AN: Regarding the 'famn damily' phrase in chapter one, it's not actually a typo – it's something my dad used to say. "Now we're going to sit here and eat like a famn-damily!" d(^_^)b

2. Head Over Heels

"Damn." I leaned closer into the mirror and parted the hair on the left side of my temple. A silver streak glinted in buzzing fluorescence; just a single grey hair. Every time I plucked that bastard he found a way to grow back in without me noticing. I gripped it between my thumb and index finger, giving one quick, firm tug. I winced as the sting of the prick flared, but felt better once I tossed it away.

"You're wasting time worrying about it," Ethan said as he watched me in the doorway. I tossed a sour look his way as I continued to comb my hair. He chuckled, and the intensity of heat in my eyes grew.

"Do I amuse you?" I asked.

"It's just so cute that you're just months away from turning 38 and you're already on the verge of a midlife crisis," he said with a boyish grin.

"Says the forty-two-year-old," I mumbled.

"I have grey hairs that sprout and you never see me fretting about them. Hell, my temples are well on their way to being completely silver," he said.

"That's different," I groaned. "On you, it's distinguished; on me, it's out of place."

He walked off laughing at my predicament and I boiled as I tried to place him out of mind. I stepped back and took a look at myself. Midlife crisis? I think not: I still looked damn good and could still bring Ethan to his knees if I wanted to. He was just kidding himself.

Still… maybe I should pick up a hair dye kit on my way home…

I walked downstairs and smelled Ethan's cooking. I had planned to just head right out the door, but… well, Ethan demanded a detour today. I made my way into the kitchen and saw Shaun eating at the dining room table.

"Morning, Shaun," I said. He nodded once in my direction, nonchalant and uninterested. Teenagers. "Anna seemed really nice." Couldn't say the same about her asshole of a dad, though.

"Don't bother, he's not talking to us today," Ethan said. He glanced up with a small smirk and then looked back down at his skillet. "Apparently we still managed to embarrass him in front of Anna last night."

"Just the same, I'd love to stay and chat but I've got to get breakfast to go today," I said.

"Every Sunday, like clockwork," Ethan said. He kept his sunny disposition shining, but he couldn't hide the displeasure in his words. He liked to have breakfast together as a couple the morning after we did dirty deeds. And I was usually more than happy to oblige since I liked the residual feeling of being closer to Ethan. But today would have to be one of the few times I buggered off before we got a chance. "Just remember that I need you tonight."

"I know – I'll be back beforehand, I promise," I said. I leaned in and what was meant to be a quick kiss turned into something longer, lingering. It had been a while since Ethan and I had been so intimate and cherishing of each other, and this kiss vanquished any remaining doubts in my mind. When I broke the kiss and pulled away, looking into his soft baby blue eyes, I was filled with warmth that the morning summer sun couldn't match. "Do you have to go today?"

"Yes," I said. I didn't want to – I'd rather spend today afternoon with my better half.

"Why do you go see him?" He asked.

"There are some things that you just have to do, no matter what the past harbors," I said. "It's just one of those things that you have to trust me on." Ethan wasn't exactly pleased with that vague, cryptic answer, but he didn't press anything further. "I love you."

"I love you, too – drive safely," he said.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Leonalia had been thinking a lot lately about how she wanted to die. She refused to become a helpless vegetable lying on a bed in a small, white room for the rest of her life. She didn't exactly want to commit suicide, but it looked like her choices were slim, and she didn't want to linger for too long.

None of the greats ever lingered. They died young, they died beautiful, and they were remembered for it. James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, Aaliyah, Brittany Murphy – all of them immortally etched into the hearts of millions because they died tragically young.

Leonalia was going to be one of them. She just needed to figure out just when and how she was going to do it. She imagined it would come during a dire moment of life and death; go out like a hero. 'She sacrificed herself for us all', they would say. They would say great things about her, inspirational things, and remember her exactly how she was: young, and beautiful.

The problem was deciding just when was too soon, and when she was lingering for too long. How could she aptly decide when she could safely give up what time she had left without worrying that she'll miss out on something important if she'd just waited a little longer?

She supposed that she wouldn't remember the experiences she'd passed up anyway. But which sunset was going to be the one that couldn't be topped? Which breath was sweet enough to be her last? Which thought was worthy of condemning her soul into the hands of the Nemuri?

"Just stop reading, please!"

I snapped the book shut and placed it on the table as my guest paced the room – at least, paced as much area as he could while being shackled to the leg of a table that was bolted to the floor.

"Another fuckin' word of that crap and I'll hang myself," he said.

"Not a fan of angsty, overwrought, unrequited teenage love stories?" I asked mockingly. It was just something I'd grabbed out of Shaun's room, but a part of me choose it just because I knew that it would bug the hell out of Blake.

"Next time you can just bring me razor and I'll just cut my ears off," he growled.

"So what's new with you?" I asked.

"Well I just got a new cell with a view of the yard – complete with 300-count Egyptian sheets and a bidet," he said. "Same shit as last week – I'm in goddamn prison, you shitty asshole!"

"Something must have happened, your attitude is worse than last Sunday's diatribe," I said calmly as I sat at the table and watched him like a hamster in a pin. "It's not good for you to hold onto whatever's bothering you; otherwise the next five years of your seven year minimum sentence isn't going to be a resort stay."

"Fuck you," Blake said with a callous sneer. "Seven to life… You what kind of hell that is?"

"Just be a good boy and you might get out early on good behavior," I said. "Who knows? I might even write you a recommendation letter. I mean, when the man you tried to kill speaks on your behalf it can't hurt your case."

Blake finally settled into his chair. His orange jumpsuit was giving me a headache, having stared at it for a while under the fluorescent lights in the room. "So do you want to talk about what's bothering you?"

"Why do you care? Since when are you such a kind, understanding individual?" He asked scathingly. I shrugged.

"I've learned a lot from my better half," I said. I may not that understood or practiced much of what makes people so damn chipper and nice for no apparent reason, since in my experience people only did for something in return. But watching Ethan had opened up a new world to me, one that I was still trying to grasp. His humanitarian outlook, his actions, his words, they made me want to try harder, to fight against my natural untrusting disposition.

Blake laughed. "Ah, yes, the missus."

"I refer to him as the Mister," I said. "So, let's hear it; what's got you biting heads off today?"

"You," he said. "You're driving me insane. You drive me crazy because I can't figure out what you're doing here."

"Just paying you a visit."

"Yeah, every Sunday for the last two years. 117 visits, to be exact," he said. "What I can't figure out is why."

"Blake, we're old friends," I said nonchalantly. He didn't buy it, of course.

"The fuck we are – you're up to something, Jayden. I don't know what it is, and I don't care, as long as you're not out to screw me," he said. I leaned forward on the table and dropped all pretenses, staring him in his crazed eyes.

"I'm not out to screw you, Blake. I don't want anything from you, and I do wish well for you," I said.

That just seemed to make him even more irate than he already was.

"See, I just don't get it. It doesn't make any sense. I tried to kill you, and if you were still lying in that box under the lake water I wouldn't feel an ounce of remorse over you today. So why would you wish me well in any way? What gain is there in you being nice to me and coming to see me? What the fuck do you want form me?"

"Nobody should be alone," I said. I looked down at the table and thought my words over carefully. I didn't want to tell him everything I knew about me and him, I wasn't sure I really ever wanted him to know about our bond at all. But a part of me, a very, very small part deep in the deepest, coldest pits of my innards had a warm spot for him. I didn't know where it'd come from, or who planted it there (it was probably Ethan and his talk on forgiveness and charity) but it was there, and I just couldn't ignore it. I felt a sense of pity for Blake; no family left with Rex dead, no friends, just a heart full of anger and an isolated sentence to let it stew in loneliness. It was my own worst fear, being alone forever. For some strange, inexplicable reason I just couldn't condemn Blake to that fate, not even if he still considered himself my enemy.

Blake really didn't know how to respond to that answer, and I didn't want to add anything else to it that might reveal too much. So I picked up the book and continued to read out loud.

By the time I left the visitation center the sun was already settling on the horizon. I checked my watch; 6:27 pm. Ethan wasn't going to be happy – I was supposed to be dressed and ready to go with him to his big office dinner almost thirty minutes ago. But having my phone and other valuables confiscated while inside the facility, I couldn't get any phone calls. I checked my voicemail, and sure enough there were three messages, tiered from frustrated Ethan, to disappointed Ethan, to a mélange of disappointed/worried Ethan.

I drove straight home and found my slacks and a dress shirt ironed and laid out for me on the bed. I slipped them on, wrapped a tie around my neck and grabbed my blazer as I flew out the door. I knew where Ethan's architectural firm was, I'd been to these dinners before. Mingling and smiling on Ethan's behalf because, for some unfathomable reason, he actually cared what these people thought about him and us, just like our neighbors.

I parked and ran into the lobby. The guard, Joe, tipped his hat in my direction and watched me jog by, heading straight to the elevators. Third floor. I tried calling Ethan to let him know that I was here, but he wasn't answering.

When the doors opened, I was immediately greeted by a crowd adorned with lavish champagne streamers and soft golden lighting. Some idiot immediately bumped into me as I tried to scan the crowd for Ethan's face; it was obviously distinguishable from the rest, particularly because once my eyes landed on him I couldn't breathe for a few seconds.

"Hey, you're Nolan, right?" The guy asked.

"Norman," I said shortly, trying to push him off of me. Unfortunately he was so soused that he was using me as a support to keep himself upright.

"Yeah, yeah, you're Ethan's… brother?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever – you seen him around?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah, sure, he's at the boss' table, in the far back," he said. I unwrapped his arm from around my shoulders and let him cling to the blonde woman to his right. I ducked out of sight before either could stop me.

Once I surface behind the safety of a cubicle wall, I saw Ethan sitting casually and collected with his boss, Mr. Scholermann, and his wife Samantha. We'd had them over for dinner on numerous occasions, so I was fairly familiar with them, if no one else in Ethan's office.

"Ethan!" I caught his attention as I approached the table. He looked up and I saw the guarded mask; features smooth and emotionless, like a mannequin. Mr. Scholermann and his wife both nodded with smiles.

"Norman," Mr. Scholermann acknowledged. "Come, join us."

"I will, but do you mind if I steal Ethan away for a moment?" I asked. Ethan sat his champagne glass down on the table and excused himself. He followed me out onto the balcony and closed the glass doors behind us.

"Ethan, I am so sorry that I'm late – I just lost track of time, and I tried calling but you didn't answer," I said.

"My phone was off," he said. He smiled, a bit coldly and fortified. "I was in the middle of a speech and had to save myself too much further embarrassment so I just took the battery out and shoved it in my pocket."

"A speech?" I asked. "Did I miss something important?"

"I made partner," Ethan said.

"Of the entire firm? That's amazing," I said. "I'm so proud of you – I'm sorry that I missed the announcement!"

"Don't worry about it," he said. He leaned on the railing and peered down at the lights of cars and street lamps. He was so exquisitely beautiful, striking in ways that I'd never seen before. Even after two years he never ceased to amaze me because it wasn't just his looks, his personality shined through with them. It was a balanced package that blended into something gorgeous and touching. But there was some sorrow that lingered in his eyes.

"Really, Ethan, I'm sorry that I wasn't home when I said I would be," I said. "I just got caught up."

"I'm sure you did," he said tactfully. The threw me back for a moment.

"Are you angry with me about something?" I asked.

"Should I be?" He countered. "Where were you today?"

"I was at the prison, just like every other Sunday," I said.

"Did you happen to make any detours on the way home that kept you?"

"Where the hell am I going to stop?" I asked incredulously. Why the hell was I on trial here?

"I don't know, maybe Gregory's."

I stared, confused and completely thrown for a loop. "Wait, wait, wait – what the hell does Gregory have to do with any of this?"

"I found the card and the note," Ethan said. "It was still in your pocket when I went to wash your clothes for you."

He reached into his pocket and slipped the business card and a folded piece of paper, holding them out toward me. I took them wearily form his fingers and glanced down at the business card. His cell number was circled in pen and he'd written call me ;) below. I unfolded the notepad strip and read it out loud.

"Norman, I'm so glad you'd called, I had a really great time today… Fun playing hookie on our lunch break… Amazing things you did to me with that tongue of yours – Ethan, this isn't, I don't know what the hell this is," I said.

"I think it's pretty clear what it is," he said. And there it was; the cold, black pain smeared across his face from the betrayal he thought I'd put on his shoulders. He was hurting so badly inside right now, worse that he was letting on to anyone, and I was the cause of that pain – or, at least he thought I was.

"I'm not messing around with Gregory and I'm not cheating behind your back," I told him. "Last night was the first and last time I've seen Gregory. He slipped his card in my pocket last night after he came onto me, but I sent him on his way."

"Then you tell me why he would just write a note like that," he said shakily. "Why would he just write a note and put it in your pocket if it didn't happen? What would he gain from that?"

"I don't know, but don't you think it's a good idea for us to go ask him about it?"

"Go ask him yourself, I can't deal with this right now," Ethan said.

"Fine, we'll go ask him tomorrow when I get off of work. Let's just go back inside for now, and we'll –"

"No," Ethan said. I'd taken a step toward him, but he pushed me away. "I can't stand the sight of you right now, let alone be in your presence."

"Are you serious?"

"Just leave, please." He turned his back without another word and left me, dumbstruck and aching on the balcony.

Didn't I have any say? Didn't my word have any weight in this? I could understand where he was coming from, and the sense of pure treachery at the thought of my unfaithful infidelity eating his heart from the inside out, but that didn't make his cold words sting any less. It took every fiber of willpower not to break down and cry right there. I didn't want to be a spectacle for all of his coworkers to ogle. I just left quietly and went down to the car where I sat, wounded and bewildered.

Why the fuck would Gregory do this to me? Why the hell would he put a note like that in my pocket but to set me up? I was going to find out just why, right now. I turned on the engine and revved right through the city like a fireball in the atmosphere. I sped right to Gregory's house, I didn't care if I sped by a cop or not.

I pounded on the door like a drunken redneck who found out his wife was cheating on his with his own brother. I even kicked it a few times until the door finally opened. Gregory leaned out the door, irritated and baffled.

"what the hell are you doing, man?"

"What the fuck is this?" I pulled out the note and card and threw them on the ground. He took in what they were, and his mystification cleared right up like a vapor wafted away. "Do you know that Ethan thought that we fucked around? He'd upset – no, he's fucking hurt because of you."

"Look, just come inside and I'll explain everything." Gregory stepped aside, but I stood my ground and stared him down.

"You're going to explain everything to me right now," I said through gritted teeth.

"Look, it was just a note I'd written out of a daydream, and I thought that if you were interested in getting together then you'd at least find some humor in it," he said. The worst part was that I found an earnest honesty in his words. "Look, I did something really stupid when I was drunk, and when I hit on you last night I thought I'd go all out."

"Well get this through your head – I love Ethan, he is the only person I want in my love and sex lives, and I'm not going to betray his trust," I said.

"Look man, I'm sorry – I shouldn't have even tried to come between another couple and caused this pain, especially the parents of Anna's best friend," he said. "I already feel really shitty about it, can't you just let this go and go back to being the neighbors that see each other once a year?"

I took a deep breath and eyed him from the ground up, thinking over his plea. I'd planned to come over here and bash his face in seven ways until Sunday, but now that I was a bit calmer and seeing less red, I resigned and stuck out my hand. He shook it, relieved, and then I shoved my fists into my pockets to resist the urge to do him harm.

"You're going to explain this whole thing to Ethan once he gets home," I warned him. He nodded quickly and put his hands up.

"Of course," he said. "You want to have a beer while we wait?"

"No fucking way," I said firmly.

"Come on, I've got Scotch in my cabinet. The least I can do after being such a dick is give you a good drink," he said. I mulled that over; his logic did make perfect sense, but I really didn't want to be anywhere near him at the moment and I definitely didn't want to set foot in the house that Ethan already thought I was using as a means to cheat on him. But the fact remained that I needed a good stiff drink right now to clear my head, and numb the ache in my chest at the thought of Ethan's wounded face tonight.

I stepped inside and he shut the door behind me.

"You should've gone home," Gregory said. I turned around and saw his hands reach out as he gripped my head. He smashed my head against the hard wall, and my world went black.

I didn't know how long I was unconscious, I didn't even dream. I just came to with the throbbing sting of a headache, not to mention the ache of my head where It'd been hit with an entire wall.

I went to open and stretch my sore jaw, but found my mouth bound. Duct tape was wrapped around my entire head. My wrists were duct taped to a wooden chair, and my ankles bound together. My feet were sitting in a bucket of milky looking water. Everywhere I looked there was concrete; I was in a basement.

The basement door opened, and in walked Gregory. He whistled as he lugged a car battery under his arm.

"Oh, look who's up," he said. I immediately started to cuss him out, but unfortunately my words were lost in the tape. "Something you want to get off of your chest?"

He sat the battery on his work table, next to a circular saw, and picked up a pair of scissors. He dug one tip under the tape, digging into my skin until he cut and ripped it off of my skin.

"You mother fucker!" the insult was partly out of the preexisting anger in me, and partly because that hurt like a bitch. "Get me out of this chair right now!"

"Nah, I'm not going to do that. If I do, you'll just attack me and make a run for it, probably even escape." He dragged a chair into the middle of the room and placed it before me. He sat in the chair and faced me with a blank slate of a stare. The shadow of his brow from the light above our heads cast his eyes in shadow and I couldn't see them well. "No, you and me are going to have a little talk."

"Let me go now and I promise I won't go to the police," I said.

"Yes you will," he said. "You can't talk your way out of this, Norman. I'm ordering a steak."

"What the fuck does that mean?" I asked. Gregory leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and put his hands together, lacing his fingers.

"I used to be a chef. And there were always these businessmen who'd come in with their heart set on a steak. 'I've been craving a big, juicy steak,' they'd say. And then along comes the waiter, who tells them the specials. And then suddenly that steak starts sounding a little less appealing. 'Boy, that lobster sounds a little better, doesn't it? Maybe I don't want such a big heavy steak today,' and then the waiter ends up changing their minds. But you can't change my mind, I know what I want and I'm going to get it."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that you can talk and talk, and try to plea and bargain with me, but my mind is set," he said. He leaned in closer and looked me in the eye; I could finally see through the shadows. "I'm going to kill you, Norman."

His words were dead set, and his eyes were even colder. I knew that he meant every word he said, and that in itself unnerved me. Whatever plan of negotiation I had was immediately drained from me when the option was no longer available; it never had been.

"Killing me is going to be a little different than ordering a steak," I said.

"Not for me, it won't be," he said flatly. He kept his death stare fixed and I could feel the malevolence radiating out of him.

"How are you going to do it? Strangle me? Slit my throat and bleed me out?" I asked.

"No, I've got something creative in store for you," he said.

"You can really do that? You can really kill another human being?" I asked skeptically. What credulity I was demanding, he definitely delivered when he kept his cool, set face and spoke only the truth to me.

"No, I couldn't do that to another human being but I can do it you," he said. "You took something from me, something precious, a long time ago. You're going to die slowly, agonizingly slowly. But that's not until later. First we're going to have some fun, and then I'm going to ask you a few questions."

He grabbed the car battery off of the table and sat it on the floor next to the bucket where my feet were submerged. He clamped jumper cables to the positive and negative ends, and held the other two ends firmly in his grip.

You ever stuck your hand in salt water with an electric current running through it?" He asked. I shook my head and fought back the fear building up in my eyes. Maybe I wouldn't be so scared if there was anything I could say to change his mind, but I knew that he was reconciled with his decision, and he knew that I knew it as well. "Well then this should be fun as well as educational."