CHAPTER ONE.
(don't argue with me. it is, in fact, a very creative name for a chapter. it's okay to tell me I'm a genius. ;) )
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And will suffice.
-Robert Frost, "Fire and Ice"
She never went to preschool.
And, maybe, that's all the difference in their lives that there ever needed to be. While she's not at preschool, learning and interacting with other kids her age, Chloe Beale is. Chloe's there, learning the alphabet and numbers, playing dress-up and tag and patty-cake with the other kids. Chloe makes a lot of friends, being unafraid to talk to them and often sharing cookies and other snacks. Chloe's taught to memorize her address and home phone number. Chloe meets a girl named Aubrey, and though Aubrey sits up straight and yells at Chloe for making messes, they become best friends through one common interest. As compared to Chloe and Aubrey, though, she doesn't go to preschool. She stays at home.
She doesn't have any brothers or sisters.
Her father's a professor at Barden College, so both she and her mother stay with him at an apartment on campus. There aren't any children her age for her to play with.
Most of the time, she's by herself.
Sometimes her father gives extra credit to his students if they tutor her when they don't have a class. She learns things that way; things like criminal justice and law, religious studies, Greek mythology, philosophy, psychology, pre-med and some physics. She doesn't really understand all of it, but they bring her coloring books and crayons sometimes instead. She's not good at coloring.
In this way, she learns plenty about numbers and letters and words. She can almost perfectly read a clock- one of the circular ones with all the weird numbers- and one time her father sent a student who had been studying abroad to tutor her. She knows a lot about the German language now. There's never been a set plan or schedule for her education. The little girl just learns whatever she can whenever she can. So long as she has a basic understanding of things, no one really cares. If she's lucky then sometimes her father will bring her to lectures with him. She raises her hands in his classes when she knows the answer, though sometimes she'll get the name's of authors or titles mixed up. Everyone thinks it adorable how much she takes after her father; she knows about Keats and Emily Dickenson, and can speak in great detail about "The Great Gatsby" (or, as much as a four year old can and still understand it- more often, she's just reciting what her father's said). They both hate movies.
She doesn't know how to read or write, herself, or spell her name. She knows where their apartment is and how to get to it, but she doesn't know the specific address. No one's ever thought to teach her how to call people over the phone. She can't count money. She doesn't know how to play tag, but she knows that Santa isn't real, unlike most kids her age.
When her father doesn't drag her around to lectures, and when there aren't any students available to tutor her, and when her mother's not up to being her mother that day, she's alone. She's not sure what to do with her time, but she has quite a sense of adventure. And she feels so small, and the college she lives at is so big, she just wants to explore it all. When she's left alone she'll spend hours crawling into every nook and cranny she can get into on the campus. People don't really notice the odd little four year old running around.
One time she walked so far and for so long that she got lost.
It wasn't dark; about the late afternoon. Her mother had been distracted with playing online poker in her room. Her father had lectures all day. Her crayons weren't so interesting, and her mother told her to "go outside and play" when she asked if her mother wanted to play with her.
She didn't recognize any of the buildings around her. Everything looked so large. The streets were crowded with cars honking, people chattering, the heavy steps of people walking, and the screaming of breaks in the traffic. There were men dressed up in business suits bustling passed her busily, talking loudly on their cellphones. A college student that smelled strange cussed at her for being in his way as he skated passed. Someone knocked into her and she stumbled. It was past lunchtime and she hadn't eaten yet all day. She felt intimidated.
Her lip trembled.
The final straw came when a dog being walked by a lady about her mother's age snarled and lunged at her with teeth bared.
She ran crying into the nearest building, bursting through a second set of doors and threw herself underneath a table as she curled up in a ball.
It didn't take long before her keening caught the notice of one of the interns there.
"Hey'a sweetheart," a big girl crooned, pulling a chair away from the table and stooping down to look at her. The girl's short, dark hair framed her face. "Where'd you come from?"
She blearily peered up at the older girl who was smiling at her gently. Her cheeks were stained from her tears, which she quickly blinked away. She didn't move from her spot beneath the table. "I got la- lost," she sniffled.
"Well," the older girl started kindly. "How about I help you get home?" The girl offered her a hand which she shrunk away from.
"My momma told me I'm not a'supposed to talk to strangers," she stated as she stared at the hand suspiciously, eyes furrowed. "And she told me never to go anywhere with a someone I didn't know." She looked up into the older girl's eyes which were crinkled at the corners.
"Then you're a very smart girl to listen to your mother," the intern said, nodding in agreement with a serious expression on her face. The girl smirked, "But we won't be strangers anymore if we say our names, right?"
She was puzzled by the question; unsure. "I guess..." She hesitantly agreed.
The older girl smiled fully and said confidently, "My name's Julianna, but you can call me Jules. What's your name?" The girl, Jules, offered a hand again.
"Rebeca," she answered softly. She took the girl's hand and crawled out from the table.
The girl had a somewhat mischievous gleam in her eyes. "Well then, Rebeca, how would you like to help me run a radio station?"
The four year old smiled gleefully and forgot about her tears.
It took several hours more before her parents found her. In that span of time Jules had another intern run out for a late lunch/dinner for the two of them, and she'd learned a variety of things about music. From bands like Led Zepplin, and the Beatles, and Nervona, to musical artists like Tupoc and Madonna and Johnny Cash. She learned about different instruments and that some people sang in pitches like soprano, alto, and tenor. She learned that there were different genres of music, not just the ones that they played at the radio station, such as jazz and dubstep, pop, country, the blues, rock, punk rock, alternative, rap... Jules showed her how to set up music and play it over the radio, too, with her hefty looking laptop. Jules introduced her to vinyl and CDs as well as the station's radio. Anything and everything music, she suddenly became enthralled. There was so much for her to learn. She was overloaded with sounds and songs and beats that her tiny hands and voice immediately tried to duplicate.
Every half hour or so, Jules would take a moment to announce over the radio that there was a- "How old are you, Beca?" She proudly held up four fingers- four year old girl at the station named Rebeca Mitchell, and that if she was your child to show up at the radio station with proof of guardianship and identification by nine o'clock or they'd be calling social services. She didn't know her address or phone number, had only ever called her parents "mom" or "dad" so she didn't know their first names, otherwise Rebeca might've been more help.
Her father doesn't listen to the radio; he doesn't believe in that sort of thing. It ruins the mind. Before this point in time, she'd never even heard music before. To her, it was magic. Something more mystical than the stories her father taught about. And Jules seemed to know everything about music. At this point, Jules became Beca's hero.
Nine o'clock came and passed, and Jules had notified the police. She was allowed to stay there with Jules until they could find, if they could find, the parents. Around eleven forty-six on a Thursday evening, Warren Mitchell and his wife showed up at the radio station for their missing daughter. Their daughter had been at the station for a little over seven hours. A police officer followed in behind them, broad shouldered and severe looking.
Jules had been packing up and getting ready to switch shifts with another intern. She had been set on a couch to wait with Jules' old mp3 player while Jules cleaned up, and she was trying her hardest not to fall asleep. It was way passed her bedtime. She rubbed at her eyes tiredly as one song ended and a new song began playing quietly in her ears.
The door opened and her father stepped through looking for her. She perked up immediately, pulling out the headphones from her ears and stuffing them in her pocket. "Daddy?" She got up and wobbled a little bit, before bolting over to her father and wrapping her arms around his legs in a hug. Warren had just started to lean down to hug her back when her mother followed Warren through the door. She broke stepped away from him. "Momma!" Her mother scooped her up as she came flying at her. Her mother patted her on the back and held her awkwardly before setting her back down.
"These are your parents, Rebeca?" The police officer sneered at them, glaring at the older Mitchell's and not looking to her as he asked. She was not the target of his judgment.
She couldn't recognize the scorn in his voice as she excitedly answered anyway, "Yes! That's my mommy and daddy!"
Warren ignored the officer and looked around the towering shelves filled with music, the soft sound left over from Jules' playlist playing over the sound system. He scoffed at the room and kneeled down on the ground in order to level with his daughter. "How did you end up here, Rebeca?" He was genuinely confused. He'd thought his wife put her to bed hours ago. His wife, meanwhile, thought she spent the day with him. Neither realized she wasn't at home until the police knocked on their door. She wouldn't have eaten anything that day if it weren't for Jules.
Beca took a large breath. "Momma told me to go outside and play," she said with wide eyes. "I got lost."
Warren shook his head disdainfully before standing up and looking over at his wife, who looked back at him with the same expression. The officer looked between the two and sighed. He could feel the tension that was rising.
Jules walked over, having been watching the scene from afar, with a bag thrown over a shoulder.
Her parents were arguing now; with each other and with the officer. No one else noticed Jules. Jules looked down at her, smiling that smile, and she grinned back at the taller girl. "Gonna be alright, kiddo?" Jules asked playfully.
"Yeah," she yawned heavily. There were purple bags under her eyes.
Jules leaned down and pulled her into a strong hug, supporting and comforting her. Jules pulled back. "Now you go home and get some sleep. And don't be afraid to ever come back, alright?" she ordered.
Beca nodded seriously and Jules ruffled her hair.
"Alright then, I'm gonna go. Goodnight kid."
"Good night Jules."
After Jules left, the radio station filled with the sounds of a different intern's music. Her parents stopped arguing when the intern came out from the booth asking them to leave, the police officer shepherding them out the door, through the lobby, and outside. It was around midnight when they finally brought her home.
Her mother immediately stormed off once they pulled into the driveway of their apartment complex. She had been dozing the entire ride home, so Warren carried her upstairs. The door to her parents room was shut tight as they passed it. Warren knew he'd be sleeping on the couch that night. He brought her to her room, slipped off her sneakers and tucked her in. Kissing her on her forehead, he told her, "Sweet dreams, Rebeca."
"Beca," she mumbled quietly. "It's Beca."
That night she dreamed of music, and the next morning she found Jules' mp3 player still snug in her back pocket.
Social services investigated her family for a while after that. They asked her questions, which she answered in that honest, earnest ways that children have. They asked her parents questions too; why she wasn't enrolled in the campus' student run nursery, or with a babysitter, or being watched by her mother.
College professor's salary, they can't afford it- she's being homeschooled- and she does have babysitters- there's no time for them to keep an eye on her-
That's how they answered.
She tells them her parents are very nice people, when they ask, though they work a lot. They're never mean to her.
Social services decided that a college campus is no place to raise a four year old with two working parents (because her mother lied about having a job), especially if said four year old is basically running around on her own. As a result, they move to Atlanta a few weeks later, though her father keeps the apartment on campus for the nights he has late lectures.
She never sees Jules again.
Her parents' arguing gets worse over time, and there aren't any college students tutoring her now. Nor is there a campus so large and exciting for her to explore. Her new backyard is small, cramped. The grass is shriveled and a large, splintery fence surrounds it. Her father homeschools her when he has the time, and he keeps a close eye on her when he's home. He doesn't want her to get lost again. And though she asks and asks, he maintains his stance that music is a bad influence on children. He doesn't know she's kept Jules' mp3 player. Her mom's old phone charger works as a duel charger for the player, when it runs out of battery. She'll sit on the roof of their house and listen to it when he isn't home. She thinks she's memorized every song on there before she discovers another playlist, sometimes, and she'll listen when her neighbors' son plays with his band. She decides that she wants to make music, too.
There are a couple kids down the street that she plays with every now and again, but they go to public school. They're not very close. She feels awkward playing with them.
Her mother stays on a computer, gambling online, for hours on end most days. The woman tries to go out and drink with her girl friends when Warren's home. They can't stand to be in the same room together for long. Their arguments get worse.
One time it's about socks.
And then it's about her.
The words they said still hurt.
She blocked it out.
Warren works more and more; starts coming home later. She doesn't spend much time with them anymore, but whenever Warren is home he'll tuck her in and tell her a story goodnight.
Five years pass this way, with her mostly homeschooling herself and occasionally playing with the kids down the street. By the time she turns eight, she doesn't have much else to do but read the school books and do the work her father gives her, and learn whatever they teach when they have the time to teach her. She doesn't know she's small for her age. Her sense of adventure's not so exciting anymore. The world's much less interesting, dimmer, since they moved to this new neighborhood in Atlanta. But she likes the magic in music. It's something that'll always be interesting.
On her ninth birthday, her parents have their largest argument as of yet.
This one terrifies her. She plugs her mp3 player into her ears and drowns out their voices as best as she could. They've forgotten it's her birthday, but that's alright. She knows that adults can sometimes get distracted with each other. Rebeca falls asleep that way.
The next day her parents don't speak at all. Her father doesn't go to work, her mother locks herself in their room with her computer and a bottle of vodka. Warren locks himself in the study with his books. She sits in her room, the player tucked under her pillow, and works on multiplication. She gets her food herself. They still don't remember that it was her birthday the day before. She doesn't get cake or a card, or happy birthday exclamations, or even a smile. The kids down the street don't know it's her birthday, the day before, either.
That night she tucks herself into bed and waits for her father to come and tell her a story. Throughout the years, that's always been their thing. He never shows that night.
Nor any of the nights following. Or weeks. Or months.
He never reads a story to her again.
Warren's been gone later, her mother's been drinking more, and they've been arguing more intensely than ever before. It's one day, just after Warren stormed out after one of their arguments, that a blond woman knocks on their front door. The woman giggles good naturedly when her mother answers it. "You must be Warren's sister! I'm so pleased to finally meet you! I know we haven't met yet, but I'm Warren's girlfriend Sheila." Her mother stares blankly at the other woman. The woman, Sheila, babbles on, oblivious, "I work with Warren, you know, that's how we met. When he stayed at my place last night, he left some of his things behind." Sheila full-out grins. "I just thought I'd stop by to drop them off. Is he home?"
Her mother slams the door shut with a tightlipped, blanched face and fists shaking. Through the window, Beca sees the other woman blink for a moment, stunned. The other woman looks down at her phone, as if to double-check something she was sure about. Sheila walks away, back to a sparkly red Ford, with that same confused attitude. It's another hour before Warren comes home to utter silence. This scares her more than their arguments do. They don't talk at all. Warren's jaw is clenched.
Her mother wakes her in the middle of the night. She's told to pack a bag. She wipes away the sleep and does as she's told, somewhat excited. It's the first time in forever that her mother's wanted to do something with her in a long while. Three suitcases and one bag full of necessities later; she's standing in her pj's and hastily throwing on a hoodie when she realizes that Warren hasn't packed anything. Her dad has to come with. She finds him in the study, head in his hands, bowed over his desks. One of her mother's whiskey bottles sits next to him.
"Dad?"
He looks at her from under his fingers, eyes bloodshot, with something like contempt.
Her throat closes up as she feels tears rising to the surface, she's not sure if she wants to cry. She swallows that feeling down.
"Daddy?"
"...Get out." he croaks, closing his eyes as if he couldn't stand to look at her as he takes a swig from the bottle of whiskey. He drinks it as if it's the elixir of life.
"Wh- What?"
"GET OUT! I SAID GET OUT!" he roars as he shoves his chair back, enraged, and stands. "GET OUT OF THIS ROOM! GET OUT OF MY LIFE! GET AWAY FROM ME! GET OUT!" There's a crash as the bottle of whiskey comes sailing into the door next to her head. She violently flinches backward. She whimpers, and he stops for a moment. It's almost as if she's his little girl again when she whispers, "Daddy?" He looks devastated for a moment, looking at her as if he'd never see her again. Regretful. Pained. "Get out." he says. He can't look at her anymore, "Go." She backs away, slowly, fearfully. "Go..."
And she runs. Runs. Runs to her mother who's waiting for her in a rusty Buick with the engine running. The door slams shut behind her. She doesn't stop thinking about his last words to her until they get to Portland, and even then they're playing over again in her dreams.
That's the year her parents get a divorce. The year she stops hearing from her father and her mother turns her life around.
Once they've settled in with her grandmother in Portland, she gets a laptop, a skateboard, and music lessons as consolation gifts.
And she's enrolled in a public school.
She thinks she likes Portland better.
Meanwhile, a very different girl did attend preschool. A private preschool. Just outside of Orlando, Florida. The same one her five older siblings had attended before her, and the same private preschool her younger brother would be attending after her. Her parent's can afford it... but she went there three years ago. Chloe's not a preschooler anymore. She's proud to say that she's the tallest in her second grade class.
The youngest middle child in her family, Chloe's been making friends and coming home to her doting and attentive parents and more-than-likely crazy siblings for years. Her parents still make time for her, despite their six other children and despite their jobs, which she's grateful enough for. Chloe was raised in a loud family, everyone speaking over each other. She was taught to be open and affectionate. Every day her parents and siblings tell her they love her, in actions if not through words. She knows that they'll always be there for her if she needs it.
So she doesn't really understand the concept of shy.
As a second grader now, she has a lot of friends. She wants to let everyone she possibly can know that it doesn't matter who they are, she's happy they're there, and she can be their friend if they want. In that endeavor, Chloe would consider herself successful if it wasn't for one other girl in her class.
Aubrey Posen.
They don't get along, to say the least. But Chloe wants to.
The private school in which they're both enrolled requires its kindergarten to fifth grade students to take choir. Chloe is overjoyed with this. She loves to sing, and, better yet, it seems like Aubrey Posen does too. Aubrey doesn't talk to her when they're in choir class together, though. She thinks Aubrey needs a friend.
It was just after their second grade recital. Her parents were so proud and happy for her; all her siblings had cheered her on. They were going out for a celebratory dinner afterwards. Chloe really had to go to the bathroom, so her parents told her to go before they left. When she got there she noticed that one of the stalls was shut, and there were shoes peeking out from beneath the stall door, but there were no sounds coming from it of anyone actually being in there. She bit her lip- she had an empathetic feeling that something was wrong- and knocked on the door.
"What?" the high trill of a little girl's voice barked. Chloe recognized it.
"Aubrey," she asked, concerned. "Are you okay?"
Aubrey hastily wiped at her eyes. "Yes," Aubrey mechanically stated. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure?"
It was a moment before Aubrey replied, breathing sharply. "I'm fine," she repeated like the ting of metal. Her voice was hard and resounding, just to get the other girl to walk away.
Chloe bit her lip again. "I don't think you are," Chloe stated matter of factually. "I'm coming in."
Aubrey blinked, "Wha- Wait!- what?!" But in a beat Chloe had slipped into the other girl's bathroom stall from under the door and stood next to her. Aubrey immediately shrieked- "What are you doing!? You're not supposed to go into someone else's bathroom while it's occupied! I'm using this stall."
Chloe looked at her confusedly, "What? My mother never told me that! She said to share! Are you sure?"
Aubrey paused, "Are you being serious right now?"
Chloe cheekily grinned, "Dixie chick serious." She crossed her fingers behind her back obviously, knowing the other girl could see.
Aubrey just face palmed, "Ugh, get out of my stall. It's crowded in here."
"Two's company," Chloe argued. "Three's a crowd."
Aubrey was getting frustrated again. This unorthodox girl crawled into her stall, when she herself had just come in here to lock the door and cry so no one would see, and wouldn't leave. Her face was screwing up again, and she knew the tears would start falling. She didn't want the other girl to see her crying, so she turned around.
"Hey," Chloe grabbed Aubrey's shoulder softly and spun her around. "It's okay-" She pulled her into a hug. "It's okay."
Aubrey tried to push her away at first, but it was a cramped bathroom stall and she really needed some comfort right then. Rather than pull back like she had first fought to do, she ended up clinging to Chloe fiercely as she bawled her eyes out. "It's okay."
She wasn't sure how, but she found herself spilling everything to Chloe.
"My- My father- He was supposed to be here! He said that he would be here! He told me that he would be here! But- but he never came," Aubrey cried, uselessly she felt but she couldn't help it, into Chloe's shoulder. "He told me that he would be here, and I worked so hard just so he could hear me sing, and he's not here and my mom's working and I've been here all day so I don't even have a ride home-
"I worked so hard to be the best that I could be. I wanted him to hear me sing. He told me he would be here, bu- but he's not. He's never here, what am I supposed to do?"
Chloe gently pulled back as Aubrey finished babbling. She tore away some toilet paper and handed it to Aubrey, who promptly blew her nose and threw the offending tissue in the toilet. Chloe handed her another piece, and she wiped her eyes. "It's okay," Chloe assured her. "It's going to be fine, c'mon."
Chloe opened the stall door and tugged Aubrey out after her. She brought her to the sink so the other girl could wash the tear stains out from around her eyes, before pulling a stumbling Aubrey out of the bathroom after her. Smiling, Chloe looked back and said, "It's okay, I have an idea. Come on-"
It was strange, Aubrey had never even been nice to this girl, but she felt reassured.
And she wasn't quite sure how Chloe was able to do it, but Chloe dragged her over to the older Beale's who smiled kindly down at her and talked them into driving Aubrey home. It was fine with the Beale's, but they had the littlest Posen call her parents to make sure it was okay with them first. It was a brief call, one in which her father minutely apologized for not attending the recital due to some business client or other showing up at work, and gave her what she interpreted to be his acceptance for her to ride home with the Beale's. She hung up and gave Mrs. Beale's cell phone back to her with a respectful, "Thank you." After which she explained the call and Chloe cheered aloud, overjoyed, at the news that her dad said that it was alright. Aubrey had second thoughts at first when she realized how many Beale's there were. The two parents, plus their six children (not including Chloe). They were somehow able to fit everyone into a large van somewhat illegally. Aubrey stared wide-eyed at the scene. She sat between Chloe and the second oldest of the Beale children in the very back. Everything was loud and hectic, wild and cheery. She wasn't sure how quite to take it all in.
And, of course, on the way home all the Beale's stopped out for dinner like they were planning to originally. It was at some large and fancy restaurant that none of them were dressed appropriately enough to attend. Aubrey wasn't going to order anything; she didn't feel right to in a place that looked like it cost boatloads of cash. But, and it was strange, when she pushed the menu away Chloe looked right over at her with those happy, glowing, inviting blue eyes and shoved the menu right back at her. Then she said, "There's no point in that, Bree. You're an honorary Beale, now." She smiled, "You're family. We take care of family." Aubrey full-blown smiled right back at her, and she felt like she was actually a part of something she hadn't been a part of for years.
Chloe, conversely, was glad to have finally made a friend out of Aubrey Posen. She had a feeling that they were going to be best friends for a very long time. The best of friends.
From that point on, singing becomes something that they do. It becomes their thing. They both love it. Aubrey might've stopped had her father ever told her to, but he believed that it built character to have some outside, challenging stimulant. There was also the fact that he was secure in the idea that it wouldn't distract her from her studies; she was going to be a lawyer someday. One of the big leagues. The Beale's were always supportive. When Aubrey's father couldn't or didn't show, they would give her rides. And it didn't even matter if it was from or to concerts or rehearsals, or to or from debate club or track meets, or wherever, they were always there, cheering her and Chloe on. She always paid that respect back; showing up with the rest of the Beale's for any of their children's games or competitions of whatnot. She truly did become family.
For Chloe, singing was the only thing other than her electric blue eyes that differentiated her from the rest of the Beale's (they all had green- she got the blue from a great aunt on her mother's side). It was her thing, and she was glad she could have someone who she could share that with. Aubrey became like her sister. Their attitudes differed, but they shared everything with each other. All their secrets and stresses and likes and dislikes.
They both tried out for choir in sixth grade, and their respective parents paid for private singing lessons. By that point in time, they could read sheet music perfectly, and knew the full range of their vocals.
Sometimes, though, it feels like singing is the only thing that connects the two together. While Aubrey just sings because it's a great way to express herself, and an enjoyable hobby, Chloe loves music like life itself. Anything and everything music; and, though they've sometimes doubted why they're even friends, they've been friends for so long that by that point in time their dynamic just works. It also wouldn't be a lie to say that Chloe's passion for singing rubs off of Aubrey, too, until she possibly loves it just as much as Chloe does.
Aubrey's not one for all the mushy-gushy feelings, but even she's pretty sure they'll be friends for life. Sisters (although it's not like Chloe doesn't have enough).
And Chloe's almost annoyingly persistent enough for that to be true.
Singing was what connected them as friends, and even now, it's enough.
It'll always be enough.
Except...
It'll never be enough.
It might never be enough.
A.N.
Okay, so I'm not going to lie. I'm really bad with writing multi-chapter fics. Like, seriously, terrible. If you think this is good enough that you want to keep reading, I need to know and I need to be encouraged- otherwise, I might not write at all. I lose interest in writing it if I think other people aren't interested. And though I'm serious about needing the support, please don't feel pressured to leave a comment. Just leave one if you really, honestly, like this enough. Leave what you think.
The plan is for this to be a three to five chapter fic, somewhat AU, somewhat dramatic.
This is just the establishing chapter; it builds on their characteristics. If you ever ask why a particular main character acts the way they do, you can look back on this to just be reminded. Sorry if it was at all confusing.
Totally know where all this is going, can't wait to write more. Please, pretty please, let me know what you think. Thanks-