First night of group guided mediation had come and past.
The group sat on mats in a circle around the fire pit, the fire and the lights on in the cottage were the only source of light for miles on the land.
Nicey was ready to go home.
She knew she had been such a downer most of the day. Talking about herself, sharing to people who did not give a fuck.
But they were polite, she was Fort's girlfriend after all.
All the details about her life.
The traveling.
Backpacking through the Andes, laying on the beach in Mallorca, chatting to a young gondola driver on as he navigated the waters in Versace sunglasses in Venice.
Working.
A contemporary dancer in Berlin, a nanny in Spain, the personal assistant to a no nonsense woman in London.
Experiences that mattered to Nicey.
She knew they were not that impressed, they lived far more glamours lives, she imagined, but she felt safe to speak less censored.
Still they praised her, nonetheless, so she absorbed it just as she did the rays of sun.
People who pretended to see her, she felt like a solid piece to body, which was better than she often felt like.
A flesh bag that was nothing and had nothing anymore.
Up early, working making coffee, all but one of the men were in their beds; the chef.
Sneaking down the stairs of the modern rustic styled cottage, Nicey is carefree not to make too much noise in her fluffy red socks, she is a pro at this.
Polished wooden floors that she makes a note to avoid staring at, she could see her reflection.
"God I look so rough,"
Frowning at the hollowed out looking Black woman that was her. Tangled kinks and curls pulled into a dry bun.
So many grey hairs had sprouted recently, she was only thirty eight, ancient she guessed. Fort was twelve years older than Nicey, but he looked like he could be in his early forties.
She had witnessed their individual transformation.
Fort's skin was getting tighter, though he often marveled at her ability to fall asleep so quickly, he was now sleeping well, despite his denial of this.
She was usually the one chain smoking, she was the one with the more pronounced lines on her forehead now.
Deep sunken dull bags under her now gaunt face, look exaggerated, on the stretched version of her on the floor.
"Ew."
When she packed her bag she clearly did not put much thought into the clothes she brought. She had cuter appropriate but sensible cottage clothes. Quality soft linen pants, cotton sweat pants, flared yoga pants. Fun band t-shirts and novelty t-shirts that referenced the works of David Lynch.
She loved making them, not to sell, David Lynch deserved the all the money, the shirts were just for her.
Yet, in the haze of packing while listening to another one of his impromptu monologues, she was desperately searching for specific items of clothing.
She could not find them, no idea where they could be, so she choose clothes she wore at home when she was in a defeated state.
Disheveled, displaced looking depression-core would be her style this weekend, just as it had been most of the summer, most of the entire...
"Morning," whispered Barin pointing at the state of the art coffee maker on the counter.
The walls in the living room matched the floors on two opposite standing walls. The wall that connected them was royal blue, a stoned encased fireplace was standing at its center.
"Thank you," she whispered back.
Once they had poured their morning caffeine, they instinctively crept outside.
Stepping out into the curated wildness, an peculiar force urges Nicey to break into a sprint into the trees.
Just book it, right to the edge of the property, past the gates of the property, then further.
Far was the destination.
Out of grasp was the goal.
"awoooooooooooooooo."
A collective of howls crescendo in the distance.
"Guess not."
She smirks.
Pausing her movement for a second, she instinctively hugs her suddenly bloated stomach.
Her period had arrived.
"God I had it two weeks ago."
It was coming twice a month, for the past three years.
"You probably need healing, something is wrong." Fort had remarked.
He probably was right, something was wrong, but she knew better, he did not actually care, more annoyed than anything.
Nicey being on the period meant no "smexy times."
As painful and draining it was, inconvenient as it could be, especially for someone with severe anemia as she did, it had its merits.
No contact with Fort.
It use to hurt her feelings that for him intimacy was just sex, when she was bleeding he was aloof and distant.
Uncomfortable.
The way someone carefully steers around a soon to be dead deer carcass bleeding out on a road.
The driver is able to acknowledge the suffering, but cannot muster enough fortitude to end it.
Instead they increase the pressure of the foot on the pedal.
How is was on the freeways of upstate New York in the early summer.
Driving to a wedding, Nicey used the last of her savings to ensure she could witness her favorite cousin be wed.
Miles and miles of deer bodies scattered throughout, failed fatal attempts to cross.
Dead deer with backsides missing, large open holes with spilled entrails, rotting in the heat.
Dark steely wide eyes frozen in a mix of terror and determination.
Returning her horrified gaze, as she viewed them.
"We still exist."
As they drove past the carnage, she noticed miles of long grassy medians, where thousands and thousands of bushes with red flower adorning them.
Staghorn Sumac.
Nicey remembered her fourth grade teacher, Mr. Hatch, alerting the class of nine and ten year olds of the presence of the plant.
"Deer love to eat this. The flower and the branches."
The teacher informed them.
She remembered that this plant did not thrive in the shade, but in the sandy or rocky soils at the edges of roads.
"Spreads aggressively by underground roots. Along the medians of roads and highways."
Deer ferociously consumed them, life or death, it was astonishing how there could be any Staghorn Sumac left.
It was the cars.
To reach the object of their desire, they had to be bloody, bold, and resolute.
Just has Macbeth was.
Look what happened to him.
What a metal existence.
The absurdity, the tragedy of it all weighed heavily on Nicey as they drove past, the sight of each unfortunate creature breaking her heart.
They could never learn to cross the road properly, how could they, why should they?
Those were the conditions.
How much could they understand?
Ignorant of open air zoo, they existing in.
Dead, but out of their misery.
She had gotten into the habit of feeling sick often, her body would feel heavy, pain for days though she rarely exercised.
Whenever she was in a state that would restrict his access to her, Fort would avoid her, like he hit her on the road.
"Hey I hope I didn't disturb you during the night, I was on the phone to my girlfriend til like three am. She went out with her friends, she was just telling me about her night. She was home safely, just drunk."
Honestly, she had heard him speaking, but it was but a whisper in contrast to the symphony of snores that scored her entire sleepless night.
She could not sleep in this place.
Distracted by the illusions of swirling black smoke that collected above her and a snoring Fort.
Wisps of smokey dark shapes appeared as her eyes adjusted to the dark.
She was so tired, but she had not been chosen for sleep at all.
"No, no, I was out of it," she lied.
He nodded.
Nicey cannot repress the smile forming on her face, even in the throws of sharp abominable pain.
The conversation was adorable.
Neither can Barin, his smile is infectious.
"That is so sweet, did she tell you how much she loves you."
He confirms yes, by the warm circular shades of scarlet appearing on his olive cheeks.
Love.
He could have been reacting to the thought of anyone or anything, but it was so clear, without a word, this man was conveying his love.
"Awwwww."
She meant it, wished it lasted forever, forever ever, in Andre 3000's voice, sans the painful inflection of doubt.
"Yeah, she was so drunk, she works hard, she deserves a break. We don't have to go everywhere together, you know, she is pretty independent, has her own interests."
"Right..." Nicey replies weakly.
Whatever warmth she was feeling, evaporates, the cramps intensify.
Heavily reaching into the bowels of the earth, mentally, she briefly resurrects the ancient part of her that receives the verbal output of others in good faith.
Acknowledging that sometimes people are just stating something, it is likely that their words are not covert messages meant to 'diss' her specifically.
There was a chance that Barin was not hinting that she probably should get her own hobbies or social life.
His girlfriend's independence he described was not inditing her on her charge of invading a valid "male space."
But he could be and he would not be incorrect.
In the moment she wanted to confess, that she, Fort, it was all a performance, that she had been "volun-told" to come.
She was an avoidant person, so if given sufficient push back she would crumble.
She knew better, because she was sure he would question this statement, of course it was her choice to tag along.
Forcing them all to be on alert, to censor their speech, to acknowledge her.
On a healing weekend where they were suppose to let their guard down, be natural and candid.
Nicey had made that impossible.
She felt bad, but it was the truth.
Reston could not risk information leaking to the press.
More labor, more food to make for Barin.
Viviali, just wanted to chill, undisturbed.
Who wants to entertain and interact with someone's ugly ass bitch girlfriend, it was not a group date.
She understood this.
For this very reason, the session around the fire was stilted and awkward.
Evidence of this uneasy truth.
Everyone gave generic platitudes, "disclosing" highly edited versions of personal anecdotal experiences.
Fake polite stories, pointless and expensive.
For Reston, it was expensive.
Besides, Fort participated the most anyway.
Boasting mostly, recounting stories, taking up all of the space.
After they had visualized going sojourning to their respective "retreats of the mind."
Nicey sought respite at an empty beach, but she was mostly unfocused.
She was sitting with a twisting emotion, during this pointless session about reaching the higher self and manifesting.
Not because she thought it was bullshit, whatever helped people get through life; cool.
Just at that moment, it was bullshit.
Fort had told the group that these sessions were making him a better person, he could feel it.
"Fuck off."
She thought, as she manifested keeping her fidgeting to a minimal and her face fixed to a neutral state, as he spoke.
He was not a bad person exactly, just a deep pit of sorrow and delusion.
Emitting waves of en-authenticity, buzzing currents of insecurity.
She could not be the only one who noticed, but like her, they were enablers too.
"Been manifesting so hard lately. Do you guys remember the last time we were here."
Fort addressed the the captive audience, pausing for class participation.
They had been there last in either late May or early June.
Nicey's last work contract was over.
All of the money went to Fort's rent, she could not remember, the excuse.
She technically "just stayed there," her contributions applied when she was there, mostly utilities.
But once again she capitulated to his demands, because he was not as fortunate as her. Getting to live at either her father's or mother's home.
Someone grunted an.
"Uhmm."
Fort continued.
"I prayed so hard for the money, because I knew Nicey was looking forward to going to the wedding... and then on the day before the trip...we got the money."
Doctor Fearsome's face remained unmoved, he nodded like a fatigued parent does when their toddler points at their foot.
"Foot!"
"Yes... foot."
Nicey fixed a glare at him.
The audacity.
The money came from Nicey's mother, whom she had humbled herself to beg for the wedding money.
From her savings and her mother's money.
She could hear the annoyance in her mother's voice, she was use to her daughter taking trips, but she always was good with saving her money. She knew about the wedding for a year now.
What was going on?
Was he seriously telling people he had"manifested" the funds?
He did not even look in her direction as he recounted his lie.
Since he was driving he demanded that she e-transfer all of the funds lent to her into his account.
Thankfully, Fort's liturgy of lies is interrupted by the loud thud of a tree hitting the ground, the sound echos through the night.
Then the group hears a body retreating into the woods.
Reston is already up and running to his gun cabinet stored in the house, followed by Viviali, Barin and of course Fort.
Dr. Fearsome and Nicey remain seated.
Nicey is zoning out.
The newly hung lights turn on.
Doctor Fearsome sees the outline of a hairy statuesque being run from one collection of trees to the next before vanishing.
He knows that they should leave, but what can he say?
Today Nicey, thinks back to the events of last night, perplexed.
How was she the only person who could not sleep after that incident?
"Look at you, up all early. Barin I told you she likes to wake up early."
Fort gushes, while peeking out from the open doorway.
"Everyone is up, going to get a coffee, be out soon."
"Okay."
Barin acknowledged.
Nicey appreciated the number of people with whom Fort could interact with.
She needed a break.
Fort disappears back into the house.
Barin steps closer to her, lowering his voice.
"Are you doing another session tonight?"
He asks.
Shaking her head,
"No, I think I got everything I needed already."
His body relaxes.
Pulling his lips in, a playful look in his eyes.
She recreates his expression back to him.
"Same," he agrees, chuckling
"Yeah."
He gets it.
They wait for the others to join them at the table.
Viviali is the first person out of the house.
"Someone should take a picture."
Nodding at the fallen tree.