iko iko an de [len]

[esperanza lillian buganski]

Everything boils down to that singular moment in time, the fraction of a second when her hand hovered over the phone, shaking in the air, pale and clammy, when her palm pressed down over the receiver and she hesitated. Her life, as everyone's, was full of minuscule changes that led to ultimately disastrous outcomes. Who couldn't say that if they'd done one thing differently, something or someone else might not have happened, may have done whatever? Hers, despite it's desperately heroic connotations, was a little different in that it was her fault that Caro had died. She spent every moment of her life repenting for a sin she was supposed to partake in, and she despised herself for letting it happen. Instead of having nothing but Caro, she had absolutely nothing. Not even her family or her friends, valuable aspects to anyone's life, could force open her eyes and make her see that she was indeed surrounded by people who loved her, blessed with not only an amazing metabolism but beautiful looks, and a good personality. She was doomed from the start, a train wreck you couldn't look away from, a split body in a million pieces like a shattered fragment of glass.

She had gone to Bali to kill herself. That was the pathetic truth. Boarding the plane, she waved goodbye to no one, looking over her shoulder to realize no one would know if she was gone. They'd all think she'd run off on one of her crazy shenanigans, explaining it away with a careless laugh and philosophy that made absolutely no sense in relation to her point. But Ezzie was that way, she always had been: sporadic, nonsensical, ambitious but not hardworking. She was notorious for beginning large projects and abandoning them halfway through. Long hours had been put into many projects that had never built anything except a pile of crap for someone else to clean up. Even her own suicide attempts, all three of them to date, had gone unsuccessfully due to some mistakes on her part. She'd gotten as far as swallowing the entire bottle of tylenol the first time, but forgot to send her roommate on a mission and they called the hospital. The second, she'd held her dying lover in her arms, kissed her, caressed her stiffening limbs, and then called the ambulance when she positive she was removed from the hell that was life. Only in death, after all, is there an absence of it. The third, her only mistake had been in the choice of location. She found herself staring at the sunset and deciding that tomorrow, tomorrow she would do it because today she couldn't ruin such a beautiful scene. And before she could control herself, she was getting on the plane to go back to the Hamptons and wondering why, why why why couldn't she do one thing right.

Just one thing.

The hallways of her house were serpentine, twisting around her and pushing down on her chest like she was running out of air to breathe. Even having Bogie within a five mile radius didn't do shit for the emotions running through her, for the constant stabbing pain she felt in her side, for the overwhelming sense that death was watching and waiting to wrap his arms around her and pull her in. Somehow, while she'd never given a shit before, having Nana entirely redecorate everything around him was pushing her buttons as well. It was almost as though she liked the idea of him living in a space created with her in mind, but she'd always enjoyed attention because it meant she was alive (you are only real if someone perceives you) and thriving, or even meagerly existing. She needed proof, always. Always. Licking her lips, she pressed her forehead to the door and closed her eyes as the wood reverberated with the strength of her knock, though it wasn't loud, teeth clamping over the tender flesh of her lower lip, pushing almost through and leaving behind a trail of saliva and indentations. Grappling with her hand, she forced it to fall on the heavy gold handle and pushed the door open, legs tangling as she stumbled through it and the support that had been holding her in place giving way to pure space. She nearly fell, but managed to catch herself on a conveniently placed table, long legs like feelers, pushing around in front of her until she fell on the bed, the silver brush in her free hand, and fumbled through the contents of her pockets until she extracted an ornately carved wooden sparrow, “I did get you a present,” it was for Caro. Away, Ezzie was loaded constantly and had managed to forget she was dead somewhere. She hadn't been allowed to go to her funeral, and the location of her buried loved one – her only loved one – was unknown. And so, occasionally it slipped her mind that she was really gone, and not hiding as she had done so many times during their time together. But it was okay to give it anyway, act like she was someone she wasn't and give her the sparrow that would have looked so lovely with their collection. Whatever. Ezzie hadn't gone near birds in a long, long time. In a smaller voice, she turned on her side and pressed her face into the sheets, inhaled deeply, peeked out with a single, covertly operating eye, “Do you like it?”

Her shorts, despite being leather, provided a lot of room for transportation of goods, and she pulled a pill from the depths of the lined pockets. Lining it up with her view, she stared at it before rolling it away, picking up the brush, setting it within reach with heavy, molasses limbs.

She couldn't remember anyone taking care of her as well as her cousin and her friend had during their brief stay with her. All of her life, she was a burden. A child that wasn't supposed to be a child. Someone who was supposed to behave like she was ten years older than she was, lips painted with rouge and elbows off of the table, ankles crossed and politely smooching the boys of her parent's friends on the cheek in a greeting she never felt like giving. She didn't out herself to her parents, didn't have to; when they found her and her girlfriend making out on the couch they figured it out too quickly, and living on her own after that was simple. They were never home. They were disgusted with her. She found ways to compensate for their lack of parental affection through whatever means of love and attention she could find. She almost flunked out of high school, almost never made it in to college, but even all of the people who helped her achieve over the years never just held her. They never talked to her like she was a person. They never helped her up when she fell trying to piss, disgustingly drunk, when she almost choked on her own puke, when she wound up in New York and had no explanation. They just didn't care, because she didn't care; they made it okay to look at her as if she didn't matter, and she had slowly begun to hate herself and every single one of them for allowing it to happen because, as she realized on the plane on the way back home from her spur of the moment suicide mission to Bali, she had one reason at the moment. Without her, Len wouldn't have a place to stay.

And so, she decided to live.

click for outfit.

[marlene helen hamilton]

She had always had a soft spot for mirrors; they were so shiny, pure looking, able to make a room look nearly magical without the aid of virtually anything else. Galerie des Glaces in Versailles, anyone? Truth be told, her slight hint of vanity has always played a role in such a preference, which could be considered as relatively surprising, considering that the way she judged her appearance changed on a daily basis; at times the brunette felt classy and down right beautiful, other times rather ugly, and most days pretty averagely cute. Right now, though, even if she was staring at herself she couldn’t see herself anymore; it was as though her reflection was just an empty shell, whose soul had been taken away from her. At times she had been jokingly called a vampire for her insanely unhealthy sleeping schedule, her love for the night and the fact she wasn’t grossed out by blood; little did all those people knew that she really did feel like an undead, a zombie if you will, walking on Earth in direct sunlight when she should have been elsewhere. Anywhere else, the place didn’t really matter; all she knew was that she didn’t belong there, not anymore. She didn’t belong because she didn’t belong to anyone and because no one belonged to her. With a slight, sad smirk, Marlene kept applying her powder, lazily, letting the soft brush caress her skin, as she understood more and more deeply just how pathetically contradictory she was. In fact, she had been telling everyone willing to pretend to be listening how bonds were silly matters: everything ended, everyone left, every time it ended up not being forever, still, there she was, inwardly yearning to own and be owned.

Her possessive side really was quite remarkable, in ways most people wouldn’t be able to understand; it was something deeper than simple jealousy toward another person who could have taken her loved one away from her. Len would have wanted to be so deeply rooted inside someone to never have to fear anyone would have been able to part the two of them; she did not wish to be petty and clingy, but she ended up being that way because she never felt like anyone else belonged to her so fully. Mind, body, soul; she wanted it all. Don’t go thinking she was selfish, though; her desire to give herself to someone matched fairly equally her need to possess. To live only for one person and for said person to live only for her; one could easily say her deepest desire was silly and childish at best, if not completely unsuitable for this world. Lately, she had been trying to persuade herself that she could have changed, by being more mature, more balanced, less needy; turning into someone who could have been bearable enough not to be left behind each and every time she ended up caring for someone. Was she really that weak? Pushing her hair to the side, she shook her head, inwardly telling herself that no, she couldn’t be; she wouldn’t have let anyone break her as much as he had done. Alexander had been everything she had ever wanted, for years; he was enough for her, she was content with his presence. Of course, there are had been fights, due to her stubborn and clingy nature; still, her love for him was so deep that she would have taken being torn by those quarrels every minute of every hour of every day, over not having him at all. Clearly, though, it hadn’t been the same for him; obviously, she had become so unbearable, suffocating, annoying that leaving her had made him smile.

Just as she forced herself to carry on, ignoring the stabbing wave of nauseating pain that went through her being, a noise was heard; a knock, to be precise. Shifting in her seat toward the door, she stared as it was opened, expecting to see a tall blonde walking, or rather stumbling in; Ezzie never walked like she meant it, like she was decisively headed somewhere, but she let herself walk wherever her mind and legs led her. Surely, the cocktail of medicines and drugs she took on what Marlene thought was a daily basis didn’t help her stability; as a matter of fact, she had almost fallen down already twice, in the span of the few seconds she had been in her room. Letting out a small sigh of relief, as this time she had made it to her bed safely, the brunette got up slowly and placed her make up to the side; she was putting it on only to do something with herself, to herself anyway. ”You did?” It was rather unlike Ezzie, she had to say; the blonde was usually in her own world, one that she suspected was scary and full of ghosts from a past she couldn’t erase, maybe numb at best. It was different from being uncaring, in a way, and more similar to being so absorbed and wrapped up in her own pain not to see anything else around her. ”I bad mouthed you then, I’m gonna have to apologize.” Smirking only slightly, Marlene had made her way to the bed in the meantime, sitting on the edge of it, next to her friend; she almost looked as though she had collapsed in place, rather than laid down. ”A sparrow.” She noted, taking the small gift in her hands; it was an interesting choice, since birds always evoked both freedom, the freedom to fly away, and caged liberty to her.

Stretching her arm, she petted its head briefly, as though he had been alive, before finally placing it gently on her bedside table, just then noticing she had remembered to bring the silver brush with her. ”Thank you, Ezzie.” Her words were soft, trying not to cross the line of ‘motherly’ at times, but she couldn’t help herself; her friend was such a fragile, rootless being, like a leaf floating in the wind, as easy to break as a crystal statue and equally see-through as well. After having placed her hands on Ez’s shoulders, she pulled her up to a sitting position easily, given how light she was; it was as though she had ‘handle with care’ written all over her. ”How was Bali then? Really as beautiful as that picture you linked me to? Because if that’s the case, I will have to make you come back there with me.” The brush was now in her right hand, softly combing through her blonde hair; she couldn’t help but think she kept it so long to hide herself from the world, much like a curtain or a protective blanket, even if a silky one at that. ”And no excuses such as me being a cock-blocker or anything of the sort, because I’m not. I even went out with two guys while you were away.” Well, that was a definite stretch of the definition of ‘going out’, but she didn’t care much at the moment; Len just wished she could have had a fun and light hearted conversation with her friend, the way they used to before they both were broken. ”Did you meet anyone interesting in Bali?”

her very simple outfit

[esperanza lillian buganski]

Len's room, during the brief time the two of them had lived together, had become something of a paradise in a sea full of pirahnas and biting alligators. Ezzie was drowning, and the comfortable bed and luxurious draperies were keeping her rooted on solid ground, keeping her from slipping away. The carpet, inches thick, her toes sinking into the imported material, was gloriously divine and she found herself analyzing the pattern for rhythmic courses of symmetry even as she managed to devote her entire mind to the girl, to the beautiful girl with the long hair and her heartbreak. The two of them were a pair unlike any other. One tall, one devastatingly short, one brunette, one redheaded, one creamy white, one tanner, richer. Mocha brown. On the inside, they felt the same: betrayed, lost, alone, forlorn, upset. Their coping methods, however unconventional each was, remained drastically different. Ezzie smothered herself with the same substance that had killed her lover, pushed the plunger in the needle, killed herself slowly with every inhalation of whatever she took, and Len hid it away, tucked it inside of herself and savored the good moments she had left. Both were depressed. Both could not be fixed. Ezzie knew, though she refused to vocalize, that no matter the occasion, the level of professional help, the medications they gave her, she could not silence the yearning, the keening, the desperate whine of the only person who ever needed her, calling from the other side. She had no idea how bad Len was on the inside, but if she could tell by the awkward pause whenever it was mentioned, then they were about on the same level of scar and pain. It was getting old, being lonely all the time. Hard was to believe, Ezzie was becoming slowly weary and ready to sleep well for an evening instead of staying up and partying away everything that hurt her. She was ready to face her fears, or she was becoming ready, slowly; she was done with being Ezzie and slowly starting to face the procession and transform into someone that could live up to the name Esperanza. Hope. Someone to make her parents proud. Someone to be a Buganski and say it with a pleased expression. Someone who was done loving someone who never loved anything but death. But it was taking it's sweet ass time and she was growing exhausted simply mulling it over in the depths of her mind. Staring at the pill, she rolled it back towards herself and held it up to the light while Len toyed with her bird, stuck her tongue out and licked the smooth, round edges as she placed it on the nightstand, and only in the movement from laying to sitting did she drop it into the secretive folds of her blouse, where it would stay until Len was done playing with her hair and she had fallen into a sort of soft reverie, a painful state for her which called for drinks and pills to calm the irritation in her tender, smooth stomach.

Her hand falling flat into her lap, she leaned her head against the girl's shoulder, breath coming in short, haggard gasps, and sniffed absently the scent of her perfume on the warm flesh of her neck. To be held, what she longed for always, all along, was such a simple task, and no one bothered to wrap her in the embrace of their hold, no one went past the sex or the kissing or even the touching; few broached the parameters she had set for herself and even fewer went past them, and still none had yet to knock them entirely down. She was a guarded individual, she presented too much of a challenge for some people and she could respect that. If she was not herself, she wouldn't bother. Alas, she was herself, and she was forced to bother, and she was also forced to pay close attention to the details in Len, and to realize that this was the closest she would ever come to loving someone. A friend, a sister, a companion. She had once yearned for a sibling to share things with, and this was what she had been given, and she was thankful. And in the recognition of this thought, she realized that Len's room was her favorite in the house, and she relaxed into the warmth given off by her lovely friend, her best friend. Her only friend. Dropping her head into her lap, she gave into the sweet sensation of having her hair brushed and her eyes slid closed, and she sighed a heavy sigh, questions flowing over her like molasses and settling in the dips of her collar bones, the rivulets puddling in the indented stomach she hardly bothered to attend to. She'd lost more weight. Her cheeks were growing hollow, her vibrant, rosy cheeks pale and wan; she found herself staring into the mirror and wondering where the other half of her had gone. Her clothes hung from her shoulders like a hanger. She was sure her spine was digging uncomfortably into the flesh of Len's leg. There was nothing that wasn't wrong with her. “Bali was nice,” but there was a detached tone to her voice, a sort of vague restlessness.

“I'll take you back with me if you want, you'll like it.” the idea of Len splashing around in the waves brought a ghost of a smile to Ezzie's face, and she repeated herself in solid concentration, “You'll like it.” the smile fading, she scratched her cheek with a loosely guide hand, the palm resting briefly on her throat, warmth radiating into the cold fingers, “I don't know why you haven't been yet.” When she was younger, instead of skipping school, on a Friday she would go to the airport and see where the next flight was going and just go. Ailey was never a big attention grabber and she hated almost everyone there anyway, and later in college she'd done the same thing. Just go. No luggage, no people, no notice. Her family would call her and ask her where she'd been and that was her favorite part, the telling. She used to adore giving away pieces of her vacation like candy, little tidbits in reward for treating her well. As she got older, her desperate need for attention turned to other people, people she'd never met before, and she just stopped going to school all together. It was a miracle she graduated. If she wasn't a Buganski, it would be a miracle she got into college. But they wanted her. They wanted to be able to say they taught one of the prestigious youth of America. They didn't know that she'd try and off herself two times during her stay, sleep with half of the student body, and drink until she turned yellow with alcohol poisoning. Sometimes, she'd disappear for weekends and resurface with a text message asking for help, saying she didn't have clothes, didn't know where she'd been, where she was now. Her few friends took good care of her, but it had always been that way. To Ezzie, it was simply unfathomable that someone of the same pedigree as herself had never been to Bali.

“I did, actually. I was on the beach, building a sand castle with a little girl who'd lost her mother,” it felt so strange to say that, but the poor child had been hunting for the familiar swayed spine of her mother through the masses of people and Ezzie had seen herself in the lopsided redheaded pigtails. She'd tucked her little elbow in between her palms and brought her to the shoreline, where they'd begun to construct the most magnificent house of sand anyone had come into contact with. “And out of the corner of my eye I saw a lovely figure, beautiful shoulders, a fantastic stomach.” she blushed a little, just thinking about him, “He had Caro's eyes, too..” another half blush, “So I asked him for a name and he told me that if I'd like a name, I'd have to go with him to dinner, and so I did...” she paused, opened her eyes a crack, closed them again and pressed a cool palm to her rapidly reddening flesh, “We fucked on the beach, it was wondrous. I don't remember what his name was, though.. which is a shame, because he said he would be heading into the city soon, and I'd love to meet up with him again.”

click for outfit.

[marlene helen hamilton]

Sun rays were suddenly filling the room, making the tans, beiges, creams that were its main colours look even warmer; for a few seconds, she felt as though the place look aerial almost, out of place and time. For a few seconds, as her right arm kept lifting the brush rhythmically, Marlene forgot where she was and why, and, most importantly, who she was and what she felt; every time it happened, it was like bliss, like a few seconds of fresh air before waves of painful water overwhelmed her once more. As soon as reality sunk back in, she felt the gravity of her world settle on her shoulders again, hurting, scorching even more than before; it was almost the same feeling she had to go through each morning, when she turned around in her huge, soft, comfortable bed and stretched her arm to feel him. He was never there, though, his presence was gone and far away from her. After realizing this, her throat started tightening again, her breath coming out uneven and irregular, much like her heartbeat; it took her a few seconds to regain control over her own body and a good half an hour to find it in herself to get up. She never wanted to; that was part of the reason why her days always began at about two or three in the afternoon, because part of her simply refused to start another day without him. Back when she was travelling all over the US and thus living in hotels, before coming to the Hamptons, Len had spent hours and hours in her bed, for the devastatingly simple reason that there was nothing for her to get up for; often times she still felt like that, but she knew that her butler John, who had been keeping a close eye on her ever since she had stepped foot in the Buganski mansion, would have worried otherwise. How long had she been there for anyway? The sunshine never settled into her room like this before, which clearly gave away that the rays’ inclination had changed quite dramatically ever since she arrived; spring was slowly yet surely approaching them. Had she overstayed her welcome at her friend’s house already? Glancing at the blonde, she seriously doubted that was the case, but was also fairly sure her father wouldn’t have failed to remind her that, most likely in the next due phone call.

Maybe he would have been right; she wasn’t doing a good job there anyway. Ezzie could think she was able to hide her pills from her without her noticing it, but Len’s reflexes were much sharper than she was given credit for; she had clearly seen the round one placed on her bedside table and then conveniently tucked into one of her pockets. Of course, it could have been a medicine just as well as a drug; truly, if you asked her, the line between the two was extremely blurred, especially when it came to the young Buganski. To think her parents had greeted her so warmly, letting her take one of the most beautiful rooms in the gorgeous palace looking house, because they were persuaded she could ‘fix’ their daughter…At the thought, the brunette couldn’t help but smirk sadly, feeling deeply disgusted with herself because she wasn’t able to cure anyone anymore; she was broken herself and couldn’t find a way to mend her own wounds, how could she ever be expected to heal someone else? Of course, fewer people knew about her than Ezzie, simply because she was less open and obvious in dealing with her pain; probably because what she felt wasn’t as intense as what her friend did. After all, people deal with break ups and broken hearts daily, whilst a suicide deal with the love of your life would surely have a much more devastating effect; this being said, at times Len couldn’t help but secretly hope for Alexander to be dead rather than having abandoned her. Not for a petty revenge, no, but simply because she would have given everything in order to keep believing he had loved her and wouldn’t have ceased to, hadn’t it been for a cruel fate that killed him in his best years still; that wasn’t the truth, though, his love for her, which she refused to believe hadn’t existed for a large part of their time together, had simply vanished over time and the fault was all hers. Being her toughest critic and judge had paid off in the past, making her strive to become a better student more often than not and, a couple of times, a better person; at this point in time, though, the guilt that came with it nearly choked her. She was being a bad friend, wasn’t she? She had been so careless to Travis, completely disregarding his feelings about being left behind by his ex girlfriend and their kid, and she was no better with Ezzie: even if they lived together, she had no idea whether she was even still seeing her therapist or not, if she took her meds all the same, and mixed with drugs. Hell, she did not even where she was half the time, Bali being a good example of this.

”Of course I do want to.” Her voice kept the same soft edge, her movements still slow and gentle as a faint smile crossed her lips; at least, the girl looked comfortable and almost at ease now, or so her body language said. ”It will be nice, having a break from this awful cold and snow and ice. I miss the sun.” That was quite possibly the first beautiful day that had graced the Hamptons in the previous three weeks; still, Len wasn’t entirely sure about how truthful her words had just been, as she felt herself sighing as she uttered them. A side of her, she was sure of this, hated every sunny day, everything happy and joyful and warm in the world; that part of her felt comfortable around coolness, misery and shades of gray, because they mirrored what was left inside of her. ”I’m not sure why I’ve never been there, I suppose it just hasn’t happened.” Marlene had never been as adventurous as Ezzie; truth be told, this grand tour in the New World had been the first real journey she had been to on her own. Sure, she had travelled a lot, visiting and often living, even if for short period of times, in an impressive number of places, but it had always been to follow after her father; it was always about him and his being an English ambassador, never about her or her wishes. Her life had been like that of a nomad with a million times more money, until she turned eighteen at least, when she had enrolled to Oxford and enjoyed her stay there for the following two and a half years. Lately she found herself wishing she would have chosen Cambridge instead, since that would have resulted in not meeting that person who ruined her life. ”That sounds like the start of one of your very beautiful and symbolic old stories.” She said, nearly having to keep herself from laughing as Ezzie started off by telling her about the girl who lost her mother; it gave her a sweet mental picture of the two, struggling to build a sand castle with twenty towers, a dungeon and a dragon as the waves hit the shore peacefully. Seeing her friend blush, though, was even more surprising; any colour but white on her was. ”He sounds a little too cocky for my tastes, but a keeper nonetheless.” Her starting to be interested in other people was good; the fact she only did that because they reminded her of her lost lover, on the other hand, sounded infinitely less comforting. ”Don’t you remember any detail about where he was staying? Your hotel, maybe, age, peculiar accent that could tell where he was from…I’m sure I can put my mad detective skills to use and find out something about him, if you give me something to begin with.” Regardless, if it kept her happy, it would have been great to have him around; smiling a bit as she stroked her friend’s hair, she found herself thinking that maybe her care giver side was not entirely lost, after all.

[esperanza lillian buganski]

She'd stopped trying to hide her drugs in the eighth grade, when the knocked in the door of her little green locker and pulled out a bag of pot that must have cost around three hundred dollars, and she just shrugged and said it wasn't hers. Everyone knew, but as long as she didn't confess – and she didn't plan on it – the most they could do was reprimand her. And after that, she realized that with a lie, she could get away with anything, and she quit trying to hide it. Not even in the hospital, sitting there staring at Caro with her beautiful cracked lips and her shining, scarred body with the lips below her belly button could she ever bother to keep the pills on her bedside table from staying hidden. They wouldn't give her morphine but with persuasion they would give her other things and it wasn't the first time she'd overdosed, either; she knew her way around a hospital fairly well, knew how to manipulate the staff and get what she wanted without much trouble. It was a Buganski thing. And it wasn't like she was hurting anyone but herself, anyway. Her head lolled on her slender shoulders, falling to rest with her hair fanned in an auburn semi-circle around her features, arms crossed over an inverted stomach. She was beautiful, an angel of darkness, a decrepit soul with hands that fluttered and a heart that beat in a broken, unsteady rhythm. She would never know it. Laying there, eyes closed, she was reminded of a time when the fields behind her house in Georgia provided everything she needed to survive, and later when laying on her back was a time spent joining with the soul of someone else, white lights and clutching hands as her fingers curved and pushed downwards, the heavy weight of someone breathing on her chest and she was fine, she was okay, but only partly. She remembered the feel of his sheets, the smell of his European cologne that she couldn't remember the name of, long legs bent at the knee as she cradled him in the soft curve of her hips, the gentle dip between the hard ridges and he'd patted her ribs, told her she could eat breakfast at his house if she liked, promised a huge service with porcelain plates and she'd asked him for a cigarette and insisted, repeatedly, that she didn't do cuddling – because she didn't. She didn't remember his name because she didn't ask for it, but she wasn't about to tell Len that. She was too busy staring at the print, with freshly opened eyes, of the drapes and wondering if perhaps they could find another set in Paris and send them over so she could have them within her own clutches.

Propping herself up on her elbow, body heavy and shaking with the effort, she peered at the girl from suspicious, slanted brows of interrogation, pushed herself to a seated position and leaned forward to press their lips together, once, twice, and then flopped backwards, maintaining her comfortable sprawled nature as if nothing had happened, as if no kisses had been given in consolation for her failure as a friend, as if the depression bubbling over inside herself wasn't enough to kill her at any minute of suffocation. She felt like screaming, but knew it wouldn't help to relieve the anxiety building; she felt like running for a thousand miles, but understood simultaneously that that would only wear her legs out, because the feeling of boredom, the utter and complete lack of any empathy or even mild attention was harboring itself inside of her, she was positive, and no one else in the world felt as desolate as she. Not even Len, with her similarities and countless differences. And so, in proof of this theory, she'd kissed her; she'd provided her with a momentary glimpse into what it was to be a Buganski. She was positive Len's history was no walk in the park, either, but the rate was different, and she found herself bargaining with the devil himself in order to escape the personal hell she'd been placed into, thoughts dismantled and frazzled, mind fraying at the edges, shirts too small and too tight and shorts disappearing into the curve of her behind as she adjusted, squirmed, rolled over onto her stomach, answered Len's question with an indistinct grunt. She was a child at heart, still, always. She doubted if she would ever grow up, ever amount to anything besides the fuck up she'd gained a reputation as in her life so far. She could remember crawling through the kitchen window, collapsing on the floor in a fit of giggles and trying to stand but sliding on the wet floor from their expensive but leaky vintage refrigerator and her leather pants were clinging to her skin and trying to get them off so she could fuck the girl she'd brought home was a nightmare so there were slender fingers shoved down the waistband and she rolled over again, back onto her back, crawled to the head of the bed and pushed her narrow figure into the pillows, shorts creaking with the stretch of her waist, pillows sinking to let her fall into a down-filled abyss of comfort and eternal sleep. “Pills, pills, pills...” finding the one that had dropped into the fabric of her shirt, she examined it once more, “All I ever do is take pills.” there was little, if any, variation regarding her personal diagnosis. What had been a myriad of different drugs had slowed into anything she could carry with her, which equaled pills and occasionally a joint or two. “Pills to make you happy, to block the sad, to block the mad..”

And she held her hand out, giving it back, giving it away; she didn't want it any longer. A child again, momentary reversion, she was speaking in singsong rhyme and her tone was demeaning and mocking and cruel and she gave the pill to Len and told her, “You keep that, now.” and shifted uncomfortably in her pillow fortress. And she was back, back from her momentary trip to the land of the immature and babied; she pushed her hands through her smoothened hair, glanced quickly at Len, answered her earlier question with some sort of explanation instead of just a noncommittal noise, as had become the custom, “I don't remember where he was staying, no.. but if I had to guess, I'd say the Plaza. Don't worry about it, though. Really. I don't want to see her staring at me again.” shiver, cough, gentle chuckle, “I'll be okay, Len, don't worry. Really. I can do this.” but she wondered if she was convincing in her argument, if the statement was as shaky as it sounded in her mind, if it was at all believable. Forcing a smile, she felt the dimples deepening in her cheeks, lips stretching thin, felt her expression turn into the face of a monster, and relaxed a little. “What should we do now?” provided it didn't mean getting off of the bed, because unless she intended on dragged her body with her upper arms anywhere they went, her legs were rendered useless, “Besides confess how boring our days really are, and sneak around the subjects neither one of us wants to talk about.”

click for outfit.

[marlene helen hamilton]

During her few years, Marlene had sometimes wondered what living on the other side of the moon was like, whether it made things easier, better, less hurtful; no, it wasn’t about money she was thinking here, how much you possess or lack of, but sexual preferences instead. Two words, so simple, so small, that could mean so much regardless; it was almost unbelievable, wasn’t it? Liking women, courting women, wanting to have sex with women would have made her never set her eyes on the jerk that Alex had turned out to be; maybe she would never be as broken hearted as she felt at the time, maybe she would have ended up in even more pain, like Ezzie was, maybe she would have gone on with her life without even finding anyone able to make her heart both beat and shrink at the speed of sound. That was the point; the brunette would have never found out for herself whether being a lesbian would have treated her better than being heterosexual, simply because she wasn’t. Granted, if someone had seen her a few days before, waking up naked in the same room as the equally undressed Lena, they would have probably not believed such a statement; then again, appearances are deceiving after all, and Len knew that, even in the remote case something had actually happened between the two of them, that didn’t change who she was. Still, despite her firm belief in her often times inconvenient preference for men, she couldn’t help but find Ezzie’s kisses sweet and tender; of course, her dark eyes had blinked several times as the blonde’s lips met hers, unmoved, finally breathing only when she laid back down on the soft bed. Her hand slowly reached her puckers, the look on her face somewhat confused before softening into a small smile, finally understanding what her gesture had meant. Ezzie didn’t have a way with words, not since her tongue was twisted and tainted by pain and the medicines who tried to take it all away, at least; that was her attempt at either thanking her for sticking with her, apologizing for her being unable to do so herself, or sharing feelings. Which feelings, that was out of question; for how gentle the contact had been, it had also felt incredibly sad and melancholic.

Her friend was as unpredictable as you can get, though, and next thing she knew she was complaining…or rather making a mental note out loud about how her life only consisted of taking pills; it was true, indeed, Len was aware of that, but that did not make it easier for her to accept it. ”You don’t have to take anything you don’t want to.” Her words as she laid down next to her were rather vague and pretty void, since the brunette knew they wouldn’t hold any affect whatsoever on her counterpart; the danger laid in the fact that Ezzie wanted to have them, swallow them and feel the effect on her body, much like drugs. After all, that is exactly what medicines are; controlled, prescribed, self induced drugs which one is lead to believe will heal one part of the body, only to find out that, even if they do, they’ll mess something else up. The human body somehow reminded her of that game she used to play with her nanny when she was little; furrowing her brows as she focused hard on trying to remember the name, the girl lightened up slightly as it finally came to her mind. Mikado was the answer; a game where one had to pick up a one stick after another without touching nor moving the rest of them. ”Maybe you would feel better without all this crap going through your system.” Restraining a sigh at what she knew right well would have been yet another useless attempt, she tried to keep herself from thinking about the inner workings of bodies; for someone who had an odd fascination with blood, she found the organs, arteries, veins and even tissues to be incredibly revolting, a memento of how earthy and material human beings truly were. Just then, she felt the smooth surface of one of said pills against the skin of her palm; glancing up at her, Len saw a flash of childishness on her face, wondering if that was the effect of one of the ‘meds’, of pain, of madness, of drugs, of Ezzie herself. Regardless, for a few seconds there she seemed happier, or, to phrase it better, less desperate; if that was the case, she could have gone back to being a child, for all Len cared, because her being serene in the very least was what really mattered in her book.

”Plaza, mhm?” She had always had quite the expensive tastes, as it was to be expected from someone as well off as she was; money for them was not an option, but a given. Silently getting up and putting the pill in one of her drawers, hiding it well between her lipsticks, lip glosses, lip stains, lip balms, lip anything, the brunette didn’t turn around at the mention of Caro; she only nodded, knowing right well how it would have felt to have Alex’s eyes on her again, into hers, staring at her every move. It was both an anxiety inducing thought as well as an exciting one, thus leading her to shake it off herself and dispose of it as soon as she possibly could. ”What do we do…” Her eyes searching the walls and the furniture as though the could provide her with an answer, her features lightened up once more as she looked at the walk in closet; of course that was the treasure chest. ”We become someone else.” She stated, as though her words actually made perfect sense, as she quickly reached the closet and pushed its doors open; her brows furrowed again before she spotted a box and took it out, placing it to the side of her bed. ”Just for a day.” Her hands roamed inside it and found a blonde wig, placing it on her head seconds later; the fit was far from perfect, but the excitement she felt as she stared at someone who didn’t look like herself in the mirror was stronger. Someone without the pain, the heartbreak, the insecurities and the trust issues; someone who could have actually been happy and could and would have been once more in the course of her lifetime. ”A headband should make this look a little less sloppy, I think, or maybe a hat, though I’m not too fond of those.” Turning to the blonde on her bed, she threw a curly red wig in her general direction, amused by what she anticipated would be her reaction. ”Com’on, Ezzie, let’s play dress up, change our hair colour and texture, put make up on differently and turn into other people. For instance, I think someone with hair like this should be called…Layla. Yes, I will be Layla today, with a fun personality and two lovers per arm. What about you?” Maybe childlike tendencies weren’t that bad, after all.