In Search Of Chapter 1: Cracks in the Ceiling, a mediator fanfic

In Search of…

Suze is convinced that the morning after her first time with Jesse is going to be a romantic, picturesque affair. But she awakes with an absent lover, a peculiar missed call, and a note. That's when everything goes straight to—. To crackfic.

Disclaimer – The Mediator is property of Meg Cabot. I'm not Meg Cabot. And I'm not making any money off this. Sworn!

Chapter One ~ Cracks in the Ceiling

I've never really been the type of girl to relish dreams. My dreams are usually pointless and dumb. (The dreams I've had concerning dancing produce are testament to this.) And sometimes my dreams are nightmares. About Paul or Shadowland, typically.

But not right now.

Because occasionally I dream about something that's not ridiculous and doesn't scare me. Like when I luck out and have a dream about Jesse.

About how it feels to be near him. About how his body, now complete with body heat ever since he came back to life, feels lying next to mine. About the sensation I get when our lips touch. And sometimes my imagination ran a little wild and dreamt about how it would feel when he finally ditched his gentlemanly ways.

It felt good.

Very good.

This was the type of dream I was having now. Jesse's body was covering my own; our lips were connected and sampling each other. As were other body parts. And then this dull fire inside of me just kept building and building. I was a volcano, fit for explosion.

The disappointing part was coming next, I knew. Waking up at the end of these dreams always sucked. I'd be all hot and bothered and Jesse wouldn't have changed a bit. Which meant I had to take care of the problem myself.

That wasn't particularly convenient back when Jesse was a ghost, you know. I'd have all these dirty thoughts about him, he'd mistake that as me calling him…

God, those moments had been really awkward.

I mean, I hadn't exactly been able to approach my mother about… tools for masturbation. You know, a vibrator. So I'd had to take matters into my own hands. (And I'm going to be honest here, that pun was partially intended.)

No wonder Jesse looked so weirded out when he saw me and my electric toothbrush.

I rolled over on the mattress, not wanting to succumb to that memory.

I opened my eyes, feeling rays of morning sun hit my face. The first thing I saw, other than overly bright sunshine, was the ceiling of my bedroom. There were a series of cracks in the ceiling, curved just properly to form a pair of circles. And between those two circles was a line, long and smooth, that rounded itself to form a sort of cylinder.

Which was when I realized it.

My bedroom had a penis in the ceiling and I'd never noticed before!

This was going to make great alone time material. I would now have an image to go by when I imagined Jesse's manhood. Not that I didn't know what a penis looks like. I mean, I'm born in a generation of Wikipedia and Cinnemax. (Though, admittedly, the Wikipedia penis didn't look particularly appealing. They went for it from the medical perspective. Which is why Cinnemax came in handy.) See, I'd never seen a penis in real life before.

OK, OK. That was a lie.

I'd seen… Spike's before.

Though his was kind of dilapidated, I think. We should really get him neutered just to put that poor thing out of misery. His mini Spike, I mean. It looks like you should draw a little frown-y face on it or something. I don't think it's seen a lot of action with the female cats recently. But maybe it has. Maybe that's where Spike goes when he's not here hanging out with Jesse. To go pimp out cats.

Yeah… maybe.

But back to business, I'd never seen a human penis before in real life.

OK, OK. That was another lie.

I had three stepbrothers. Yeah, I'd seen real life penises before. But they don't go walking around in the buff much. And it's not like I'm trying to study what I'm seeing. I don't want to transplant little Dopey on Jesse's body or anything. It's sacrilegious, at best.

But still, a guy has never presented his penis to me in a sexual way before.

And I'm sticking to that one.

Really I am.

…Mostly, I am.

But that old, horny ghost that died a virgin does not count to me. I didn't even really see his that well anyway. It was kind of wrinkled up and nasty. I'd imagine that would be what Father Dom's looked like.

Not that I'd imagined it!

On purpose.

The dream I had about that goes under the nightmare section. I mean, he was decked out in leather and had piercings and a whip. And he'd been all, "Someday, Susannah, you will learn obedience." But I'd woken up before the whip could connect to my bare butt. And before I could find out what those clamps were for. Though I did have my suspicions.

But other than that I really haven't seen any eager—.

Of course, there was Paul's…

At that one shifter lesson.

That had been a really bad day for me.

And for Paul Jr.

I'd been feeling complacent that day. Or maybe just tired. But regardless, I'd been missing my Suze spunk. He'd seen that as "OK, I've worn the girl down," which is true in some ways. I had been kind of sick of Paul and his Paul-ish antics. But I guess his next thoughts must've been something along the lines of "time to claim the prize."

That had not turned out very well for either of us.

It was obvious how it had impacted Paul. He'd been walking around school with an unexplainable limp for two days. Trust me, when that guys pants go down, so do his fighting abilities. Mini Paul was quite vulnerable to my Stiletto-Meet-Privates attack. I almost felt sorry for him when he hit the floor. (Paul plus Mini Paul, I mean. Mini Paul didn't go alone. Even though that is a satisfying image. In a sadistic way.) The pain had apparently been on the verge of totally unbearable.

I didn't feel sorry about it until later. When karma snuck up on me. (Which is really maddening on my part because I was just defending myself by kicking him in the gonads. He shouldn't have gone all lusty on me. Karma still took me from behind though. Like I was a bitch in heat or something. Which I'm not. Because, if I was, Max would never ever leave me alone. Though it should be noted that Max is neutered. Not that I've checked or anything. It's just a coincidence that I know, sworn!)

I was having a really nice Jesse dream, like the one I was having a few minutes ago. You know, the kind that goes all the way. But then I noticed Jesse's thing-y. Which is something I usually don't do. I mean, usually I have to use a stereotypical, Wikipedia penis for the guy. It's kind of blurry and not as special as the real thing, I'm sure.

But this time, it was Paul Jr. I was looking at. Well, what Paul Jr. had been, at least. Before the Prada heel attack. I was pretty sure that it wasn't looking as pretty now. Paul Jr., I mean. (Though my Prada shoes seemed to have lost a little bit of their shine to me, as well. They were now, in my mind, the penis pumps.)

Not to say Paul Jr. didn't look…okay. From a neutral perspective, I'm sure he was all the penis rage. I was pretty sure Kelly Prescott thought so. But this was Paul Jr., and I was fairly sure that, as a part of Paul, he was just as evil as the rest of Paul. Possibly more so, considering all of the decisions Paul probably made with this little guy in mind.

And that was when my dream turned into a nightmare. A nightmare that Jesse had woken me up from. He'd been living in the rectory at that point in time, but apparently he'd sensed that I needed him. Which I did. Even if the need was kind of irrational.

Seeing my worst enemies sexual organs as a replacement for my boyfriend's had made me kind of hysterical right then. I needed to know that Jesse did not have Paul's penis. So I'd gone, "Jesse! Quick, pull down your pants!"

That had kind of confused him. And I didn't even give him time to get over my shocking request. I'd pulled him down (his whole body, not just his pants) in this very serious, soap opera manner, and said, "I need to know that Paul is not in your pants!"

I spewed some other similar stuff on this subject matter. This very important subject matter. When I'd finally calmed down, Jesse, I'd found out, had taken this all in a stride. A very confused, very shocked stride. But a stride nonetheless. I doubt I could've done the same in the situation. If Jesse had started hysterically screaming that I needed to take my pants off then I'd—.

I'd totally comply. I'd quite eagerly comply. Nothing in any plane of existence could stop me from complying.

Anyways, in the end, I managed to lie the whole thing off. I hadn't mentioned how Paul had shown me his goods. Jesse would try to kill Paul and then Paul would exorcise him. (In my mind, I told myself that Jesse wasn't trying to kill Paul because he totally hated Paul and didn't want him to force me or anything. But it was because Jesse was really sad that his penis wasn't the first one I'd seen live and up close. Of course, if I followed this logic, Jesse would also have to kill Sleepy, Dopey, Doc, re-kill that one horny ghost, and Spike. And I knew Jesse would never kill Spike. So that fantasy of mine died. I'm not sure if I mean Jesse being jealous of me seeing other penises before his or if I mean Spike being out of my life forever. At this point in time, it could go either way.)

Jesse had bought my lie that I'd had a completely random dream. I started pulling stuff out of nowhere, as per usual, and babbling. In the end, my cover story turned out to be that Paul was putting exploding rutabagas and apricots down Jesse's pants. But he had to be inside of Jesse's pants to detonate them. I'd told Jesse (in floral, over dramatic words) that, since my birth, I had been destined to keep Paul out of Jesse's pants. I wouldn't allow myself to fail my mission, and, when Jesse had interrupted my dream, I wasn't all the way back in reality yet.

Jesse mentioned something about the creativity of my subconscious, but the alarmed look from his face was long gone and replaced with bits of humor. And after that, he gave me a kiss goodnight and dematerialized for the rectory again.

As the memory in my mind drew to a close, I was left, again, staring at the penis crack in my ceiling. And thinking of Jesse.

I turned on my side, prepared to retrieve my electric toothbrush from my nightstand. (My mom was really curious as to why I kept that there, but I convinced her that some of the best brushing takes place bedside.) It was time to relieve the growing heat in my girly parts.

But when I reached over for my nightstand, I grasped at nothing.

My eyes darted around the room. And the more I looked, with the sunlight bursting through the glass of the window opposite me, the more I realized this wasn't my bedroom.

I recognized the area immediately. This, along with my bedroom, Father Dom's office, and a few other places were definite regulars in my mind. I felt like I was at home, because, in a way, I was.

Jesse's studio apartment was a place I certainly frequented.

Not that, you know, we did much of anything in here. There was kissing and movie watching and—.

I paused, memories of the first dream I'd had this moment rushing into my mind like waters through broken flood gates. Had that been a dream… Or a recollection?

My electric toothbrush wasn't the only item on the list of things I was missing.

Yeah. You'd have to put my hymen on that list, too.

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I had sex with Jesse.

Before now, I hadn't known that those five words, when connected in that order, could bring me so much joy. I'd been breaking Jesse down for about a year and a half now. But last night, apparently, he had been incapable of resistance. And now I was finally reaping the rewards.

Well, kind of.

I had a feeling that, before you could reap, you had to remember. Other than my dream, I had no memories of the sexual encounter. But I was pretty sure that a sexual encounter had occurred. Clue number one was my lack of clothes.

I was fairly certain that I'd see clue number two once I looked in the mirror. Aren't people supposed to glow after sex or something? Not as highlighted as a ghost glowing or anything, but isn't it supposed to be just a bit noticeable? Coincidentally, what happens when ghosts have sex? Do they go into super glow mode? Can ghosts even have sex?

Damn. If I'd spent a bit more time being up front (or "forward" as Jesse calls it) then maybe I could have found out. I knew ghosts could kiss, but what about the stuff down under? (And saying down under makes me think Australian. Was Jesse Jr. Australian last night? I'm starting to picture Steve Irwin talking to me out of Jesse's penis. Very disturbing.) Was it still functional? Great. Now Jesse has to die again for me to find out.

I sat up in Jesse's bed, realizing that I was alone. Which was something I'd only noticed subconsciously before. But now that I was no longer lying down and thinking about the sexuality of ceilings, it stuck out a lot more.

Where was Jesse?

His absence was probably a good thing. I mean, yeah, he was ruining my visions of the Morning After. (What kind of girl wants to wake up and not see the guy that she's just given her virginity to?) But if he were here, I'd probably blurt something out like an idiot. Something like "Jesse, did we really have sex because I can't remember it!" That would probably insult him. I'm pretty sure he was a virgin last night (though I'm not judging by his technique, 'cause I can't remember his technique) because of his moral fiber and what not. I'm pretty sure he died one (a virgin, I mean), and I don't think he's hooked up with any ghosts in the hundred and fifty years since then.

Besides, if I didn't come out and say I didn't remember last night, I'm pretty sure I'd ask the other question that was on my mind. You know, "Jesse, you've been around for about a hundred and seventy years, did you masturbate at all?"

'Cause that question would answer me on the whole "Can ghosts have sex?" area.

The cold air of the Carmel morning was slowly seeping into the room from Jesse's slightly opened window. It was about 8:30, according to the clock on Jesse's nightstand.

Is my family worrying about where I am?

I mean, I just hit eighteen a couple of weeks ago. Shouldn't they be worried about me or something? After all, I'm hanging out at suspicious hours with my twenty-one year old boyfriend. I had called to say that I was going to miss dinner… They probably weren't too worried about me or anything.

I kind of suspect that my mother is happier about Jesse being my boyfriend than I am. Jesse's the kind of guy that wins people over without any practice or deception. Andy begs him to come over for Sunday dinner and he gets this sad little look in his eyes whenever Jesse has something else to do. ("Something else to do" means Jesse is studying or is working. Jesse is very resilient to any attempts of mine to get him a social life. Not that I have that much of a social life myself. And not that I really mind Jesse's not having a social life. If he had a social life, he'd be around girls, probably of the hot variety, and he'd forget all about me and hook up in hot, red-blooded, one-night-only affairs. Seriously, some girls are hoochie enough to make Jesse forget every moral he has.)

When I hit eighteen, my mom stopped bugging us about our age difference. The whole you're-not-even-legal-yet argument was null and void. Because for a while my mom was convinced that, every time I got in a car with him, we'd be headed across state lines to have sex. Our sexual relations weren't exactly legal in California then, you see. If this entire encounter had taken place a couple of weeks ago, Jesse could be sitting in jail for statutory.

Now that I'm legal, my mom is wild about Jesse. Wild enough about him to cause us to be on a Jerry Spring episode. You know, one of those "My mom tried to seduce my boyfriend" storylines. Except I don't think me and mom will wind up in a topless fight. 'Cause that'd be seriously awkward.

I think Doc is trying to initiate a love affair with Jesse. Jesse likes to talk about smart people stuff… Doc likes to talk about smart people stuff… Jesse doesn't even seem to mind talking to Doc, not that talking to him is a chore or anything, but Jesse really gets engrossed in the conversation. There are times when I think the whole love affair thing is a two-way street. Then I remember that Doc is like, fifteen, and I stop worrying about it. Jesse is not a pedophile. Even though I was pretty much Doc's age when me and Jesse met…

No, Suze. Do not go there. Your boyfriend, your perfectly straight, twenty-one year old boyfriend, is not engaging in any sort of sexual activity with your fifteen year old step brother. Deep breath, Suze. Deep breath…

Sleepy is the only member of my family that's a tad critical of Jesse. He thinks Jesse is in a gang with me, and is slowly luring me away into a life of street drugs and violence. Well, that's what he thinks some times. Other times, he thinks Jesse is my pimp. But that's only happened a couple times, usually when I wear fishnets.

I swung my feet over the side of Jesse's bed and let a foot come in contact with the soft, carpeted floor. My other foot soon followed the first.

Our clothes were scattered around the room haphazardly. Apparently, there had been a lot of hurried passion the other night. My shirt was lying on the back of a chair, my skirt on the wall opposing Jesse's bed, my pumps half hidden beneath the bed… When I looked up, I noticed that my bra was looped around a blade of the ceiling fan. I couldn't find my panties anywhere…until I looked towards the window. Half of my underwear was inside Jesse's bedroom, and the other half was basking in the cool morning sun outside.

I collected my clothing, beginning with the panties. As I pulled them from the window, my not-so clothed body touching the cold glass, I heard a sound of glee. I flinched.

I was fairly sure I was being perved on. (Not that I was trying to say that my body was excessively worthy of perving, though, thanks to my kickboxing tapes, it kind of was…) Knowing my luck (which is bad, you can tell because the guy I just gave my virginity to isn't here on my first ever Morning After) it'll turn out to be Paul. It'd be so like him, showing up when I least expect him, when I least want him…

He'll be all, "Shake it, Suze!" And then I'll be all, "I don't think so!" And then he'll be all, "Where's Jesse, Suze? Where? That's right, nowhere. He doesn't care about your hotness as much as I do. Now get low!"

And maybe I will. Get low, I mean. But it'll only be because Paul has confused me into doing so. As per usual.

But it wasn't Paul who was appreciating my nudity. (Astonishing, yes, I know.) It was Jesse's porn star/stripper neighbor (from the building across from his). I've forgotten which. (Whether she's a porn star or a stripper, I mean. Jesse doesn't have multiple porn star/stripper neighbors. That I know of.) She's a girl, name is Ivana Delicious (well, in the sex industry, at least). I kind of panicked when I found out Jesse was living freakishly close to a hooker (or whatever she is). She might see Jesse's abs (the abs that deserve the descriptive of "Delicious" more so than anything else in the world) and decide (after sleeping with him) that he should go into the business with her. And I was not going to let Jesse become an adult entertainer! He had dreams, big dreams, big doctor dreams. And no, naming him Dr. Dong would not suffice in the doctor-dream category.

My panic was premature, though. After spending an afternoon with Ivana, I found out that she was much more eager to have me on camera with her than Jesse.

And, yes. That afternoon was quite…awkward.

"So you and de Silva finally did it, huh?" Ivana asked, calling across the hedge that separated us. The hedge comforted me some, because I knew that Ivana couldn't see my privates. Though, you know, she was probably imagining them. (I was beginning to consider it a good thing that Paul had gotten me accustomed to having people imagine me naked. I mean, you can tell that when he's staring at me for minutes on end that he's not admiring my shirt but what's underneath it.)

"Um… yeah," I replied awkwardly. It was kind of weird, discussing my new lack of virginity with a porn star. I always imagined that the person I'd tell about my loss of virginity would be Gina. Though, you know, I didn't spend much time imagining that part. The telling Gina part, I mean. I mostly focused on what the night I lost my virginity would be like.

Just as a side note, I imagined myself actually remembering that night.

"But he skipped out on you?" she asked. "I saw him leave a while ago."

She was focusing on my eyes, not my chest. That was a good sign. The bad part of this conversation was that she was completely right about Jesse not being here. I didn't even know how long he'd been gone.

I crossed my arms over my breasts (just in case) and replied, "I guess."

I was about to ask her if she knew where he went, but she spoke first. "You know, Suze, I would never leave a gorgeous girl like you all alone…"

She trailed off suggestively. "Thanks for the offer, but… Um… No thanks?" I said in response.

Ivana smirked. She began to remind me of a female Paul. "You say that now," she said, "but you'll figure out eventually that I'm much better for you than any man."

That kind of freaked me out, so I gave her a quick goodbye and closed the window. Her amused expression haunted me until I pulled the curtains closed over it. The windows, I mean.

I stared at the pair of panties in my hand, unsure as to whether or not I should put them on. I didn't want to walk around commando, but I didn't want to walk around with dew touching my girly parts. Walking around in moist panties just didn't seem sanitary.

I ignored my underwear for the moment and began to make attempts to retrieve my bra from the blades of the ceiling fan. They seemed to be lodged in there pretty well, which didn't give my jump-and-grab technique much success. After awhile, I turned on the fan and watched, half-mesmerized as the bra spun around in a whizzing circle. It finally dislodged itself from the fan and wound up in my face.

I dressed myself, sans panties, and sat on Jesse's desk chair, which was quite close to Jesse's phone. Seeing as Jesse had been a no show for a while, I would probably need to get home. It was Sunday and Sunday breakfast was coming up pretty soon. Andy and my mom would probably flip out if I wasn't there. I mean, it was one thing to, as a senior in high school, stay out all night without calling, and then come in the next morning without your virginity. That was bad. That was probably something that would result in grounding and a very long conversation. But it was something else entirely to miss Sunday breakfast. That was terrible. That got you kicked out of the house. (You should've seen what happened one time last year when Doc missed breakfast after staying over too late at a friend's house. Saddest sight ever, I swear. A fourteen year old standing on the corner with all his bags… Thankfully, Andy calmed down before the taxi got there.)

I was going to have to call to say that I'd be late, which I dreaded. The calling part, I mean. Although showing up late meant that I would be likely to get fewer pancakes considering the feeding frenzy that always occurred at family meals. (Which, within itself, was a good thing. It meant that I was on an enforced diet.)

As I picked up the phone, I noticed that a red, missed call light was blinking at me. Even though it's none of my business as to what calls Jesse has missed… I pressed an arrow key, allowing me to scroll through the incoming calls.

Whose name should I see other than Paul's? And that's our Paul. Not some random, off-the-street Paul. And not Paul McCartney either. That might've been acceptable. No, I was talking about Paul Slater.

Why would Paul Slater be calling Jesse? And at one in the morning, nonetheless? As arch enemies, what could those two be talking about? Did Jesse call Paul to brag to him about bagging me? Because that's very un-Jesse-ish. That sounds like something Paul would do.

…Did I sleep with Paul last night or something? Because it's Jesse's apartment and all, but I can't remember anything. Maybe Paul slipped some kind of date rape drug in my drink and took me off to his house to have his wicked way with me and then broke into Jesse's apartment and brought me back here.

But that seemed a little far fetched. I mean, I hadn't even been drinking last night.

So why did Paul call Jesse? Did he want phone sex or something?

Paul: I'm slowly placing kisses all over your body. How does that feel?

Jesse: So good, Paul-ida. Never stop…

…

More ellipses…

I stopped wondering about the call from Paul and focused on the more important task of contacting my own mother. The phone rang several times before I was directed to the answering machine. I left a brief message consisting of "Mom, this is Suze, I'm going to be late for breakfast. See you later."

That was it. I didn't mention my lack of virginity. I didn't mention that I was calling from Jesse's place (though she'd know from caller ID). I didn't tell her that, when she asked me questions about what happened, I wouldn't be able to answer them because I didn't remember any of what happened. These things, I figured, might be best left for the tête-à-tête I was betting would occur later.

I placed the receiver back on the hook and sighed. I was going to face a long day, I could tell. I was about to get up from my seat at Jesse's desk and leave, but then I saw it. A note.

Dear Susannah,

I'm sorry I'm not here with you this morning. There was something I had to do. Something I've been meaning to do for a while. Please forgive me for my absence.

Love,

Jesse

Gee, Jesse, cryptic much? I reviewed the short letter again and again. "Something I had to do?" And then it clicked.

Something he had to do. Something he'd been meaning to do for a while.

And he was saying this right after he slept with me.

The wheels in my head turned slowly, trying to process that and see if the conclusion that was beginning to form in my head might be right.

Could Jesse be about to propose to me?

It made sense. He was feeling guilty about sleeping with me. He always felt guilty after we did anything even a little physical. And sex was really, really physical. But Jesse hadn't been able to resist my sex appeal, I suppose.

Father D. really was right about me having the stuff, I guess. (Though it did disturb me that Father D. knew that I had sex appeal. I mean, what if he was confessing to the Monsignor that he fantasized about a student or something? What if he had willfully had that bondage dream, too? I mean, when I'd had that dream about him, it had been a complete, unwanted accident.)

But the only reason Jesse feels guilty is because premarital sex goes against his olden day attitude. As far as I know, however, there was nothing wrong with married couples getting freaky. (With their respective partner, I mean. 'Cause that whole affair thing really did not work out for Hester Prynne.)

I guess I always expected us to end up married. After college or careers or whatever, I figured it would happen. It was the way life worked. It did seem kind of pointless to me, though. Marriage would only justify us in the eyes of our peers. Jesse and I had forever love without rings and paperwork. But still…

Jesse was going to ask me to marry him!

My nerves were going haywire. My mind was working at a thousand miles a minute. Married! To Jesse! To the man of my dreams! Married! To Jesse! In a gorgeous wedding dress!

Jesse was probably out there right now, picking out my ring. Or maybe he was asking for Andy's permission to marry me. That seemed like a Jesse thing to do, asking the father (or in my case, step father) of a girl if he can marry her. That might've been why no one answered the phone.

I examined the note again, imagining Jesse's proposal. It would hopefully lead to more sex. Sex that I would make a point of remembering.

After a few more moments of sitting around in Jesse's apartment, dreaming, I figured it was probably time for me to hit the road. Not that I had a car to do so in. Jesse had picked me up last night. I suppose I should call for a ride home.

But the more I thought about it, the less the idea appealed to me. The idea of going home, I mean. I had already been dreading it because of the conversation I knew my mom was going to start with me and the mocking Dopey would give me. He was going to knock (or mock) me right out of my happy mood, I knew it. Think about it, I was going to be returning home the morning after a night out with a boyfriend donning a huge smile on my face. I wouldn't even be smiling for the reason that everyone thought I was smiling for. You know, because my boyfriend and I had a raunchy sexual encounter. Which is true (I think), but it won't be the reason I'm smiling.

And I didn't want to have to explain to my mother about the fact that I couldn't remember my first time. She wouldn't understand. I mean, I didn't understand. And besides, what if I'm just jumping the gun about this whole "Jesse's going to propose to me" thing. That'd be really embarrassing to have to explain away.

What I needed to do before returning home was to clear my mind. Clear my mind of the possible proposal. Clear my mind of the sex. (The last one, I had apparently already done.) What I needed was a walk. Those things always seem to clear people's minds.

Right now, a walk didn't seem particularly practical. I mean, there I was, sans virginity and panties. I needed a change of clothes and a shower (not that I was dirty or smelly, I just wasn't fresh) before I started walking around.

But the walk was calling to me, begging me. I rummaged around inside of the oversized bag I'd brought with me to Jesse's the other night and found a pair of flats. (I always kept a pair of flats handy ever since the running-away-from-evil-yet-skilled-kisser Paul incident.) I hadn't brought an alternative pair of panties with me, though…

And then I figured that I could get a pair of Jesse's underwear. I didn't know if it was really sanitary to wear other people's underwear, but I figured me and Jesse had already been unconnected in a lot of "unsanitary" ways already. And once I put on Jesse's boxer-briefs, I knew I'd done the right thing. I felt closer to him, more connected…

God, I'm such a freak.

But at least I was a freak with a rectified situation. I could take my morning, clear-the-mind walk now, no problem.

So I entered Jesse's bathroom and performed an abridged beauty routine. I had definitely had sex, I decided. I did have a sort of glow about myself. After brushing my teeth with some of Jesse's toothpaste and a travel toothbrush I kept in my purse, I set off. My oversized purse hung over my shoulder, complete with random items (one of which was a pair of dew-soaked panties), to a destination that I was, as of now, unsure of.

I'd walk until I got tired of walking. Until my head was clear. Then I'd find a phone and get a ride home. And after that, I would reply affirmatively to a proposal from my boyfriend. Yes. That was the plan.

(Author's Notes)

That was, in no way, how I expected this to go. I expected to be able to accomplish everything I wanted in a one-shot, but now I just can't. Tell me if it's worth it to go on or if I just need to put this fic down and get my head examined.

Oh, and by the way, I was dying to say that in this sentence "I stopped wondering about the call from Paul and…" that call and Paul rhymed. But I didn't. And because of that, I'm proud of myself.

By the way…part two, I'm not sure why I'm calling this story "In Search Of…" But I'll figure it out eventually and pretend that I had a reason for the title all along.