Flock

“The warmth of the sun disappears the second I pull open the glass doors. The building itself feels ancient. Though polished, the tiled floors are cracking and peeling after decades of use. There’s a large potted fern in the middle of the lobby that gives a pretense of life somewhere inside, but upon closer inspection, I realize it’s fake and littered with cobwebs. A lone security guard who looks past his prime stands idly by as an older, well-dressed woman with shrewd gray eyes meets me from behind a front desk.”

Cecelia uses vivid language to depict the repellent environment at Horner Technologies. Words like “cracking,” “peeling,” “fake,” “littered,” “cobwebs,” idly,” “shrewd,” and “gray” present the setting as a hostile, rundown, and derelict, which in turn foreshadows the negative working conditions Cecelia and her coworkers will face therein.

“The more I look around, the more I recognize these people are family. I seem to be the only outsider here, which I assume is the reason for the seconds-long glances that are coming at me from all sides. Not the type to mingle, I find myself missing Sean—who’s been gone for what seems like forever—as I stand in the middle of the yard, a fish out of water. Music filters down from an open window on the second floor of the house as I walk over to the fence, overlooking a partial mountain view. I might have moved from the suburbs of Atlanta to the mountains in Bumfuck, Nowhere, but even I can appreciate the spectacular scenery.”

Cecelia is used to being an observer rather than a participant in groups. She is rendering this scene in vivid detail, which illustrates her introverted personality and penchant for removing herself from the crowd. Furthermore, the use of the “fish out of water” metaphor underscores her alienation, while the description of the “mountain view” conveys her innate connection to the natural world.

“I’ll take this year of confinement and mix it with some much-needed liberation, not only from my responsibilities, but from my own self-inflicted moral code. Free time will take on a whole new meaning for this wallflower. I seal that deal with myself with a leap into the pool.”

Cecelia’s resolutions show her determination to challenge herself and to grow while in Triple Falls: She is setting goals to try new things. The image of her jumping into the pool in the passage’s last line underscores how she wants her Triple Falls experience to cleanse, renew, and awaken her to life. The pool becomes an important symbol in the novel, representing insight and self-knowledge (see Symbols & Motifs).

“The tension is too much. When I’m within reach, he strikes, capturing me by the waist and pulling me to stand before him. I yelp and then giggle as his eyes glitter over my chest, his breath hot on the triangle between my thighs skimming the surface. My nipples draw tight as his fingers ghost along my hip. He’s still crouched in the shallow end, while I stand above him, his every exhale hitting the thin material at the apex between my legs, whispering over my clit.”

Cecelia’s use of active verbs and sensory details enacts her intense physiological experience when she and Sean Roberts are together. The implication of different kinds and levels of touch conveyed in verbs like “strikes,” “pulling,” “skimming,” “exhale,” and “whisper,” capture the intensity of the characters’ attraction to one another, and allow readers to follow along with the rising sexual tension of the scene. Cecelia’s responses to Sean emphasize her enthusiastic consent to the encounter.

“I try my best to muster up some sort of alter ego worthy of this opponent. I can see by his unimpressed gaze that I’m failing miserably. But he’s right. I’m a wallflower trying to impersonate a mighty oak. However, I made promises to myself that I intend to keep. So, I do the only thing I can. I pluck the joint from his fingers and take a bigger hit before blowing it right in his face.”

Cecelia uses figurative language and metaphor to convey her complex interaction with and feelings for Dominic King. The images of the “wallflower” and the “mighty oak” illustrate Cecelia’s simultaneous feelings of weakness and desire to be strong and bold despite Dominic’s intimidating persona.

“From the stories she’s told me, she was the original party girl, and daily, I bore witness to the aftermath of her life choices. I’ve lived the opposite of her decisions, which I know gave her relief. But in this moment, just for a few minutes, I let all that go. With the wind in my hair, I close my eyes and just…fly. And it feels fucking liberating.”

The use of fragmentation, descriptive language, fragmentation, and punctuation in this passage enacts Cecelia’s internal tension. She is afraid of repeating her mom’s mistakes, but she also wants to unburden herself of oppressive societal moral standards. The use of commas and ellipses captures Cecelia’s stuttering, questioning state of mind, while the use of the words “wind,” “fly,” and “liberating” enact her desire for autonomy and self-determination.

“‘This is beautiful,’ I pant out as we climb another set of boulders at the edge of the mountain. Muscles I haven’t used in years scream as the foreign feel of moss brushes my shin while I try to scale the rock. Behind me, Sean spots my every move, his breath hitting my thighs as I glance down where he trails my lower half taking care to help me, in case I lose my footing.”

The forest environment impacts Cecelia: Being outside makes her keenly aware of her body within her surroundings; she is aware of both the internal effect of climbing, which makes her “pant” and use long-dormant “muscles,” and of her external sensations, such as touching the moss. The sensuality of the experience is heightened by Sean’s proximity—his “breath hitting my thighs” is suggestive of oral sex, even in a scene that doesn’t depict intimacy.

“The boys of my past have nothing on this man. Nothing. And these days, when I look at my reflection, I see the noticeable afterglow of the weeks spent draped in his attention. It’s a high I’d almost forgotten about, a high that’s more addictive to me than any drug could ever be. My heart has some scar tissue, but it beats steady, constantly letting me know that playing his game leaves it vulnerable, and somewhere in the back of my mind I hear the warning. For now, I’m playing blissfully ignorant, all too ready for another hit.”

Cecelia’s use of descriptive and figurative language and metaphor enacts her intensifying feelings for Sean. Vocabulary including “afterglow,” “draped,” “beats,” “steady,” and “blissfully” captures Cecelia’s immersion in this sexual experience; this diction suggests that Cecelia is starting to feel more than simply physical attraction. She also likens her relationship to an addiction and to being high on drugs—metaphors that convey her seeming powerlessness to refuse Sean. This ceding to his dominance foreshadows Cecelia’s later agreement to enter a polyamorous relationship at Sean’s urging.

“What twenty-five-year-old man does his friends’ laundry, genuinely cares about Selma’s cash flow problem and disabled grandson, hates money, hates time, has zero regard for status, and lives without a single worry for the future? Alfred Sean Roberts. That’s who.”

The construction of this passage captures Cecelia’s awed response to discovering new things about Sean. She compiles multiple questions about her new boyfriend into a single urgent, almost run-on query. Answering her astonishment with two sentence fragments that identify Sean as the man who can do all of these things simultaneously, underscores her surprise and wonder at who Sean is proving himself to be.

“Naked. Sleeping naked. The sight of him knocks the breath from me as I stand frozen, somewhere between in and out of the bathroom. He’s on his back, stretched out, his head tilted due to the propped position of his pillow, his muscular arm tucked beneath it. I. Can’t. Look. Away.”

The syntax employed in this passage enacts Cecelia’s response to watching Dominic sleep with his door open. Because readers cannot see what she is viewing, the novel uses Cecelia’s fragmented sentences—which mimic the effect of panting breath—to convey her intense attraction to Dominic, so that the scene’s erotic charge makes maximal impact. The use of the words “knocks” and “frozen” also underscore the intensity of Cecelia’s physiological response to seeing Dominic; the implication that Cecelia is powerless to stop herself from watching the undressed man is meant to deflect from his lack of consent to this interaction.

“The truth is I do expect a lot out of my love story and the man I’ll share it with. I expect passion and butterflies, and one or two fairy tale moments. When we fight, I want it to hurt. When we fuck, I want to feel it with every fiber of my being. When a man confesses his love to me, I expect him to mean it. I don’t want to question the words’ authenticity. I want to be claimed and owned and ruled and possessed by love. Is that expecting too much?”

The use of repetition, anaphora, and rhythm conveys the intensity of Cecelia’s feelings about love and relationships. She repeats the words “When we” and “I want,” desperate to claim and realize her desires. Furthermore, her use of verbs including “claimed,” “owned,” “ruled,” and “possessed” enacts her desire for a powerful, encompassing affair. The unbalanced power dynamic that these verbs imply fits in with the novel’s chosen dark romance subgenre, which often depicts relationships that do not fit ethical, moral, or other culturally approved scripts.

“The minute I make it to the driver’s seat and lock my doors, I burst into tears. I hate that I feel so weak. I hate that I don’t know if I would have been able to defend myself if I was attacked. I hate the position being Roman’s daughter puts me in. Whether or not I declared I was his kid, someone would have found out, and hiding it might not have been the right call either. Did they really think I was sent to spy on them? That’s insanity.”

The use of anaphora, or the repetition of a phrase at the start of sentences, captures Cecelia’s harried and vulnerable state. She repeatedly begins her sentences with “I hate” which underscores her feelings of powerlessness in her current situation: suddenly being outed as the daughter of the factory’s owner, which makes her coworkers distrust her and accuse her of “spying” on Roman’s behalf. One of the novel’s minor motifs is the division between the haves and the have-nots; here, Cecelia experiences the disconnect between her sense of herself as working-class and the perception that as Roman’s daughter, she comes from extreme privilege.

“I carefully assess the house while trying not to make it obvious what I’m doing. It’s nothing but old furniture in need of a thorough dusting, cleaning, and extermination. I don’t know how she expects to get well in an environment that’s anything but sterile, but from what she said in the car, she’s not intent on a recovery. She’s reading me, and she’s doing it with Dominic’s silver eyes. The resemblance is most definitely there. Early forties at most, I decide as I stare her down. It’s tragic. She’s too young not to fight.”

Delphine King’s home prompts Cecelia’s emotional investment because of its “old” and “dusty” condition; while Cecelia can tell that the space needs “cleaning,” no amount of care will render this house the “sterile” environment that Delphine needs to get better. Delphine’s squalid living conditions are a metaphor for her inner life—she has given up and is no longer “intent on a recovery” despite being young enough to be a viable love interest for Dominic’s contemporary Tyler. Cecelia’s determination that Delphine should still “fight” is prescient—it points to Cecelia’s own later decision to stand up for herself to Sean and Dominic.

“You have a thing for Dominic. You can deny it all you want, but I’ve seen it, I’ve felt it, and I’m not standing in the way of that, and claiming you as mine is not going to do either of us any good. The truth is, seeing it only makes me want you more. And I do get off on it, and I won’t fucking apologize for it. Just like I won’t make you apologize for your attraction to him. I told you when we first hooked up, I don’t do things the traditional way. Neither does Dominic. Giving you the choice is more of a reflection of how I respect and feel about you and what you want, and it’s much better than denying to myself that I’ve seen you eye-fuck him, more than once.”

Sean’s use of direct, unadorned syntax and diction captures the intensity and authenticity of his feelings. He isn’t disguising what he wants or feels and therefore avoids descriptive, figurative, or metaphoric language in this open scene of dialogue.

“Could this be real? I’ve had sex—plenty of sex—in high school, in monogamous relationships with boyfriends I swore loved me, and cared for me, but later showed their true colors. All of the pain I assumed I felt when they’d ultimately rejected a future with me felt empty, meaningless, pale in comparison to any experience I’d had with them to the one I had today and to the possibilities of what’s next.”

Cecelia contrasts her past experiences with boyfriends with her burgeoning polyamorous relationship with Sean and Dominic. Posing questions to herself that compare what she knows with what she’s learning demonstrates the novel’s interest in the Entanglement of Past and Present. Furthermore, dismissing her feelings for her old boyfriends as “empty,” “meaningless,” and “pale” conveys her desire for a relationship that is deeper than the ones she’s had so far in her life.

“Own it. I’ll drive myself crazy if I don’t. I can’t even bring myself to regret it. Just out of a scalding shower, I study my reflection in the mirror and don’t back away from what I see. Skin tinted pink from the water; I let my eyes roam freely, searching for flaws. Searching for a reason not to look. All that I expect to feel, gazing at my reflection, I don’t. This is owning it. And it’s my decision.”

The image of Cecelia looking at herself in the mirror literalizes the self-reflection that accompanies most of her narration. She is studying her body in an attempt to make sense of her interiority. This intimate, private scene offers a window into Cecelia’s psyche as she tries to make sense of who she is becoming—the kind of young woman who would choose to get involved with two men at the same time.

“Since day one, I’ve been subtly and not so subtly warned by them to keep my distance—by both of them and those who knew of them—and since day one, I’ve done nothing but walk directly into the line of fire. There’s always some basis or truth to rumors. But this? This is so far from what I expected. And it’s in the dark where I see the light. I’ve been running with these secretive devils for the last six weeks, and I’m being baptized in truth in something akin to hellfire.”

The use of figurative language and metaphor captures Cecelia’s state of mind when she learns what the Ravenhood does. The imagery of “darkness,” “secretive devils,” and “baptism in hellfire” captures the society’s illicit and possibly dangerous activities. While Cecelia is happy to finally uncover “the light,” she is also keenly aware of the fact that she is now part of an organization that purposefully stands in “the line of fire” to do their work.

“‘I’m all yours, Cecelia.’ Words—the perfect words—from a perfect man I no longer feel I deserve. He nods past my shoulder at Dom before whispering a soft, ‘Night, man.’ I open my mouth just as he grips the handle on the other side of the door and closes it with me inside. Shocked, I stand motionless for several seconds and turn to see Dominic’s eyes on me before he pulls the empty pillow closer to his shoulder. Climbing back into bed with him, my smile grows wide just before he clicks off the light and reaches for me.”

Cecelia’s attention to body language slows and protracts the narrative pacing in this scene. This altered pacing captures Cecelia’s state of mind and her attempt to make sense of her polyamorous relationship with Sean and Dominic.

“I’ve borne witness to two prime examples that prove there are good men left in the world. Loyal men. Faithful men. Though thieves they may be because they’ve stolen my heart. I’m in love with both of them. Two men, who make me feel adored, cherished, and respected. Two men, who have no issue which bed I keep warm. Two men, who look at me with nothing but lust and affection.”

Cecelia’s use of anaphora, fragmentation, and repetition stylistically enact her absorption in her relationships with Sean and Dominic. She repeats the words “Two men” particularly because she’s awed that she’s found more than one person who can satisfy her needs in these comprehensive ways.

“‘I need you to believe me. Because I do believe in you, Sean. So much. I saw my father today, and I think he was trying to bridge the gap between us, and all I could think was that I don’t respect him enough to try. No matter what excuses he gives. I don’t respect him. And then I thought about you, and I realized I have this respect for you that I’ve never had for any man in my life. I want you to know,’ I exhale a shuddering breath as my eyes water, ‘that. I need you to know that.’”

The urgent tone of this speech conveys Cecelia’s directness, in a way that most of the trio’s obfuscating communication style doesn’t. Rather than playing songs that convey hidden messages, or reading body language to interpret intention, here Cecelia no longer lapses into metaphor or sensory description. Instead, because she wants Sean to hear what she says and to believe how she feels about him, she uses blunt phrases that have little nuance.

“My time, heart, and attention are distributed as equally as I can spare them, and somehow against the laws of monogamy and human nature, we work. We’re working, and I’m starting to believe them. There’s no jealousy, no bickering, and no fighting unless the fight is mine. I’ve tried daily for the past few weeks to accept that my heart is split and fully capable of loving both of them, but I don’t see this arrangement as fair to either. So for now, I’ll take what I can get.”

Cecelia’s words illustrate her emotional investment in her polyamorous relationship. Awed by the romantic arrangement, she still cannot believe how little rancor or tension the one-time love triangle now holds. While the novel at first misled readers to expect conflict between Sean and Dominic over their parallel attractions to Cecelia, the novel’s pivot to depicting functional polyamory positions it as part of the dark romance subgenre.

 “They set me up, lifted me as high as I could fly only to watch me fall. I don’t realize I’m sobbing until I can no longer see them, but blurred versions of the men I gave my heart—my trust—to, as black streaks my cheeks. And maybe it’s the best that I don’t, so I can erase the old images with these new ones, replace the everything I felt with the nothing they’ve left me with. They’d made me feel safe, accepted. I loved them wholly. I gave myself to them, and they let me.”

The use of metaphor, figurative language, em dashes, and ellipses in this passage enact Cecelia’s shock and heartbreak. Furthermore, the images of flying, falling, sobbing, blurring, and erasing, capture and convey the emotional extremes Cecelia has experienced throughout her polyamorous relationship and therefore her struggle to reconcile with her humiliation at the hands of men who claimed to love her.

“For myself, move on. To them? I don’t know. Maybe nothing. But revenge is a dish best served cold. I’ll know it when I see it. For now, it’s about getting my head straight. I don’t completely trust Karma, so if I’m ever in the position, I’ll make sure she delivers.”

Cecelia’s direct language in her conversation with Christy shows how safe she feels confiding in her best friend. She answers Christy’s questions in an unadorned manner. Being honest and claiming her feelings is a new trait for Cecelia, who has grown and matured as a result of her Triple Falls ups and downs.