Time: 12:21 AM
Pages: 5
Word Count: 1482
Listening to: x
Topic: Jamie’s anger
I will not be posting tonight’s writing on account of I feel terrible and this writing is terrible as a result. I don’t have the energy to type it up. But know that I did it and it is in my journal.
In summation: I promised myself I wouldn’t use this blog for roleplay purposes but Hayden (regiium) and Jamie got into a fight via kik tonight and Jamie was so pissed off he wouldn’t let me write about anything else. He put his fist through the apartment wall and then walked to the park to light a cigarette and clear his head.
I might revisit this tomorrow and clean it up for the sake of positing this.
EDIT: I revisited this on 1/23/2016.
There’s an ache in his head and a shake in his hands when he slams the door behind him and steps out into the brisk winter air. He’s not sure what he’s expecting will happen tonight. Maybe he just needs fresh air to clear his head, or maybe he’s so high-strung that he’s itching to get into a fight. He deserves to get the shit kicked out of him, anyways. Regardless, he hopes that at the very least the chill of the wind will cool his fiery veins and the icy sting of it will bring him back to his senses.
Not to mention he needs time to think. If nothing else he has to figure out how he’s going to explain the fist-sized hole in the wall near the door. He’d hit it hard enough that his knuckles opened and bled, but only for a few minutes at most before scabbing over.
Jamie feels lost and confused. Nothing from the last hour makes sense. He doesn’t understand what happened—why Hayden was so angry at him, why he was so irritable and so quick to feed off that anger and escalate it. How a simple confession from Hayden led to Jamie punching a wall and shattering the drywall.
Sure, anger has always been a problem. Even his parents recognized it early in his youth; Jamie internalized everything and kept it bottled up and as consequence would lash out at inappropriate times and inappropriate people. But something was different here, something was wrong, and he couldn’t put his finger on it.
Maybe his sour mood was only a reflection of Hayden’s. Maybe he was mirroring the other, or sopping up the negativity like a sponge. Maybe Hayden had been throwing bad vibes across the headspace unknowingly and it threw Jamie off whack.
Not that Jamie was entirely innocent, here. Ever since he woke up a few months ago and they’d told him he’d died at the hands of the demon plaguing Hayden’s mind, he’d felt a series of complex emotions he wasn’t sure how to process. Numbness, confusion, apathy. Anger. He’d been more irritable and prone to outbursts than usual ever since the incident.
Maybe it was some lethal combination of the two. Fire and gasoline. Bleach and Ammonia.
Whatever it was, Jamie had blown up at Hayden at quite possibly the worst of times. All Hayden had wanted to do was confide in him, only for their conversation to escalate so violently. And things had been going so well for them; it felt like their friendship was finally being stitched together and the wounds they’d endured were starting to heal over.
But Jamie knew if it were the other way around, if he’d tried confiding in Hayden only to be treated as such, he wouldn’t likely confide such things in the other for a long time to come.
And for what was not the first time and would likely not be the last, Jamie found his thoughts focused on how much better off Hayden would be without him. Last time he’d tried to leave, he hadn’t really wanted to. It was easy enough for Hayden to convince him to stay.
Now, though… maybe there was a small part of him that really, really wanted to go. To hit the open road and be alone again, to not feel suffocated and chained and pinned down. To feel free, not like he was on a leash with his progeny at the other end, tugging at him sharply whenever he stepped out of line. He wanted to be as far from this mess as he could possibly be, away from all these mistakes that just wouldn’t stop resurfacing.
He was being rash, he was sure. Or that’s what Hayden would tell him if he even tried to leave again. So he pulled his jacket tighter around his thin frame and kept going, kept walking aimlessly. Jamie just needed time to clear his head. He’d see how he felt about it when he returned, after he’d cooled down and had time to reflect on where things had gone so wrong so fast. All he could do now was walk and try to suppress the burning tears that stung the corners of his eyes. Was he angry? Was he sad? He didn’t know.
As he so often did when he was upset, Jamie gravitated towards the nearest park. Conditioning from his youth, he figured—even if he didn’t know where the park was, he somehow always managed to find it. Not that he minded. There was something comforting and nostalgic to him about being able to climb a tree or sit on a swing to just exist for a little bit.
Once he hops the fence he pulls the worn leather of his jacket tighter, fastening it with a quick zip to preserve whatever heat he could salvage—not that there was much to begin with. Considering Jamie’s status as a corpse, body heat was a rare commodity and even his favorite jacket couldn’t trap and hold heat that wasn’t there to begin with. Skin like ice didn’t do much to protect against freezing winter air: the coat was more his shield from the elements than anything.
Thin fingers wrap around steel chains from which a swing dangles and he leans into the seat of it. His feet are still planted firmly on the ground in front of him when he sits, but it’s more the idea of swinging that he loves than the actual act of swinging itself.
Once he relaxes, takes a moment to sit and sway, Jamie searches his jacket pockets with still-trembling fingers and digs out a cigarette and his lighter. Almost immediately, lighting up and pressing the cigarette to his pale lips helps calm the shakes and the nerves. His eyes finally dry and he can think again.
The silence of the night washes over him and the biting wind seemed to blow the darkest, angriest thoughts straight out of his head. The idea of packing his things and leaving still lingered in serious consideration, but when was the thought of the open road and open sky not on his mind? He’d have left ages ago were it not for Hayden and the way he begged. It was just his nature. Leaving was the only thing was good for, right? The caged bird that wouldn’t sing.
He couldn’t even figure out how to be a good friend, sire, or brother. Didn’t even have any of that going for him.
With a groan, Jamie retrieved his phone from his jacket pockets and stared at Hayden’s contact info, ready to shoot something, anything his way. An apology, maybe, or a ‘fuck you.’ He wasn’t sure. It took him several seconds to form a message in his head, a message asking forgiveness and expressing his guilt at the way their conversation had ended. His thumb lingered over the send button, only for him to delete the message in its entirety and stuff his phone away as if the thought had never even crossed his mind.
It was too early, he decided. Hayden probably still needed time. At best, they just needed a night of space. A few hours to cool off. At worst, Hayden probably didn’t want to speak to Jamie again, maybe even hated him. Though, after all they’d been through, Jamie found it difficult to believe Hayden would hate him. Part of him wondered if Hayden even had it in him to hate Jamie.
Besides, Hayden was (hopefully) with or at least in contact with Hunter. They didn’t need him or his innate ability to fuck everything up so consistently. They were happy together.
The passage of time went almost unnoticed with the exception of the death of his cigarette, which he crushed under the rubber toe of his worn Chuck Taylors. What was a few hours to an immortal with a century behind him? He was so lost in thought, debating whether or not to leave, debating where their conversation had gone wrong, trying to figure out what he needed to do to better rein himself in for the future. It wasn’t until the moon dipped down and the sky became that familiar damning dawn gray that Jamie realized he’d lost such track of time.
He needed to get to wherever he would be spending the day before the sun came up. He couldn’t go back to the apartment, that much he knew. Going back to the apartment meant running the risk of having to share that cramped space with Hayden for another twelve hours until the sun set and they were able to go their separate ways again.
So Jamie slunk off into the night, making a beeline to the outskirts of town while he searched for the familiar, homey glow of a VACANCY sign somewhere on the immediate horizon.
Time: 12:54 AM
Pages: 7
Word Count: 1646
Listening to: x
Topic: Jamie and Sammy
Warnings: Drug use, Substance abuse, Physical abuse, Emotional abuse.
She was fire and he was gasoline and together they could’ve burned the city down.
When they met, she promised him a new life, a new world. Promised she had the cure to all the things that ailed him, that she alone could lift the burden from his shoulders.
And for a while, she did; or, the drugs and booze stashed in the lock box under her bed did on her behalf. He couldn’t tell the difference, really. But she was fun when she was high, always wanting to go out and be wild. Wanted nothing more in life than to have fun. Her antics loosened him up, turned him into something casual. He couldn’t argue; his own life had been sorely lacking adventure until she lured him in. He went from lonely nights in run down motels watching cable reruns he’d seen a million times to late night car rides driving way too fast down the interstate, to fucking in dark corners or crowded bars that smelled of sweat and booze and lust. Sometimes, when his own high kicked in, he could almost feel a heartbeat in that hollow, empty chest of his.
When she was having a good day and riding a good high, she made him feel alive. No one before had managed to accomplish such a feat, not since the night his heart stopped beating and the coldness of a corpse settled into his bones.
They were everything she’d ever dreamed of: sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll. What else could a girl want? As long as she supplied him with his fix, he had more reason to stay than to leave. Every time he walked out that door, she could rest easy knowing as soon as the high wore off and the shakes set in, he’d be back. And for a while he dropped by only because he wanted to see her, no further motivation needed.
And it worked for them... for a while. He was too high to argue and she was too high to care. Every night was the same thing: do a line, have a drink, go to a club, dance, pick out someone for dinner. Then they’d head back home and have a good fuck, still covered in the blood of whatever poor sucker they’d pulled away from the dance floor.
The cocaine made the sex even better.
But the high would wear off, the sex would end, and when the son rose and he was stuck with her for another 12 hours, discontent would crawl it’s way into his mind. While she was perfectly happy riding her downward spiral to it’s end sometime in the (presumably near) future, he was left unfulfilled. His burdens and guilt and troubles always weaved their way back into his sober mind and made a home and could only be chased off with the drugs. Her solution was always to get high but eventually he tired of that. It left too many things unresolved and he hated always coming back to the same place.
She hit him when he confronted her about it. He’d come to her hoping for the support or comfort of a lover and she could only offer him more coke, more vodka. He’d yelled that he needed something different, something real, he’d called her a junkie, and she’d lashed out. Those bold red nails of hers left red marks of their own across the pale skin of his cheek. The force of the slap and the sting of the cuts immediately after shut him up soon enough, and he’d retreated to his own motel for the night promising that they were through.
But just as she’d predicted, just as she’d conditioned him to do, he came crawling back. As soon as the sun was down he was at her door, begging for forgiveness and another fix. She indulged him, even gave him the honor of make-up sex as if he deserved it. Men were so easy, she thought that morning as she lay sprawled across the bed. So predictable, so weak.
It happened again only a few nights later; he’d made the argument that there was more to life than sex and drugs and all she’d wanted was the innocent fun of getting her hands on something new to try with him. The more he protested the more irritable she grew and as the conflict escalated, she grew violent--pounding against his chest, screaming, kicking him. Anything she could do that would shut him up.
Again, he walked out and slammed the door. Again, he came slinking back when the withdrawals proved too much for his weak will. Again, they got drunk and high and fucked until she forgave him for leaving, as if it was his fault, as if he was the only one with sins clawing at his back.
In her eyes, he was.
Every time they fought, it got worse. Her hits got harder, her screams and tyrannical rants got louder. And he’d eventually sulk away, only to return, still nursing cuts and bruises from the night before in order to beg for his next fix. She had him in the palm of her hand. All she needed from him was sex and someone to get high with. If he needed something more from her, that was his problem and his fault. She’d remind him constantly that no one was stopping him from leaving if he truly wanted to, that he knew what he was getting into and that he was the only who was always finding his way back to her--not the other way around.
Her friends knew only her side of the story and would jeer and insult him whenever they saw him. His only friend, meanwhile, begged him to leave her. His only friend feared for his life.
And he tried. He did try, every time he stormed out nursing injuries he swore it would be the last time. But then the shakes and anxiety and fever and aches would set in and he had no options except to return to her and pray she would bless him with the cure he so madly desired.
Until she had a bad trip. He walked in at the wrong time--it might’ve been acid, which she hadn’t tried yet but hinted at having some on hand--and when she saw him she screeched and ran at him with a kitchen knife. She overpowered him for a short time and managed to slice his shirt and chest.
That was truly the last time. He ran out the first chance he got and packed his bags within the hour. If he was gone before the sun rose, he wouldn’t be able to turn back. He put as much distance between himself and the city as possible and didn’t stop until the sky turned an early-morning gray and he had to take shelter. And sure enough, he didn’t try to return to her come nightfall.
He spent the next week in hell, and the week after that. He knew he couldn’t go back, he knew what she did to him. If he wanted to survive he would have to break the cycle of dependency she’d trapped him in.
He would, eventually. He would find himself struggling less and less until the next fix was only an afterthought. But for two weeks he was in hell. The first two weeks were the worst, and he couldn’t even leave to hunt or eat. He nearly starved to death, wasting away to nothing. Yet he managed to convince himself, miraculously, that it was a better alternative than facing her again. Fever, shakes, chills, restlessness and fatigue all had their field day with him. Depression and anxiety came and went like stormy winds, sudden gusts knocking him to his knees.
But eventually he was free. Free of the grasp she had on him and free of the grasp of the drugs. It was months before he was able to get through the day without thinking about her or a fix, but the withdrawals faded over time. He took up smoking for a short time to calm his nerves, but decided replacing one drug with another wouldn’t help him.
Sometime two years later he found himself with the realization that he hadn’t thought of her or the drugs under her bed in weeks and something victorious in him swelled. It was the first time he truly felt free of her. No longer did he have to worry about hunting her down to beg forgiveness when she was the one who needed his. His life was his again and he no longer had to spend his nights walking on eggshells and broken, used needles.
He had a drink that night. Just one, and then he retreated to his motel room and took the longest, hottest shower of his life. He found a radio station that played only oldiers, songs he knew by heart, and he sung and danced along with an imaginary partner. He flipped through his favorite comic and curled up in the heavy comforter to watch his favorite shitty cable horror reruns.
Freedom felt like the ability to be himself. She could take his willpower, his dignity, and his independence, but she’d never be able to strip him of himself. She could never pry the core of his being from him, no matter how hard she tried.
He’d achieved his victory and in the end all she’d won from him was a year of his life. And what was one year to an immortal?
When people asked, he simply said there was nothing to tell, that she wasn’t right for him and that was that. And then he did his best to look to the future and move on.
im dating this girl she likes me i like her but shes always doubting me cause she has some trust issues.. i always need to reassure her and i get pissed everytime she doubts me.. for example ill say im just playing around then she'll think that im just playing with her feelings..
You shouldn't get angry with her. People have their issues, and if you love them, no matter the issue, you should embrace it.Just give her time. Trust issues are big, I have my own slight trust issues, and I know for a fact that if someone got mad at me because I got weary about things, I'd probably break up with them. Just let her get used to the relationship, to you, and don't be too hard on her. Work with her on it.
My girlfriend just got her wisdom teeth out and I want to do something special for her but she hates when I spend money on her. Ideas?
When someone hates when you spend money on them, that just means you have to spend more money on them. I mean, that's not really how it's supposed to go, but for me it is. Just because they say they don't want you to spend money on them, doesn't mean they're not going to be really happy when you happen to give them a present.
Since she got her wisdom teeth out, you should go over to her house with some of her/your guys' favorite movies and some ice cream. Since when you get your wisdom teeth out, ice cream is like really nice? Right? (For my friend it was when he got them out). But, spend the day with her and watch the movies and cuddle. What's better than that?
So I am going to visit my girlfriend in Florida in less than to weeks and I want to do something really exciting and sexy, any suggestions?
Let's just say, I'm probably the least sexy person, like, ever. If I ever tried to be sexy I'd probably trip and make a fool of myself, or just make a fool of myself in general. Even trying to think of sexy things for you to do isn't working for me, like what do people find sexy, goodness. I can try?Try out surprising her in new ways. That is if you guys are alone, which I hope is the case if you're asking for sexy ideas. Like, buy and pack some new sexy lingerie that you'll feel good in but also know she'll love it. Introduce you guys to new things, in the bedroom or maybe out, things you had in mind or maybe things she's confessed in you but was afraid to try? I don't know. I'm about to go all romantic instead of sexy.I'm literally no help, but maybe some of my followers could help you come up with some ideas? (Reply to this if you have any ideas!)
I don't really know how to explain cuddling? Like, I feel like it just comes naturally? Even as kids, tbh. But, if you really need help, Google "how to cuddle".Google is your friend!(Here's one I found!)
What are some cute things I can do to make my lady feel special?
Be super romantic, even if you're not romantic, pick one day of a month to be romantic and just pull out ALL THE STOPS.Buy her flowers at random (roses are nice, or if she has a favorite flower. This also works on random days whenever too). Cook her a nice romantic dinner and dim lights, bust out the nice smelling candles. Romantic things make everyone feel special :3Or, if we're speaking any day of the week: send her good morning texts, send her random cutesy texts during the day (especially if she's at work) to make her smile. Kiss her randomly, spontaneously. Surprise her.There's probably more that would pop in my head, but at the moment that's all I got.
