<div class="floatleft">(https://i.ibb.co/MN8BkGh/devon-daniels-6.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Devon Daniels (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=308599.msg15007879#msg15007879)<br/><strong>Age:</strong>28<br/><strong>Sexuality:</strong>Heterosexual<br/><strong>Hometown:</strong>New York City<br/><strong>Date/Time:</strong>July 3rd, 2019 | After noon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Villa's Competition Area -> Diary Room -> Showers -> Wandering the Villa<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>Black T-Shirt with Kiuas Spirit of Ukko album art (https://www.soundi.fi/wp-content/uploads/old/soundi/record_review/Kiuas_The+Spirit+Of+Ukko_1652.jpg), Sunglasses (https://i.ebayimg.com/images/g/bDwAAOSw2gxYrZs7/s-l300.jpg), Jeans, Black leather belt, Boots<br/><strong>Coupled with:</strong>Cleo Balleta<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Open<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Devon wasn't sure if he was the first gone, but he was gone before the final secret was read aloud. He heard the prize and knew he'd be contacted. He'd link up with Corey later to discuss how they'd spend their potential hang-out. Right now, though, he needed to get to that Diary Room. He needed to beat everyone else there. Besides, enough painful secrets had been shared, enough that could potentially assassinate someone's character. He didn't need to know what "scandalous" truth had yet to be revealed.<br/><br/>Corey and Grace had certainly helped him feel better about things, but now the weight of the secret and its wording was weighing upon him. His strides became greater and greater as he hurried off, feeling as if things needed to be explained<em>now</em>despite the fact that the episode was not yet airing. He wanted to make sure things were clear. At least, as clear as he could make them.<br/><br/>He hadn't paid much attention to the layout of the place when they had gone over it, and he didn't really imagine he'd<em>need</em>the diary room. Just a secluded spot to talk behind someone else's back, right? Turned out, no... but he inevitably found where he needed to be.<br/><br/><div class="floatright">(https://cdn.images.dailystar.co.uk/dynamic/117/photos/361000/620x/love-island-couples-619195.jpg)</div>Shutting the door behind him, Devon suddenly felt... exposed. There was one<em>clearly visible</em>camera situated right in front of the seat. It made it seem as if it was the only spot you were caught on tape. But<em>everything</em>was on tape. Everywhere. He could have discussed it in front of any camera at any point. This was just the<em>obvious</em>camera. The one you were<em>supposed</em>to know was present. All the others were hidden away, the crew doing their best to remain as invisible as possible. Professional voyeurs, and he the idiot exhibitionist that chose to put his most private truth on blast to the televised world for no reason but a lost bet.<br/><br/>Devon swallowed, then stepped over to the chair. He sank down slowly, removing his sunglasses from his face. He stared at them for a moment, collecting his thoughts as best as he could. He imagined sitting in the corner of Thrashers, his closest friends in the whole world around him. Marshall, his boss. Slick, following Monica and Lezzy around like their pet puppy. Jersey and Stitch in the corner, the bar's own Jay and Silent Bob equivalent. Bumbles, smacking at the bar top without any sense of rhythm. Moms and pops, the most metal pair of geriatrics the world has ever known. Odin, his fellow bartender.<br/><br/>...and her, sitting in what was once her usual stool at the corner of the bar, lifting a finger and shouting "Hey Hanson!" He smirked, nostrils flaring in a gasp of a laugh.<br/><br/>When he looked up into the camera, his eyes shone with imminent tears.<br/><br/>"To my friends at Thrashers, I'm sorry," he began. He immediately realized he was sounding like he was recording his last will and testimony. "To all of you. I, um..." His eyes scanned back down once more, fingers fidgeting with his sunglasses. "You all know that<em>something</em>happened, even after we split... and you're no doubt confused because they said she<em>cheated</em>." He shook his head, looking back at the camera. "She<em>slept with</em>, but it wasn't when we were together... they misunderstood me... so first, it's not..." His voice caught in his throat, and immediately he unfolded his shades and slipped them back on. He bit his lower lip and looked back at the ground. God, how must she feel right now? How humiliated? If there was a God, then let him be kind enough that she never know this secret was let out. Let her never believe for a moment that he thought of her as<em>cheating</em>. "It's still my fault," he said, once the tears had been suppressed enough. He looked back up, shades still on. "I'm the one that caused us to split up in the first place. And I'm the one that didn't realize until it was too late."<br/><br/>He couldn't help it. A tear fell, dripping free below his shade. He only hoped the camera was far enough away it would go unnoticed. "So please, no hard feelings towards her. You all know the story, and now you know why I suddenly fell into a funk a month later. It was all me." He swiped his thumb across his cheek, clearing the tear from it and doing his best to make sure no others broke through.<br/><br/>"As for... well... you know who you are," he said, his voice trembling with the restraint of holding back so much emotion. "I hope you're not watching. This is one big fuck hole of a show, after all. But in the event that you are..."<br/><br/>It didn't work. Tears poured from his eyes beyond his shades. He suddenly stood up, grabbing the chair, lifting and flipping it over in irritation. At who, he didn't know. Was it at himself? This damn show? God, he just didn't know. He stood there, his back facing the camera, one hand on his hip as the other spread out beneath his shades, covering his eyes. His face contorted into all the grotesque shapes a crying man can metamorphosize into, but after a few moments he had finally collected himself. He turned around, crouching down onto his haunches. He pulled his shades away and allowed his eyes, puffy from tears, look into the camera aperture.<br/><br/>"I'm sorry," he said. "I never wanted you to know because I had hurt you enough. I didn't want this to be on your conscience. It was my mistake, my fault. So please, just..." He placed the palms of his hands together. "Just please keep living your life without me. Keep being happy without me. And please,<em>please</em>understand that their wording was absolute bullshit. You did me know wrong."<br/><br/>And that was it. There was nothing else he could say of the matter. He stood up, turned away from the camera, wiping what tears and such he could from his face before fixing his shades back on. Looking down at the chair, he sighed, bending down to try and pick it back up. He arranged it as neatly as he could, making sure that the next guest would be able to use it as if nothing had happened at all. He imagined there'd be quite a line.<br/><br/>He stepped out of the diary room and did his best to avoid eye contact with anyone present, almost bum rushing his way to the bathroom. Glad to find no one else inside, he ran the water, dropping his shades on the sink before cupping the cool liquid into his hands and running it over his face. After doing his best to erase any signs of his emotional state he gazed back up at the mirror.<br/><br/><div class="floatright">(https://cdn.itv.com/uploads/editor/medium__dchIgPOR0gHTRYsmIA7zbqOlH6TZcwVOyJp4LfN0NA.jpg)</div>His heart still felt like a toxic dump of nuclear waste radiating poison throughout his soul.<br/><br/>God awful lyric potential aside, he decided he needed to do something about it. Sadly, he lacked his music and instruments, so he couldn't release his rage that way. Currently alone, he looked around, contemplated locking the door. Even if he could, though, he imagined the crew would rush in with a fire axe for fear that he was now suicidal. People were sensitive these days, after all. Still, this was the one place without cameras, right? Couldn't catch someone walking around with their scrotum or tits just bouncin' around like the udders of a cow in an old Disney cartoon. But ever since he'd come back he was curious about something.<br/><br/>The acoustics.<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><strong><em></em></strong></span></span><br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><em>"THE PRICE OF EXISTENCE!" (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RIF-eXs-oxk)</em></span></span>he screamed... or growled... or perhaps scrowled.<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><em>OUR STAGNANT BODIES BOUND IN A TIME OF THE LIVING! AND NOTHING'S WHAT IT'S BEEN! I HAVE DROWNED IN THIS VAGUE WORLD!"</em></span></span><br/><br/>His legs parted, knees bent with one heel rising and falling to keep his beat. His arms balled into fists as his eyes stared up towards the ceiling. The muscles in his neck tensed and his face contorted as he tore his throat raw from the rage and sorrow and frustration he screamed out.<br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><em>WE PRETEND, BUT THE MADNESS ALWAYS ON DEEP INSIDE OUR SLEEPING STATE, WHERE OUR BLACK THOUGHTS THRIVE!"</em></span></span><br/><br/>His arms then spread, fists unfolding so that his fingers splayed out invitingly, looking forward towards the door, almost as if expecting someone to step through. His voice now changed, sounding a bit like James Hetfield's live voice (https://youtu.be/iG5v_qx9q6M?t=79) while singing melodically, before jumping back to the scrowling.<br/><br/><em><strong>"I CAN'T BE!</strong> <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">I CAN'T BE!</span></span> <strong>THE ONLY ONE!</strong> <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">THE ONLY ONE!</span></span> <strong>THAT SEES THIS! THAT FEELS THE </strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">FUMES FROM THE MOTORS! DELUSIONS START TO EAT THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT! CAN WE EVER CHANGE OURSELVES, THE STRANGE?! STRANGE! WE'RE HIDING THE KNIVES, SCARED OF WHAT WE'LL MEET!"</span></span></em><br/><br/>With the guitar echo in his mind, Devon brushed strands of hair behind his ears, taking a step back, then another, but then planting his heels as if ready to grasp a microphone in front of him. He closed his eyes, recalling the sight of being on a claustrophobic stage in some dive bar in New York smelling of piss, cigarettes, weed, Jack Daniels, vomit, and -- depending on the neighborhood -- sex.<br/><br/><em><strong>"AND IN MYSELF I FEEL THAT I'M ALWAYS OUTSIDE THE REALITY! (https://youtu.be/RIF-eXs-oxk?t=111) AND INSIDE MY FRAGILE ME LIES THE TRUTH CONCEALED! HIDDEN DEEP DOWN IN MEEEEE~!"</strong></em><br/><br/>His hands balled into fists once more, curled up as into an old fashioned boxing pose, but his back arching as he looked up towards the sky, hair hanging down freely as he let the notes carry as long as he could. Throwing his head forward, hair suddenly falling in front of his face like some creepy Japanese ghost girl, his arms spread once again, but this time as if in a challenge of he who dared cross the threshold from the bedroom into the bathroom.<br/><br/><em><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">"WE'LL FACE THEM ALL!</span></span> <strong>WE'LL FACE THEM ALL!</strong> <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">WE'LL TAKE IT ALL!</span></span> <strong>WE'LL TAKE IT ALL! OH HOW CAN I BE SO AFRAID OF LIVING?!</strong> <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">WE'RE THE GHOSTS OF THIS WORLD!"</span></span></em><br/><br/>With that, he stumbled and dropped down to the ground, catching himself on his hand before he flattened onto his back. He panted heavily, a smile upon his face. All nuclear waste had been disposed of... at least for now. He slowly stood up, brushing nothing off himself before retrieving his shades from the sink. He unfolded them, slipping them onto his forehead. He checked his phone as he stepped out of the bathroom, seeing two (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=308831.msg15056080#msg15056080) new (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=308831.msg15057954#msg15057954) messages from Caroline. The first was regarding the "winnings" of the guys, the second to vote for "best secret". His eyebrows rose and he let out a sigh, but it quickly turned into a smirk as his thumbs typed in his vote: "Glitter-Vag". With that finished, he began to whistle the chorus he had just sung and scrowled, tossing the phone into the air and catching it as he walked forward. He didn't have a destination. He just... well, he was feeling... better.<br/><br/>Would be feeling<em>worlds</em>better if they let him have his music or guitar, but whatever. At least he confirmed the acoustics of the bathroom were good.