apollo watched icarus.

the god watched as icarus was melting wax, skin tight over his knuckles, voice strained as he yelled out after the hot wax dripped onto his pale skin.

oh, i’m sorry, my dearest.

apollo watched icarus.

the god watched as icarus was melding the metal frame together, arms taught and muscular, working over the flame, cursing as the flame grazed his palm.

oh, another one.

apollo watched icarus.

the god watched as icarus sat at the cliffs edge, staring out at the grey ocean below, grinning when the water sprayed into his golden hair.

i wish things were different.

apollo was a prophet. he knew icarus was going to burn, he knew that icarus was going to drown. still, he couldn’t seem to put an end to his fascination. apollo knew that he’d be the demise of his lover, but he couldn’t help himself. once he began to care, he just couldn’t let go.

im sorry, darling. i wish that i was different. i wish that you were different. i’m sorry for falling in love. i’m sorry you fell in love.

jesus christ i have too many secrets to fill up this page, but i can’t even admit them to myself, let alone this traceable ip adress. i can only let go of the silly details, the terribly-horendous ones that nobody would blink at.

secret 1: i blame my mother, i blame my ex-bestfriend, i blame my sibling.

secret 2: sometimes my anxiety gets so bad my heart beats out of my chest and i’m shaking and all i want to do is let is fucking bleed out of my body.

secret 3: i don’t feel like a survivor. i don’t think anything really bad happened. everyone is out here saying i’m special because i’m alive, or whatever, and here i am, throwing that away in the name of vanity.

secret 4: i keep all my feelings locked in my chest. i won’t let you know how i’m feeling, i won’t let you in, because you haven’t hurt me.

secret 5: goddamn, i feel like people are constantly watching me, constantly judging.

secret 6: if you decode these, i won’t tell you if it’s true.

"You are a terrible friend."

My heart and stomach drop.

A year later, my dearest best friend drops out. Starts getting homeschooled, or something. Now, now, now, I second guess every decision I make. Everything I think, everything that happened.

This girl was a devil in disguise, and I'm not talking petty drama. All she talked about was her pets and drawing. All I talked about was her pets and drawing.

It's been three years. I don't draw anymore. People talking about their pets obsessively always remind me of her.

That girl was a devil in disguise, and I'm not talking about a huge fight. I'm talking about a silent explosion, a silent murder. Her fingers quietly digging into my skin in the back of the class, while I started failing my classes, while the teachers ignored it.

We had been friends for four years. I avoided any topic that had to do with her clinginess, the fact that she was my only friend.

One time, she slapped me because I didn't want to walk to fourth period with her. She wanted power and I gave it to her. She wanted somewhere to wipe her muddy boots and I became a doormat. She wanted someone to break and I gladly volunteered.

She has been out of the school system for two or three years at this point. The other day she messaged me saying that she might be coming back. I didn't respond. Today I blocked her. Today, today, today.

I must be making this up.

I woke up. Or did I?

Why the hell was I in a...hotel? A bedroom?

It should have been a dream, but then my head decided to feel like it was blowing up and I decided with purpose that no, this was not a dream.

I had just woken up in a bed that wasn't mine.

Typically, though this might not be the case for everyone, I woke up in my own bed. At home. In fucking Connecticut.

Suddenly, something moved in the covers next to me, and spoke in a language I couldn't understand. God, why had I taken latin in highschool? It was a woman, that much was clear.

"Bonjour, madamoiselle," She whispered, voice hoarse. I must have looked at her with a horrified face, because she just laughed and said, "I'm just kidding. I thought it would be funny because we're in Mexico."

"What?" I yellped out. I shot out of the bed, and took the covers with me. Was I naked? I looked down. I wasn't naked, completely, anyway.

"Yeah," She said calmly, and as familiar as she almost looked, I couldn't place her. She was gorgeous, and her hair was something close to a , but I was a woman of integrity. I didn't do one night stands, especially since I had a boyfriend. I shook my head.

That wasn't true anymore.

"Okay," I said, preparing myself for the worst outcome, "This might sound like an asshole move, but who are you? And why am I here?"

"Oh, I'm an escort," She chirped. I must've made another terrified face, because she frowned, "That was a joke. I'm Chloe. We met last night, got blasted, then decided to take a trip-"

"Because my boyfriend broke up with me," I finished, sighing. My head hurt. My brain hurt. "Did we do anything last night?"

Chloe looked confused for a second, before grinning, "You're into girls?"

"Answer the question."

"Nah," She giggled. I could see why drunk-me decided to take a trip with her. She was wild. "Let's go get some breakfast."

"Dude," She said, "That's like, fucked up."

"So what?" He said, "Just because I was addicted to coke once upon a time doesn't mean I'm not allowed to have aversions to other drugs."

"You just said that herione was a poor persons drug, that's a rich thing for you to say."

He supposed she was right. Heroin was a different animal than cocaine. Cocaine was for the rich kids, the groupies, the superstars. Heroin was, well, the same, but it had a stigma that was meant for the overdoses that nobody talked about, the quiet states, the people freezing to death outside on the street.

"Okay," He agreed, watching her light a cigarette, "But I'd never touch it. Needles freak me out. Just thinking about shooting anything..."

She laughed as he shivered in disgust. He wanted to smoke. He wanted to vomit.

"So." She blew the smoke in an almost ring. "This dealer or whatever, you're gonna beat him up?"

"Absolutely," He laughed, flexing his fingers. "Okay, I'm gonna go back inside now. My father'll be real pissed if I don't support him or whatever."

He hated his father.

"I'll join you once I'm done with this cig." Her breath showed in the cold air. "Have fun, copper."

"Don't call me that," He groaned, looking her up and down, "I'm not the dead beat of this family, okay?"