Disclaimer: No ownership

Oh Lacey

Love feels like heaven

Oh God.

There was no way to get out of it. No way.

No matter how hard she tried, she can't—won't?—stop.

It was impossible.

She was in love.

Unbelievable, isn't it?

Lacey thought so. She always had.

And yet here she was. Confirming it.

Of course, sitting in a stranger's house, slouching and sulking but definitely not sighing (she'd be damned if she broke her rule again… no pun intended), Lacey Lovitt had a sentence (the sentence that wouldn't end, the one without a friggin' damn period…) that was ringing clear in her head.

That damn Carruthers.

But then she blinks. And she softly laughs.

Dammit… there really was no point in damming him. As in, because, he's already up there. Where it's all about. Where the day wakes and the night brakes. Where everything good and wonderful and magical is.

Where he belongs.

And Lacey is left alone. Like always.

So she grabs another handful of popped, full-of-butter-and-fat corn, throws it up (she can't really eat. No appetite), catches it in the bowl again, and slouches deeper onto the couch cushion.

You'd think she'd be used to the lonely games. Lacey Lovitt this, Lacey Lovitt that, what else was there in the world but her to her? Herherherherher. Nothing and no one else mattered. Not to her. Not again.

That was why she broke into the house (if you counted sneaking in through the window without doing anything). And messed the whole damn place up. Cushions turned, popcorn she never planned on eating cloaking the entire carpeted living room, a glob of something that looked like mashed potatoes she found under the couch sticking onto the screen of the HiDef television she was succumbing herself to… she simply didn't care.

Fingers with nails that will never age go on clicking and clicking and clicking on the remote.

But… it wasn't like she cared much before either. It just was… it was just like she cared even less now. There was nothing to stop her from acting like this; nobody who cared. So why should she?

She passes the song channels (music was hell to listen to. Love songs especially), she passes the cartoons (why are they so stupid?), she passes the Nat. Geo, the History, the SiFi (really. An angel watching SiFi was just too ridiculous), and she whizzes past the Disney movies and the fairytales and anything else that would most definitely have a happy ending.

Then she has a thought.

…

Was she bitter?

It makes her think. And the answer was so aloof, so locked up somewhere in her, that she decides to screw it and just answer herself.

No. Of course not.

She was always like this, right? Always have been, always will be. Nothing really changed. Nothing would. She was the same, with not one step closer toending her mission. More like a whole 5280 feet to go.

Yup. She was so the same.

So…

She huffs.

So… so what? So what if she did seem different (because she so clearly wasn't)? So what if she has failed to genuinely—genuinely—laugh at any one of the pranks that seemed so much funnier before? So what if she keeps thinking about that day, about that adventure, about him? So what if he didn't care about her the same way he did for Ivy?

So what?

So what… so what if she has no choice but to move on?

She huffs again. Not sighs, huffs.

Believe it, she wants to move on. She really wantsto move on.

If she only knew how, dammit.

Eventually—having gone through all 654 channels—frustrated, she closes her eyes (shut nice and tight) and begins to flip through all of the options with an easy flick of a temporarily materialized nail.

She surfs through maybe a dozen channels.

Then she opens her eyes.

And she sees…

Ghost.

Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze. The story of a dude who dies, but is given a chance to stay on earth to protect his true love. He can't touch her. Can't speak to her. So he seeks help from another woman (Whoopi Goldberg?), a self-proclaimed "psychic" (how ridiculous), who can. It's the scene where dear old Patrick is pining for his lost love, telling Whoopi that she was the only one for him.

How ironic.

But she doesn't switch it. She doesn't know why, but she watches the movie, and she gets lost in it. That was the reason she chose to break in to the one house on the block with a flat screen. She wanted to get lost. She wanted to forget.

So she does. For the next 34-and-a-half minutes.

Only at the ending… only at the ending does she break.

Trist—Patrick, Patrick—leaves. He leaves. He did his job, he protected his girl. The killer was killed, the day saved, and the gates to Heaven opened.

He leaves.

He leaves.

She blinks.

Oh Lacey…

Why do you do this to yourself?

Masochist.

And so she cries.

But it can hurt like hell

A/N: Yeah… little embarrassed… mostly hate it…

Thanks for reading tho :} Reviews make me happy.