on being reserved | canon is martha marcy may marlene.

[disjointed]

No— no, I'm not going with you.

I'm not going with anyone, anywhere— [ Her attention drifts, unfocused. ]

—ever again.

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[disjointed]

[ There's a man in Martha's head too. A man. Men. (Hands, mouth and teeth.) One man is bleeding all over a fancy rug in the front hallway of his apartment. Another one is smoking a cigarette he shouldn't on a porch that isn't is. Another has a gun. Another is whispering let me help you but she can't move.

Maybe they're all the same man, she can't tell.

(You're my favorite. I won't lose you.)

She'd laugh at his question if she knew how. Fact of the matter is, she can always go in. (Martha's fallen this far, why not let the dead drop take her completely?) But the way in is just as unclear as the way out, sometimes.

Martha blinks. Someone else's words fill her mouth. ]

Death is the most beautiful part of life.

[ Death is somewhere, isn't it? ]

[tapes]

[ She looks like Caroline.

(It's the eyes, Cooper thinks. Blue, wide and sad. And the high cheeks and the mousy hair. She says words that sound like they've been pulled from a can and he can feel his ribcage collapse.

She was a pretty one, wasn't she, Coop? Caroline? Fucking gorgeous.

He doesn't want her — not in that way, he barely knows who she is — but he realizes, in a roundabout way, that it doesn't much matter what he wants. Anyone who comes into contact with him becomes a target. It's a horrifying thought, in many ways, and he can't help but remember what Jean Renault had said — that things had changed only once Coop had come to Twin Peaks.

Was that true? he wondered. Was it he who had brought misfortune with him?)

She looks like Caroline and when she speaks he can feel a bolt of panic shoot through his chest. ]

Ｉ’░ｄ　ｓａｙ　ｔｈａｔ　ｌｉｆｅ　ｉｓ．　Ａｌｗａｙｓ　ｆｏｕｎｄ　ｉｔ　ｗｏｒｔｈ　ｌｉｖｉｎｇ．