My Shangri La...
...I can't forget
Why you were mine
I need you now...
Saturday didn't start out so hot what with everyone playing Garu, which left me drinking not-enough-vodka and getting pissed off that I couldn't even draw stickmen. Mad Cat was busy and hyper which never endears him to me, so that wasn't good either. I cut at my wrist out of general misery and frustration, as well as the hope that if I did it *then* I wouldn't be in tears doing it later.
Then there was the Cam game with the fragment of Bedlam in Virginia Waters Sanitarium which probably should have fucked us all up a lot more than it did, but somehow we were lucky. (And no, despite the warning it wasn't anything to do with me.) Sean panicked after a few hours of no Cinnamon, and when eventually found and reunited she got to attend court in her (slightly bloodied) pyjamas. (Sean hugged her lots and fed from her, and Cinnamon and I briefly regained Shangri La). No sooner back at court then Cinnamon called her Clan to her and they went off with everyone else to fight the Beast. At the edge of the battle Sean got dosed with fear and basically thought he'd killed Cinnamon. She couldn't snap him out of it and he earth-melded. The Beast was killed, thankfully Cass *wasn't* when it tried to possess her - and Bedlam was happy. Cinnamon was right there when Sean clawed his way back, tear streaked and not knowing what to believe.
Nasty though it was, I'm so glad all that happened. It taught Cinnamon the fear of clan responsibility and it taught Sean what he had started to take for granted.
Back at House of Plot and I went to sleep with Ben. Or I was supposed to. But the kitchen light was on and I guessed Mad Cat was there. I wondered if he was okay, and remembered the other times I hadn't gone to find him even though I guessed he was in a bad way. So this time I went. He was okay, just scared to sleep in the dark. We sat and talked and hugged and hugged some more and said that we missed each other and that being good sucked.
See I don't care about sex. I miss talking to Mad Cat, and being with Mad Cat instead of watching Paul. I miss heapsleeps and being close... But then I also miss the feeling of his hand against my throat, the way he bites my neck and the noise he makes when I run my nails across him.... and, well, that's hardly on the right side of platonic.
We didn't manage to be entirely good, but since it was only biting, scratching and kissing it was an improvement on every other time we tried in the past. And I know I should be sorry - I would like to be - and in an abstract and intellectual way I am, but in my heart I'm not and I can't be. It was too good a thing to regret. We went to bed at five in the morning when it was light and he wasn't scared anymore.
I should write these things down, because soon I'll forget them, or disbelieve them, which is worse. (Just like I forget he got a train from Hatfield to London to see me.) But they're here, and what's important is that he meant them.
He said I was beautiful and not to shake my head because it was true.
He told me he missed me.
He told me he loved me.
He told me not to cry.
He told me he loved me because of all the different things I meant to him.
He asked me to call him Mad Cat because he loved that too.
And for a little while, in the cold of the kitchen and the pre-dawn gloom, the time was ours without the world to interfere and everything was okay. I need that once in a while. I just hope next time the wait isn't so long.
Why you were mine
I need you now...
Saturday didn't start out so hot what with everyone playing Garu, which left me drinking not-enough-vodka and getting pissed off that I couldn't even draw stickmen. Mad Cat was busy and hyper which never endears him to me, so that wasn't good either. I cut at my wrist out of general misery and frustration, as well as the hope that if I did it *then* I wouldn't be in tears doing it later.
Then there was the Cam game with the fragment of Bedlam in Virginia Waters Sanitarium which probably should have fucked us all up a lot more than it did, but somehow we were lucky. (And no, despite the warning it wasn't anything to do with me.) Sean panicked after a few hours of no Cinnamon, and when eventually found and reunited she got to attend court in her (slightly bloodied) pyjamas. (Sean hugged her lots and fed from her, and Cinnamon and I briefly regained Shangri La). No sooner back at court then Cinnamon called her Clan to her and they went off with everyone else to fight the Beast. At the edge of the battle Sean got dosed with fear and basically thought he'd killed Cinnamon. She couldn't snap him out of it and he earth-melded. The Beast was killed, thankfully Cass *wasn't* when it tried to possess her - and Bedlam was happy. Cinnamon was right there when Sean clawed his way back, tear streaked and not knowing what to believe.
Nasty though it was, I'm so glad all that happened. It taught Cinnamon the fear of clan responsibility and it taught Sean what he had started to take for granted.
Back at House of Plot and I went to sleep with Ben. Or I was supposed to. But the kitchen light was on and I guessed Mad Cat was there. I wondered if he was okay, and remembered the other times I hadn't gone to find him even though I guessed he was in a bad way. So this time I went. He was okay, just scared to sleep in the dark. We sat and talked and hugged and hugged some more and said that we missed each other and that being good sucked.
See I don't care about sex. I miss talking to Mad Cat, and being with Mad Cat instead of watching Paul. I miss heapsleeps and being close... But then I also miss the feeling of his hand against my throat, the way he bites my neck and the noise he makes when I run my nails across him.... and, well, that's hardly on the right side of platonic.
We didn't manage to be entirely good, but since it was only biting, scratching and kissing it was an improvement on every other time we tried in the past. And I know I should be sorry - I would like to be - and in an abstract and intellectual way I am, but in my heart I'm not and I can't be. It was too good a thing to regret. We went to bed at five in the morning when it was light and he wasn't scared anymore.
I should write these things down, because soon I'll forget them, or disbelieve them, which is worse. (Just like I forget he got a train from Hatfield to London to see me.) But they're here, and what's important is that he meant them.
He said I was beautiful and not to shake my head because it was true.
He told me he missed me.
He told me he loved me.
He told me not to cry.
He told me he loved me because of all the different things I meant to him.
He asked me to call him Mad Cat because he loved that too.
And for a little while, in the cold of the kitchen and the pre-dawn gloom, the time was ours without the world to interfere and everything was okay. I need that once in a while. I just hope next time the wait isn't so long.