a story about a dancer painted in bruises, and the girl who fell for her.

➳ " I called him 'Depression' because he was the living, breathing definition of the very word. " ➳

In which Beckham Lenox, a battered Quebecois who somehow wound up in New York, aspires to navigate the inner workings of everyone's mind but his own. {under mild construction.}

"Tate Moore is fucking psychotic." He stared at me blankly, like he hadn't just insulted himself. He snapped his gum, as my mouth hung open. Then something completely unexpected happened. He plucked the gum from his mouth and stuck it on my nose, thumb pressing it onto my skin until in stayed. I blinked in shock as he ducked forward and pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was short and brief, and he pulled away with that same expressionless look. I could feel the cool air drying the gum on my sniffer as he said, "Now, Poppy Dawson is fucking crazy, too."