{ the skin i'm living in ; coen/ike
Feb 7, 2016 10:35:04 GMT -5
Post by я𝑜𝓈𝑒 on Feb 7, 2016 10:35:04 GMT -5
Steel. I had sworn long ago that this is what he is made of. Steel, from his core to his flesh. I would say he has a steel heart, too, but I doubt even that. Perhaps his chest is a dark hollow of nothing, a void. I knew he was a bastard, I knew he had a blackened soul- but not to this extent, never to this depth.
Sue Blair Daniel Marz me- we are all cursed with his name, cursed with his blood. I thought I could not possibly despise him and everything he stands for more, but I was wrong. (What's new?)
The blood we share broils in my veins. I always knew my bloodstream was tainted with him, but I never knew my blood was black and bubbling with venom- I never knew he was this much of a bastard."I've been keeping secrets," he admitted.
"Haven't you always?" was my retort, hanging cold in the air.
"It ain't like this this time."
"Then what is it like, Dad?" The way I said his name stung my tongue. It was bitter, with an even worse aftertaste, and when I swallowed, it was as if I had downed a shot of burning burning liquor, but without all the warm fuzziness. Just stark poison.
"There were others. Before you- other kids. I've got another son other than Sue and Daniel."
"You're a cunt."
I remember storming out of the room and stomping until my feet felt sore. When he left later in the day, I broke into his bedroom and rummaged through the drawers of his bedside table, until I pulled out an envelope with To Coen Tate scrawled on the back in black ink, along with an address. Tucking it into my pocket, I shut the drawer and draped a jacket over my shoulder. I said no goodbyes, no farewells when I set out on my quest and slammed the door- like anyone cared.
Hands tucked in my pockets, fingers tracing along the yellowed envelope, I walk in utter silence and watch my breath unfold in tufts of white into the biting winter air. Winding paths, long and seemingly endless, allow my mind to twist itself into more of a mess than it already is. I can't stop myself from imagining him, Coen, if he looks like the ghost of my father or not and if he's a bastard, too. Coen and fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck are all that echo in my head, ricocheting off the walls of my skull and bashing into each other like warring rivals.
The envelope crackles when I pull it from my pocket to take another look. The name etched into the paper matches the street just around the bend- where my feet are taking me on their own. They carry me, drag me along even when a part of me questions my impulsive decision to leave so suddenly to go on some sort of damned crusade to find my long lost brother.
It's a bit too little, too late for that, now.
Cobblestones shift beneath my step step step step step, around the bend and down the road. I would be drenched almost utterly in darkness, if not for the watery late morning light punching through the blanket of overcast. I am shadowed by the fringes of evergreen trees that reach their claws out into the sidewalks. It is like an embrace, like a promise to keep me safe.
My eyes trail back down to the numbers printed on the envelope. 4307, they read. Along the houses that line the streets, there are letters in metallic colors along the mailboxes. My gaze darts back and forth between the two sides of the street, picking out the numbers- 4303, 4304, 4305, 4306, 4307.
I stop dead in my tracks.
It is a quaint house, made of white stone and black shingles. A red brick chimney pokes it head out from the slant of the roof and sputters out dark smoke in billowing tails. Frozen for a moment, paralyzed by the shock racing through my body, I forget to breathe. I just stare with glassy eyes and stone fists at the house, pry my gaze into the window to try to make out any details of the inside.
But then I find my breath again, and saunter towards the front door.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
My knuckles against the smooth wood breeds a hollow sound. It sounds like an omen.
ALL THOSE EYES ON ME
AS I SINK INTO THE OPEN SEA
COLOR IN MY SHELTERED MIND
FILL THE GAP BETWEEN YOU AND I