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William Blake, La Réssurrection, 1809.
"Often when I imagine you
You're wholeness cascades into many shapes.
You run like a herd of luminous deer
And I am dark, I am forest. " -Rainer Maria Rilke.
Trigger Warning (TW): Explicit content on gore, killing, obsession, and cursing.
Dear, Veronica
I dreamt I awoke in a field of poppy seeds, lilacs, roses, sunflowers, and every plant in between. Everything that could have existed, even those made of golden skin and pomegranates. I was naked under a too bright sun, but I felt incredibly cold. Something in my head said Walk and I did through those fields until I seen you. In your wholeness, you were a butterfly covered in purple hues and star dust. You were so small and when you flew, I ran after with excessive desperation. I caught you but when I opened my palms, I found blood glittering all over my hands. It grew like mold, wrapping itself around my arms like blue serpents. Kill was still ringing in my ears when I awoke screaming, followed by my father's laughter.
I don't know. . I don't know if I can see you. I don't know. I don't know.
Fortunately, you'll never get this.
Dear,
You may assume I don't know you. I know that you've never had a nosebleed. That you wanted to take ballet but couldn't afford it. That you snipped Seth's ear when you were a child. I know that you... you gained a stuttering problem right after but only your mom noticed. I know that you have night terrors, and your favorite dessert is strawberry ice cream.
And you know how I know.
However, this version of you is the surface, the part of you that came from an experience I never would. But after the dance, I got to see what you looked like in my world. I morphed into you. I could feel all your sadness from Seth's assault, and how it crippled your security. I felt the phantom pains created by your fear of saying too much- doing too much. You were like a crab, ripping off parts of you hopelessly to try to remove your feelings when Michael told you he liked Lizzy. And it never stopped.
It felt like something swallowed you whole when your father hung up on you when you tried to tell him Mary had cancer.
You seemed lonely to me. The odd one out obsessing over your lack of everything. I morphed into you, but I couldn't tell the difference. I was like a Betta fish who could only survive with violence. I never knew I was lonely until I met you saw you.
When you were near me, I felt the waves. When you spoke to me, it felt like I swallowed sand because it was hard for me to talk to you. When I held your hand, I was more human than what my father wanted man. I always wanted you to remember so I could properly thank you and tell you how much it means to me...what you mean to me and how noises don't exist when I'm with you.
You may assume I don't know you. That I appeared into your life like tumbleweed and just latched on to you like a parasite. I do, as I should because you are my beginning..
Deer, Veronica
I am somewhere on an island close to Scotland and live in a cabin where there is no one else for miles. The grass is never brown and the water cleanses everything. It feels like the earth is breathing. Everything is freezing yet conscious. I travel frequently to Europe but refusing to do any business in Russia. I struggled to get to where I am, but I did it.
I refused to be remembered as what my parents beat me to be. I became something greater and killed them all. Those who tied to appear above me, but I end their existence like they're ants. They wanted to kill me, but they don't understand: if you're alive, Veronica, so am I.
The last Vasiliev member is dead, and I run men that can outshoot all elites in Russia. I worked for this, destroyed everything in my way, mentally and physically, and made sure there was something for me...for you in the end.
I wanted to hear your voice today...I wanted to tell you about what I accomplished.
Do you hate me?
I'm sorry... I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry I'm sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I am sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry I'm sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I am sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry I'm sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I am sorry. I'm sorry.we'resafe I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry I'm sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I am sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry I'm sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I am sorry.
Deer Veronica,
I tried to wash this thing in me away, wondering about what you would think of me. The soap never washes the red completely and I can still see it in the wrinkles of my skin.
I don't know if I can stay the way I was when I left you.
The ticking noise isn't really...noise. The sound is just urges and impulsivity. It is like a tick, a pulsation that prods at the most animalistic tendencies in you. It's melting into my dreams and taking you by the neck making my body go into a frenzy.
I dream of you belonging to me in the most gruesome ways. Defamation becomes romantic, along with your fear, and your blood. All your bones snapping just with by the gentlest touch of my hands and seeing the bronze of your eyes fade into a dreadful brown. For some reason I keep beginning with your fingers because they are my favorite part of you. Each snap causing my heart to surge blissfully. When I wake up, I am grinning while feeling all the excitement in the world racing through my body.
Then I would start to sob, realizing why I shouldn't be happy and begin to want out of my body....out of my head hoping in the long run all the cold showers and assignments I'm going on are worth it.
Yet, on nights where gore isn't taking over every corner of my subconscious, I dream of you. I dream of you and I laughing, talking, hugging, kissing, fucking, and everything else under the sun, moon, water, stars, and universes. Each gentle smile you make at me I feel free because I could only feel love and nothing more. This is living.
I'm afraid. If I ever did hold you, again, I don't know what I would do.
I want to experience every impulse with you with my eyes open, your breath and blood so real, I can capture your wholeness with just that.
I miss you.
I love you and I'm sorry it had to be me.
Dear,
I know a lot about you, but you don't know anything about me. Anonymity is the gem of our relationship and I'm not sure if I want it to change, but I want you to know me. I don't know why. Maybe there's still something in me that has some shitty hope you won't leave if you ever saw me again.
But it doesn't fuck matter because you will never get this anyways.
It is November 29, my birthday. I've been drinking all day, three years, all years, all age, and I still remember you're not here with me. I was all over the city today. It's crazy how there are strangers and there are strangers. Those who look at you with an empty stare and those that stare cautiously. Yet, no one says anything.
I feel like God. I feel like everything I touch becomes a privilege and I instantly get what I want without a word. I don't know whether to laugh at people or my egotism.
Right now, I'm at my own party with people in some underground club writing on a napkin. It's so dark that no one can take pictures well enough, but it makes it easier for me to cover my nose and take all the pills I want because no one cares. This party feels like a nightmare: like I'm moving through a void while my past haunts me, screaming my name yet never looking at me.
I'm trapping myself in a bathroom. I had looked in the mirror but when I saw me: pale, tired lines, distant eyes, and shaggy raven hair, I saw me. I saw God. I saw Death. So, I took some more pills trying to go to sleep because at least I would have fun in my dreams, where there is life. There is you.
I always do this...No matter what party I go to, no matter how many lives I take, and no matter how much I consume something to reach any inch of happiness it could create for me...you're still not with me, Veronica.
For my 8th birthday, my parents chased me through the forest with bullets because if I lived, I could prove I was worth living. I ache at the fact that I should be dead.
I'm sorry about Mary. She was the only one who saw you in me. Please don't worry. I'm here...I'm here.
Good night.
Veronica,
I can't stop shaking. Alice wants me to stop butchering the targets so much, but I can't help it. I have nothing else to take this out on...
I pray that something awful happens to him. I pray to you... hoping you are not happy. But I can't bring myself to buy a plane ticket and kill him myself because no matter how much I want to believe it's not true, you may be happy with him. Maybe, you are happy this way.
Are you happy?
I'm sorry that I hope you're not.
"Why not me?" keeps cycling through my brain though we both know the answer to that.
Please tell me I didn't do everything in vain.
Deer,
Can you see me?
I am writing with the blood on the outside. It was twenty and too many today. Each one is always different, and I think that's the guilty pleasure of the entire thing. Everyone manages to be unique only on the inside not the outside. Whether it's by how smoothly the bullet goes through the other side of the skull, how the screams differ in tone, and before you end it, as they look at you, their life flashes before your eyes too.
I went too far with a blonde, who talked too much and looked like my mother. Before I knocked her unconscious, she swung a knife carving my cheek. I made a mistake. I haven't been myself lately if you can call it that. The woman made me realize that, even in the afterlife, my mother needed to remind me of where my wounds came from.
In the basement, something in my head whispered Pick. I got underneath and found that all the medical books were true. With small incisions, there were 8,774,797 pieces of skin that revealed the first 3 layers. It took 14 hours, and she screamed the whole time. I was lost of all thought and only left with instinct. It's been like this lately, starting with the skin then moving on to just wanting the bodies simply severed. It's like eating your favorite thing and each bite is like pushing a huge, red dopamine button. Every skin tearing open like leather was a rushing reward. The best part is the middle, where fear, hopelessness, and surrender all swirl together to create the most delicious thing to witness.
Do you remember when we were in your room, and the whole night you looked at me with eyes like that of glass, the visible fear swimming. Your cute mouth and its pout quivering intensely with every step. Yet, you accepted your fate every time. You never looked at me hopelessly or pleading annoyingly. You were so scared, knowing my capabilities but you tried to set boundaries anyway. Yet there we were, entwined and waiting every time. And you knew...I wouldn't kill you somehow. Your face always told me "What now?" Never "Please don't kill me" or "God, don't do this". I would never hurt you, but I could...disgustingly and you know it because you rarely turn away. You would only come closer even when terrified.
You saw me first and, even after I wrapped my hands around your dainty neck, you still smiled at me.
And I touched you over again years later.
Won't you take some responsibility?
It's the chase. A game of eagerness, testing how far we could go, seeing how long you could place your neck between my teeth and how long it would take before I close my mouth. Testing how long you could stay in the forest, in the dark, and survive.
You knew... didn't you?
I want you to get rid of Michael. Seven years is too long to be away from you, Veronica.
Love,54Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbk4jeAd4cx
Kozak
Dear, Veronica
I tried to kill myself because I felt I couldn't make it. It had been four years. The aching was too bad. I deserted myself within the waters of my own mind- a glass bowl I was drinking, eating, shitting, sleeping in sorrow and rage in. I was 10 years old, intelligent enough to ask myself, "Will it be like this forever?" The nihilism and decay already reeking off me. All virtue replaced with drugs to make me more focus yet immobile. A weapon in the flesh.
And I could feel my mind slipping away from you and needing, craving to kill because that was all I had left. Your memories and the bracelet weren't enough. Nothing was enough...So I threw myself into the ocean hoping to get to the bottom. At that point, after killing a room full of men and finally feeling anything above a zero, there was no way I was redeemable enough for you. You are my life, but that is in my blood. All I had to hang onto were your memories in the bracelet. It wasn't enough. I was in the early stages of replacing pleasure with pain. so, I threw myself into the ocean in hopes to get the bottom. At that point, there was no way I was redeemable enough for you. When I awoke from the hospital bed, I wanted to kill again. I wanted to kill myself again.
Finally. When I saw you...Finally, finally, finally, finally the water came, and I could breathe. When you appeared, I had to believe God still gave a shit. Despite everything inside me was becoming alive, the guilt came like a flood. I gave up because I know I'm-
"Jacob?"
He quickly stuffs the letters back into his book bag then quickly looks up at George. George, tall and bulky with hair of fire briefly meets his eyes before lowering his own in respect. He grabs his bags silently as Jacob covers himself in his leather jacket walking towards the exit. In the distance, like a soft murmur on the ceilings, his hometown was is being called through the airport.
---
"So, the party should be ready on Saturday, we already gotten your clothes picked up from the dry cleaners and Paul said the background checks are done so we should review them for that night..."
Shit hole.
Jacob examines his childhood home. He remembers how annoyingly obsessed his parents were for modern Victorian architecture; what was once a white coated manor mostly stoned with colorful stained-glass windows was now an abandoned, completely in disrepair cottage estate. Jacob can barely see the windows as they were rusty and attacked by vineyards.
"Of course, we will be on alert and prepared if anything happens on that night. Besides that, we need to go over the maps the clients gave us for our next targets. It's figureheads so this time we should discuss..."
Inside the home isn't any better. Everything stays the same except dusty vintage décor and the floors peeling upward due to neglect and rain that snuck in from the holes in the roof.
"That reminds me, we are keeping a close eye on Veronica in case anyone figures out you're associated with her. While that's happening, really monitor your interactions with her, okay?"
He chews the inside of his cheek, already growing irritated by how much time he would have to put into making this place livable again.
"Jacob?"
Garbage shit hole...What would Veronica think?
"C'mon, Jacob, are you listening..."
Amber eyes pierce through blue saying everything Alice needs to know. Jacob leans back, running a hand through his long and dark tresses before repeating what was said.
"I heard you," there's a slight irritation in his voice," Go over maps with you..."
"And..." Alice's fingers tap impatiently on the table.
"My birthday party will be ready for Saturday night despite my objections for the sake of business."
"And...in order for you to keep Veronica safe...?"
"I limit all interaction with her."
"How will you do that?"
Jacob stays silent for a while focusing his energy on burying his urges. With eyes aimed at the floor and biting the inside of his cheek, he defeatedly says," I know. I fucking know..."
No matter how much he just wants to go to her, he knows better than to pull the shit he did before he left the States. He didn't want to fuck up anything, including fucking things up for Veronica.
During an uncomfortable silence, Jacob slowly traces his gaze back to Alice and notes his physical changes. They had been in contact off and on, but he stayed on the other side of the world while Alice stayed running things in the States. He cleaned up the mess Jacob left nicely and had Jacob fly under the radar until their plan was close to done. Most of their communication was via short, cryptic phone calls and receiving only important updates about Veronica. Seeing him now, Jacob chuckles at how they both wear scars on their faces like birthmarks.
It seems someone tried to cut a quarter of Alice's face off, his scar starting from above his right brow, halting at his nose bridge then down till it reaches his cheek bone. His eyes are a darker blue than their younger years due to the contrast against his dark circles. Hair is still an ashy blonde tone, but some strands had turned into strings of gold and were smoothed back. They're still young , but Alice looks more rugged and robust with the scar as a display of mindfulness sits on his face.
Examining Alice leads him to wonder what she would look like now.
"How is she?" He pulls out a gold case from his pocket filled with cigarettes. He really wants to ask if there were any pictures but he restrains himself.
" She's fine," Alice speaks tentatively, "Still has her job, lives with Lizzy, and still with Michael."
When Jacob doesn't say anything, he continues.
"She's gotten...skinnier since the last time we talked. George says she hasn't been eating well from what he's able to see. From watching the cameras, she may be throwing up a lot at home."
"It's tomorrow...Mary's death," ashes fall onto the table," It's always hard around this time of year."
Alice nods. "She doesn't go to the university anymore-"
"What?"
"And she stopped seeing her therapist."
"Wait, what? There's no reason for that to happen. She's been getting the money, right?"
Alice groans and rubs the bridge of his nose to ease oncoming migraines," She doesn't accept it, Jacob. "
"Not this shit again-"
"We've been over this!" Alice snaps back before muttering a quick apology.
"She never accepts the money, not even if it's coming from Lizzy. She doesn't think it's for her despite her name being on the envelopes. She'll even take the full amount out but not use it when we send it to her her bank account."
Jacob can't help but laugh.
"I don't know what it is. Maybe she thinks its dirty or something- well, I mean it is but-"
"It's shameful to her." Jacob sighs.
He goes over to the small bar his father had built in the study they spoke in, pulls out some decades old scotch, and grabs two glasses from a shelf. He blows into the glasses and wipes away the dust completely with his shirt before pouring himself and Alice a glass.
"She's choosing to struggle alone."
Alice grabs the glass from Jacob as he carries on.
"What is she doing with the money if she's not using it?"
"Fucking...donating it to charity or returning it to the police. They used to return it back to us but then they started keeping it which is why we stopped sending it to her. "
Shaking his head, Jacob takes a sip then he swallows the glass of scotch in one go. He wonders if she's doing this because she knows and sucks in his teeth.
"However," Alice teases dully," She still has the bracelet."
Jacob stops pouring.
"She still has the bracelet and uses it like a cell accessory or something."
"What does that mean?"
Alice shrugs. "I don't know, you tell me! You guys been passing that thing around like a hockey puck for years."
Jacob smirked at Alice before consuming his second glass.
"Now, I know what you're thinking," Alice snatched the bottle of scotch away from him," I don't care how curious you are, we just agreed you would limit interaction. "
Humming, Jacob grabs the bottle back and pours Alice another shot.
"Just make sure there's lots of drinks at my party."
"Noted," Alice nodded then let out a deep sigh," So...about the maps..."
——
Alice should have known as soon as he shared that piece of information with Jacob about the bracelet that he was going to run with it. Run with it till he was on a bus on her way to see her.
Jacob was not only updated about what was going on with Veronica's life, he also knew the details. He knew where she lived, her job, her university, her bank account numbers, her mother's grave site, and even where her father resided. As always, Jacob knew everything about her and continued to do so when he left the States. He even knew which bus she took every day to go to work.
After going over the assignment with Alice, Jacob finds himself sitting in the back of a bus with pitch black shades on, despite it was towards the end of November. He lost completely to his impulses. It's worse than the ticks. All he can think about is Veronica and how he's on the same soil as her, in the same city, in the same area, and only 45 minutes away. It would only take 45 minutes to see her and he'd been on the bus for 15 minutes. There were only 6 stops away from where it usually would be by Veronica's place.
Jacob knots his hands together with fierce strength to try to calm his nerves when he got Alice's text.
Why...does your gps say you are near Lizzy and Veronica's place?
...Idk.
Stop fucking with me. What are you doing?????
Jacob turns off his phone when he could see Alice trying to call him. Don't want to deal with that. When he looks up from his phone , she steps onto the bus simultaneously.
Even behind the glasses, he notices the change of her eyes the most. He remembers them being wide, alarmed, and deep walnut with that hint of meekness he always admired. Now, they were almond shaped, deep in apathy, and surrounded by curled lashes. This would be his third time seeing her after a long disappearance, and every time he would see her ampleness would disappear into her her lips and cheeks. A baby pink tint was spread beautifully from the center of her lips and, even under the shitty bus lights, there was still that soft glow to her dark skin.
She was always celestial to him, but now her beauty, after several years of not seeing her, made his entire body vibrate in excitement. But something was different this time.
She doesn't notice him behind the glasses and takes the seat in front of him. As soon as she sits down in her oversized black hoodie, her aroma welcomes him back: buttermilk frosting with a new, rainy cedar scent on top of it. When Veronica moves her head, with her hair brushing along the nape of her neck, the scent of cinnamon follows along. Jacob holds his hand over his mouth as his pupils dilate. Something is different. The usual impulse to grab her head and turn it towards him so he could get a good look at her was there. But he refused to act on it. Past him would have put both their lives in jeopardy, prioritizing his own pleasure and desire but he was more calculated now. Jacob had to be mindful of all the risks and he didn't restrain himself for seven years just to ruin it in 30 seconds. But something was different.
His nails dig into the sides of his mouth to focus more on the pain than her as his heart beats insanely. Jacob's body felt hot, cold, high, and everything in between as chills swept over his skin the more he was in her presence. Everything Jacob ever felt for her came back one million times sharper, mercilessly ripping his chest back open again, then melting some of the ice that entrapped all feelings of adoration. It was like taking his first breaths again. This made sense.
But when she would look down at her phone, the nape of her neck visible and showing off that cute mole he loved so much, he wanted to know what else she was hiding. He wanted to see the rest of her skin, the rest of her body. This was different. He fell into a daydream: visions of cradling her neck and coating it with his tongue then dragging his teeth just to leave love bites all over. He tries hard not to grab the bulge growing in his slacks. His dark gaze hovers over Veronica as he bites down on the flesh between his thumb and index finger to stay neutral.
When she gets off on her stop, he stays for three more before getting off and going to the diner across the street from her. He has a perfect view of her baking, cleaning, and handling boxes of goods off to customers. It seems she loves her job or loves baking or both. She smiles a lot but never opens an inch of her mouth. Even with customers, she usually writes things on a card for them to read.
It a shame because he misses her voice the most during his absence, but Alice told him Veronica rarely talked anymore. He didn't know it was to this extent and now he grimaces at the possibility he would never hear it again to be burdened with the why.
Jacob hasn't gone to the bathroom since he's been at the diner, so after four hours he goes to relieve himself thinking what could happen within the five minutes he's gone. Shockingly, he comes back to watch a man in a wheelchair scream at Veronica whose behind the counter but against the wall away from him. As soon as Jacob sees the red hair and wheelchair, he doesn't need to know what was being discussed. After the man knocks down a vase then leaves the store, Jacob can see his face clearly and affirm it's Seth.
Veronica, obviously shaken up, strangely stays for the next five hours. The most she does in that time was nothing until a customer would come in. Jacob can see her tremoring fingers writing on cards while watching her drop a few catering boxes. Her smile is gone and he hates how much he has to hold back from comforting her. It all feels familiar with the remorse he feels from the first time he couldn't save her strong. Jacob, in his mind, has always felt cowardly and ashamed that he would never be able to defend her in the light.
Yet, what he does in the dark makes up for it. Jacob makes it his priority to keep Veronica safe as she walks home. Her safety, her body, her essence, her innocence, her comfort, and her security were always a priority to him. He gets on the same bus and walks beside her in the shadows towards her home. Any time she would look back, he would sink deeper into the darkness of the trees while observing their surroundings of any danger.
They both hear it: the snap of wood towards Veronica's far left.
ns 172.70.42.89da2
