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@december--jones-blog
Our hearts are power ballads. The notes and lyrics change with her name. Our wrists burn from all the revisions. Plate your heart with poems so when the next name comes, you have excuses to show her the weak spots. There are hazards in emotional tourism. I’m learning to stop showing where I slept with monsters. I’m learning the phantom ring finger itch was worth it.
"Every Girl is the End of the World for You and Me" - j. bradley
Ooc
Sorry I haven’t been online. I started school this week and have been moving into my apartment. I’ll have a computer this weekend to get on my replies. :)
*ATTACK HUG*
BABY!!!!!
OHMYGOD. Can I has?
*throws up on Marisa*
These Broken Hands of Mine (Joe Brooks) || Damber
Damian kissed her, hard. As if he knew not what else to do, or to say; as if he was drowning, a lone soul in the open sea; as if he could do nothing but cling to her, hold her and never let her go. She was like an anchor, holding him through the stormy waters of his troubles; the lighthouse that he turned to for hope. He loved her. With every part of his being, he loved her. For not running. For staying. For being his rock.
For being December.
“I know,” he murmured, pulling away as his hands cupped her face. “I… I’ve been silly.” He sighed, the tiniest of smiles flashing across his face before disappearing again. His eyes met hers for a fleeting moment. “I love you.”
The car suddenly seemed too small and the air had become suffocating. He rolled down the windows and opened up the moon roof. It was dark, but the dawn was just approaching, and the sky was a darker shade of lilac. A slight breeze pushed through his hair and he inhaled the faded smell of the ocean that whispered its way to them.
They were not too far from the farm. Turning back to December he watched her for a long moment before kissing her forehead. As they buckled in once more, he maneuvered the car around and went back the way they had come, turning into the small untraveled road that led its way up to the farm. “I’ve never taken you inside, have I?” Damian asked quietly as they passed the overgrown fields, the blades of grass swaying in the air. “I…I want to show you.”
When he got out of the car, as he had so many times in the past, with or without her, to visit the farm, deep inside he knew it was different now. It was as if an enormous burden had washed off of him. No more hiding. He was here now with her. They were here together.
They made their way up the path hand in hand towards the house. “There’s the hammock. You know that,” he pointed towards the left. “The orchard over on the right. My old treehouse is a bit beyond.” A faint smile played on his lips. “Loved it there.” They approached the modest farmhouse. Terracotta flower pots lined the windows, dead unwatered flowers inside. An old, broken chicken coop stood off to the side, bent and forgotten.
Digging in his pocket for his ring of keys, Damian selected an old silver one which he pushed into the lock at the front door. “We used to have chickens,” he smiled. “Penny and Helen, their names were. And they hid their eggs so we had to look hard.” He glanced at December’s face. “My mum, Claire, and I.”
The door opened with a small squeak and he took December’s hand, stopping in the doorway. Rather than being sad and lonely, the house suddenly seemed to come to life. Despite the darkness, he could see. It was as if people were still rushing in and out of the doors, bustling, dancing, laughing, singing. Almost all the bad memories went out the door. Almost.
Leading her through the doorway he pointed out the various photographs that hung on the walls and explained. His mother was everywhere. Her knowing eyes smiling behind protected glass and wooden frames. There were very few of Damian himself, but he knew there hadn’t been much time for family photos anyhow. His father had never had time apparently for such things. Their wedding photo was hung prominently on the wall right by his mother’s favorite armchair, and beside it, a much smaller Christmas photo with the entire family – Damian, his mother, his dad, Ray, and Claire. That was all that he knew of his family, and that was all he had. All but Claire had left him in a way. And even she had left him, even though she hadn’t wanted to. Her long battle with cancer had ended a few years ago.
Entering the kitchen was like a rush of memories coming over him as he pulled out a chair at the breakfast nook for her to sit on. “Tea, yes?” he asked lightly. Damian filled the old kettle on the stove with water from the sink and set it to boil as he watched December gaze out the large window overlooking the fields. It was at moments like these where he was grateful to be with her, as he committed to memory the quiet calm that had swept over her face, lit by the soft colors of the dawn.
“What do you think?” he said, cutting through the quiet awe that had momentarily bewitched them. He knew now why his mother had always stood at that very window, watching him run out to play, or run home to her waiting arms. “It’s not the ocean, but…” Damian sat down beside her at the small table, waving his hand at the swaying grasses outside, “It’s close.” He tilted her chin up towards him and pressed his lips to hers sweetly. “Well, not really,” he smiled against her lips, tugging on her bottom lip playfully before being interrupted by the high-pitched whistle of the kettle. “Tea,” he muttered with a scowl, standing to shut off the stove. He took a box of tea bags from the shelf in the cupboard and set it before her along with two cups of the boiling water.
“Choose wisely, love,” Damian said, choosing a black tea for himself, “My mum was…is a tea enthusiast. There might be some strange ones in there,” he chuckled. “We don’t have milk either. Or cream. A pity that Bessie isn’t here anymore,” he looked up from stirring a bit of sugar into his cup. “So now, we talk over tea without it.”
December watched him as she always did. Her head leaned back to the headrest, her eyes settled on him. Maybe if this hadn’t been a constant habit she would have missed the bit of tension that never fully dissipated in his jaw or the way his knuckles still seemed white even in the dark.
Morning was slowly stretching its finger like rays towards them and December couldn’t decide if she wanted to run towards them, welcoming them to warm her face, or simply spend the fleeting moments of the tender night in Damian’s arms. Once again she found the familiar tug of wanting both.
The road turned familiar. His mother’s farm. She had always wondered what lay beyond the the weather worn exterior of the house. She tried to picture a mini version of Damian running throughout the encompassing landscape. Adorable pinchable cheeks, dirt smudged across his cheek, maybe he had a skinned knee that no longer stung with pain, and his tiny hands clutching eggs he proudly collected.
Innocence.
December craved and feared it all at once. Did he?
As they moved through the house, Damian’s voice filled the hollow spaces between wall, walls that surely had their fill of silence over the years. December moved about eyes in wonderment at the way time seemed to stand still with in the home. It was near eerie in a way. Thoughts and ideas swirled in her head, stories and theories of the lives that lived here.
Dust clung to her fingers as she, as if in a trance, dragged them across a few pictures hanging from the wall. One caught her attention and she found herself staring at a smallish boy, a head full of dark, nearly black hair, with eyes to match. They were eyes she knew well, eyes that could pierce her soul when they dared and there was a smile, a smile she wished to bottle.
The kitchen held a homely quality that December had never known, but greatly appreciated. A sigh heavy in her chest her eyes stretched to the field that lay outside the kitchen windows. The memory of a dream floated to her along the breeze and the urge to fee the tall deaden blades crunch beneath her weight as a pair of possessive lips melded with hers nearly overwhelmed her.
The past colliding for just a moment with the present.
“Hum?” she mused the grip of her thoughts slowly uncoiling as Damian’s voice cut through the haze. “Oh...” December pursed her lips for a moment. She was always more of a coffee drinker, but tea was always an easy substitute, “do you have something like an orange spice?” The smile that crept to the young man’s face told her she had in fact chosen wisely.
As Damin washed a pair of ceramic mugs in the sink, December’s mind began to wander, her eyes lingering on his back. There were questions, but she wasn’t sure if asking them would be a good idea... or if she should. When people share things there tends to be a fine line to walk, one that tips you into the unknowing or into full blown intelligence.
December liked privacy. She craved it, but she would never lie to Damian, or avoid a question that he posed to her and she hoped he would do the same.
Pushing herself up from the small wooden table she quietly made her way to him, her arms wrapping around his body to his chest. For a moment she stayed just like that breathing him in, her cheek pressed to his back. She smiled not realizing her eyes had closed until his hand, warm and slick from the washing took hers, pulling her palm to his lips.
She stretched up on her toes to kiss the side of his neck, a soft ‘hum’ on her lips. Resting her chin on his shoulder she peered out the window. Was this how life should always be? The thought was seductive and threatened to envelop her. Sinking back down she nuzzled her face once more against his back. Content breath after content breath she knew she wanted to know everything about him, because she loved him.
“Tell me a story?” she asked quietly, tightening her arms around him. The childish notion instantly warmed her, or maybe it was simply Damian, “It can be anything.” Her mumbled words came as the haze of night slowly gave way to the creeping bands of light spreading taller across the wooden floor.
*pokes Jamie in the head with a stick*
*Raises a brow, ignoring the fact that he’s Archibald’s bitch in his personal and professional life as well*
I see…
*Smirks, raising a brow*
Worth my while? Are you going to sleep with me or something?
*matches his smirk, her finger lightly tracing over his chest*
I'll bite you... No, unless you are talking about the occasional snuggle/drool on your pillow encounter I'm not planning on sleeping with you. You have a girl friend for that. I was speaking more along the lines of doing the cleaning, perhaps laundry. Kate mentioned something to me about you ruining a shirt you were trying to iron once.
*raises an eyebrow*
That can become expensive.
*pokes Jamie in the head with a stick*
*Raises a brow, slapping her thighs as though he were playing the drums*
Eating your arm? Oh, sound super sexy. Wear something sheer when you do so, and I think I could sell tickets.
*Watches her as she rolls next to him, chuckling softly*
And why isn’t Reed doing this for you? I didn’t sign up to be the lunch lady, you know.
*stares up at the ceiling, itching to tug at the chain around her neck*
School starts in three days. He's busy with all the newbies and being Archibald's personal assistant.
*shrugs, rolling over on her side, propping herself up on her elbow*
You might not have signed up for it, but I'll make it worth your while.
You. Have. No. Idea.
*pokes Jamie in the head with a stick*
*Makes a moaning, grumpy noise before rolling over under her and gripping her hips*
Is this you asking me to cook for you?
*Pats her thigh with one hand, rubbing his eyes with the other*
If it gets you out of my room, fine. What do you want, December?
*flails slightly as he rolls beneath her before smirking*
This is me giving you a chance to live... and not see me gnaw my own arm off.
*leans down and kiss his cheek before sliding on to the bed next to him*
Have I ever told you, you're my hero? Honestly I'm not picky. Just as long as it's not popcorn or graham crackers and frosting I'll be happy.
*pokes Jamie in the head with a stick*
Hey.. hey you…
*Grumbles, rolling over in his bed*
Fuck off, Jones….
*Snores softly*
*watches as he rolls over to his stomach*
*crawls onto the bed straddling him, sitting on his butt, poking him in the back of the head*
No, I can't do this again tonight. If I have popcorn for dinner... again, I'm going to hurt someone, and you're the closest someone.
*pokes Jamie in the head with a stick*
Hey.. hey you...
Reminded - Tyga
*wanders down hall*
*stomach grumbles*
*looks at stomach with hatred*
Hush you!
No one here probably knows this song
But talking to Marisa in the inbox
Made me think of it….
So yeah Marisa this is to you ;D
SHUT THE MOTHER FUCKIN’ FRONT DOOR!!!
I know ALL the words!!!
FOR AUSTIN!!!
Where did you find this? God, that was forever a go!
