When I was little, I sincerely enjoyed the smallest of things. My eldest sisters' stories, the strange food they brought home from markets, the way our home always seemed open... Until the day that the illusion of some kind of innocence and simplicity was washed away as easy as a pattern in the sand at the shore of the ocean where the waves were venomous and tyrannical. There was no reason to spare the patterns in the sand as if they had some kind of testimony... which the ocean saw fit to ignore. I learned how to swim at an age younger than most, needing the skill as the water was everywhere. It was a sort of reprieve, especially as there was no such thing as air conditioning in our home. The occasional fan was an absurd luxury, and one I often wasn't relegated to enduring. We would play card games over who might be able to sit in front of the fan, but when I was that young I didn't win. Now? I would have taken all their hands, winning rounds beyond their belief. But the water offered me a reprieve that I would have been foolish not to take. Beneath the crash of white foam was a world that had absolutely no care of what race I was, where I was from, or what I had as physical property. The ocean offered me another form of reprieve as its lack of judgment was enthralling. When I was hot and tired, I wandered to the beach to watch the fins of sharks feeding at night, wondering what it would be like to have that kind of domination. And the sea answered the loneliness that being one of many had instilled in me. I found all kinds of solace there, until I needed more than it could offer and I had turned to nefarious means as to an end of whatever blossoming darkness had crept in.

With a sigh, I wondered what kind of little things that Alexis had lost her love for over the years. It always differed from men's perspectives. Where I missed the companionship of my sisters and my brother, or the way our small house held our family in confines when I was young enough to enjoy their company. My sisters always had different thoughts, though. Elenore often complained that she missed enjoying being the youngest of the family, not necessarily coddled but her innocence seriously guarded and something worth fighting for. We pretended Santa Clause was real for as long as possible, whether it meant I had to exert my five finger discount on the beads she adored in a shop, or it meant walking her to and from school and waiting outside the gates so she wouldn't walk home alone. It's a funny thing when you focus on the purity of people, and it's even stranger when you being to concoct ideas about how they became tainted.

But if it was one thing I had learned from a life of adventure and often times more hazardous than necessary, it was that I could never have a plain life, void of the ups and downs and twists that I was so dearly accustomed to.

"You've never seen a cat?!"

The incredulous sound of my voice resonated in the rather empty room, bouncing off the wall and allowing my eyes to widen in disapproval. Church was my favorable companion, appreciated far more than the likes of most humans, honestly. Felines had a lot of qualities I preferred, which made them revered in my opinion. Independence, pride, and I don't know. Whatever their majestic fluffy little selves desire to be in that moment. Almost longingly did I think of my little cat, curled up on top of the refrigerator incase of Tobias' arrival, stowing himself away until I returned home from the day away. It often felt good to have a being waiting for you at the end of the day; one with no expectations. Okay, maybe that wasn't entirely true as my little black feline probably had more expectations than really necessary, but his company and his attention were important because I proved myself worthy of unrequited love. Or whatever.

As the conversation turns quickly towards topics that most aren't truly amiable to speaking about, I can feel the air become heavy, and I lean onto my arm that's away from the woman in front of me to give her more space. I didn't want her to feel like I was intrusive, but you can't give an answer like that without expecting at least the briefest of curiosities.

"Unfortunately, those scars are the most difficult to rid yourself of. Especially if you grow layers of layers on top of them," I said slowly, my voice a little softer as I stared into the fire. That was always the case though, wasn't it. I wore physical scars without a car. But the emotional, mental ones? Psychological trauma wasn't often exhibited by me... though I knew there was a lot of it.

"I think we might have more in common than you expected," I mused, hearing the unspoken arsenal of her history weighing heavily in her words.