Forgoing the picture today because I wanna. 

LJ Idol is doing intersections again and my wife decided she wanted to partner up with me (did I mention she was doing it, too? Because she is). I brainstormed a few ideas with my bff Sarah, sent said ideas to the Wife, and she liked them so much she came up with her own take on it. She’ll be writing Mitchel’s POV this week while I get to play with Jazz’s side of the story. The start of my half is posted below:


I can’t fucking believe this.

I love you, Jazz. Mitchel said that to me. Mitchel. You gotta be fucking kidding me. There’s no way. There’s no way Mitchel actually fucking loves me and there’s just no way he’s not manipulating me now, just like he always has. Just like he always will. I wrap my arms around myself and bite my lip, trying to keep the tears at bay as I fly down the steps leading away from Mitchel’s apartment.

He sounded sincere.

He’s always sounded sincere, though, even back when we were seeing each other — back before Savin and I —


Oh fuck. I can’t go home. There’s no way — Savin’ll flip his shit. Savin’ll know, and I can’t — I can’t stand the idea of losing him. I can’t stand the idea of telling him what happened, what Mitchel said, what we did. I can’t breathe and I find myself stopping in my tracks, putting my face in my hands. I just — how the hell am I gonna fix this?

I want to scream. I want to fucking tear my hair out and cry and never take a step back inside my own apartment but I can’t. Instead, I collapse against the steps and sit down at the edge of them, cradling my head in my hands. I can cry. I’m allowed to cry.

But the tears don’t want to come. I rake my fingers through my hair, pushing it out of my eyes. I wish I had my cap. Wish I could just hide my eyes with it, have it pulled so low no one recognizes my face. But I don’t have it. I don’t have it and I can’t call Ryin, either, he’s probably asleep or on Hooba or on Mirk and fuck, I need to call someone for advice because — because I can’t just go home. Not when I can still feel Mitchel’s hands on me — not when I can see the softness in his eyes I’ve wanted to see since I’ve known the bastard, and —

I cut that thought off, shaking my head violently. I force myself to breathe, make each one longer than the last and close my eyes.

“I thought you were heading home.”

“Leave me alone, Mitchel,” I groan. “I don’t wanna talk to you.”

Mitchel sits down beside me, impeccably dressed as always. His hair is disheveled, which I guess says a lot. He doesn’t look at me, and instead focuses his eyes forward, a slight frown on his face. “You’re still going to marry him, aren’t you?”

“What kind of fucking question is that?” I snap, turning to face him entirely. I scoot as close to the railing as I can, putting greater distance between us. “Of course I’m still gonna marry him.”

Mitchel nods and smooths back his hair. “Clearly, I took too long to act –”

“You shouldn’t have ‘acted’ at all,” I growl, tightening my arms over my chest. “The fuck did you think was gonna happen? That I would sleep with you and drop Savin, just like that? I love him, Mitchel. I wouldn’t have fucking asked him to marry me if I — if I didn’t.”