➳

Impetus. 21. He/Him/His ▵ Is Eden really any different than the snake?

[edenbaresi-blog]

olivia-bee:

Olivia was swiftly making her way to the tennis courts when she was stopped by a hindrance of snickering boys emerging from the locker room. When they saw her, they looked appalled, turning their heads together to mumble even more remarks before jostling past her. Though Olivia had not heard what they had said she still felt nauseous and was sure her face had gone beet red. Then the door swung open again, and Eden came out. Before Olivia had time to hide her face or scurry away, he saw her. Eden and her hardly ever spoke - their relationship was scarcely more than wistful glances - so she knew whatever he had to say was important. 

She complied, her eyes squinting to read the poster. it was one of the many lecture posters she had already seen around campus, though, she wasn’t sure if anyone else outside there class would actually be attending. No one wanted to be associated with them, and the writing scrawled all over it only proved her point. Olivia’s shoulders slumped and she sighed. “Well, I can’t even blame them anymore. I suppose we don’t seem like the nicest bunch from the outside.” It was true, none of them really had any friends outside of there group. She was a bit confused on how Aleksander still managed to maintain an exuberant party life, but its possible people just didn’t know. “The University of Edinburgh’s a very big school. I’m sure not even half have ever heard anything about us. Don’t worry, one little poster won’t make a difference.”  

“Nice?” Eden sputtered, like it mattered - like being nice, after all they had been through, fucking mattered. “Are we supposed to be nice? Like, they should give a fuck about how we seem on the outside? We’re allowed to process this. If anything, they should respect our grief.” He felt his knuckles curl over the poster, and before his eyes it crumbled into a tight ball. He looked up at Olivia with regret. “I’m sorry, I... I just can’t stand this anymore. It’s too much. I’m tired of being eyed like an infectious disease wherever I go.” 

And then she said it. One little poster won’t make a difference. Like him leaving Thomas alone hadn’t made a difference. Like he wouldn’t give everything to relive that night, to be there for him, to do what he hadn’t done. Eden ran a hand through his hair and swallowed thickly. “It’ll make a difference if we stand by and let it,” he hissed, reaching to pull at Olivia’s arm - gently - to signal that they should begin walking down the hall. “And isn’t that a test of our character? Who are we when things get tough? I don’t know about you,” he paused because he really didn’t, “but I’m not going to let this go uncontested. We need to do something.”

[edenbaresi-blog]

ofgratias:

Campbell was not Samuel. Cardinal knew it from the moment he met him - an eccentric, strange man, certainly, but he was not dangerous, not where it counted, and it was ridiculous that anyone could compare the Somniatores to a cult. It took every ounce of him not to say as much when confronted with rumors and ignorant malice and bare the worst, unpalatable parts that made the sum of him, and it was pulling him taut, pulling him hard. It ached more than anything else, to finally find dreamers and scholars he could connect to despite his own threadbare roots only to find himself haunted by an all-new set of phantasms.

But he would regret none of it. Living fully was a part of his penance, and so too was throwing himself in the line of fire, and with whatever grace he could muster. He was silk and steel, more of the former than the latter, and he never claimed otherwise, his sweet birdsong of a voice belying more of his wariness than his strength. A velveteen heart only became softer when juxtaposed with righteous anger, and here he found himself in the company and rancor of Eden who, at the moment, seemed so very far away from his namesake.

Cardinal held the flyer with paling hands, teeth tugging over the flesh of his lips. “Well - it’s all nonsense. And we all know it, that’s what matters. I - he deserves none of this. Poor man.” Slender fingers brushed over Campbell’s still visage, and when he peered back at Eden, his gaze was forlorn. “But it’s been terrible for you too, hasn’t it? It takes only the slightest nudge for people to forget we’re as human as Thomas was.”

It’s been terrible for you too, hasn’t it? Cardinal asked him he knew. Like he had some way of getting inside his head. Eden felt a bitter taste in his mouth. Obviously, that wasn’t the case - Cardinal could sympathize with the similar experience they were having. That was why he asked; and yet, it made Eden defensive. Things hadn’t been great - no - they had been uniquely difficult and nothing Eden had ever dealt with in the past could have prepared him for the recent past with which he had experienced this turmoil. But he wouldn’t admit that things were terrible for him. Were they terrible for Thomas? Of course, he was dead. To call his own particular situation terrible felt disrespectful to the fate of his colleague. “I could hardly claim victim” he replied through his teeth, suddenly unwilling to look Cardinal in the eye. “It’s not my place, and I don’t want to make this about me.”

For a moment Eden considered walking away, there and then. He could let the outburst be just that: an outburst. Better that than the disgruntled mess he would become if Cardinal pressed him further. This was supposed to be about Campbell, not him. “If I’m human, then let me be fucking human. I can be loyal and seek to rectify these wrongs. Any injustice is injustice and begs to be righted,” he felt the words tumble out like they did in a particularly bad debate - defensive, not well thought out, and unnecessarily colourful. But he hardly cared, though he did move to the side of the hallway to the continue their conversation.

[edenbaresi-blog]

solitudincm:

Have you ever known someone who died violently?

Avery’s breath hitched, and for a moment, they thought the skip in their heartbeat might’ve been the bus’s fault, like they’d—like it’d come to a halt, all of the sudden. Maybe it wasn’t so much the question that’d shocked them as much as it was the way it’d been framed, but God, it conjured up some images that stole Avery’s appetite right away from them. No, I haven’t, they thought, the same polite answer they gave for every query thrown their way, I haven’t known anyone who died like that. Not before Thomas. But they thought about it all the time. So much so that it felt real, just imagining what it must have looked like in that hotel room, and sometimes they’d imagine themselves in Thomas’s place, or one of the other members, or—or someone who actually might’ve deserved it, and that killed them, too, thinking of Thomas’s desecrated body and seeing him there, instead. Thomas may have been a victim, but so were all of them. For being so close to a tragedy, yet finding it so far out of their control.

They blinked, mouth opening and closing with every attempt to say something, but nothing came out. “Trauma is like that,” Avery told the seat in front of them. “It stays with you, but you can’t…let it control you.” They swallowed thickly. “Running from it never works. It just—sucks you in, until you have to just…live with it. And adapt to it.” Putting on a neutral face, they braved a glance at Eden. “Sometimes I even think it’s a good thing I can’t get away from Campbell and everyone. Because if I could, there wouldn’t be anyone else left to understand.”

Eden pursed his lips and they worried themselves into a frown. He looked down at his hands and pulled at a hangnail around his index finger. Avery wasn’t wrong. He heard them and, well, they weren’t wrong. It was easy to listen and nod. Yes, the memories couldn’t control him. The past was history and he had the freedom to let it stay where it was and not haunt him, or so he had thought in the days following Thomas’ death. And yet here he was, talking to an almost-stranger, a peer who had lived the same experiences as he had but who he had never before thought to even talk about it with. And then there were the memories of the night Thomas had died, the oppressive white light of the interrogation room. His breakdown. A university counselor had suggested therapy, which Eden signed up for only at Campbell’s insistence. And there was oppressive white light in that room, too.

“It doesn’t control me,” he said it like it was armor, chainmail he could hang over his frame like a last line of defense. Nothing could penetrate it, even if it was a lie, he wouldn’t make it true. “Maybe some of the others. I see it.” He continued to look out the window. Avery turned to look at him, Eden could tell out of the corner of his eye, but still, he looked away. Maybe he was avoiding eye contact for his own sake and less for theirs. Whatever. “Are you?” He asked, his voice strangely quiet, “living with it? I mean? Or are you just... surviving?”

[lhzthepoet]

[edenbaresi-blog]

lilleprinscn:

Having rocked up to the main building, blonde curls tucked into a beanie and a thick jacket covering his cold limbs, sniffling along as he moved through the hallways, Aleksander was definitely not feeling his best. He’d had a rough weekend, but this time not due to alcohol as most believed; instead, he’d been struck down with a viral bug, spending the time in his bed and whining as much as he could to whoever he could spam with messages, both in the group chat and then individually when the somniatores blocked him. It only served to add further to his victim complex.

Stumbling through the hallway, grumbling under his breath at anyone who so much as looked at him, he didn’t notice he had bumped into Eden until the boy was speaking into his face, pointing at a leaflet of paper. He had the time for him, considering he was usually stoic and looking as if he was close to punching someone — or perhaps that was purely whenever Aleksander opened his mouth and teased him during meetings or parties? 

Scoffing at the comment left on the leaflet, the blonde shook his head and waved his hand towards it, his voice coming out slightly nasally as he replied, “You’ve got to be kidding me with this bullshit.” Aleks paused, before adding in a sarcastic tone, “I’d love one of them to actually say this to our faces, see if they’re that bold in person, right?”

“To be fair,” Eden replied, looking over Aleksander with only the most marginal sympathy for blocking him, “I think they have an excuse not to say anything to your face. You look seriously ill.” His lightened expression darkened, however, and he next nodded his head, “you’re right, though.” He pulled at the strap of his gym bag, “I’d like to see them say something to my face. I’m fucking dying for an opportunity to do something.” Itching, really, and it was written all over him from the tightly curled fist that held the top of the poster to his fully knitted brows. Eden had enough.

Other students couldn’t imagine what they had been through. Eden himself barely could. Everything about that night felt like a dream - dark, catatonic and ethereal. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes late at night, he could still feel the cool metal of the interrogation room. He could see the uniforms of the officers who had catechized him, Eden and his tall, broad-shoulders and tan frame. He was gruff. His usual smooth-talking felt particularly fake given the circumstances, and it had given way to a frigid aloofness that showed in crossed shoulders and an inability to make direct eye contact. He had wanted to be anywhere but where he was. He had wanted to cry - he’d felt the burning sensation behind his eyes and the taut chords in his stomach, but Eden didn’t cry. It wouldn’t help anyone. These were the things he avoided talking about in therapy. Or to anyone else.

Eden crumbled the poster in his hand and stuffed it into his bag. He began to walk towards the exist and asked, “so, any ideas?”

[wordsnquotes]

…And if we won’t burn together, I’ll burn alone.

Bret Easton Ellis, The Rules of Attraction (via wordsnquotes)

[edenbaresi-blog]

pclimpsest:

abi hated being seen in these parts. in and around the sports complex, it was too easy to frame her as out of her element — because she was. the animation of each body on the field, in the gymnasium, training, was something so senseless to her that she felt nothing less than disgust when seeing it in its full glory. so much sweat, noise, violence in every movement. like for most things, she’d tolerate it, because it was for an assignment. a study of motion — and how artists all the way from greece to san francisco have tried to capture it. for a good half an hour, she sat on the gym bleachers, making vague notes and crude sketches of what she saw. specific postures, and so forth. but following the motion was dizzying, and she had stormed out as passionately as she came. 

she found that someone else was similar in their pace, out from what appeared to be the locker rooms, coming right in her way. ❛ careful ! ❜ the words barely had a chance to escape her mouth before the impact, sending her feet screeching across polished floor, and her shoulder aching. with no time to spare, either, the student before her displays the poster he held — but she sees his face first. eden. the little spitfire of the somniatores. at any given moment she could recall him complainant about how the university handled any of its affairs, how there were people it ignored. social justice was well and good, and she had no cause to hate it, but his manner was far from appealing to her. 

and onto the poster. campbell’s lecture series — her eyes waste a moment on his face, framed in a little box in the corner. sharp, clean, professional. and ideal against the backdrop of an early renaissance stela. but what she sees then is the caption, in sloppy writing. abi manages a sharp intake of air. ❛ imbeciles, ❜ she says, abruptly. ❛ the kind of people that write that are the people that don’t deserve to attend, anyway. ❜

“Clearly,” Eden replied, seething, his lips set in a firm line, “but does Campbell deserve this retribution?” He looked up and over Abi’s shoulders to where other students lingered in the hall. Not wanting to be overheard, he began walking toward a small cafe in the building which sold an assortment of goods. After his workout he needed something. Anything with caffeine. His anger was energy enough at most times but whoever said he couldn’t have more? His actions indicated that he expected Abi to follow. “I mean,” he looked over his shoulder to her, “don’t you agree?” 

There was a line; Eden waited in it impatiently, foot tapping against the ground. So much for a private conversation. “I’m just so tired,” he muttered, under his breath, “of everyone lashing out without any evidence. We’re being murdered in the court of public opinion, and no one is doing a damn thing about it.” The line progressed and he followed it, fishing out his wallet for his debit card. If there was anything that irked him more than the current situation he was in, it was people who weren’t prepared to pay who’d already been waiting in a line. He looked back at Abi for a moment, as if he was fully registering her for the first time, and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I...” he trailed off, looked down at the card in his hand, then back to her, a person he knew well enough to know she wouldn’t care for complaining, “I just think there must be something we can do about this.”

[edenbaresi-blog]

solitudincm:

Florence? Avery made the conscious effort to restrain themselves from gaping. Talk about being surrounded by culture. “No, I’ve never been,” they told him, thinking back to the books they’d spent hours reading on the Cathedral and Galleria dell'Accademia. The Metropolitan’s exhibits paled, honestly, in comparison to some of the works that museum had on display. “You’re not missing out on much. Really, America is just its big cities and some states in between. It’s nothing like Italy, not even…”  New York. Sparing a glance at Eden, Avery read the boredom written all over his face and pursed their lips tight. They had the tendency to ramble when they didn’t know how else to make up for the silence.

Quiet consumed them anyway, filling the narrow space between them and Eden until the bus rolled up to the curb. Avery kept their head down as they followed him to two empty seats toward the back, and slid into the one closest to the window. This way, if there were any more gaps in conversation, they could always just look out the window and allow themselves to imagine being anywhere else.

“How have I…?” When the question finally registered, Avery spent a full five seconds just staring. Nobody asked that. It was an unspoken oath, don’t talk about it, don’t think about it. Don’t show anyone you care. The candidness of it all stole the breath the fresh air had just restored to them from Avery’s lungs, and they took a moment to collect their thoughts. “—I’m fine. Yeah,” they said through an exhale. “I mean, it’s…obviously, it’s just…sad, what happened, but I’m not dwelling on it.” A quick nod—Avery wasn’t sure whether they were trying to convince Eden or themselves. “Why?”

His life spent largely in Europe and seldom elsewhere, Eden still found North America enchanting - as an idea. He liked that things were far apart and nature seemed abundant, that there were places uninhabited by man. He liked snowcapped mountainscapes and golden fields, great lakes and endless meadows. If he were ever to create art of his own, he knew he wanted to be inspired by a natural landscape. It was what he loved about the Macchiaioli. “That’s what I think I like - the states in-between. Places I’ve probably never heard of and wouldn’t ever find unless I physically came across them.” For someone who rarely traveled he had a severe case of wanderlust. “You should visit, sometime,” he told Avery, not wanting to sound like he was giving an invitation to visit himself because that would be awful, but he was proud to share the heritage of his home country. “The art is breathtaking, of course, but there’s more to Italy than that. The food, the landscape, the people slightly less so but...” he made a half-grin, like saying so was an inside joke, “still worth a trip.”

The bus ride was calming for Eden if only because he was in motion. He disliked sitting still, especially so out of boredom when not in class or working on an assignment. He listened carefully to Avery as they answered, making sure not to look them in the eye. Eden found that when discussing difficult topics it was best not to look at someone directly. It felt less like an interview or an interrogation. The bus then was the perfect place to broach it - it being Thomas, the student’s bodies reaction to his death, and everything that came with it. He nodded as Avery spoke. “Really?” He asked, eyes still scanning the rest of their surroundings from the bus adverts to passengers to the roads that passed by. “I can’t imagine myself letting it go,” Eden divulged, his fingers tightening ever so slightly as he spoke. “Have you ever known someone who died violently?” He asked, though didn’t necessarily wait for an answer, “because I haven’t, and,” Eden looked thoughtfully through one of the windows on his side of the bus, “even though time keeps moving me forwards, I find... I keep looking back.”

[edenbaresi-blog]

solitudincm:

It wasn’t Eden’s fault—nor was it their own—but Avery couldn’t see the two of them comfortably grabbing a bite to eat somewhere near the campus. The area was flooded with students from the university, and after the day Avery had had, they didn’t want to risk having all eyes on them as they gorged themselves with pub food. As soon as Eden suggested an alternative (that was longer than walking distance away, thank God), a sigh of relief left them. “Yeah,” they smiled, just a quick little formality, “I mean, I’m from New York, so public transit is basically synonymous with walking at this point.” Besides, Avery’d ridden on the back of a motorcycle once. It wasn’t an experience they wanted to relive any time soon.

Hugging themselves around the middle as they walked, Avery took a moment to breathe in the fresh winter air. There was something about just walking outside that made it feel as though they’d escaped a maze, like ninety percent of their troubles were behind them for the evening. Maybe that was a side effect of living in a place that wasn’t contaminated with air pollution. “My major?” Avery blinked at Eden before turning their gaze back onto the pavement, their lips quirking slightly. “Art history. Hence the whole…Campbell thing.” The Somniatores. “I think I’m going to concentrate in architectural history, though. Figure I might as well take advantage of going to school in a place like this.”

They sighed, a cloud of hot air billowing from their mouth. “And you? What are you studying?”

“Nice,” he whistled, shoving his hands into his pockets as the cold air greeted them. “Florence doesn’t have much transit in the downtown. No room for it. It’s more friendly for biking.” By this he meant cycling, not the motorcycle he’d adopted since going to University. “Have you been?” Eden asked, “to Florence, I mean. I have to admit, I’ve never been to New York. Or North America at all, actually.” His father may have been remarkably well travelled, but the same couldn’t be said for his son. Eden spent most of his summers at home in Tuscany with his sister Isabela, who was turning eleven in August. He wasn’t close to his mother or father, but he was close to her. It meant breaks were spent in Italy and few were spent exploring the world - yes, he had the means, but he didn’t have the desire. None of this he felt obliged to share with Avery. His sister was an unknown to anyone who knew him, for they barely knew him if they did. 

Once they arrived at the bus stop Eden leant against the sign for the number nine bus. Now would be the time for him to pull out a cigarrette, but since he’d quit he instead took out his phone and checked the time, “bus should be here in five minutes.” Eden looked over at Avery, then to the street and back to his phone, “at least the nine isn’t notoriously late.” The smalltalk was starting to get to him. He preferred no talk at all to it; the weather, sports, any recycled topics that bore no meaning ate away at Eden’s patience. If he was going to speak, let it be with meaning. 

As the bus drove up to the stop, Eden took out his pass, entered, and found two empty seats for the pair to sit in. “So,” he drew out the word as his eyes scanned over the rest of the bus’ occupants, no one seemed to be paying them any attention, “tell me really. How have you been holding up?”

[edenbaresi-blog]

ofrebellium:

A lot of things circulated about the Somniatores; rumors, conspiracies, and even secrets although in most cases those were mere lies spread around for the sake of gossip. The information about Thomas’s murder—including the autopsy report, police statements, school announcements and the dreamers’ own reactions to the incident—had supplied the student body with enough material to go on a roll especially due to the distinguished method with which Thomas was murdered. That, paired up with the fanatical, elitist reputation surrounding the group had prompted a slew of responses from people. Some made conclusions based on logical deduction, some had no opinions on the matter aside from acknowledging it for the horrifying ordeal it was, but the vast majority comprised of assholes who took it upon themselves to take up the mantle of justice. Those people were the core of the problem. And a fucking pain in his ass.

The dreamers had differing stances about it from what Emilio observed but he personally found it all entertaining at first; whenever he inspected the far-fetched scenarios and people’s vehement responses, he couldn’t help but snort. But with the way things were escalating recently, what with the attempts at confrontations and physical harassment, Emilio wasn’t laughing anymore. And he wasn’t being quiet, either. The intense bullying Moira had faced recently still lurked like a dark itch in the corner of Emilio’s mind; he hadn’t been present but he had heard about what happened and the fact that people were getting cocky and self-righteous enough to go to such steps eliminated his initial amusement especially because one of them had gotten hurt in the process and no one was doing anything. He wasn’t sure he would have intervened to help Moira considering Campbell was on his ass about the fight he had gotten into but he would have tried to protect them somehow.

The coiling resentment was like a beast writhing within him, awaiting its opportunity to strike and it came forth in his sour mood and the shadowed expression on his face as he passed through the hallway. When someone crashed into him a moment later, his expression darkened and his fists clenched, but his disposition mellowed once he noticed that it was Eden rather than a stupid bully like he’d assumed. He raised an eyebrow questioningly then gestured for them to start walking when he noticed a few zone in on their interaction. “See what?”

Attacks against Eden weren’t uncommon - they weren’t welcomed, but they were realistic and he understood where they came from. Like ivy they grew and they burgeoned and they didn’t stop unless he pulled them out by their roots. He was defensive, absolutely, and his words were cutting. But it was tame when attackers were directed towards himself. He only took wounds at the surface level - people didn’t know him, they could only judge from afar. Those judgments didn’t sting. Actions that harmed other people, especially those he felt close to, were not as easy to brush off. 

“This,” he hissed, pulling the crumpled poster out of his bag as they walked, one hand holding it while the other pointed to the obvious writing that didn’t match the rest of the design. “Un-fucking-believable. As if,” he looked around, lowering the tone of his voice, “Campbell deserves to be wrapped up in this.” There was a knot forming in his stomach like a vice, spiraling and circling ever inwards. Nothing could be done to unravel it until he found justice. Eden gave Emilio a brief sideglance before turning to round a corner towards the building’s entrance. An exit. “We have to do something,” he said, earnest, harshly pushing the door open and stepping through. It was a statement without a solution, which was rare coming from Eden. The reality was there was little he could do given the circumstances, even less so when the the wool wasn’t just pulled over his eyes, but glued to them; he truly felt there was nothing he could do to find the answers he needed. Not without help.

“This is a smear campaign. I was fine when it was only affecting us, but now it’s Campbell, and his work deserves to be shared with the world, not tarnished by this...” Eden paused, treading lightly, “crime. I mean, this is the last thing Thomas would want.” Speaking on behalf of someone who couldn’t speak for themselves wasn’t something Eden was unused to, but it felt somehow wrong to do so when he had heard their voice speak for themselves. The knot in his stomach tightened. “At least, I would imagine so.”

[edenbaresi-blog]

solitudincm:

Lately, Avery had taken to eating lunch by themselves, in secluded locations, or not at all. More likely than not, they opted for the latter. There was something about the weight of the second semester that caused basic survival tasks like eating to feel like too much of a hassle for Avery. The same went for making the effort to do themselves up for classes, for stopping by the café for tea, for showering. It was like, every time they had to do something that meant paying any sort of attention to themselves, their mind made a to-do list of every single thing they’d have complete to accomplish it. Walk to the cafeteria. Talk to cafeteria staff. Obtain food. Find somewhere to eat. Eat alone. Why not just forgo it altogether? It wasn’t as though they didn’t have food back in the room.

So, in short: “No. No, I haven’t, actually,” they admitted, shoulders dropping a bit. Greasy pub food did sound appealing, and Eden seemed genuine enough. “You mind if we eat somewhere further away from campus, though?” Avery pulled their bottom lip through their teeth, hesitant. “I mean, I just feel like I’ve eaten everywhere there is to eat within a 5-minute radius, and…yeah. Might be nice to find a new place.” 

“Well, you’re in luck.” He replied, pulling his phone from his pocket to quickly look up the directions to a place he’d recently seen and hadn’t yet had a chance to visit. Usully going to a pub was something you did with another person. Eden hadn’t quite sunk to the level of sitting at empty barstools on his own. That seemed both desparately pathetic and patheticaly desperate. Both of which things he was not. “I know just the place.” Once he had found directions he gave Avery an appraising look, “do you transit? It’s not a short bus ride away, but it’s not a long one either. I don’t have a second helmet for my bike, or I’d offer.” There was also the unspoken fact that no one had ever ridden his bike but him. It felt intimiate sharing it, and Eden was a stranger to intimacy. It was a relationship he’d rather not indulge.

The pub he was thinking of wasn’t particularly popular. It was a little grimy and, if he was being honest, overpriced for the selection of rotating taps they had available. But they served local craft beer and the yelp reviews weren’t terrible. Besides, money was no object for Eden and since he’d been the one to offer they get food, he was planning on picking up the tab anywyas. “By the way,” he paused as he began walking in the direction of the bus stop desired, “I haven’t yet had a chance to talk to you about...” Eden paused, wondering how to tackle the Thomas subject, then reversed course and decided it may be better to leave it off the table for as long as he could, “... your major. What was it you were getting your degree in, again? Am I an ass for not knowing?”

[threemoonsareshining]

@ me reacting to every minor inconvenience

[letheane-deactivated20200121]

CHORUS: I gnaw myself I lose hope. And my mind is burning.

Aeschylus, from Agamemnon (trans; Anne Carson)

[edenbaresi-blog]

solitudincm:

Stiffening as Eden’s gaze wandered toward their waist, Avery shifted so that the sweater covering their torso fell to its full length. They didn’t want to have to explain the Sharpie mural to anyone, nor did they care for being ogled in suspicion. “In the school library?” Avery asked with a quizzical, narrowed stare. It wasn’t clear whether he was lying or not, and maybe that was the point. Eden had a habit of being equivocal and Avery had learned not to take people at face value. So, really, Eden could have been doing anything between reading a statistics textbook and making origami animals out of the archives. “Well,” they cleared their throat. “I think it’s safe to say they’re either in the botany section or at home, so.”

And then there was that look. That all-too-expectant look that could only be interpreted as an invitation, one Avery wasn’t quite sure they wanted to accept. “Oh, I was just about to head home, actually,” they said quickly. It was a lie. They were going to go study until they ran into Eden. “I just—I was in there earlier, and a marker exploded all over me—” More like they exploded all over the marker. “—so. Bathroom detour.” Was that convincing enough? They weren’t sure. Avery wasn’t as good at lying as they wanted to be. “But yeah. I think that once your study materials start turning on you, it’s enough school for one day.”

He let out a low chuckle, “yeah, well, I think the botany section would be hitting it a bit too on the nose. This guy’s not that bright. And no green thumb. Certainly not a strain he grows himself.” That was a tell. This wasn’t a possible lie, possible truth anymore. Eden didn’t mind, though, it wasn’t like it was a secret. Nearly everyone he knew smoked weed, and if they didnt, they hardly cared if he did. He wondered if Avery did. He had to admit, he didn’t know them very well. That being said, he had hardly made the effort. 

It wasn’t insulting that Avery responded the way they did, but Eden did find it funny. He couldn’t think of the last time he’d even offered to hang out with somebody, and this seemed a reminder why he never did. It seemed, he acknowledged, he didn’t really know how. “Right, yeah. A marker exploded. Have you considered pencils? I feel they’d do you a world of good.” He let the lie go. Honestly as far as they went this wasn’t something worth pressing. He liked respecting other people’s privacy. It was a curtesy he hoped they would extend to him in kind. “I would tend to agree, though. School’s done for the day for both of us it seems. Why don’t we... go get a bite to eat? I’ve been craving fries... Unless you’ve had lunch?”

[edenbaresi-blog]

Maybe he was bitter. It wasn’t difficult to be, when the entire student body watched him wherever he went. Eden liked to shine brightly. How else could he command the attention of a room? No one liked a nobody. Nobody knew a nobody. Eden was somebody. And he had to admit, these days that wasn’t a good thing.

Maybe he was angry. Why should they cast judgements on him? Had he ever given them reason to? Eden was nothing if not vocal. He so clearly devoted himself to righting moral wrongs. Could no one remember his second year in student government? The work he did to convince the University president to incease grant funding for low-income students? But that had been all for nothing. It wasn’t as if he cared about how others saw him in particular, but there was a general feeling of unease, one with which he was not accustom to. He felt targeted - a bullseye on his back wherever he moved - and it was not a welcome feeling.

So he was irate. It showed. Whenver he was angry his fists would curly tightly enough for his fingernails to draw blood. The cuts on his palms proved it: things weren’t getting better. This became obvious when he walked into the locker room after a workout and found a group of guys talking. They stopped immediately once they noticed he walked in. Eden gave a forced smile. “No need to stop on my account.” But they did. And as they trickled out of the room Eden noticed what they had been talking about - a poster on the wall advertising a lecture series with Campbell. Underneath it someone had written, “and risk ending up murdered? nah.” Eden quickly changed and ripped the poster off of the wall. He didn’t throw it away. He stashed it in his gym bag and walked out, seething, accidentally bumping into someone he knew all too well. He didn’t think for a second before saying, “fuck, you should see this.”

[edenbaresi-blog]

solitudincm:

A smile like that, in Avery’s experience, could never mean anything good. Biting the inside of their cheek, they mirrored Eden’s actions, clutching tight to the strap of their backpack as they met his gaze. Speaking of impulsiveness—acting out was supposed to be his specialty, not theirs. Avery couldn’t decide whether Eden would have joined them in painting the walls black or watched them do it and taken the fall, just for the attention it would garner. They didn’t know him very well, but really, they didn’t know any of the Somniatores that well. And they didn’t know Avery at all.

“Yeah,” they breathed, rubbing their neck, “totally, I was definitely signing autographs in the single-stall bathroom.” Avery wasn’t even famous. Not at this school. Maybe infamous, if you counted them as an individual and not just the arm or leg of a larger, nastier beast. Nobody really did that, though. At best, Avery was ‘the quiet one’ or ‘one of Campbell’s cult followers’ or ‘hey, you’ on their own. That was much preferable to being one of ten perceivable murder suspects, at least. Avery allowed their gaze to roam, from Eden to the bag over his shoulder, to the library entrance, to back at Eden. 

“Were you reading in there?” they asked, gaze earnest and just the slightest bit surprised. Not that they meant to seem so shocked, it just…came out that way.

Eden didn’t have many friends. This was by choice. It wasn’t that he didn’t want them, really, it was because he didn’t need them. He was perfectly fine on his own, used to fighting his own battles, and rarely had there ever been a day he relied on other people for support. That was the blessing of being rich.

Still, he felt comfort in the Somniatores. They weren’t exactly the type of people he’d have picked out of a crowd if he’d wanted friends, sure, but they had come together nonetheless. And, now, they were all living through the same hell. That gave Eden a peculiar feeling of protectiveness, despite the reality that one of them very likely did the ill-fated deed. He watched Avery rub their neck and leaned back on the balls of his feet, one hand still playing with the strap of his bag. “Well, it’s as good a place as any, I’d think. You wouldn’t want to sign any in public, that’s for sure.” His eyes roam back towards Avery’s lower abdomen, as if he could see through them to where the sharpie was now stashed in their pocket, “save yourself looking arrogant.” Eden decided in that moment that whatever had happened seemed too small to care for. He left it at that.

At Avery’s question, he too looked to the library doors and back at them. “Oh, no. I was arranging a pick-up with my dealer.” This was the truth, but it sounded sarcastic. It was something Eden had a habit of doing, a remnant from debate. Public speaking was about confidence. If you don’t look like you’re lying, you’re not. The opposite of this was to tell the truth, but to tone it in a way where he surely wasn’t. This he did now. “But I might have cracked open my statistics textbook while I waited for them,” he sighed, “but they didn’t show up, so…” he looked at them, as if to suggest they do something, because why not? “Now I’ve nothing to do.”

[solitudincm-blog]

THEY KILLED HIM.

There were a lot of vile, caustic phrases that’d made their way onto the walls of the single-person restroom over the past couple of weeks. Some of them had been painted over, unaddressed. Some were like fresh cuts, still bleeding vitriol. The ones Avery was currently faced with were particularly nasty, calling out members of the Somniatores by name—Moira, Emilio, or Violet. All targeted toward the people who’d been there that night, and the one that stood out to Avery was in black, bold letters: THEY KILLED HIM. It left no room for judgment, or doubt; it was an accusation. An indictment.

Avery didn’t consider themselves an impulsive person. Every decision they made, they weighed it carefully based on a multitude of factors, and never acted upon it until they were 100% sure of themselves. In this moment, however, they felt as though it was forgivable to take out the Sharpie nestled in the bottom of their bag and scribble over the cruel words until everything was black, and black, and black. It’d just be painted white again, anyways. Wouldn’t it?

They burst from the restroom, faltering in their steps when they came face-to-face with one of the last people they needed to see right now…still clutching the marker in their right hand.

“I…” Avery tucked the Sharpie not-so-discreetly into their back pocket, forcing a smile. “I, um…I was, you know…how are you, today? Everything going alright?”

[edenbaresi-blog]

There were no rules for this. Not a guidebook or a wikihow, certainly nothing worth googling that could produce an actual step-by-step, evidence-based solution to Eden’s problem. No, that would be too easy. Walking around campus with all eyes on him because of a sick rumor -  that wasn’t an issue he had any clue how to tackle. 

Eden was used to standing out by this point. He made his presence obvious no matter which room he was in; voice deep, rich like caramel, easy to listen to and hard to ignore. Of course, it had taken countless effort to make it so. All of this made tucking away in the unfrequented corners of the worst campus libraries all the more desirable. He couldn’t be noticed if he couldn’t be seen. That was a first for Eden. Not wanting to be noticed. Not pushing himself to be noticed.

It was with a deep sigh then that he rose from his safe haven to brave the rest of the student body, tucking his statistics textbook into his leather bookbag with one hand and pushing his chair into the desk with another. 

His head glanced furtively behind his shoulder before he pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to a classmate, almost a carbon copy of the last twelve he’d sent, “u still around? i’m about to leave” and then, “i can pick up later in the week if u left.” 

It’s only when he rounds the hallway outside of the library that he runs into Avery. He eyes the sharpie as it disappears into their pocket, then looks back at Avery with an upturned brow. “Everything’s fine,” he smiled, bemused, pulling at the strap of his bag on his shoulder, “yourself?” he motions to their hand that had recently held onto the sharpie. “Signing autographs? If so, I’ll take one, please. I’d love to see the headshot.”