But a chair is not a house
Oct 10, 2021 13:52:15 GMT -5
Trey Bouchet, Johnny Bacchus, and 1 more like this
Post by niamh on Oct 10, 2021 13:52:15 GMT -5
It’s almost impossible to encapsulate love in words, you could have an eternity plus a day, to think of all the words you could use, to explain to someone who has never loved, what love is. They say love is different for everyone and every time, maybe that’s true. Or maybe when we’re young… We know so little about the world that we take love as a face value, a word that exists to be used in place of like, or lust, or infatuation.
When I first met him, I was a baby in terms of life experiences. Married off at eighteen by a father who’s hunger for power and status, greatly out-weighed the love he had for a child who looked too much like her mother to be nothing like her at all. That’s quite the conundrum you know, when you’re both reminded by your loss and confronted by your own failings all at once. So, when someone who’s station was well above ours expressed interest in me? The deal was done before I ever learned his name.
32 and a mean drunk, Oisin the son of a king (or so all who had ever met him, heard him claim). I was too meek, too skinny. I didn’t try to be like other kinfolk who considered themselves to be at service for those who took them in. It didn’t take him long to revert to the same iron hand my father ruled his own household with. Unfortunately? That was only the beginning.
Niamh walked into the paved expanse that the MacNamara family considered the forecourt to their estate. After arriving at the compound a few hours earlier, it was asked that she come here to speak with the man who cared for all new arrivals and the Cubs as well. When she was greeted by a gruff, tall blonde man with weathered hands and a grim line of a smile, she wondered if coming here had been the right decision after all.
Make-up caked heavy on her face to hide the scrapes and bruises. A high neck sweater and long loose sleeves kept most of her upper body covered. If you were to look close, there were marks and contusions to be seen. But it was her experience that no one ever looked that closely. She shook his hand when offered and followed quietly behind him.
Patrick.
His name said with a brogue accent that hardly mirrored her own, but was far closer to Morrigan or Daniel. Despite his gruffness and his quick speed, she seemed to keep up with him just fine and hopefully… hopefully hid the sheer terror she felt churning inside of her, well enough to at least make it through the doors.
”You don’t have to be scared anymore, Dove.” Came those quiet words from over his shoulder as he paused in mid stride to turn and look at her. Would she believe him? Doubtful, but he also didn’t expect her to? There was something in those startlingly blue eyes of his that screamed about how he knew that long sleeved, high necked, jumper all too well, that he could see the limp that she tried to hide. In a world of darkness, you sometimes forget the little splotches of black that make the world far less unpalatable than the whole of the abyss. No reprimands, no admonishments, just him stopping to look her over. ”...Should I take you to medical first? There’s a lovely older woman there now, she’ll make sure you’re alright, and she won’t run her gob to anyone else about what she finds.” Calm, trying to offer a brighter smile that he couldn’t quite manage.
”Or I can shut my gob, piss off, and lead you on elsewhere.” Cracking a joke at his own expense, trying to shake loose a sign of amusement from the girl.
Niamh stared up at him, the sheer height of the man enough to intimidate the woman she had become. She listened and went over every word he said, would she truly be safe? Or was this another test, another trick to prove she wasn’t trustworthy at all. Two years of mind games and manipulation had pushed Niamh back inside of herself, unsure and untrusting of everyone and everything. As she thought over his words, she became acutely aware she was taking too long to answer. He was going to think anything she said was a lie now.
The truth never takes so long to be spoken.
An utterance of anger and annoyance whenever she would stutter over her words, trying to carefully pluck the right ones within a timeframe that didn’t leave him seething in anger.
It was only when she looked up into those blue eyes, no sign of anger or frustration at her silence. No clenched fist or tightly clenched jaw as though he was waiting for her to slip. A small, almost inaudible exhale of relief left her before she spoke. I’d like to see your father first, please. If that’s alright, that is, I’d hate to be a nuisance my first day out.” if words themselves could sound full of tears, hers would. Instead her voice shook just a little, her hands wrapping her arms across her chest in an attempt to make herself smaller as she spoke.
”.....A nuisance like someone who shows up to train when they’re injured to the point of lasting a half day at best?” Asking, both brows raising in a mix of bemusement and legitimate worry. ”You can’t train in a turtleneck jumper.” He didn’t comment on what may lay beneath it, just that she was wearing it; openly shaming her for doing something that he might do himself wasn’t his way. Slowly, he took a tentative step forward, reaching for her hand and once he had it? He gently tugged her towards him. ”Let’s get you cleaned up. I’ll be just outside the door of the Infirmary. A body needs to be maintained just like a weapon, or it’ll break and hurt the people relying on it most.” The way he spoke, flipping it that so the onus was on her to be helped so that she could help other people. He saw the look in her eyes, he read the language of her body, part of him already knew that he had to help her, that he needed to help her, mostly to save the sorry remnants of his own soul.
”Besides, she keeps the best biscuits hidden there, so I was going to stop by anyways.”
She didn’t know why she followed him, why those words seemed to sink beneath the exterior she had believed to be so impenetrable, but she did. The feel of his skin on hers, the warmth and tenderness behind that touch was something that had been missing almost her whole life. So she nodded, half managing a smile as they went.
THUD
The sound of a rather large body slapping against the training mats echoed out in the empty gym. The only other sound to be heard was Niamh’s breathless gasp before she slid to her knees to check on the man who had just gone over her shoulder and hit those very mats.
When at first it was decided that she wasn’t much of a fighter, Niamh thought her time at the compound was likely to be over. Instead the man who had welcomed her that first day had become her reason to smile every day. She wasn’t a fighter that was true, but Patrick would be damned if she didn’t learn how to defend herself.
A few months after she moved into the compound, Oisin had come looking for her. She didn’t see him, she didn’t even know about the visit until several weeks later when a young girl let it slip over a meal. Whatever had made him leave? Surely had done its job as not a word had been heard from him since. And now here she was, flipping Patrick over her shoulder, prepared to defend herself should Oisin… or her father, ever come looking for her again.
I’m sorry! Are you okay?” Her voice was strong now, her Irish lilt drawing at her words in a bear sing-song way as she knelt at Patrick’s side to check on him.
”Depends, did you get the plate number of that fucking lorry that hit me?” He couldn’t help the grin on his lips as he looked up at what he presumed was Niamh, and not the stars around his head playing a particularly mean trick on him! ”You did good, Nee.” A little wheezy, considering the air was just returning to his lungs. Reaching out, he palmed her cheek, that lazy grin still very much so on his face. ”You stuck your footing, you shifted your weight, and put my arse above my elbows when you spiked me on the ground, just like I told you to.” Winking, he dropped his head back to the mat.
”Thank the gods they left me with the small dignity of not soiling myself!”
A soft laugh escaped her as she clapped a hand to her mouth, like a child not wanting to be caught laughing at the back of the class. As her laughter died out, she leaned over the still prone Patrick, straddling his chest and holding two fingers up, not too far from his face. A grin now transfixed on her own.
How many fingers am I holding up?” She asked the question with a playful tone. Her eyes looked over him as she spoke, noting the little glimmer in those deep blues that only ever looked at her like that. Broad shoulders designed to carry the whole world on them, should it need it.
Because of him, she had become a completely different woman. She was confident and self assured, she carried herself with an air of pride. She no longer feared drawing attention, or flinching at a compliment like it was a rouse. She was learning where her feet were and Patrick was the one who was helping her climb to them.
”FOCUS!” The thunderous sound of Connor MacNamara’s voice came across the field as if it was lightning crashing down in peals. Rain beat down on the grass, torrential currents spilling water along the slippery field that Niamh was scrambling across. Snow, wind, sleet, or shine, bad conditions didn’t allow you to skip out on your training and that was made even more apparent as the old wolf stalked along the sidelines with one hand behind his back and the other holding a cup of still hot coffee. ”Someone out there is training to break you, Niamh! Someone out there’s pumping their veins full of steroids, they’re working from before you wake up and until you sleep! They’re doing every possible thing they can do with the goal of making you a non issue! You won’t know what the cunting fuck they look like, but they’ll know everything there is to know about you!” Screaming at this point, urging the woman to go faster in conditions that she probably shouldn’t be training in.
”You think the rain bites? That the cold hurts? Good. It’s supposed to! You need to learn how to dig down deep, how to hate the idea of failing your mission so fucking bad that death isn’t an option because that’s a fucking cop out! Embrace your body’s way of telling you that can’t do this as a fucking challenge!” Snarling out those words before he took a gulp of that hot caffeine laden bean water and swallowed it down. ”Keep running!”
And run she did.
As the rain pounded down against her frame, soaking her clothes and causing the fabric to cling against her frame. Sloshing mud smearing from ankles to ears as she moved about the course laid before her. She ran until her feet ached beyond aching and every breath felt like a gasp of ice cold water crashing into her lungs.
And even then she kept running.
As her feet pounded the soggy grass and slick mud, her thoughts pounded against her forehead as she ran.
I can’t do this for him, not for Patrick and not for the name I refuse to carry on my back. It has to be for me.
Her calves burned, muscles almost twisting in on themselves as she felt the cramp spread up towards her knees. Ankles wobbly as pushed on, step after step.
I do this for me, I win or I lose based on my own actions. A wolf doesn’t hesitate, she strikes when the opportunity arises. She doesn’t question, she just acts.
As she reached the end, that final lap. The burning spread up to her thighs, thick muscles cramping against her soaked through leggings. Her shoulders weighed down by the heaviness of her own determination, head bowed and teeth grit together.
I want it more, that doesn’t matter but it’s true. I want it more than she does, I’m done being made a fool of. I’m done falling short. I’m done surrendering to other people’s expectations of me…
A near stumble, an almost fall but she caught herself, those feet kept running and she made it. Stopping right in front of the man who had been bellowing directions at her, as he enjoyed his coffee and late morning stroll. She looked up towards him, her hair wet on her cheeks, body soaked through to the bone and body on fire with exhaustion and determination.
I kept running.”
”Congrats. I’m not out of coffee yet though, so keep running.”
Siiip, being a bastard as always. Always telling her to think and work outside of the box, challenging her to accept the idea that failure might honestly be worse than death. Despite her exhaustion, a smile crept across those lips, her right arm lifting and the entire action taking place before he could even think of preventing it.
SMACK
She knocked that cup from his hand, her eyes following it as it fell to the grass, the remaining coffee spilling out and mingling with the mud.
You’re out of coffee now.”
Connor looked as if he wanted to murder her for a moment, those blue eyes narrowing, hand lifting and..
He just patted her on the head.
”Smart girl, go on then. Go dry up. You’ve earned your reprieve.”
My room has never quite been the same, before moving in with Patrick and after leaving the compound, the mansion is where I would stay. And it was, for a time, where I returned when things were at their darkest days. Those are the times I try not to think about. Because as true as it may be that our pain, our loss, is what motivates us to do better and be stronger, it’s also fair to say that lingering on memories can do more harm than good.
I’m in love with a ghost.
I’m in love with the final few things in this room that still smell like him. In love with the pillow that has been forever untouched on his side of the bed. I am in love with the sight of his toothbrush in my small bathroom. And with the shirt that hangs, still freshly laundered in my closet.
I’m in lust with the pain.
And that’s something that Lethe can’t understand, she has no capacity to differentiate between love and lust, because she holds no value in herself. She will slip out a line then double back when the mood takes her. She wants to be ferocious, but she needs to be adored. A deprived, underachieving coward with imposter syndrome. There are so many things that could be said about me, but not knowing who I am, isn’t one of them.
I’d love to ask her how it feels.
To see that chair kicked from right under you, by the same woman YOU pointed out you had never pinned before. Still haven’t, as a matter of fact.
But that would be too much like you, for some reason you like to spend the majority of your time, guessing what it is I’m going to say. You sit in front of a camera with your Minnie ears and your muffled voice and you wax poetic about your own assumptions. Which, in the end only shows your arse, doesn’t it?
This room hasn’t been the same since the man who protected me from the world, was forced out of it. I was a different person then, a quiet little mouse with scars so deep you could run rivers through them. And now, even my own mentor can’t help but to admit that he would hate to see me now. Doing the very thing he did, chipping away pieces of myself as he cut away at himself.
So maybe he’s right, maybe I’m doomed to follow in the footsteps of a ghost. Or maybe, I’ve seen death. I’ve seen the very worst that can happen to a person, I’ve seen what failure and the agony of defeat turns you into…
There’s no worse fate than failure. Not in our world, not in the heart of a fighter. You can stumble, you can trip, but you can never stay down. A warrior always finds their feet.
And here I stand.
Give me Victory.
Or give me DEATH.
When I first met him, I was a baby in terms of life experiences. Married off at eighteen by a father who’s hunger for power and status, greatly out-weighed the love he had for a child who looked too much like her mother to be nothing like her at all. That’s quite the conundrum you know, when you’re both reminded by your loss and confronted by your own failings all at once. So, when someone who’s station was well above ours expressed interest in me? The deal was done before I ever learned his name.
32 and a mean drunk, Oisin the son of a king (or so all who had ever met him, heard him claim). I was too meek, too skinny. I didn’t try to be like other kinfolk who considered themselves to be at service for those who took them in. It didn’t take him long to revert to the same iron hand my father ruled his own household with. Unfortunately? That was only the beginning.
Niamh walked into the paved expanse that the MacNamara family considered the forecourt to their estate. After arriving at the compound a few hours earlier, it was asked that she come here to speak with the man who cared for all new arrivals and the Cubs as well. When she was greeted by a gruff, tall blonde man with weathered hands and a grim line of a smile, she wondered if coming here had been the right decision after all.
Make-up caked heavy on her face to hide the scrapes and bruises. A high neck sweater and long loose sleeves kept most of her upper body covered. If you were to look close, there were marks and contusions to be seen. But it was her experience that no one ever looked that closely. She shook his hand when offered and followed quietly behind him.
Patrick.
His name said with a brogue accent that hardly mirrored her own, but was far closer to Morrigan or Daniel. Despite his gruffness and his quick speed, she seemed to keep up with him just fine and hopefully… hopefully hid the sheer terror she felt churning inside of her, well enough to at least make it through the doors.
”You don’t have to be scared anymore, Dove.” Came those quiet words from over his shoulder as he paused in mid stride to turn and look at her. Would she believe him? Doubtful, but he also didn’t expect her to? There was something in those startlingly blue eyes of his that screamed about how he knew that long sleeved, high necked, jumper all too well, that he could see the limp that she tried to hide. In a world of darkness, you sometimes forget the little splotches of black that make the world far less unpalatable than the whole of the abyss. No reprimands, no admonishments, just him stopping to look her over. ”...Should I take you to medical first? There’s a lovely older woman there now, she’ll make sure you’re alright, and she won’t run her gob to anyone else about what she finds.” Calm, trying to offer a brighter smile that he couldn’t quite manage.
”Or I can shut my gob, piss off, and lead you on elsewhere.” Cracking a joke at his own expense, trying to shake loose a sign of amusement from the girl.
Niamh stared up at him, the sheer height of the man enough to intimidate the woman she had become. She listened and went over every word he said, would she truly be safe? Or was this another test, another trick to prove she wasn’t trustworthy at all. Two years of mind games and manipulation had pushed Niamh back inside of herself, unsure and untrusting of everyone and everything. As she thought over his words, she became acutely aware she was taking too long to answer. He was going to think anything she said was a lie now.
The truth never takes so long to be spoken.
An utterance of anger and annoyance whenever she would stutter over her words, trying to carefully pluck the right ones within a timeframe that didn’t leave him seething in anger.
It was only when she looked up into those blue eyes, no sign of anger or frustration at her silence. No clenched fist or tightly clenched jaw as though he was waiting for her to slip. A small, almost inaudible exhale of relief left her before she spoke. I’d like to see your father first, please. If that’s alright, that is, I’d hate to be a nuisance my first day out.” if words themselves could sound full of tears, hers would. Instead her voice shook just a little, her hands wrapping her arms across her chest in an attempt to make herself smaller as she spoke.
”.....A nuisance like someone who shows up to train when they’re injured to the point of lasting a half day at best?” Asking, both brows raising in a mix of bemusement and legitimate worry. ”You can’t train in a turtleneck jumper.” He didn’t comment on what may lay beneath it, just that she was wearing it; openly shaming her for doing something that he might do himself wasn’t his way. Slowly, he took a tentative step forward, reaching for her hand and once he had it? He gently tugged her towards him. ”Let’s get you cleaned up. I’ll be just outside the door of the Infirmary. A body needs to be maintained just like a weapon, or it’ll break and hurt the people relying on it most.” The way he spoke, flipping it that so the onus was on her to be helped so that she could help other people. He saw the look in her eyes, he read the language of her body, part of him already knew that he had to help her, that he needed to help her, mostly to save the sorry remnants of his own soul.
”Besides, she keeps the best biscuits hidden there, so I was going to stop by anyways.”
She didn’t know why she followed him, why those words seemed to sink beneath the exterior she had believed to be so impenetrable, but she did. The feel of his skin on hers, the warmth and tenderness behind that touch was something that had been missing almost her whole life. So she nodded, half managing a smile as they went.
THUD
The sound of a rather large body slapping against the training mats echoed out in the empty gym. The only other sound to be heard was Niamh’s breathless gasp before she slid to her knees to check on the man who had just gone over her shoulder and hit those very mats.
When at first it was decided that she wasn’t much of a fighter, Niamh thought her time at the compound was likely to be over. Instead the man who had welcomed her that first day had become her reason to smile every day. She wasn’t a fighter that was true, but Patrick would be damned if she didn’t learn how to defend herself.
A few months after she moved into the compound, Oisin had come looking for her. She didn’t see him, she didn’t even know about the visit until several weeks later when a young girl let it slip over a meal. Whatever had made him leave? Surely had done its job as not a word had been heard from him since. And now here she was, flipping Patrick over her shoulder, prepared to defend herself should Oisin… or her father, ever come looking for her again.
I’m sorry! Are you okay?” Her voice was strong now, her Irish lilt drawing at her words in a bear sing-song way as she knelt at Patrick’s side to check on him.
”Depends, did you get the plate number of that fucking lorry that hit me?” He couldn’t help the grin on his lips as he looked up at what he presumed was Niamh, and not the stars around his head playing a particularly mean trick on him! ”You did good, Nee.” A little wheezy, considering the air was just returning to his lungs. Reaching out, he palmed her cheek, that lazy grin still very much so on his face. ”You stuck your footing, you shifted your weight, and put my arse above my elbows when you spiked me on the ground, just like I told you to.” Winking, he dropped his head back to the mat.
”Thank the gods they left me with the small dignity of not soiling myself!”
A soft laugh escaped her as she clapped a hand to her mouth, like a child not wanting to be caught laughing at the back of the class. As her laughter died out, she leaned over the still prone Patrick, straddling his chest and holding two fingers up, not too far from his face. A grin now transfixed on her own.
How many fingers am I holding up?” She asked the question with a playful tone. Her eyes looked over him as she spoke, noting the little glimmer in those deep blues that only ever looked at her like that. Broad shoulders designed to carry the whole world on them, should it need it.
Because of him, she had become a completely different woman. She was confident and self assured, she carried herself with an air of pride. She no longer feared drawing attention, or flinching at a compliment like it was a rouse. She was learning where her feet were and Patrick was the one who was helping her climb to them.
”FOCUS!” The thunderous sound of Connor MacNamara’s voice came across the field as if it was lightning crashing down in peals. Rain beat down on the grass, torrential currents spilling water along the slippery field that Niamh was scrambling across. Snow, wind, sleet, or shine, bad conditions didn’t allow you to skip out on your training and that was made even more apparent as the old wolf stalked along the sidelines with one hand behind his back and the other holding a cup of still hot coffee. ”Someone out there is training to break you, Niamh! Someone out there’s pumping their veins full of steroids, they’re working from before you wake up and until you sleep! They’re doing every possible thing they can do with the goal of making you a non issue! You won’t know what the cunting fuck they look like, but they’ll know everything there is to know about you!” Screaming at this point, urging the woman to go faster in conditions that she probably shouldn’t be training in.
”You think the rain bites? That the cold hurts? Good. It’s supposed to! You need to learn how to dig down deep, how to hate the idea of failing your mission so fucking bad that death isn’t an option because that’s a fucking cop out! Embrace your body’s way of telling you that can’t do this as a fucking challenge!” Snarling out those words before he took a gulp of that hot caffeine laden bean water and swallowed it down. ”Keep running!”
And run she did.
As the rain pounded down against her frame, soaking her clothes and causing the fabric to cling against her frame. Sloshing mud smearing from ankles to ears as she moved about the course laid before her. She ran until her feet ached beyond aching and every breath felt like a gasp of ice cold water crashing into her lungs.
And even then she kept running.
As her feet pounded the soggy grass and slick mud, her thoughts pounded against her forehead as she ran.
I can’t do this for him, not for Patrick and not for the name I refuse to carry on my back. It has to be for me.
Her calves burned, muscles almost twisting in on themselves as she felt the cramp spread up towards her knees. Ankles wobbly as pushed on, step after step.
I do this for me, I win or I lose based on my own actions. A wolf doesn’t hesitate, she strikes when the opportunity arises. She doesn’t question, she just acts.
As she reached the end, that final lap. The burning spread up to her thighs, thick muscles cramping against her soaked through leggings. Her shoulders weighed down by the heaviness of her own determination, head bowed and teeth grit together.
I want it more, that doesn’t matter but it’s true. I want it more than she does, I’m done being made a fool of. I’m done falling short. I’m done surrendering to other people’s expectations of me…
A near stumble, an almost fall but she caught herself, those feet kept running and she made it. Stopping right in front of the man who had been bellowing directions at her, as he enjoyed his coffee and late morning stroll. She looked up towards him, her hair wet on her cheeks, body soaked through to the bone and body on fire with exhaustion and determination.
I kept running.”
”Congrats. I’m not out of coffee yet though, so keep running.”
Siiip, being a bastard as always. Always telling her to think and work outside of the box, challenging her to accept the idea that failure might honestly be worse than death. Despite her exhaustion, a smile crept across those lips, her right arm lifting and the entire action taking place before he could even think of preventing it.
SMACK
She knocked that cup from his hand, her eyes following it as it fell to the grass, the remaining coffee spilling out and mingling with the mud.
You’re out of coffee now.”
Connor looked as if he wanted to murder her for a moment, those blue eyes narrowing, hand lifting and..
He just patted her on the head.
”Smart girl, go on then. Go dry up. You’ve earned your reprieve.”
My room has never quite been the same, before moving in with Patrick and after leaving the compound, the mansion is where I would stay. And it was, for a time, where I returned when things were at their darkest days. Those are the times I try not to think about. Because as true as it may be that our pain, our loss, is what motivates us to do better and be stronger, it’s also fair to say that lingering on memories can do more harm than good.
I’m in love with a ghost.
I’m in love with the final few things in this room that still smell like him. In love with the pillow that has been forever untouched on his side of the bed. I am in love with the sight of his toothbrush in my small bathroom. And with the shirt that hangs, still freshly laundered in my closet.
I’m in lust with the pain.
And that’s something that Lethe can’t understand, she has no capacity to differentiate between love and lust, because she holds no value in herself. She will slip out a line then double back when the mood takes her. She wants to be ferocious, but she needs to be adored. A deprived, underachieving coward with imposter syndrome. There are so many things that could be said about me, but not knowing who I am, isn’t one of them.
I’d love to ask her how it feels.
To see that chair kicked from right under you, by the same woman YOU pointed out you had never pinned before. Still haven’t, as a matter of fact.
But that would be too much like you, for some reason you like to spend the majority of your time, guessing what it is I’m going to say. You sit in front of a camera with your Minnie ears and your muffled voice and you wax poetic about your own assumptions. Which, in the end only shows your arse, doesn’t it?
This room hasn’t been the same since the man who protected me from the world, was forced out of it. I was a different person then, a quiet little mouse with scars so deep you could run rivers through them. And now, even my own mentor can’t help but to admit that he would hate to see me now. Doing the very thing he did, chipping away pieces of myself as he cut away at himself.
So maybe he’s right, maybe I’m doomed to follow in the footsteps of a ghost. Or maybe, I’ve seen death. I’ve seen the very worst that can happen to a person, I’ve seen what failure and the agony of defeat turns you into…
There’s no worse fate than failure. Not in our world, not in the heart of a fighter. You can stumble, you can trip, but you can never stay down. A warrior always finds their feet.
And here I stand.
Give me Victory.
Or give me DEATH.