foul

a tale of old and new sensitive subjects: abuse

The gossamer waves crashed against the salty cliffs, coughing mist into the air once they collided. They stared at one another, very still, yards apart. It has been many, many years.

· · ·

The sea of grass surrounds her like a basin thrown in water, slowly making her disappear. She runs her fingers through the weeds like one would through hair, combing through the knots. She looks over at the house in the distance, soft smoke slipping through the crumbling chimney--a sign of life. Maven heard her mother mention that someone would soon be inhabiting the barren house across the way, & she tried to recall the last time it was unvacated, but couldn’t. Growing up, she had her brother, & they would play amongst the rocks down by the cliffs. She wasn’t so lonely back then. They would skip the flat, gleaming stones--the special stones--across the lilac surface, creating ripples like a snag in silk. Every summer, they looked forward to finding special stones, & would race down to the breakers at dawn. They would be giddy with excitement the night before, their mother scolding them to behave, but they couldn’t. They bathed in these splendid moments. Then, one summer, Maven threw a special stone that was too special & her brother went into the waves to save it. The mist was coarse. The undertow strangled & stole him before Maven could realize. Ever since that summer, Maven has been alone. It has been 10 years since then.

Maven stared at the small, stone house--windows cracked open & fluttering clothes--men’s clothes?--pinned to a line. She had been alone for so long, that she was bemused at the thought of a companion. Up until then, she filled her desolate days with sewing lessons, piano lessons, dance lessons, art lessons, cooking lessons, any type of lesson that kept her on track to becoming someone she was supposed to be--but Maven wasn’t sure who that was. Throughout her coming-of-age, even before her brother was stolen, her fate had been decided for her, or so it seemed. She never had a say in what she could fill her mind with. She was told what books to read, what food to eat, what to wear. Maven wasn’t even sure who she was or what she actually felt. Her body was hollow; her mind, just an echo.

Maven laid down amongst the grass, pressing her arm over her forehead to shade the fading sun, her long, torso-length hair tickling her bare skin. She squinted at the clouds, forming them into beings that roamed the sky. She daydreamed for a while & slowly, but softly, fell asleep. 

· · ·

Maven scrunched her forehead & moaned awake, startled by the goosebumps that covered her exposed limbs. How long had she been sleeping? She blinked continuously until she could see the fluorescent moon high amongst the tissued clouds. She looked about her, waves crinkling in the distance, rubbing her forearms with her chilled hands. Then, a quick whisper--

Hmmmm…

Maven whipped her head around, squinting harder, hands clawing the ground, grasping the dirt. Then, in the distance, yards away, a boy--a man. Draped in the neon glow of the moon, washed out pale by its godly light. He stared at her, without life in his face. Maven cried out in the night, rushing to her feet, & frantically ran to her house, the balls of her bare feet digging into the earth.

Maven slammed the gate behind her, hyperventilating, coughing up spit, perspiration sliding down the tip of her nose. She clenched the iron bars, swung her hips back, & hung her head low to the ground. She closed her eyes until she caught her breath, then peered back up to make sure no one was there. Sullen crickets hummed their symphonies between the rocks, but Maven was sure she was alone. 

Maven sped upstairs, locking her bedroom door behind her, & ran over to the window. She put her hand up to the cold pane, creating a foggy outline on the glass. Maven was frozen, all night, watching the fields, until she saw the kiss of morning absorb the stars.

· · ·

The next day, Maven stayed within the boundaries of her gate. She wasn’t sure what she saw that night, but it sent a chill so painful up her spine that she was still bruised & aching. She opened a book with frayed edges and yellowed pages--a tale of old & new, one that she had memorized. Beside her, a sleeping hound, one of the many they had to help with the estate. His ears, pooled on the cobbled path, basked in the shining sun on the warm, summer‘s day. 

Maven read for a while, turning the pages each minute, running her finger under the words, until a soft growl pursed from the hound’s lips. Maven slammed her book closed, clenching it to her chest, & stared at the person standing at the gate’s entrance--the boy--the man--from the night before. Maven’s eyes grew wide and she twirled up to quickly run inside, but he said:

Wait.

Maven froze at the door ajar--the hound’s growls turned into barks, but he feared the gate. What do you want? Maven shouted, still staring at the door. 

I am a new fellow neighbor, from  just over there, he said. The new fellow neighbor, she repeated to herself. She turned around, slowly, to meet the gaze of the stranger, no longer feeling the sting in her veins. His thick, angular hands wrapped around the iron bars of the gate, just as she had done the night before. He smiled through the openings, with gleaming, sharp teeth, like a wolf sensing his prey for the first time. He couldn’t have been much older than herself--she felt a little warmth at the thought.

· · ·

Thane stared at her through the iron bars of the gate as she continued to press the wrinkled book against her chest. She was pale, like an elephant tusk, polished with a satin sheen. Her features, carved into the bone, were dainty, but loose, almost as if she had a permanent crooked smile. He felt immediately tied to her, like a long string had been wrapped around both of their wrists, connecting them. Thane stared through the bars, waiting for her response. He had not seen a slender, smiling soul in many years. Abandoned as a child, he was given to the church to aid the sick without a wage. Thane grew denser with every season, until eventually, his whole body felt like a slab of stone. He found his way out of the convent when he was of age, spitting on every gravestone as he left the arches, & sought out odd work until he could afford a place of solitude. Thane now found himself on the cliffs that mingled with the ocean, with only one nearby neighbor--her. He had always been alone & no matter what, he knew he would be eternally alone, at the end of the line. No matter what he did in this life, he would always, truly, be alone. Thane didn’t even want to be acquainted with himself. But staring at this girl before him, she suddenly gave him hope, that maybe, he was wrong.

Would you like to go for a walk along the cliffs? Thane shouted, curving his lips into a mischievous smile. There wasn’t any emotion in the gesture, but oddly, it was always connoted as sinister. She was hesitant, he could tell, but he knew he had a force over others--a force that was devious, but beguiling. When he left to seek work, he would walk the cobblestones right before the fall of night, when houses emit a hazy amber glow that casted shadows on the streets. As Thane strolled, women scowled at him, then turned around to get another look when they passed--this time, with squinted, curious eyes. He was handsome, but carried a bloated cloud above his head. Yet, there was something about him. Thane was all too aware of this influence he had over others.

Eventually, Maven placed the tip of her toe on the descending step, slowly walking towards him, until their faces were inches apart with only the wrought-iron between them. We just can’t go near the water, she said, her breath hitting his neck, the undertow is quite rough. 

· · ·

That summer, Maven first felt something she had never felt before. She wasn’t sure if it was the pure joy of having a friend--a confidant--that she could walk the hills with. They did not have much in common, but they shared one solitary feeling--loneliness. They bonded over this quality, searching within themselves for something to share & hold true to one another. They wanted a piece of each other that they could give to no one else, a token blind to the naked eye of others. They knew they were special in having this connection, like two twin embryos in the womb, never wanting to split apart.

· · ·

When night fell, Maven slipped her coat around her shoulders, covering her nightgown, & blew out the candle in her room--just before dabbing a bit more perfume on her neck. She pressed her bedroom door closed until it made a soft click. She paused, stopped breathing, & looked around for anyone that may have awoken. When the night stayed still, she tiptoed across the wooden-board floors, avoiding the corner where it creaked. Her heart thudded in her chest as she trickled the small distance to the side door, the one that led out to the garden. Once outside, she hugged her coat tightly around her, as the small freckles of snow caressed her cheeks. She stuck out her tongue, like a child, tasting the icy crystals on her warmed tongue. For just a moment, she felt complete.

Thane was waiting outside the gate, gloves shoved over his bulky hands & hat tucked behind his ears. He would flash that sinister, yet sickly sweet smile that made Maven feel incredibly dangerous, like she might do just anything for him. To Maven, Thane was the liberation from her mundane, hellish life. To Thane, Maven was someone he always wanted to be, but could never, so he vowed to always protect her. Maven reached out her hands, offering her bracelet that she had since she was a newborn, gold with a thin chain. Thane picked it out of her soft palms & clasped it around his wrist. He felt eternal, wearing this token of love. Maven had given him her life & she was content with that. 

They would run off together to the cliffs, light a fire with some dried wood they hid in rocky cracks, & made love all night on the cold, frozen sand. Even though Thane had been with many women in the past, it never felt like how he was with Maven. She was pure. Thane had always felt tainted, ever since an adolescent--he never knew what it felt like to be innocent & clean. But Maven, she gave that to him every single night when they went out to the cliffs. Maven had never been with a man before Thane. Deep inside her hollow soul, she vowed to never let another man have her--not sexually, but emotionally--passionately. They would lay on the sand, rolled in heaps of thick, cotton blankets, & look up at the stars. They would envision a future together, one where they would wed & start a family--a path that Thane never imagined for himself, but Maven made it sound almost within reach. When she spoke of her dreams, a fire would rise up in Thane’s chest, charring his lungs, for he wanted to make those happen, because for Maven, he would do anything. And in an ideal, utopian world, Thane & Maven would have had that life, except, this vision was just out of reach, no matter how far they tried to stretch their fingertips, they could never grasp this dream. 

· · ·

One night, the moon was completely asleep, casting the world in a dark, dark void. Maven’s stomach turned that morning, & stayed in a knot all day, without reason. Thane felt eerie, waking up & staring at his barren eyes in the mirror for far too long. They both felt as if their string had been tugged on--it felt a bit loose, as if it could slip off their hand. Thane stared out his window all day, trying to catch a glimpse of Maven out in the garden, but she never appeared. 

That night, while still in a state of euphoria from her rendezvous, Maven returned & closed the gate behind her. She turned around to be greeted by her father. His worn, wrinkled eyes squinted down at her, thin lips in a deep frown--and suddenly, before Maven could react--her cheek stung with the poison of a backhanded slap. Maven’s mouth gaped open & tears started streaming from her eyes. She crouched down, sobbing in deep, moaning heaps, pressing her palms to her face. She knew even before her father said, You are never to see that boy again. He is foul, you are foul, & you are to disappear from his life.

· · ·

That night, Thane hid around the corner of Maven’s house as he always did. He just liked to be near her, even if that meant often sleeping on the side of her house until the sun woke him up. But that night, he heard a wicked slap, then tears, then betrayal. You are never to see that boy again. He is foul, you are foul, & you are to disappear from his life. It reverberated in his skull, making him woozy. He forcefully bit down on his tongue & clenched his fists so tight, blood started to drip on the snow. He put his hands to his ears, shaking his head uncontrollably. He could not lose Maven--he vowed to always protect her, which meant never losing her. He rammed his fist hard into the brick, making a large cracking sound, like the crunching of bones. His hand bled more & his flesh peeled back to show bone--but he felt nothing; he only saw red.

· · ·

Thane did not come back to Maven’s house to meet her at night & she never came outside to meet him. But, he would watch from his window--& plan. He would sit, deliberate, scheme, & smother his painful, aching thoughts. He memorized the times she left the house, to walk amongst the cliffs & release her pain. Still, he never went out to meet her. No--he was restraining--for the perfect moment would soon come. One day, he woke up, paced the house for multiple hours, & knew that the moment had arisen.

He watched Maven leave the house in a flowing, cotton dress. She held a basket in her arms to pick newly sprouted blossoms. His heart ached. When she was no longer in sight, he ran out the front door & crouched on the side of her house, in the same place he was the night that his entire being shattered on the ground. He walked amongst the shards of his soul, cracked open the window, & crawled in--extremely quiet & calculating. He locked every door, gently poured oil on the floor, & flinted a spark. He rushed to his feet & flew out the window, just in time for the house to burn ablaze. 

· · ·

Maven was looking across the still ocean, wondering what it would be like if she could walk across it. She wondered if her brother was still out there, somewhere. She wondered if she would ever see Thane again. Her mind drifted like the waves beside her, flowing in & out of consciousness. She heard a faint crackling in the distance, almost like the breaking of sticks, & smelled a thickness in the air. This was confusing to Maven, as she only smelled this when they burned dead leaves that scattered the farmland in autumn. She grabbed her basket full of peonies, & rose to her feet to investigate the mystery. She walked along the cliffs, coming up on the hill, until she gazed upon her corpse of a home, swallowed by ghoulish flames. 

Maven just stood--her body felt stiff. A numbness rose from her toes, to her shins, to her hands, until her face felt completely hard as she spilled her flowers on the ground. Then, her body hit the grass. 

· · ·

She blinked awake as he hovered above her, with that sinister, sickly sweet grin. Bile rose up in her throat & she screamed, louder than she knew capable. Thane’s smile quickly faded. He freed her, for now, they could be together. What had he done wrong? Oh heavens, what had he done? Maven sat up, looking in the distance, to find the ashes of nostalgia rising into nebulous smoke. Tears flooded her face & she sobbed, moaning loudly, releasing the misery & torment that she would endure for years to come. Thane, she sobbed, coughing in between, my mother & father were in there!

· · ·

Thane knew what he had done & he had every intention of dealing the destruction he had caused in that moment. With Maven’s parents gone, they could finally become one--one person, one soul, one entity. But, once he saw Maven’s rosied face covered in dewy tears with an expression that he had never seen before--an expression of true fear & hatred--he felt deeply ill. After all of these years, he could not explain it. He wanted Maven so badly--he wanted to be the grantor of her dreams--her liberator. For Maven to look at him with those sullen, brooding eyes, he must have performed a heinous task, one that glorified him in the moment. But after, he felt as odious as a cockroach. He battled with himself, constantly at war in his skull, debating what he had done. 

That day, Maven looked up at Thane in dismay. Her body felt like black pus, ready to burst at the seams. She felt oily & grotesque, like leeches covered her body, sucking the little essence of human she had left. The face that stood before her, once dangerously domineering, turned into a blood-thirsty fiend, foaming at the mouth. His eyes pierced into her veins, cutting off her circulation & strangling her neck. She felt assaulted by his grimace, his fang-like teeth glinting in the nearby flames. Maven ran, right past Thane, as he tried to grab the sleeve of her dress. Maven! She ran for miles, until night time came. Their string had snapped.

· · ·

Maven picked up the toys dispersed on the ground, the usual aftermath from a rainy afternoon. She tucked her hair behind her ears, keeping loose strands of her shoulder-length hair from falling in her face. Once the mess was contained, she sat on the rocking chair & rested her head back. She had not known being a nanny would be such grueling work. Not only did she tend to the children, who were ghastly in their own ways, but she had to prepare dinner, make up the household, & run errands, all so that the lady of the house could be kept unbothered. Maven made sure to entertain the children while she was home, which was a rare occurrence--Ms. Ainsley, recently windowed, did not like to see her kin. Whenever she saw their blushing faces, she was brought back to the realization that her husband was no longer present. Maven would walk past Ms. Ainsley’s room late at night, in search of water,  & hear her silently weeping, head poured into her hands. Maven would stand still & watch her body quiver from deep sorrow & Maven would feel empathetic. When she saw Ms. Ainsley like that, she would close her eyes & remember the events of her past.

When Maven ran away 5 years ago after the fire, she returned within a few days. She was cold, famished, & limp from wandering the streets in search of somewhere to go. Fearing she made a grave mistake, she returned to find Thane. She replayed those last moments over & over in her mind. Thane was vile, but so was she. She tasted his soul, sipping it like sweet champagne, & the bubbles had now begun to fade. She wanted his crackle, his warmth, like the first taste when pressing the flute to your lips. Maven had never known who she was, but Thane made her feel like someone, however vile or grotesque that may be. She pondered this thought continuously & came to accept that truth--there was no escaping Thane, not even in the deepest, darkest corners of her mind, for they were intertwined, like hundred year old branches of a weeping willow, never to untangle. 

Maven approached Thane’s home, but it was filled with silence. She knocked on the door, a few windows, but still, silence. She paced the perimeter, calling out his name, Thane!, every few steps. Alas, no response. Her heart began to speed with her steps. Did she make him leave? She ran down to the cliffs, gasping for breath as she reached the sand. She flexed her fingers over her forehead, creating shade, so that she could adequately scan the beach. Then, she saw something limp, just up ahead. She ran towards the object, kicking up sand as she flew. The object became more clear as she approached--a pile of clothes, & amongst them, her newborn bracelet. Maven’s face twisted, whipping her head, screaming, Thane!, into the wind. It took her words, carried them off, & dissolved them into thin air. 

Then, in the distance--his hat, amongst the waves. The undertow had taken him, with his permission.

· · ·

Maven grew more tired with each passing day as she tried to avoid herself. There was not a moment that went by when she could be alone with her thoughts. If she was, she would be tormented with the image of his face, appearing as if almost in real life, calling out her name as she ran away. If only she had stayed, he might still be alive, in full flesh & blood before her. If she had stayed, they could have danced to their visions of painting an entire world together. Yes, if she was alone with her thoughts, she may jump off the bridge down the road. 

Maven was sullen on this particular day--Ms. Ainsley had hired a piano teacher to help the children with their studies. Maven wanted to be alone, she had chosen this punishment, for she was not worthy of anyone’s friendly acquaintance. She locked herself in her room when she heard his knock at the door, shoving a pillow in her face & letting out soft screams.

· · ·

There was a soft tap at her door, & Maven looked up gently, having just awoken from a small slumber. She stayed silent, she wasn’t sure what hour it was. Maven? Ms. Ainsley called, Please make your acquaintance at dinner. Maven choked up. She didn’t want to go downstairs & show her face, not to a newcomer. She wanted to just be alone in her little world. But again, the knock persisted, until Ms. Ainsley opened the door herself & walked away. Head down low, Maven hunched downstairs, making each step sweet & slow--she had to obey orders, just like the children. She turned the corner into the dining room & gazed at the man sitting at the head, opposite Ms. Ainsley. He was slender, shoulder bones jutting out of his dinner coat pleats. Timid, yet light, with sunken eyes & fluttering lashes. Honey-haired with an upturned mustache. Maven sat down, gently, beside him, crossing her legs with hands intertwined in her lap. Good evening. She sat tall & bowed her head while he flashed a child-like smile. Maven, I presume? he said, thick like molasses. Maven nodded, her cheeks growing warm, as she stood up to serve the table. Throughout the meal, Maven & the man exchanged innocent glances, sparkling eyes, & bitten lips. The tip of his shined shoe slowly touched Maven’s. She felt a trickle of electricity rush up her spine, her cheeks growing an even deeper crimson. Who was this velvet soul that had slowly entered her vicinity? She was stumbled upon, inconspicuously, by someone who looked so unfamiliar to her. He was gossamer & Thane was leather, he was water & Thane was blood. Her heart sunk when she thought of him--Thane. Was he peering down at her, disgraced by her unwelcome thoughts, clouding in on their space? Did she deserve to start anew? But she was growing tired of her morose motions. She thought, maybe just this once, it would be okay. And so she dove.

· · ·

It did not take long for Maven & Pelham to fall into something of affection. So much so, that he asked for her hand in marriage. She agreed, gleefully, & they moved back out to the country to seek solitude. She never took him to the ashes or the undertow for it was too painful--the memories haunted her, of who she once was. Since she began her new life with Pelham, she started to feel like she was walking out of an insidious tunnel. She was finding her way to the light, however long that walk may be. Pelham guided her, holding her hand, showing her that she deserved to see the light. By the passing hours, she felt the thought of Thane slip away--but yet, she still felt this phantom string at her wrist, the ends frayed & frail. 

· · ·

Maven had an impressionistic life with Pelham, filled with daily walks along the coast & warm tea at breakfast, while they exchanged playful, rosy glances. They would graze each other’s fingers while they sipped, holding a newspaper in the other. Maven didn’t feel unstable with him--she felt secure. Instead of adding to her emptiness, he filled it, pouring in his delicious soul. She saw her whole life with Pelham, growing old by the seaside, watching children explore their own paths in life. There was nothing she wanted more than to have children with her husband. After a devastating childhood of wealth & despair, she promised she would do it right & raise her kin so that they would not experience the misery she did. But as she dreamed, thoughts of Thane always snuck in, flashes of their nights on the sand, his rough hand grazing her chilled cheeks, his shoulder-length hair caressing her collar bones. He was so gruesome & foul, yet sometimes, like a fish to bait, there was no restraint to bite what could ultimately be one’s death.

· · ·

Maven opened her front door after a late night out. She had been to the market in town, picking seasonal flowers, fruits, & vegetables from the local sellers. She pursued the streets & basked in the springtime glow, sitting amongst the grass as she once did as a young girl. That was 10 years ago. She grinned up at the sky, but felt a sharp pain in her chest, & she winced away the moment. She rubbed her chest, as the spasm began to fade, but it still left a dull sting.

She turned the knob to find the lights were out. Pelham? she whispered, turning on each light as she passed by. She found a book open on the dining table & fresh tea brewing on the stove, letting out steam & high pitched screams. She took the kettle off the heat & began to worry. Pelham, are you there? she called again, louder this time, with still no response. She grabbed a knife from the kitchen, tucking it into her pocket, keeping a firm grip over the handle. Nothing was out of place, except for the objects Pelham had been using, which felt extremely odd to Maven. He was particular, even more so than her, & always kept a clean house. She stalked the ground floor without any sign from her husband & her hands began to sweat. She walked up the stairs, being cautious not to creak, & found nothing but silence. She turned the corner into her bedroom & her foot stepped in a puddle. She hunched over, how odd? peering at the ground for a closer look, & found the sole of her shoe soaked in fresh crimson blood.

· · ·

Maven did not scream. She dropped the knife to her floor, hands shaking, & fell to her knees. She sat in the pooled blood, without any tears, for she did not feel anything but complete & utter horror. She waved her hands in the space in front of her, trying to find her husband. She slowly touched his cold, limp arm, & worked her way up to his face. What happened? She ran her hands through his frail hair, & cupped his head in her lap. Now, Maven had started to mourn. 

Her tears mingled with the lifeless blood on the floor, connecting their souls between dimensions. She sat in her silent weeping for a while, until she heard a stir in the corner. Slowly, she looked up, to find a ghostly figure bathed in moonlight, highlighting a sheepish grin. The shoulder-length hair, curled at the ends, with a crisp collar gently folded at the neck. Blood, smeared on his face, like war paint. Maven had no words, for she feared she was colliding with the world of the dead. 

· · ·

Thane had been watching Maven’s seamless life from afar for many years. He could not find happiness in a life without her. He filled his days with affairs, bottomless cocktails, & empty drugs. Thane felt nothing & endeavored to feel something, but he knew the only way to get that was to get her. He creeped in the shadows, waiting for the right moment, almost like when they were younger. Back then, he was selfish. He wanted Maven to feel the pain that she inflicted on him--and so he laid his clothes by the oceanfront & framed the undertow as his murderer. He watched Maven collapse, absorbing all of the pain he had leaked out, & carried it with her for 10 years. Once he saw her reaction, he realized what he had done, yet again. Thane was impulsive, reckless, & extorting--he knew all of this, but shook it from his brain. He yearned to feel new again, like he did when he was with Maven--she always convinced even himself that he was capable of the better things in life.

Thane had every intention of colliding with Maven much sooner, but then she met that man--the tall, slender, angelic man. He saw them together, on the cobblestones, as he hid in courtyards, & his heart bled. He was conflicted between causing himself pain & causing her pain. During that time, he chose to cause himself pain & let Maven live out her life with the man--Thane would watch from afar. This all changed when Thane met Melrose. 

· · ·

Melrose was a technicolor nightmare, walking into Thane’s life from the sultry shadows of deadbeat bars. She was always lurking, peering at Thane from the corner of her serpent-like eyes. Her coiled hair wrapped around her face like a bonnet with a rich mahogany hue. He was immediately attracted to her, as was everyone else in her aura. But her irises, deep set black holes, almost filled her entire eye, leaving little white space. Her lips, a fleshy red, always looked parched. Her hands, bony & slender, stacked brass rings. When around her, she gave off a toxicity that made it hard to breathe--get too close, & asphyxiation was most certainly one’s fate. Unfortunately, Thane met Melrose right after coping with his loss of Maven to another man. He was beaten & bruised by his own thoughts & shattered hopes. Because of this, Melrose’s carcinogenic stench smelled like ambrosial honeysuckle. He desired to pluck her, remove her petals, & throw her in the dirt. 

He went to her place of living that night & she stabbed him in the leg while they had sex. It was brutal & draining--a feeling that Thane was searching for. She spread his blood across her lips & kissed him. Thane tasted the foul odor of his own blood, one of ghouls & golems, that tread the street in the darkest corners of the deepest boroughs. He had never come to accept his darkness until this very moment. Thane was not captivated with Melrose like he was with Maven--no, Melrose was more of an elixir to heal the pain he was enduring. But, in time, Melrose became parasitic smoke that engulfed Thane’s entire being, straying him farther from the light & clutching him to the hellish depths. Thane became bloodthirsty--but not like before. When Thane committed those acts of crime against Maven’s homestead, he did it out of sheer angst & intense passion. Most importantly, he doubted his actions the moment they came to fruition. In his mind, they were ideal, but when he saw Maven’s face that day, the last day he was next to her, he came to regret it all. But now, the gruesome crimes he committed, he did not regret.

He did away with customers that Melrose had turmoil with. He didn’t do this because he cared about her, but rather, because he could. He needed something to fill the void that was growing larger in his chest. He felt that it was rather fitting to banish himself to a life of crookedness, because it seems that was always meant to be his storyline, whether he met Maven or not. Back when he left the convent, he acknowledged this truth. With Maven, she made this quality seem like a choice, rather than a destiny, but with her gone, there was no longer a question, but rather, a reality. 

After 10 years, Thane had grown so vile that he murdered Melrose in cold blood while they were in bed. They were having intense sex, the type where Melrose almost strangled Thane to death, which he always openly accepted as a possible fate, & he decided to kill her. There was not a change in Thane’s view of Melrose--he just could, so he did. He quickly took a dagger from the side table--the one he used to kill her clients--& stabbed her in the chest 21 times. He felt absolutely nothing & left her in the bloodied sheets to be discovered only months later, decayed & desolate.

· · ·

Thane only decided to murder Maven’s husband after he killed Melrose. He was alone again, with his thoughts & actions, & began to panic about what he had done. Melrose was a treacherous being that even the toughest soul tiptoed around, but he murdered her just because he could, & this terrified Thane. In the past, he had been ordered my Melrose to kill others because they had done her wrong, but her murder was different. It was completely empty & without passion. When Thane sent Maven’s estate ablaze, it was with manic, absurd passion that was justified in the moment. 

After realizing this, Thane knew what must be done. He did not want to hurt Maven--the last person he wanted to hurt was Maven. But he could not live like this--as a complete disgrace to society. He refused to accept the fate that was always laid out for him since a child. He needed Maven to feel free, like he could walk any path he wanted. He collapsed on the floor in his rented room & cried for all the years he hadn’t. Blood-soaked hands from Melrose’s veins & greasy hair from weeks without bathing, Thane had hit complete bottom. His body convulsed with every sob as he gasped for air & clawed at the floor. He was banished to a life he never wanted to live & he cursed up at the gods for what they had done to him. 

· · ·

Maven got up, timidly, & walked over to the chair where Thane sat. His eyes never left hers. Scars filled his once immaculate face & his eyes had grown a deep burgundy with agate curves. His brow was harder, less relaxed, like it once was when they were young. Maven mourned for him. She reached out her doll-like hand & touched his cheek, rough with healed flesh & wind-burns. She found that he was not a ghost before her, but instead, his human-self. She gasped. He had never killed himself those few days after the fire, when Maven returned to seek him out. No, he was very much in-the-flesh--cold flesh. Suddenly, Maven grew enraged as she realized what had happened. You have ruined my life, my dreams! she cried as she threw a solid punch at his face. He dodged the blow & grabbed her wrist. The string was still there. 

· · ·

Maven spent many years after her husband’s death in recluse, locking herself up in her home & drawing illegible pictures on the wall. She rocked back & forth on the floor during many sleepless nights, asking herself, Why? Why did he even come into my life? She wasn’t sure if she meant Thane or Pelham. At this point, she was delirious. Her mental health had degraded so much that she grew very thin & frail & could no longer leave her home. She was sure she would die on her bedroom floor until someone reported her missing. They broke her front door down & carried her out on a portable bed. She spent months after that in rehabilitation surrounded by white walls & many drugs. Maven would never tell anyone how she ended up this way. Even though he was foul, Maven felt she had to protect Thane--after all that he had done. Since they were young, she felt this connection to him--like a string around both of their wrists--pulling them closer. Whenever something tugged on the string, they both felt inexplicable pain. She could never explain this to anyone else, for it was just one of those unexplainable, abnormal, repulsive qualities of life that had no escape. They were twin embryos, never to live their lives independent from one another. Maven had tried. 

When Maven was released, she was ready to go back. She was ready to return to the ashes, where she knew Thane would be waiting. He told her that night, covered in her deceased husband’s blood, I will be waiting for you down by the cliffs. I will never leave. Maven was repulsed at the time, completely disgusted with the actions that ensued prior. But now, she was ready to meet him there, back where it all started. She was ready to tie a new string, one that would not coil & fray. He was extremely foul, but he was also stunning, like a berry that you are not supposed to ingest. The ones that grow extremely ripe & colorful, bursting with sweet perfume. 

· · ·

She walked to the cliffs, feeling the nostalgic breeze in her face, cloaking her like a warm shrug. She closed her eyes & opened her arms, completely submitting herself to the wind. She was home. She breathed in the salty air, ran the grass over her fingertips, hummed along to the ocean. Maven felt completely & utterly happy. She had never felt this content before in her life. She knew Thane would be waiting just beyond the hill, but she wanted to savor this moment. Her whole childhood flashed before her eyes, everything that had ensued, like camera flashes. She wept. 

· · ·

Maven reached the top of the hill & saw Thane, waiting, just as he said he would, down by the cliffs. He caught sight of her, his face turning a pale cotton-white. The gossamer waves crashed against the salty cliffs, coughing mist into the air once they collided. They stared at one another, very still, yards apart. It has been many, many years. Tears rolled down both of their faces. They were older now, not much wiser, much more tainted. They felt their string tightening & Maven ran towards him, faster than she ran away so many years ago. She collapsed in his arms for the first time since they were young & he engulfed her, pulling her into his soul & emptying his heart of darkness on the ground. He felt completely voided of the poison that tainted his soul since birth. Maven felt completely sound. They sobbed in each other’s chests, caressing lips passionately & devotedly. To Maven, he no longer tasted foul. To Thane, she tasted of heaven. 

Then, a whisper, Maven…

Maven looked up at Thane, who was even paler with half shut eyes. Maven...I waited for you, & now you have come. I am complete. I know I have been foul & wicked, I know what I have done. He coughed, blood spurting from his mouth, But now, Maven, I am at peace. I have you. Now, I can rest easy, for I have not died alone. Thane collapsed in Maven’s arms, his deadweight knocking her to the ground. Thane! she cried out, You cannot leave me in this life alone! Not again! She screamed, caught in a turmoil of an everlasting love, lost. Two souls, conjoined at the wrist, never to catch the other in the right moment to embark on their dream--a tale of old & new.

· · ·

Maven sat there, with Thane in her arms, for one entire week until she perished from the cold. She withered away with his soul, leaving not one spark behind. A foul storm appeared that night, flooding the ocean, carrying away their bodies with the undertow, never to be found together--never to be avenged.

· · ·

Maven closed the book with frayed edges and yellowed pages--a tale of old & new, one that she had memorized. Beside her, a sleeping hound, one of the many they had to help with the estate. His ears, pooled on the cobbled path, basked in the shining sun on the warm, summer‘s day. She looked up at the sky, & smiled--what a foul, hellish, boring day.

Author's Note

please let me know what you think of this piece, I am open to all comments and questions!