IRIDESCENCE

❝ She is a romantic and sentimental creature, with a tendency towards solitude. In July, she has an affair with the sky.❞ Ava Taryn Blake. 26. Waitress.

[hayesallies]

A lot of people think that I’m a really angry person. ‘Do you enjoy anything? Do you like anything? Are you happy about anything?’ Yes, I am! But I don’t tweet about it. People don’t rally in the streets to engage in happiness. People talk about things they’re unsatisfied with.

[avablake-blog1]

—SARA & ava,

             Even though Limelight really was a lot of fun and Sara truly enjoyed her work there, there was only so many bad karaoke renditions of ‘Last Christmas’ one person could listen to in a single week. 

She had reached her limit on Thursday evening and was praising the lords for the ambient music in the background at Resonate Brewery, sipping a fancy golden beer with a zesty twist when she noticed Ava in the corner, a guy clearly trying to convince her of something. Exhausted from a full week of work, Sara had only managed to drag herself to a seat at the bar, not even noticing who else was around— if she had, she would’ve dragged herself to the booth Ava was in.

It seemed it wasn’t too late though. In fact, the right moment was more or less upon them when it became obvious Ava wasn’t interested in the guy’s advances. 

Plucking her beer from the bar, she slid off her stool and glided across the room, dumping herself across from Ava with a wide, full smile on her lips. She tilted it toward the guy, brows raising on her face like she was waiting for him to either explain himself or leave. “So?” She asked eventually, five seconds of awkward staring. “Are you gonna leave soon, or?” She asked him point blank, obviously expecting him to.

              Sara was a mirage that did not perplex like that of desert sickness, but enlightened, like the encounter with a heavenly body, and Ava’s grin bloomed when the lefty blonde plopped down in front of her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world–– the best part being, it was.

              Before Ava could properly greet her friend, the douchebag still hovering seemed to swell with a kind of cockiness that stunk. Poignant, invading, and worst of all, reeking of toxic masculinity. “Why, I could pull up a chair and join you,” he said, throwing a glance the way of his ‘audience’, all swine encouraging their own. And with movement made to grab a chair nearby, it was exactly what he did–– or tried to do, until Ava jolted forward, clearly at the end of her rope with the dude when swift-crafted words began to tumble from her lips that had been adhesive a moment ago. 

              “... We’re on a date, actually,” Ava blurted, the quicksilver of caramel eyes finding Sara, throwing her the ghosting of a smirk in their ruse, before reaching for her hand, “And we don’t do plus ones, sorry–”

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—GISELLE & ava,

               Giselle’s face fell immediately when she saw one of the other regular bartenders alone, polishing a wine glass with great concentration. He was nice, as they all were, and Giselle even enjoyed the bit of small talk they normally partook in— but who was she kidding? Her favorite bartender and the one she crossed her fingers to hopefully find manning the brewery tonight, was obviously Ava. 

She was out of sight, but her voice drifted sweetly toward her in its familiar soft lilt, making Giselle’s brows pinch in her search for origin. Where was she? She shifted on her heel and noticed a guy looming over a petite figure— a petite friend to be more exact. Her petite friend, none other than Ava herself. Realizing what was going on, her features pinched and hardened and she quickly set in motion: click click click of heels, and then a hard stop.

“That’s right— she’s waiting for me, and even if she weren’t, it’s pretty obvious she’s not interested in your company,” Giselle said and placed a hand on the guy’s shoulder, just like he had on Ava’s. “And just FYI, a girl sitting alone is not waiting for a guy to come up to her, okay? Okay, bye.” She pushed him to the side, wedging herself in between him and the booth before she sat down next to Ava and hugged her, as if the guy wasn’t even there anymore. “Sorry I’m late,” She said, keeping the ruse up for another moment.

          Heel clicks resonated with prowess and purpose as they encroached on the secluded booth, startling both Ava and the insistent man on her flank, and boy, she had never been happier to hear the incoming of nicer shows than her own. 

         “Elle,” Ava relieved in greeting, tension in her fawn-like features evaporating for elation instead. The same elation was not found in the target of bluntness that still held the poignancy of a knife to an ego, and with his already liquor-flushed complexion going beet red, he slinked back to his group of snickering boys. “––You’re just on time, actually,” Said the girl against the other’s obsidian tendrils hair, having reached over to hug the raven-hued woman the moment she sat, embrace as reverent as Heaven itself.

         “That was amazing,” Ava laughed, shifting around before offering Giselle a sip of her cider, “Do you wanna hang out for a while? I don’t really feel like going home, and I do have a pretty impressive employee discount…”

[avablake-blog1]

—CALEB & ava,

It wasn’t his scene in particular, but on occasion Caleb liked to hit up bars for a change of pace and the hope of meeting a girl he hadn’t already pissed off somehow. There was something to be admired in all watering holes; from fancy fountain displays and elegant lighting of cocktail lounges to the sticky floors and loud music of dive bars, Caleb enjoyed a night out in the end, no matter where it was. Thankfully, this place was right in the middle of that. He wasn’t expecting a perfectly made old fashioned but was happy with a craft beer simply because like good wine, more care was put into it. Drink in hand, his eyes scanned for a place to sit when he spotted a familiar face. Oddly enough she seemingly was being harassed, and while he was now white knight, Caleb fancied himself enough to see being harassed by him a lot more pleasing than being harassed by a drunken fratboy. “ Hey. “ He called when he was within earshot. “ Long time, no see.” His classic, charming grin plastered on, Caleb set his beer on the table before leaning on it, eyes locked on Ava. “ What’s going on here? Were you bored or something?”

                The familiarity of the voice potent but vague; calming and galvanizing; like hearing it under water, it took her a moment, slow on the bend, to break surface–– amber eyes drifting upward to find the handsome man from the Halloween store, Caleb, suave as ever to her rescue. Perfect. Brushing the hand of the ‘Chad’ from her shoulder, she pushed out from the table and stood, sidestepping the frat guy to move into Caleb for a hug, “There you are,” she greeted with a beam of a fake smile, and when her lips were close enough to the tall male’s ear, she whispered the words ‘play along’ softly into his skin. “This was who I was waiting on,” Ava faux affirmed to the drunkard once she pulled away, arm still slung over Caleb’s waist in a way that suggested bond, “Hi, honey, how was your day?” The guy was half a foot shorter than Caleb and about twice his weight, and with the way he shrunk into himself, he clearly knew it too.

[avablake-blog1]

—VERONICA & ava,

Strolling into Resonate had really been something Veronica had decided to do on a whim, remembering Ava had mentioned working that night. It had been far too long since Ronnie had seen her friend and even if it meant having to talk to her on the other side of a bar, it was still something. Her gaze shifted towards the bar, a look of confusion on her face as she couldn’t seem to spot her friend, at least until her eyes moved over a few feet and almost immediately narrowed. It only took a few quick steps before Veronica’s hand reached out and yanked the drunken male back, pushing him against the wall and twisting his arm behind him. “I’m going to do you a favor and let you walk back over to your friends and chalk this up to a rejection,” her words were sharp, her tone serious. “But if I see you bothering my friend again or anyone else in this bar tonight, you’ll be leaving in handcuffs. Understand?” Drunk and obviously afraid, Ronnie watched as the man nodded quickly and she immediately released, watching as he walked off before turning back to Ava. “You okay?”

                  A blur of blonde zoomed past the pair and suddenly, two turned into one, and Ava left alone; lips drawn in a gape, and a flinch jolted her in her seat when she heard a thud against the wall adjacent. She turned, and there she was–– Veronica Spencer, her knight in shining armour more than any man could provide, scaring the wits out of the drunk until he scurried back to his seat. A laugh bursted from her lungs past lips in pure adore and relief, quickly muffled by a hand over her mouth, and with a grin still lingering, Ava stood, wrapping her arms around her friend in the closest to ‘a bear hug’ the girl could muster, “I sure am now,” She laughed, “You really know how to make an entrance, Ronnie–”

[ofnikkcs]

❝ but i’d never tell you that.❞

ava blake + nathan fox // point of views

[avablake-blog1]

@nathan-fox

[avablake-blog1]

—SETH & ava,

Seth listened to her explain what was wrong, and he was relieved it was just that she was cold. Being cold wasn’t the best feeling in the world, but it was better than being sick. He glanced at her outfit, noticing that she wasn’t wearing the best clothes for the kind of weather they were currently having. He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know if it would be rude to tell her what she should or shouldn’t wear. “Are you waiting for a ride? Do you want to borrow my jacket? I don’t get cold that easily, and I honestly don’t mind.”

                 The same eyes in question, of sepia-hue and involuntary tears, widened come the acquaintances stroke of kindness. She always knew him to have a kind, friendly face–– she was just a little shocked, that the innards so easily matched veneer, “That’s... Really nice of you,” Ava began, a shock of tenderness in her mellifluous lilt, before she shook her head, her teeth in subtle chatter, “But I couldn’t. You were smart enough to dress properly, so you should be the warm one.”

[avablake-blog1]

—NATHAN & ava,

                                     The step back felt cowardice in a way Nate hadn’t meant it to, and for a moment he waxed, wavered in that state in-between, one foot over an invisible line and another behind it. He gauged her reaction, terribly mindful of her emotional state in that moment ( probably for the first time in years, at least outwardly so— even if ‘outwardly’ wasn’t obvious in the slightest ), not wanting to add to any strain that was already so visible on her face, and when she didn’t seem to notice, or at the very least not turn it into some sort of rejection, a breath was released quietly. He might’ve wanted to run, but that didn’t mean he’d do it, and least of all make it obvious in what felt like such a fragile, but profound moment between two lost souls, often strangers, but never at the end of the day.

                            —that was kind of how it was with them; they’d never be total strangers. Part of that truth had been what unnerved him the most at first, and maybe still today, just not as much in this very moment. How no matter what, she would always know him. Those scarred, flawed and irreparable parts of him, they’d never lighten and disappear; they would always be hers to know because she knew him at a time in his life where nothing, especially not the things that were supposed to be, were safe and good and reliable. She had seen him at his worst, just as he had once seen her at her worst and found in himself an imperishable need to build himself up around her—- to catch her, to cushion and to support. In the years since then, it had waned in the way it only can when people thrust together are torn apart again and don’t really know how to find their way back. He tried not to think about it, especially after landing here, in Bellevue in her vicinity again; something that had first been such a good idea, and then turned into a constant reminder that time hadn’t healed anything, but pulled them apart instead.

                             If he’d taken his time to think more about it, to try and realize where all the hostility came from in the first place, he’d know it was his own insecurities. Once upon a time they’d been friends, but not the loud, visible kinds, just the kind that was… strictly for the two of them. He knew, even in his cynical heart today, that they’d shared a special bond, forged by grief in the gritty aftermath of death. Therein was the problem; that death linked them and lived moved on. That’s exactly what happened; life had moved on. So where did all of this hidden, secret grief and the intimate bond from it fit now? Apparently it was right here, on creaky floorboards and in shimmery tears. He tried not to look—- didn’t feel like he deserved it, or maybe he was cowering away from the undeniable knot in his stomach that seemed to tighten and twist and twist and twist when he noticed how lashes stuck together in fine points, softened by wet tears that traced gilded skin and carefully crafted cheekbones.

                               The sight alone was enough to bring him back to a time where they’d both been that vulnerable with each other. Even though he hadn’t shed a tear in front of her since then, he felt every bit as exposed right now as if he had; this wasn’t just her. It was the both of them, and he felt it, as if the tectonic plates shifted below their feet, strangely and obediently tied to them. In some ways, it was a miracle he persevered—- that he stayed standing even after he promised her she wasn’t horrible, the quiver of her lip detected. He was such a selfless man, and he knew it the moment he spoke again;

                              “Just… don’t cry,” he said, and also knew they were both surprised when it came out quiet, kind of muddled, but far from harsh and judgmental like any request or order from him usually was. He cleared his throat and looked at his hands, picked at the flesh around his thumb, riddled with unease of a new kind. What was he doing? He couldn’t stand it— and yet he did. “No,” he said faintly, a shake of his head and a stern setting of his jaw come the word’s death. Silence lapsed, his heart the only thing remotely noticeable in his ears, beating, thrumming, racing. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, and he meant it even though he probably did know what she meant. “You haven’t been any different towards me than I have to you.” That was true, and they both knew that. She had never been worse to him than he had to her; maybe the other way around though— most likely. But he couldn’t face it right now; not anymore, and when he almost reached for her, a tremble in two fingers when they unfurled, he took another step back.

                                “Ava, I…” He paused, ashamed that her name felt foreign in his mouth— he said her name, didn’t he? He did, but maybe not like this. “—I have to… write. Deadlines.” Oh, they both knew he was lying, but he found himself wishing she would understand; that she wouldn’t think less of him for bowing out. He just couldn’t, not right now, not any more than this. It was too much too fast, and when his eyes found hers, deep emerald against her golden, he didn’t shy away. He held them there for a beat, for two, maybe even three, and then finally turned and went back into his room.

                 Cosmic shift in the air was tangible. Thick as altitude. Like the prelude signs of a storm brewing–– the air heavy, scented with ozone, pressure of the atmosphere rendering her vertiginous. Encroaching change was eminent, but unlike a thunderstorm, it didn’t promise detonation and it wouldn’t flea come daybreak. No, this shift was daybreak. It was sun, slatting through the weakened holes of rainclouds that had been impenetrable for seven months, thickened for the past seven years. Warmth from its rays evaporated the ice and coated them wholly, and whether it was only this moment or the rest that followed, it was monumental. She could feel it. She was sure he could too. 

               Sensitivity. A feeling Ava Blake knew best. To light, to sound, to violent waves of emotion, sensitive she was since the moment she came in this world, and sensitive she’d be until the moment she left it. To understand her was to understand her efforts to numb it down. To kill it, for it could all just be so much; her stagnant purpose, her isolation, her powdered white lines and rolled up dollar bills. Her head somewhere else not here, dreaming– anywhere but here. Numbing it. She had done so well about it until he showed up. Heightening everything, just by being near her. Raw, vulnerable, and alive she felt, everything that she’d tried so hard to bury puncturing her tenfold, all because of him. He had no idea. 

               Dig deep into the gild of her skin, the plush of flesh, the porcelain of her bones, and you’d find the reason for her detest and bitterness since his arrival in her heart. He made her feel  e v e r y t h i n g. Jacob’s death, her estrangement from her parents, what it felt like to lose him. Her own morality; her own immortality. All of it was so much to bear on her slender frame, so lashed out she had in the face of his own coldness, wrangle that feeling from her bones and the numbness in. Hypersensitive she was, and for so long it manifested in anger and ignore. Now, it had her knees buckling under his emerald stare–– her skin pulse, near the breath of his skin.

              His aura oozed the power of being able to taste you, bite you, and swallow with a single look, and instead of fighting it, she let it covet her. ‘Don’t cry’, he told her, and she nodded in comply, hiccuping in a shaky breath before the rest of her tears dispelled, and rolled off her stark cheekbones and chin, gone under his beckoning. Her gaze didn’t waver now, even if his did to hands she’d know in her sleep, and over the slamming of her heart she heard the sound of his deep voice, so impossibly soft it made her shudder, “Yes you do,” She whispered, not letting him dilute it; she had been horrible, and though there was equal tug and pull, she needed to acknowledge it. If not now, when? And with her acknowledgement, his came too–– few words with hefty meaning, only in a way Nathan could, and an arduous sob was caught in the pit of her throat. Instead it came out as a whimper, and with a rough swallow of tears, the knot in her throat cleared so she could speak. “Maybe,” She whispered, sepia eyes gazing up at him beneath lengthy, tear clad lashes, and something so genuine it hurt oozed from them, “––But I’m... Nathan, I’m sorry.”

                And she was. It swam in her eyes akin to the tears she shed moments before, nothing but conviction in both their spills. She was sorry for being so cruel and combative at times–– she was sorry for being nothing but a ghost at others. She was sorry most it took her this long, triggered by the gun of her past in volatile reaction, to say it at all, for it was exhausting, harbouring so much negativism in her heart for someone who, once upon a time, pried those burdens from her and brought them onto him. The relief of her confession, of this breakthrough on the kitchen floor, had her shoulders sagging; down they went, her gaze too, finding thick digits against the countertop. Suddenly it became hard to breathe when to urge to reach out and touch him became weighty. Maybe say sorry, or thank you, with a squeeze somewhere–– perhaps on his shoulder, or that hand on granite her gaze couldn’t seem to stray from. Ava’s chest swelled, her nerve-endings on high, and she felt her fingers twitch, ready to reach for a the calloused warmth of his fingers–

               ‘Ava’. The startle of her name on his tongue, rarer than rare nowadays, stunned her; his words stopped her altogether. With his verbal, soon-to-be physical excusement, the girl took two swift steps back, and nodding fast, both relieved and disappointment in the break of a breakthrough. “Of course,” She whispered, voice cracking a bit, the words nearly inaudible, and her gaze found his. The moment was brief, of doe eyes meeting emerald sear, red and puffy of tears wake meeting dark circles of sleepless nights, but it was heavy. They both knew then that there was no going back to bitterness and lack of engagement. A white flag was raised, and it had to be respected. 

               When he left she felt her breathing finally catch itself, her frenzied heartbeat soothe a bit. It was too much all at once, and the emotional toll would surely leave her in bed all day to regroup, recharge. But, as she stood there in the kitchen, alone and stunned in the wake of so much, she found herself wishing he’d say her name again soon. Just once, just soon.

              However relieved she was to watch him leave, somewhere, deep in the pits of her chest, lightening struck when the door clicked shut, and she felt herself missing him too. Maybe she always had.

FIN.

[avablake-blog1]

—ANTONIO & ava,

                 Antonio was usually one to keep to himself but when there was something that caught his attention enough, he’d more than likely stick his nose where it didn’t belong. Not to say that was a common occurrence but in the rare moments it would happen, Antonio made himself noticeable. As he drank his whiskey, he noticed the man and woman in the corner of his eye. It wasn’t until he heard the subtle hints that the girl wasn’t interested but was still be pestered by the male that Antonio decided to down the rest of his whiskey before walking over to the pair. Placing his hand on the males shoulder roughly, Antonio pulled him back slightly so he was standing by his side. “I don’t think the lady’s interested, bud.” Antonio said, before giving the male a pat, or something that seemed like more of a shove, on the back. As the stranger wondered off, slightly defeated, but more so too drunk to really comprehend anything. Antonio made sure he continued walking in the other direction before turning back to look at the brunette. “You good?” 

                    The words ‘fuck off’ had aerated in her belly, risen up the swan curve of her throat, and stuck like adhesive against the tip of her tongue. Her nature, so timid and meek when faced with aggression, had latched the velvet flesh quiet, and instead had the sable of pupils seeking out refuge in the bar... and refuge came. Dark, large, and broad, was the figure that loomed behind the drunkard: a man, rugged in strapping features, mannerisms and voice, exuding effortlessly from aura the two syllables she begged to leave her tongue–– ‘fuck off’. Niceties charged with nothing but, read between the lines, and the guy’s clammy palm left her shoulder so he could stagger off to his friends, and finally, she could let her breath out. “Yeah,” Said the girl, sighing deep, her set of full lips wrapped in a light ‘O’ shape throughout the exhale, “Yeah, I’m good,” And her eyes flickered up. A man. The bar light basked him nicely, not eclipsed by the overweight baboon he had just coaxed away, and for a moment, he looked like an angel in it– even if she could sense he was anything but, “Thank you,” Her voice was soft as the small smile adorning her shy features, swallowing a knot as she looked around, “... Do you want a drink? I work here, I can give you one for free. Thank you properly–”

[avablake-blog1]

[avablake-blog1]

                  She nursed a cider, the complimentary ‘shift drink’ they brewed in house, and the decompress of a particularly long shift was underway: alone, secluded, anonymous in a booth far from the limelight behind the bar. Or at least, she thought so, until the startling rasp at her shoulder. A guy, drunk as the group of friends he peeled off from, staggered in his footing as he tried to coax her to join them, claiming ‘we’ve had our eye on you since you poured us our Jägerbombs’. And they said romance was dead. “No, no, I’m... um, I’m good, thanks,” But he was adamant–– even rubbed his hand over her shoulder, meant to endear but instead it a threat loomed, and her heightened discomfort swathed fawn-like features. Sepia eyes did a sweep of anyone nearby to aid in the excuse: “Sorry, I’m actually waiting on someone–”

[avablake-blog1]

—SETH & ava,

Despite Seth putting his medical career behind him, it didn’t stop him from helping people out here and there, or even getting the impulse to want to help someone. As left Limelight - the karaoke bar he bartends at - he looked over at a random stranger. Maybe something was off with them, or maybe he was just seeing what he wanted to see by missing the part of him that wanted to help and treat patients. “Is everything okay?” he asked, gesturing toward them.

                 Uber surge prices were too high, Lyft’s drivers were all booked, and every cab that zoomed by was occupied by people in search of the same thing as she; home. The December air was crisp and dour, the below zero plummet bone-chilling at the unholy hour in the night, and Ava, underdressed and frost-nipped, felt her eyes begin to water. Not borne of frustration or borne of sorrow–– a shock for once ––but because the icy winds had her body involuntary reacting. So startled she was when a voice, familiar as the face she was met with, asked if she was okay, and a mortified laugh left her in suit, “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Sorry,” She said, her ice cold hand from her phone to brush away the water from her cheek, “My eyes water when it’s this cold... It’s like even my face is aware I’m not made for the cold.”

[avablake-blog1]

—NATHAN & ava,

                                                   They probably both knew that this was monumental for them; that the first real conversation they’d had in years wasn’t yesterday or tomorrow, but now— and it made Nate uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t really pin, couldn’t explain. It was the awareness, the insight that it shouldn’t have come today but long ago, seven months ago at least, but maybe so far back that it shouldn’t have been necessary at all. What happened? He was ashamed that he needed to ask himself that question, and even more ashamed when he didn’t know the answer. All he knew, was that it did happen—- this thing, the chasm between them, the distance, the cold air; he didn’t know what it was, just that it was there, and that it had a sort of inevitable feel to it. Like it had to happen so something like this could too.

                                          He swallowed. The pressure on his shoulders were self-inflicted, and he couldn’t quite figure out where it came from, and what it entailed, but he knew it was hinged on her somehow; on Ava. Whatever he did next, how-ever he responded, he knew it would eat him alive if he did the wrong thing, because as much fire and poison he normally bestowed her, this was different— he didn’t want to add to her pain, not now, not in this instant, and maybe not ever, before nor later. It had never really been about her; he knew that, he just… couldn’t speak it, couldn’t allow it to be his truth, not until this moment at least when, maybe finally, it actually was about her.

                                          “It’s okay,” he said, and the words were so faint that they felt more like an outline, two words mouthed, not even alive in a whisper—- but he knew she’d heard him, dismissing her obvious chagrin, the kind that he might’ve thrived off of before but now wished to rid her off.

                  You can tell me anything.

                                         The words lingered in his mind, like he’d spoken them to her a moment, not over a decade, ago, an echo of every syllable ringing in his ears. He swallowed, tried to push them down with it, drowning them and the memory attached to them. It was like he’d forgotten their existence until then; like in a movie when an important memory is triggered at just the right time, when you need it more than ever. He wondered if she remembered, and hoped she didn’t— how many promises could one person break before it’s too many? He’d broken them all, but he still felt that particular one’s weight; you can tell me anything. He covered it with a weak statement, true but weak. He hadn’t known about her estranged relationship with her family. And yes, why would he? She made a good point, but she lacked the kind of anger he’d expected, or that he maybe hoped for on some level, because if he knew anything at all, it was that he deserved it. The anger.

                                            So he couldn’t find the words to reply to her, his swift move in lieu of them, the tumblers filled with clear liquid, the strangers closer than they’d been in years, arms nearly touching and the static brushing through the hairs on his arms, making them stand for a beat of almost-contact. He felt her eyes on him; perhaps that was it too, the physical reaction to eyes he knew in his sleep, half dead, he still knew them like he’d known his own mothers— someone who’d lacked for years too, absence felt in his bones, maybe only deepened by hers too; Ava’s.

                       He stepped back.

                                                 Pulling the glass with him, plucked from the countertop, it slid across the surface until it was met with nothing but thin air, held upright by two fingers. He swallowed before he could bring it to his lips, fighting the urge to empty it, to let it drown out the sight of a trembling lip and the remembrance of the same lip between her teeth, tucked there in a nervous, absentminded gesture that he used to know and love. Would it help if she did it now? Biting down? Would it make the trembling stop and ease his mind, or would the real life replay of the memory turn him to ash? He wondered, and found that not knowing was the best option.

                                  It was the shimmery beads of salty tears, right there on the cusp, between her and the world in doe-like eyes, that did it— a serpent around his chest, tightening its deadly hold on him with every frantic beat of his heart. It was overwhelming, and it took everything in him not to turn around and walk back into his room in that moment, shut the door on her forever.

                                                         “I get it,” he rasped, voice barely a whisper, knuckles white. “And you’re not…” It was the best he could do, but god knew he meant it— maybe he’d never meant anything more than that, and in that moment too. She wasn’t horrible, not even a little bit, and he couldn’t even explain it to her; not with an ounce of credibility, but maybe she’d see it—- his eyes, emerald and deep, but sincere, truthful, they found hers and their steadying, earthy warmth that still managed to send a shiver down his spine, and he really meant it with everything he was.

                              “You’re not horrible…”

                                     It was hard to tell where her words came from. 

            Sure, two shots of liquor could coat any tongue filterless, a truth serum running through floret veins to aid a candor, but Ava had been plenty drunk in front of plenty people and this was the first time the confession chose to unfurl past lips. In the silence that lapsed between her avowal and Nathan’s incoming react, she wondered what spurred the unceremonious spill of such a guarded heart. Was it the murkiness of just being awoke, emotions on high and disorientation laced in fevered speech? Was it being caught receiving her ‘package’, flustered and cantankerous in the midst of it, which had her tongue flecked so freely? No, she thought, blinking it away, knowing the reasoning was of holistic matter. Holistic matter that stood seventy-six inches high, dark-haired and velvet-eyed, sculpted firm under the varnish of gilded skin. All it took was Nathan Fox, his timing, and his first ounce of kindness in months, years, to have her talking. She hated herself for it.

             The suspense was killing her. She could feel it, trembling her skeletal and labouring her breath, waiting for him to digest a statement she so desperately wished to take back. Funny thing about words was, you could never take them back. Irreversible chemical reactions. Like combustion, or baking a cake, her words could not return to their raw place between tinder ribs, wedged painful but safe against her sternum–– words, that could not be undone. Now the question hung like static in the air: would his reaction, her penchant to pay, be as ruinous as combustion on silk, or as saccharine as red velvet to tongue? 

              ‘It’s okay’. Two words, three syllables, so simple, all warmth. It’s okay. Said so softly, it was easier seen than heard, like the beat of a monarchs wing, and a butterfly’s effect it was. A reaction began; tremors up her spine, her head, angled up and toward him so far in their fawn-like lustred gaze, slowly tipped down in a shameful bow, her eyelids fastening shut, screwed tight in their squeeze, until tears found cascade freely down high cheeks and a pair of pursed rosebud lips. Hidden behind tendrils the hue of cognac, she was raw. 

                                                    And it was  o k a y.

               It was a moment as slow as it was swift, only lasting a handful of seconds, but it felt like an eternity when it had been so long since a sliver of understanding had been pushed her way. Done by the only person who ever tried; the only who ever could. It was a moment where her chest frenzied, beating heart thundering, and a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding for so long left her deep and cavernous. It was a moment where the white flag waved was rendered nonexistent, no need for it at all, for she was transported back to years ago, boyhood and girlhood replacing the sharp edges of adulthood, as they sat atop that deserted bus stop that overlooked the sea: no anger, no bitterness, no years lost. 

              The bubble they were in, even for just that moment, was a place of safety; a place that no matter what happened in the past or would the future, their prologue or epilogue stalled and hanging, would never be able to taint. Sacralized. 

               He took a step back, took another drink, and she was given time to gather her wits. Tears were brushed from cheeks with the back of a trembling hand, and with a harsh sniffle and a deep breath taken, the girl could open her gaze once more–– finding deep juniper flecked with gold in their claim, just as the words ‘I get it, and you’re not...’, left a pair of full lips, absent of their clever ice, but laden with warmth. Everything about him, right then and there, was laden with a salient warmth that had her head spinning.

               She felt too much. All the time. Ever since she could remember, she felt and she felt, and it was debilitating–– enough to have her seek out numbness in a stagnant life and the gears of any drive for more capped on park. When it came to Nathan, she felt even more: contempt, anger, nostalgia, everything. Feelings that hadn’t been felt by anyone before. She’d coined it as hatred, and though the surge of so much felt like it sometimes, she knew that wasn’t it. When he promised her she wasn’t horrible, whispered like a secret but austere as life and death, she knew then it never was. It never, ever could be. 

                Tawny eyes had centered as the words lapsed between them, only meeting the sculpt of a broad chest under the fabric of his shirt, defined collarbones peeking through. Her lengthy lashes blinked, languid in speed for one, two, three lapses, when the world started to blur. The blue of his shirt and the gold of his skin swam in her vision like a blend of watercolours on canvas until she could see nothing but mangled hue before clear beads fell. With her breathing shaky, goosebumps risen on bronze skin, she looked up at him–– finding his chiseled mien softer than she’d seen it, obsidian tufts of hair unable to hide the interim tenderness, and she couldn’t help the wobble of her rosebud lips under the pinch of pearlescent ivories. The iciness she had endowed her parents with was of the cruel same matter she had given him, Nathan, and here he was, telling her she wasn’t as horrible as she knew to be, “You don’t think so?” She asked with a tinge of desperation in her mellifluous whisper, fawn-like in her voice as her expression, and with the constrict of her throat, she couldn’t help what squeezed past its hearty lump––

                                     “Even–... Even after the way I’ve been to you?”

[roseydoux]

Empire Records (1995)

[avablake-blog1]

—NATHAN & ava,

Nathan chuckled along and gave a shake of his head. He truly hadn’t minded at all but he’d appreciated that she was a little more mindful after the initial cloud of smoke that had welcomed him into her presence. He took another drag as she talked, exhaling it with a smile resting on his features in return as he looked down for a moment, nodding. “It’s a thing. One of the things only people like us really get. I mean - I don’t think I ever met anyone who said they kept lighters like that around for longer than a week. Unless they got really fancy ones,” he said with a shrug, the amusement still evident on his face. “It’s a mystery. At least it seems to be. You could make a game out of it. How long will this lighter stay? Find out soon,” he joked, shaking his head. “You just never know. As you said, it could be hours, days, years. Sadly the latter is never the case for me,” Nathan added before flicking the cigarette between his fingers lightly to get rid of the ash that had built up at the tip. Grinning, Nathan hummed thoughtfully. “Longer than they usually do for me. I mean, I rarely use them up. I’d almost go as far as saying that this is one of the firsts I ever emptied but I’d say about two or three weeks?” He took a last glance at it before putting it back into his pocket until he’d find a trashcan to get rid of it. “I smoked a lot lately, not gonna lie. I keep telling people I’m cutting down but sometimes I feel like I’m lying to myself,” Nathan admitted, rambling mindlessly before shaking his head. “Sorry, you didn’t sign up to hear me bitch and moan about my life and smoking habits,” he apologized.

               “You could have a ‘fantasy lighter league’,” Ava giggled, enjoying this easy jest with a perfect stranger, the pair’s isolation of lighter talk and smoke like sunlight in the slate-hued overcast of clouds and preppy brunch, “Have, like, a pool of people making bets on how long each one will last,” A drag, hold, and exhale until she added– “I’d join,” And it was then, a staggered pause following words probably too comfortable to say to a stranger, no matter how funny or strapping, did the brunette fawn remember to bridge the gap from stranger to not–– and a name was all it took. “I’m Ava, by the way,” Her hand outstretched, all svelte digits and gentle, for the man who played as her interim smoking buddy and pseudo saviour.

              She liked listening to him. Words seemed to come easy, a web of candy floss in their delivery, sweet to the drums of years. Ava was caught in it, hanging off his every word with thoughts of mimosas and marriage talk nowhere near her peripheral, and she couldn’t help but ask for more, “Why’s that?” The words came, left, and she couldn’t take them back–– couldn’t edit in time to know if it was rude or not, wondering why he was smoking more than usual. But they were onto the next thing fast, come his misplaced apology, “No, no, don’t apologize. You’re, um... actually saving me, from certain scrutiny inside those doors there, so. I should really be thanking you.”

[avablake-blog1]

—GISELLE & ava,

                  It really was amazing what a glass of wine and Ava Blake’s presence could do for one’s mind. Giselle could easily testify to it, but was far from surprised. No wonder the place was always packed if this was what the brewery served, an air of calm that was clearly much needed right now. The guys outside though, the football idiots, they did not deserve it and Giselle would gladly take their place.

“This is why women are the superior sex,” Giselle said with a ‘loud’ roll of her eyes, her voice booming, raised for emphasis and for the guys nearby to hear too. They could take it up with her if they disagreed— she was confident she could convince them.

“It really is so damn stupid,” She agreed and laughed with the brunette. “At least we realize that. I feel bad for you though, having to witness it that often. They better tip you generously before.”

            Giselle Silva fell into that lump sum of women, bewitching in ichor and aura, that were meant to be written about: poetry, prose, publication–– it all. Girls like Ava could only watch in adore, rejuvenate in that essence, and envy it under veneer. 

           Now, however, with Giselle’s rise in volume on the words ‘women are the superior sex’, and the side-eyed broods of men eavesdropping nearby, the girl could only laugh, listen, and let the sense of tip-toeing go awash under Elle’s fearless tone. “Damn right,” Ava parried, but it was a murmur instead of a call. Maybe one day she’d be brave enough to join her. 

           “Somedays are better than others,” The brunette sighed the confession, hanging the last wine glass over the bar before retiring the polishing cloth, moving close so her stomach hit the inner edge of the bar, and leaned forth; propped on slender elbows and forearms, attention unabashed on her friend, “Those kind of guys think chicken-scratch phone numbers pay my electrical bill,” Laughing, soft as zephyr, Ava rolled her eyes, and a moment of hesitation lapsed. She was a quiet thing, hardly spoke enough to complain about much, but if she were to get into it with anyone, she was happy it was Giselle. 

           “––Then there are the craft beer snobs,” Ava started, “They don’t tip if you if you can’t talk ‘hops’ with them, like ten bucks an hour means you should be some barley connoisseur,” A deep huff of a sigh left her, but she went on, at ease for once, “But... But if you know more than them, they don’t like that much either,” Shaking her head, aloof annoyance puncturing fawn-like features at the cringe-inducing memory of mansplaining, a huff left her lungs before a knowing look was shared Giselle’s way, “Amy Dunne’s ‘Cool Girl’ monologue starts to kind of feel like an anthem, when you’ve worked here long enough.”

[avablake-blog1]

—CASEY & ava,

Casey could only chuckle a little in agreement. “Tell me about it.” She crosses her fingers when she goes to bed in hopes a spider doesn’t up and fall on her some time during the middle of the night. It’s practically Fear Factor every time she’s in her room. Which explains why she’s out of it as often as possible. “Ava. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Casey extends her hand for the other girl to shake. At the mention of Resonate Brewery, Casey nods, recognizing the name, images of rustic furniture and the smell of pizza coming to mind. “Wait, really?” Excitement fills her. “That– that would be amazing.” She can’t believe the random kindness she’s just run into. “That would be so great, honestly.” She shakes her head, floored by the opportunity running into Ava has presented. She’s looking at the other woman with a wide smile – appreciative and surprised by the good fortune she’s just run into. “Gosh, wow. Are you like a guardian angel or something? That’s so nice of you, really.”

                   “Mine too,” And it was, wholeheartedly so, galvanized in the affection of her words and the smile she wore–– one genuine, forthcoming, rare when it came to strangers; familiar or not. It shocked even Ava how quick she had taken to the blue-eyed, blonde-hued newcomer. Was it that part of her, a sentimental creature wedged between ribs, able to see herself in the girl? Or was it a simple act of kindness, of fate? The lines were muddled in the grinned beams from one to the other, but in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter. Helping another get out of that dodgy motel was all that did, “Great, great, yeah,” Ava cooed, nodding, angelic features alight with the same matter as the other’s, “You just email me your resume, and I’ll talk you up. They’re going to be excited about you, I can already tell,” Even though they had just met and it was a bizarre claim to make, she meant it. At Casey’s words, Ava shook it off, waving a hand of rouge fingertips and cool skin to shoo away any idea of her, Ava Blake of all people, being a guardian or an angel, when she was anything but, “No, no, I just–... I’ve been there before,” She confessed, high cheeks rosy with memory and flush, “New, and all. I went through about four shitty jobs, weeks in that motel, before I found one that I liked, that stuck, and I’ve...” She cleared his throat, ridding any remnant of wistful register her voice threatened to lower to, “I’ve been working at Resonate ever since.”