black and blue; kae&harley [tristen]

I've found it easy to turn pages to chapters I've deemed too long, or tear pages out altogether simply so I can watch them burn when I'd decided the contents were negligible.

Perhaps that's why I always held this disdain for habitual behavior so close to the surface of this empty heart of mine, beating away with the rhythm of my footsteps and flourishing beneath the head of the sun. And perhaps it's that disdain for habitual behavior that's led me full circle, away from what I perceived to be my endpoint back to indeed my start point; this part of the forest where I only knew the feeling of an axe blistering my calloused fingers and rough palms. I spat, turning a heavy shoulder to the routine that came with work, the rhythmic rise and fall of a heavy axe against tinder was not a sound that could sustain the biting lust to fill pages of this title with exploits.

I almost throw my head back with laughter beneath the call of the night sky at the irony, several torn pages and turned chapters later and I'm back to the start point I deemed negligible.

Between nights full of drink and smoke, this is not where I envisioned myself. Setting down an axe for the day and collecting meager offerings for routine work from the supervisors for being the first to the mill and the last one to leave, carelessly stepping between tall trees and breaking leaves with every step with only the smallest thought for who is left behind. Perhaps that's the beauty of being careful where I left my feelings to be buried and who I let place their hands on my heart all those years, despite the sense of belonging that came with the breaking of law, the shattering of our fists and the disregard for our humanity.

In the back of my mind, I knew my departure was a loaded gun with my steady finger on the trigger. It was only a matter of time before I decided to shoot without so much as a flinch from the recoil or a grimace at the bullet holes left behind -- I've never bothered with counting wounds anyway.

It's so easy to sever ties without a word when they were seen as little more than burdens.

I knew I could never stay, even though I never cast a coin in the well to wish for the long term I knew I wouldn't stay. And perhaps that's where my shortsightedness would be my downfall because I did everything humanly possible to turn a blind eye to warning signs, up to and including burying them within the back of my own mind. Yet I knew I couldn't stay, that's why I never so much as let anyone grow closer to anything that sat beneath the surface of my own skin, even when it was split open.

It was only a matter of waiting for the right call, the right signal for me to take my bearings and never turn up when they needed me.

I never so much as said goodbye, they never let you simply say goodbye.

In the days that followed my departure, I would find myself caught within bouts of nervousness. When I found myself alone on the mill with not a single safety mechanism in sight, when I found myself in an empty bar or when I found myself staring at a dead end at the back of an empty alleyway without so much as a single peacekeeper in sight. But when days became clusters and those clusters became week I found myself taking risks with my own body, staying at the mill late and trekking through the night's forest by myself.

Last week, the knowledge of being along would've made my heart quicken to a rate exponentially higher than than the rhythm of my footsteps. I left on impulse, without so much as a flutter of remorse within my heart or a bout of logical reasoning in my head so I am left to deal with the issue on my own and so far there has been none. I've been left clear of old faces.

Two steps towards home and a panic that was nonexistent remains that way. My hands stuffed within my pockets, my eyes trained on the trees and the stars above me; the possibilities that comes when I don't let the heavens be a ceiling to what could be. Family, a real family that hasn't been traced along fickle branches on a rotten tree to find. Family who don't carry the title by virtue of sharing my last name. A sky without familiar faces and --



One step and a panic that was nonexistent is eclipsed by a thud within my chest that is all too present. My hands instantly find themselves free from my pockets and I my head snaps forwards, facing a figure stepping from behind a tall tree.

A sense of panic rises from the sight of a familiar face and a fluttering heart but both are buried beneath the calmness of my voice. "Harley," the name is a tattoo in the space between us, permanently inking itself in the air and branding itself in my mind. My words are ice; I can only hope they don't melt within the chambers of what I can only guess could be rage. "It's been a while."

They don't.



I step back, distancing myself from the memories of togetherness and stories told in the dark. If I look for an escape route she'd rush me, if I turn and run she'll catch me so I have no choice but to stand and face her, fists clenched behind my back.

I wonder if the remnants of one burned page will come back to ignite the entire tome.