It seems, lately, like every concrete decision I’ve made is beginning to come undone. I know they say everything does that. Everything falls apart. And really, most things have. Everything’s fallen apart at some point. Sometimes it comes back, or gets better. Mostly I just try to adapt to the new definition of who I am after the storm and keep going.
I don’t fall in love. Not anymore. It’s a pipe dream I gave up on after I got to see Jack get with Shanice and have a good, healthy relationship. I mean, they’re not without their problems, but they don’t really worry about werewolves or dragons. Fuck. Dragons.
Merov won the fight. He’s consolidating power. I want to believe that he’s doing it for the good of the city, but it makes my skin crawl. There’s a burning intensity to him that’s impossible to look away from. Maybe it’s because I’m inherently drawn to burning disasters and things that’ll tear me apart from the inside, but I can’t help but want to see more. Not of him, necessarily. But of what he’s going to do. It’s a volcano I want to feel the heat of.
Curtis and I left the werelion party after Merov was named king. The dragon gave me a look, almost of curiosity, and we shared a glance before Curtis and I bailed. The plan was to go home and have a whiskey or ten and try to sleep knowing the city would be on fire tomorrow. But Curtis wanted to go somewhere else.
He asked about my family. I guess because I mentioned killing my mom that he wanted to know the real question: Did she deserve it? She didn’t I killed her because I wanted the power to stop things from getting worse. I have that power. It’s not worth getting into the cost of that power, but it’s mine.
I needed to get home and sleep because I needed to go after Carla (Turns out she jumps bodies ,the nasty bitch) and go figure out why Florence was getting her thin fingers into my research. But Curtis had been shot at and was brooding over Merov, so I said sure. We went out to this island he was super into and hung out watching the water.
It was… fuck, I hate saying this, but it was almost… tender? I know he’s scared and I’m scared of losing him, but we’re not usually sweet with each other. Curtis is, besides being probably the closest friend I have, a good lay. We get the shortness of life, or at least, that it could fall apart. There isn’t time for attachment and holding on to someone and asking for love when all you can give is an uncertain future and a tumble in bed. We get that about each other. More than almost anyone else.
But for once, we talked about… the past. We have an unspoken rule of not asking and not telling. We asked. We told. It felt good to talk about parts of myself I never even look at anymore let alone acknowledge. It also meant that he could find out what a monster I was. The horrible things I’ve done. That I’m not really the good person most people think I am.
We talked about his past and what made him, to some extent, him. I didn’t realize the depth that Curtis has had his life fucked with. It sounded like people like hurting him. Or forcing him into corners until there aren’t any options left. It’s even how Merov treats him.
It was nice. It was a moment. A moment that wasn’t in time and didn’t belong in our lives but it was a moment. It reminded me of when I used to date people at the thought of being more than just fuck buddies. The sweet little moments that you go home with after and think about with a stupid grin on your face. I know what that meant.
When we got home, we ended up doing what we usually did when the world was out of control: we had sex. Maybe it was the island or the fact that he had been shot just a few days ago or that the world was changing around us, but it was different. I tried not to let it be but I could feel that it was.
After, I asked him what Merov meant to him. I can feel that whatever the future holds will involve Merov, and usually when that happens, I end up killing someone. I didn’t want to see Curtis get involved in that. He told me that Merov was a big mistake to him. I’m not… sure what that means or what it’s supposed to mean.
Then Curtis looked at me and asked what he was to me.
It was a moment I wasn’t expecting. We have a solid understanding of what we are. We’re friends. Friends who get that the world is ending and our time is limited and match well sexually. But friends. The words didn’t want to leave my lips though. I didn’t want to say friends because after today and maybe after seeing Curtis shot by that bitch I knew something wasn’t as it had been.
I can’t fall in love. It’s not in the cards and it’s out of the playbook and it’ll just open me up (and Curtis) to new attacks. Maybe if things were different. Maybe if I can make a cure. Maybe if a lot of things…
I said “We’re friends.”
He was glad we’re on the same page.
I wanted to stay and sleep but my skin felt like it was crawling and all I wanted to do was go beat something up until my brain had gotten rid of the fog. When Curtis was asleep I got up and let him in the only way I knew how. I found my old journals and left them out for him. And left my key. It’s a thing we do, to make sure that nothing can get in while I’m gone.
I have to find Carla. I have to stop Florence. And I need to remind myself that life can’t be this. So I’m going to Solomon’s. To remember. To stay grounded. And to get him to bring me to Carla.