet to say the least. Waylon didn’t stay long, but I didn’t expect him to. Out of the three of us—Mason, Waylon, and me—he has the hardest time coming around the house. There’s this…rift between him and Mom and Dad, I’m not sure they will ever be
...more
I told myself when I moved out, I’d delete this number. Delete this entire thread of texts. It’s not like your number’s even connected anymore. But every time I go to delete it, something stops me. I was never one for journaling, and putting words to what I was feeling and dealing with. It was easier to turn it into art—into something fictional and manageable. Personifying my anxiety into a monster for a superhero to defeat, rather than spell it out…dig too deep… I was worried what truths would spill out. What secrets I would discover about myself. So long as I didn’t face them head on, I
...more
The thing is… I’m in love with Mason, and I have been for years. Longer than is probably normal or healthy, but it is what it is. So there you have it. Finally. The ugly truth in all its raw, pathetic glory.
<3
It’s only if you look close enough, that you see it’s not the camera at all I’m staring at. Did Izzy notice? She’s the one behind the camera…the one Mason is grinning at, love and happiness bursting out of his glacier blue eyes.
“You look good,” I find myself saying before I can stop it. His mouth twitches, and he glances down. “Thanks. I feel…good.” “That’s…that’s good.”
Pitiful
“Oh shit.” There it is. “He’s your sister’s boyfriend?” He tsks, and starts shaking his head. “Well, damn, that’s—” “No.” He lifts his gaze to mine, amusement still etched along his features. “He’s my dead sister’s boyfriend.”
“The boy with the eyes mentioned rehab…”
As opposed to all the boys without eyes
“So where are you from?” Waylon says about as harshly as my earlier question. I don’t have to look over to see that he’s got hostility shooting from his eyes. His entire body radiates it.
My poor baby and his stranger danger
Phoebe sighs dramatically. “No, you’re not going anywhere. Ignore him. We do.” “Hey,” Waylon protests, and she responds by sticking her tongue out at him.
HAHAHA
He’s also pierced his tongue. I noticed that earlier.
For future Will's pleasure ;)
I know he’s had that one on his middle finger for a couple years now. It was his first one. Two connecting Xs.
Cryinggggg, Will x Way <3
“What’s that?” “A guitar.” “I know it’s a fucking guitar, asswipe.” “Then don’t ask stupid questions, dickmuncher,”
I love these idiots so much
“We starting a band or something?”
Yeeee my Lost Boys
To Waylon, I say, “Fuck, I missed this.” His eyes redden, and he nods. “Me too.” Something tells me he doesn’t just mean music.
“So, not to be a total fucking cliché…” I pause, and despite the ache resounding in my chest—an ache I almost welcome at this point, if only because it still means there’s hope—I grin. “How do you feel about starting a band?”
O’Leary’s Pub.
EEEEEEE
I just…I miss you, JJ.” And the question sits on the tip of my tongue: Me…or do you miss who I remind you of?
Blowing out a breath, he must turn his face away from his phone, because whatever he says next is too quiet and muffled to be discernible.
???
“Your Guardian Angel” by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus
THIS SONG IS LITERALLY MY KRYPTONITE
The light catches on something silver looped through his lip, and— Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He pierced his lip.
You're so real for that, Jer
he sings about seasons changing and waves crashing and stars falling…
Ugh I love this fucking song so much and if a boy sang it to me I would fold so fast
His pierced lip curves wickedly as he strokes the mic stand in a way that should be illegal, head bowed like he’s fucking worshiping the thing. And hell if I don’t want to kneel at his feet.
I ignore the voices calling out to me as I hop down from the stage, and shoulder my way through the crowd. He’s here, he’s here, he’s here. It’s an incessant chant in my head.
Cute, ugh
the Lost Boys.
AHHH <333
I call his name out across the bodies separating us, and he freezes, his shoulders slumping, head hanging. Some would say his sag is that of resignation at having been caught. At having all eyes drawn to him. But those people don’t know my Jeremy.
"my Jeremy"
“On that note, is it time to go back on? I’m trying to behave, but I’m getting bored.” The girl in his arm scowls, and he winces.
Oh, Way
I open my mouth to say something, when a loud voice fills the room, momentarily quieting the crowd. “Someone drag Mason up here already,” Waylon calls out into the mic,
When my ass hits the soft mattress, I fall back against the headboard with a groan. A choked sound, almost like a cough, sounds from next to me.
You guys are being ridiculous
he surprised me with a coming out party. Nothing crazy. Just him, me, and a slightly confused Waylon who Mason didn’t realize I had yet to come out to until that moment.
Hahaha why is this making me laugh so hard? Poor Way
It’s the only time in my life I can remember Waylon hugging me. I don’t even really know where it came from. It seemed to shock him too, making him all red and pissy-looking in a way that was just straight up hilarious.
<3
My trembling fingers betray me with the truths that still escape me Do you hear their whispered confessions Burrowing in your skin In your bones In your dreams The angels can’t hear me I’m praying to ghosts
With Izzy, it’d started out as me wanting to impress her. After all, she was this pretty girl who made magic with her fingers. But Jeremy… Jeremy…
He makes magic with his fingers too. And it’s messy and quiet and perfect in its imperfections and it’s… “Freeing,” I murmur.
What…is this… I sink into his gaze, and I feel…something, something big lurking there, just on the horizon. A tug from somewhere inside me, or maybe inside of him… Emotion flares from his eyes, expanding his pupils. And I see myself reflected there, in their black, shiny depths. Is the fear I see mine, or his? My fingers flex against his soft, too-warm skin, and it’s like I’m suddenly outside myself, watching as my lips part. Watching as I start to lean in—
I had a panic attack today. The first in a while. It was so stupid too—over nothing. One second I was walking across campus, and the next someone was yelling “Watch out!” right before a big body crashed into me, sending my satchel flying. Everything spilled out, and suddenly I was six years old and kneeling in mulch, bracing for someone to kick me. The guy laughed and said sorry, helped me pick up my shit, and then he was gone. Like it didn’t even happen. Somehow I managed to act normal long enough to get back to my dorm room before losing it completely. Gabe was there…saw it all…
