It was the fifth. Beatrice is supposed to be here today, he thought excitedly. He had the next few years planned out already: he was going to ask her out. He'd kiss her. Eventually touch her. He planned on making love sooner or later. (Later, most definitely later.) He'd marry her, and they'd have a baby. No, babies.

She'd better be here, he thought. He'd finished the book the night before. Maribella had killed her roommate/lover/stalker. She'd better be here.

She was there, and he and Kit helped her move in. Every time he glanced up, she was looking at him. He decided that it was a good sign.

But she had changed. She had gotten all depressed and although she dressed in colors, they were bipolar. She wore maroon, midnight blue, royal purple, white, orange, and pink alongside the black. She'd told him she had a dark, Gothic personality. While they unpacked, she'd popped in a couple of CDs in a five disk changer she had. (It would be perfect for listening to audio books, he thought.) She played a few screamy rock CDs, and then it changed and they were listening to a female singer. She had a spectacular voice and great lung capacity, but her lyrics were…rather dark, to say the least. A female Emo singer. Hmm.

"Amy Lee's not Emo, Lemony. She's Goth rock and she's my idol. There's a difference, you know. She mixes heavy metal guitar with absolutely beautiful piano and strings pieces. And her songs aren't written to earn money. She writes about her past, things that have happened to her. It's true emotion. Here, let me show you." She pressed the skip button three times.

She listened for a moment and pressed the skip button again. He listened closely. Nothing. Then he heard what sounded almost like wind, but not quite. Guitar started in suddenly and he and Kit both jumped. Beatrice laughed and continued unpacking and folding clothes.

"I tried to kill the pain,
But only brought more.
(So much more.)
I lay dying,
And I'm pouring crimson regret,
And betrayal.
I'm dying, praying, bleeding, and screaming.
Am I too lost to be saved?
Am I too lost?

My God, my tourniquet,
Return to me salvation.
My God, my tourniquet,
Return to me salvation.

Do you remember me?
Lost for so long.
Will you be on the other side
Or will you forget me?
I'm dying, praying, bleeding, and screaming.
Am I too lost to be saved?
Am I too lost?

My God, my tourniquet,
Return to me salvation.
My God, my tourniquet,
Return to me salvation."

A guitar solo of sorts began. It made him feel uneasy, anxious, one could say. Then when he thought he could bear it no more:

"I want to die!!!

My God, my tourniquet,
Return to me salvation.
My God, my tourniquet,
Return to me salvation.

My wounds cry for the grave.
My soul cries for deliverance.
Will I be denied
Christ's tourniquet?
My suicide."

Beatrice stopped the CD and resumed unpacking her clothes.

When they had finished, they were sitting on the couch, watching a movie (Kit playing chaperone and sitting in the middle) when his sister's cell phone rang. Dewey. "Hey, babe. What? You're breaking up. Hold on." She looked over at them. "Behave yourself, Lemony. Don't feel Beatrice up. She's only been here eight hours."

"What exactly did she mean by that, Lemony?" she asked when Kit left.

"Because Kit has a true love, she makes fun of me for my lack of one," he lied. He'd told Kit once that he liked Beatrice. She'd meant what she said. Abso-freakin'-lutely meant it.

"Oh, I thought she meant that," she twisted her fingers through his, "you liked me and she didn't want you to kill your chances with me. But I could be wrong." She pulled her hand away. He sat there stunned. Was it a dream? Pinch me, he thought. Some part of his brain registered a question being asked but the rest of him wasn't paying attention.

"Hey, Beatrice?"

"Yeah."

"Would you like to accompany me to a film screening and a meal here afterwards sometime?"

"Dinner and a movie, you mean? Like a date?" She looked towards the TV.

"Yes. Friday, maybe?" He watched Kit talk to her Dewey outside.

"Friday? What about Saturday?"

"Busy. Sunday?"

"I'm going back to get the rest of my stuff."

"Now?"

"Now sounds wonderful if you're treating."