Review: Substance Clad In Shadows - Nietzsche and the Eternal Return

Fanfiction: Substance Clad In Shadows

I've been the prey, praying for a way out of mazes of my own making. Weak, wanton. 

ch 25

He eyes me warily. "You don't know what I want."

But I'm sure I do. Because everyone wants power, but few understand that it isn't titles or speeches or money — it's a whisper in a dark place, a kiss in the corner, a shapeless something in the shadows.

It's in the predatory smile of a young man as he seduces his prey on the cold stone bench of a garden maze. ch 26

I smile at him and inhale, searching for the familiar rush, the beginning of something new, an escape from escape itself:

Freedom. ch 22

He complies, shoving into me hard, hard, hard enough to hurt but it's good, it's the best and I want more. Suddenly I'm moving through the deep, through the dark, through a red haze and an old maze that unfurls like a wrinkled banner and there is no monster here, no blood or victory, there's nothing but release and freedom and up, up, up until I breach the surface of a faraway sun, gasping as I come. The sound is ugly and sharp. ch 22

Is the myth of Daedalus and Icarus well known enough?

King Minos of Knossos had commissioned the Athenian artisan Daedalus to design a labyrinth in which to imprison the monster the Minotaur. Daedalus gave the key of the maze to Minos's daughter Ariadne, who gave it to her lover Theseus so he could enter the labyrinth, slay the Minotaur and find his way out. For this he left her and she became consoled by Bacchus (Dionysius), the god of wine, laughter, excess. For his disobedience Daedalus and his son Icarus are imprisoned in the labyrinth and Daedalus knows the only way out is the sky. He designs wings for them to fly out telling Icarus not to fly too low and be drowned in the sea, nor too high or the sun will melt the wax securing the feathers of his wings. 

In other words, "Take the middle road. Not the road of excess."

Icarus flew too close to the bright hot sun and perished, drowning in the Aegean Sea.

Another variation has Theseus laying a thread down as he enters the labyrinth to slay the Minotaur, so he can find his way out.

And Bella is constantly "following the thread" in her thinking and actions.

But then breathe,

breathe again,

and follow the thread, ch 26

The myth of Daedalus and Icarus

http://www.island-ikaria.com/culture/myth.asp

King Minos and Daedalus had great understanding at first, but their relationships started deteriorating at some point; there are several versions explaining this sudden change, although the most common one is that Daedalus was the one who advised Princess Ariadne to give Theseus the thread that helped him come out from the infamous Labyrinth, after killing the Minotaur.  http://www.greekmyths-greekmythology.com/myth-of-daedalus-and-icarus/

The most important aria in either version is "Großmächtige Prinzessin" / "high and mighty princess", is sung by Zerbinetta. Other important pieces of the opera are the arias of Ariadne "Wo war ich...?" / "Where was I...?", "Ein schönes war es..." / "There was something beautiful..." and "Es gibt ein Reich..." / "There is a realm..." http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ariadne_auf_Naxos

Bella's beloved Ilse her German Nanny of her childhood, who refuses to drug her and leaves would connect the German language and the music.

Her reply is unintelligible, and then footsteps fade, leaving only Ilse's soft, half-sung German.

"Weißt du, wieviel Mücken spielen

in der heißen Sonnenglut?

Wie viel Fische auch sich kühlen

in der hellen Wasserflut?" ch 24 

Substance Clad In Shadows has a scene near the end at the opera when Turandot is being performed. I would suggest an editing with Ariadne auf Noxos instead. The novel consistently is structured round the metaphor of the labyrinth - the maze - on a real and conceptual level. Ariadne auf Noxos begins with Ariadne in a grief stricken state because Theseus has left her. 

Bella's intention is to free Edward and make him hers. To tear the veil of illusion - maya -  from his being as she has done with the others, who revile her for doing so. She is going to slay the god of her childhood, destroy him as he is now, but she becomes caught in her own maze game, as Daedalus  was caught in his labyrinth. She also tries to fly out but finds there is nowhere to go. She is caught in the Foucauldian Grid of power/knowledge/normality/capital, another name for The Maze of mythology. Her only flight is the excessiveness of Eros.

The genius of this fanfic is that hollelujah has fictionalized the Panopticon, the surveillance mechanism in the Foucauldian Grid 
of power/knowledge/normality/capital

If I listen closely enough, I can hear the clink of glasses from the rooms inside, the 

chatter of his 

parents' guests, so perfectly groomed, raised to their places by a million petty rules, by 

the 

captivity of caring for reputation, for convention. ch 26

The ubiquitous people. Always asking, always talking.

"

Good of them to notice I was gone," I reply.

If my father

 notices my sarcasm, he does not acknowledge it. "Everyone notices 

everything. Reputations rise and fall on perception, Isabella. Ours 

could be destroyed in a minute." ch 27

"Randolph Bourne said that 'Society is one vast conspiracy for carving one into the kind of statue it likes,

and then placing it in the most convenient niche it has.'"ch 9

 "There is no choice," I choke out. "There's 

nothing else." ch 26 

"There is no outside," says Vija Kinski quoting 

Foucault.

There is no knowledge that is not power, my father quotes from behind a stately-looking podium. - Emerson  ch 23

She understands that seduction is the only way out to endure the Grid, the Matrix. An endless seduction that raises the ante, that increasingly challenges, challenges increasingly, within Nietzsche's Eternal Return.

Because it can't be love. I don't want poems or well-wishes and I will not sacrifice for his happiness, I want nothing to do with it if it means letting him go. ch 26 (Ayn Rand)

I am not enough — but I will be enough. ch 26

And what we have here is a relationship from the future. A sign of a possibility from the future. A possibility that we can provide space and time around it to nourish it, to bring it into being. A relationship that does not leave a man wanting a prostitute for the kind of sex he cannot get or ask for anywhere else. A relationship that does not leave a woman bored and yearning and longing. An erotic relationship where each is both prey and predator turning around and around, challenging each other, seducing each other, wanting each other, gratifying each other. Two people who do not need to provoke sex from others for variety, because they create their own variety. 

DUSTY A Review: SLOW FADING - Outtake

DUSTY - SLOW FADING - HERE

A long outtake from Dusty's POV

YellowGlue is writing a very fine explanation of Dusty's cocaine addiction that while it may not be universal, certainly explains the addiction of so many young people.

THE TERRIBLE CONFRONTATION WITH DEATH

WITH THE VOID

WITH REALITY WITHOUT THE VEIL OF ILLUSION

A REALITY DUSTY SEES. A HYPER-REALITY DUSTY SEES THAT IS UNBEARABLE

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For Dusty is seeing the SCREEN

BAUDRILLARD

DUSTY HAS STOPPED FALLING AND HIT BOTTOM

And then, right there in front of everyone, it finally happens.

I'm not falling anymore.

I fall all the way down.

And the bottom?

The bottom is just dark.

Just alone, with chains and weights and locks you had every chance to shrug off and never did.

The bottom is keeping up appearances through a group picture with eight people who have no idea you just died so that the mother of your murderer can have a pretty picture to hang in her living room.

The bottom is feeling the person you thought for so long was love and home and heart and soul to you, looking right at you without any hint of an idea what she's just done.

The bottom is knowing she doesn't see you.

And if it's better this way, it doesn't even matter, because she never did.

If she had, I'd be walking to the Continental next to her instead of Petey.

I'd have her hand in mine instead of my phone.

I'd be kissing the pulse point I squeezed too tightly, instead of deleting her number and dialing his.

Edward has seen through the SPECTACLE of  graduation porno disguising the emptiness of the ritual. And he sees the horror of the ritual to be continued with marriage, children, your own children graduating, finding something you tell yourself you want to do, and all the while just  waiting for death. It is the awareness of DEATH in life that Malabou writes about. Is this what Jesus meant when he said, "Let the dead bury the dead?" Edward knows he is dead on his side of the window/screen, but so are they, only they are not aware that they are dead. So they do not require drugs giving the deadening of awareness. 

This is the theme of:

DUSTY Chapter 35

I try to remember the last time I looked at my girl through unaddicted eyes.

It's been years. I've been lit, guilty, spun, drunk-wasted the entire time. Every day. Through each I love you, through 

each touch, through each don't ever leave me. All the affection I have ever showed this girl has been habit-stained. 

It's never just been me. Ever. Cocaine has always been there. And before coke, it was bud or E, or shots of Jameson 

on my bedroom floor.

I've been dragging her though my bullshit for years, doing what I need to do to keep her, saying what I need to say to 

make sure she's always around. I dump all of my misuses on Bella because she's the only one who can carry them and still love me the same.

After everything I've done, she forever loves me back.

I take another drag from my smoke and pull at the front of my hair.

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.

I love her too hard.

I love her unsafe.

I love her to the brink.

Dope sick and tipped, I'm looking at her, and she's so small. She's a seventeen-year-old girl, cluttered with scars, manipulated into loving me. My stigma is all over her. I'm all over her. She never even had a chance against a monster like me.

I influenced her.

I sought and took.

I tricked her into loving me, because I did love her first.

I took advantage.

I've hurt her.

I just made her bleed.

That's not the first time. Cocaine smiles.

I've been with other girls, and I've chosen drugs—

I can make this go away, Dusty.

"Bliss,"I whisper with a throat lodged full of regret. I shake my head in an attempt to clear too many thoughts. I can think straight. I haven't had to think with a straight mind in so long.

"Hey," she says soothingly, brushing my too long hair away from my eyes. Baby smiles and my insides constrict. "Tell me," she says.

I clear my throat. "Princess," I say, brimming with anxiety and regret and self-disgust and how could she let me do this to her?

"Fuck," I moan into B's stomach.

Baby rubs my back and speaks quietly. "Tell me, Edward. Tell me..."

She turns my head with her hands on the side of my face, forcing me to be still, giving me no other choice but to look at her.

"I'm clean. I'm clean," I cry.

Looking at her is too hard. It's all there, on every part of her—our whole relationship. It's in the guilt behind her eyes, and in the purple below them. It's explained in her bitten-too-low fingernails, and in the dark bruises I kissed on her neck. It's in her cut lip and tangled hair. It's her sleeping in the back of this car when she should be at home in her bed. It's how she knows how to talk to me, a drug addict on a week long comedown. It's in the way she touches me, just right. It's in the life she's thrown away for this. It's in her uncertain future. It's in her broken friendship with Alice. It's in every lie she keeps.

It's in her beating-for-me heart.

It's in me, able to ignore all of it because I've been too fucked up to care.

And now I'm clean.

But I don't know how I can stay this way.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

For Edward to tolerate then access his power to be, to be an ubermensch (Nietzsche) this is his task in becoming "clean."

To quote Foucault on curiosity: it evokes "a concern", it evokes the care one takes for what exists and could exist; an acute sense of real which, however, never becomes fixed; a readiness to find our surroundings strange and singular; a certain restlessness in ridding ourselves of our familiarities and looking at things otherwise; a passion for seizing what is happening now and what is passing away; a lack of respect for traditional hierarchies of the important and the essential.

Eric Packer cannot reinvent himself either; find the "restless identities stirring":

Maybe he didn't want that life after all, starting over broke, hailing a cab in a busy intersection filled with jockeying junior executives, arms aloft, bodies smartly spinning to cover every compass point. What did he want that was not posthumous? He stared into space. He understood what was missing, the predatory impulse, the sense of large excitation that drove him through his days, the sheer and reeling need to be. (C. 209)

Dusty has decided to leave Bliss knowing she will suffer and knowing what she will realize from it. To become herself. To free her of himself. As Badiou says:

At the heart of love à la française lies the idea of 

freedom. To love truly is to want the other free, and this 

includes the freedom to walk away. Love is not about 

possession or property. Love is no prison where two 

people are each other’s slaves. Love is not a commodity, 

either. Love is not capitalist, it is revolutionary. If 

anything, true love shows you the way to selflessness.

In his recent book, “In Praise of Love,” the French 

philosopher Alain Badiou 

reminds us that love implies 

constant risk. There is no safe, 

everlasting love. The idea 

that you can lock two people’s 

love once and for all, and toss 

the key, is a puerile fantasy. 

For Mr. Badiou, love is 

inherently hazardous, always 

on the brink of failure and 

above all vulnerable. Embrace its fragility, wish your 

beloved 

to be free and you might just, only just, have a chance to 

retain his or her undying gratitude, and love

Now Dusty is out as a book - Innocents

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/19214578-innocents

REVIEW: DUSTY - Bella's Acts of DE-SHAMING

DUSTY by YELLOWBELLA - Link to Fanfic HERE

Zuza’s New Book!

“No fear or shame in the dignity of yr experience, language & knowledge.”  - Jack Kerouac

Dr. Zuzanna Szatanik (Professor of Gender Studies and Literature) 

What is brilliant about Zuza’s book, De-shamed. Feminist strategies of transgression. The case of Lorna Crozier´s poetry, is that it demonstrates a very clear and compelling argument for how shame can be traversed precisely by giving voice to women.  By allowing (or risking) women to voice their shame they are able to trans-gress the power that shame has had over them.  As a consequence of voicing shame–women can be liberated from the power that shame has had over them both psychologically and socially (symbolically).  What I especially like about the basic matrix of this book is that this same “de-shaming” strategy can be used to liberate other perceived acts of shame; indeed Zuza is brilliant in identifying the logic of shaming itself.   MORE

From: Creston Davis« Katowice: A New Cultural Revolution–a new postsecular atonalism

Objet petit a

The Unobtainable Object of Desire

Often when a person in power exacts 

their power onto a target (a group or 

person) they will use tactics of shame 

in order to silence the victim.  That is, 

they will “frame” the targeted victim in 

terms of “shaming” so that the target 

(the one who is a victim of sexual 

abuse or of a false accusation etc.) 

will be too ashamed to speak the truth– 

to trans-gress the oppressor by 

exposing the oppressor as the true 

culprit of injustice.  By discovering the 

power of “de-shaming” we are able to 

expose the oppressor for what they 

truly are. But not only are you able to 

expose the oppressor you are at the 

same time liberated from their 

oppressive scheme of “shaming” you.

   

 In this way the one 

who feels shame is able to reverse the 

table by exposing the truth, even if the 

telling of that truth is perceived as 

shameful.

___________DUSTY CHAPTER 37 SPOILERS AHEAD_______________

But then: "Bliss, I saw Edward kiss you."

My heart beats.

It pounds.

It fights inside my chest cavity and struggles to get through my breast bone.

No, it whispers.

No, it repeats.

Then: "Bella—"

Closing my eyes, wishing he wouldn't do this, I say, "Garrett, don't."

But he says, "Bliss, I know."

And then: "I know everything."

I cover my mouth with both of my hands and open my eyes. Staring at the sand in disbelief, I shake my head.

No.

_______________________________________________________________

He touches me. He reaches for my arm. And I'm crying. So hard. I'm sobbing.

He pulls me closer, and I don't move away. I give him one last chance to mean something, but compared to Edward, he means nothing.

I press my face into his shoulder and whisper quiet goodbyes on his skin. I circle my arms around the back of his neck and run my fingers through his too-busy-sketching-to-cut hair. I let him kiss the side of my face. I stand a little closer because I love his warmth. I love his skater boy scent: grass and sun and summer. The smoke smell I hate on myself is so good on him.

"I'll miss you," I cry.

"I won't be far," he says.

But he doesn't get it.

This goodbye isn't for now; it's for good.

______________________________________________________________

Garrett doesn't let me go, though. He's still kissing my face, closer to my mouth. Little by little, perfect presses…

Until his lips are on mine and his tongue is parting my bottom from my top. Until he's inside of me the only way this boy has ever been—the only way he ever will be.

No, my heart groans.

No, it seethes.

________________________________________________________________

When I turn around and look back into dark brown eyes, I find that the conversations around us have hushed slightly and eyes are darting, and I have the same feeling I had in my bedroom before I left. It's the same awareness I felt with Alice, and my parents. It's the same changeless sentience I've always felt when dealing with something other than my boy.

___________________________________________________________________

Either way, he wasn't fooled. He never was.

With his kiss only seconds old, still burning like a trespass on my lips, I say, "Garrett, you can't tell—"

_______________________________________________________________

I can't see through all of the commotion. A chair gets thrown, a person is pushed down, glass breaks. There's yelling from the door, and an entire group of people trying to hold someone back.

Love is knowing who it is.

Some, who were just sitting around the fire, get up from their chairs and separate from their groups, choosing to run toward the disturbance to get a better look, leaving only Garrett and I near the flames.

And I know—I know before I see him.

I know it before I even hear Petey yell, "Edward, back the fuck up!"

And I know before I hear Alice ask, "Why do you even care?"

And I know before Garrett says, "This is what happens when you keep secrets."

____________________________________________________________________

Go, my heart beats.

Go, it pulses.

The love I love the most takes one more step toward me before Petey and Ben both pull him back by his flannel.

There's more yelling and more cursing and more crying, and I can't stand still anymore.

I break from my spot in the sand and run toward him. The closer I get, as I move through bodies, I keep love's eyes. His body is being maneuvered and handled, but his eyes are mine, deep-dark and unbound.

And I hear people:

"What's going on?"

"Edward and Bella?"

"What?"

"Really?"

"No fucking way!"

______________________________________________________________

"Please," I groan between closed teeth, using her chest to push myself back.

I consider biting her face, pulling her hair and punching her in the stomach, but she finally lets me go.

When she does, I run.

This time, people move out of my way. They look at me as I pass. They wonder how they missed this.

_______________________________________________________________

Jasper, who's stuck firm in front of his friend, looks at me every time my name passes Garrett's lips. And as Garrett says things like, "He busted her fucking headlights," and "Remember at the beach … remember when Bliss was crying?" Jasper's expression gives nothing away.

His words do, though.

"Fuck Bliss," he says.

"She's not fucking worth it, Garrett," Jasper spits, turning away from me. "She's a fucking liar, bro. She's just a slut, G."

It almost hurts.

Garrett calms while Jasper talks to him, and when I notice him nodding his head in agreement, I turn away with no intention of turning back.

I want to leave.

______________________________________________________________

With his hand circled around my small wrist, my boy forces my fingers from ripped cotton. He holds my arm up, glaring at me. Rather than cowering like anyone else would, I stand up to Edward. I give him my wrist, because his hold feels so suffocatingly right. I give him my eyes, because his are so fucking gone, he can just have mine. I say his name over his face, giving him air, because he's not even breathing.

"I want to go," I say, almost like a whisper.

Even if we're not a secret anymore, this is only for him.

My boy cracks a sarcastic smile as his fingers tighten impossibly more. "Yeah?" he asks.

I stand straighter, almost touching his chest with my own. "Yes."

Edward's eyes fall from mine, to my nose, to my lips—lips that still sting from being kissed by another.

My guy tilts his head in Garrett's direction. "That's not what you want?"

"No," I say without a thought.

He laughs, and all of his teeth show—like they used to. Except now, it's wrong. All of this.

Edward lets go of my wrist and takes a step away, killing me. "You fooled me, princess."

_______________________________________________________________

My eyes shift away from love for a half-second. All of our friends are standing around us, watching. It's only been a few minutes, but I'm already being met with uncertainty and mistrust. Alice has her hands over her mouth. Petey lurks in the far back, because he knew. Garrett is staring right at me, pleading silently. Nobody else will look me in the eyes. They kick sand with the toes of their shoes. Ben runs his hand through his hair, looking up at the stars. Jasper won't even face my direction.

They think they know.

They have no idea.

They're clueless to the roles they really played. How we used them. How we lied to them.

Pawns.

And our friends may feel betrayed now, but it's nothing compared to what they'll go through when they learn the whole truth.

Turning away from them is easy, though. Easier than I ever imagined it being. My only concern is Edward, and when I look at him, his eyes are on mine... and they're the only pair that matter.

"I'm ready," I say with my heart in my throat.

_______________________________________________________________

My eyes water, and my hands shake. Dried blood sticks to my elbow, and my arms and legs are covered with goosebumps. I'm losing everything that has ever been important to me; a veil has been lifted, and my innocence stripped.

But it's fine … as long as I have him, it's fine.

"All of a sudden?" he asks, still smiling. He pats his pockets, like he always does. "Why? Because you kissed this kid?"

I shake my head. Cold tears spill from my eyes, down my cheeks.

________________________________________________________________

He would die for me, and I totally fucked him.

I let him down, just like everyone else.

I gave up on Edward, when my heart and my body screamed at me not to.

When he begged me not to.

Edward spits more blood on the concrete. He faces Garrett and says, "Go near my girl again and I'll fucking kill you."

_________________________________________________________________

I take a few steps, but I don't really start to move until I hear the side gate slam shut. Adrenaline that never really calmed pumps my blood and beats my heart. It moves my feet and thaws frozen limbs. Every nerve ending in my body sparks and erupts, lighting up dormant affection and taken-for-granted tenderness.

I can't let him leave again … not without me.

As I pass his sister, Alice grabs onto my wrist and jerks me back. I pull my arm, trying to get free, but she doesn't let me go. Her lips don't need to move for me to know what she's asking. Her eyes are screaming accusations, and her defensive stance is confirming her suspicions.

She knows.

Her best friend was never only her best friend.

__________________________________________________________________

Ignoring whispers from the group on the porch, I run across the lawn. I rush past Alice's Jeep, and Ben's BMW. I hurry under orange street lights and trip over a crack in the sidewalk. I press fallen leaves under my wedges, and I breathe in the cold sea breeze.

I wipe my eyes on my forearm and cry for him again, "Edward!"

__________________________________________________________________

Edward and my dad have moved from the driveway to the lawn. My boy sees me as soon as I come into view, but my dad has his back facing me. Love's dark eyes linger my way before slowly shifting back to Charlie's. Edward holds his hands up, as if surrendering. He shakes his head. He looks down.

Then my dad pushes him.

I scream, "Dad!"

Like I did when my mom pushed me, Edward stumbles back but doesn't fall.

My mom grabs my wrist, out of breath and panting, just as Charlie pushes Edward again. This time love falls to one knee, catching himself with his hands.

Too dire to care about my bruised wrists, Renee holds on to my right forearm with both hands. I groan against the pain, but fight for my arm.

"Mom... Mom, please! Please!" I cry, outrageously.

_______________________________________________________________________

It's not until the next door neighbor comes out of the house to see what's going on that she lets me go.

With both of my hands free, I hurry and slide my thumb across the damaged glass on my phone. It slices me open this time, drawing blood, but the pain doesn't register.

While the phone rings and my mom tries to explain to the neighbor that everything's okay, I hurry away from her and run toward my boy.

________________________________________________________________

Between her knees, with her arms wrapped around mine and her cheek pressed on the top of my head, I can't answer. There are so many things wrong with me. Everything is fucked up.

Our friends were never supposed to find out the way they did. Alice was never supposed to throw my purse at me. My mom was never supposed to block the door. My dad shouldn't be pushing Edward into the fence.

This is where we've fallen, though.

Literally.

My hair has come undone from my braid and water from the lawn is soaking into my sweats. I've stopped fighting, only because the harder I fight, the stronger she holds.

Our neighbors from across the street have come out of their house.

"Renee, should we call the police?" they ask, standing on their porch.

_______________________________________________________________

Staying back with Petey, I watch as Esme runs heads toward my mother. They immediately start arguing. My mom is pointing her finger like she always does, and Esme is standing with her arms crossed, stunning, even now. But as my mother continues to explain what's going on, I see Esme's defenses fall and confusion take their place. My second mother looks at me from over her shoulder before giving her attention back to a woman she could never really stand.

"Did you know?" my mom asks madly. "Did you know about them, Esme?"

I take a few steps in their direction. Petey grabs my hand and follows, holding me back when I get too close.

Esme shakes her head, visibly crying. "I thought... I—"

Both women look at me, disappointment so apparent.

_______________________________________________________________________

My heart breaker is in front of me, lifting my chin, pushing hair away from my face. "It's okay, B. It's better... it is."

I snap out of it.

I grab the collar of his shirt and pull. I cry like I've never cried before. I fight like I have nothing else to lose, because I don't.

I have no best friend, no family, no Edward.

I have nothing.

The worst part is he lets me. This life taker just holds onto me while I tug and punch and yell. I rip his shirt. I re-split his lip. I scratch his face. I pull his hair. I take us to our knees.

"I've done everything!" I cry, collapsing against him. "You can't leave me, Edward."

Our eyes meet and they stay for a moment, remembering, loving, memorizing.

Edward reaches up and twirls a lock of my hair between his fingers. He watches strawberry blonde dance in his hand before letting it fall.

Then we're being pulled away.

________________________________________________________________

DUSTY CHAPTER 38

So when she asked how I was, instead of faking it like I always had before, instead of going along like I had for months, I told the truth.

"Shitty," I said, light and casual with my attempt at honesty. "Kind of... yeah, really shitty."

She laughed. Not at me, but the half-under-her-breath, half tell me about it kind. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I nodded.

"That sucks," she said, lifting her left hand up curiously. "Pete said he's tried to call you."

I nodded again, looking at my feet. I had on flip-flops too, but the purple paint on my toes was chipped and the ends of my sweat pants were stepped-on and frayed.

"Yeah." I nodded some more, frustrated and bitter at myself, my mom and dad, him, the world. Everything. "They took my phone and watch me like fucking hawks." 

________________________________________________________________

I was wreckage, anchored by a heart I hated for keeping me alive. Skinny, dingy, and indolent, I let the life I was left with go to waste, but that day, when I got home, I still hurt, but I felt somehow better. Not stronger necessarily, but at least like I wanted to be. I cleaned my room and made an appointment to get my hair cut. I went for a walk and kept walking until the stars came out. I cried when fireworks opened up above me, but what could I do?

The next morning, I stood up straighter. I shaved my legs and put on mascara, and I demanded my iPod back.

"You can keep me here, but you can't keep music from me. It's inhuman."

________________________________________________________________

__________________________________________________________________

There was a time when girls like Bliss who were minors, were put away for behavior like this. Many finished their lives in institutions. In Dublin Ireland they were placed in The Magdalene Laundries for their entire lives. They only closed in the mid 1990's. 
The Magdalene Sisters - 2002 film Miramax 
Joni Mitchell's song Magdalene Laundries

Now Dusty is out as a book - Innocents

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/19214578-innocents