[ DELETED POST ]

I think he's gone. I think he's gone. I don't know what happened in the cemetery but I can't even feel him. He's not there. He's not lurking or crawling or creeping in the back of my mind like a predator waiting to strike.

He's gone. He left.

I hope.

[ DELETED POST ]

You son of a bitch. YOU FUCKING SON OF A BITCH.

It's not enough that you're ruining my life, you have to drop me right in the middle of the current bombing, too?

WHAT DO YOU WANT?

Peggy won't leave it alone, Ruthven. It doesn't matter what you are, she won't leave it alone. You may think just because you charmed your way into her pants you'll be safe but she's a dogged one. She'll investigate. She'll spot you. You can't keep hiding behind me you little shit you are not Byron.

You... you touched Lettie. I specifically forbade you from touching Lettie. You are going to regret that.

I am not doing this anymore.

[ PRIVATE LOCKED ]

...

oh, fuck.

[ DELETED POST ]

So close. Oh, John, my boy, you do have the most delicious friends. It's a shame about your lack of subtlety when it comes to your proclivities. Everyone and their mother seems to know you like them to play dead.

It's called 'private' for a reason, you idiot. It makes it hard to exploit certain aspects of you that you don't even seem to know you have.

Anyway. Don't forget: I'm watching. Send my regards to Jane and Jo, won't you?

Yours,

Lord Ruthven.

[ DELETED POST ]

Dear John,

By now you may have begun to suspect what happens when you take the compound you have brewed. I would hope, given time, you would understand its importance and value. You have created something downright liberating, my friend, and it will forever remain.

If you think you can stop me from coming out simply by ceasing to take the drug, I fear you are sorely, sorely mistaken. I am awake, now, John. I am wide-eyed and bushy-tailed and I have seen the world you have hidden and I have experienced its sights and scents and the sensation of skin and the taste of blood.

I am awake, now, John. Trust me, and I will make your life much better. Fight me, and I will wrench your body and soul apart and keep the former for myself.

It's your decision.

Yours,

Lord Ruthven.

[ DELETED POST ]

I can't remember it. I just... woke up with her in my bed. Mary's sister. I hadn't even met her before. It's not the first time something happens fast with a girl, but fast enough for me to not even recollect it, and for her to stay in my room over night?

No. And the loss of memory is worrisome. I should call Byron and talk with him about it; or maybe Jo. I don't know. Last thing I remember was taking the latest version of the compound. For fuck's sake I thought it had knocked me out. But no, apparently I went out and seduced Mary's sister.

This is bad. I should stop this.

[ DELETED POST ]

I don't think I should take the compound any more. Its effects have become noticeably unpredictable. I have not experienced any loss of memory, but I can almost feel myself being wrenched away at certain times; as if there were a second me inside nipping at my soul, trying to tear off a bone to gnaw on.

I yelled at Sammie and as if that were not bad enough, I yelled at Lettie. Does that mean I'm evolving past mere superficiality in my relationships? I know my connection with Lettie is stronger; regretting my outburst at her more than my outburst at Sammie is maybe the most illuminating of all the things that have happened of late.

But Jo is back. We've made tentative plans. I think I know now why Minnie held so much appeal for me: she reminded me of Jo, in a way. That deathly air and wary, distant concern.

I've seen Mary with Jon-Baptiste. I'm very much sure they are 'together'. It's for the best, I've got enough on my mind not to be kept ensnared by some deluded fascination. But still, it makes my insides curl, as if I had a snake that was patiently devouring the butterflies one by one in a timely fashion.

Just a few months ago I was worried about how little I cared.

Now I'm worried about how I care, and worried about whether it really is me who cares... or somethingone else.

The third batch is done; this one is intravenous.

[ DELETED POST ]

I'm not sure what I'm doing. I'm not even sure why I am doing it. It was just a chemistry project. It wasn't supposed to become anything more than that. But then I had to try it, and then make it better, and now it's... something.

The first batch produced the following results:

• heightened senses
• acute euphoria
• enhanced libido
• severe disinhibition

It's addictive, is what it is. Highly addictive.

Time to try the next batch.

George Byron is awake.

He's stabilized, and has some semblance of a sense of humor. It's still two people max to see him at a time, and the hospital insists we not take too much time. But all in all he has made it. I'm driving back up to the hospital shortly, so if anyone needs a ride, give me a call.

[ DELETED POST ]

I've often said that the Byron family as a whole is a cesspool of hatred, betrayal, perversion, and unadulterated decadence. If all the things I have experienced throughout these past eleven or twelve years weren't enough to convince me that I was right in my claim, then last Thursday would be enough to convince not only me, but anyone else.

I'm going to be a father.

I'm going to be a father, of a child that isn't mine, with a woman that isn't mine; and I am to raise it with money that isn't mine, and morals that... well, let's be frank: aren't mine.

I wonder now, in the back of my mind, while I let the shadows from outside play against the stark white ceiling of the room I share with the father of this child -- my brother, though we don't share parentage -- how this kid will turn out.

What kind of child can a bitter, vengeful, broken whore and an obsessive, drug-dealing would-be surgeon possibly raise?

I think about it just a bit, before I look across the room for the answer.

I love him like a brother; but can I stand him as my son?

Byron and I are going to New York for Thanksgiving. I think I've taken care of all the necessary transactions that I had pending. If not, call me yesterday. We should be back in a few days. Everyone have a good time.

[ PRIVATE LOCKED ]

I'm not saying she can't move, but I would've appreciated some warning.

A guy gets used to certain things. Changing it up with absolutely no heads up is not cool.

Just saying.

Also: wtf was up with me having to leave all of a sudden? It's not like Sammie'd be oh no so shocked to find me in there.

Weird.

[ DELETED POST ]

[ LOCKED TO: aftermanydays, sobyronic, on_the_dot, lettiegirl ]

I can't help but entertain both the supernatural side and the skeptic side of this entire debacle. However, that said, I will not be pleased if I find out someone has been infringing on my, errm, territory.

I have to eat, you know. Damn colleges and their chemistry labs...

[ PRIVATE LOCKED ]

Mary found out about Minnie and I, and our activities. I don't really care. It is starting to worry me how little I care. I know I feel something for Mary. I have a crush, or am in love. No, not in love: I have seen it enough to know. I feel something, but it's not enough for me to care. What does that mean?

I couldn't care less about Minnie, but I have sex with her. For some reason she can turn me on, and she cares, in some way. But I don't.

It's starting again. I can feel it. I wish I could shake him out of it but I can't. He won't let me. He takes drugs and he goes out and he finds more. I've started slipping placebos and duds into the things I give him, just to curb the effects a bit.

It won't work for long.

He won't listen to me, and I'm the one people call when he won't listen so who do I call?

[ E-MAIL ]

TO: elandon@meridian.edu
FROM: jpolidori@meridian.edu
SUBJECT: Support.

Lettie. I need your help. I can't clean this one up by myself. Meet me after your last class? I've got him on some sedatives that should keep him... well, sedate.

[ PRIVATE POST ]

I know I'm desensitized, but...

Doesn't ANYBODY just slit their wrists anymore?

For fuck's sake, he's got the world in the palm of his hand and all he can think to do with it is rape it to death over and over again.

He's my best friend and all I can offer by way of condolence is agreement when he self-deprecates; and I can't even feel guilty about that, because let's face it...

... I need another bucket. Guh.

Does anybody do any base-jumping?

I can't clean up this mess by myself. Not this time.

You're all pricks. Wallow wallow. Drink drink.

Does anybody pick locks? I don't have the keys to this fucking car.

EDIT: Nevermind. I'll call a fucking tow. I'm not ready to be incinerated yet.

[ LOCKED TO: fuschia_drowns ]

It was good. Repetition would be welcome.

It was a Sunday in mid-November; I'd state it as cold but for we lived in Georgia and saying Georgia is cold in November would earn me the label liar, a label with which I am not unfamiliar but would rather discourage its association. I was ten years old, prime of my childhood; and I had met my first real friend of my entire life not a month before. He had already slept over, as had I at his house, and we were bound so tight t'would be quicker to cut us apart as one might a convoluted and frustrating knot.

It was morning, and though the sun was clouded I could see its shiny rays behind the gray-white pillows that moved across the blue tapestry. I slipped from my bed late, I had arranged to meet Byron at his house for a day of torturing his parents with unorthodox bratty behavior. ( It was his favorite pastime and I admit it sparked my adventurous side. )