Gotta Get Out Tonight

Okay, sorry I haven't fucking posted in a bit. It's been an ordeal focusing at times. Anyway, to the fucking point, tonight was... nice. We had a little date, talked about shit. It was actually fun, even with fucking shadows in the edges of everything.

Sitting there, talking and listening to music over dinner, I couldn't help but think again that Harls has the most gorgeous eyes, all bright and ice blue, not even dulled by the sickness she's been having to deal with over these last months. Legs that go on for years, and a body to die for... Or to kill for. She deserves better than this shithole. I have to figure out something. though... I suppose people are going to tell me there's nothing to fucking figure out. Just misery and fucking death. Well, they can shove that up their ass and light it.

We're still not moving on. My leg's healing slower than it should, and she's fluctuating into sickness too often. I know I should just stay still and let myself heal if I can, but I just can't stay still. It's not hurting as much these days, but I know it's not healing right. I can't just stay still and let the chickadee do all the fucking work to support us. Not with the way things are.

So here I sit, watching the window, watching the shadows move on the pavement, and loving a person who doesn't deserve to have dealt with any of this bullshit. Fuck moping and wangsting, though. It's a waste of fucking time and energy, and I can think of much better uses of those.

I Wanna be Where the Boys Are

 ...How many times have I restarted this post now? Four? Five? Nine attempts now? Do I even know what I really want to say? Maybe that's delirium preventing me from putting things in proper order. The sickness was a hard round this time. It's made the story I was going to tell days ago blur in my head.

 I wish it weren't so severe on me. Darts would worry less. And that would be healthier for her.

She's always worrying about my well-being, screw her own, who needs to be alive to tend to someone else anyway?

Just like her waiting on me to decide when it was a good time to come out as a couple. She really didn't care. At all. Just so long as we were happy in our in between moments - and we were quite happy in the bathroom stalls, between lockers in the halls, under the bleachers - then she's happy. Can I just mention that assemblies were the best thing since sliced bread?

But, you know, eventually the secrets, the between the-sheets-unseen-scenes, the hiding, wore me down. I wanted to share my joy. I wanted to explain why my Saturday nights were always "occupied" for my social calendar. I wanted to rub it in people's faces. I wanted to cause controversy. I especially wanted a bad punk band to back me while I screamed out my passions on the school's rooftops.

But then if I did that, I'd risk getting suspended. And though I felt the need to take the risk of coming out, I've never been that much of a risk taker.

The RaRa's took it surprisingly well. I guess having a lesbian on the cheer team is sort of a novelty or something? Or maybe they were better friends than I was giving them credit for. There are a few potential reasons on that one, but whatever it was I was grateful for the lack of dissenting opinions on the team. Of course, there was one, but she doesn't warrant mention so much right now.

It made me happy to be able to talk about things. Suddenly I was ten times cooler with dudes. Not because I would make out with Darts openly pretty much anywhere, though that was cool too, but because we totally compared notes on how we'd spend hours pleasing our partners.

Dirty little secrets.

They never stay secrets long. But while it was just at school, it was good. You know?

I'm back on my feet, in case you didn't catch that bit. Didn't lose my job too! Twice the win.

~Harls

Little Lost Girls

Of all the fucking luck... She was fine yesterday, right? Harls, that is. All chirpy and chipper as hell, waking me up with singing and dancing around. Fucking adorable. And no, no matter what she's posted or going to post, I don't blame her for any of this shit. I chose to go with her. That's not the point though, is it? It's fucking nice to have little moments of happy.

Too bad that got thrown in the crapper today. She's sick as fuck again, coughing up blood, puking, weak as a baby, the works. I had to call her bitch-ass withered-tit cunt of a fucking manager today and tell her she couldn't come in. Contrary to what you might think, I was fucking nice about it, even though she was a bitch. Didn't want to get her fired, after all. Yeah, oh, Darts being nice. Anyone reading this probably thinks I'm a cunt, and I know it.

Well, I am. Anyway, I'm taking care of Harls right now, as best I can. This shit happens. Kind of cycles, though it's been getting worse over the last month or two. And of course it definitely gets worse under certain circumstances.

Treat the symptoms as best we can. I fucking hate seeing her like this. It's not fair that she takes the brunt of this shit. It's not. But it always seems to happen that way. It's always less for me. But I take care of her, and that's what fucking matters. We'll get through this, just like the other times.

It's okay... We'll be fucking fine, at least to an extent. She'll be fine tomorrow or the next day. That's just the way these things go. We've ridden it out before. Until then, I get to be the sexiest fucking nurse in ripped up jeans ever, right?

-Darts

Thunder

It's the spell that I'm under.

 You know Dartsy's not this aggressive, paranoid, angry, defensive bitch all the time. Even though it's really, absofuckinglutely adorable when she is. She's not always up on her haunches with a stick up her bum. I promise. In fact, it's like as not my fault she's all uppity like she is now.

I know, I know. She'd reject that idea outright, but we all know it's me that started this. It's me. (Don't let her denial of the fact confuse you.)

I can recall times when she'd just... when it was just her and me and an empty house that was way too big for just the two of us. It was before... before he'd come back for me. When I was still blissfully unaware of the fact that nightmares can cross over with reality and one uncle's madness can become his niece's in a short amount of time...

But that's something I want to save for another time. I don't have to tell it yet, so I'd really prefer not to. This post is meant for something... softer.

I see lightning crash.


Soft things and soft times - like her fingertips following my skin from forehead to the very tips of my toes, not even taking advantage of the fact that I'm fully exposed for her. Like when our heads were light enough for us to waste time of that sort of physicality.

She waited. She never forced me to do anything I didn't want to. She asked every step of the way. She made sure I was comfortable. She treated me right. She still treats me right. We just don't have... all the time anymore for it.

When she finally took advantage of the fact that I was just bare skin under her touch, it felt like it had been forever. It felt like she'd been worshiping and asking for permission since the beginning of time (or puberty, probably just since the beginning of my hormonal period in puberty).

And you know how people say you're not ready, you're never ready, you can't just give something like that up willy-nilly to the first girl that offers? Well, they lied. I knew damn well that I was ready and that the first girl who'd offered... well she was the one I'd wanted to give it to. And she was there for me. She wasn't there for her, but for me.

Oh how our love flashes.

And you know another thing 'they/the general populous/the ignorance of the earth' says is that I'm still a virgin. That because she's not a man, it doesn't count. But... it was the purest emotion I've ever felt. And it was freedom. I've never been so close to flight... to bliss... as compared to when I'm with my Darcy. She's soft. For me, underneath her prickly porcupine bum, she's as soft as a bed of down feathers.

~Harls

American Nights

Fucking hell... Well, we're at the same hotel. It's probably fucking weird to some people who know anything about this shit that we are. Well, at the moment, we can't fucking move much. I wend an like the little idiot I am, got my leg broken over December. Badly. A lot of the cash we had has gone toward making sure my leg doesn't fuck up.

So I can't really work even odd jobs to get by. I can't even fucking shoplift, not that I'd really want to. Harls is working at this seedy little diner on top of the money we've nicked from her parents accounts, or what's left of it. It's been fucking months since her cards got cancelled, after all. I'm obviously busking to get extra money. No job would really hire a chick with a bum leg, unless it's a receptionist shit, stuff I can do sitting down. And that, I don't look the part. Guitar on a street corner. It's a bit nervy, what with the tall fuck having the possibility of showing up, but hell, I've done worse.

But yeah, it's been pretty quiet recently. Figures in the peripheral vision, weird dreams, being sick as fuck.... Yeah, I'm cursing a lot, sorry. It's a bad habit when I'm stressed. Which is pretty fucking much every day right now. Probably going to work on it a bit, just to make this thing more readable.

Honestly, there's a few other reasons why we're not moving more, including money. I mean, I could street it, and Harls would adapt, but I don't want her to have to deal with that. Especially with the way things have been going recently. In general, there's sometimes anywhere from a few days to a month or two between major events where life and luck decide to take a royal shit on us.

Honestly, there's not much else we can do at times beyond survive and try to get by. So that's what we do. The hotel's not that bad. We've got a tv, which is usually on when we're here, if muted. Just as a precaution... Not that it would help, but it's nice to have a little warning sometimes.

Our neighbors are already moving around. Holy fuck, it's three in the fucking morning, people! Go to fucking bed or something. Assholes.

Okay, seriously, I'm going to try and work on that, at least on here. Maybe. When I'm more rested, which is pretty much never.

I'm out.

-Darts

Wild Thing

Darcy takes me out on the best dates. I always have that little hitch in my stomach when she surprises me with someplace new or some talent I've never seen before or she just introduces me to new people and there's always something new about it. She'd probably say I'm biased because I have such a tiny group to compare, but she's preening underneath. I know her too well to think that she'd actually self depricate.

She wouldn't.

One of our first... dates, though it wasn't really, we'd just gotten to the point of calling them dates. One of our first dates was probably somewhere we shouldn't have been at all. It was some seedy bar in the downtown district of our middleton style suburban homtown and the food was kinda shit but they had this really delicious root beer on tap, so how could I complain? It's not like we were there for the food anyway. I think Darc must've knew the owner or something, because how else would we get our way underage bums in? It wasn't something we ever talked about anyway. Never really mattered anyway.

She went straight for the darts board. See I was thinking pool. I'm much better with pool than darts, but as it turns out Darcy was an ace at both. And she likes to teach. I figure there are seedier things she does with bar games now, but then, that day, she just wanted to teach. And there was a little bit of that tension between our bodies, just so when she would slide her hand down my arm and poise me so, having me echo her tosses time and again. It took me a while to get it right.

But I did, eventually, get it right. It wasn't all too hard, but then again, I could have been flubbing on purpose because I wanted her hands on me with greater frequency. I don't think I really wanted her to stop touching. Ever. She's surprisingly soft with her touches. Just the right pressure. For me.

But now it made sense why they called her Darts at school and on the bathroom stall graffitti. I'd attempted scrubbing off a couple of those "Darts is a slut" or "Darts ain't got no standards for the pussy she'll eat" or other high school menial bullshit. It was useless though, schoolgirls are cruel and have a certain fondness for their derogatory bathroom graffiti. But I know better, and then I was getting to know better, and Darts was Darts because she had her seedy little talent that was just a bit of fun, no more, no less. And that is a surprisingly accurate summation of Dartsy.

A little bit of fun, no more, no less.

~Harls

Neon Angels On The Road To Ruin

Happy New Year, bitches!

Okay, Harls wanted to start this shit, so here we go. Honestly, I don't see the point in writing this crap out where everyone can see it, but I guess it'll be good to at least have a record of some of the stuff that's been happening.

Yeah, so she says its because she thinks other people should know our "story". P'sh, probably just going to end up with a bunch of voyeurs and a bigger target on our backs. Anyway, what the hell, might as well get this shit on the road. I'm going to be keeping you lot up to date on current stuff mostly, and Harls, well... She wants people to know where we're coming from.

We're staying in this shitty-ass hole in the wall in Hollywood, of all places. Heh. At least it's not a squat, that's all I'm gonna say. Only trees for miles are palm trees. And there's not even many of those, in the area we're in. Just the way Harls likes it. Not going to drop any more deets than that. Too much chance of somebody looking for us.

Harls just got a job waitressing to supplement our funds, and I've found a good spot for busking, so I think we're okay there, at least. If we can just keep away from any stalky bastards. Always just out of sight, feels like. Fuckin' hell. Can't look at suits without taking a second glance these days.

Harls has been getting worse recently, on the sickness end of things. Some puking and bloody noses, mostly. I've been coughing up my lungs, though I honestly wanted to chalk that up to bronchitis at first. I get it every year, or at least I did. We're dealing though. Treat the symptoms.

Not much has gone down recently, beyond the usual sense of foreboding, though I did see that thing the other day when I was playing on a corner. Nobody else even seemed to notice as I closed my little set, put the guitar in the case and ever so calmly booked it. I so did not want a repeat of a few months ago. Scar still fuckin' burns like it's fresh when it's around.

So, anyway, the holidays weren't all that bad, which is more than I can say for some. There needs to be a calendar where you can request creeper-free days, guys. Seriously. Idiot-free days, too. I can't tell you how many offers to "keep me warm" I got today. Fuckin' a, I've got a girlfriend, shit-for-brains. Because it's so fuckin' cold in LA any time of year? Riiiiiiiiight?

And that's me for the mo', signing off. Don't have shit else to say right now.

-Darts

Secrets

Thirteen months ago I was the popular girl in my class. Thirteen months ago I was vying for Cheer Squad Captain. Thirteen months ago I was getting straight A's and never wore the same thing twice in a month. Thirteen months ago I met Dartsy.

I should rephrase. Of course I'd known her before, she had always been around, but... you know how sometimes you miss people who run in different circles? Well Darcy ran in all the circles my dad wouldn't dream of me hanging out in. That statement is not just restricted to my father either. Mom was just as bad. But you know, I didn't really think I fit anyway with Darts' people, they all had piercings and leather jackets and families that came from hard places instead of lettermans and pompous attitudes.

I was privileged. You know, I have parents who play the stocks and eat in restaurants that have hundred dollar plates. They have all the tax breaks in the world and don't seem to give much of a shit about the fact that they're a lot better off than a majority of people. Of course, we gave to charity a couple of times a year, a nominal sum compared to the amount of money that floated around the household.

And I was painfully normal compared to her people too. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a pretty little mole on my upper lip. I was the physical epitome of normalcy and high school ideals. Not to mention my slightly shy and timid personality. I mean, I still hung out with my best friend from the first grade. We did everything together, from quitting girl scouts to trying out for the squad to getting our first boyfriends together. Of course, my thing with my only boyfriend didn't really work out. It was just... you know I was fifteen and it just wasn't there. Two years later I'm pretty sure I know why. In fact it's almost glaringly obvious now.

And you know with Darcy? Well it was there. All that fire and passion and scary emotion that was supposed to come with a relationship. All the stuff that hadn't been there prior. I was just sixteen and suddenly everything clicked into place. Here I was just noticing this beautiful punk girl noticing me while I ran through a routine to Alive With the Glory of Love and I just... wanted to know more.

I'd never been so curious about anyone in my life, and my suddenly stirring sexuality wasn't exactly helping. Cue me being far ballsier than normal and crossing the social boundaries line in my high school hallways and stealing the openly bisexual punk chick from her friends for a little conversation. Talk about my parents flipping a bitch if they ever found out that I even talked to someone like Dartsy, let alone... well, everything else.

So we kept our secrets. We met in secluded places and held hands when no one was looking and bonded over punk music and rebel hearts and did stupid teenage things like ditch class in favor of spending 'time' together underneath the bleachers. And I fell for her.


I wouldn't change any of it if I could.

~Harls