jemima98

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Please vote.

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"Can I sit here? Everywhere else is full."
"No."


"Can I sit here? Everywhere else is full."
"I don't know."


"Can I sit here? Everywhere else is full."
"Yeah, go ahead."
"You know what? Nevermind."


"Yeah, go ahead."
"Thank you."
"Uh-huh."
"Ruth."
"What?"
"Ruth. That's my name."
Rudely. "Did I ask for your name?"


"Uh-huh."
"Ruth."
"What?"
"Ruth. That's my name."
"Oh. Ben. I'm Ben."
Shaking hands.
"I just moved here." Applying hand sanitizer.
"I could tell by your accent." Looking at Ruth's hands.
"Oh, I always have to have clean hands."
"Are you germaphobic?"
"Yes."


"Oh, I always have to have clean hands."
"Are you saying my hands are dirty?"


"Oh, I always have to have clean hands."
"I see."
"Not saying your hands are dirty. I just always have to have clean hands. I guess it's an OCD tendency. I seem to have a lot of those, but I'm not really OCD."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I also have to arrange my money from least to greatest, front to back in my wallet. Also with which kind it is. The dollar, English pound, Euro."
"Yes, I could see why you'd do that. So you don't pull out a quid when in Germany."
"Yes! I also have to turn a light switch on an off five times, and I have to put my socks on and take them off five times, and same for my shoes."


"Yes, I could see why you'd do that. So you don't pull out a quid when in Germany."
"Yes! I also have to have my clothes color coded in my closet, and when I pack a suitcase, I have to do it in a specific order. That way, I always know where everything is."
Laughing. "That's fascinating."
"Don't mock me."


Laughing. "That's fascinating."
"I know, it's weird, but it's just at my house. I mean, I won't go crazy at someone's home and reorganize everything."
"Well, that's good to know."
"Enough about me, what about you?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't know we were getting to know each other. I have no interest in telling you about me. I am an asshole."


"Enough about me, what about you?"
"Oh, well. I'm not really good at this."
"It's not hard. Just say whatever's on your mind."
"I... I don't know what to tell you."
"I don't know, just not, 'I'm Ben and I love Maths.' That would be bad." Laughing.
Laughing with Ruth. "I hate Maths."
"Oh, me, too."
"I was never fond of learning. I'm a high school drop out."


"Oh, me, too."
"I was never fond of learning. I'm a devil worshiper."

I'm an anarchist."

I'm a bag boy at a grocery store."

I'm a serious artist."
I'm an actor."
"Really? Have you been in films?"
"No, just on the stage."
"Oh." Looking at watch. "Shit, I have to go. Time for a total body liposuction!"


"Oh." Looking at watch. "Shit, I have to go. We should talk again sometime."
"I don't think that's a good idea."


"Oh." Looking at watch. "Shit, I have to go. We should talk again sometime."
"Yeah. Sure."
"How about tomorrow afternoon? Here? This table?"
"Tomorrow's not good for me."


"How about tomorrow afternoon? Here? This table?"
"Yeah. Let's hope this table isn't full."

He looked at me as if there was something to say.
I looked at him as if there was nothing to say.
He said, "Well."
I shrugged my shoulders, because there was nothing to say.
"Why?"
I shrugged my shoulders.
"What? You don't speak anymore? You loose your ability to speak or something?"
I shrugged my shoulders.
"How can you not know? Open your mouth and tell me why."
"You tell me why."
"Tell you why what?"
"Tell me why you wouldn't tell me."
He shrugged his shoulders.
I shrugged my shoulders.
He looked at me as if there was something that I should say.
I looked at him as if there was nothing he could say.
That was the last time I saw him.
I think that everyone thinks that everyone owes them something. No one owes me anything. Not even Gabe.
If he were to owe me anything, it wouldn't be money. It wouldn't be love, pain, or hate, or sadness, or art supplies. Canvases, paint, paper, pencils, charcoal, paint sticks, pastels, glue. He would owe me time.
And I was supposed to tell him?
That makes me laugh and cry at the same time.

Do you know what time it is?















Do you know what time it is?

















Do you know what time it is?























Do you know what time it is?


































Do you know what time it is?












































Do you know what time it is?






















































Do you know what time it is?





































































Do you know what time it is?











































































Do you know what time it is?

























































Do you know what time it is?











































































I don't speak. I'm sorry.

He looked at me as if there was something to say.
I looked at him as if there was nothing to say.
He said, "Well."
I shrugged my shoulders, because there was nothing to say.
"Why?"
I shrugged my shoulders.
"What? You don't speak anymore? You loose your ability to speak or something?"
I shrugged my shoulders.
"How can you not know? Open your mouth and tell me why."
"You tell me why."
"Tell you why what?"
"Tell me why you wouldn't tell me."
He shrugged his shoulders.
I shrugged my shoulders.
He looked at me as if there was something that I should say.
I looked at him as if there was nothing he could say.
That was the last time I saw him.
I think that everyone thinks that everyone owes them something. No one owes me anything. Not even Gabe.
If he were to owe me anything, it wouldn't be money. It wouldn't be love, pain, or hate, or sadness, or art supplies. Canvases, paint, paper, pencils, charcoal, paint sticks, pastels, glue. He would owe me time.
And I was supposed to tell him?
That makes me laugh and cry at the same time.

comment. recommend to others. this will be completed, hopefully, by May.  If not... it will be just another Beginning. Or a middle.

We really want some members for The League.

Please check http://www.quizilla.com/stories/7290824/calling-all-writers for more info.

Who's the World's Sexiest Vegetarian 2008?


MEN:

1. Jared Leto 5710

2. Frank Iero 5658

3. Gabe Saporta 5607

4. Davey Havok 1621

5. Milo Ventimiglia 1550

WOMEN:

1. Natalie Portman 4121

2. Alyssa Milano 4102

3. Greta Salpeter 3844

4. Hayden Panettiere 3470

5. Kristen Bell 2464




Come on, we all know that Gabe > Jared Leto and Greta >Natalie Portman.

VOTEVOTEVOTE!!!!!

I've started this new writers group with my friend, showcasing the best writers on the web. Of course, it's our opinion, but believe me, we're not biased, and we don't think we're THE BEST writer on Quizilla or anywhere else on the internet, so we're not enormously big headed or anything. You should all try and join! If you don't make it, I'll tell you what's wrong with it if you want me to know. If you don't want us to critique you, PLEASE tell me before hand so we don't make jerks out of ourselves.
How to apply:
Send me a message via Quizilla messaging system two either theleague or my personal account (Jemima98), via myspace (www.myspace.com/theleagueofwriters), or this buzznet account, telling me you'd like to join.. In this message, I need you to send YOUR BEST one shot that you've ALREADY written. This can be about whoever or it can be original. I will reply to your message telling you if you've made it based on this one shot, OR, I will ask for another sample to see if you can do better. I will give you a choice of two people to write a one shot on, or, I may ask for an original one shot. That's TWO chances if you don't get it the first round. Both Anne (singingaway323 on Quizilla.com) and I will be reading your work, so there's two of us you have to get a yes from. If you only get one yes, you'll have to write a second piece. If you'd like critiquing on the one shot you've already written, tell me, and I'd be happy to help.

Want to know what I'm looking for? Here's a pretty in-depth list.
1. Be originial. A lot of writing I've read has been pretty much different ways of writing about the same topic. Girl gets saved by abusive boyfriend, she gets pregnant, plans to get abortion or freak miscarriage happens, self abuse, etc, etc, are topics that many people write about. A safety net that new writers use is high school or the Tour story. These are okay, but make it your own and be creative without going overboard and making it unrealistic.

2. Give backround to characters. You don't have to say this in a third person paragraph (ex: "Angela is eighteen years old and her parents got divorced when she was twelve because her dad turned gay...") You can add backround in dialogue or in your character's thoughts. It's also great to have the arc of a character, which is where the character grows as the story progresses. Not necessarily getting older, but thought process, attitude, etc, change and mature.

3. Keep one point of view. Readers don't like bouncing back and fourth from perspective to perspective, and it makes the story more cohesive if you stick to one or the other. Third person is good if you want to share everyone's thoughts when they're thinking them, rather than telling thoughts through dialogue. First person is great for giving specific insight to only one character unless the others express their own thoughts through dialogue. This can be helpful in character development, because it can let your character react in his or her mind.Do not ever use second person.This is very important, because when an author writes, "You take the razor blade and make a large cut in your wrist," the reader reacts and says, "I did no such thing," and they close the story and never open it again. You may TALK to the reader, but do not give actions in second person. They aren't in your story.

4. Stay focused. Remember what you had written previously, and keep on that track without repeating what you've already said or make things happen that cannot possibly happen with what you had already written. Twists are great to add to your stories, but don't change the story so much that it isn't the one you started writing.

5. Be realistic. No one likes something that can't happen. Well, of course fan fiction would never happen, but make your fiction as close to reality as possible.

6. Punctuation and grammar is key. No one likes a stupid writer. You do not have to be extremely sophisticated in your writing, but don't sound like yourself. If writing in third person, it is essential that you are formal in your writing. If writing in first, it is necessary to add character into all thoughts. (Good example: "Michael's light bulb goes on and he realizes I have broken up with him. He looks a little sad and leaves the kitchen, and probably the party. I feel bad, but the feeling subsides when I realize I never liked him. Then I feel bad because I dated him even though I never liked him." Bad: "I open the door and walk outside. It's bright so I put some sunglasses on and I zip my hoodie up because it's cold.")

7. The hoodie. Not everyone wears these or has to wear one all of the time.

8. Sex scene. If you want to write a kinky love novel, okay, but it's not great on the internet. You should definitely give a warning at the beginning of the post if there is any intercourse what-so-ever. It might be okay for you, but it might not be okay for everyone else.

9. Cursing. It's alright if you have curse words in your writing, as long as they are essential. Your character may swear like a sailor, but you don't have to say everything under the rainbow nine hundred times because they're joking around having a good time. Heat of the moment is when they work best. Not all characters have to curse a lot, either.

10. Develpment of the story. Probably the most important one. Make sure that you build a story, starting from the ground and going up. The climax of the story shouldn't be at the beginning unless it's a one shot, and even then, backround information (just a little) and a strong ending is key. You must give reason for everything. The Egyptians didn't build a pyramid from the top down. Remember, the beginning and majority of the middle is building up to the climax, and just as the middle portion of the story is ending, the climax conflict occurs and everything gradually gets calmer from there, finally ending the story.

11. How they meet. Having your characters bump into each other to meet is older than ancient Egyptian religious texts. Did you seriously meet everyone you know by bumping into them?
Of course, these are just a few, but I think you get the point.
I'll be creating a myspace account to showcase all of the writers.

Please enter!
Jemima98 Singingaway323
Founder of The League Co-Founder of the League

CONTACT:
www.myspace.com/theleagueofwriters
www.quizilla.com/user/profile/jemima98
www.quizilla.com/user/profile/theleague
www.quizilla.com/user/profile/singingaway323

I'm not sure if you'll like it. The second chapter ("TEEN") is balls long and only one paragraph, and for that, I apologize. I'm also aware that it has nothing to do with any of the people I tagged but myself, but I wanted people to see that it's here. More to come.




YOUTH

Sometimes I feel a little juvenile. I'd like to think of myself as mature, and I know for a fact that I feel superior when my classmates act like monkeys. But at this moment in time, I feel like I did when I was younger, like I didn't care if people thought I was immature because I was a kid, and everyone knows that kids are immature.
And I feel a little sick, because we're spinning like crazy and the music is light like it always is on these things, and we're all laughing. The lights are swirling and I can feel my eyes watering as I laugh and I suddenly wonder if I'm on drugs or if this is really as fun as it seems. I can feel the pull of gravity making me nauseas and the pressure of June and Ellen sitting on either side of me, telling me that this isn't a dream, either.
And soon the music has stopped, and we've slowed. We're giggly in our dizzied state as we clamber out of the teacup and off of the Merry Go Round. The world was spinning and moving like waves in the ocean, and my arms were held out on either side of me, my feet planted on the reddish orange dirt, my back hunched, but it didn't stop the ocean or the turning.
My head cleared and I finally exited the ride's perimeter and we looked at each other, laughing again.

TEEN

It starts with a montage of cinematography, speeding up and slowing down, becoming fuzzy and suddenly clear. It's confusing and always in black and white. A celluloid dream. Unlike common belief, we're not boy crazy and we're not into poop jokes or partying or drinking or doing drugs or experimenting with sex. Our hair isn't green and we don't wear black nail polish or lots of eyeliner. We don't have side kicks or beastly texting/communicating devices. We don't have the latest portable music playing device or an ultra nice car or a ultra shitty car either. Our high school's administrators as well as the normal cheerleaders and jocks are crazy spirited, but the rest of the school isn't, like a lot of high schools, and my class of '04 is always dead silent when Coach Schiller tries to get people to scream for the spirit stick at pep rallies. And we're so typically American, eating hot dogs and burgers and potato chips on the fourth of July and dressing up as stupid kid things on Halloween and eating all the candy we received that same night, our costumes still on and our foreheads glazed with sweat. Another thing that is misconceived about us: vegetables. For some reason they think that we don't like vegetables, and the real truth is, is that it's them that don't like vegetables. I know more people over forty that hate broccoli than people under twenty. And we like making good grades because it makes us feel good, and our families are normal, whatever that is, and we don't go to therapy and we don't tell everyone we're OCD or have ADD or ADHD. We're not allergic to red food dye; in fact, our favorite flavors are always the red ones. We like watermelon when it's hot outside and we're out by the pool. We don't wear sexy swim suits that barely cover us, and we don't lay out to tan, and we wear SPF 50 sun block because we know the sun is bad for your skin. We played stupid games on the playground when we were kids, like Tomb Raider or a stupid game about three girls going on an adventure on a haunted street where the street name isn't grammatically correct and that made it cool. We never wait up for the end of the world, and we don't wake up early and we don't go to bed late because sleep is for dreamers, and we know that the only truly natural things are dreams, which nature cannot touch with decay. And we know that we probably have some sort of sickness festering away somewhere; if not in us, then in our family. But not like Andrew Martin, wasting away in some hospital. I couldn't do that. Decay like that. But it's nature's will and I don't believe in nature. People think that, because we're young, we have some sort of fantastic imagination. Or some shitty, dirty, careless one. Maybe they do, but I couldn't tell you the minds of everyone else, only my own, and even then, that is a lie, because it's never clear for me. I know a lot of people's ideas annoyed me. They were always half hearted and disassociated and meaningless. Like a song about politics and everyone knows that shit is dead, and it died when it was born. And, at least in my small group of friends, we don't watch MTV or Fuse or MTV2 or VH1 and we can't understand why there needs to be four music channels or why there needs to be two MTV stations. Those movies are wrong. We're nothing like that. And yes, we're coming of age and growing up, but we're thinking, no matter where we are in life. We're living and dreaming and sleeping and hating and, even though we should beware of it, loving. We're loving in that teenage manner. The one that doesn't really exist but it still hurts pretty bad. And I think that, if and when we grow up, meaning, get out of what's supposed to be the best time of our lives, we'll be scared shitless about life, and love will hurt so bad that it will become unimaginable, and we'll forget about what happened to us because it will be easy to. We'll be thrown into this new place, and that's what we'll be worrying about for the next seventy or so years, if we're so unlucky to live that long. And we'll have to pay for our own house and bills and food and clothes and makeup. And once we hit twenty-one, we'll be taken seriously because we're old enough to drink so that means that we're really adults. And maybe, some of us will go downhill because they can't handle these new pressures and their master plan was ruined because of their weakness. And we'll have to start eating healthy because our metabolism will slow down, and we'll have to start working out, and that means a greater risk for injury, which means we'll have to pay our hospital bills ourselves. When we're older we'll actually have to deal with our relationships with others because they will become real and not just high school. But we all know that it's so easy not caring about one another because you just want to get out of high school and leave everyone anyway. You don't think you need them, but once you're out... you see that you're alone and they helped you get there. Your friends help you succeed at finally being alone. And you don't realize that until it happens. Maybe then you'll go to therapy because then you'll have someone to talk to other than your coworker who secretly doesn't like you because you got the job that they were hoping to get as a promotion. And when we get older, we'll think like the adults do now. We'll think that teenagers don't know how to drive and they're the ones that are driving nuts on the road. And then, at our ten year high school reunion, old friends will tell us, "You've changed," as if that's all there is to know. And we'll all have become exactly what we thought we'd become. And at that reunion, you'll learn of who's sickness finally grew enough to hurt inside them. You'll learn someone was diagnosed with diabetes or cancer or developed an eating disorder. You'll learn that someone has had five kids and the sixth one is on the way. And then, you'll see Prom King and Prom Queen. Prom Queen was the cheerleader that dated Prom King. She'll be a model now or married to Mr. Perfect with babies or both. Maybe she'll be divorced but a strong woman for girls to look up to. And Prom King will be just as you suspected: getting fat, still single with a drinking problem who likes to remember the glory days of scoring the touch down like a typical Prom King would have done. Growing up will be like swimming in lava. Growing up will be sad and happy and lonely and great and horrible and fun and chaotic. And I've accepted chaos already, but I'm not sure if it accepts me.

If you don't want to read my list of things that will make you a more successful writer, don't read this and ignore. Please remember I'm not directing this to one specific person; I have just been reading a lot of people's stuff, and I've seen a lot of things that have been repeated many a time. This is just for future reference for everyone when starting more developed writing.

1. Be originial. A lot of writing I've read has been pretty much different ways of writing about the same topic. Girl gets saved by abusive boyfriend, she gets pregnant, plans to get abortion or freak miscarriage happens, self abuse, etc, etc, are topics that many people write about. A safety net that new writers use is high school or the Tour story. These are okay, but make it your own and be creative without going overboard and making it unrealistic.

2. Give backround to characters. You don't have to say this in a third person paragraph (ex: "Angela is eighteen years old and her parents got divorced when she was twelve because her dad turned gay...") You can add backround in dialogue or in your character's thoughts. It's also great to have the arc of a character, which is where the character grows as the story progresses. Not necessarily getting older, but thought process, attitude, etc, change and mature.

3. Keep one point of view. Readers don't like bouncing back and fourth from perspective to perspective, and it makes the story more cohesive if you stick to one or the other. Third person is good if you want to share everyone's thoughts when they're thinking them, rather than telling thoughts through dialogue. First person is great for giving specific insight to only one character unless the others express their own thoughts through dialogue. This can be helpful in character development, because it can let your character react in his or her mind. Do not ever use second person. This is very important, because when an author writes, "You take the razor blade and make a large cut in your wrist," the reader reacts and says, "I did no such thing," and they close the story and never open it again. You may TALK to the reader, but do not give actions in second person. They aren't in your story.

4. Stay focused. Remember what you had written previously, and keep on that track without repeating what you've already said or make things happen that cannot possibly happen with what you had already written. Twists are great to add to your stories, but don't change the story so much that it isn't the one you started writing.

5. Be realistic. No one likes something that can't happen. Well, of course fan fiction would never happen, but make your fiction as close to reality as possible.

6. Punctuation and grammar is key. No one likes a stupid writer. You do not have to be extremely sophisticated in your writing, but don't sound like yourself. If writing in third person, it is essential that you are formal in your writing. If writing in first, it is necessary to add character into all thoughts. (Good example: "Michael's light bulb goes on and he realizes I have broken up with him. He looks a little sad and leaves the kitchen, and probably the party. I feel bad, but the feeling subsides when I realize I never liked him. Then I feel bad because I dated him even though I never liked him." Bad: "I open the door and walk outside. It's bright so I put some sunglasses on and I zip my hoodie up because it's cold.")

7. The hoodie. Not everyone wears these or has to wear one all of the time.

8. Sex scene. If you want to write a kinky love novel, okay, but it's not great on the internet. You should definitely give a warning at the beginning of the post if there is any intercourse what-so-ever. It might be okay for you, but it might not be okay for everyone else.

9. Cursing. It's alright if you have curse words in your writing, as long as they are essential. Your character may swear like a sailor, but you don't have to say everything under the rainbow nine hundred times because they're joking around having a good time. Heat of the moment is when they work best. Not all characters have to curse a lot, either.

10. Develpment of the story. Probably the most important one. Make sure that you build a story, starting from the ground and going up. The climax of the story shouldn't be at the beginning unless it's a one shot, and even then, backround information (just a little) and a strong ending is key. You must give reason for everything. The Egyptians didn't build a pyramid from the top down. Remember, the beginning and majority of the middle is building up to the climax, and just as the middle portion of the story is ending, the climax conflict occurs and everything gradually gets calmer from there, finally ending the story.

11. How they meet. Having your characters bump into each other to meet is older than ancient Egyptian religious texts. Did you seriously meet everyone you know by bumping into them?


Those were just a couple things. These are not rules, more of guidlines. It's okay to add things that a lot of people use, but make it your own and do it better than everyone else.

Happy writing,
Jemima98.

I look at the clock. It's eight in the evening, and it has been cold all day. I didn't do much in the time I had off.
The country was windy and gray, and the rain came down the majority of my time here.
His ceremony was pretty long. His family is Catholic, and they gave him a very Catholic funeral, which was not unlike Sunday mass, in a large, beautiful cathedral. The majority of the cathedral was white, aside from the darkly stained pews, brightly painted ceiling, and stained glass windows. It was a quiet and beautiful Wednesday morning; the sun shined through the windows, illuminating the hall and making it bright. The sound of birds talking outside floated through, and I looked around at the others, not listening to the lengthy eulogy.

Who for?


They called just as he countered Lillian Baycott. She looked to the phone, back to him, and then again to the phone. She takes it from its spot in its stand, presses the on button and says, "Hello?" She pauses while the person on the other line speaks quickly; I could hear the fast paced words being spoken, however, I couldn't understand what they were saying. "Yes. Yes. I knew it would happen sooner or later. Yes, I'll tell Jeanie. Yes. Thank you. Goodbye." She presses the off button, places the phone back onto its stand and looks round to me.
She looked a little annoyed at the previous conflict and upset at whatever she had just been informed of, standing in the kitchen, the fluorescent lights casting a greenish tint to the surrounding white and to her skin. She sighs, looks to him with tired eyes and says, "We can finish this later. No. Not really. I don't want to finish this. I don't care about your jealously anymore. It isn't my problem."
He purses his lips in frustration, breathing heavily, still leaning onto the bar that separates the kitchen from the living area with both hands in a pushup position on the bar's white linoleum counter. He stands up straight, sighing and rubbing his forehead. "Okay." With that simple word, he leaves, making sure to grab his keys from the coffee table.
Lillian turns away from where he was standing and walks toward me, her feet leaving the vinyl floor and stepping onto the beige carpet that separates the kitchen from the designated breakfast nook where I sit. She takes a seat in the chair opposite of mine and folds her hands on the pale, white washed pine table. She looks like and reminds me of mom, especially with her facial expression. One that shows signs of sadness behind a blank face. "Charles finally did it."
I blink. "Did he leave a note?"
She licks her lips and says, "Yeah." She takes a long pause, looking over at the clock, and back to my face. "She said he mentioned you."
"Who said?"
"Phoebe."
I wonder what he said about me and I wonder how Phoebe was feeling about the death of her older brother. "How?"
"How what? How did he do it?" I nod and she sighs. "Mr. Lipinski found him hanging by the neck this morning."

I look at the clock. It's eight in the evening, and it has been cold all day.









What do you think?




Inoculate the innocuous

The title is Help Is Not on the Way.
Dedicated to Katie, who is an amazing writer has unfortunately quit quizilla.

Mike's apartment wasn't huge but it wasn't small, either. It was quaint and surprisingly neat. My new bedroom was on the opposite side of the main room from Mike's, and a bathroom with a full bath and shower directly against the bedroom. The walls were still white from when Mike purchased the place, with the exception of my room, which I had just painted a lavender color three days before I began to move my things in.
"What did you do with the rest of Kyle's stuff?" Mike asks as I leave my bedroom.
"Her parents told me to give it to Salvation Army."
"Oh."
"Mike, I want to thank you again for letting me stay here until I get back onto my feet," I say, taking a seat next to him after unpacking my clothing.
"It's not a problem," he says, looking me in the eye, and then back to the TV which was currently playing an episode of CSI Las Vegas. "Besides, this way we can catch up."
I nod, smiling.
"I wish I could have been there for you after you lost Jimmy."
"He cheated on me."
Mike stares at me. "He what?"
"Kyle told me."
"I'm sorry," he says, taking my hand.
"Don't worry about it. I'm over it. I was too blind to see it. Or maybe I did see it, but I didn't believe it because I wanted him to be perfect."
"Nobody's perfect," Mike says.
I nod. "I think I know that now."
We don't say anything more until the episode is over and a new one comes on.
"You should meet the guys," Mike says. "I mean, you know William and Adam, but you should meet Michael and Andy. I think you'd get along with them. Well, you'd probably like Andy a lot; he seems like your type.. Well, what I thought your type was, but I don't know how much you've changed."
"My type was Jimmy."
Mike shakes his head. "No. I don't believe so. He wasn't your friend, he was your lover. Whenever you were around your friends, you were so full of life. When you were with Jimmy, it was like you were in some kind of trance, and not in a good way."
I look at my hand, swallowed by Mike's, and I think about how much truth is in what he's saying, and I don't answer.
"You know I love you, Blanchie."
"I know. I love you too, Mike."
"Tell me you won't get mad at me."
"Why would I get mad at you?" I ask, ignoring another Spike TV commercial filled with big-chested girls in lingerie.
Mike lets go of my hand, and looks away. "Well, I kind of invited them over already."
"What?"
"I invited the guys over. They should be here soon. I think Sisky's bringing his new girlfriend."
"Mike," I say, gaping at him. "I'm not ready to see--"
"I think they'll help you through all this. I mean, I know for a fact I can't do it alone. I just want you to be Blanche again, pre Jimmy-trance days. You're like a little sister to me."
I open my mouth to reply, but the door opens, followed by loud talking of boys, and the laughter of a girl who sounds like she's bursting from the seams in hysterics.
I look at Mike, who has an apologetic look on his face, and his friends appear before me.
Soon after, I am engulfed by long, gangly arms, pulling me to my feet, my face getting pressed into a boney chest that smells faintly of Old Spice. "Oh my god, Blanche! I haven't seen you since.. Well.. I don't remember, it's been so long. Oh, and I heard the news, I'm really sorry about it all. But I really missed you, you know."
"I missed you, too, William."
William pulls away, holding me at his freakish arm length, looking me in the eye. "Don't tell me we're back to William. Has it really been that long?"
I give him a small smile, letting it reach my eyes. "Bill."
He gives me a sloppy, lopsided grin and hugs me again, saying, "That's better."
"Bill, it's my turn, now." I feel William getting pulled off me, his arms untangling from around my back, only to be replaced by shorter, slightly toned arms. "Blanchie cakes," he says.
I smile into his shoulder. "Sisky pie."
"How are you doing?"
"I could be better," I reply truthfully. "But I'm doing okay."
Adam pulls away, and puts his arm around the pretty blonde girl with an ultra-short, shaggy haircut standing awkwardly next to him. I notice that she's a little taller than Adam. "This is my girlfriend, Harper Sedgwick. Harper, this is--"
"Blanche, I know. You guys have shown me millions of pictures. Only, you look a little different," Harper interrupts. She moves toward the couch to sit, and I see her first flaw: she walks a little awkwardly, like she's adjusting to a growth spurt, still unsure of how her long legs work. "Those two need to hook up."
"What?" I ask, furrowing my brow to the sudden subject change.
Adam takes a seat next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Greg and Sara," she says, referring to CSI, which was currently still playing on the television.
"Really? I always thought Sara should hook up with Grissom," I say.
"I didn't know you even watched TV," Mike says.
I look at him.
He looks down to the floor, obviously ashamed of what he just said.
"What?" I ask.
"Jimmy... And your daily schedule.." he mutters, looking at me for a fleeting moment, before averting his eyes to the wall.
I ignore his comment, and look at a guy I hadn't noticed when being crushed by long lost friends. "Hi," I say. "What's your name?"
"Michael Guy Chislett," he says, in a thick Aussie accent, nodding once: the manly signal for "hello."
"Chiz," William says, elongating the I in the nickname.
"Where's Andy?" Mike asks, suddenly noticing one was missing.
"Oh, he said he couldn't come. I dunno, I don't think he wanted to; he gave some excuse as to why. I forgot, though, which means it was probably lame. He's probably gettin' some," William answers, taking a seat next to Sisky, leaving Mike and I to fight over who gets to sit in the recliner and who gets the floor.
"At one in the afternoon?" I ask, sitting in the chair before Mike could even start to think about sitting there.
"Yeah, we're talking about the same Butcher, right? Andy never gets some. He got lucky one night, and then never again. Butcher wouldn't be getting laid this time of day, either," Adam says.
"Butcher's a good guy," Mike says to me, sitting on the carpet. "You need to meet him."
I shrug and I feel someone looking at me. I look over to William, who is staring at me in that, "I know something" way.
For a minute, I get the feeling that Will knows that it was me who had sex with Andy that night. And then as fast as it came, it's gone. I didn't think Andy was the type of guy to tell his friends he had sex with some girl and was rejected when he asked to see her again.
But I've been wrong before.

Yesterday, I restocked the refrigerator and pantry. I told Mike I couldn't live on take out and Hot Pockets, so we took a trip to the grocery store. This morning, I woke up with a roaring hunger, so bad that my stomach threatened to eat itself if I didn't shove something in there soon.
I heard Mike finally getting out of bed a little bit before, and I hear him walking down the hall as I pour a bowl of Special K.
"Morning, Blanche."
"Hey." I grab a spoon before getting the milk out of the refrigerator.
Mike starts a pot of coffee, leans against the counter and asks, "What's your plan for today?"
"Today," I say, pouring the milk and putting it back where it belongs, "I'm going to lose my mind."
Mike gives a dry laugh and shakes his head. "What's up?"
"Nothing. I've just been thinking."
"About?" He pulls out a mug as I sit at the small kitchen table with my bowl.
"Everything. I can't help but feel bad about Kyle."
"It's not your fault she's dead, don't you even think that it's--"
"No, I feel bad about when she was alive. I took her for granted, especially after Jimmy kicked the bucket. You don't realize what's important till it's--or they're-- gone."
"I understand," he says, looking at me directly.
I give him a small smile and I finish my cereal as Mike sips his coffee.

This morning is quiet, apart from the sounds of the television, the phone ringing on rare occasion, and the traffic outside. Harper and I went to dinner last night and I told her my situation with Andy.
"So you played him?" she had asked me.
"I didn't play him."
"Yeah, you fucked him and left him. That's playing him like a violin."
"It is not. I never told him I loved him or that I wanted to spend more time with him after that night. I wanted him in that moment, that night, no more than that; it was all I needed. He is the one that wanted to spend more time together. To see me again."
Harper pursed her lips and looked to one of the wall decorations.
After a few moments she looked back at me and asked, "Well, that's probably why he won't go to Mike's house or do any activity in which you're attending."
I remember giving her that "No shit, Sherlock," expression.
Mike changes the channel and I blink.
"You're quiet," he says, looking at me.
"I know."
"Andy's coming over today."
"Is he?"
"Yeah, you'll finally be able to meet him. I don't know why he's been acting so distant lately."
I have the urge to tell him why, but I reply with a small shrug.

I felt bad about skipping out on Andy coming over, but I was missing Kyle.
For the first time, I've brought flowers for both her and her brother, and I'm not ranting at their graves. I'm quiet, and the wind is gone.
"I do believe you're helping me. Up in your heaven. I like to think you're guiding me, helping me make the right decisions. I think I felt guilty after you died, Kyle. I didn't give you what you deserved. Harper told me to let it go. You can't change your past. And I know that, but I wish I could, because I'd give you the world."
The sun's heat is washed away by the breeze that sweeps in. The wind makes the cemetery sound alive. The air rustling the trees and whipping through the weeds combining with the birds that take flight makes the cemetery suddenly noisy and loud.
"Why do people have to die?"
"So we can miss them."
I turn and see Andy standing a couple feet away.
"Why do people have to have one night stands?" he asks, walking toward me and sitting down.
"So they can get it out of their system."
"Get what out of their system?"
I look away from him and to Jimmy's tombstone and breathe deeply. "People. Sadness. They do it to feel numb. To feel something other than what they're feeling. To forget."
"Forgetting isn't forever."
"I know that. I never said I would be able to forget. But I'll try. I'll try as hard as I can. But it's so hard. They're everywhere. They're everything. The earth, the trees, the sky, the air, the moon."
"You don't have to forget," Andy says, looking around at his surroundings. "Just move on."
I lie down on the grass that's still cool from the night. I think about the ring that I buried not too far away from where I lay. "That's harder than it sounds, Andy."
Andy looks at me, sadly. "You can always try, Blanche."
I sigh, and look at Andy who has lain down beside me. He takes my hand and I look up at the people that have left me, who are still breathing in the earth. "I wish something or somebody could just help me through all this. Get over all of this. They're dead. Gone. I've been cheated by one, loved by another."
"Don't be fooled, Blanche," Andy says, giving my hand a squeeze. "Help is not</i> on the way."
I look at him again. "Yeah. I think it is."

I'm bored so I'm posting. And I don't feel like fixing the italics HTML. So. If you see <i>word</i>, just know that it's an italic.


I don't think it occurred to me that the people close to you and the people that you love could ever die. I mean, I knew it would happen eventually, I just never realized that everyone is mortal all of the time, and at any moment, their life or your own life could end.
My aunt died when I was thirteen.
I wasn't close to her, but I loved her because she was family, and you're supposed to love your family.
I cried when I found out, and I cried at her funeral, but that was really the only time.
And then, when I turned sixteen, I met Jimmy Ward.
Tall, well-toned, a nice tan, and dirty blonde hair.
And he stole my heart away with that smile of his.
Back in high school he would dabble in various sports, and still occasionally liked to hit a tennis ball around.
Jimmy and I moved in together while we attended the same college.
Every morning, I would wake up at exactly six thirty, I would look at his pleasant, sleeping face, and kiss his forehead, letting my lips linger for a moment.
And then, I would get up, take my shower and do my usual morning routine. I'd attend my classes, and then head over to work my part time job, keeping house at a dance studio so they would let me take free lessons every Saturday, as well as a small amount of pay.
I would go home afteward, freshen up, and start to prepare dinner around six o'clock.
As I placed salads on the table, Jimmy would pull up in front of our apartment, come inside, and set down his things.
He would hug me from behind, swaying to music that wasn't there and kiss my cheek. He'd say, "I love you, baby. How was your day?"
And I would always reply with, "I love you, too. It was okay, but you weren't with me."
And he would turn me around and kiss me, earnestly, gently, pulling me close, and I would always laugh a little, pulling away, and say, "The food's going to get cold."
We would eat, and converse, and one day, after the salads were done, he smiled at me, and stopped me from getting up and plating the main course, and he reached down into his pocket, and pulled out a box. And the box held a ring that held a promise that one day, we'd be married.
And I said yes, and I started to tear up, and he held me.
We finished our food, cleared the table, and watched a little TV while talking and doing our homework.
That night, when he asked me to marry him, we did the routine and headed into the bedroom, and he kissed me again. Usually, he didn't kiss me until I had all my makeup off and I had put on my pajamas, placed the day's clothes into the hamper and pulled out clothes for the next day.
But this night, he kissed me for a long time, and eventually, we went to the bed, and we did what lovers do. I went to sleep in his arms without worrying about not taking off my makeup or putting the clothes in the hamper or laying out clothes for the next day, because I was in Jimmy's arms and all I knew was that I didn't want to leave them.
And the next day, the routine was the same, and I kissed his forehead, and I went about my day, and at six o'clock, his car didn't pull into the space in front of our apartment.
It didn't pull at six thirty.
Or six forty-five.
Or seven.
Or eight, or nine, or ten.
And the food got cold, and I didn't wash off my make up, and I didn't put the clothes in the hamper and lay out my outfit.
And when I woke up on the couch at seven a.m., his car was still not there.
And it was not there at noon.
Or one, or two, or three or four.
And at six o'clock, I did not hear, "I love you, baby. How was your day?"
I heard, "Jimmy died in a car wreck last night, Blanche."
And all I can remember after that, was that I dropped the phone, and I remember sitting on the floor, crying into my hands and into the hand with the finger that wore the ring that held the promise, and I could hear Jimmy's sister, Kyle, saying, "Blanche? Blanche? I'm sorry, Blanche, I'm really sorry. He died on impact, so at least he didn't feel for too long."
And I remember calming down, telling Kyle I would help plan the funeral and saying goodbye, and turning off the phone. I remember placing it on it's stand, washing my face, laying out my clothes, putting the day's clothes in the hamper, sliding on my pajamas, and going to bed.

"Blanche. Blanche. <i>Blanche.</i> Get <i>up</i>."
"What time is it?"
"A quarter after ten. If you sleep any longer, you'll be wasting away half of the day."
I sit up in bed, rubbing my eyes and I let them adjust to the light shining through my window, noticing the curtains have been swept to the sides, revealing a spectacular view of Chicago.
After Jimmy died and the funeral was said and done with, I moved into the city, closer to the college into a high-rise apartment with Kyle.
Kyle looks at me and sighs when she sees my small frame.
"It's been two years, Blanchie."
"I know."
"It's time to move on."
"He was your brother."
"He would want us to move on. He would want us to be happy. Don't you think so?"
"I guess," I sigh.
She sits in the chair in the corner of my room, facing me. "It's time to live again, Blanche."
I stand up and head to the bathroom with the clothes I laid out the night before. I brush my teeth, take my shower, apply my makeup, and get dressed.
"So, first on the agenda is brunch, and then we'll do whatever we want to do. How's that sound?"
I shrug. "Okay."

After Jimmy died, I kind of stopped caring.
My grades in school plummeted, skittering on the brink of failing, but still passing. I danced a whole lot more than just Saturday, and meals became smaller than normal.
Breakfast consisted of a single pop tart, lunch was a tuna sandwich, and dinner was a pear or an apple. My weight when I had Jimmy was around one hundred and ten to one hundred and fifteen. Post mortem, it dropped to a scary ninety-eight.
Kyle has helped me gain some of it back, but not all of it. I still look like a bag of bones.
I think it's weird that Kyle is taking care of me when she's a good four years younger than I am. This will be her first year in college and my third.
"You're going to be mad at me."
I look up from my fried egg and rest my eyes on Kyle's face. This is my movement that means, "What?"
She gives an exasperated sigh and moves her hash browns around on her plate, mixing it with the yolk of her egg. "Well, I think we should, you know, go out, or something."
"We are out."
"Well, I mean, go out to meet new people."
"You mean, <i>to a club?</i>"
Her eyes shift from one side of the diner to out the window, back again to the opposite wall, to my face, and then quickly landing back onto her plate, as she lets her breath out again quickly, trying to find words to keep me from getting upset.
"I just, I think it's time for you to move on."
"So you want me to meet a new guy."
"Well. Yes." I start to give her a hard stare, and she continues. "I mean, I know you loved Jimmy and I know he loved you, too, and I know that you were going to get married someday and have tons of little Jimmys and little Blanches, and I know that it's hard and you lost someone important to you, but so did I. Jimmy was a big part in my life as well as yours, so I know how you feel on the whole losing-someone-close scale, but I've moved on and so can you. You can't get another brother, Blanche, but you can get another lover."
I shake my head. "Jimmy was the one."
Kyle looks at me like she wants to say something, but she isn't going to.
"What?" I ask.
"Maybe he wasn't the one," she says quietly.
<i>"What?"</i>
"Maybe.. Maybe he was supposed to die so you'd find that person who actually <i>is</i> the one," she says carefully.
I let out a mangled laugh. "I can't believe this. I can't believe your saying this. Jimmy was the one, he had to be the one, he was perfect, <i>we</i> were perfect, and we had everything planned, and we never fought, and he loved me, and I loved him, and.. and.." I trail off, unable to talk and hold my sobs back simultaneously.
Kyle looks had her plate and then to me. "He wasn't perfect, Blanchie."
I look at her, holding tears back.
"Jimmy-- He.. Well, he cheated on you."
"You're lying." It comes out mangled and desperate.
Kyle looks at me sadly and shakes her head. "I wish I was. He cheated on you. The <i>other girl</i>-- Well.. She was in the car with him when he.. you know."
I take a twenty out of my wallet, slap it on the table and leave.

I never liked cemeteries. It's creepy, being underneath such large trees. And these trees would be fertilized by all the cadavers in the ground if they weren't encased by their caskets.
"You.. You're a fucking liar, Jimmy. You're a fucking liar."
His tomb stone says nothing, but faces me, gloomily, already being worn down by the elements, despite the protective covering of the trees.
"And I believed you, Jim, I really did. Did you tell her the same thing? Did you give her the ring that looks like mine? No? Well here, you can have it back, because I don't want it or need it anymore, and maybe she does. Maybe she'll think that it's a reward. All that dick sucking that she did--that I would never do for you--finally paid off.
"And I'm sorry that you felt the need to go behind my back. Did she know about me? Did she know about what we had? Or was what we had that disposable? Huh? I wish you'd answer me, you pile of dust. You know what I realized? You never fucking answered me. I made all of the decisions because you never fucking answered me. I asked, 'Do you want chicken or spaghetti for dinner?' And you wouldn't say shit back to me, just sit there, looking happy. I thought you were happy because of me, but I realize now, that you must've just had your dick sucked.
"And you wanna know what else, Jimmy? I hope she was finally telling you off. I hope she didn't die while she was sucking your ungrateful dick, because I sure as hell would never want to go like that.
"I think it's funny how much one person's opinion on another can change so drastically in such a short amount of time. Do you know what I'm going to do, Jimmy? I'm going to fuck somebody. And I'm not going to think twice about you."
I take off the ring that held that stupid promise, dig a small hole and bury it, laying it to rest a little less than six feet above Jimmy.
And I walk away, feeling a weight lifting from my shoulders that I never knew was there.

It's pretty ridiculous how much money boys have blown buying me drinks and paying for hotel rooms.
I think I've gotten to the point where I can figure out a guy just by fucking him. Whether he's sweet and gentle, or just a horny bastard.
The other night, I was with someone. I can't remember his name, he'd bought me too many drinks for me to pay attention to anything he said. But the whole time in the hotel room, I kept thinking, "See, Jimmy? This is easy. It's so fucking easy."
And I lied to Jimmy. It was <i>my</i> turn to lie. Because when I told him that I wouldn't think twice about him, he didn't know that I would mentally tell him, "Suck on this, Jim."
And tonight is just another night.
So suck on this, Jim.

"I need to know if your mad at me."
I throw my purse and keys down onto the table by the door. I go to the restroom and brush my teeth. I then head to my bedroom, put on my pajamas and return to the living room, where Kyle sits, waiting for me.
"I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at myself for letting it all happen. I'm mad that I never saw it. I'm mad at the fact that I was so blind to it all. I lived for six-thirty. I never realized that something could be happening in the hours before then. I'm not mad at you, Kyle. I don't think I could be."
"Don't get upset," she starts.
"You always say that before telling me something I don't want to hear," I say flopping onto the couch.
"I don't like seeing you like this."
"It's better than me moping. I'm going out like you wanted me to."
"Don't act fucking stupid, Blanche, you know that's not what I meant. I didn't tell you to go sleep with a bunch of guys. And in a way, you are still trying to recover, because your fucking these boys, and all the while telling Jimmy to suck his own cock. Act like a normal fucking person, Blanche."
I look at her. "What the fuck is normal, Kyle? Do you even understand that I--"
"You were blindly in love, and he died, and you were hurt when you found out what he did, but that doesn't mean you should stick it to him. Let him be dead. After all, that's what he is." With that, she stands up, grabbing her bag, slipping on her flip flops and shoving a pair of large, green framed sunglasses onto her face, grabbing her keys. "I'm going to meet up with that guy I told you about. I'll be back later."
She starts toward the door and I stand. "I'm not loose," I tell her as her hand touches the doorknob.
"I never said that."
"But you think it."
Kyle sighs. "Stop dicking around. You're better than Jimmy, don't act like it's the other way around."
Kyle turns the knob, opens the door and leaves, shutting the door harder than she normally would, signifying the end of the argument.

"Tell me about him. What happened?"
"Well, his name's Caden, and he's got dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. He's gorgeous. And good teeth. Anyway. He's an artist and free lance photographer. He's really sweet, and he's straight edge."
"Second date?"
"Definitely," Kyle smiles.
It's around seven p.m. after dinner, and we're sharing a jar of peanut butter. Talk about Jar O' Germs.
"Potential boyfriend?" I ask.
"I think so. I think I really like him, but I don't want to go fast, you know? I wanna make sure it's right before we make it official. And before we go to bed."
I roll my eyes, looking away.
"What are you doing tomorrow night?" she asks.
"I'm going to go out."
"Will you do me a favor?"
I look at her.
"Don't fool around."
"Kyle."
"Just don't think about Jimmy. Go out and talk to people, decline drinks and a night in a hotel with a stranger. You're better than that."
"I don't want to talk about this."
"Yeah, well, I do. Don't let him get to you, Blanche."
"It's pretty damn hard to when he's all I've known, and then to find out that it was a lie. That everything was a lie."
"Blanche," Kyle starts.
I ignore her and go to bed early that night.

"Stop dictating my life. You're fucking dead. You're dead to me. But you still.. you still manage to control me."
His grave stares up at me, blankly, yet again.
The words, "A loving son, brother, and fiancée," lay etched into the stone, forever lying to anyone who reads it.
I breathe the crisp air in heavily, looking up through the trees to the gray skies.
"I need a telephone," I say looking back down to the tombstone. "I need a telephone to talk to you--to ask you <i>why</i>. I need to know what I did wrong, Jimmy, so I can fix it. I wanna call you, where ever you are, and ask you, 'Why Jim? What did I do? Why did you do this to me?'
Because look at me, Jim, I'm a fucking mess. I'm with strangers more than once a week. I don't remember their names, but I remember that they looked good after a couple glasses of liquor.
And guess where I'll be tonight? Yep, you got it. That new club a couple blocks from here. And then, probably a little hotel room. And I don't want to think about you, so leave me alone. Jimmy, I don't want to ever think of you again.
And as much as I've been 'sleeping around' lately, I want to meet someone new to replace you, for longer than just one night. But I don't know how to do it. It was easy for us. But now that you're gone, maybe I'll be able to meet that guy that's supposed to be the one for me. And maybe I can finally get over you, you smarmy prick."

The club was packed and dark, with the occasional, headache-bringing strobe lights, and a couple colored lights flashing around the room.
The green light that hung under the bar attracted me like a fly to zapper, and I set my purse down onto the counter and order my first SoCo and lime.
"Hello, there, may I have the pleasure in sitting next to you, so I can watch you smile?"
I look at the owner of the voice. Curly, light brown hair from what I can see by the shitty lighting, a slightly large nose sporting a nose ring, thin lips and a long face. Definitely an attractive contender for tonight.
"Sure. What's your name?"
"Andy," he says, sliding onto the bar stool next to me and continues. "But my friends call me the Butcher."
I can't help but smirk at the choice of nickname, but don't question it.
"And your name?" he asks after ordering a Goose.
"Blanche."
"That's an interesting name."
I reply with a shrug. "I'll take that as a compliment," I say and sip my drink.
"You're pretty sure of yourself."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, putting down my drink and giving him a hard stare.
He shrugs, unfazed by my look, and says, "With that little mini dress, those high heeled oxfords and that little jacket that just screams, 'I am so better than you.'"
"It does not," I say, appalled by this guy's attitude. "Listen, if you wanted to come sit next to me so you could be an asshole and take whatever's bothering you out on me, then you can fuck off, because I came here to have a good time."
"I'm not taking anything out on you."
I scoff after downing the last of my drink, taking back my previous judgment of him. "So you're just an ass?"
He stares at me for a while and I don't blink. He looks away, muttering an apology.
"Forget about it," I say. "I need another drink."
"Here, let me get one for you, in repayment to my demeanor."
I don't decline, and he gets me another SoCo at my request.
"So, what do you do?" I ask him, sipping my new drink.
"I'm a drummer in a band."
I scoff again. <I>"Musician.</i> I should've known."
"Excuse me?"
"I used to have a friend in a band. When they started touring, he totally ditched everyone he used to associate himself with. You seem to have that rock star attitude that he got."
"Don't be quick to judge me," Andy says, giving me a hard stare, obviously unhappy with my statement.
I narrow my eyes at him. "You're a hypocrite. You can call me snob but I can't say you have a rock star attitude."
"I never called you a snob."
"But you implied it."
He clenches his jaw and stands up. "You're.. impossible."
"Oh, <i>I'm</i> impossible?"
"Yes, because I apologized to you, and I bought you a drink because I felt bad, and then you go and say that I have some kind of attitude. If anyone has the attitude, it's <i>you</i>. What, did this so-called 'musician' break your heart? So you automatically think that I'm the same?"
"He didn't break my heart."
"Well, then who did, because it's so obvious. I've seen you around here before, and you always seem to be flirting with some loser, and you let them buy you drinks and then you go home with them--"
"--I do not go home with them."
"Oh, because hotel rooms are so much better."
"Look, you don't even know me, so don't you <i>dare</i> make assumptions of the conditions of my heart--"
"Then what is it, hmm? Did he cheat on you?"
"I never said I dated him. I didn't, for the record. He was like a brother to me."
"Then what did he do to make you think like that?"
I look away. "He wasn't there when I needed him the most. He didn't even return my calls. He left my life the second he stepped onto that tour bus."
Andy sits down again, and sighs. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"No, it's not your fault."
"I helped, though, so I'm sorry."
"What would you do if you were ignored by one of your best friends in your time of need?"
"I'd go to my other friends."
"<i>No.</i> You don't understand," I say. I take another sip of my drink and realize the ice has melted a significant amount, making the liquor taste watered down.
"Then let me understand," he says in a soft, sincere voice, so quiet I could hardly hear it over the shitty, blaring house music.
"This definitely isn't the place for me to dish out my life story to you. And I don't even know you. You're a stranger."
"That hasn't stopped you before."
I glare at him.
He sighs. "Come on. Just tell me."
I look away from him, to the various bottles of liquor lined up in rows behind the bar, with neon colored lights illuminating them. "I haven't had enough drink."
"Why do you feel the need to get drunk in order to socialize?"
"Because then I don't have my conscience telling me it's wrong, and I can say, 'Fuck you, Jimmy, I can do it, too.'"
"Is Jimmy your musician friend?"
I laugh. "No. Jimmy couldn't play an instrument to save his life. He was just a lying asshole. I told him that, too. And I said he was a smarmy prick. And it's so true. I don't know how I could have trusted them all of those years and really and truly believed all of those 'I love you's . He should be glad he's where I can't get to him, because he'd wish he'd never been born if I could have it my way."
"Where is Jimmy?"
"He died in a car wreck while getting his dick sucked. I was sad about it until I found out about the dick sucking, and I wonder if she made him pay her. I hope she did. I hope he had to pay for what he did to me."
"Come on."
"What? Where are we going? I'm not going to sleep with you until I've had more to--"
"We're not going to sleep together. I'm going to take you home." He takes my elbow, gently pulling me to my feet and leading me out of the bar.
"I don't want to go home."
"Why not?" he asks as the night air hits us.
"Because, then Kyle will say, 'I'm so glad you didn't drink all night and sleep with some guy.' I hate it when she's right, and then she'll act proud of me, and I don't want people acting proud of me. I just want to live. I'm making up for all those years with Jimmy."
"Fine, I'll take you to a hotel, but I'm not sleeping with you."
"Are you going to stay with me?"
"What? I--"
"If you do, you're friends will think that you got some action and you won't be made fun of for not getting any anymore."
"They-- How did you-- Fine. I'll stay. We'll both win."
We reach what I assume to be his car-- a black sedan with gray, leather interiors. It looked new but smelt of stale cigarettes. I wrinkle my nose. "You <i>smoke</i>?"
"Uh, yeah.."
"Gross. So did Mike. I wonder if he still does. Probably. He's a rock star now."
"Mike? The musician?"
"Yes. Hence the words, 'rock star.'"
"Do you know what his band's called?" Andy asks me, showing his curiosity and driving down the street, only to stop at a red light.
"I don't know. Some stupid name. Academy or something."
"The Academy Is...?"
I twist my face up, trying to remember what he told me it was called those years ago. "I don't know about the 'is' part, but The Academy sounds right."
Andy glances at me, pursing his lips.
The light turns green and he presses on the gas, taking us to our destination.

The hotel room is just like all the others. Floral curtains with a bedspread in the same fabric. The carpet is red with a gold colored filigree and more flowers. The small amount of furniture in the room as well as the headboard are a light, paled pine wood, and the tiles and counter top in the bathroom are both hotel grade and cheap looking.
"Great place," I say, dryly, sitting on the bed that's probably been used for more than sleeping on more than one occasion.
Andy stands awkwardly in the corner near the now-closed door.
"Why don't you sit?" I ask him.
He proceeds to sit in a patterned chair with no arm rests near the desk.
"I meant next to me."
"I'm not going to have sex with you," he says.
I smile. "Of course not."
"No, we won't have sex because I don't want to."
I stand up and make my way over to him. With every step I take, he looks increasingly uncomfortable.
"What's wrong, Andy? Are you too afraid to be with a woman? Is that why you haven't been with anyone and your friends are bugging you?"
"No, I just don't want to have sex with you," he states, shrinking in his seat.
"Why are you so uncomfortable?"
"Why do you sleep around? So you can get over Jimmy? Because it obviously doesn't help."
Instead of arguing, I just smile and straddle his lap, putting my arms around his neck.
"Please get off me," he says, turning his head away from me.
"Isn't this what musicians do? Have a bunch of one night stands? Am I wrong?"
"Yes. I don't do this. I don't want to do this."
"Don't you think I'm pretty?"
He swallows, and doesn't answer.
"Didn't you say you wanted to sit next to me so you could watch me smile?"
"That didn't mean, 'Hey, why don't I take you to a hotel and have my way with you?' I'm not that kind of guy, Blanche."
"Come on, Andy, live a little," I say, annoyed that I'm having to work so hard.
He looks at me and I can tell he's trying to form excuses in that pretty head of his. I flash him a smile and he looks away again.
"I don't even have protection," he says, finally.
"I do."
He looks at me again. "I'm not having sex with you."
"Then why did you bother taking me here?" I ask, getting off him. This guy was ridiculous.
"Because I didn't think that what you're doing is right, and fucking a bunch of guys is not the way to get over some one, and I honestly didn't think you'd try to get in <i>my</i> pants because of the argument we had at the club," he says in one breath, standing.
"Why can't you be simple, like all the other guys?"
"Do you really want me to answer that?"
I'm about to reply smartly when I'm interrupted by a beep, emitting from Andy's phone.
He pulls it out of his pocket and flips it open, obviously to read a text he's just been sent.
I decide to take this opportunity to seduce him as he sits on the bed. I take off my shoes and sit close to him and begin kissing his neck.
He reacts be tilting his head, giving me better access and I scoot even closer to him. I hear his cell phone drop onto the floor in response to my actions, and I smirk, straddling him as I move my lips to his mouth.
"What are we doing?" he breathes as my fingers run over his scalp and through his curly brown locks.
"Living," I respond, pushing him into a laying position.

"You can tell a lot about a person by fucking them."
"What?"
I look over at Andy, and see he's looking at me, a confused look spread across his face. I look back up to the ceiling, keeping the silence.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean what I said. Why does everyone ask, 'What do you mean?' I mean what I say, I'm not throwing in any hidden messages."
"Then what can you tell about me?"
I pause, staring up at the ceiling, only not really looking at it, letting my eyes penetrate the drywall as I think back to only minutes before.
"You're gentle. You're a caring person, and you're sweet. You aim to please but still getting what you want as well."
"And how can you tell all of that by having sex with me?"
I shrug. "It's easy."
"Explain. What makes me caring, gentle, sweet, etc. etc?"
I roll onto my side, facing him and propping my head up with my hand to get a good look at him, and as I start to speak, I can't help but think he's way more attractive than I'd originally thought.
"The way you touched me was soft and gentle, and you kissed me tenderly, as if we were true lovers. You ran your fingers through my hair, kissing me. And you kissed my neck, and I could tell you were trying to get to that spot that makes me go crazy--and you succeeded, which you probably know. And you weren't rough. I could tell that you didn't want to hurt me. Am I wrong about you, Andy?"
He looks at me, biting those lips of his and looks away.
"I'll take that as I no," I say.
He blushes ever so slightly, and I wouldn't have caught it if I hadn't been looking at him at the moment his cheeks flushed.
I sit up, holding the sheets to my chest and I quickly and skillfully put on my under garments, making sure as to not expose my "goodies" as Kyle would call them.
I lay back down, resting my head on Andy's chest. I feel him place his arms around my waist, and his chest rises with the intake of a deep breath.
"I didn't want to do this."
I stay silent to let him continue.
"I knew it would just end up another one-nighter for you. I'm not interested in those. And I'm not interested in being used."
"I didn't <i>use</i> you," I say.
"Yes, you did. You had sex with me to 'stick it to Jimmy.' If that doesn't qualify as using someone, I don't know what does."
"To tell you the truth, I didn't even think about Jimmy."
"Well, you figured me out. That shouldn't be what it's about."
"It is, Andy. That's all it ever is."
"No, it isn't. Not if you love them."
"We're not in love. It was just a fuck."
"Don't call it that."
"Then what do I need to call it, Andy?" I ask, sitting up. I couldn't understand. Why couldn't this guy just be like all the rest: desperate for a little action?
"You've done so many guys, it's a science now, isn't it? You have sex with them, all the while deciphering their every movement, deciding whether or not they are sweet and kind or horny and unforgiving. Don't you, Blanche? And you wanna know what?"
"What?" I ask, now sitting, glaring at the tattooed man sitting before me.
"It's because you're heart's broken. And you miss your rock star friend as much as you don't want to admit it. Isn't that right, Blanche?"
"Shut the fuck up, Andy, you don't know shit about--"
"--The conditions of your heart, yadda yadda yadda. Yeah, I do. Because it's obvious."
"Fuck you," I growl.
"You already did that," he says.
And suddenly I feel like hitting him, like hitting him will give me the greatest satisfaction in the world.
So I do.
I pound at his chest, and he doesn't stop me, but takes the beatings I give him and pulls me close, pressing me to him as I begin sob.
I collapse against him, too tired and too weak, the buzz from the alcohol I'd consumed at the club wearing off.
I don't think I knew what safe was when I was with Jimmy. If I did, I probably wouldn't have said I felt safe with him. If I felt safe then, or what I thought to be safe, it was no comparison to how nice it felt to be with Andy.
Andy seemed to care. No.. He <i>did</i> care, and I could tell by having him in me, and having him hold me, rubbing my back, telling me that everything is going to be okay.
When I woke up and started to get dressed, Andy slid out of bed and asked if he could have my number.
I asked why, and he said, "Because I want to see you again."
I looked at him and I said, "You were right, Andy. It was just another night."
"Then what happened last night? What was that?" he had asked me.
"A good drink, a good fuck, a good cry, and a good sleep."
And then I left the hotel room, leaving behind Andy who sported an expression fit for the broken hearted.

Kyle knew that I was grieving.
I think, that because it was the anniversary of his death, I was allowed to cry, even if I claimed to loathe him now.<br.
She told me that she wanted to go out tonight, saying that she knew Jimmy just wanted us to live.
Of course I declined.
And I know she told me not to get worried, and I wasn't for a couple of hours, until I got that feeling in my gut that something was wrong. After Jimmy's spirit sprinted off of the earth and into the skies, I had developed some kind of sense that made me just <i>know</i> when something was wrong. A lot of mothers and daughters have this gut instinct, developed at birth. This kind of <i>knowing</i> when something isn't how it should be.
I checked the clock.
Ten twelve.
Kyle told me that she'd be home at ten fifteen, but for some reason, I felt as if she wouldn't. I had that feeling that something was wrong with Kyle.
I slipped on my shoes and pulled on my coat quickly, grabbing my keys and hurrying down the corridor of my apartment building on the third landing to the stairs. The elevator had been jammed for three weeks now.
I make my way out the front door, down the stoop containing a set of five steps, and hurry down the sidewalk in my search for my almost-step-sister.
And the feeling grew in the pit of my stomach, and finally, I saw it.
The figure of a nineteen year old came running toward me, white and translucent. When she reached me, she brushed past, causing me to shiver, and when I looked behind me to see if she was still there, she had disappeared.
The feeling I had was no longer there, and I didn't cry until I got home.

"I miss you. After you left, I decided that I would make myself better for you. Because even when you were here, I missed you. Because I wasn't me. You were you but I wasn't me, and I wish that I had been, because I see how much I hurt you.
And I want you to know, that they'll find him. Whoever degraded you like that. And they'll make him suffer for his actions.
And I need you to help solve a problem for me, Kyle. I was going to ask you when you got home, but you never did, and I had already known you wouldn't get home. I saw you running off the earth, and it made me both sad and happy that I was the last person your soul touched before you were really gone from the world, and it makes me wonder who Jimmy touched last. If he grazed against a random bystander, or if it was the girl in the car with him.
But I need you to help me find Mike. I miss him. And I need him now more than ever. We walked away from each other, but I had Jimmy to lean on. And then Jimmy left forever, and I had you to pick up the pieces. And now that you're gone, now that you've unwillingly left the earth, I don't have anyone to help me up again.
I called your mom when I could keep my voice calm. I said, 'Mrs. Ward? This is Blanche. I'm calling to tell you that Kyle died. I don't know how, yet.' And your mom asked if I was sure, and I told her yes. Two hours later, I received a phone call from the police, telling me that you had been raped and strangled.
And I cried again.
I want you to know that I haven't drank or gone out or gone to bed with someone since a week before you died. I've realized that that wasn't the way to go about things.
I really do miss you, Kyle, and I hope you can see me from your heaven. And I hope that you help me, even in your absence."
Her tomb stone hadn't started to wear away, yet. However, it was just as lonely looking as Jimmy's. I looked at the stone beside Kyle's, which belonged to him. "Let go," I told myself, and I left the solitary patch of land where bodies that turn to dust in their metal or wood boxes lay covered by feet of earth and sheltered by gloomy trees.

I saw him sitting in the corner of the coffee house with an unfamiliar face.
I wanted to walk over and tell him what I wanted to say to him. I wanted to tell him that I was mad at him for leaving and not calling me or writing me, and that he hurt me for leaving my life, and most importantly, that I missed him.
After playing a scenario in my head in which I walk up to him , say what I feel, and have him not remember me in the least, I order a latte and I take a seat in the opposite corner of Mike and his friend. I pull out my copy of Catcher and the Rye, and sip my latte in peace.
"You've read that book thousands of times," I hear, interrupting my reading a good five minutes later.
I look up and see that Mike has slid into the chair in front of me.
I stare at him, not being able to say the words I wanted.
He sighs and starts to stand, muttering, "I knew she wouldn't remember."
"Kyle died a month ago," I blurt.
He stops, sits back down, and looks at me. "Kyle died?"
I nod, my eyes dry.
I was past tears.
"How?"
"She was raped and strangled."
He lets out a long breath. "How'd Jimmy take it?"
I clench my jaw but don't break eye contact. "Jimmy died a couple years ago."
"How? Why didn't you call me?" he asked, leaning forward.
"Car wreck."
"Why didn't you call me?" he asks again.
"I was going to ask the same thing to you," I say, and sip my latte, making the decision of marking my page and setting my book down to continue conversation.
I look around and notice his friend has left the coffee house.
I look back at Mike who's staring at me sadly. "I didn't know you still wanted to talk to me after I left. You didn't seem happy when I left, so I just figured.."
"Of course I still wanted to talk to you. You were like a big brother, Mike."
He sighs and looks at the table, leaning back. "I wish you could have called me. Maybe I could have been there for you. I might've whisked you away on tour with me."
"Why?"
"To escape," he says. We sit in silence for a few moments until he speaks again. "How are your parents?"
"They're doing okay. Sad that Kyle's gone, but health-wise, they're just fine. Both still working and living their lives."
"How are <i>you?</i>" he asks.
"Alive."
He sighs. "That's not what I wanted to hear."
"It's the truth. Mike, my best friend just died."
"Did they find who killed her?"
I nod. "He was some homeless guy. He died of alcohol poisoning a week ago, and they found his body a couple hours later."
"Well. At least we know who did it."
I nod and take another sip of my caffeinated drink. "How's William and Sisky?" I ask after setting down the mug.
"They're good. William just recently got a girlfriend, and Sisky's still flying solo. I remember he had a crush on Kyle when he first met her, and then she punched him in the stomach and he changed his mind."
I smile and nod.
"We have a new guitarist. Tom--you remember Tom, right? Well, he left the band, and we replaced him with this Australian guy named Michael, and our drummer, Andy--I'm not sure if you've met him--has recently been turned down by a girl. Apparently, she slept with him and made it seem like she wanted to be with him, and then left him the morning, calling him just a good fuck. I feel bad for him, but he's always going about it the wrong way. I even saw him leaving with her that night--" My heart pumped faster "--but I didn't see her face or anything."
My heart calms down and I sip my latte again, just to have something to do.
"Listen, I'm not expecting us to just pick up where we left off, even though I wish it could go like that. But I miss you. And I want to be able to talk to you more. I really want to be here for you, even though I haven't been. Can we do that at least?" Mike asks, looking me in the eye.
I reach across the table and put  my hand on his and look at him with my tired eyes, giving him a weak smile. "I'd like that."
A few silent moments pass, in which Mike would study me, look away, study me some more, and look away again.
Right now, he was looking out the window.
"I'd better go," I say, having finished my latte, and I start to stand. "I'm trying to pack up my things and find a new place to live. The apartment's too big for one person."
"You can stay at my place until you find an apartment for yourself," he offers, standing as well.
"No, thank you, I couldn't."
"Yes, it's fine, I'd like to have you."
I pause while gathering my things to look at him. "Thank you, Mike."
He steps around the small table separating us and hugs me tightly. "I missed you, Blanche. I missed you a whole lot."
I just hug him back, unable to tell him how much I've missed him as well, in fear I might cry again.

Feedback por favor (wow I do not speak Spanish)?

I just started this last night so I'm not far along at all.
Tell me what you think, please.


I don't think it occurred to me that the people close to you and the people that you love could ever die. I mean, I knew it would happen eventually, I just never realized that everyone is mortal all of the time, and at any moment, their life or your own life could end.
My aunt died when I was thirteen.
I wasn't close to her, but I loved her because she was family, and you're supposed to love your family.
I cried when I found out, and I cried at her funeral, but that was really the only time.
And then, when I turned sixteen, I met Jimmy Ward.
Tall, well-toned, a nice tan, and dirty blonde hair.
And he stole my heart away with that smile of his.
Back in high school he would dabble in various sports, and still occasionally liked to hit a tennis ball around.
Jimmy and I moved in together while we attended the same college.
Every morning, I would wake up at exactly six thirty, I would look at his pleasant, sleeping face, and kiss his forehead, letting my lips linger for a moment.
And then, I would get up, take my shower and do my usual morning routine. I'd attend my classes, and then head over to work my part time job, keeping house at a dance studio so they would let me take free lessons every Saturday, as well as a small amount of pay.
I would go home after finishing, freshen up, and start to prepare dinner around six o'clock.
As I placed salads on the table, Jimmy would pull up in front of our apartment, come inside, and set down his things.
He would hug me from behind, swaying to music that wasn't there and kiss my cheek. He'd say, "I love you, baby. How was your day?"
And I would always reply with, "I love you, too. It was okay, but you weren't with me."
And he would turn me around and kiss me, earnestly, gently, pulling me close, and I would always laugh a little, pulling away, and say, "The food's going to get cold."
We would eat, and converse, and one day, after the salads were done, he smiled at me, and stopped me from getting up and plating the main course, and he reached down into his pocket, and pulled out a box. And the box held a ring that held a promise that one day, we'd be married.
And I said yes, and I started to tear up, and he held me.
We finished our food, cleared the table, and watched a little TV while talking and doing our homework.
That night, when he asked me to marry him, we did the routine and headed into the bedroom, and he kissed me again. Usually, he didn't kiss me until I had all my makeup off and I had put on my pajamas, placed the day's clothes into the hamper and pulled out clothes for the next day.
But this night, he kissed me for a long time, and eventually, we went to the bed, and we did what lovers do. I went to bed in his arms without worrying about not taking off my makeup or putting the clothes in the hamper or laying out clothes for the next day, because I was in Jimmy's arms and all I knew was that I didn't want to leave them.
And the next day, the routine was the same, and I kissed his forehead, and I went about my day, and at six o'clock, his car didn't pull into the space in front of our apartment.
It didn't pull up into the space at six thirty.
Or six forty-five.
Or seven.
Or eight, or nine, or ten.
And the food got cold, and I didn't wash off my make up, and I didn't put the clothes in the hamper and lay out my outfit.
And when I woke up on the couch at seven a.m., his car was still not there.
And it was not there at noon.
Or one, or two, or three or four.
And at six o'clock, I did not hear, "I love you, baby. How was your day?"
I heard, "Jimmy died in a car wreck last night, Blanche."
And all I can remember after that, was that I dropped the phone, and I remember sitting on the floor, crying into my hands and into the hand with the finger that wore the ring that held the promise, and I could hear Jimmy's sister, Kyle, saying, "Blanche? Blanche? I'm sorry, Blanche, I'm really sorry. He died on impact, so at least he didn't feel for too long."
And I remember calming down, telling Kyle I would help plan the funeral and saying goodbye, and turning off the phone. I remember placing it on it's stand, washing my face, laying out my clothes, putting the day's clothes in the hamper, sliding on my pajamas, and going to bed.

"Blanche. Blanche. Blanche. Get up."<br>
"What time is it?"
"A quarter after ten. If you sleep any longer, you'll be wasting away half of the day."
I sit up in bed, rubbing my eyes and I let them adjust to the light shining through my window, noticing the curtains have been swept to the sides, revealing a spectacular view of Chicago.
After Jimmy died and the funeral was said and done with, I moved into the city, closer to the college into a highrise apartment with Kyle.
Dylan looks at me and sighs when she sees my small frame.
"It's been two years, Blanchie."
"I know."
"It's time to move on."
"He was your brother."
"He would want us to move on. He would want us to be happy. Don't you think so?"
"I guess," I sigh.
She sits in the chair in the corner of my room, facing me. "It's time to live again, Blanche."
I stand up and head to the bathroom with the clothes I laid out the night before. I brush my teeth, take my shower, apply my makeup, and get dressed.
"So, first on the agenda is brunch, and then we'll do whatever we want to do. How's that sound?"
I shrug. "Okay."

Tell me what you think, in detail, preferably. Not just, "It was good. I liked it." What do you like or not like? And most of all, should I continue?

Something short I wrote. Thanks, Mcrlover101 for making me a banner. Happy face.
http://i17.tinypic.com/4mtxa2t.jpg

EDITED AS OF 8.12.07.


There are two things you can do after you've gone over the cliff, which we all do once we struggle out of the womb:
1. Enjoy the ride
2. Scream the whole way down.
I feel like I've had some sort of miniscule breakthrough.
Two months ago, I was dating someone that, when I look back on, really wasn't worth my time.
I also took it upon myself to moving. I figured if Johnny wasn't going anywhere, I should. It's important for me to get away if I want to start anew.
He was before I started analyzing. If he wasn't, then I would have steered clear of him.
Or would I?
Maybe it was the idea of loving him that lead me to believe that I really did, in fact, love him.
Maybe I'm developing some kind of disorder, or maybe I already have it, but I've been feeling like I just want to have a good cry the majority of the time.
If I weren't sitting next to a pretty good looking guy with better hair than I've got, I would probably just start crying right now.
His hair is this chocolate color and a long length for guys, and he has this pale skin that is really attractive to me for some reason.
But I think I'm going to cry whether he's next to me or not, because sometimes, I just can't help it.
And I know that he knows I'm starting to cry because I just sniffled, and that's a definite sign of crying. But then again, he could just be thinking that I have a runny nose, because it is cold in this airplane, and not to mention it is winter.
Or maybe he could think I've got allergies, I mean, there are endless possibilities, but I don't think he thinks I have allergies or my nose is running, because the sniffle was all of the sudden, I mean, I wasn't sniffling before, and--
"Here," he says, holding out a Kleenex for me to take.
Actually, it could have been Puffs, but I couldn't read the package because my vision was blurred due to my crying.
I take the tissue and say, "Thanks," and it comes out all weepy and weak.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
"I don't know. I've been doing this a lot lately," I reply, dabbing my eyes, making sure not to ruin my makeup. I've been wearing waterproof eye makeup to keep it from getting all blotchy and smeared when I cry, because it seems to be that I cry a lot these days, and I don't know--
"What, cry on airplanes?" he asks, giving me a friendly smile. But then again, it could be in pity, I don't think I'm very good at reading smiles--"I'm Will."
"Dasha," I say.
"What?"
"Dasha, my name, it's Dasha."
"Oh, sorry, the tissue was covering your mouth, so it was muffled."
"That's fine, thank you for this," I say referring to the tissue. "I was crying because I was thinking about how I've been crying a lot lately, and it made me sad to think that I'm wasting my time crying everywhere, and I've even had to start wearing waterproof eye makeup because it just smears and gets all blotchy all the time nowadays--"
"I don't understand."
"What?"
"Why have you been crying all the time? I mean, did you and your boyfriend break up, or something? If it's not rude of me to ask, you seem like the kind of person who'll tell a random person on an airplane their life story.." He trails off, looking at me with a slight smirk.
"Well, we did break up, but I don't think that's why I'm crying, I mean, I didn't really love him, and I don't think he really made me happy."
"So, you've just been crying for no reason."
"Well, sometimes it's good to just have a good cry, I mean, I think it cleanses you. Like, your eyes know when you just need to have that good cry and everything will be okay afterward, even just for a little while... Until the next time you need a good cry."
Will looks in me in a way that I can't describe. "You are a peculiar girl."
"Is that a bad thing?" I ask, suddenly hoping that what Johnny said about me wasn't true, that I wasn't the weirdest girl. I'm sorry I always had to say, "Can I have a cigarette?" when I don't have one. I couldn't possibly ask to, "bum a smoke," because it sounds ridiculous.
"I dunno," he says, searching my wide-eyed and slightly horrified face.
"Does it mean I'm weird?"
"What? No--I didn't mean to offend you at all, it's just--you're not like a lot of girls I've met. Not in a bad way, you're just not like them. That's all."
"Oh. Okay. I'm going to go to sleep now."
"Alright," he says, examining my face quickly before burying his nose in his book.
I put my headphones on, select Boards of Canada, and shut my eyes with my mind racing, and finally lull into a light slumber; the kind where you can still hear the music and it's playing in your dream.
And I dreamt a strange dream that Will and I were sitting in a large room with concrete floors and walls, and there was only a red couch and a large stereo system to fill the room, and we listened to Boards of Canada in silence, keeping the beat with our heads.

"Hey. Dasha. We've landed."
I blink a couple times to get the sleep out of my eyes, and look at Will's kind, brown eyes.
"Thanks," I say, quickly gathering my things.
I feel his eyes on me still, so I look up at him, and he gives a small nod, pursing his lips and looking away.
"What?"
"Huh?"
"Why were you looking at me?" I ask.
"I was just wondering if you were okay."
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Well, I mean, you were crying earlier and then you went to sleep, just like that. Like I said, you're a peculiar girl," Will says, grabbing his carry on.
"Oh, I'm better now. I'm always fine after a good cry. And If I don't think I will be, then I go to sleep, and I always wake up feeling better. It's just something I do, and--"
"Oh," he blinks.
"Well," I say, standing, as we were exiting the plane. Will stands after me. "It was nice meeting you."
"Yeah. Take care of yourself, alright?"
"Alright."
"Maybe I'll see you around."
"Oh, uh, yes, maybe you will."

I've decided to paint the walls in my new apartment with colors that will brighten my mood. I've chosen a nice lilac for my bedroom, the bathroom a pale, periwinkle blue, a sunny yellow for the kitchen, and a pretty sage green for the living room and breakfast nook.
My parents bought me a new couch. It's medium sized and comfortable, and covered in a soft white linen. I decided to add a brown blanket on it, to give the room a homey feel.
To tell you the truth, I have never lived on my own.
I was living with my only exisiting friend outside of Johnny Poole back in Los Angeles, and we did yoga together in the living room. I plan on doing yoga in my new living room. And hopefully I can meet someone here in Chicago to do yoga with me.
But before I start getting spiritual again, I plan on furnishing my new apartment.
I did not paint the spare bedroom or furnish it, because I do not know if I will be getting a roommate, and I do not know if they like the color of pale pink, because that is what I would paint it if I didn't get a roommate.
Tomorrow I will be starting my first day working at a record store. I hope my boss is nice.

Johnny Poole and I dated for three years.
I had broken up with my current boyfriend so I could date him. I think this was a big mistake on my part.
Johnny was very good looking, and not very tall. He had reddish brown hair, and a peaches-and-cream complexion.
I don't know why I dated him. He was always overbearing and he liked to talk down to me and tell me what I was doing wrong. I guess he did that because he was very smart and volunteered at the library everyday, working at the desk there.
He got mad at me when he found out that I started smoking. I didn't really understand what was wrong with it, because he smoked, so I don't know why it would bother him if I smoked. Maybe it was because I didn't start smoking with him, I started with a girl friend of mine.
Jason also didn't like the fact that I decided to take a year off before starting college, and he liked to bring the subject up whenever he thought I did something wrong. I don't know why I stuck around for so long.
I don't think I was in love. I think I just wanted to be, and I liked being wanted.
I wipe away the tears and get into bed at ten o'clock.
I have another dream that Will and I are in the concrete room with the stereo system and the red couch, but this time we're listening to Death Cab for Cutie because that's what CD is playing in my stereo right now, but he wasn't bobbing his head because he didn't like it.
I decided in my sleep that if I ever see Will again, I'll ask him if he likes Death Cab for Cutie.

"Dasha, hi."
"Will."
"How are you?" he asks, a slight smile gracing his face.
"I'm fine. How are you?" I wish I could read smiles, that's one thing I've never been able to do. I guess he could be happy to see me, or maybe he's just trying to be polite--
"I'm good. I didn't know you worked here."
"I just started today."
"Oh. That's cool." More smiles.
"I'm sorry, but-- why are you smiling?"
Will looks taken aback. Did I offend him? I mean, I didn't mean to, I-- "What? What do you mean, 'why are you smiling?' What kind of question is that?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, I was just wondering, because I'm not good at reading smiles. I mean, I can read just about every other expression and gesture, and I--"
"I was smiling because I was happy to see you," he says, his eyes looking at me in that way, saying that I must understand, and it really is quite clear.
But I don't pay attention to that. I jump at the tense. "Was? I'm sorry, I ruined it, I didn't mean to--"
"Am," he says, clearly. "You jump to conclusions. Stop."
I blink.
"Listen," he sighs, taking a pen from the counter I stood behind and he takes a chunk of paper from the dinky, old receipt dispenser and scribbles something down. "If you want--or need-- to talk to someone.. Call me. Okay?" He slides the paper with his number on it towards me.
I look at the paper and back to him. "Okay."
I seriously did not see that coming.

"Are you alright?" He seems genuinely concerned.
"I don't know, I've just been crying and I can't really stop, and I don't know why, I mean, it just sort of came, and you probably think I'm so crazy for calling you up, crying, and then you get here, and I'm still crying, and--"
"When did you start?"
"A couple hours ago. I thought it would stop quickly like normal, but I just kept thinking about how sad I really was, and how I'm tired of pretending that Johnny didn't really affect me as much as he did and--"
"Wait, who's Johnny?"
"My ex boyfriend. He broke up with me because he said I was crazy and weird, and he said I never do anything right, and I--"
"He's not worth crying over, Dasha, he isn't."
"Are you lying to me? Are you saying that to make me feel better?"
"What?"
"And I keep wondering if you really do care, or if you're just making it up--"
"Stop analyzing me. Just stop. I look concerned because I am concerned. There are no hidden meanings. If I didn't care about you, then I wouldn't waste my time pretending."
He hands me a tissue from the box--and I know they're Kleenex because I bought them--and puts his arms around me.
"And if you're thinking about why I'm holding you, it's because I'm comforting you and I want you to stop crying over someone who isn't worth it if they broke up with you, but I'm going to let you cry until you can't anymore, or until you stop."
I curl up into him on the couch and he strokes my hair, and I feel like I've known him for years even though I've only known him for a month or so.
"Johnny is an idiot."
I sniffle and look at him.
"He should be lucky to have you. To have you care about him.." He looks at me with his brown eyes, holding an emotion that I can't seem to put my finger on.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because it's the truth... Dasha, I think you over analyze everything. There aren't any hidden meanings in what I'm telling you. I don't know what made you decide that you had to decipher every word and expression, but you shouldn't do it. If I'm telling you that any guy is lucky to have you, then that's what I mean. I'm not saying it sarcastically or any other way you could possibly think of. Not everyone is like Johnny."
I sniffle again.
Will wipes the tears from my cheeks and pulls me to him, so my face is in his chest. I take in his scent and he rubs my back.
"Will?" It comes out slightly muffled because of his chest.
"Yeah?"
"Do you like Death Cab for Cutie?"
He laughs softly. "They're alright. Why do you ask?"
"I've been having these dreams about you."
He leans back so he can look at my face, waiting for me to continue.
"The first one was on the plane. When I went to sleep after crying. I dreamt that you and I were sitting in a big room with concrete walls and a concrete floor, and there was a big stereo system and then a red couch. And we just sat on the red couch listening to Boards of Canada, keeping the beat with our heads. I dreamt it was Boards of Canada because that's what I was listening to at the time. And then, the next one, we were in the same room on the same red couch, and this time Death Cab for Cutie was playing, and you weren't keeping the beat with your head because you didn't like it. I mean, I've had more of those dreams, but you always liked what we were listening to. Stuff like The Dresden Dolls and Smashing Pumpkins, and we listened to Blinded by Third Eye Blind and in the dream you said you liked that song a lot."
Instead of replying, Will breathes deeply, looks at the clock and says softly, "It's getting late."
I start to move to let him leave, but he pulls me back into his arms and into his chest.
"I thought I could maybe stay with you tonight. You know, to make sure you're alright. Unless you'd be uncomfortable if I did."
"I have to listen to music in order to fall asleep."
"I'll sing to you."
"Okay."
And he starts singing softly to me, a beautiful song that I have never heard before in his lovely voice. And then I dream that we're in the concrete room with the stereo system sitting on the red couch, and I kept the beat with my head even though I didn't know what song I was listening to, but I liked it anyway because Will was singing it to me.

I don't care if you thought it was weird or if it was too fast or they didn't kiss or anything. I wrote it how it was supposed to be written; how I wanted it to be written, and if you have a problem with that, all I can really say is... I'm sorry.

EXCLUSIVE: Information on New Panic! at the Disco Album (Yes, for Real!)

Earlier this week, one of our correspondents was lucky enough to be hit on by a slightly intoxicated businessman. Now, why is this lucky you may ask? That drunken businessman just happened to be an advisor to teen sensation Panic! at the Disco, and was more than willing to dish out all the secrets of their upcoming album.

First and foremost, the album has a name! We discovered its name is "Bonita Feo" (Spanish for "Beautiful Ugly"). The album is themed around the idea of love. Our source claims the album will have fourteen songs (not including bonus tracks), and will be split into two halves of seven tracks each. The first seven tracks will center around the joys of love, while the second half will focus on love gone wrong.

Our source would not give us any information on specific songs, except for the bonus tracks, the "Summerfest song", and one other special feature which we will touch on later.

There are rumored to be at least four different covers for the album. Each cover will be designed by a different member of the band, and will feature two exclusive bonus tracks (which will vary from cover to cover, for at least eight different bonus tracks total). Some of the select bonus tracks revealed were: a cover of Elton John's "Can You Feel the Love Tonight?", a cover of the Disney hit "So This is Love", a modified cover of Pat Benatar's "Love is a Battlefield", their previous live cover of The Beatles' "Eleanor Rigby", and more original pieces.

The band is still unsure if they will include the song they previewed at Summerfest on the new album.

Now for the special feature we mentioned earlier. Apparently, the band has written a song about the so-called "slash fictions" that they claim their fans write. The song is said to be angry, with a biting overtone, and is exceedingly graphic/profane. It is unsure at this time if this song will be allowed on the album.

While our source would not grant us specific information on the songs, he did present us with some general information on the album. All band members will continue to keep their current roles, except guitarist and main lyricist Ryan Ross, who will see more vocal time on the new album. Influences for the new album are claimed to be Shakespeare's works, classic Disney musicals, The Beatles, Queen, and the literary/film hit "The Notebook". As usual the Panic! boys have carried on with their flair for eccentric instrumentation. Some instruments to be heard on the new album are the accordion, harmonica, mandolin, lute, "fiddle", ukulele, and Ryan Ross's dog performing "backup vocals".

This businessman also spilled the "real" reason for the album's numerous delays. He claimed the album was delayed solely due to business and financial disputes. Currently, release dates are as follows: first single- hoping for August, but will likely be pushed back until October or November of this year, album- scheduled for release at some point between February and April 2008.

Maybe next time the Panic! boys should keep better watch on their intoxicated friends. For love is patient, love is kind, and love will talk when given too much wine.


Taken from Ryan Ross Fansite.
I hope it's true.
I want to hear the Anti Slash song.
I write fanfic, though. Oops. At least it's not slash.

It has just been brought to my attention that this was cut off at the end.
I apologize.
Here's the rest.
Unedited, yet again. I am too lazy.
Also, I'm writing an epilogue.


"Okay, so we're stopping back at Ed's place, then we're going to House of Pies, and then we're off on our journey."
"Journey?"
"Yeah, we've decided that we wanted a little vacation as well."
"To where?"
I smile. "That's for us to know.. and you to find out later."
Lots of road rage comments from Dylan, two "That eighteen wheeler is going to hit us,"'s later, we're pulling onto Britmoore.
I spot my old elementary school, and sing, "Rummel Creek, Rummel Creek, we all love our Rummel Creek, we all route for the orange and whiiiitte.."
"God, I love it when you break out into song," Dylan says.
I laugh.
"What?" Brendon says.
"What what?"
"What was that song for?"
"I used to go there."
He raises his eyebrows in that, "Oh," sort of way, and we pull onto my street, and into my drive way.
"Be back in like, three minutes," I claim.
"I'm coming," Brendon says. "So make it five."
I stop outside of the car, with the door open and look back at him.
"I need to talk to you," he says.
I blink and shut the car door, and put my key in the lock.
I hear him slam the car door shut and we enter my house.
"What?" I ask, heading through the laundry room into the living room.
"Listen," he says.
"I am," I say, starting to walk into the hallway.
"No, stop," he says, taking my wrist, gently pulling me to face him.
I look at him. "I'm listening."
"I'm sorry for being an ass. I'm sorry that you hate everything about me, and I'm sorry it's hard for us to get along, but I'll try if you'll try."
I'm shocked at how soft and sincere his voice is, but I manage to nod.
"Okay," he says, letting go of my wrist.
"No hug-it-out?" I ask, smiling a little.
He smiles and hugs me tightly, and we stand there for a brief moment, before I pull away.
"Alrighty," I say. "Swim shorts."
I turn and head to my bedroom, in search for my shorts.
Brendon follows me, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you want some help?"
"Uh, sure, look through the top drawer in that dresser."
He blinks and heads over to the dresser, scanning my room as he does so.
"Nice walls," he comments, opening the drawer and looking slightly disappointed my bras and underwear weren't in there.
"Are you referring to the deep purple, the posters, or the message wall?"
"All of it. I like it."
"Thanks."
"You should come help me with my room. It's so organized in here, I'm surprised you can't find these shorts. By the way, I have no idea what I'm looking for."
"Oh, they're black, swimsuit material, with thick white stripes on either side. And thanks."
"Found them," he says, pulling out my shorts.
I hold out my hand for him to toss them at me. "Thanks," I say, as I catch them.
He smiles at me and we head back to the car.

An hour later, we're out of House of Pies, filled to the brim with fries and various meals and soda, and we're headed toward Orange, Texas.
"Where are we going?" Spencer asks for the nine billionth time.
"Awaaaayy," Jude says from the middle seat behind me.
We're all packed up in Dylan's family's white Suburban, meaning three rows of seats. A cooler sits on the floor in between the two middle row seats.
Along the way to Burkeville, we have the music turned up loud, and Dylan's driving.. well.. Not recklessly, but she's getting quite.. distracted.
Jude and I pay no attention to it, singing loudly and off key with Third Eye Blind, and I turn around to look at the boys.
Brendon sits, clutching his armrests, while Spencer and Ryan clutch the handle on the ceiling and have a hand on the seat next in between them to brace themselves.
We go a couple more miles till Dylan says, "In my purse," and pauses for a second, and continues, "The camera is.."
Jude, Dylan and I burst out laughing, and Dylan says, "Who am I, fucking Yoda?"
This causes us to laugh even harder, and when we finally calm down to where we can speak, we notice the boys have panicked expressions across their faces. We must've gone in the other lane in our fits of laughter.
"PLEASE," Spencer says, "PAY ATTENTION TO THE ROAD."
I laugh again and say, "I'm guessing you were thinking that I had asked for the camera, and that's why you began with 'in my purse.'"
Dylan lets out a loud laugh and says, "Yeah, actually."
I take out her camera, turn back to the guys and Jude, to take a picture in their various states of panic.
Of course, Jude makes the biggest grin she can possibly manage, making Brendon, Ryan and Spencer looking afraid, and her looking insane.
"Beautiful, Judy Cakes. Just beautiful."
"Thank you, I try my hardest."
Dylan lets out another loud laugh, and I turn back to the front In my seat as we continue our journey northward.

"What is this place?"
"What does it look like?"
"A house on a very steep hill facing a lake with a dock and two boats. And there's lots of trees around here, too."
"Therefore it is..."
"A house with lots of trees around it facing a lake with--"
Brendon is interrupted by my hand smacking the back of his head.
"It's a lake house, douche. It's my family's. That's why all the stupid signs say 'MAES' all over them," I say.
He looks at me.
"What?"
"I said I'd try if you would, too."
I sigh, and grab my bags.
He takes the larger of the two from me and carries it up the stairs toward the door.
"Wait, I hafta unlock it.."
I quickly unlock the door and lead him inside. "Thanks, by the way," I say.
"Where do I put it?"
I motion for him to follow me into the nearest room, filled with a king sized bed, covered in a peach comforter, two nightstands, each flanking the sides of the bed, and a small cot next to a dresser in the other corner, and a bathroom directly next to the dresser.
I throw my bag into the middle of the room, and he sets the other next to it.
I motion for him to follow me to another room, across the living room.
"This is where you, Spencer, and Ryan can stay. You guys can fight over whoever stays on the queen bed. And just for your information, that cot in between the queen and the bunk is not exactly stable. The mattress is too big for box, so make sure if you sleep on that, it has equal space hanging off or you'll fall."
He laughs and puts his bag on the queen.
Spencer and Ryan enter momentarily later, set their bags down, and we all head out to unload the groceries.
"So this is why you told me to pack my swim suit," Brendon says after we unload the trunk. We're standing out on the porch facing the lake, watching the sunset.
I nod.
"It's nice here."
I nod again and he puts his arm around my shoulder, pulling me toward him.
We stand there until the sun has disappeared, and I slip out of his arm, heading back inside.
"Oh, Ed, I decided to stay in that room next to the guy's because of my snoring and all," Dylan says.
"Okay."
Jude takes my arm and says, "We're gonna cook dinner."
She leads me through the open floor (that just so happens to slant downward) to the kitchen at the back of the house.
"Actually," she whispers so they can't hear her over the television. "It's so Dylan can spy on Spencer, Brendon, and Ryan to see what they say about us as."
I laugh at the thought of Dylan, pressing her ear against a glass pressed to the wall to listen in on conversations held by Brendon, Ryan, and Spencer.
"What do you all want for dinner?" I call.
"What do we have?" I hear Spencer ask.
"Spaghetti, hot dogs, fajitas, salad, burgers--"
"Burgers!" the boys call.
"And I'll make salad for Vegetable Man," I say, remembering Brendon doesn't eat meat and he smiles a thanks to me. I let out a quiet laugh and begin cooking.

"Ed. Eddy. Eddy. Eddy. Eddy. Wake up. Ed. Ed, wake up."
"What?"
"Spencer, Ryan, Jude, Dylan and I want to go swimming."
"Then go swimming."
"I want you to come, too."
I groan and open my eyes to see Brendon, shirtless in his swimsuit leaning over me.
I breathe deeply and then breathe out through my nose.
I peel the covers off me and stand.
Brendon crawls off my bed and leaves the room saying, "Hurry."
I quickly brush my hair and teeth and try to make myself look presentable.
I grab my one piece, put it on, and leave my bedroom.
"Let's go," I say to my friends, who are currently sitting on the couch in their swimsuits, holding towels and lifejackets, ready to go.
"Did someone get me a towel and jacket?" I ask.
"I did," Brendon says, getting up and trying hard not to give me the once over. "Here," he says, handing them to me.
"Thanks."
We all head out down the dock. "Thank god the water's high. I'm really not in the mood to touch the mud at the bottom of the lake every time I jump in," Dylan states.
I nod and say, "So, who wants to jump in first?"
Brendon laughs. "What?"
"You heard me."
"Why don't you jump in?"
"Because all of us girlies over here maybe all tough looking and whatnot here on land, but we get in that lake and we turn into pansies. Being in the lake by myself scares the pants off me," I say.
"I'll jump in with you."
"No."
"Yes."
"You'll trick me," I say.
He shakes his head, takes my towel from me and drops it on the ground.
"What are you doing?" fear entering my voice.
"Do you trust me?"
"Not really."
A hurt look spreads across his face for a brief moment, but then he smiles. He steps toward me and I step back.
"Don't worry," he says, laughing now.
"Brendon," I say, giving him a warning look.
"What?"
"If you throw me in.." I warn.
"I really like your swimsuit," Jude says, randomly.
"Jude, will you please hinder him from throwing me in?"
"I'm not going to throw you in," he says.
"Then what are you doing?"
He smiles and picks me up, bridal style.
Ohhh smooth chest..
He walks toward the edge of the dock.
"BRENDON," I shriek. "DO NOT THROW ME IN!"
"I'm not," he laughs. "Hold your breath."
He then proceeds to jump into the water, still holding me.
When I emerge to the surface and see Brendon come up right after me, I shriek again. "BRENDON! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?" I hit him and swim toward the ladder.
He pulls me back to him, and Dylan tosses our lifejackets to us, and proceeds to jump in, quickly followed by Jude, Ryan, and Spencer.
"Fuck you, Urie, fuck you."
"Eddy," he says softly.
I look at him. "I told you not to do that."
"No, you told me not to throw you in. And I didn't, I jumped in with you."
I look toward Dylan laughing with Ryan, and Jude being dunked by Spencer.
I sit on my lifejacket, and Brendon does the same, and pulls me to him again.
"Listen," he says.
"You always say that. Like I won't listen to you."
He looks down and then back to my face.
"I really really want to be friends with you," he says. "And I don't know what I'm allowed to do and what I'm not allowed to do with you, because the rules seem to change a lot. And when I'm thinking you're happy, I do something playful and then you snap at me and it hurts because I don't know what I did wrong."
I purse my lips and look away. "I'm like that. I don't.." I look at him. "I don't know what to tell you or what to do. I'm like that and I can't change that."
"Do you want me to just back off?" he asks quietly.
I pause, looking at his face and his eyes.
I look up at the sky, full of darkening clouds and back to his face.
"No," I say just as quietly.
"Can I hug you?"
I smile and nod, and we share a short embrace.
It thunders, and everyone looks to the sky.
Dylan shakes her fist at the skies and says, "Threatening to ruin my fun!"
I laugh and we continue to swim around for another twenty minutes until it thunders for real, accompanied by a small bolt of lightening, and then rain.
We quickly get out of the water, grab our towels and life jackets, running up the paved hill to the house, laughing.

"He told them that he really likes you."
"What?"
"I'm not lying, that's what he said."
I furrow my brow. "He has Audrey.."
"I know. He said he wants to break up with her because he really likes you," Dylan says.
She, Jude and I sit huddled on the bed in the room Jude and I share, as Dylan tells us what she heard.
"I have Calum," I say.
Jude sighs. "You know what I'm gonna tell you."
"What?"
"Lose Calum Mitchell, Soccer Champion, and date my cousin. He's willing to drop Audrey for you," she says.
It's my turn to sigh.
"We'll see."

"Dude."
"What?"
"It's been raining since yesterday."
"I know."
"When will it stop?"
"I don't know."
Brendon sighs, putting his head back out on the couch.
Jude and Spencer were in the kitchen baking cookies together, and Dylan and Ryan sat at the dining room table playing Go Fish.
"C'mon," I say, taking his hand.
I lead him outside, off the covered porch and into the rain.
"What the hell are we doing?" he asks.
"Taking a walk."
"In the rain?"
"Yes."
"You're nuts. We're going to get sick."
I shrug and we climb the hill further.
We reach the top, and Brendon takes my hand.
"Wait," he says.
I turn to him.
"I need to talk to you."
"Go ahead."
"I think I'm going to break up with Audrey."
"Why?"
He sighs and takes a step closer to me. "I don't really like her anymore."
"That's a good reason to break up with somebody."
"And I kind of like someone else."
"That's another good reason to break up with somebody."
"But I'm not sure if she likes me."
"What makes you think that?" I ask.
"Because all we do is argue. I make her mad a lot, too, even when it's not on purpose."
I bite my lip and look away.
"Don't talk to me about me," I say.
He takes another step toward me.
"Brendon.."
"Eddy," he says softly.
He takes another step, leaning down, and closes the space between us.
And we stand there, kissing in the rain, with his arms around my waist, and mine wrapped around his neck.

"YES."
"On a scale from one to ten, one being you'd rather eat your arm off and ten being you would crawl across a desert of broken glass just to have another one, how was it?" Dylan asks.
I stop to think. "Until I remembered Calum, freaked out, blurted out that I was sorry, and ran back, it was a ten."
"You freaked out?" Jude asks. "Why did you freak out?"
"I was kissing Brendon and dating Calum. I sort of had a little stroke when I pulled away, and my face made this spasm, like 'Oh shit.'"
"Don't mess with my cousin," Jude says.
"What?" I ask.
"If you like him, break up with Calum and date him. If you don't, don't lead him on."
I sigh. "I know."
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Are you going to date him?" Dylan asks.
"I don't know."
"Well, decide, because I don't know how long he'll wait."
I flop down into a laying position.
Woe is me.

"Come in."
"Sorry, I just wanted to let you know that... I'm really amused by the fact that your legs dangle off the end of the bed."
Ryan smiles at me from the bunk bed, half his calves hanging off the end.
"Anyway. Breakfast is ready. Where's Brendon?" I ask.
"In the bathroom," Spencer says. He stands up, throwing the copy of National Geographic down and heads for the kitchen. "Time to get my grub on."
Brendon exits the bathroom and squeezes past me, avoiding eye contact.
Ryan gets up quickly, leaving Brendon and I in awkward silence.
"Are you mad at me?"
"No," he says, thrusting his pajamas into his bag.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?" he asks, annoyed. He turns to look at me. "For kissing me back? Or was it because you freaked out and pulled away, telling me that you were sorry--for what, I have no idea--and then running back inside? Or was it because when you pulled away and told me you were sorry, you hurt me?"
I blink and change my apology. "I'm sorry for letting you come," I say with a stoney face.
His eyes widen. "You don't mean that," he whispers.
I swallow and leave the room.

"Hey, is something wrong?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Do you want me to turn down the music? Or do you want me to change it?"
"Dylan. I'm fine," I say, looking at her.
She glances at me and then looks back to the road. "Alright."
"You seem quiet, Brendon," Jude says.
I look out the window.
"What is up with you and Ed?"
"Nothing is up with me," I say, looking back at Jude.
I feel Brendon's eyes on me.
I turn back around in my seat.
"Well, obviously something is, otherwise both of you--"
"Stop the car," I say.
"What?" Dylan asks.
"Stop the car."
"Wait, no, why?"
"Just stop."
"What are we going to solve by stopping the vehicle?!"
"We're going to solve this bout of clausterphobia and keep you from having vomit in your car."
"Shit," she says, pulling the Suburban over quickly, and as soon as she brakes, I'm out the door and on my hands and knees in the grass.
And then it comes.
That feeling where you want to cry and the only time after the age of eight that you'll ever want your mommy or even call her mommy in your life.
I feel someone hold my hair back as I empty my stomach onto the grass, drowning ants in my stomach acid.
I have tears streaming down my face as someone holds my hair and rubs my back.
I heave again, and I get to the part where I'm just dry heaving, gagging on the vomit taste in my mouth.
I spit a couple times to get rid of it all.
I sit back on my feet, and I feel him smooth my hair back down.
"Are you okay?" he whispers.
"Do I look okay?"
Brendon is silent and he keeps his hand on my back.
"Do you need something?" he asks finally.
"Water."
I hear someone walk up to us.
"Here," Dylan's voice says as her feet appear by me and a bottle of water hangs in front of me.
I take it and thank her quietly.
I take a couple sips and start to stand up.
When I do so, Brendon takes my free hand, helping me to my feet.
"I was rude to you," I whisper, still facing the trees, not looking at him.
"I'm sorry," he says.
"What for?"
"Kissing you."
I finally look at him. "Do you regret it?"
"Sort of."
"Sort of?"
"I liked kissing you. It's the effect that I regret it for."
I look away again.
I spit again and get back in the car, without another word to Brendon.

We had left the lake house two days earlier than planned, do to an old septic system.
So now, I'm back at home. Jude has Spencer staying with her, and Dylan has Ryan.
That means I'm left with Brendon.
I'm not quite sure how I ended up with him; he is, after all, family with Jude and not me.
I hear a knock on my door and cover myself with my duvet.
The door opens and closes. "Ed?" Brendon says.
I close my eyes and I feel him sit next to me.
"I really wish you weren't mad at me," he says softly.
"I'm not mad at you, Brendon. Really, I'm not. I'm mad at myself because I'm dating Calum and I kissed you."
I hear him sigh. "I think I'm still going leave Audrey."
"Why?"
"Because I cheated on her."
I sigh and face him.
"If she likes you, she'll understand."
"Are you saying I shouldn't break up with her?"
"Yes."
"You're not breaking up with Calum?"
"I'm going to tell him what happened, and if he wants to break up, we'll break up. But I want to see how he'll take it, first."
Brendon glances at me and then looks back up to the ceiling.
"Brendon?"
"Yeah?"
I pause before asking my question. "Do you really like Audrey?"
Brendon shifts uncomfortably and hesitates before answering. "Yeah.."
I purse my lips together.

The next year went by in a blur.
Brendon, Ryan, and Spencer headed back to Sin City after spring break, and everyone slunk back into the dull routine of school.
Dance team consumed the majority of my time with our Spring Show on the way, preventing me from seeing Dylan, Jude, and Calum.
Jude gave the occasional update of Brendon's happenings. It turned out all the boys headed out to write and record their first record right after school let out.
When I told Calum that Brendon and I kissed, right after Brendon left, he looked a little hurt, but he forgave me.
Sometimes I wish he would have just broken up with me, and then I'd catch myself.
Calum and I broke up before we left for college, me going New York University to study dance and photography, and he going back to Scotland to do whatever it was he was planning on doing.
Dylan told me Brendon and Audrey broke it off a little while after they started their first tour.
I had a second of happiness and then I remembered Brendon and I don't really talk anymore.

I hear crunching of grass and fallen leaves.
"How'd you find me?"
He stands still, looking at me.
I lower my camera and turn to look at him.
"Jude told me you'd moved here. She gave me all your contact information. Your dorm mate--Madison, I think she said--told me I could find you here."
"I must hide all the food from Madison for a week as punishment."
"I heard you're still dancing."
"Well, of course."
"Do you have a job?"
"What are you getting at?"
"Do you have a job?" he repeats.
I look at him. "Unless you count freelance photography, and shelving books in a book store a real job, then no."
"Do you want a real job?"
"Brendon, what are you getting at?"
"I know you're a good dancer. I've seen you dance before. Jude showed me your Spring Show video when I stopped by to visit back in Houston."
"Brendon, could you please tell me why you're here?" I ask, thoroughly annoyed at his beat-around-the-bush method of talking to me.
"We're starting up tour again later this fall. I was hoping you could come along as a dancer."
I laugh loudly, shaking my head and looking away. "I'm not dancing at a concert. No. Thanks for considering me, though."
I laugh again, shaking my head and turn away from him, looking around for inspiration.
"That's your final answer?" he asks, stepping on more leaves as he nears me.
"Yes," I say.
There's a long pause, where the only noise comes from birds in the surrounding trees in the park, the wind, and the hubbub of cars, buses and people in the city.
"I miss you," he says after a while.
I turn to him.
"What happened to us?" he asks.
"There was never an us."
"There was a time that, yeah, we bickered a lot, but I really enjoyed being with you. And you seemed to enjoy being with me. When we talked in the kitchen at my house-- before we started arguing.. And then when we went to Madam Tussaud's wax museum. When we went to Port of Subs and you called me Vegetable Man because I don't eat meat, and then Christmas. Christmas was good. When we hung out in my room, watching a movie.. And then spring break at Toledo Bend. That kiss.. God, it still goes through my mind, Ed, and I can't get rid of it. It was ruining my relationship with Audrey, even though that was practically over anyway.."
He trails off, looking at me in the eye, and I blink and look away.
He steps towards me again, leaving about a foot of earth and air between us.
I hear my heart pounding and I'm positive he can hear it as well.
He steps again, and I step towards him, filling the gap between us, and we share an earnest kiss.
He puts on hand on my back, drawing me closer, and another runs through my hair, and I put my arms around his neck.
He takes his lips from mine and breathes, "You sure you won't come?"
"I never said I wouldn't come, I just don't want to dance."
He smiles, gives me another peck, and says, "No more fighting."
"We'll stop fighting when you get older."
"How old am I now?" he frowns.
"Around thirteen."
"Well, at least I've graduated to a teenager."
I smile, pull out of my embrace and pick up my camera again.
"Smile for the camera," I say, taking a picture.
"Hey, I wasn't ready.."
"Just when I thought you were aging, you go back to being a big baby."

I hope it doesn't get cut off this time.