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Who is this sassy lost child
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Jae almost would have preferred that Jordan yell at him. At least then he could yell back, shift the blame to someone else, be angry again instead of... this. Feeling like he had been torn open from the pit of his ribcage and knowing that it was mostly his own damn fault.

Do you love me?

In the end, he didn't say anything to Jordan. He didn't say anything to the body that had housed a girl who tried to love him, either. He limped away back through the trampled brush to his bag and the staff, contemplated whether he should try to pursue Dorothy wherever she went, and decided he didn't have the energy.

The jacket was still slung over his shoulder. Jae thought there might have been blood on it. Once upon a time, he would have been royally pissed at the idea of anything staining his favorite jacket - real leather, almost still new when he'd found it in the thrift shop and he'd managed to buy it at a steal - but now he just looked at it for a few minutes in the wan moonlight before shrugging it on and zipping it up against the chill night air. He patted the pocket and found that his lighter and cigarettes were still there, seemingly untouched.

Do you love me?

I tried to.

I'm sorry.

No, I don't.

Back into the night with the other monsters you go, boogeyman.

((Min-jae Parker continued in This Is The End Of His Story))
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."

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Gift for the Darkness · Northwest Cliffs