a flask comes from his coat pocket, slick and filled to it’s brim with honey jack. he remembers the night in which the school burnt, it left a permanent scar in his memory that would never be healed over properly. with lips puckered around the opening of the flask, he lets himself drink. the alcohol, warm and harsh, burns his throat as it goes down to settle in his stomach, which has only been filled by cigarette smoke for the past two days. he’d been much too anxious to eat anything, why, he wasn’t sure yet. maybe it was the fact that edward had told him to never return here, he’d never really disobeyed an order before ── too many things were tied to this town, too many things that could perhaps, ruin him. but every time he looked in the mirror, he’d just see the flash of yellow at his neck. it drove him mad as a young fourteen year old who did not have the ability to think for himself. as a twenty four year old, with free expression and a free mind, he went against better judgment.
why he left is still a secret, one he’s kept tied down underneath his tongue and between canines. his eyes wander as the flask remains between his lips, when it lowers is when he notices someone in the far off. narrowing his eyes to eliminate the blur of light that surrounds the silhouette, he realises, it’s a girl. the drink returns to pocket, his hands fall to his sides; eyes are hidden behind aviators, and his lips remain in a straight, pressed line. he is unsure if she’s spotted him too. though he assumes yes, that’s most likely the reason for her scurrying. ─── there are a lot of things ghost cannot explain about the world. for one, he never figured out how shooting stars work, or where they land when they fall. another, is why he suddenly feels as if his heart strings are being pulled at, and why they seem to be pulling him toward the girl in the pretty dress and bare feet.
swallowing the last bit of sourness from his mouth, he makes his way. the gravel crunches under his feet, until it is replaced by the softer feel of grass and burnt away patches of dirt. he hopes he doesn’t look like a threat. he is after all a strange man, approaching her in an almost abandoned area. so he decides to stand at least ten feet away, he also removes his sunglasses and stuffs them in his pocket, to appear at least a bit friendlier. he long ago lost the roundness and chubbyness of his face, the warm aura that used to surround him instead replaced by icicles hanging from his joints, thus it’s much harder to appear kind. but god knows he’s trying, and as his eyes graze along her being, what they land on cause the ice veneer to crack, and he smiles. a small and pathetic grin, but one nonetheless.
❛ bonnie. ❜
it's not her name, nor any variation of it. yet somehow she is stilled in her retreat and draws up a gaze, honey-tinted and bright, as memories ( decidedly recognized as childish, for she had done many childish things and therefore put away ) pull from some inexplicable place to suddenly splay freely along the surface. like new blood pinched from an old wound, there is a quiet orchestration of heart pangs and thrumming, skipping beats occurring just under her breast, reaching to spread careless and wholly throughout the rest of her body. infect her with the blight of recollections. all of this for a single word, one name. and uttered by a person who was no better than a stranger in her eyes, a sharply-dressed apparition assembled of her reveries. he looked to be a man after her own heart; compartmentalized darkness that managed a vibrant volume through practiced charisma and weaponized smiles. though right now he offers no semblance of a simper and stays himself a humble distance. but poppy finds herself unsettled, all the same.
she could have easily pretended not to have heard him, or to even have seen him. the man possessed a kind of transparency that could be curved to his advantage, delude himself to ' just another face in the crowd '. however that'd be a bit difficult to pull off, seeing as they were the only two present. unmoving and wordless for a few seconds longer, she finally catches sight of the lame plastic yellow accessory around poorly glaring in the dying sunlight. any amount of people could have had one just like it, they sold them so cheap at the wal-mart. but it conflicted loudly with his entire apparel scheme, like that grin he's pulling at her , wishy washy. better fitted on a boy than a man. but it was a boy whom she'd given the necklace to. a boy that had promised he'd set out and become a man. before making her his wife. ❝ you're so tall. or just ... taller, ❞ a dry press of words, her smile is botched at best, a one-sided upturn. she adds silently, i didn't think you'd get tall. i don't think i like it. but she does, or she will. it's just different. and unexpected. he really came back.
so what do they do in movies, when the boy comes home from his war. returns to stand in front of the girl he couldn't write letters to or phone but always kept in mind. typically there's an embrace. even a kiss. poppy doesn't think either of them are ready for that. she tries for just closing the gracious space between them, crossing over grass that tries so much to grow. when she's reached him, her fingers are fussing with her bracelet. his bracelet. her look returns to the ground, to her naked feet wiggling with dirt and his nice shoes. does that mean he did it ? he became the man he wanted to be ?
❝ i know how to cook and clean, now. which i guess is good; you've gotten to be a skinny thing. probably ain't eatin' proper meals, huh. ❞
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