it's been a while

[esperanza lillian buganski]

She looks like someone else. It's not her hidden beneath the layers of fat, it's not her in the fake smile on her pasty white lips, it's definitely not her beneath the thin stripe of neutral brown eyeliner that circles the tired blue eyes. She's gained at least five pounds. Her cheeks look like she's about to start hibernating for winter. Half-heartedly, she brings her puffy hands to her mouth and squeezes, watching as they deflate in the mirror. She prods the skin under her jaw, pulls it away and lets go, watches as it stays in place there. She's probably dehydrated from spending all day lying on the roof in her in her coat and scarf and hat and gloves, legs crossed so she won't pee because she had to all afternoon and didn't bother going, knowing that as soon as she went back inside she'd be denied access back to the open air that the Hamptons provided if she was a good girl, a really good girl. What am I doing? she asks herself, mentally reducing her voice to a tinny, hollow sound that lets her know she's not imagining being exhausted, drawn and quartered and pulled every which way. In all possible meanings of the word, Ezzie is spent. She knows it. She just hasn't told anyone yet, and they can't see past the charade of I'm Doing Okay that she refuses to let down. Slowly, the skin falls back into it's normal shape and she goes downstairs to fill a glass with the fresh northern water that she's started to grow used to, to prefer to the piped Aquifer water that she and her cousin, her brother, her best friend grew up with. She sits down on the couch, waits for him to show up and take her away because they trust her, they really do, You Can Go If You Behave they say on the phone and she can hear the pronounced syllables, the capital letters. She agrees. I Can Behave, I'm Doing Okay.

She read a book once where everything that was important was capitalized like that; she prefers reading books where things switch from third to first person regularly and the characters aren't rich. Slowly, she brings the glass of water to her lips, holds the liquid in her mouth, sets the cup back on the counter where the ring of condensation tells her to put it. Four and a half weeks. Guidelines. She has a twelve step program. She hasn't even looked at it. In the reflection of the window above the Buganski Family Sink, she watches her throat bob as she swallows the liquid in two large gulps. It's so quiet in her house that she can hear the neighbor's porch television, declaring a win for the Florida Gators. She wonders how Urban Meyer is doing, decides she doesn't care, realizes how ugly her dress is and takes it halfway off before she sits down on the floor, hopeless and lost over the messed up outfit, crying and blubbering like an infant about how she's ugly now, how she's fucked everything up and fuck, she said the f word again. When she's done crying, she sits in her matronly underwear in the nude colors she swore she'd never wear with her back against the marble countertops until Steele comes home and he helps her up and tells her her dress isn't ugly. She puts on one of her new dresses and they leave.

Pulled together, Ezzie is beautiful. Her legs go for miles and she's thin, probably too slender, but her eyes are blue, so blue, and it makes up for the hollows in her cheeks where she forgot to eat breakfast and lunch and most likely dinner too. She drinks only water and sips it, at that, munches on dried pineapple and lettuce where before she shoved food into her mouth with ingredients she couldn't pronounce. People say they're worried about her and she lifts an indifferent shoulder, the congenial smile on her rosy lips faltering as she asks to be excused, polite and soft spoken and everything she hates. She doesn't smoke anymore. She hates parties because they remind her of Anna and Caro and Mr. Tumnus and California and things she can't remember the name, feelings she can't vocalize. Recovery is a long, hateful process. She's nowhere near Fine, Okay, or All Right. But she doesn't have to be. She can just pretend and no one will know and she'll be All Right eventually, right? Right. So she is. And she does.

She comes out of the bathroom and goes to the sink and finds a plastic cup, fills it with water. She can't watch herself drink it in the kitchen, so she roams the halls aimlessly until the music drives her outside, and she sits on the porch by herself in the cold until someone opens the front door. When she sees the familiar soft halo of hair around his features, a smile filters over her lips and she sets the cup aside with numb fingers, “Hey,”

she is wearing this.

[steele]

After such a long week of waiting tables and listening to people complain about their water not having enough ice in it or having too much ice, it was nice to have a break from his strenuous job. Steele had been looking forward to this party ever since he got the invitation. Being one of the few originally invited, he knew he had to make his presence known. That wouldn't be too hard after he's downed a few shots. Steele was a lightweight due to his small framed body, so getting drunk was easy and a lot more fun for him. That being said, he got a bit carried away at times, but fortunately not too much to black out. By that time, he was already preoccupied with a cute hottie who had been eying him the entire night. If he was lucky, then that might happen again, but Steele was not going to expect anything. This was his first party at the Kozma's place, and he was taking his cousin-practically-sister, Esperanza, with him. Though Steele knew she was particularly excited about going to a crazy party and being the only one not drinking, Steele needed her to take a break and have fun - under his watchful eye of course. She had been doing much better every day and Steele was looking forward to having his old Esperanza back. He missed her a lot, especially now more than ever, but he knew she was hidden underneath, and it was up to him to help her find herself again. Coming home to find her sulking in the bathroom, Steele shook his head, and helped her up, telling her once again her dress was no ugly. Patiently waiting for her to change, Steele ran a comb through his hair once more and reapplied gel so that it was tame. The cold mixed in with the humidity caused his hair to frizz and his hair had an afro illusion to it. Steele hated his hair sticking up uncontrollably. You never know when you're going to meet your soul mate, Steele reminded himself as he carefully restyled his hair three different times. He finished just as Esperanza returned with a new dress and they left.

The ride there was a bit tricky with the ice still on the streets. They had to be extra careful. The weather forecast had announced a blizzard warning, but Steele thought nothing of it. Nothing was going to stop him from going to Lena's party. He was still pretty new in this town, didn't really know anybody but his cousin and Lena, and a few other friends, so this was his chance to meet new people. Parties were great for socializing, even without the alcohol. But the alcohol was always a good investment to have as well, giving even the shiest of people some guts to speak to strangers. Steele enjoyed the entire atmosphere of being at a party, if you didn't count the millions of rules they were breaking. Steele was still underage, but that did not stop him from acting older. He learned that from Esperanza and her parents. They took care of him better than his old man did, which didn't take much if you knew his father. But his aunt, uncle, and Esperanza did that and more. Steele was fortunate for having them in his life, otherwise he would not be where he was right now. True things could have been much better, but Steele appreciated that it could be worse.

When they arrived at the party all in once peace, Steele lost sight of Esperanza. He knew he did not have to watch her, but he couldn't believe he lost her so fast. Wasn't this supposed to be a small party? Somehow word had definitely gotten out, and the entire town was here. This made it easier for Steele to get to meet people. Maybe this was too much for Esperanza right now. This was a foolish and selfish thing Steele did, dragging her to the party. He had just gotten so excited, he did not care to think about asking her if she even wanted to go. Guilt crept up on him and he hoped she didn't resent him for this. He paced the crowded mansion. He was surprised at how much people filled up the mansion. Scanning the many different rooms, Steele couldn't help but notice many different types of people were here. There were even people who were younger than him present. Steele smirked to himself. He always knew Lena was a crazy party animal, but an even better host.

Steele was just about to give up his search, when he spotted someone from behind who matched the same hair style of his cousin, leaving. Steele dropped the cup he was holding on the floor, and pushed his way to the door. She was going to leave him! Shit, he really screwed up. He was stalled by a bunch of people trying to make small talk. He eventually got away from them and managed to reach the door. Opening it, he peaked his head out and saw her sitting on the porch. He sighed a sigh of relief. "There you are! You know there's a blizzard warning tonight." Steele commented but proceeded in stepping out of the house and onto the porch to join her. He took a seat in one of the available seats beside her. "I hope there's no alcohol in there." he pointed at her drink. He folded his arms as he started to get the chills. "You're not mad at me for taking you here, are you?" He asked, worried. The last thing he wanted was for her to be upset with him.

[/justify]

[esperanza lillian buganski]

When Ezzie was younger, she used to lay in bed and cry because she couldn't sleep with her knees bent, and when they were down she was noticeably less comfortable. For hours, she would attempt to work out an arrangement where her long, gangly limbs weren't stretched or pulled or too relaxed or not relaxed enough; she spent the majority of her childhood nights fidgeting in bed. Sleepovers were a release, considering their tendency to last the entire eight hours when she would be sleeping, and end only in the morning when she was too tired to care about which way her legs were sitting. Even as a child, she exhibited countless attributes that would add up later into something resembling her BPD; sometimes now she tries to sleep and forgets how. Dreams are of vagrant children and Caro, always together, always everywhere she is and she can never leave them behind her, regardless of the therapy or the drugs or whatever else she tries, so desperately, to erase the unfortunate past. Last night she woke up screaming, her skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, sure Caro was sitting on the bed beside her, stroking her hair. She wasn't. No one was there. Her voice is hoarse because she doesn't swallow normally, avoiding the pain that comes from the action.

The smile stays in place as she watches him join her, her long legs spilling out of the bottom of her dress with an uncoordinated, sloppy style that makes her chuckle as she tries to get them where she wants them. You can see the track marks on her arms from years of substance abuse and she doesn't even bother trying to hide it, because in a way she likes them, she likes the stares that come from them, and she likes the profound ability to do as she pleases when she exhibits the pale underarms and the rampant black scars that criss cross all over, a roadway of signs and symbols; a map of where she's been and where she will go. Eventually, they will fade, but she knows better than to think they will ever go away. She's stuck forever with blown out veins and marks of a tense she can't remember. Only snippets ever plague her with their unwavering existence, and if she pushes herself to recall, panic attacks are frequent and unaccountable; she stresses herself too much over the little things. Slowly, she brings her hand from her lap, smooths the already smoothed hair by her temples, where sometimes if she's not careful it sprouts in a thousand different directions. She likes the way he talks to her as if she were a lost child, like he's been worrying about where she was, even though she is older and she shouldn't think condescension is comforting; there is peace in her mind because she knows he will never leave her, not like Caro, not like Anna, not like their parents. Steele will forever be there, trying to find his lost Ezzie. She sighs, leans her head against one of the support beams. “I know. I like the quiet,”

She doesn't mind noise, she doesn't mind the boundless cacophony that typically comes from house parties of this nature, but the temptations that lie near the bar make her queasy and she wants to cry as she watches the thrumming, dancing crowds. Fun. So much fun. Those days are over, she reminds herself bitterly, crossing her ankles to give herself something to do and she smiles at Steele, really smiles, like his comment was funny. She finds it ironically amusing, on those long days where she's given time to muse on subjects she's forgotten existed, that when she can legally drink, she's no longer allowed by the opposing hand of someone other than herself, and she's warned daily about the relapses she shouldn't have, and daily she responds with the same tired phrase from the same tired mouth, I”m Doing All Right.

But she isn't. She thinks about Caro and she wants to suffocate herself in piles of anti depressants or pain killers. She doesn't know why she didn't take them with her, she only knows that she stroked her beautiful face, watching it relax, watching the painless float of a smile over those cracked lips. She kissed her once, twice, and stopped halfway to the third one, her hand roaming to check for a pulse like it would be there. She watched her eyes flatten, heard the death rattle. There was no vomit, no shit. There was nothing in her body except the pills. Ezzie's were lined up along the window sill. She called the police. Contemplated taking them, forwent it. She wishes, quietly, that she would have poured them down her throat like M&Ms, laid back and watched the ceiling break over her as together they entered heaven. She didn't, and she knows why even if she won't tell, because she likes to savor the thought and the accompanying tidbits like the last piece of steak: she didn't, because she likes the idea of someone waiting for her. Someone she loves. She wonders sometimes if she's losing her mind because she believes this so strongly, but in her dreams Caro calls out to her and she knows she's floating in the oblivion, on the wide, marginal line between sane and insane. So she widens her lips again in that frustrating echo of a smile that she uses too much, “No, it's not alcohol, it's water.” she can't imagine conversation with herself is profound her even mildly amusing. He probably wants to go back inside. She decides to tell him he can.

“You don't have to worry about me, Steele. Really. It's a party, go have fun.” she takes a sip of her drink, just because it's there, and finds solace in the ability to watch herself doing it in the reflection of the frost-covered door panes. She sets it back down. The ridged veins on her arms glimmer. “Find someone to bring home and we can make dinner, I have those filets in the freezer still....”

she is wearing this.