The Tiff Singularity (A Collection of Lake Wonder Fiction)

Spinning Decay Journal Entry #4 (Denny)

I don't know how to go about writing anything for Robin. I know I should... but I can't. How would I even go about it? How would I address my concerns about the things they do? How would I go about it? Would I touch on half the things I want to say? I don't think I have the guts.

That's the point of the letters, I think. I don't have the guts. I am a mess in an old burned jacket, unable to communicate what's going on with me, what I think, what I really feel. I am a coward, and I think I always have been. I think I might just be a shaken can of Coke-- you can not drink in the truth of what I am because I will explode everything all over you. I am the soda and I am the mess and I think it would all be better if I could just open up and say what I mean. But what if I ruin everything by saying it? There's a reason I never told Jessie how I felt (feel?). There's a reason I never texted Emira back. There's a reason Dad and I haven't spoken about what happened.

No, no, it's easier if I'm dead when I say it. It's easier if I'm gone and I don't have to deal with the fallout of any vulnerability.

But, then, what would I want to tell them? What would I even say? That I think they're cool and I admire their quest for knowledge? That their thoughts on my tendency toward self-sacrifice simultaneously sent a jolt of recognition down my spine and filled me with a sense of rage toward their hypocrisy? Like, come ON. I think you know we're the same, despite our differences!

And, yet, I could never say it. Not even in a letter. Not now, not ever.

Whatever the case, I don't want to die. I want desperately to live. It's just that being known is so terrifying. The thought of rejection; the ever-present knowledge that, if someone were to accept me for one aspect of myself, there is still the possibility that they will reject me for some other part of what I am; the knowledge that the mess of what lies at the ore of who I am might be too much for even me to bear... It's a lot. It's too much. And I don't want to put that on anyone.

I wish someone would tell me what to do. I'm good at taking orders. Tell me what to do, and I'll do it. 

--

SHIT. JUST. SHIT.

So, we fucking killed it-- as in, we killed the shit out of it. And it was great. Did I get it in my mouth? Yes. Did Robin get hurt in a way I couldn't protect them from? Yeah. But it's fine because they're fine. Everything is OK.

EXCEPT.

Sometimes, you save the forest and it's all good, and everyone is going to be kinda-sorta OK--

And then fucking BETTY.

God, I love the kid, I really do, but apparently she's had contact with Ema, and I just... How much does she know? What does she know? And how am I supposed to go about asking whether or not she hates me?

Perhaps she sees me as a monster. Perhaps they all do. The question is, can I keep ignoring all of it? Or can I shrink into oblivion where nobody has any thoughts about me? I would like that... I would. And I think everyone might be better for it.

No. That's stupid. They like me and they need me. And I'm going to stick around for a long time.

I think I have to go to bed. You know when you get to that place where you're so tired that everything sucks and there is no light? I am there. I know we did well today-- minus Robin getting as hurt as they did. I did what I could. And that is enough.