setting
Index was once a small and close-knit community, but the town located on the western side of Washington state has grown in recent years beyond anyone's expectations. It is the ideal place for those who work in Seattle but can't afford the city's high real estate prices, and for others the natural beauty attracts them to the town. And Index truly is a beautiful place - surrounded by thick evergreen trees, tall mountains and glistening rivers and lakes. While weather is typically rainy with overcast skies even this does nothing to take away from the beauty of the town, and it is only highlighted further when the heavy snow graces the town and caps the mountains in winter. To many, Index would seem like a paradise. And yet lurking beneath this visual beauty there is more to this town than anyone might ever imagine...

Current Time in Index, Washington:
rules
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 [Private] Not a Dick Pizza - Page 6

[Private] Not a Dick Pizza

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Re: [Private] Not a Dick Pizza

Vincent Sawyer Byrne | Wolf; Pack Master/Alpha

Posted on Wed Jun 03, 2015 10:24 pm

I still hadn't said anything and while my mind was so damned occupied with other stuff and it didn't really strike me as uncomfortable, maybe it was for her. I didn't care, or... I did but didn't? Fuck this was confusing. Was I supposed to care about everything now? Why couldn't I just, not and say I did? Why did everything have to change just because I said something? And the bigger question was, why was I so damned hung up on it when clearly the shit on the flash drive should have been more important to me?

I flashed her a smile, and when I say flashed, I barely give it a second long life before it disappeared. It probably didn't look entirely sincere either, if she even caught it. It wasn't really around long enough to be sure if she did. It's not that. I knew what the problem was here, but I wasn't going to admit it out loud. I didn't want to talk about it but, not talking about it made shit really fucking weird. But talking about it would make shit even more weird? FUCK, why did it matter? I mean uh... The thing happened so... Clearly you did... fine or whatever.

I leaned forward and reached down for my jeans to pull my smokes out of the pocket, and propped one between my lips. I didn't light it, could I even fucking smoke in here or would she lose her shit if I did? GOD, SHIT FUCK, why did I care so goddamn much? Normally I'd just light up, so that's what I should have done but I didn't and it was fucking annoying. Yanno, the only book I actually read from cover to cover when I was a kid was the Outsiders. I wasn't earning myself any points by making it clear I didn't like to fucking read, but that wasn't the point. I don't even remember the authors name, but I guess it doesn't matter since they usually have two names and neither ever really mean anything.

My hands patted at my skin as if I was looking for a lighter in the pocket of my invisible clothes. There's this really fucking gay poem in it, and... I laughed, Fucking weird I actually do know who the poem was by. Whatever that's not the point. I never liked poems, I dunno, I guess I just think people should just fucking say what they mean, and not dance around the point they want to get across with confusing ass fancy words and shit. I pulled the cigarette from my lips and rolled it around between my thumb and Index finger.

It's really fucking gay, but that's not the point I'm trying to make. There's this line in it, something about ''nothing gold can stay'' and the dumbass kid in the book has this queer ass moment with his friend where he explains what he thinks that line means. Again, not the point. I went silent as I stared at the cigarette between my finger and thumb. I watched it roll back and forth, back and forth over and over again before looking at her and shrugging my shoulders. I dunno, I guess I just thought it was relevant... To this... To uh.

I immediately got up and put on my jeans, and ignored my shirt. I'm just... Ima step outside and smoke this. And I did just that, sat down on her front steps and watched the clouds move by.

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Re: [Private] Not a Dick Pizza

Peyton Marx | Wolf; Warlord/Battlelord

Posted on Thu Jun 04, 2015 12:24 am

Now that my head was pretty much clear and reality was starting to sink in there was nothing I wanted more than to go right back to not fucking thinking about anything. I didn't want to dwell on shit that was pointless to dwell on in the first place. I didn't want to get caught up in ifs buts and maybes. Hell, I was determined not to do that anyway, not when I knew how damn pointless it would be. I wasn't even thinking about before, not really. It was just there at the back of my mind and for now that was where it could stay.

Crap, was he actually answering me. Not that I'd really asked a question or anything but- oh shit he actually was. I didn't know whether to laugh or hide my head under a pillow. I opened my mouth but closed it again, wondering how the hell I was supposed supposed to reply to that. Any other other time I probably would've had something to say, even if it was just a smartass comment. But I had nada. Zilch. It was so fucking odd that I actually felt the corners of my lips twitch and I rolled my eyes, turning my head just in case I need to hide some awkward ass embarrassed grin.

I let my mind wander, not really thinking about anything important. Well, did that count when you were consciously putting in effort for it to be that way. I was just looking at random shit in my living room and focus on those instead of things that I probably should be focusing on. Like the, uh, current situation. But nope, still didn't want to do that thanks. 

My eyes turned back to him when he started speaking and honestly I mean, I had no idea where he was going with it. Had he decided that this was a good time to share his literary interests? Or lack of them, whatever. I'd hadn't read the book he was talking about so I had no clue where this might even be heading. But I listened anyway, stopped trying to figure out what he was getting at. If he was going somewhere with this then I'd know when he got there. Which he did eventually and even though at first when he mention a poem I arched my brow- when he actually said the line he wanted I understood. Or at least I thought I did. I knew what hearing it made me think of but I had no way of know what he meant. Yeah, I guess it is. I looked down at my hands as I thought it over. It was relevant, but I knew we'd both known nothing could come of... well, anything. 

I nodded when he mentioned going outside and waited a few moments before getting up myself and grabbing my sweats. I couldn't immediately find my top so I just went into the kitchen and grabbed one from a basket of laundry I hadn't put away. My mind was occupied as I got a glass and filled it with water, draining it quickly and placing it in the sink before getting another and filling that. I turned and headed for the front door, pausing for a second to look at him before I stepped outside. I left the glass beside him and sat at the edge of the step so I could face him.

You'd think being telepathic would mean you always know what someone else means, even when your not in their heads. Like you'd pick up some tricks or something. I said with a brief smile before crossing my arms and sighing. That quote... it makes sense. But so does not letting yourself get hung up on that fact. Just because something won't stay doesn't mean you have to dwell on it it going, if that makes sense. Doing that meant you'd just miss it while it was there. I shrugged, looking out at the front yard. Spend all your time thinking about shit you can't change and you just end up with a headache. Not everything needs to be discussed. Kinda like how it's not worth asking questions you already know the answer to. Thought that might be relevant too.

You said you hate when people use fancy ass words and shit, but I dunno, sometimes using any words at all when it's not necessary is just as bad. I think there's a reason people ignore certain thoughts and just live in the moment. Sometimes it's the better option. Hell, sometimes it's the only one you got.

I uncrossed my arms and stood up again, not wanting to like, fuck it, crowd him if he'd come out here to get some space or something. I didn't want him to do getting his back up. But I stopped at the door and looked back. I felt like maybe I should say more, but then I wasn't sure if I already said more than enough. So instead I just said something totally unrelated. For the record, just because you said the poem was gay doesn't make you any less of a dork for it. I gave him a half grin to show that I was joking and turned to go back in.

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Re: [Private] Not a Dick Pizza

Vincent Sawyer Byrne | Wolf; Pack Master/Alpha

Posted on Thu Jun 04, 2015 1:43 am

I inhaled so damn deep it burned my chest and throat, pushing me to the verge of coughing, and forcing tension in my eyebrows as I tried not to. My elbows sat on top of my knees, and I held my wrist. I still loved that rain smell, anyone that didn't was clearly fucking retarded. The air was cool, and looked down at the goosebumps on my arm, working my eyes up to my shoulder where I had burned off that branded symbol when I got back into town. If you knew what was under there before I hid it with a larger scar, you'd still be able to vaguely recognize the symbol. Fucking silver was a hell of a thing. It hurt for longer, took longer to heal, and fucking scarred.

My eyes moved back down and I stared at my wrist, where apparently they had inserted God knows what. I was still staring at it when she came outside with water, and sat beside me. She started talking and at first I was just listening, letting opinions on what she was saying form. But then it took a turn that I didn't expect. She started talking about letting shit go basically. She was talking about accepting a shit situation because... Because why? Because she didn't want to put in the effort to find a solution? Why the fuck was she a warlord then? Why didn't she just roll over and let the fangers dine and dash? It made the shit she said to me in my truck feel so fucking artificial and fake, like a sympathy talk to make me feel better for saying that stupid thing I said in her house. Was she trying to make herself feel better too? I mean fuck, okay I fucking understood the whole ''using words isn't necessary'' shit, I really did. I'd fucking been there, but the rest was such bullshit, and yeah, it fucking pissed me off. It was fucking insulting.

When she got up to leave, the last thing she said before going inside made me cringe. Was she really happy that she got all of that out? Did she really think she just put a bandaid on the booboo? That she just magically made all of the problems go away? I told her I fucking loved her. And she said it back, in a really fucking vague and nearly unbelievable way, and now she was just telling me, ''oh shit can't change just accept and don't stress and don't talk about it''. What the actual fuck?

I took another drag off of my cigarette and flicked it to the ground before storming inside. Her door slammed behind me, which wasn't intentional, it was the wind, but I was actually kind of happy it did. Seven years. My expression... It couldn't be described as anything but pain and anger and everything else negative you could possibly imagine. If I'm lucky... or unlucky, that's what I have left. Seven fucking years. - I fucking understand that some people have less than that, but that doesn't change the fact that's not a lot of fucking time. If I have kids, if that ever happens, I won't see them become adults. Hell, even the bad shit, I won't even get to know what it's fucking like to go through a midlife crisis. I pushed my shoulder forward to show her the large burn scar. This, I fucking love this. Because this fucking represents me no longer rolling over and just ''accepting'' the bullshit in my life. This represents me trying to make it better. This represents me using my voice for once instead of just accepting the answers I had been given. My hands dropped to my side.

I said I fucking love you. My voice cracked, because it was that word, and I was so fucking angry, I was just, so fucking angry with her and myself and everyone. You kinda said it back, hell I don't even know if I believe it because of the shit you just said to me outside. You pretty much just fucking told me I need to go back to Ghost. Hell, it isn't even about you or her, what you said applies to everything. I should just let Lil- Immediately there was a burning sensation in my wrist and I looked down. There was a yellow light, a fucking yellow light shining under my skin. I quickly covered it up with my hand so she wouldn't see. That... Dark crap take over and kill you, and God knows how many others, maybe even myself and just be okay with it because that's the way it is and there's no changing it?

I stopped, my eyes catching the bottle before I turned my head away and closed my eyes, trying to forget that I'd even seen it. I finally looked back to her, Actually, you know what, seven years without change and constant misery actually is a long time. So I guess it's not that bad.

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Re: [Private] Not a Dick Pizza

Peyton Marx | Wolf; Warlord/Battlelord

Posted on Thu Jun 04, 2015 3:27 am

Even as I walked back in the house I realize saying what I hadn't really made a difference to how I felt. It didn't change anything. Saying you shouldn't think of things didn't mean you'd be able to do it. But I wanted to. God I just wanted to be able to shove it all away and lock it in a fucking box because what other option did I have? There were things you couldn't change, it was a simple fact. But when I'd said that I'd only been referring to one thing. 'Him'- 'me'- the fact that there could never be an 'us' in any capacity. So why do it to myself? Why put myself through thinking about it and knowing that when I couldn't say anything remotely resembling a positive outcome.

So yeah, saying that maybe it was better not to acknowledge it was cowardly, but what was the alternative? Wasn't there more important things to deal with? More pressing matters to attend to. But the worst part was to me that it didn't feel like that. Logically I knew that it was stupid but I'd learned logic didn't factor into feelings like this. I'd just thought that maybe if I implied that it was okay not to talk about then I'd be giving both of us an out. Did it matter if that wasn't what I wanted? Did what I wanted matter in face of cold, hard facts? I'd just been trying to... shit, honestly I didn't know what I'd been trying to do. I didn't think straight when he was involved.

The door slammed and I snapped out of it, whirling around to look at him and wishing I'd had just some more time to like compose myself or something. But when I look at him and I realized it wouldn't have mattered at all how much time I'd had because I'd never be fully composed around him. Maybe I could fake it but beneath that... that was a whole different story.

He was angry. More than angry. I'd just tried to make things a little less difficult and he was fucking angry. The words he was saying, I didn't want to hear them, especially not when he was talking about barely more than a handful of years. How the fuck was I supposed to listen to that? I couldn't think about that. But he kept going and I didn't know what the feeling was rising up inside me as I listening to him speak. Because it wasn't just angry, that I could recognize in an instant. My eyes went to his shoulder when he pushed it forward and still he had more to saying, throwing back at me what I'd said even though it'd just been for sanity's sake I'd said them. And that wasn't the only time he did. He kept going and going until I did finally feel the familiar brush of anger and hurt and my heart was too fucking out of practice for this much fucking feeling and I couldn't take it anymore. So when he finally finished speaking I didn't hesitate, I didn't stop to think or filter out.

I never said, I never meant that I thought you should accept every shit hand you're dealt with in life. I never said you shouldn't fight or do everything in your power to go up against what might seem impossible. Fighting back and striving for better are things that should never be fucking given up on or taken for granted. Fuck, even trying to conquer the impossible. I believe in those things. I would never back down from a situation like that. I paused long enough to draw in a ragged breath. My heart was in my throat and I was almost sure I was going to lose my nerve and just not say anything at all. But anger spurned me on because I would not have him drawing his goddamn wrong conclusions about what I'd meant. Anything I said I was referring to this- I gestured between the two of us, to the fact that talking about it doesn't change anything. That I'm not supposed to feel like this for you. I meant there are rules you can't change and that you're really, really not supposed to break. Can you argue against having to accept that?

So how is it not just better to avoid it? How does loving you do anything except damage when I know that nothing can come of it? I love you and it'd be so much fucking easier if I didn't. But stating the fact doesn't do anything. I said that 'shit' outside because I didn't see any other option that didn't involve feeling like this. Telling you I don't want you to go back to her doesn't magically give me the right to want it. Telling you I want you to stay doesn't mean you will. I felt like I was going to choke on my own words and my voice was already starting to go hoarse. What I said did not apply to everything! That is not what I fucking meant and you're the one choosing to take it that way! You don't fucking know there isn't a way to change that and I would never tell you to stop fighting it! After everything that had happened did he really believe I'd ever want something like that?

I don't- I don't want to see you fucking miserable for seven years but what I want doesn't matter and telling you that doesn't change anything either. I told him, clenching my jaw once I'd finished speaking. I felt raw and ripped open and I couldn't believe I'd let fury take over so completely that I'd said exactly what I meant without thinking through a single fucking sentence.

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Re: [Private] Not a Dick Pizza

Vincent Sawyer Byrne | Wolf; Pack Master/Alpha

Posted on Thu Jun 04, 2015 4:08 am

Talking about it makes it fucking better! That wasn't even true. But fuck I didn't know. Maybe it would, I'd never exactly fucking tried it. I knew it wouldn't magically change everything but maybe it'd make it fucking easier or something. Shit I didn't fucking know. I just didn't fucking know! I don't give a flying FUCK about rules! I don't give a flying fuck about them anymore they're fucking meaningless! You can't break something that doesn't fucking mean anything Peyton. What more can be done to me? What more can they do to us? My life, hell, your life, and don't you dare try to fucking deny it, is as shit as it's going to get. The only thing worse is death by now and I don't even know if the freedom that would bring would be such a bad thing anymore. I was lying through my teeth, I knew I was, but I wanted what I was saying to be honest. I really fucking did. I didn't want to give a shit about the rules but up until now they ruled my fucking life. Up until I found out nothing about my turn was honest.

Something was coming over me. I wouldn't say it was an idea. Because it wasn't. But the situation fucking hurt, and I had no one else to hurt in return but her. Maybe it would solve this? Maybe I could push her far the fuck away from me, and then all of this would eventually fade away. I could do that, I could cope until it all went away. I'd let time heal shit before, I could fucking do it. I knew I could. Nevermind you're fucking right. Rules, words on a fucking paper are what determines the outcome of this. I can and will fucking accept that. Fuck it!

THEN DON'T LOVE ME! JUST STOP! I DON'T WANT YOU TO! I only stopped yelling because having the cops called over this shit wouldn't help anything. I had shit I wanted to say, and I wasn't going to let police prevent me from saying it. My entire point of view switched in an instant, I was so fucking mad, I was so fucking mad that I just... I needed a way out. I needed a fucking way out. Make it easier on both of us and just stop, just don't. I fucking hate you, I almost fucking killed you. I only made you warlord because I fucking pitied you. You're fucking pathetic. The only relationship you've been able to  hold is one with me, someone as fucking unstable as me with dark ass shit taking over my life. What does that say about you? WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT SAY ABOUT YOU? You're own family didn't want you! Maybe I don't fucking love you. Maybe I don't love you at all and it's just a fucking infatuation because I love seeing you in pain. Maybe all of this has just been a game, and I've been reporting back to that pack of assholes this entire time, telling them about how easy it was to get you to take your fucking clothes off for me that first time. Maybe we fucking laugh about how pathetic and starved you are for some kind of fucking interaction with me. STOP loving me because, JUST DON'T!

I paused, the tension in my eyebrows causing them to quiver. My hands were shaking I was so fucking infuriated, and now it completely flipped around again and I wasn't infuriated at her anymore but at myself for what I had just said. I immediately fell onto her couch and placed my hand over my mouth. I couldn't fucking believe it. I knew what I was like, I knew I could be... Difficult to deal with sometimes but I'd never been outwardly cruel. I'd never been... I don't know what to do with... I patted at my chest, over my heart. This, I don't know what to do about this. I couldn't even look at her. I hadn't felt ashamed since... Not like this since...

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