If you recognize it, then I probably don't own it

Chapter two: Stitches

Carlisle was the only one who remained calm. Centuries of experience in the emergency room were evident in authoritative voice.

"Emmett get Rose and Jasper out of here." He said.

Jasper struggled against Emmett's unbreakable grasp, twisting around, reaching toward his brother with his bared teeth, jagged and protruding from his gums, his eyes still past reason. Rosalie stood next to Emmett, she was frozen.

Edward was whiter than I'd ever seen him before, white like paper, as he wheeled t crouch over me, taking a clearly defensive position. A low warning growl slid from between his clenched teeth. I couldn't tell if he was breathing or not.

Esme helped Emmett as he led Rosalie and dragged Jasper out of the room. She had one hand over her mouth and nose.

Her face ashamed, "I'm so sorry, Miri." She cried as she followed the others into the yard.

"Let me by, Edward." Carlisle said calmly, "I need Alice's help, and she needs to be off Miri."

A second passed, and then Edward nodded slowly and relaxed is stance. Alice got off me.

Carlisle knelt beside me, leaning close to examine my arm. I could feel my face frozen in confusion.

"Here, Carlisle." Alice handed him a towel.

"Miri," Carlisle asked softly, "Do you want to me to drive you to the hospital, or would you like me to take care of it here?"

"Prissy's working." I whispered, if he took me there then she would be no way to keep this from my dad.

"I'll get your bag," Alice said.

"Let's take her to the kitchen table," Carlisle said to Edward

Edward lifted me effortlessly, while Carlisle kept pressure steady on my arm.

"How are you doing, Miri?" Carlisle asked.

"Fine." I said, my voice was a little high.

Edward was stone-faced.

Alice was there. Carlisle's black bag was already on the table, a small but brilliant desk light plugged into the wall, a small and brilliant desk light plugged into the wall. Edward sat me gently into a chair, and Carlisle pulled up another. He went to work at once.

Edward stood over me, still protective, still not breathing.

"Just go, Flower." I told him.

"I can handle it." He insisted, his jaw was rigid; his eyes burned intensely, because my smelly, smelly blood was so much smellier to him than the others.

"You don't need to be the hero." I told him, "Carlisle can fix me up without you standing guard. Get some fresh air."

I winced as Carlisle strayed my arm with something.

"I'll stay."

"Why are you so masochistic?" I asked.

Carlisle decided to intercede. "Edward, you may as well go find Jasper before he gets too far. I'm sure he's upset with himself, and I doubt he'll listen to anyone but you right now."

"Yes," I agreed, "Go find Jasper."

"You might as well do something useful." Alice added.

Edward's eyes narrowed as we ganged up on him, but, finally, he nodded once and sprinted smoothly through the kitchen's back door. I was sure he hadn't taken a breath since I'd sliced my arm.

A numb, dead feeling was spreading through my arm. Though it erased the sting, it reminded me of the gash, I watched Carlisle's face carefully to distract me from what his hands were doing. His hair gleamed gold in the bright light as he bent over my arm. I could feel the faint stirrings of unease in the pit of my stomach, but I was determined not to look like a wuss in front of other people. There was no pain now, just a gentle tugging sensation that I tried to ignore. No reason to be a pussy.

If she hadn't been in my line of sight, I wouldn't have noticed Alice give up and steal out of the room. With a tiny, apologetic smile on her lips, she disappeared through the kitchen doorway.

"Well, that's everyone. Good to know I can clear a room, at least."

"It's not your fault," Carlisle confronted me with a chuckle. "It could happen to anyone."

"It could. But it seems to happen to me a lot."

He laughed again.

His relaxed calm was only more amazing set in direct contrast with everyone else's reaction. I couldn't find any trace of anxiety on his face. He worked with quick, sure movements. The only besides our quiet breathing was the soft plink, plink as the tiny fragments of ceramic dropped one by one to the table.

"How can you do this?" I asked. "Even Alice and Esme…" I trailed off, shaking my head. Though the rest of them had given up the traditional diet of vampires just as absolutely as Carlisle had, he was the only one who could bear the smell of my blood without suffering from the intense temptation. Clearly, this was much more difficult than he made it seem.

"Years and years of practice," He told me. "I barely notice the scent anymore."

"Do you think it would be harder if you took a sabbatical for a long time? And weren't around any blood."

"Maybe," He shrugged, but his hands remained steady. "I've never felt the need for an extended holiday." He flashed a brilliant smile in my direction. "I enjoy my work too much."

Plink, plink, plink. I was surprised at how much ceramic and ceramic there was in me. I knew I wanted to look at the pile but if I did I would throw up.

"What is that you enjoy so much?" I asked, "Is it the blood?" I bet it's the blood. I mean, after all the years of struggle and self-denial to get to this point in his career, where he could endure this so easily. Besides, I wanted to keep him talking; the conversation kept my mind off the queasy feeling in my stomach.

His dark eyes were calm and thoughtful as he answered. "No it's not the blood. What I enjoy the very most is when my…enhanced abilities let me save someone who would have otherwise been lost. Its pleasant knowing that, thanks to what I can do, some people's lives are better because I exist. Even the sense of smell is a diagnostic tool at times." One side of his mouth pulled up in half a smile.

I mulled that over while he poked around, making sure all the ceramic splinters were gone. Then he rummaged in his bag for new tools, and I tried not to picture a needle and thread.

"You try very hard to make up for something that was never your fault." I suggested while a new kind of tugging started at the edges of my skin. "What I mean is, it's not like you asked for this. You didn't choose this kind of life, and yet you have to work so hard to be good."

"I don't know what I'm making up for anything." He disagreed lightly, "Like everything in life, I just had to decide what to do with what I was given."

"That makes it sound too easy."

He examined my arm again. "There," He said snipping a thread. "All done." He wiped an oversized Q-tip, dripping with some syrup-colored liquid, thoroughly across the operation site. The smell was strange; it made my head spin. The syrup stained my skin.

"In the beginning, though," I pressed while he taped another long piece of gauze securely in place, sealing it to my skin. "Why did you even think to try a different way than the obvious one?"

His lips turned up in a private smile. "Hasn't Edward told you this story, already?"

"Yes. But I'm trying to understand what you were thinking."

His faces was suddenly serious again, and I wondered if his thoughts had gone to the same place that mine had. Wondering what I would be thinking when—I refused to think if—it was me.

"You know my father was a clergyman," He mused as he cleaned the table carefully, rubbing everything down with and then doing it again. The smell of alcohol burned in my nose. "He had a rather harsh view of the world, which I was already beginning to question before the time that I changed." Carlisle put all the dirty gauze and the ceramic slivers into an empty crystal bowl. I didn't understand what he was doing, even when he lit match. Then he threw it onto the alcohol-soaked fibers, and the sudden blaze made me jump.

"Sorry," He apologized. "That ought to do it…So I didn't agree with my father's particular brand of faith. But never, in the nearly four hundred years now since I was born, have I ever seen anything to make me doubt whether a Lord exists in some form or the other. Not even the reflection in the mirror."

I pretended to examine the dressing on my arm to hide my surprise at the direction our conversation had taken. Religion was the last thing I expected, all things considered. I wasn't religious. My dad considered himself a Lutheran, some sort of Protestant—I think—but that's because his parents had been, but on Sundays he'd preferred to worship by the river with a fishing pole in his hand. My mom tired out a church now and then, but, much like her brief affairs with tennis, yoga, and French classes, she moved on by the time I was aware of the fad. We'd only celebrated Christmas for materialistic necessity. I think Prissy's agnostic, but I'm not sure.

"I'm sure all this sounds a little bizarre, coming from a vampire." He grinned. "But I'm hoping that there is still a point to this life, even for us. It's a long shot, I'll admit," He continued in an offhand voice. "By all accounts, we're damned regardless. But I hope, maybe foolishly, that we'll get some measure of credit for trying."

"I don't think that's foolish." I mumbled. I couldn't imagine anyone, deity included, who wouldn't be impressed by Carlisle. Besides, the only kind of heaven I could appreciate would have to include Paula Abdul with the dancing animated cat. "And I don't think anyone else would, either."

"Actually, you're the very first one to agree with me."

"The rest of them don't feel the same?" I asked, thinking of one person in general.

Carlisle guessed the direction of my thoughts again. "Edward's with me up to a point. The Lord and heaven exist…and so does hell. But he doesn't believe in there is an afterlife for our kind." Carlisle's voice was very soft; he stared out the big window over the sink, into the darkness. "You see, he thinks we've lost our souls."

I immediately thought of Edward's words this afternoon: unless you want to die—or whatever it is that we do. The lightbulb flicked on over my head.

"That's the real problem, isn't it?" I guessed. "That's why he's being so difficult about me."

Carlisle spoke slowly. "I look at my…son. His strength, his goodness, the brightness that shines out of him—and it only fuels that hope, that faith, more than ever. How could there not be more for one such as Edward?"

I nodded.

"But if I believed as he does…" He looked down at me with unfathomable eyes, "If you believed as he did. Could you take away his soul?"

The way he phrased the question thwarted my answer.

If he'd asked me weather I would risk my soul for Edward, the reply would be obvious. But I risk Edward's soul? I pursed my lips unhappily. That wasn't a fair exchanged.

"You see the problem."

I shook my head, aware of the stubborn set of my chin.

Carlisle sighed.

"It's my choice.

"It's his, too." He held up his hand when he could see what I was about to argue. "Whether he is responsible for doing that to you."

"He's not the only one who can do it." I eyed Carlisle speculatively, wondering if he understood what I was saying.

He laughed, abruptly lightening the mood. "Oh, no! You're going to have to work this out with him." Okay, he thinks this is about vampirism; cool. He sighed, "That's the one part I can never be sure of I think, in most other ways that I've done the best I could with what I had to work with. But was it right to doom others to this life? I can't decide."

I didn't answer. I imagined what my life would be like if Carlisle had resisted the temptation to change his lonely existence…and shuddered.

"It was Edward's mother who made up my mind." Carlisle's voice was almost a whisper. He stared unseeingly out the black windows.

"His mother?" Whenever I'd asked Edward about his parents, he would merely say that they had died a long time ago, and his memories were vague. I realized Carlisle's memory of them, despite the brevity of their contact, would be perfectly clear.

"Yes. Her name was Elizabeth. Elizabeth Masen. His father. Edward Senior, never regained consciousness in the hospital. He died in the first wave of the influenza. But Elizabeth was alert until almost the very end. Edward looks a great deal like her—she had that same strange bronze shade to her hair, and her eyes were exactly the same shade of green."

"His eyes were green?"

"Yes…" Carlisle's ocher eyes were a hundred years away. "Elizabeth worried obsessively over her son. She hurt her own chances of survival trying to nurse him from her sickbed. I expected that he would go first, he was worse off than she was. When the end came for her, it was very quick. It was after sunset, and I'd arrived to relieve the doctors who'd been working all day. That was a hard time to pretend—there was so much work to be done, and I had no need to rest. How I hated to go back to my house, to hide in the dark and pretend to sleep while so many were dying.

"I went to check Elizabeth and her son first. I'd grown attached—always a dangerous thing to do considering the fragile nature of humans. I could see at once that she'd taken a bad turn. The fever was raging out of control, and her body too weak to fight anymore.

"She didn't look weak, though, when she glared up at me from her cot.

"'Save him!' she commanded me in the hoarse voice that was all her throat could manage.

"'I'll do everything in my power,' I promised her, taking her hand. The fever was so high, she probably couldn't even tell how unnaturally cold mine felt. Everything felt cold to her skin.

"'You must,' she insisted, clutching at my hand with enough strength that I wondered if she wouldn't pull through the crisis after all. Her eyes were had, like stones, like emeralds. 'You must do everything in your power. Whaat others cannot do, that is what you must do for my Edward.'

"It frightened me. She looked at me with those piercing eyes, and, for one instant, I felt certain that she knew my secret. Then the fever overwhelmed her, and she never regained consciousness. She died within an hour of making her demand.

"I'd spent decades considering the idea of creating a companion for myself. Just one other creature who could really know me, rather than what I pretended to be, But I could never justify it to myself—doing what had been done to me.

"There Edward lay, dying. It was clear that he only had hours left. Beside him, his mother, her face somehow not yet peaceful, not even in death."

Carlisle saw it all again, his memory clear even by the intervening century. I could see it clearly, too, as he spoke—the despair of the hospital, the overwhelming atmosphere of death. Edward burning with fever his life slipping away with each tick of the clock…I shuddered again, and forced the picture from my mind.

"Elizabeth's words echoed in my head. How could she guess what I could do? Could anyone really want that for her son?

"I looked at Edward. Sick as he was, he was still beautiful. There was something pure and good about his face. The kind of face I would have wanted my son to have.

"After all those years of indecision, I simply acted on whim. I wheeled his mother to the morgue first, and then I came back for him. No one noticed that he was still breathing. There weren't enough hands, enough eyes, to keep track of half of what the patients needed. The morgue was empty—of the living, at least. I stole him out of the back door, and carried him across the rooftops back to my home.

"I wasn't sure what had to be done. I settled for recreating the wounds I'd received myself, so many centuries earlier in London. I felt bad about that alter. It was more painful and lingering than necessary. In the end, I remembered that both of us, my sire and I, had been cut in the struggled when he pounced on me. And that our blood must have mixed…

"I wasn't sorry, though. I've never been sorry that I saved Edward." He shook his head, coming back to the present. He smiled at me. "I suppose I should take you home now."

"I'll do that," Edward said. He came through the shadowy dining room, walking slowly for him. His face was smooth, unreadable, but there was something wrong with his eyes—something he was trying very hard to hide. I felt a spasm of unease in my stomach.

"Carlisle can take me," I said. I looked down at my shirt; the light blue cotton was soaked and spotted with my blood. My right should was covered in thick frosting.

"I fine." Edward said unemotionally. "You'll need to change anyway. You'd give Charlie a heart attack the way you look. I'll have Alice get you something." He strode out the kitchen door again.

I looked at Carlisle anxiously. "He's very upset."

"Yes," Carlisle agreed. "Tonight is exactly the kind of thing that he fears the most. You being put in danger, because of what we are."

"It's not his fault."

"It's not yours, either."

I looked away from his wise, beautiful eyes. I couldn't agree with that.

Carlisle offered me his hand and helped me up from the table. I followed him out into the main room. Esme had come back; she was mopping the floor where I'd been knocked over by Alice—with straight bleach from the smell of it.

"Esme, let me do that." I could feel my face was bright red again.

"I'm already done." She smiled up at me. "How do you feel?"

"Peachy," I assured her. "Carlisle sews faster than any other doctor I've had."

They both chuckled.

Alice and Edward came in the back doors. Alice hurried to my side, but Edward hung back, his face indecipherable.

"C'mon," Alice said, "I'll get you something less macabre to wear."

She found a shirt of Esme's that was close to the same color mine had been. My dad wouldn't notice, I was sure. The long white bandage on my arm didn't look nearly as serious when I was no longer spattered in gore. My dad was never surprised to see me bandaged.

"Alice," I whispered as she headed back to the door.

"Yes?" She kept her voice low, too, and looked at me curiously, her head cocked to the side.

"How bad is it?" I knew whispering was futile, but if I kept it vague enough, maybe… she would understand and no one else would.

Her face tensed, "I'm not sure yet."

"How's Jasper?"

She sighed, "He's unhappy with himself. It's all so much of a challenge for him, and he hates feeling weak."

"It's not his fault, I have such smelly, smelly blood. Make sure he knows I'm not mad at him."

"Of course."

Edward was waiting for me by the front. As I got to the bottom of the staircase, he held it open without a word.

Esme and Carlisle both aid a quiet goodnight. I could see them stealing quick glances at their impassive son, much like I was. Alice reminded him to take his presents. Which made me sure that she knew I took her brothers virginity.

It was a relief to be outside; I hurried past the lanterns and the roses, now unwelcome reminders. Edward kept pace with me silently. He opened the passenger side for me, and I climbed in without complaint.

On the dashboard was a big red ribbon, stuck to the new stereo. He pulled it off, throwing it to the floor. He threw the ribbon into the shopping bag that I called my car trashcan.

He didn't look at me or the stereo. Neither of us switched it one, and the silence was intensified by the sudden thunder of the engine. He drove too fast down the dark, serpentine lane.

The silence was making me insane.

"We can have sex in the car," I finally begged as he turned onto the freeway. "I know we don't have any condoms in the car, but I'm on birth control and since you're technically dead I think it's safe to assume that you shoot blanks."

"Miri," He said in a detached voice.

"Come on, you've been asking for it for months. It's your birthday, let me give you a present you'll really enjoy." I bit my lip.

"What do you want me to do?" He asked in the same detached voice.

"Please, forgive me. I didn't mean for this to happen. I should have looked… I didn't mean to ruin your birthday like this." I blurted.

That brought a flicker of life to his face—a flicker of anger. "Forgive you? For what?"

"If I'd been more careful, nothing would have happened. If I just sat on the other side, it would have been fine."

"Miri, you put your arm down on a cake slicer—that hardly deserves the death penalty."

"It's still my fault."

My words opened a floodgate.

"Your fault? If you'd cut yourself at Mike Newton's house, with Jessica there and Angela and your other normal friends, the worst that could have happened would be what? Maybe they couldn't find you a bandage? If you'd tripped and knocked over a pile of ceramic plates on your own—without someone throwing you into them—even then, what's the worst that could happen? You'd get blood on the seats when they drove you to the emergency? Mike Newton could have held your hand while they switched you up—and he wouldn't be fighting the urge to kill you the whole time he was there—"

"It makes me feel good that you constantly want to kill me." I told him.

"Don't try to take any of this on yourself, Miri. It will only make me more disgusted with myself."

"How in the ever loving fuck did Mike-Fucking-Newton end up in this conversation?" I demanded.

"Mike Newton ended up in this conversation because Mike Newton would be a hell of a lot healthier for to be with," He growled.

"I'm not having sex with Mike Newton, I'm not in a relationship with Mike Newton." I reminded him, "I do not want to have sex with Mike Newton. I do not want to be in a relationship with Mike Newton. I want to have sex with you, not in a car honestly I did it once and it was uncomfortable. I like being in a relationship with you; you know when you're not emo."

"Don't be melodramatic, please."

"Well then, don't be emo then."

He didn't answer. He glared through the windshield, his expression blank.

I racked my brain for some way other way to salvage the evening. When he pulled up in front of my house, I still hadn't come up with anything.

He killed the engine, but his hands stayed clenched around the engine.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and moved close to him. He turned his head towards me. I leaned in a pressed my lips to his, our lips parted in tandem, and I felt his hands move from the steering wheel to my waist. I moved over so that I was perched just over the steering wheel, but my knees were pressed on the seat in between his spread legs.

I kissed his jaw, his neck, and lips. His hands moved from over my shirt to under my shirt, he unhooked my bra easily. And kissed my neck, jaw, and lips.

"Can I stay tonight?" He asked as I kissed his jaw.

"Maybe you should go home, after."

I really didn't want him to go and wallow in remorse but, hopefully, he would be so high on cloud nine after we finished he wouldn't wallow.

"For my birthday," He pressed.

"You can't have it both ways—either you want people to ignore your birthday or you don't. One or the other." I said sternly, but not serious.

"Okay. I've decided that I don't want you to ignore my birthday."

I pulled back from him and grinned, "I'll see you upstairs."

I quickly rehooked my bra, and hopped out of the truck. He frowned.

"What about in here?"

"That was only if you were leaving." I beckoned with my good arm, "I'll be waiting upstairs."

"You're evil." He sighed, and got out of the car too.

"Happy birthday," I sighed, and reached up on my toes to make the kiss last longer when he pulled away.

He smiled ruefully and then disappeared into the darkness.

The fame was still on; as soon as I walked through the front door I could hear the announcer rambling over the babble of the crowed.

"Peach?" My dad called.

"Hey, Dad." I said as I came around the corner. I held my arm close to my side. The slight pressure burned, and I wrinkled my nose. The anesthetic was apparently losing its effectiveness.

"How was it?" My Dad lounged across the sofa with his bare feet propped up on the arm. What was left of his curly brown hair was crushed flat on one side.

"Alice went overboard, you should have seen it. Flowers, cake, candles, presents—the whole bit."

"What did they get him?"

"A new stereo for my car."

"Your car?"

"He always complains about my radio so they got pissed and gave me one to shut him up." I explained, "Well, I'm calling it a night."

"I'll see you in the morning." Dad said.

I waved, "'Night."

"What happened to your arm?" He asked concerned.

"Fuck," I cursed quietly. My dad tended to get on me for language, while my mom never cared. I really had to watch my mouth around him, "I put my arm on a cake slicer."

He got up from the couch, "Are you okay? Do you want to go to the hospital?"

"Doctor Cullen fixed me up." So much for my plan to not have him know, that went straight to hell.

"Take some Tylenol, honey." He stoked my hair gently, "You need to make sure you're careful, I'm going to reach my insurance deductible." He kissed me forehead, "Goodnight, Miri."

I hurried to the bathroom, where I kept my jammies, for nights such as these. I shrugged on my matching tank top and sleep shirt, I washed my face one-handed, brushed my teeth, and pulled out my contacts and replaced them with my glasses.

I dry swallowed a Tylenol like my dad suggested, then skidded to my room to meet Edward.

He was sitting in the center of my bed, toying idly with one of the silver boxes.

"Hi," He said.

I went to the bed, pushed the presents out of his hands, and climbed into his lap.

"Hi." I kissed his jaw. "Open your presents."

"What about my thing?" He wondered.

"You didn't finish."

"At this rate, I'm never gonna." He muttered.

"As soon as you finish your presents, you can finish." I picked up the long flat rectangle that must have been from Carlisle and Esme.

"Allow me." He took the gift from my hand and tore the silver paper off with one fluid movement.

"Lift the lid." I instructed.

Inside the box was a long thick piece of paper with an overwhelming amount of fine print. It took me a minute to get the gist of the information.

"We're going to Ivywood? Why?" I looked at the voucher for plane tickets, for both me and Edward.

"That's the idea."

"But it's your birthday. You should be going someplace you want to go."

"I want to go to Ivywood, I want to go with you. I know you've been missing your mom, and it makes me happy when you're happy."

"I can't believe it. You're out of your mind, Carlisle and Esme too. It's sunny, you'll have to stay inside all day."

"I think I can handle it," He said, "If I had any idea how much you complained I would have opened it in front of Carlisle and Esme."

"It's your birthday it should be about you. Not me."

"You're the reason I had the party," He said morosely, "You're my reason… How's your arm."

"Just fine." It was starting to hurt a little but the Tylenol would kick in any minute.

"I'll get you some Tylenol."

"I already took it." I reminded him, but not before he slid me off his lap and headed for the door.

"Oh."

"We have to be quiet, my dad's home." I hissed. He wasn't exactly aware that Edward stayed over. In fact, he would kill me if he knew that and knew Edward and I banged regularly. But did it stop me? No, because I'm an idiot. Did it make me feel guilty for lying, fuck yes.

"He won't catch us." Edward promised as he came closer to me. He met me with a kiss; "It's late. You should be in bed." He scooped me up off the bed with one arm, and pulled the cover back with the other. He put my head down on the pillow and pulled the blankets over us.

I felt a chill tingle along my spine.

I pulled the blankets off us when we were done. We both were breathing hard, me for necessary reasons.

I closed my eyes, satisfied.

"What are you thinking about?" He whispered.

I hesitated for a second, before I answered. "I was thinking about right and wrong, actually."

He paused.

"Remember how I decided that I wanted you to not ignore my birthday?" He asked quickly.

"Yes?" I agreed, warily.

"Well, I was thinking, since it's still my birthday that… I want to kiss you again."

"You're greedy tonight."

"Yes, I am—but please don't do anything you don't want to do," He added, piqued. "I mean we already made love. But I like kissing you."

I laughed and opened my eyes, "Heaven forbid that I should do anything I don't want to do." I said, as he put his hand under my chin and pulled my face up to his.

"The kiss began the same as usual—Edward was careful as ever, and then of course something seemed to change. His lips became much more urgent, his free hand twisted into my hair and held my face securely to his. And, though my hands tangled in his hair, too, and we were both beginning to cross cautious lines. His body was still warm, from being under the blankets and fucking. Still we crushed ourselves against each other eagerly.

I collapsed back onto my pillow, gasping. Something tugged at memory, elusive, on the edges.

"Sorry," He said, and he was breathless, too. "That was too much."

"I don't mind." I panted.

He frowned at me in the darkness, "Try to sleep, Miri."

"I will."

"I just really want to kiss you again." He said.

"You're overestimating our self-control." I reminded him, "Speaking of which—which is more tempting for you, my smelly, smelly blood or my body?"

"It's a tie." He grinned briefly in spite of himself, and then serious again. "Now, why don't you stop pushing your luck and go to sleep?"

"Pushing my luck?" I snuggled closer to him. I was tired, in so many ways, yet there was something nagging at me. It was a silly premonition—what could be worse than today? Just the shock catching up with me, no doubt.

I was halfway asleep, maybe more, when I realized what his kiss had reminded me of: last spring when he'd kissed me goodbye, not knowing when—or if—we would see each other again. That kiss had been unromantic. This kiss had a similar edge to it, for whatever reason. I shuddered into unconsciousness, as if I were already having a nightmare.

Okay so im really late, the reason is I'm working about 22 hours a week and in school and recently got some really bad news concerning my family life, so it's a bit early and updates are already and have always been bad at updating. Im just reminding you that updates will be slower than usual. This doesn't mean im not continuing I'm just taking it a day at a time. Please stay with me and enjoy, sorry again.