Daphne Hawthorne

[daphhawthorne]

Look who goes there! It’s Daphne Hawthorne. wait, you don’t know who SHE/HER is? the 33 old CO-OWNER/INSTRUCTOR at Evergreen Stables has been in town for, like, 3 weeks. i believe they live in MEADOW RIDGE, but i usually see them around Parkers Bluff. they can be a bit Prideful, but i think being Resililent kinda balances them out, you know? 

Once Maple Brooks’ golden girl, Daphne Hawthorne left home at seventeen to chase her dream of dancing for the Royal Ballet. She made it, but at a cost that no one back home ever saw, the exhaustion, isolation, and quiet heartbreak of a life built entirely around perfection. Years later, a devastating injury and a very public breakup with her fiancé in New York ended her career almost overnight.

Now thirty, Daphne has returned home under the guise of a “fresh start,” though she still doesn’t know what that really means. She spends her days helping her mother run Evergreen Stables, the family’s riding business, and doing her best to avoid the local ballet studio that keeps inviting her to teach. Outwardly calm and poised, she hides her restlessness behind routine and her pride behind good manners.

Daphne is resilient, self-disciplined, and quietly determined, but she struggles with vulnerability and still fears being seen as a failure. Beneath the composure is someone learning, slowly, to exist without the applause.

She’s currently focused on rebuilding her sense of identity, mending her relationship with her mother, and finding joy in the ordinary things she once overlooked. In time, she may find her way back to dance, not as the performer she once was, but as someone who can teach, mentor, and move with grace on her own terms.

Potential Connections: old friends from Maple Brooks, stable staff, the local dance studio team, journalists or city visitors curious about her past, and anyone patient enough to earn her trust again.

Triggers present in her backstory: injury recovery, implied disordered eating habits, toxic work environments, infidelity, and grief over her father’s death.

[divineinfamy]

who: open (0/5) where: the final whistle

Silas slammed the flat of his palm against the countertop, a grin spreading across his face. "Did you see that goal," he asked, awe tinging his tone. He'd supported the red devils since his days growing up in Manchester, he'd seen their ups and downs, -- they were a proud team with a storied history, and the way they were turning their fortunes around this season made him proud. So much so that he was feeling a bit generous. "What are you eating," he asked the person beside him, "lunch's on me."

[daphhawthorne]

Daphne glanced up from her phone, caught slightly off guard by the sudden burst of noise that followed the goal. The Final Whistle wasn’t her usual scene,too loud, too full of people who actually cared about whatever match was on...but she’d needed somewhere to hide from the rain.

“You act like you scored it yourself,” she said, a small smile tugging at her mouth as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His excitement was almost charming, even if the sport itself meant nothing to her.

At his offer, she arched a brow. “Lunch, hmm? That’s quite the victory lap for a game you didn’t play.” Her tone softened a beat later. “Surprise me then. Something easy to eat and preferably something that isn't fried within an inch of its life.”

[divineinfamy]

who: anyone (0/6)

where: book voyage, blind date with a book

Rafael wouldn’t consider himself an avid reader. In fact, he could probably count on one hand the books he’d read from cover to cover, but he had to admit that the concept of a blind date with a book was something that had intrigued since he’d first seen the event advertised; he was just a sucker for a good surprise. “So, a book about a murder that happens on a private island,” he began, holding up one of the books he held, “or psychological thriller about a serial killer? Can’t really decide which one I prefer.” He turned to the person beside him. “Anything catch your eye yet?”

[daphhawthorne]

Daphne traced her fingers along the paper-wrapped spines, her expression thoughtful. “I’m always drawn to the sad ones,” she admitted, tilting her head to read the handwritten clues. “Tragedy. Lost love. Anything that leaves me vaguely ruined by the end.” Her mouth curved into a small smile as she glanced over at him. “Though between your options, I’d go with the island. At least the view’s nice while everyone dies.” She picked up a book wrapped in brown paper, the tag reading ‘a woman learns that the life she built isn’t hers at all.’ “This one’s practically calling my name,” she said, half amused, half resigned.

[daphhawthorne]

Jack smiled at the girl. It seemed as though her hard-ass exterior seemed to be melting away, Jack usually had this effect on people because he did not have the ability to take many things seriously. “trust me, love, I can admit it until I’m blue in the fucking face, but still doesn’t help me fix my problems.” he laughed at himself again- he really didn’t care what anyone else thought of him- only about what they thought of his looks, he was a little vain in that sense, but behaviour? he couldn’t give a shit.

“Oh.” It truly was a rare occurrence for Logan to have an interaction like this, to have this reaction. She wasn’t sure if she liked it, loathed it or hated it. It was very confusing, almost like bullet bouncing backwards. She was so used to her words slicing those that heard them that anything other than was...well weird. 

Jack’s eyebrows squinted slightly- “I feel like I do know you from somewhere- but as you’ve already gathered, I’m a little bit of a mess.” His British accent seemed particularly strong when he was tired- he didn’t know why. “wait- do you live in Las Vegas?” Jack added quickly- his eyes suggested he had been privileged to an epiphany about how he knew this girl. 

Logan’s eyebrows raised, curious to hear what the blonde had come up with. The redhead half laughed as he pointed to himself, agreeing with him. He looked like the hopeless type, but he made up for it with his puppy like nature. “I know a really good therapist if you ever need one,” She said. “They love to listen, and serve.” She winked. It had been a great way to...relax and forget her problems for a time. “At the same time.”

“Born and raised.” She confirmed, racking her own brain for a answer. “The city with more secrets than New York, I like to think.” New York was where many of her socialite friends were based, and they liked to think that they were top tier. In her eyes, maybe for lunch ins, and paparazzi pictures -  but Vegas was were stakes were at their highest. She stared at him for a moment. “But obviously, your accent is British, I spent a while in London last year. So, any guesses?” 

[daphhawthorne]

The bluntness with which she speaks to him paired with a bitter edge that she isn’t bothering to conceal is new for him. He’s used to honey-sweet, to bending to his will until there were cracks in her foundations; he’s used to give, give, give, but never push back. It feels peculiar and uncomfortable and he has to work to stop himself from physically shaking it off, knowing that allowing it won’t actually do anything to make this better. Mik doesn’t know what his expectations were, but they certainly hadn’t accounted for more of that feeling that he’s come to associate with what it means to love somebody. Or maybe just what it means to hurt somebody that he loves. It’s been far too long for this to still be so hard, and it makes him want to give up before he really begins.

You left me. He automatically wants to correct her, to plead his case with twisted words despite the knowledge that he was an adult at the time, and in some form, he had a choice. At least so far as he’s allowed to tell her about it without risking her life more than he already has — there are at least some lines he’s still trying not to cross.

Instead, he lets her finish speaking, which is quite the wonder when it comes to Remik.

Everything is very still. It makes the impact of her words all the harsher in the softness of the night, shadows clinging to the corners of the rooms, to the cut of his cheekbones. He tilts his chin down, lowering his gaze to the floor as if to convey a feeling of shame; in a way, that’s exactly what he’s doing. It takes him a few ticks of silence before he opens his mouth to reply, and even then, his voice is whisper-soft. Something small and perhaps even a little bit fragile can be heard there, like the wispy visage of a ghost just out the corner of one’s eye. “I knew that you were alive.”

Inhaling deeply, Mik stands up, trying not to think about the empty space that had been between his thighs, where she might have stood before cheeky and beautiful and not ever quite close enough. It’s ceased to exist now, just like that scenario has ceased to be a possibility. Mik circles about his lounge to a piece of artwork on his wall, dominating the space. Despite the fact it’s very clearly the nude form of what is typically viewed as a woman being showcased in this particular painting, it remains devoid of sexual provocation, unlike a lot of the other pieces in his home. There’s some kind of sorrow in the set of her shoulders that he’s always thought profound, in a way.

“What do you remember about that night?” 

I knew you were alive. Her green eyes were pierced with surprise as they flickered to him. Met with the internal urge to yell with the feeling of shock and hurt burning away at her. Logan hadn’t been aware that he knew anything about her further than that night. She’d been led to believe that he hadn’t attempted to speak to her, find her or even get through to her. His letter had added further weight to her assumption. Questions were forming that she didn’t have the strength to ask, but she knew that when it came it him, her strength was more difficult to maintain. That had always been her downfall when it came to Mik, or she guessed perhaps love in general. He was the first and last, she couldn’t bare to give up control to anyone else. 

Logan found comfort in the doorway. A speaking of how the moment was a centre line, like a threshold, in or out. The redhead had no idea. For the first time in her life she had no inkling of the direction in which she intended or desired to go. Stay, or Leave? This time it would be her choice and not his. She could call the shots on whether to be here or even see him again.  

“When I woke,” relieving that night was a pain she wasn’t prepared for. Blocking it from her memories, to protect herself for two years had allowed her to become reliant on not talking about it. While it stayed buried, she stayed sane. She tried to dissociate herself from her words, she didn’t want to have an investment in them anymore. “My mom told me you’d gone, told her that you couldn’t deal with me anymore. That you couldn’t afford to get in trouble over me.” Her attempts at trying to be emotionless were crumbling from the inside the second they left her mouth. “I didn’t believe her...” She paused for a second, bracing herself to divulge the information that stayed strictIy between those that were there. “I pulled the drip from my arm and ripped myself out of the hospital bed. I ran out to the halls, the waiting room - You weren’t there. My mo-She was right.” Logan’s mother had always had mixed comments on Remik, for reasons that were of and beyond Logan’s understanding. The memories of this had been the only things she hadn’t mentioned in therapy. Unable to discuss that he was the second man in her life who had abandoned her, her own father hadn’t wanted to stay so why would Mik? 

She’d fallen to her knees when she knew what had happened. It was the last thing she’d expected. For him to leave her. It was then she told her mother everything, and she submitted to the treatment her mother would otherwise force upon her. 

“Why did you leave me that night ?” Logan asked, upset rising in her tone. The small redhead’s presence grew meek. Her voice was quiet. “Mik, what happened?” It was the first time she’d used his name, especially the shortened version. In the letter he said he was sent away, but how? This answer was not hidden in the letter. 

“In your letter, you say how you get what we used to do was detrimental to me,” She speaks again, before allowing him a chance to answer. “So then why did not you get that being abandoned was worse than that.”

[desperate-housewives]

[daphhawthorne]

“no i was just wondering who the fuck you were talking to..” she chuckled.” that’s all.” 

“Well, I was looking at you.” Sarcasm drowned her words, as she looked at the blonde. “But if that’s not enough, then I’ll tell spell out for you.” Logan used her hands to animate, bring her attitude alive to new heights. “Y-” She emphasised as much her pouted lips would allow. “O-” It could be taken either way, and either way she wasn’t fussed. People weren’t her choice of flavour in the mornings, but she had a new outfit to show off. “U,” She finished with a fake laugh, that was more an emission of her annoyance than anything. “Now together! That means you.” 

[daphhawthorne]

The sudden feeling of exposure hits him like a shock of cold water. Logan’s eyes are perusing the room around them, raw like his insides, and he tears his gaze away from her face to save himself from what her expression will read. Everyone else he’s ever brought in here had no idea what they were looking at, but not her. She knows him better than that, and while there’s some part of him that settles — the juxtaposition of a wild animal falling into a soft sleep — most of him is writhing in profound discomfort; he wants to be looked at, but he doesn’t want to be seen.

Run-on sentences fade to black in his head as he forces himself to refocus on this and not the panicky feeling welling up, though of course hearing what she has to say doesn’t do all that much to contribute towards forcing that to subside. Harshness aside, he understands the reasoning behind making that statement, and he respects it in his own way. Mik is nothing if not smoke and mirrors, and the idea that she’s coming into this in such a way as to blatantly and outright not entertain that…well, he doesn’t have much of a choice, does he? Besides that, he didn’t give her the letter to bullshit her. It was as honest as he’s ever been in his life, just as he is with her regardless of that, and it’s important that she knows it. It’s important that he didn’t bare himself for nothing. To just be a coward, as usual.

“It is true.” He says, speaking slowly like he does, and being careful to enunciate his words properly. A visible shiver goes through his body when he says that, and he curls his fingers into the arm of the sofa where he’s perched, trying to still the trembling of his hands. Remik clears his throat, chin ducking down as he lowers his gaze to the floor for a few breaths of silence. His lips remain parted, making it rather clear his intention to say more, but the seconds tick by like years without anything coming.

Finally, he inhales.

“I know how long it has been. I know you have moved on in what ever regard that you are able to. I know, too, that it was selfish to send it, to alert you of my presence here in the process. Do not think that I am too self-absorbed to see that.” Just because he can see it doesn’t mean he’s going to stop himself, though. From doing any of this, evidently. Green eyes lift to her face again, and he searches desperately for something there he hasn’t seen in a very long time. “I did not mean for what happened to happen. For what I did, and what I was forced to do afterwards. I guess I could not bear the thought of you continuing to think that, at least when there was something that I could do about it, right in front of me.” 

His answer doused a quench that by now, she wasn’t sure would ever go away. The letter, his words, they’d allowed her to breathe again. The drought was over. A version of the past that had been assumed by her melting away, as the real answers seeped in. Though it did ignite another thirst, pushed aside by the arrival of the letter. The one that had been hurting her ever since that night, that branded her like a scar that would never fade, there was no ointment for that. 

Not even an explanation would help this one disappear, as the insecurity had manifested into her being. Too many tears, screams and stress headaches were associated with it. A testament to no matter how much they talked, things would never be the same. He’d changed her, whether he was sorry or not. He’d left a acidic imprint on her, that only she was left to deal with. Her demons were both mental and physical because of what they did. Because of what she did, for him. 

“I have, and you’re right,” Logan wanted to deny it. For her moving on from the situation was merely the process of breaking away from it. Yes, she was able to go a couple hours without it crossing her mind, sometimes a day, but it was rare. Most of her guided treatment was for the drug abuse, but not from Mik. She hadn’t recovered from him, and she never would. But, she wouldn’t allow him to know that. It was private. Just like everything else in her life had been the last three years. “This was selfish.” 

Logan still loved him, more than herself, more than she’s ever loved anyone, but it didn’t wipe away their past. The nights spent in hospital, than rehab without answers, the hours of senseless longing they were burned into her memory. Lost in her thoughts and wired emotions she didn’t hear his words all that clearly, missing key words that were important. 

“When I woke up in hospital you weren’t there,” She clutched onto this moment, her question leaving her mouth well rehearsed. There was a shake in her voice. Vulnerability that she never thought she’d have the chance to feel again taking over her body, it was horrible. But she’d never - even for a second give it up. “You left me.”

“I could have been dead,” She said, unable to keep the broken shards out of her tone, it’s sharpness cutting through the air of his otherwise silent apartment. “You wouldn’t have known. As far as I knew you didn’t.”

[daphhawthorne]

Rusty rolled his eyes at Logan’s biting sarcasm. “I was being nice.” He grinned, amused by how much that seemed to bother the redhead. “Vote for you? Are you running for President?” He wasn’t very good at keeping up with the political aspects of higher education. He didn’t know what positions were available to students within the university, whether there were any clubs running, elections… he only knew when there were parties taking place because Delaney knew and relayed the information. “I have class in an hour.” He explained. “I had a lecture this morning but was heading home to pick up the books I need… we’re studying Victorian Literature.” He added, knowing Logan would just love the opportunity to point out that she hadn’t asked. 

“Nice is for social politics, not down time.” Logan stated. She’d recently read an article that informed her that negative was more of a neutral emotion, which meant that it was more natural than a positive emotion. Positive emotions being chemical reactions meant that they essentially aren’t, or something like that, she’d ran out of time to finish reading it. “It’s not public knowledge yet, but I will be yes.” Logan tried her best not to scoff, or throw up in her mouth when he told her about his study topics. They were certainly not in her taste, she preferred things that much more current, therefore to her much more real and reachable. Business was that for her. "You poor thing, now I can see why you found me. Say no more." She said. "No literally, it's grossing me out just hearing the title." 

[daphhawthorne]

“well… If you really want to help me you’ll leave me alone. I think prostitution is illegal on school grounds and I don’t want to get in anymore trouble, you know” He leaned against the wall. 

Logan’s eyes narrowed, she was used to arseholes, but this was new level. The pathetic kind. She stepped nearer to the fellow redhead, leaning in. The look on her face was of mock seduction, as the sarcasm lit her eyes. “Being of worth, does not make me a prostitute. You ever call me that again, and I will end you.” She said. “I will cut off your balls, and see to it that the university take away whatever football scholarship your on. Capiche?” 

[daphhawthorne]

Jack had surprised himself with how together he was this morning. He’d woken up to his alarm. the first one- which was a rare occasion. On making it into college he started to question his existence, something not common for him- he often didn’t understand why he was there- but in all honesty, he was having the time of his life.

Jack couldn’t help but notice the arrogant pitter patting of heels on the floor of the corridor- the person was automatically drawing attention through the rhythmic taps on the floor. To Jack, he felt as though she wanted all eyes on her. 

After that mental epiphany, he was surprised when the girl snapped at him, simply for giving her what she wanted? Attention. “In all honesty, mate- I don’t even know if I can help myself- so you got no chance.” Jack laughed to himself slightly, rather amused at his own joke- this was nothing new. 

Logan’s frown softened, only by a fraction, but nevertheless it did. The boy’s joke was...cute. The difference in his reaction compared to the ones she was used to, it was refreshing. Usually it would only bring further annoyance to her, as people made displays of obvious offence or fear, like she had the capacity to care - she doesn’t. 

“The first step is admitting it..” Logan flipped her hair. Her phone buzzed, reminding her what time the council were meeting today. She looked up a the boy, if not from anywhere substantial she’d definitely seen his face before. “Do I know you from somewhere?” 

[daphhawthorne]

“What does that mean?” It seems the obvious question to ask, blurted out in the wake of her electrifying entrance, and he slips the door shut with an audible click. A large hand rests palm-flat against the smooth surface of it, and for a few breaths, he faces it rather than her. Mik’s nerves are frayed, scarred and stepped on, and he is not nearly numb enough right now to deal with this. Artificially, anyway. He’s too close to his own body, too inside of himself, and it hurts more than he thought that it would. It reminds him of why he does pretend, and it tells him a lot of what she might mean by that, even if he still stands by begging her clarification on the statement. Sucking in a breath through his nose, he flutters his eyes shut for a moment, two, three — then he turns around and tries to not look for too long.

Instead, he focuses on the lounge, just head of them, and bathed in shadows. She came around late, but he figures she probably guessed that he would still be up. Remik’s always been a night owl, though in the last few years since he’s seen her, he’s started making use of times like this to expend his energy in ways that are slightly healthier. His twenty-four hour gym pass is something he makes use of often when the street lights are aglow, and it shows, too. His body is different, not as emaciated; not the body of someone who does what they did, at least not in the same way that they used to.

“Ah.” It’s some kind of beginning, and he turns on his heel to face her, perching himself just on the edge of the arm of his large sofa. The position makes him look a bit smaller, but no less in control than he had been when he was standing at his full height, even if that control is an illusion. “Thank you.” It’s not often that he says that, but he’s feeling oddly polite right now. Like he’s speaking to worse than a stranger. Wetting his dry lips with his tongue, he casts a glance about as if he himself is seeing the place for the first time. There’s art. A lot of it. Tastefully placed and carefully chosen, but in abundance. “Here is fine. Did you come here to say something in particular? I figure we can get right into the point of it, no?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Logan said, not turning around. She knew what it meant and that was enough. She hadn’t responded to his letter to play anymore games, no matter the player. It was that, that had worn away at her, had made her rely on a part of her that was unhinged, unhealthy. Perhaps that meant she should clarify. By not giving an answer did that mean she was feeding into it? “I mean,” She scolded herself for not realising that in the first place. “I’ve not come here for any bullshit.” It had come out harsher than Logan had intended but it didn’t take away from the honesty of it. 

Most nights Logan would succumb to a routine, to be in bed a good time, though that did not necessarily mean that sleep would closely follow. Often the time would be spend being productive, reading for class or writing up notes. But there was no way that her brain would have been able to switch off knowing that she had a letter that could have changed everything in her possession, and that it’s author was in the same place as her, something that she never thought would be possible again. 

Logan watched as he sat. The thought of how in their previous circumstances she’d have placed herself in front of him, running her hands through his hair, wedging herself between his legs. Things were different now, very different, now all she could do was stare at the distance between them. Following his gaze, she noticed the paintings, and other pieces. She was accustomed to seeing art, but there was something in particular about the pieces in which Mik had chosen that represented him to her as if they were speaking about him. Getting to the point was a great idea, she thought. “Wa-Is anything you wrote still true?” She caught herself, it wasn’t a stumble, but a change of question. She didn’t want to know if were true then, she needed to know if it were true now. Now was what mattered. 

[daphhawthorne]

Because I’m a mess Logan still has no bio, but while I figure out something more fancy, here’s a few bullet points about her :)

- Rich bitch. Family own a vegas hotel empire, started by her mother’s side in the 70′s. Logan was given her mothers last name at birth, for that reason. The empire owns hotels in every capital around the world now. 

- Logan was sent away to a rehab in England following a drug overdose in 2015.

- Her mother divorced her father, when he’d become increasingly abusive. Something that Logan only started to deal with the last year. 

- Logan’s mother Lana worked tirelessly to keep their family drama away from the media, the divorce being cited publicly as being a mutual decision, and that Logan went to London to spend time with a sick relative. 

- Her coping mechanisms while drug free, is control, and to hide behind her bitchy exterior. Don’t get her wrong there’s elements of spoilt brat, but being a daughter of a billion pound empire it’s part of it. 

- She’s a sophomore transfer. Spending freshman year in London studying, finding that being away was better for her recovery. Especially as it involved staying away from certain people. It also allowed Logan to fly under the radar for a while, the Larson’s weren’t hounded by the paparazzi but whenever trouble would arise they’d come sniffing. 

- Logan is on the student council, as social chair. She plans to take over as president at the start of the next year, spending this year learning her footing and schmoozing the right people. The council is the healthiest way she can exercise her control. 

[daphhawthorne]

[daphhawthorne]

The sea salt had gone to her head. She could tell that’s what people were thinking as she strut through the quad. Her wardrobe had always been extravagant, but today she’d taken it even further. The outfit she dawned was red carpet ready, beyond what was appropriate to storm the university halls. And her attitude came with an extra bite of venom today. A change that Logan had waited to do until the college was back in session. After all, transformations were only fun when there were people watching. “Did your dad fuck Pippy long stockings?” Elbowing past a girl with low braids. “Then why are you dressing like her long lost daughter? Move.” Continuing down the hall, she paused as she could feel eyes on her. Not the good kind. “Can I help?” 

[daphhawthorne]

The staring isn’t intentional, it just sort of happens. Words tumble from her lips that don’t seem to process correctly in his brain, and Mik has to actively turn them around a few times, translate them into something that makes sense. His head is full of images, memories, sounds, tastes, smells — it’s all crashing into him in a way that’s not just vaguely nauseating, but completely overwhelming as well. As it turns out, catching glimpses of her from across a crowded room isn’t the same thing as this concentrated form of everything she is, like some kind of high dosage of something potent, something he asked for but wasn’t actually prepared to receive. He’s had this drug before so many times, but his body doesn’t have a tolerance for it anymore. It’s been too long since his last hit.

Green eyes flick down to the letter in her hand, and though he remembers what it contains, he hasn’t read it in ages. He didn’t re-read it before he gave it to her, too afraid his resolve would falter and he wouldn’t be able to go through with it; he just put it in the box and he bolted for the door, and that was enough. Well, apparently it was enough, because she’s here now, and his heart is racing so hard in his chest that it actually hurts. “Oh.” Remik isn’t very articulate right now, and it takes him too long to respond with even such a small thing. It takes him even longer to step back away from the door again, now leaving it completely untouched, and shadowed by his entryway. “You did. I am sorry, I am having a hard time believing…” Believing that she’s really here. Believing that she’s real. Believing that the world would throw such a strong, strange coincidence their way.

Fate, maybe? He doesn’t know. Mik’s never believed in things like that.

“I did not cross the address out well enough. We can be pretending that was not intentional, I think, for right now. Um.” He hesitates, pressing his lips together, and then he brings a hand up to rake it back through his hair. It was already a disheveled mess before, so it doesn’t particularly make it worse or better. “Come in. We do not want to do this half-way outside.”

If let herself think about the surrealism of the moment, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle it. She stared at him, careful not to look to closely, to avoid coming apart. At least not outside. There was a rare pain that she felt, similar to that of when a person has a traumatic injury, and the area grows a sensitivity that makes the feeling come back when anything moves near it. Not that her fears were fuelled by violence, at least not with Mik. It was difficult to compute that after closing not only a chapter, but a book, that the epilogue was no longer the ever after. During her year of schooling in England, she made a new. Now being back in the states for 4 months, and its over - like that. 

She wanted to speak when he trailed off, but with nothing to reply other than the obvious, she kept silent. Her life had become about so much more than stating the obvious the past three years, though from time to time it helped her keep up appearances. She thought about how she had built herself up since she last saw him, now she was a better, stronger person. There were things about her that would never be the same again, but the way she handled things was better. She was stronger, more controlled. 

The redhead put place the letter in her purse, arms crossed over her chest. It’s contents imprinted on her mind, it was longer important. She hesitated before stepping forward, she paused next to him. “For the record. I don’t pretend anymore.” Before continuing inside the apartment, she waited seeing the hallway for Mik to take the lead. After all this wasn’t her space, and she’d didn’t feel it right to make the choice of where this would take place. 

“This..is nice.” She commented, her way of breaking the silence. Though her words were honest. “Well, the parts I can see. Where am I going?”

[daphhawthorne]

rcmiks:

closed starter ft. @logan-larson.

It’s been a day that’s felt more like a week. Mik has been distracted, more irritable than usual, and incredibly frustrated with himself in a way that he isn’t entirely used to anymore. He’d thought he’d gotten over this. He’d thought he’d moved on from these sick, dark feelings that are like lead weights inside of him, but as it turns out, all it took was the barest glimpse of her to send him spiraling backwards. Years have passed since the last time he saw her, so it was bound to impact him in some way when she just popped back up, but it’d be a lie to say it’s not more so the way she’s popped up than anything else. Logan isn’t here for him, and that’s become increasingly clear over the last few days. Clear enough that he’d mustered up what little bravery he has left in him to deliver that old letter to her. To deliver words that only make sense with context left behind.

It’s nearing eleven when he hears somebody at his door. The fact he’s not expecting anybody isn’t really something that makes him hesitate, mostly because he figures it’s probably just one of his neighbors coming around to ask for something. He doesn’t have sugar for them to borrow — at least not what they’d be looking for. When he pulls it open, it’s with an expectant look on his face that quickly melts into one of shock. “Oh.” A soft sound leaves him, nothing articulate, and he takes a step back, appearing as if he’s seen a ghost. It definitely feels that way. Turns out Logan got his letter after all, and now he’s got to brace himself for whatever kind of effect it’s going to have. Shit.

“Fuck. Hi.”

The new year weigh heavy, everything that had started to ease, had gone backwards. Square one insight. Everyday was a fight of conscience against quick thoughts and sharp memories. It was to be expected. Recovery was an uphill battle, she’d learned to believe in this the last year. At times her resistance weaned thin. She sat on her apartment floor, her back to wall. The cold wood was not the reason for her goosebumps. The Expresso she’d drunk to subside her tiredness was now a regret, as it added to a feeling of sick. The white envelope, unopened, stared back at her, from the corner of the sofa. She’d dropped it there when she noticed the handwriting, the box of submissions idling next to it. 

Shock coursed through her veins. It hadn’t been a trick of the light. The glances of him, they were real. Settled on the idea that she would never be in the same vicinity as him again, to have seen him in person, and to now have a letter written by him; She didn’t know what to think. Emotions that had grown stale, felt fresh. Hours elapsed. Out of reasons to ignore it, she ripped open the letter. 

The words that had been wished upon, were now in her hands. The silence that she had endured for three years had to come to an end. There were answers, not all of them, but some. Enough to feed a hunger that had eaten away at her all this time. 

Miami beach was a pretty place to be at night. Logan cruised down the shore line, with a set address in mind. The rearview mirror was host to her fragile emotions, temporarily held together by adrenaline. Arriving at the address, she paused. Allowing a second of hesitation before proceeding forward. The girl knocked on the door. 

Unprepared for a such a moment, her guard faltered. The capacity for her brain to form words disappeared. She looked down to the letter in her hand. “I-It took me hours, but I read it.”