grdybiwife
Enhancer of reality
- Joined
- Jul 17, 2011
- Posts
- 1,983
Remember that show? You know the one. That antiseptic group of quasi-eclectic twentysomethings, surviving in the city that never sleeps while being questionably employed at jobs they barely worked. Think about it. How do a failing actor, a terrible waitress, a college professor, a sometimes chef, a data processor, and an occasional masseuse earn enough to sustain themselves in a city with such a high cost of living? How could they afford to spend hours at coffee shops and enjoy meals at expensive restaurants? How could they spend so many years not encountering one person of color in one of the most diverse cities in the world? Not one homosexual? Not one “other”? Not one moment of real and genuine struggle?
Complete and utter nonsense, but that’s why people watch television isn’t it? To detach themselves from their own harsh realities. To lose themselves in a pristinely imaginary world full of possibilities and good fun. To laugh at the “misfortune” of others, while ignoring your own. Even if for thirty minutes at a time.
But this isn’t about that show, not directly anyway. This is about a little girl who loved that show. It began as a blissful escape, a mother’s protection from a father who was prone to violence. Drunken rages that swept through that little girl’s already fractured existence. It made her smile, laugh when her father bellowed and rained down blows on her mother in the next room. At some point in her troubled life the show took root in her underdeveloped brain, forever altering her mindscape. When her mother died,her father sold her precious DVDs, but the little girl could still see it when she closed her eyes. As she grew older, the characters began to change and slowly but surely the various locales seemed to disappear until all that was left was that coffee shop with it’s mismatched furniture and huge picture window that looked out on the bustling street beyond. As time went on, even that began to change. Gone was the view of that artificial street corner, replaced by scenes from her own life.
That’s when the fainting spells started. Brought on by intense moments of anxiety, the now teenaged little girl would simply drift off, retreating to that coffee shop to commune with characters of her own creation. As she grew older, she began to notice that inevitable someone would be missing when she walked through that single pane door. And her life seemed to continue through that iconic window. She began losing time. Minutes turned into hours with her having no control over what happened in between and it only served to fuel her anxiety. After waking up in one too many strange places, she began to withdraw from the outside world to lessen the chances of her experiences those intense moments that transported her to her “safe place”. That coffee shop from that ridiculous show that everybody loved so much.
They were nervous today as they sat transfixed before the picture window. Even the little one who usually spent her time skipping rope or coloring delightfully disturbing rendition of her reality sat still. Perched on the arm of the drab green sofa, fingers rubbing a hole in the corner of her dress while the big man paced in front of the coffee table. He spun a set of keys around his middle finger. His heavy brows furrowed, lips pulled into a tight frown, he was the only one who didn’t watch the window. He didn’t have to, he was the first. His connection to her was constant and as far as he was concerned, she didn’t need the others. No matter how much the old lady insisted. To be fair she wasn’t exactly old, “age” was just a concept. A facet of the illusion. Meaningless. At any rate it was her who helped him to understand that they all had a place. Even the loose cannon served a purpose her crass attitude and hedonistic views. Of all of them, she was the least concerned, even if she was almost certain that all this was her fault.
"She's slipping again...I can feel it."
"Aww quit it Bobby. You just wanna excuse to go out."
"Ain't me who needs permission."
"Be nice Bobby. She's just nervous that's all. The editor called again today...
"Stuck again...stuck again...stuck again..."
"SHUT UP ARIEL!!!"
Today was not a good day for Logan Castle. You would think she’d be used to it by now, given her turmoil of her first 33 years. The problem was year 34 had actually been pretty good. No breakdowns. No med imbalances. She was actually writing again and her publisher was ecstatic. Logan had even convinced herself to meet the man in person. Outside the security of her luxury apartment in Chelsea. She’d been doing that a lot in year 34, brief visits to the world beyond her entryway.
What began as a birthday exercise from her therapist had become a semi-regular thing. Logan started off small of course, spending a few minutes every couple days on her buildings public rooftop terrace without the slightest freak out. It took a couple weeks but eventually she convinced herself she could go outside. A walk around the block turned into trips to local galleries. Before she knew it Logan was doing her own grocery shopping and enjoying the occasional trip to the spa. And talking to people. Giving them eye contact. Shaking hands. Making friends. She never thought it was possible, the prospect of being normal. Well, New York City normal because living in the city was like living on a different planet compared to that generic trailer park where she spent her formative years. For the first time in her life, Logan was actually living. Something like happy.
She owed it all to Dr. Ellie. The world’s best psychiatrist as far as Logan was concerned, though she preferred to be called a therapist. Doling out meds was a last resort for Dr. Ellie, instead she focused on the patient well-being. She was the first doctor Logan had been to who didn’t look at her like some kind of psycho anomally. A disorder to be diagnosed. A specimen to be poked and prodded into a neat little box. She was the first doctor to acknowledge The Others as separate entities and not figments of Logan’s broken mind. They were a vital part of her existence, not the nuisance that Logan had come to believe and, under Dr. Ellie’s guidance, she began to treat them as such.
Together, they set up protocols that would allow each their moment in the sun but Logan still held the keys. For a while it worked out well. She stopped losing time when someone forced their way in because only she had the power to let them out. Their parasitic relationship was slowly working its way to the symbiotic kind and Logan began to flourish. She realized that satisfying The Others worked in her favor. Living through them alleviated most of the sources of her anxiety and her panic attacks began to ebb.
Unfortunately, those initial protocols were not airtight. There were moments when The Others could slip the leash. Not all of them took advantage but the one that did was the hardest to wrangle. They called her The Wild. Like a rebellious teenage, she snuck out when Logan was in her deepest sleep to run amok in the city that never sleeps. When Dr. Ellie prescribed a high dose sleeping pill that put them all out, The Wild found another way. Logan’s new found freedom involved the occasion trip to bars where she ordered lightweight cocktails to keep herself just shy of tipsy. It wasn’t a full proof plan and it worked more often than not, but when it didn’t, The Wild would slip through to put Logan’s inexperienced body through all manner of risky behavior. Casual sex. Recreational drug use. It was The Wild who slept with her publisher but Logan’s behavior the morning after that nearly ended her book deal. If not for The Shield handing over the keys to The Mother, Logan would have lost everything.
That was a protocol that was foolproof, turning The Shield into a gatekeeper of sorts and he never let her down. Except that one time when The Wild found herself in the presence of a porn director who promised her fame and fortune after a sloppy blowjob in a nightclub bathroom. To be fair, it was her turn and there was no protocol to prevent her from servicing a couple studs for a quick buck. They called her The Wild but even she had limits. No DP. No bukkake. No cream pies. Everything else was on the table and she was even nice enough to sign her own name on the release instead of Logan’s. Dr. Ellie called it an admission of guilt and Logan was devastated. And on top of all of that, her publisher had pushed up her deadline by three months. Logan knew it was an attempt to rush her out of her contract but there was nothing she could do about it. All requests for extensions were denied, laying the groundwork for breach of contract by non-submission.
Eight months into year 34 Logan Castle began to spiral. The panic attacks came back full force, driving her back into hiding and she lost her grip on The Others. Lucky for her, The Shield was there, like he always had been, to pick up the slack. And he was there now as she contemplated ending it all.
He stood before the window, blocking the view of The Others, all but ignoring them. This wasn’t about them alway. His allegiance was to her, as it always had been. He’d been there from the beginning, protecting her from the ills of the outside world. It was him who broke her father’s nose when he crept into her bedroom after her mother died. It was him who fought him off when he continued his attempts to force himself on her. It was him who made sure she survived when her father finally got tired of getting his ass kicked and gave her the boot. His job was to save her. Always. And especially from herself.
"I tried to help but she took it all away...took it all away...took it all away...took it all away..."
"Ariel honey, why don't you come sit down next to me ?"
"She never lets me help...never...never...never..."
"Because you're a fuckin' moron..."
"Am not...am not...am not..."
"She's looking at the pills again."
"She wouldn't need 'em if somebody waited her turn...wouldn’t need ‘em...wouldn’t need ‘em...wouldn’t need ‘em"
"Rules ain't my thing."
"That's probably what started all this anyway."
"Ehh, it was just a threesome. She needs to get her brains fucked out every once in awhile."
Life for Logan had been hard and, despite what Dr. Ellie told her, she was not strong. Not of mind. Not of body. Not of spirit. She was born broken. Doomed from the moment her father’s boozy sperm poisoned her mother’s hopeful egg. It was better this way. No one would miss her. No one knew she existed. Hell, even her readers didn’t know her name, had never seen her face. Who would it hurt? Not her. A handful pills choked down with a liter of pineapple vodka would put her to sleep forever. She knew she had to be quick or The Shield would stop her, like he had so many times before. She had to be quick. She had to be quick...quick...quick…
"Dammit she's got the bottle..."
"It's not even noon! Go Bobby! Go Now!"
”Not this time sweetie pie. Not ever. You, my dear, will live a long, prosperous life and die of old age so long as I’m around. You almost got me this time. Almost.”
She blinked. The simple act of one eyelid meeting the other. Less than a second and it was over. Banished to her safe place that had become the bane of her existence. She didn’t join The Others around the coffee table. She wasn’t here to fraternize and they knew it. All conversation stopped when she opened that door. The Wild couldn’t meet her eyes. The Mother gave her a sober smile. The Curious, well, she was different.
”Wanna color Logan?”
”No Ariel...not today.”
”Wanna watch me?”
”I’d love to.”
He hated being out. This world didn’t suit him with it’s aggressive technology and political correctness. He came from a different time, when men were men and women did what they were told. It was a simpler time. He knew he was the figment of a damaged little girl’s imagination, they all knew. Okay, they weren’t too sure about The Curious she was a different story and no one was entirely sure where she came from. The Mother speculated that she was the manifestation of Logan’s lost innocence but he didn’t believe in any of that new age mumbo jumbo. It might have made sense if you didn’t look too hard at those creepy drawings or listen to the bizarre songs she sang. As far as he was concerned she served no purpose in Logan’s life, not like the rest of them. His job was to keep her safe. The Mother made sure she took her pills on time, showered every day...mom stuff. The Wild was every bad decision Logan wished she could make all rolled into one. And they were all modeled after some character their broken little girl had become attached over the years with names and backstories, physical appearance they saw through Logan’s eyes.
He was Bobby, not Robert, Gagliardi, a retired mob enforcer. His entire aesthetic was the result of letting a five-year-old watch gangster movies, down to his Brooklyn paisano accent and affinity for flashy suits. His side of the closet in Logan’s second bedroom was stocked with suits Italian cut suits in various shades of grey, crisp white shirts, a couple turtlenecks, a tan leather blazer, and a handful of ridiculous ties. And not one pair of jeans because Bobby Gagliardi dressed like a boss. Always.
And that’s the first thing he did. Well, second. He collected all Logan’s meds first, deposited them in a brown paper bag then jumped in the shower to wash a body that didn’t seem quite right. This was the hardest part for him, the preparation to go out. Bobby knew what he saw in his head wasn’t what the world would see. Despite her reclusive nature, Logan Castle was pretty well built. A shade over 5’8”, her curves had an elongated hourglass shape. Her breasts were ample, the size of grapefruits with nipples that seemed to be constantly erect. She ate well and owned every exercise DVD known to man allowing her to remain slim but soft, and this he had to hide without her years of practice. Bras were the absolute worse and up until recently, Logan purchased undergarments without regard for his lack of expertise. In year 34, she’d finally added a few simply pullovers, without all the bells and whistle, that lay smoothly under his a-line undershirts. She’d also started cutting her hair in a way that would suit his imagined style. Gone was the ponytail that dangled between his shoulder blades, replaced with a long pixie cut with bangs that he could slick back with the right amount of mousse. She even bought him after shave that he splashed on just before heading out the door.
As soon as he hit the street, Bobby made a quick call to Dr. Feelgood. He knew she wasn’t fond of the nickname but Bobby didn’t care. She was nice to look at, even if he didn’t have the equipment to do anything about it. That was The Wild’s job anyway, he was only out to protect Logan. Her survival was all the gratification he needed.
“Eh Doc...it’s me...Bobby G...I’m headed over to your place as we speak. Clear your schedule sweet cheeks we got problems.” She would be pissed about the message but Bobby didn’t care. The sooner she got Logan back on track, the sooner he could get back inside her head.
Complete and utter nonsense, but that’s why people watch television isn’t it? To detach themselves from their own harsh realities. To lose themselves in a pristinely imaginary world full of possibilities and good fun. To laugh at the “misfortune” of others, while ignoring your own. Even if for thirty minutes at a time.
But this isn’t about that show, not directly anyway. This is about a little girl who loved that show. It began as a blissful escape, a mother’s protection from a father who was prone to violence. Drunken rages that swept through that little girl’s already fractured existence. It made her smile, laugh when her father bellowed and rained down blows on her mother in the next room. At some point in her troubled life the show took root in her underdeveloped brain, forever altering her mindscape. When her mother died,her father sold her precious DVDs, but the little girl could still see it when she closed her eyes. As she grew older, the characters began to change and slowly but surely the various locales seemed to disappear until all that was left was that coffee shop with it’s mismatched furniture and huge picture window that looked out on the bustling street beyond. As time went on, even that began to change. Gone was the view of that artificial street corner, replaced by scenes from her own life.
That’s when the fainting spells started. Brought on by intense moments of anxiety, the now teenaged little girl would simply drift off, retreating to that coffee shop to commune with characters of her own creation. As she grew older, she began to notice that inevitable someone would be missing when she walked through that single pane door. And her life seemed to continue through that iconic window. She began losing time. Minutes turned into hours with her having no control over what happened in between and it only served to fuel her anxiety. After waking up in one too many strange places, she began to withdraw from the outside world to lessen the chances of her experiences those intense moments that transported her to her “safe place”. That coffee shop from that ridiculous show that everybody loved so much.
They were nervous today as they sat transfixed before the picture window. Even the little one who usually spent her time skipping rope or coloring delightfully disturbing rendition of her reality sat still. Perched on the arm of the drab green sofa, fingers rubbing a hole in the corner of her dress while the big man paced in front of the coffee table. He spun a set of keys around his middle finger. His heavy brows furrowed, lips pulled into a tight frown, he was the only one who didn’t watch the window. He didn’t have to, he was the first. His connection to her was constant and as far as he was concerned, she didn’t need the others. No matter how much the old lady insisted. To be fair she wasn’t exactly old, “age” was just a concept. A facet of the illusion. Meaningless. At any rate it was her who helped him to understand that they all had a place. Even the loose cannon served a purpose her crass attitude and hedonistic views. Of all of them, she was the least concerned, even if she was almost certain that all this was her fault.
"She's slipping again...I can feel it."
"Aww quit it Bobby. You just wanna excuse to go out."
"Ain't me who needs permission."
"Be nice Bobby. She's just nervous that's all. The editor called again today...
"Stuck again...stuck again...stuck again..."
"SHUT UP ARIEL!!!"
Today was not a good day for Logan Castle. You would think she’d be used to it by now, given her turmoil of her first 33 years. The problem was year 34 had actually been pretty good. No breakdowns. No med imbalances. She was actually writing again and her publisher was ecstatic. Logan had even convinced herself to meet the man in person. Outside the security of her luxury apartment in Chelsea. She’d been doing that a lot in year 34, brief visits to the world beyond her entryway.
What began as a birthday exercise from her therapist had become a semi-regular thing. Logan started off small of course, spending a few minutes every couple days on her buildings public rooftop terrace without the slightest freak out. It took a couple weeks but eventually she convinced herself she could go outside. A walk around the block turned into trips to local galleries. Before she knew it Logan was doing her own grocery shopping and enjoying the occasional trip to the spa. And talking to people. Giving them eye contact. Shaking hands. Making friends. She never thought it was possible, the prospect of being normal. Well, New York City normal because living in the city was like living on a different planet compared to that generic trailer park where she spent her formative years. For the first time in her life, Logan was actually living. Something like happy.
She owed it all to Dr. Ellie. The world’s best psychiatrist as far as Logan was concerned, though she preferred to be called a therapist. Doling out meds was a last resort for Dr. Ellie, instead she focused on the patient well-being. She was the first doctor Logan had been to who didn’t look at her like some kind of psycho anomally. A disorder to be diagnosed. A specimen to be poked and prodded into a neat little box. She was the first doctor to acknowledge The Others as separate entities and not figments of Logan’s broken mind. They were a vital part of her existence, not the nuisance that Logan had come to believe and, under Dr. Ellie’s guidance, she began to treat them as such.
Together, they set up protocols that would allow each their moment in the sun but Logan still held the keys. For a while it worked out well. She stopped losing time when someone forced their way in because only she had the power to let them out. Their parasitic relationship was slowly working its way to the symbiotic kind and Logan began to flourish. She realized that satisfying The Others worked in her favor. Living through them alleviated most of the sources of her anxiety and her panic attacks began to ebb.
Unfortunately, those initial protocols were not airtight. There were moments when The Others could slip the leash. Not all of them took advantage but the one that did was the hardest to wrangle. They called her The Wild. Like a rebellious teenage, she snuck out when Logan was in her deepest sleep to run amok in the city that never sleeps. When Dr. Ellie prescribed a high dose sleeping pill that put them all out, The Wild found another way. Logan’s new found freedom involved the occasion trip to bars where she ordered lightweight cocktails to keep herself just shy of tipsy. It wasn’t a full proof plan and it worked more often than not, but when it didn’t, The Wild would slip through to put Logan’s inexperienced body through all manner of risky behavior. Casual sex. Recreational drug use. It was The Wild who slept with her publisher but Logan’s behavior the morning after that nearly ended her book deal. If not for The Shield handing over the keys to The Mother, Logan would have lost everything.
That was a protocol that was foolproof, turning The Shield into a gatekeeper of sorts and he never let her down. Except that one time when The Wild found herself in the presence of a porn director who promised her fame and fortune after a sloppy blowjob in a nightclub bathroom. To be fair, it was her turn and there was no protocol to prevent her from servicing a couple studs for a quick buck. They called her The Wild but even she had limits. No DP. No bukkake. No cream pies. Everything else was on the table and she was even nice enough to sign her own name on the release instead of Logan’s. Dr. Ellie called it an admission of guilt and Logan was devastated. And on top of all of that, her publisher had pushed up her deadline by three months. Logan knew it was an attempt to rush her out of her contract but there was nothing she could do about it. All requests for extensions were denied, laying the groundwork for breach of contract by non-submission.
Eight months into year 34 Logan Castle began to spiral. The panic attacks came back full force, driving her back into hiding and she lost her grip on The Others. Lucky for her, The Shield was there, like he always had been, to pick up the slack. And he was there now as she contemplated ending it all.
He stood before the window, blocking the view of The Others, all but ignoring them. This wasn’t about them alway. His allegiance was to her, as it always had been. He’d been there from the beginning, protecting her from the ills of the outside world. It was him who broke her father’s nose when he crept into her bedroom after her mother died. It was him who fought him off when he continued his attempts to force himself on her. It was him who made sure she survived when her father finally got tired of getting his ass kicked and gave her the boot. His job was to save her. Always. And especially from herself.
"I tried to help but she took it all away...took it all away...took it all away...took it all away..."
"Ariel honey, why don't you come sit down next to me ?"
"She never lets me help...never...never...never..."
"Because you're a fuckin' moron..."
"Am not...am not...am not..."
"She's looking at the pills again."
"She wouldn't need 'em if somebody waited her turn...wouldn’t need ‘em...wouldn’t need ‘em...wouldn’t need ‘em"
"Rules ain't my thing."
"That's probably what started all this anyway."
"Ehh, it was just a threesome. She needs to get her brains fucked out every once in awhile."
Life for Logan had been hard and, despite what Dr. Ellie told her, she was not strong. Not of mind. Not of body. Not of spirit. She was born broken. Doomed from the moment her father’s boozy sperm poisoned her mother’s hopeful egg. It was better this way. No one would miss her. No one knew she existed. Hell, even her readers didn’t know her name, had never seen her face. Who would it hurt? Not her. A handful pills choked down with a liter of pineapple vodka would put her to sleep forever. She knew she had to be quick or The Shield would stop her, like he had so many times before. She had to be quick. She had to be quick...quick...quick…
"Dammit she's got the bottle..."
"It's not even noon! Go Bobby! Go Now!"
”Not this time sweetie pie. Not ever. You, my dear, will live a long, prosperous life and die of old age so long as I’m around. You almost got me this time. Almost.”
She blinked. The simple act of one eyelid meeting the other. Less than a second and it was over. Banished to her safe place that had become the bane of her existence. She didn’t join The Others around the coffee table. She wasn’t here to fraternize and they knew it. All conversation stopped when she opened that door. The Wild couldn’t meet her eyes. The Mother gave her a sober smile. The Curious, well, she was different.
”Wanna color Logan?”
”No Ariel...not today.”
”Wanna watch me?”
”I’d love to.”
He hated being out. This world didn’t suit him with it’s aggressive technology and political correctness. He came from a different time, when men were men and women did what they were told. It was a simpler time. He knew he was the figment of a damaged little girl’s imagination, they all knew. Okay, they weren’t too sure about The Curious she was a different story and no one was entirely sure where she came from. The Mother speculated that she was the manifestation of Logan’s lost innocence but he didn’t believe in any of that new age mumbo jumbo. It might have made sense if you didn’t look too hard at those creepy drawings or listen to the bizarre songs she sang. As far as he was concerned she served no purpose in Logan’s life, not like the rest of them. His job was to keep her safe. The Mother made sure she took her pills on time, showered every day...mom stuff. The Wild was every bad decision Logan wished she could make all rolled into one. And they were all modeled after some character their broken little girl had become attached over the years with names and backstories, physical appearance they saw through Logan’s eyes.
He was Bobby, not Robert, Gagliardi, a retired mob enforcer. His entire aesthetic was the result of letting a five-year-old watch gangster movies, down to his Brooklyn paisano accent and affinity for flashy suits. His side of the closet in Logan’s second bedroom was stocked with suits Italian cut suits in various shades of grey, crisp white shirts, a couple turtlenecks, a tan leather blazer, and a handful of ridiculous ties. And not one pair of jeans because Bobby Gagliardi dressed like a boss. Always.
And that’s the first thing he did. Well, second. He collected all Logan’s meds first, deposited them in a brown paper bag then jumped in the shower to wash a body that didn’t seem quite right. This was the hardest part for him, the preparation to go out. Bobby knew what he saw in his head wasn’t what the world would see. Despite her reclusive nature, Logan Castle was pretty well built. A shade over 5’8”, her curves had an elongated hourglass shape. Her breasts were ample, the size of grapefruits with nipples that seemed to be constantly erect. She ate well and owned every exercise DVD known to man allowing her to remain slim but soft, and this he had to hide without her years of practice. Bras were the absolute worse and up until recently, Logan purchased undergarments without regard for his lack of expertise. In year 34, she’d finally added a few simply pullovers, without all the bells and whistle, that lay smoothly under his a-line undershirts. She’d also started cutting her hair in a way that would suit his imagined style. Gone was the ponytail that dangled between his shoulder blades, replaced with a long pixie cut with bangs that he could slick back with the right amount of mousse. She even bought him after shave that he splashed on just before heading out the door.
As soon as he hit the street, Bobby made a quick call to Dr. Feelgood. He knew she wasn’t fond of the nickname but Bobby didn’t care. She was nice to look at, even if he didn’t have the equipment to do anything about it. That was The Wild’s job anyway, he was only out to protect Logan. Her survival was all the gratification he needed.
“Eh Doc...it’s me...Bobby G...I’m headed over to your place as we speak. Clear your schedule sweet cheeks we got problems.” She would be pissed about the message but Bobby didn’t care. The sooner she got Logan back on track, the sooner he could get back inside her head.
