𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐬.

phoebe octavia darlings. sixty. writer. ＴＨＥ ＥＮＩＧＭＡ. north beach. earth attunement. thirty-one years stranded. 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐓, nature has cunning ways of finding our weakest spot.

[phoebedarlings]

Besides escaping from the island, what is the one thing you most want to do right now? No matter how absurd or impossible it seems.

❛ I don’t want to escape from the island. ❜ How many times does she have to tell people this? It's no wonder her voice comes out robotic. She's said it so many fucking times. So many fucking times. It felt like she was relapsing into her crazy. ❛ I know we’ve had a few freaky things happen around here - but, I know deep within my soul that I’m supposed to be here. ❜ That is her faith. Because, well, she didn’t know how to be anywhere else. 

❛ I want to evolve. ❜ Phoebe ends up saying, scratching onside of her neck with ridgid, claw-like nails. She was going to have to file her nails on flat surfaces of stone soon. ❛ I would love to evolve. To shed this person. Who I am. I don’t think I can, though. I guess that’s why you added on no matter how absurd or impossible it seems... ❜ She sighs, rolling her eyes. Sorrow has made a some within her for a long, long time. It's become part of her. Phoebe has tried killing that part of herself so many times. It always comes back. The heaviness.

[greatmortality]

babygirl you are strange and offputting

[rhaenyratheconqueror]

The Late Late Show with James Corden: Dakota Johnson’s First Tattoo Was a Statement

[phoebedarlings]

JOAQUIN SAELICES.

♟

Phoebe confirmed that a man hurt her - but of course, now Joaquin wondered if it was some other man, or the same one who’d attacked Aurélie.  When he looked over to his right, la Virgen only provided him with a sad reality:  Phoebe could be talking about any man.  All men.  All men hurt Phoebe.  All of mankind hurt Phoebe, in her past, in her present, and in her future.   The presence, the existence of people hurt Phoebe.  She gave no timeline for her pain, only that the cause of it didn’t matter, because he - whomever ‘he’ was - was gone now.

What that meant - if it was back home or on the island - was lost to Joaquin.  And he was too afraid to ask for more details.  Joaquin never enjoyed asking the details of people’s lives, anyone’s lives.  He could ask a snail more curious questions than he’d ever dare to ask another human being.  

it wasn’t for a lack of caring about people, it was simply a boundary that Joaquin had unconsciously applied to himself, having existed in a world full of siblings and cousins and so many opinions and feelings and needs, crowding him since birth.  His coping mechanism (for better or for worse) was his decision to stay ignorant.

So instead Joaquin let Phoebe talk, knowing there was nothing he could say to her that would help.  It was hardly like she needed his help anyway.  Phoebe needed no one, no person could ever qualify.  There was nothing wrong with that - Joaquin understood a life of solitude and self-reliance, even while living among society.  His fear for her, was that no person could ever qualify.

No person.  Not even Phoebe herself.

That, concerned Joaquin.

“You might have to find a way to trust yourself, Phoebe.  Perhaps there’s a way.”  He wouldn’t expect her to trust in anyone else - not another person and certain not a God.  “You must try.  You’re valuable, your soul and life, all of you is valuable and precious.”

Joaquin visibly retracted, when she yelled at him to shut up.  He did, and just watched her instead, waiting to see if she’d try to drown herself again.  There was no reason to debate her after all; her idea of perfection was different from his, and Joaquin had no interest in convincing her of a different perspective.  It was Phoebe - as much as she destroyed herself, she fiercely protected her own self-destruction as well.   She was an ouroboros.

When she finally laid down on her back, Joaquin breathed out in relief.  Defeated and splayed out like that seemed like it should be sad - but to Joaquin it just meant she wasn’t still intending on throwing herself to her own death.  It wasn’t giving up, it was carrying on.  He silently said a prayer of thanks, glancing over to his right.

“Phoebe,”  Joaquin spoke softly now, since she was addressing him.  He assumed this meant she wanted him to speak again.  “I’m here for you.  And so are others.  I love you very much, mija.   People on this island love you, even when you can’t love yourself.  I can see the goodness in you, the good that God’s created.  Perhaps it doesn’t matter to you now, or ever again.  But you do matter.  Your pain matters, but more importantly your existence matters.” 

* ━━━ ✧☽

❛ All of you is valuable and precious... ❜ She repeats hoarsely, looking to the dark grey skies.  It chewed her up and spat her out. Where is safe when the damage is your own body? Your own mind and grief that follows you everywhere? Phoebe taps her knuckles against the window of her old childhood home - no one is there. She sits in her fathers old armchair. It’s cold. Only one light is on in the house. She can feel the deseration of God. The last light goes out. ❛ All there is of me, Joaquin, is grief. ❜ And where is the value in that? ❛ Some people are ... benevolent or pruposeful or uncomplaining. And now ... I am become grief. ❜ Phoebe gives a laugh without any humour, shaking her head. She can feel the grains of sand become matted in her hair.

The feeling that she had never really lived in caught Phoebe by surprise and it quiets her laughter. It was a fact, that she has never lived. As far back as she can remember, even as a child, she has done nothing but endured. Phoebe turns on her side, curling into herself tightly. For the first time this evening, she feels the chill of cold water soak her bones. She feels her body sinking into the wet sand.

‘ i love you very much, mija ' --- She has to hide her face into the palms of her hand to keep Joaquin from seeing her features distort into a guilty sort of pain.

It's like a mental toothache, where all you can focus on is the pain because it's there. Only you know that it's there and you don't know how to heal yourself. So you dig. With a knife or scissors, whatever you can desperatly find to dig out the pain. Shovel it out and start new. Chip away at the tooth, bit by bit. Ripe out the tooth from the gum.

Phoebe has known love, she knows this. The quiet love from her mother that she had only known for a short time. The love of those she holds close to her. Joaquin has showed her nothing but softness, he has never forgotten her. She knows he loves her, and she loves him just the same. ❛ I didn't mean to scare you. ❜ She confesses. Phoebe never mean to cause any pain to Joaquin. It was by far her last intention. ❛ I didn't mean to -- - I didn't mean -- ❜

Sniffing, her palms turn into fists before curling up beneath her chin. ❛ I'm okay now. ❜ She says blankly, eyes unseeing. ❛ You can go now, if you don't want to be stuck in the rain. It's cold out here, you know. ❜ Phoebe tells Joaquin, despite being unable to feel the sharp chill of the storm that continues to carry around them.

[phoebedarlings]

SYLVIE DAVIS.

∞

“That’s alright, Phoebe,” Sylvie said gently, looking across at the woman with kindness in her eyes, “You don’t have to be sorry. I like hearing what you have to say. And I appreciate the good advice, really.” It was interesting how quickly the woman apologized, and Sylvie wondered if there were many people on the island who were resistant to committing to a more solid shelter. “It makes sense, I guess,” she tilted her head to one side, blinking slowly as the thoughts turned in her mind, “It wasn’t easy to accept, but I think I’ll be here for a while. And that’s okay.” 

The last sentence caught in her throat unexpectedly. Was it really okay? It would have to be. She was still relatively new, Sylvie reminded herself, and the island hadn’t once given her a break to think too much about her own being there. Maybe that was for the best. 

“Uh-huh,” she made a small noise of understanding, accepting Phoebe’s vague information as all she really needed at the moment. As nosy and curious as Sylvie normally was, she knew to bite her tongue about certain things when it came to the island. Most things, really. “I should look for him,” she added. She was never great at approaching strangers, but if Phoebe said this Cash guy was personable, Sylvie trusted her judgement.

Her eyes flickered away for a moment before Sylvie made a conscious effort to maintain eye contact across the table. “Oh, yes. When I was younger, my family stayed in an apartment for a little bit that had a couple of spirits roaming around. My mom and I tried to talk to them, but neither of us are exactly mediums. Still, we all got along,” Sylvie grinned, remembering with fondness the absurdity that felt quite normal to her, “Since then, I could feel them sometimes, you know? I’d walk into a room and know it was full of more than just living people. They have quite a distinctive energy, ghosts. Almost like electricity.”

Phoebe’s explanation of the island was the most satisfying to Sylvie by far, and it made the most sense. “You’re so right,” she expressed her agreement, shaking her head in amazement, “That’s the best anyone’s ever explained it. No use guessing, then.”

* ━━━ ✧☽

The sweetness in Sylvie’s graced response makes Phoebe feel ... A little too seen. She’s so used to people having to approach and talk to her as if they were walking on eggshells. If they were already warned not to cross paths with her, Phoebe was helping in making sure she did not want anybody around. It’s what became of her life - Until Joaquin, and, Aurélie, and Tomas, and now --- Sylvie, maybe? She continues to look at the young woman, blinking. Sylvie is empathetic, Phoebe decides. Incredibly so. An old soul. ❛ ... Yeah, you will be. ❜ She says, trying to match Sylvie’s previously used gentle tone. ❛ You’ll be okay. ❜ Phoebe gives a small smile. 

Phoebe listens to Sylvie tell her about Moira and Sylvie trying to communicate with ghosts and she can’t help but smile with the small scrunch of her nose. Sitting up straight, and placing her elbows on top of her knees, and thought popping into her head and before she can think of even attempting to swallow the question back, it’s slipping from her lips. The feeling that she shouldn't have ‘ oops ' and ‘ ah, fuck me ' Phoebe has always felt like a ghost other's can see. Even a ghost that is in someone else's body. She walks around each day with an empty heart, missing all the things she used to love, those things that are now lost somewhere in past griefs. With a small sigh, Phoebe figures she may as well continue at this point. ❛ ... Do I have that energy? ❜ She asks looking at her hands in the grass before looking up at Sylvie. ❛ I don’t feel like electricity, do I? ❜ It would have sounded like a plea for Sylvie to say no, but with the earnest that sparks in her eyes, Phoebe wants to truth from Sylvie, whatever that might be.

She gives a small laugh at the look that moves over Sylvie’s face. She feels glad to have been able to give the young woman a little bit of peace when it comes to trying to understand the island. The key to understanding the island, is to try and not understand it at all. ❛ What you do have to do, is give the island a little respect. The island has been here since before Matthew and it will be here long after Matthew is gone, whenever that might be. This island has been thriving for a long, long time. ❜ It's something that shouldn't be forgotten and all Phoebe can do is give a little bit of advice where she can.

[phoebedarlings]

love is...

❛ An echo. ❜

[highly-emotional-people]

“When I did ‘The Social Network,’ David Fincher told me that I managed to make a thankless character pretty awesome. I thought that was really cool because I think he’s really cool.”

[adrasteiax]

“I remember staring straight ahead into the world my father saw; I was learning to absorb its emptiness”

— Louise Glück, from Snow in “Poems 1962-2012″

[phoebedarlings]

AURELIE MARCHAND.

━━ ••●•• ━━

The word she had so coveted is suddenly said like a curse. Though she’s not speaking, Aurélie feels her lips pucker as if she’s tasted something sour. Blinking against the blur of the alcohol, she nods. “Yes, actually. It is – I only have one photograph among my belongings and it is of the two of us.” She rises, then, despite the conscience that gnaws at her to stay put, to stay away from whatever terrible precipice she’s surely approaching.

But still Aurélie approaches. Ushering Phoebe into the new house that she has used to harbor the photo, among other things. How funny – she had spent so many years tucking it away, keeping it safe from the elements, from herself and the unintentional harm she might have caused. But this house had seemed secure enough to put it out for display. To hold it close, like she does now, lifting the fragile paper with gentle fingertips. Raising it to hand to Phoebe – and then halting.

She’d had forty-six years by the time she met Phoebe to let Victor’s face blur in her memory. With the photo tucked away and his physical presence decades gone, she had somehow forgotten the finer details. But she remembers now – because she sees him in Phoebe. The downward slope of his nose, the full apples of the cheeks, the wide eyes now set in a different color. Fragments of her beautiful ghost now blinking back at her.

“Oh,” Aurélie manages, dropping the photo into Phoebe’s hands without the delicacy she’d intended now. There’s no room for it as the edges blur and tunnel around this unfairly familiar face. And the conclusion is reached with ease – though none of this is easy – as the timelines lay themselves atop one another. 

“Was he your – he was your –” She can’t. The title eludes her, the cruelty of fate twisting like a knife between her ribs. She had never gotten to call him husband, let alone start a family. But it’s her own doing. No one to blame but herself. 

It’s a question that emerges. An answer she needs to know. An image she’d contemplated during her cruelest moments over the years. Victor holding another woman. Victor holding a child. Victor the father.

“W-Was he happy? Was he good?”

* ━━━ ✧☽

Aurélie gets up from her spot and Phoebe goes to follow her. Phoebe’s limbs are heavy, though, it felt like she was walking upstream ; there was a force working against her. It doesn't feel natural, it feels like a suffocating dream with each step she takes behind her friend. Inside, she barley makes it past the doorway before stopping. She can't pinpoint why, but Phoebe can't take another step inside the home ... She beginning to feel like a cloaked curse.

Phoebe has always been told how much she looks like her father, growing up. She also hated it becuase she was expected to take it as a compliment. Whenever someone told Phoebe how much of a resemblance of Victor is within her, all Phoebe sees is a pathetic excuse of a man, an existence, a waste of space.  --- And with that, she sees in this moment that Aurélie bares witness to the resemblance.

Aurélie finally gives over the picture, and Phoebe feels static go off in her mind. It’s loud, it’s buzzing. And it’s making it difficult to concentrate. -- --- Or maybe all she can do it concentrate on that way a number of violent and dark memories while Aurélie tries to find the words to finish the question.

❛ Hewasmyfather. ❜ Phoebe says quickly, finishing the sentence for Aurélie. Her mouth has become so fucking dry, she tries to suck the saliva from her tongue and only ends up choking. She takes another swig of moonshine from the bottle.

‘ was he happy? was he good? ' Aurélie asks and Phoebe lets out the breathe she didn't realize she had been holding.

❛ No. ❜ The answer comes out hollow. There’s a beat where Phoebe cannot meet  the other woman’s eyes. ❛ No, I’m sorry, Aurélie. He wasn’t happy. He wasn’t good. ❜  He voice shakes with an indescribable rage she was trying to conceal, because this wasn't Aurélie's fault at all, - it was because as much as Phoebe tries to supress and decide to forget about her father happily, unfortunately, was the maker of her nightmares. 

❛ I think I’ve had t-too much to drink, I’m just ... Sitting down. ❜ Phoebe says and ends up sitting down on the floor of her friend’s new home. He looks so youthful in the picture. He’s smiling. Phoebe had never seen her father smile while she was still under his roof. ❛ I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to... ❜ her eyes slip back up to Aurélie. Putting out her arm, the photo sits between her middle and ndex finger for Aurélie to take back. And then whether or not the other woman takes the photo back, Phoebe takes back to settle on her legs and she brings her limbs close to her chest. Her head bows downward.

A moment of clear, clear silence.

❛ ... I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I'm just having very intense emotions. ❜ She says then, suddenly. Evenly.

[phoebedarlings]

TAMYRA WILLIAMS. 

— ⋆ ✯ ⋆ —

Tamyra almost expected Phoebe to resist the comb, but the woman simply took it and thanked her, and Tamyra nodded and followed Phoebe out of her hut, towards the jungle. She didn’t feel the happiest about the destination, but Phoebe knew what she was doing and they didn’t go in too deep, so Tamyra told herself that it would be okay.

Phoebe’s words did surprise her, though. “I’m not asking out of nicities, Phoebe. I know we’re not the best of friends, I realize that, but I never ask because of nicities, in case you thought that in the past,” she clarified. “Maybe it seems that way because if you tell me that you don’t want to talk about it, I don’t press further, but I ask because I am curious.” She gave a shrug. “I’m not going to force you to talk, there’s no point in that. But if you want to talk, you can. Or if you want to listen to me talking about how I would turn all of this shit that’s been happening to us into a movie for the next two hours or however long this task is going to take, then sure, I’m alright to talk about that too.”

She hummed at the question. “Lavender and aloe will be amazing, thank you. No seaweed. I never liked those type of masks. Do you make a lot of them?”

* ━━━ ✧☽

Phoebe knows she hasn’t made things easy when it comes to Tamyra and their stunted connection. They had a decent foundation, she supposes, and perhaps even thought that was enough. ❛ I guess ... I always figured it was just kinda of the, ❜ She waves her hands in the air as if she was going to pick out the proper words to finish the sentence, ❛ More nice thing you were trying to do? ❜ In the end, Phoebe tends to make decisions for people when it comes to how much they know about her. It’s true, what Tamyra says. Phoebe says she doesn’t want to talk about anything, therefore, leaving no room for anybody to make their way into her space. 

Phoebe had no doubt in her mind that Tamyra was willing to fill the silence with such an ease that Phoebe herself did not possess in the slightest. With a small laugh through her nose, she replies with, ❛ Who knows. Maybe I can transfer my writing skills into starting a screenplay. What would you call the film? ❜ Phoebe is almost sure Tamyra would have a title ready at hand, just as much as she’s sure that Tamyra has thought of this movie for hundreds of hours already to keep her occupied through the quieter days.

❛ Lavender and aloe, got it. ❜ Phoebe says with a nod. ❛ I used too, a long time ago. It was a hobby I tried when I was incredibly, incredibly bored. Before I started most of my days in the jungle. ❜ With a gentle hand, Phoebe stretches out her arm to allow her fingers to slip over brilliantly green and large leaves.  

The soil was so damp that worms had surfaced to breathe and the birds fluttered over the grass with their colourful wings, each of them eating at the sudden buffet. Phoebe doesn't owe Tamyra anything. Not an explanation, not her thoughts or why she does what she does. But Tamyra, funnily enough, or maybe not so funny? But Tamyra always just seemed ... To be there. Not in a good way, not even in a bad way. Maybe she should start looking at the good side if things more often. ❛ Fuck, ❜ She sighs, running her fingers through knotted bangs. Pale fingers tightens around the comb she still carries in her hand. ❛ Okay, um. ❜ Phoebe places takes Tamyra by her upper warm, stopping the other woman short. Looking down at her muddy boots, then high up to the trees, silently praying for their strength. ❛ I tried killing myself a few nights ago. At the western Cove. ❜ Phoebe tells Tamyra bluntly. There was really no other way to sugar coat it, and why would she?  Bowing her head back down, this time to level her eyes with Tamyra, somewhat trying to gauge her reaction. ❛ Cool. Now that we got that out of the way ... ❜ With that, Phoebe turns around and continues walking through the path.

[phoebedarlings]

Do you think anything is going to change between you and Aurélie now that the truth is out?

God, Phoebe hopes not. She hopes not with her whole heart.

All she can remember of, that night - other than the warm sun setting that coloured the sky in brilliant orange and pinks, other than feeling the lush softness of the grass they sat and took comfort on, other than the laughter she and aurélie shared, before ... before. 

All she can remember is the way Aurélie looked at her. The sadness in her eyes. The agony she must have felt when Phoebe told her the truth about Victor Darlings.

Phoebe imagines that this is what heartbreak feels like. True heartbreak ... When you hurt the ones you hold dearest to you ...

❛ Fuck. Off. ❜

aurelie marchand.

[phoebedarlings]

Do you purposefully try to invite the attention of the opposite gender? Maybe the same gender.

❛ Do you purposefully try to annoy me? Do you go out of your way to be this irritating? ... Nah, that all comes naturally to you, doesn’t it. ❜ 

[phoebedarlings]

Do you find it easy to manipulate people?

❛ Does it matter when we’re all manipulated to a greater or lesser extent? ❜ 

[phoebedarlings]

Do you consider yourself more masculine, more feminine, or a mix of both?

❛ Do you really think I give a shit? ❜

[phoebedarlings]

TAMYRA WILLIAMS.

— ⋆ ✯ ⋆ —

Tamyra couldn’t help the small grin on her face when Phoebe complimented her. Her looks were always something that she took a lot of pride in, something she put thought and effort into even on the island, though lately it was probably more effort than usually to look like herself. To make sure her facade was up so nobody could see the incredible mess and confusion inside of her. And the process of taking care of herself - just the sheer process of combing her hair, even, helped her put on that mask, helped her be more present and more focused on not showing the turmoil inside of her.

She listened to Phoebe and what she needed to do. She’s seen those bamboos around previous years to help with the rising water flow, but she’s never done it herself, never really took part in actually putting all of it together. She was more preoccupied with… well, really, she usually just didn’t want to partake in such tasks, and people knew it about her, they usually didn’t find her with something like this.

But Phoebe came to ask her, for whatever reason, and from the sound of it, she was alone to this with a storm that was fast approaching (even Tamyra could see the gathering of the clouds - she wasn’t good at reading them, but compared to the clear, blue sky they had just a couple of days ago, now it constantly looked liked they were on the brink of a huge rain storm), she would need a hand.

And then Phoebe offered the mud mask, and stupid and superficial may be, but that did have a part in swaying Tamyra’s answer to Phoebe’s question. “Alright, I’ll tag along, but just because of the mud mask,” she added, half teasing. “Hold on, give me a moment.” She went back into her hut, grabbed her bag, stuffed it with water canteens, and put on some clothes that were better for working. She  had a boot that was actually her size that she fished out about ten years ago and since she didn’t wear it that often, it was in relatively okay condition still. And as a last step, she picked up one of her combs before she went to join Phoebe again.

“Here, in case you’d want to use it,” she slipped the comb to the woman with a smile and then clapped her hands together. “Alright, lead the way,” she said as they headed out, Tamyra following the woman to these bamboo sticks.

“So, do you want to talk about what happened, what those rough couple of days were like, or do would you prefer to focus on the task at hand?”

* ━━━ ✧☽

Tamyra agrees to the little expedition and Phoebe can’t help but give a small laugh which is followed by the shake of her head. ❛ Great. Good to know that all I need to sway you with in the future is a mud mask. They’re easy enough to make. ❜ Phoebe retorts with her own half smile. ❛ Yeah, sure ... Take your time. ❜ She didn’t truely mean take your time, but she also knew that Tamyra would have to pack, seeing as Phoebe did ask for her help out of the blue. 

Phoebe stares at the comb that has been slipped into the palm of her hand. What was this? Well, in Tamyra and Phoebe’s world, it could more than likely be a sign of a peace treaty, of sorts. A gesture for the beginning of an unlikely comradeship. Phoebe wraps pale fingers around the handle of the comb. ❛ Thank you. Truly. ❜ She says softly, as if she’s elsewhere before taking a deep inhale and meeting Tamyra’s eyes with her usual neutrality and with that, gives a nod and she’s turning around, leading the other woman away.

For a moment’s silence, Tamyra breaks it by proposing if there was anything Phoebe wanted to talk about during those days, and Phoebe looks over to the other woman for a beat. Her eyes drift towards the jungle as they begin to leave the beach with every step they take. She can’t tell if Tamyra is asking honestly or is asking out of a sense of being nosy. ❛ Do you really want to know or are you just asking to make conversation out of niceties? You know we’re past that. ❜ 

Trekking through the jungle, Phoebe feels herself rejuvenating beneath the canopy of trees. She feels the energy being pulled back into her.❛ When it comes to your mud mask, is there any ingredients you prefer? Lavender and aloe? Mint and ... seaweed?

[derangedrhythms]

“Over the years I’ve buried a lot of bones; now I’m inclined to dig them up again—”

— Margaret Atwood, from ‘The Testaments’

[phoebedarlings]

JOAQUIN SAELICES.

♟

suicide mention tw

This wasn’t the first time Phoebe’s spoken in fractured words and phrases, but tonight her usual half-awake husky voice was turned hard, unyielding like cold marble.  There was a sureness to her that wasn’t her usual sharp humourous acidity.  It was heavy and weighted, like she was her own lodestone.

And if she’d stayed a minute longer in that water, that was what she would’ve been. A stone, sunk straight to the bottom, swaying like seaweed while her body painfully expired.

Joaquin didn’t know what she meant, when she said she wasn’t clean. But his thoughts flew immediately to Aurélie, and what she had to experience, with some newcomer, some brutish man who’d tried to harm her. 

No, he didn’t try to harm her.  In his own way, he did harm her and it was tangled and messy now.

“Was it that man?” Joaquin asked, looking over to his right for confirmation.  He nodded towards his right, then looked back at Phoebe.  “Was it that man who  Aurélie?  Did…did he hurt you too, Phoebe?”  Joaquin asked as if Phoebe would know that Aurélie had been hurt at all.  He didn’t know this fact, of course; Aurélie knew how to keep her secrets, and she kept Phoebe’s name secret.  But Joaquin could only think of Aurélie these days as much as he did his best not to bring her further grief.  And if that man had hurt Aurélie, who was to say he didn’t hurt others as well? 

“Possessed?” Joaquin repeated, then frowned.  No.  If she was truly possessed, she’d be denying it, not laying claim to it.  She mean ‘possessed’ in some metaphorical way, in the way Phoebe liked to speak.  Once she called herself a meaningless void; another time, an Entwife.  She spoke in poetry.  

“God made you in his image, and therefore you are perfect,” Joaquin replied, staying where he was, holding her just enough that she didn’t bolt back into the water.  

But she lashed out again, knocking Joaquin in his nose just hard enough to make him see stars.  It didn’t bleed or anything, it was just a momentary daze.  He sat up again, and watched Phoebe, as she crawled to the edge of the ocean, and sobbed.

Her words were meant to hurt, but they only hurt herself.

“This moment shall pass, mija, por favor.   ” Joaquin called out to her, watching her closely.  The moment she threw herself into the water, he’d pull her right back out.  He was soggy and heavy, but Joaquin was prepared this time.  

“Perhaps you are possessed tonight, because you’re not yourself.  This is not all of you, Phoebe.  Live until sunrise, my child, hm?  Just wait until the morning, and then if you still feel this way, in the morning, I can’t…” Joaquin pushed his wet hair from his face, and mournfully finished his sentence.

“Then I can’t keep stopping you from doing what you truly believe you need to do.  But I will keep stopping you, tonight.”

* ━━━ ✧☽

Phoebe looks over her shoulder through narrowed eyes as wet hair falls into her eyes. ❛ Man? What man? ❜ She asks heavily, voice coarse while she gives a brutal, humourless laugh. Phoebe has been hurt by many men over her years and they had all given her too many good reasons to.  ❛ ... Aurélie, ❜ The name comes to her as a shine of light through a dark cloud. A moment of clarity ...  And then as the memory comes back to her in the lost state she is in ... And it brings back everything. Everything but a calm sense of protection. The beach. The clawing. The pain that was caused.

❛ He tried. He tried to hurt me but I hurt him first. ❜ Phoebe tells Joaquin, her eye still heavy on the waters before her. ❛ But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t fucking matter. I don’t care about him, I don’t. He’s gone now. ❜ The jungle has him. The jungle had helped her. The jungle is what keeps her safe.

He doesn’t get it! Her mind yells. But he’s trying. Is that not enough? she fights, just as Joaquin would want her too. Just as Aurélie would want her too. That realization makes Phoebe feel all the more alone. She stands to her feet with weak, shaking legs. ❛ Yes, Joaquin! Possessed! ❜ Phoebe’s voice raises, desperate for him to understand. ❛ I feel - -- I feel out of place. Like there’s something inside of me that shouldn’t be there and it keeps fucking growing and I can’t stop it. ❜

A clawed hand moves to her shirt to clutch the soaked fabric. What she doesn’t feel are her nails digging into her skin. ❛ Whatever is inside of me eats away at me. I’m afraid ... I’m afraid that one day ... There’s going to be nothing left of me. I’m afraid I’m going to be this empty shell and I don’t want to see that ... This,” she gestures to the open waters, trembling. ❛ This is how I don’t see that. ❜ 

Phoebe hears his voice over the crashing ocean, talking about how God has made her perfect in his imagine, and Phoebe just doesn't believe it. Right now, she doesn't care about God. She doesn't care about what God has created and why he does the things he has done. ❛ Shut up! ❜ She yells out. She doesn’t want to hear about God. She just wants to hear Joaquin, whatever that means to her. ❛ Don’t say that. I’m not perfect, I’m not. Neither are you. There’s no such thing. ❜

He hears his gentler pleas to live through tonight. She has lived through so many nights. So many long, long nights. How many does she have left within her when she felt as if she was always running out of time? ❛ Joaquin, I’m ... ❜ Phoebe tries. She racks shaking fingers through wet and matted hair. She lays down on her back, her eyes looking over the thunderous sky as the waves hit the shore and  soaks into her skin even more. Not that she could feel it, anyway. ❛ I feel like I’m an open wound. And nothing ... Nothing can be healed. And it hurts all the time. ❜ She whispers in the end, asking the sky for answers. ❛ I hurt all the time. Why would he make me like this? ❜