NOW YOU DO

DISARMED BY SEVERED CONNECTIONS

“MANAGEABLE.”

An apt description of his outlook on life. No matter how impossible the odds, there is always the chance to tackle it to the best of his abilities. Should he falter, then so be it. But until then, the most he can ask of himself is to put up his greatest effort. That’s why nothing phases him.

It’s all a test of will.

But he doesn’t have to play that part. There are many masks to wear. His voice grows quieter as he dons a more solemn look.

“Sorry to ruin the night.”

It lingers like the terrain. Abstract.

“I missed you.”

Lulu Flint

NOW YOU DO

DISARMED BY SEVERED CONNECTIONS

A LIE THAT’S IDENTIFIABLE IS NOT A LIE AT ALL. The perfect act requires perfect mystery. Being unable to tell right from wrong, left from right, is what truly makes a performance. To understand the human mind, the emotion it encompasses, requires insanity to pull off.

But the road to success is not meant for the mentally stable—a sociopath by every meaning of the word.

“Sorry.”

There is dejection in his voice. A memory once cherished becomes the medium of which he draws emotion. A slack jaw reaction stifles his voice, leaving it crack and battered.

“I—”

“Yeah,” he breaks vernacular. “Having you here means a lot, Lulu.”

His laugh echoes resignation. She can hear him lean back in his chair. His eyes stare at the ceiling for good measure.

“Even if I’m a pool of my own filth.”

Lulu Flint

NOW YOU DO

DISARMED BY SEVERED CONNECTIONS

“INDEED.”

There is a pang of questioning in that answer. As if she has no right to question him. They both know why she does but admittance of it means their game is over. He can feel his throat hitch as the tension thickens.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Lulu Flint

NOW YOU DO

DISARMED BY SEVERED CONNECTIONS

“OH.”

There is clarity in that response. As if he knows. But, like with all things, Fernando keeps his reply concise but vague. It leaves him the flexibility to travel either road. A branch in options allows him to always pick the best one.

“Lulu—”

Lulu Flint

NOW YOU DO

DISARMED BY SEVERED CONNECTIONS

“I’M—”

A heavy exhale breaks apart the sentence before he can commit. He treads carefully. Emotions are demonstrated, articulated, all in a performance born from need. How much does he feel? How much does he mean?

Calculations that build from a lifetime of saving face and wearing masks.

“Sorry.”

And then he clears his throat.

“But I love you, Lulu. I love you.”

Lulu Flint

NOW YOU DO

DISARMED BY SEVERED CONNECTIONS

FERNANDO DOES NOT BELIEVE IN SUPERSTITION. He trusts his sense as lifelines. When her voice spooks him he immediately beams his vision onto his Pokemon. Instinct keeps him still, practice makes him wary. He knows better than to turn and embrace her reveal.

But there is a variable he has not accounted for. The pain from his arm festers at her call. Emotions, laden by action, bubble in the nook between bicep and forearm, wriggling in a fit of rage.

“I don’t dream.”

His voice bears its fangs. It has the bite that comes with having to stave off his undoing. Gurgling noises gush from his wound, spilt freely as does his MISTY TERRAIN start to fill the room.

Defense mechanisms come in many forms. His blooms in a way Bed, Bath, and Beyond never could.

Lulu Flint