I ripped four pages in my reading book

mchanzo week 2017 II day four II on ao3 here

prompt: red I blue  - title: tearing through the pages and the ink

A part of you really thinks Jesse might be the love of your life. It’s the part of you that’s still thirteen, still clinging to the ripped books that you hid under your pillow, because you didn’t wanted anyone – especially Genji – to know that you read fairytales and hero stories, knights in shining armor, because it seemed dumb to you, dumb and childish. You figure, not many years later, that the stories are lies and castles in the sky, being torn apart by dragons that don’t exist, far too distant for you to reach.

You are an assassin, and assassins don’t get saved by knights, they kill the princess the knight is trying to rescue.

But your second chance for a fairytale has brown eyes and sunburnt, freckled skin and enough annoying habits to be a trainwreck. Everything else does turn into a trainwreck pretty fast, but that’s what you try to hold onto – you have Jesse, even if it’s secret, it’s the best secret you ever had, and you’ve had lots of them, because you were lying when you told your father that you don’t know where Genji is, while knowing perfectly well he’s downtown, drinking, flirting.

Keep reading

one: I put on my dress (the one that you said sings a song about the promise land) and wore it to the local bar so that I’m guaranteed a man that’ll buzz around me like a fly. I kiss him until his lips feel like yours and the alcohol has stopped pounding in my head. We’re in the taxi, hands on legs and shirts unbuttoned when Coldplay comes on the radio and the switch in my eyelid short circuits as the tears flood out. I walked home alone with my heels in my hands and the contents of my stomach in my throat.

two: I asked that girl behind the counter if she had anything to numb the pain and before I knew it there was a burning in my lungs and a smoldering in my aorta. The forest fires erupting inside me reminded me of the way you liked to play fire fighter, dousing my soul in cold water whenever the ashes became too unbearable. I coughed and I coughed and I coughed.

three: I checked out a book from the library on the galaxy because of how much you hated the things you couldn’t explain. I read it in a night that left me with six empty coffee mugs and constellations formed by the items lying around my living room. My hands began to rip the pages out in fistfuls without my consciousness bothering to slow my movements when I remembered the time you told me you couldn’t decipher the look on my face. Did you hate me too? Rip. Did you hate me too? Rip.

four: I bought two hundred dollars worth of ingredients and set to baking in my kitchen for an entire weekend. You always disliked dessert, craved the things infused with salt that left a resonance on your tongue afterwards. Each chocolate chip felt like a “fuck you” and each spoonful of vanilla felt like starting over. I’m still trying to get rid of the sugar.

five: I thought I’d be clever this time. I drew up a hypothesis and a thesis and everything so that maybe this time my plans would go through. But walking up to your doorstep with my notebook-paper-teenage-first-love letter and seeing the flowers next to your steps made my insides collapse. You’d always hated the dirt, hated how you killed plants so easily. I almost pulled them out of the ground and shoved them in your mailbox with a red pen demand to grow something worth saving for once. Almost.

six: I visited my mom and she told me she could stay in Switzerland for a month with the bags under my eyes. When she reminded me how proud she was of me I felt like a toddler again. A toddler that never experienced heartbreak or loss or paper cuts from old photographs. On the car ride home I had to pull over to the side of the road because the way my mom had waved goodbye was riddled with worry and it’s all my fault. Maybe you were right.

seven: I woke up early without having anywhere to go. I went to the hill behind your uncle’s golf course and sat on the top with a bottle of water and the beanie I found shoved next to my book shelf. When the sun came up I threw the hat as far as I could, which really isn’t as far as I would’ve liked. I was okay with that, though. I’m starting to be okay with the things I can’t physically push myself into accomplishing. I think I’m beginning to be okay with you.

—  seven experiments I tried to get rid of you with, cgc