The Metaphysicist (Kill Your Darlings) | Featured

swiper no motherfucking swiping

I feel that the lovely Edie Parker was a tad too angry with me for my foolish personality to ignore it to instead be the same sloth that I have been for over a week while Lucien has been relatively busy with his monotonous library work and his philosophical ramblings that he is helplessly urged to share with me as if I need to know yet another way how the world goes round, and Edie was never like this, rather a quiet and docile woman who should not be afflicted by my obvious laziness and inability to give a shit, though it's not really that I don't want to, more so that I can't find it in my dulled sense of reality to do so, and because of that, I also feel that I need to repent for my mundane sins of neglecting the person who has fed me and clothed me and housed me for ten months before Lucien came along and presumably ruined everything in her perspective, even if I cannot pick apart why I did such a thing, as my rudeness would be unwarranted in any situation.

Being so lazy and inexperienced with life in the quadrant of plain things such as taking care of myself, I have no idea how I'll repent for being so obstinate, because even after Lucien taught me that I must worry about myself first and foremost, I've been living off of cup noodles and coffee for seemingly forever, but Edie Parker isn't a woman to appreciate those items. She may smile and nod, but that's only out of her unwavering politeness towards people who perhaps do not deserve it at all, and no one actually enjoys cup noodles and coffee. Those are for college students frenzied by their first (and definitely not their last) existential crisis.

But food is a sound way to go when you've been invited to the dinner party of someone to whom you will repent, and both cup noodles and coffee are food items, though not delectable ones to any normal person like Jack and Edie, so I must revise my route to something less complicated than I can endure, something like chocolate chip cookies.

There's no way in hell Lucien has the ingredients to bake cookies, and he's too engrossed in his sea of sleep for me to wake him to ask, in addition to the fact that he would somehow slap me with a pillow or the stronger weapon of his hand through his rest, so I pilfer the cupboards to locate at least one ingredient. I find flour, but that's it, as Lucien doesn't eat much, and when he does, it's almost always the same gross foods I do, the rotten cup noodles and bitter coffee that the hosts of the dinner party would reject, but I'd rather remove those monstrosities from my mind while I'm supposed to be baking delicious food, not the edible aesthetic of a crying blogger, but I might be surfing dangerously close to that, for the other ingredients are nowhere to be seen.

I root through another cabinet unsuccessfully, but then the option of the refrigerator pops into my mind, where at least eggs would be, though, swinging the door open rapidly to speed up the process of my hectic baking, I instead discover a bucket of cookie dough that's been pre-made for lazy folks like me who just need a quick and easy escape from the demeaning stares of my friends. It's perfect for the occasion, because Jack and Edie will think that they're amazing and that I baked them myself, which is only partially true, and Lucien won't know either, unless he notices the lack of cookie dough forming a crater in the tub which I will methodically place back in his refrigerator when I'm finished with it so that his suspicions will be slightly hindered, and the cookies are so facile to bake in the hurry of inexperience, so that's the route I choose, procuring the tub of cookie dough from the refrigerator and slapping it upon the kitchen table to bake.

With my weak pool of muscle, it's a strenuous trial to unlatch the plastic lid from the equally as plastic tub, but by lifting the material up a bit each centimeter and working my way around the circle, I eventually peel the lid away from its body to reveal a pristine expanse of tan and brown that will soon ferment in the chambers of the oven into something for which Jack and Edie will not shame me like they would have shamed me for cup noodles and coffee, which I suppose is worthy of shame to people who aren't a metaphysical mess like me, but I'm still proud of this step up from them.

There are no ice cream scoops suitable for cookie dough in any of Lucien's cluttered drawers, so I settle for a regular sized spoon, the only utensil he has left in the case and not in his cramped dishwasher which he should really clean out by now. Scooping out piles of cookie dough is an arduous task when I have no muscle and am only equipped with a meager dining spoon, but by some luck I am able to serve twelve balls of cookies over a span of two trays, and my strain is halted.

This is when Lucien waltzes into the room, somehow unaffected by the grogginess of recent sleep and rather jovial and skipping around the apartment in search for some coffee to boost his conviviality, which is probably a bit destructive if you ask me, and he immediately imbibes the sight of me baking cookies that are not for him, but I don't suppose he understands that, as he snags a ball of cookie dough from one of the mountains on the tray and spins away while nibbling on it like he did no wrong.

"Hey!" I protest, moving from my spot at the kitchen table to arrest Lucien. "The cookies are for Jack and Edie!"

I'm in enough trouble with them already, after moving out of their house without so much as a note left upon their dining table or something and then being met with the motherly wrath of Edie Parker, but if Lucien steals all of the cookie dough, then we're back to square one, because if I burn the cookies in the oven with my inability to cook for shit, lots of the cookie dough will have vanished with Lucien's appetite for sweets but not for regular food, and he'll have indirectly thrown me under the bus, though I'll admit that most of this is my own goddamn fault.

"Why?" Lucien riots against me, calmly licking the excess cookie dough off of his fingers in that seductive manner in which he performs everything, which is certainly gripping but is unnecessary and obnoxious in this moment. "Did you decide you need to repent?"

How does he know everything in a matter of seconds? I told him nothing, not even that we're going to Jack and Edie's house at six o'clock tonight, which I would have informed him of if he hadn't stolen the cookie dough before I could open my mouth to do so, but he's already on my trail with a striking speed that I should have predicted from him but didn't, as I was so avid about not being hated by the people who have done nothing but love me before I betrayed their seemingly everlasting trust, and I'm truly sorry for that, so baking cookies is the only thing I see fit to do in these circumstances that I can't really comprehend all that well, but Lucien continues to rob me of the materials to repent, and I'll chase him for it if he ever tries it again.

And he does, extending his hand forward to flick another ball of cookie dough into his hand, then proceeding to bite off tiny chunks of it at a time as if he's doing nothing, which he is, and that's pillaging my stores of communion to fuel his insatiable sweet tooth that I will soon shut down.

"Lucien Carr, come back here!" I order, running across the apartment as he flees from my conviction just as hastily as I can sprint along with him, and he's fucking laughing, that devil of a man with stolen possessions stuck to his slender fingers like they will forever be his, and all I can do is follow his convoluted routes around the house, weaving in and out of his haggard furniture and the piles of shit that he's amassed over the months in this wreck of a place, and my lungs begin to flame with the intensity of the sun boring through their membranes, but I must continue until Lucien surrenders.

And soon he does, though not in the way I would expect. All of the sudden, my companion whips around with that same arrogant smirk he always has, winds my shirt to a ball in his cookie dough stricken hands, and shoves me towards him until our lips are tailored together like a puzzle of the ghastly universe finally joining together into a whole and funneling its potency towards our interlocked cushions of scarlet, and Lucien never releases me. This may be a ploy to make me forget about his robbery of the cookie dough, and it may be working, but all I know is that I love this touch, and this is more of a home than Jack and Edie's house ever was.  

~~~~~

A/N: of course here we go with the cliche baking thing but it's gay so whatever

rationalism: the theory that human reason is the source of knowledge

~Dakotoreo