AN:

I really don't want to add any more words to the growing thousand, but I wanted to say hello.

It's been a loooong time. I mean, long. At first, I couldn't write because I thought about all the work I had to do and it would just exhaust me, but then it just became a chore because I realized I didn't want to disappoint my readers. What if my writing changed? What if it isn't good anymore? I couldn't stand the idea of that so I just avoided it entirely. That and another reason that I'm still working on, but anyway...

I realized that it's just ridiculous expecting myself to always deliver. Sometimes my writing may suck and it'll hurt, but if I want to get better. If I want to do something that I love right and accurately then I have to be willing to not always deliver. I have to be willing to criticism. I'm not perfect so neither will my writing be. Sometimes I'll read over my story like ten times and I won't even notice a spelling mistake. My eyes are horrible in that way and so will my writing be because I'm not perfect.

I say all this for the people out there who are afraid of criticism like me. You're not perfect. Don't expect yourself to be. Just practice, practice, practice. Absorb all the information and criticism you can and practice. Writing is lovely even when it's a mess because there's beauty in the humanity behind it. Don't stress and just learn. Use the freedom that you can use on paper that you cannot find in the world. Writing can be so much more freeing than anything else.

Anyway, that's all I wanted to say about my disappearance. Anything I have to say about the chapter will be at the bottom. Enjoy reading!

4.
The Trust Predicament

Jerry can't believe he's thinking this, but...

It's time to get a job.

It's an early Friday morning, one where the sky looks more gray than usual, and there's a chill settling in the air. There's no more pumpkins set up in front of houses along with different stickers of brown and auburn arranged around front doors. Time has passed. Christmas is coming and gifts are arriving right along with it. It's the beginning of a month supposedly full of excitement and cheer, mostly because of all the lights and ornaments dangled everywhere, that stands to represent what December is all about.

However, Jerry doesn't really think about it in that way. Not with all the change for presents missing and the sudden realization that he'll probably be alone all month—now that his parents have shipped off for the month to the Bahamas. It doesn't help that he's slightly depressed either, but he guesses that's something to ignore for the season. It's not like that's the only exciting thing about Christmas. All of that cheery music fills shopping malls, smiles beam all around, and people all of a sudden get a little more optimistic.

Jerry can't help but feel strangely...

Unexcited.

He feels opposite of the usual way December makes him feel. He feels, he doesn't really know how to explain it...

Bummed out?

Flipping over the pancake in his pan, Jerry focuses on attaining the right color on both sides. He's not going to let himself think negatively about holidays. He loves holidays. Nothing is going to change that—not even the way he's recently been feeling. He's a happy guy, always has been, and always will be. The one who everyone trusts to stay happy. So stay happy Jerry, he tells himself.

Even if the feeling isn't real, and the silence in the kitchen makes him feel different, he tries to be a little joyful anyway. He slides the blueberry pancake onto his spatula, flips it onto the white plate, and pours enough syrup until two dots and a nice little curve resembles a smile. He always remembers to cut some strawberries and bananas on the side. Nothing tastes as real nor as good as those fruits together with syrup.

Trudging over to the table, unintentionally dragging his socked feet against the light wooden floor, Jerry sets his pancake down. In a blue robe, black sweatpants, and cameo shirt, he slides into the white table shrouded in the corner.

It's a still morning, that strange shrill sound is the only one ringing in his ear, and Jerry tries to fight against the sudden loneliness he feels. It eats him alive sometimes—if he lets it. If he sits down and thinks about it. About friends, family, and all the other important people he's remembering.

Yet, Jerry won't do that to himself. He won't. Any time he feels sad or empty, he snatches his phone and plays some tunes or fools around on his phone until he's level twenty-four at something. Today, in the silent, bleak corner—his negativity is showing again—Jerry chooses to play some Christmas tunes and rolls around his phone screen until he finds some job openings. Anything to get out of the isolation—anything to get his holiday cheer going.

It's irritating at first. Most of the offers are meant for people with business degrees or some kind of long, long experience in retail. Jerry hasn't worked in retail since that one sneaker shop with Jack. That career didn't even last long. He doesn't think that even counts as much experience, but he puts it in any way and hopes people think he's experienced—or, you know, cool enough—to get the job. Sometimes luck works, other times it seems to really hold a lot against him.

He wonders if that's what happened when he found a friend in Tyler—and took him away from Kim.

Jerry hadn't intended to do anything. It was just nice to be with someone else—a guy. A guy who loved playing the same games as him, one who had the time to play games. Jerry hasn't remembered the last time Milton, Eddie, or Jack had time for anything like that. He'd try texting them, but they were always occupied with strange tea parties, barbecues, and gardening? It was a strange world for him and he couldn't help but latch onto the first person that jumped into his lap. It kind of happens with anyone who jumps onto his lap. He grabs onto them like if they were some sort of cat running away from home.

Nonetheless, Jerry knows his problem. He truly does. It's time for him to set his priorities with things that matter. Move his mind away from all the bad feelings, all of the ones that make him think things he never really would, all of the ones that make him suddenly hate the holidays. It's time to put the cheer in his wallet and in his heart. Because if life gives you both, then ey! Who's to tell you you're not happy?

Shaking his thoughts away momentarily, he faces the sleek gray iPhone in his hand under the minimal cold light coming from the balcony outside. It takes a lot of rolling, through dozens of ads about babysitting or dog walking, until he finds just the right ad for just the right person. It's not perfect, but it'll do.

Jack never assumed December would start off so bleak.

He's comfortably wrapped in pink fluffy sheets on a brown leather couch. There's a matte black laptop on his legs set comfortably underneath his palms. Everything seems to align itself so well despite the weather outside. It's a cold and low wind, a biting breeze, and it stings when it brushes against his skin. Jack can feel it from the small window crack across from him. He would seal it and all, but he's so comfortable and warm. He can feel his toes singing. It's a really good feeling that he'd prefer to keep for himself until the wind is unbearable later.

Besides, Jack takes a look around at the room and he realizes there's a lot of things he's going to put off until it's unbearable later. There's an array of papers and textbooks set on the wooden table near the door behind him. Some socks lie near the floor beside the glass coffee table. One large cup with a hard and thick rim of hot chocolate is still on the table from about an hour ago. Additionally, for some strange reason, his favorite pair of brown boots have fallen against each other near the kitchen entrance across the bathroom.

It's a large apartment, but the assortment of all the rooms always makes the place feel small. Jack guesses that's why it sold so quickly. Weird structures and large spaces don't always match.

Anyway, he has a lot of things to organize. He also has about five more pages of this paper to write until it's due on Monday. He's already finished about three today, which is mostly because filling up the essay with quotations and summaries always make it easier on him later. It's an awful essay hack that he really loves and should feel bad about but doesn't at all.

"Jack!" He hears far off in the hallway along with two large feet. Probably to remind him to bear these things now, which he would never argue against, but still. "Can you close the window sill? You never close it and it always gets cold!"

Jack throws his head back, sighs dramatically. "Sure, babe."

Then, Jack leans forward and stretches his fingers as much as he can. Tendon after tendon and bone after bone attempt to expand, but nothing really happens. He's just lurching forward with his toes shot pointedly like a ballerina. Gradually losing enough energy for the ridiculous stretch, Jack loosens and falls back. His back collapses against the arm rest until he suddenly leans forward again.

"Jack," he hears again, only closer, "get off the couch and close it. You're not Mr. Fantastic."

He really wishes he had superpowers sometimes. Being stretchy could really help him with a lot in life, you know?

Slowly, but surely enough, Jack lets his bare feet meet the floor. He can hear those toes hit a musical note so high from the immediate contact of cold that he feels sorry for them. Moving them back into himself, he wonders if it's even worth closing the window. The floor is too cold and there's time throughout the day to shut the window anyway.

"Jack," he hears again, only Tiffany is right beside the couch this time, "are you serious?"

Jack is serious. He seriously doesn't want to close the window, but he does. He gets up, as lethargic and slowly as ever, and makes his way to the window to shut it with his palms. There's only a very small difference in the air when this happens, but he keeps his mouth closed about it. It could have waited.

Nonetheless, Jack takes a nice moment to stretch, arms extending to the ceiling before he fixes his dark navy shirt against his torso and starts to make his way to the couch. Tiffany stops him before he even goes anywhere with two long arms and a nice hug that his toes probably need more.

"Mm," she hums against him, tilting her head to look up at him, "you're so lazy, but I still love you."

Jack looks down at her. Big brown eyes, a thin, long nose, and a wide, slim smile face back at him. He urgently wants to go back to the fluffy pink sheets and an almost finished essay, but he looks at the pink in her cool clay cheeks and the warmth of her skin. She's a much better pair of sheets. "It's not my fault it's too far," he whines, holding his chin above her forehead, "it's not even within arm radius. That's just poor architectural design!"

Tiffany laughs and it sounds like a nice crack in the middle of a bird song. He's not even sure what that means, but he assumes it means that he needs to catch a break from his coursework. "We should go out tomorrow."

Jack rubs his hands around her arms almost twice over before he lets her go slowly. He knows she's going to be disappointed about his plans with Eddie, but... He's having a good time with him and Lily. "Oh, I can't. I have this thing with Eddie."

"Again?" The brunette steps forward crossing her arms. "I mean, what do you guys even do?"

Jack thinks about his gardening thing and about how silly it sounds. He knows she won't laugh at him or anything, but she will definitely suggest he do it on Sunday or some other day. Only, he doesn't want to. He's always moving dates around for her. He kind of wants to have these Saturday things for himself. It's a nice difference.

"Nothing," he simply replies, shrugging his way to the couch. Jack tries to ignore the curiosity in her eyes as he brings the laptop back under his fingertips. Some things are better kept sealed, discreet, and locked away.

Tiffany lowers her eyebrows. She's not budging. "Seriously, Jack? Just tell me. I honestly don't care."

He knows she doesn't, but that also doesn't mean she won't persist about moving it around. Moving around the dates until Jack can't see Eddie until winter washes over or something. He has hobbies too—besides exercising and taking ridiculously long naps at any given time and day. Naps are real, you know?

"Nothing," Jack says again, only he shakes his head patronizingly this time. "We just do cool manly stuff."

"Hmph," Tiffany mumbles. "Fine. Don't tell me then."

She walks off right after, turning on her yellow flip flops, and heading towards the bedroom. Jack would be worried, but it's always been better to let her simmer down than boil up in curiosity. She'd only start asking about his stuff even more before he finds himself uninterested in gardening and now participating in some weekend tea party thing again. It's an issue better left resolved this way.

Only, Tiffany is still a little suspicious and Jack doesn't know how to feel about that. She's the kind of person who always wins CLUE and never needs to ask about what's bothering anyone. Jack can't keep anything sealed away from her really—not that he wants to. He's just pretty awful at keeping things tightly sealed. In other words, Tiffany is a pretty good detective, while Jack is awful at secrets.

Those kinds of imbalances in situations never last.

Kim wants to apologize.

It's been a couple of weeks when Saturday afternoon hits and Kim feels embarrassed, to say the least.

It's a sunnier day than Thursday and Friday. No clouds in the skies and birds swirling in circles above her apartment balcony. She feels like eating yogurt and walking through a mall with a friend. Something about how warm it is today combined with how ridiculous she feels about her cowardice the past three weeks really makes Kim suddenly desire socialization. If it's not enough that Christmas is just around the corner then it also helps that she feels very pathetic for holding something against Jerry and then feeling too embarrassed from it to say anything. How in the world does Kim even have friends?

Well, now that she thinks about it, does she? Does she even have any friends? She can't remember the last time Milton or Eddie called her—or even Grace!

Boy is she in trouble with her social ties. If there's ever a sign that Kim is no longer the same Kim, yet is Kim, that's one. She never cares anymore to keep ties, yet she's still just as bothered that no one has kept any ties. It's her fault anyway.

She never wants to grow up about her feelings. It's either anger or rage—nothing else. It's because of that that she has to apologize to Jerry. He's the only tangible tie around—and one that matters very much to her for some strange and oddly unsettling reason.

Turning away from her balcony and the light it reflects, Kim paces towards the hallway. She tries to ignore the anxiety boiling up in her chest as she notices the cleanliness of her exterior surroundings—the boy is still cleaning her apartment for her despite how ridiculous she acts.

Though to be fair, she never asks him and it's not like it's ever that dirty—all things she says to herself to ignore how bad and how ashamed she feels.

Finding herself across from his room, she glances at the door and prepares herself for feeling even worse than she wants to. She takes steps forward and slowly crosses the oil lamp in the middle of the hallway. Kim tries to think about all the words and sentences she should say and too many of them are jagged, sloppy, and clearly not at all thought out. More specifically, they all seem pretty piteous and fake. She's never been good at apologies.

Kim takes a look at her socked toes and then slowly up towards the wooden door. Running her hands across her face to remove any strands of hair, she puffs out a breath. Own up to it, Kim thinks, you were the one who did it.

Though to think of it, she's not sure that's entirely true. Jerry did steal her boyfriend. Only, he hadn't intentionally done it. Or had he?

Honestly, she doesn't care. It doesn't matter anymore. She got over it three weeks ago. It's time to get her best friend back—at least, this best friend back.

Quietly, nimbly, she knocks on the door. "Jerry."

She hears nothing. No little sheet shuffle. No distorted music playing loudly in someone's earphones. Nothing.

She knocks louder this time, yet only to confirm what she already knows. He's not there. He would either be napping, for the fifth time today, or dancing to some old Usher or Justin Timberlake song until he hits the edge of the desk. It used to be really uncomfortable and scary that she knew that, but now it doesn't bother her even in the slightest.

"Jerry," Kim tries again.

No sound at all. Not even a phone dinging. Kim takes the doorknob under the lack of light in the hallway and turns it. Her eyes confirm exactly what she already assumed when the door opens.

No one is on the other side. The blue bed sheets are fixed and properly made. His phone is gone and so is the charger next to the light wooden bedside table. His basic essentials and all of the things that go along with it are strewn messily on the wooden dresser across from the bed. Kim feels a little offended—he's out... Without her. He didn't even think to invite her?

Seriously, Kim? She rolls her eyes at herself. Not everything is about you, even if it should be, and it's not like you were the nicest friend recently. He can do what he wants. No one told her to be a big baby about stuff and grumble at all the wrong people instead of her boyfriend—who she's still not on talking terms with. The situation was ridiculous, but Tyler did do wrong. It was Jerry who had no idea what was going on, like always, and, yet, still apologized.

She can't help but hate how recently apologetic and emotionally pliant he's gotten, but that's not something she can ever blame him for... Even if it bothers her.

She wonders where he's gone. On a Saturday. Jerry loves to go out, but, usually, he takes this day off to nap or fool around with his bodily hairs or something. Again, a knowledge that used to bother her, but not anymore. They're roommates and best friends; knowledge like that is common and completely normal, she tells herself.

Kim guesses she'll have to ask about his whereabouts later after she apologizes. For now, she had friends to reconcile with.

Flipping her rose colored iPhone out, she presses Contacts and clicks on Grace. It's a task to form an endearing enough sentence that doesn't ring as fake or obviously desperate, but she succeeds somewhat.

Grace
I'm boooooored. Wanna hang out? ; )

It dings not a second later. She's amused by the text she's sent.

Grace
Hey loser! Took you long enough. Whatcha wanna do? : P

Tiffany really doesn't want to do this.

She's always been the one who knows things—just knows them. No one knows how or why, but it just is. She can see in people's minds and analyze whatever they're saying so she can decipher what the truth is. It's a skill of hers.

Consequently, on a Saturday afternoon, when the sky is still clear and sunny, Tiffany sets out to find out just what Jack and Eddie do. It's not intentional. It's almost just... Reactive. She knows Jack isn't doing anything bad or malevolent. She just wonders why he comes home with such a glow on his face and mud on his shoes. It's nothing personal... Really. She's just interested.

Candy begs to disagree.

"You just don't like your man smiling without you," cuttingly, she declares.

They're sitting in Candy's baby blue car, all round and small like the owner herself, and Tiffany slouches in her seat in response to the earlier comment. Candy could be right, but Candy could also be talking about herself. Actually, she thinks, she is talking about herself. There's always a self-truth to every bite she dishes out. Tiffany never takes it personally, but this time... This time, the truth pertains to Candy and, pathetically, Tiffany as well.

"That's not true," she lies, biting back any other comment. Candy stares at her with her big brown eyes and Tiffany grumbles. "It's not."

Candy shrugs, turns away, and leans forward against the dashboard. Tiffany does the same. The boys seem to be taking a left somewhere around the row of houses—houses of which are old, rotten, and cluttered with tall grass and vines. Only the elderly seem to live here.

"Listen," Candy continues, the smarter, albeit less self-aware one, "I know you. I've known you for a long time. You're possessive—"

"I am not!" Tiffany gapes her mouth, leaning toward the girl by her side. She's a lot of things, but she's not possessive... Is she?

She thinks about her actions and she seems relatively cool and laid back. Only, Jack never gives her any reason to panic either. Furthermore, they're always around each other. There's not enough space to even determine if she is possessive, but she guesses that's enough evidence as it is. Under the warm light reflecting in the car, Tiffany suddenly seems hot and a little nauseous. She's not possessive—she's just curious. There is a big difference between the two. One is absolutely awful and the other is somewhat cute, she thinks.

"Right," the girl driving says, before pulling the gear shift and turning the wheel toward the direction the boys took.

They turn around the corner to a long row of another couple of houses. All the same as earlier: old, rotten, and cluttered with a horrible yard and horrible vines. The boys keep walking down the sidewalk, laughing hysterically with each other, as if their own partners aren't stalking them far afar. Well, Tiffany tells herself, it's not like they know anyway.

It's a nicely lit and mildly hot afternoon, but Candy wears a maroon long-sleeved shirt that flairs out to fit her small waist and large hips, some dark jeans, and maroon ankle cut boots. It's not exactly attire for a warm day, but she's definitely one to ignore the temperature for whatever her outfit choice is for the day. Her hair is perfectly curly from the top to the bottom, almost like a puff of little curls falling in different directions.

On the other hand, Tiffany's hair is just a little wavy, but ridiculously long. Her own outfit consists of a black hoodie, black tight pants, and white flat sneakers—an outfit she wears almost every day. The pants hug her slim frame, but the hoodie hides almost everything.

However, Tiffany doesn't really have much to show. Her frame is the same from top to bottom, no dip anywhere, and her chest doesn't contain much. It's pretty small in there, she supposes.

"They're going into some house," Candy notes, leaning even closer to the windshield, as the car approaches from afar. "What the hell is my baby doing?"

"I have no idea," Tiffany absently answers while her eyes scan the destination up and down.

It's tall, stretching into the sky, and bright. Yellow, red, green, white, but in all the right areas. Brown on the shingle roof, green on the highest roof walls, red between the white borders that stream around and below, and then the rest is colored yellow. At the bottom, there's a brick foundation. It's vivaciously pretty. Tiffany likes the way the sun beams against it.

It's wild, but who cares? It's a wonderful piece of art.

"This house looking like a big mess," Candy blurts, shaking her head. "I don't even know where to start."

Tiffany smiles at the comment but tries to grab the rest of her amusement back in. She can always count on Candy to see things differently and pretty negatively. It always seems abrupt and awfully mean to other people, but Tiffany knows it's always honest—her friend never lies about things—and it's never intentional. Some of Candy's comments just whirl out and Tiffany finds she agrees with them even when she doesn't want to. She never wants to hurt people's feelings if she doesn't need to, but if it's an honest comment and it's already out in the air then she doesn't fight it.

Leaning her head forward to get a better look, Tiffany quirks her mouth. She has no idea where to start in terms of the whole investigation.

She sits back, unbuckles her seat belt, and nudges Candy.

"Let's go."

Kim didn't really think about this plan before she made it.

It's somewhere across rows and rows of houses, highways, and trees, on the same Saturday afternoon, when Kim realizes her little get-together plan with Grace wasn't well thought out. It's a cozy, bright evening nearing four in the afternoon, but there's not a word that passes between the two.

Both are standing across from one another with a rack full of colorful, vibrant clothes lined neatly together. Grace is searching extensively for a sweater; Kim can see the persistence within the creases between her eyebrows as she furrows them. She feels relief as she stares because, at least, there's a small distraction here somewhere, but she also feels pathetic. Shouldn't they talk about something? They did want to hang out.

In a light jean jacket, striped crop top, and some white vans, Grace looks up and notices her eyes. "What's up? You look like you're thinking about something. Spit it out."

Kim makes a noise, one that sounds like she's searching through vowels, and pouts a little when the words still don't come out.

It's not accidental, she swears. She thought going shopping and getting some frozen yogurt or some other beverage would have made this a little easier. It's only logical that common hobbies or common "likes" would make conversation easier for the two, but it wasn't. Kim still couldn't say anything worth talking about other than the weather, political complaints, and Brad Pitt. It's like they're not even the same people anymore—which they're not, but... Well, she doesn't really know what else to do.

Grace raises an eyebrow. "Ooookay. Words would be nice this time."

Kim still can't fumble through anything, especially now that things are awkward, but she thinks about the one thing still on her mind and tosses it out almost pretending that it's what's she meant to say. "I messed things up with Jerry again."

"Again?" Grace asks, but with a tone of amusement. Her lips are tilted into a quirk and Kim feels slightly offended at this. "I mean, it's not like you don't hurt the poor idiot every other week—"

"I don't hurt him every other week!" The blonde almost shouts as she removes her fingers away from any clothes she was fumbling through. Her lips gradually tilt into a pout. "I just—I say stuff that unintentionally sounds awful, but, but it's not like I want to. Actually..." Kim begins, but her next words sound so unfamiliar to her that she never lets them escape her tongue.

"What?" Her brunette friend looks up again after her eyes deviate to the rack every so often.

"Nothing," she quickly replies, shaking her head and moving away toward the end of the rack.

She doesn't mean to start pouting again, but it just happens. She fumbles through shirts and shirts until Grace meets her eyes across the rack again. There's a bubbly tune playing in the background, hovering over them through the air, and it's quite ironic to the turn of their conversation. Grace turns to the girl styled in a floral creme and pink sundress tightly sewn in the middle, maroon leather jacket, and brown ankle boots. Her blonde hair curls at the end and bounces when she turns to face back at Grace. There's a comfortable stare there, a stare that Kim recognizes, and it always cracks through any emotional wall of hers.

"Seriously, Kim," Grace tries again, but she's completely serious as she pesters this time.

"Grace, it's—"

The brunette leans her head in and lifts her eyebrow just a little. It's futile for Kim to fight against the honesty she's asking for.

"I just," the blonde sighs out exasperatedly, "I would never want to ever unintentionally hurt him again. Like ever. I hate seeing him so... Hurt. I hate knowing that I did that. That I was just so impulsive and irrational that I did that. I just want to like, I don't know, make him laugh again, or smile, or dance. Or, I don't know, I just..."

Grace sees the distance in Kim's eyes as if she's distraught in thought. It's so cinematically unaware and she feels terrible but also vexed. Those two are such idiots with each other. "You're so painfully ignorant Kim," she mindlessly blurts, surprised the words came out but no longer bothered to keep them in.

"What? Excuse me?" The one who was lost in thought replies. Grace almost lets her laughter escape her throat.

"You're ignorant. And don't worry about Jerry. I mean," the brunette adds, finding herself amused by the situation, "I don't get why you're worried. You two are inseparable—attached by the hip when you were in high school sometimes—"

"What? No. It's just cause Jerry was my friend. I used to hang out with all my friends. Like, I—I hung out with Eddie and Milton," Kim replies as she scrambles through her words. Some small teenager with a black pixie cut and brown jump boots passes by her. It immediately feels like she's silently judging her just as much as Grace.

Grace taps her sneakers against the old light wooden floor stretched vertically. She lets out a small triumphant huff and crosses her arms. "Kim. Just stop... Really. You don't have to explain anything. It's cool. Just apologize and hug it out. You two have always been pretty chill about things like that. As if your friendship were made of out of some strawberry jam thread or something."

"Strawberry jam thread?" Kim almost smiles in levity.

"Yeah. Gooey. Sticky. Inevitable to fall back together. Is there something I'm missing?" Grace lifts an eyebrow. It almost seems like she's rehearsed all of this.

Kim doesn't really know how to feel when she thinks about all of those words in one sentence, but she does know that she feels a little meek suddenly—and her heart seems to be squeezing in her chest. It's not embarrassment, but it's not a regular feeling either. Maybe it's some sort of unfamiliar joy. Knowing Jerry would probably be her friend again soon.

"Nope," she finally answers, hiding her face away in direction to the rack.

"I mean, you and Jack were fiiiire," Grace continues while Kim finds herself turning away to search for some more clothes. She's just digging through and pulling them apart. Now, she's actually interested in some of these shirts. The hues have decreased in color and seem darker. "But you and Jerry are sort of like really, really good and gooey and smooth peanut butter, you know?"

Kim isn't really listening anymore. Her eyes are squinting toward the window across from them. She thinks she sees a familiar Latino boy, one she owes an apology to, across the street in the burning beams of gold. Sitting on a pale stone bench, the boy seems to be eating a sandwich. She finds herself whipping around to face Grace in an instant.

"I mean, it's not fire, but who's to know that you won't like peanut butter?"

"Grace," she starts, holding her chosen clothes close to her, "Grace!"

The brunette lifts her head and pauses her sentence. "Huh?"

"It's Jerry!" Excitedly, she starts, before she pauses, "Wait—why is he here? Alone?"

"Because some people like to go outside sometimes Kim," Grace replies as she turns her face away from her and toward the clothes instead.

"Sure," the other girl sarcastically agrees before making her way toward the entrance of the small clothing store. "I'll be right back. Just wait here."

Grace just shakes her head. She watches Kim swing the door open in front of her and make her way across the somewhat empty street. It's as if she can almost trace a line between them. Ridiculously soaked with peanut butter and strawberry jam. Gooey and sticky, she thinks. Though now that she thinks about it even further, Grace might actually just be hungry.

Probably.

"They're just... Talking," Tiffany begins.

Candy stares ahead before she takes a look at Tiffany. She looks a little disappointed, but probably a little more guilty. The girl has separation issues, she considers. What else could she expect from a situation like this?

"I don't get it," Tiffany continues before moving herself against the bush rather than peeking above it.

In the blinding light of a Saturday afternoon, Candy holds a hand above her eyes. She stares on at the huge backyard space the lady has here and it's not much with the greenhouse inside, but it seems big without it. Just a small little row of bushes and a little walkway lie here. She guesses that's why it makes sense to have one in the first place. It's better for her huge space and probably better for her skin. The sun is just a little ridiculous here, Candy comments to herself. It's even worse when both girls are hunched over a bunch of bushes eyeing their boys for just talking to some elderly woman. It's just sad actually.

"You don't have to," the smaller one comments. Holding her knee, she sits next to her friend.

"What?"

"You don't have to get it. It's his thing, you know? Let him have it. I get it and I ain't about to bother Eddie about it." Candy stumbles just a little before she makes her way up and standing. "I'm out of here. Before my baby finds out how much of a hot mess I am. Literally. My hair is just—"

"What? You're leaving?" Tiffany asks disappointingly. Looking up at her friend's face, she can almost start to feel the shame kick in.

"Yeah. And you should too honey."

Candy doesn't make any hesitations to make her way out of the small little back of the huge yard. She makes her way onto the stone pathway, grabs the hooks of her jeans to wriggle them upward, and finally starts to walk away. The other girl doesn't exactly want to stay, but seeing her friend go and seeing her boyfriend on the other side of the yard in some greenhouse—beaming and laughing—makes her suddenly feel so small and guilty.

Soon, it's hard to get her two large feet together and away from the scene. It's called guilt freezing—something so ridiculously stupid that her body does all of the time.

Candy whirls her body around to ask one last time. "You coming? I don't mind if you walk girl."

Tiffany nods but doesn't move. She's stuck in her own body.

Candy looks back and forth between the house and the girl on the grass. She knows exactly what's happening. She's been friends with this girl for a few years. If you listen to your friends, then you learn about your friends, and soon you adapt to your friends. "Is it happening? The guilt thing?"

"Mm... Hm," is all the other girl replies. She can't nod all that well anymore.

Candy finds her way on the grass and wraps her arm underneath her friend's shoulder. She's not amazing at solutions but she tries. "Just breathe honey. We gotta move real fast or we'll get caught. Breathe and walk. It ain't easy, but slow your way into it."

Tiffany tries to do just that. She's silently thankful Candy isn't someone new in her life, but also that she's a lot more patient than she gives her credit for. Nonetheless, Tiffany knows they're never going to be fast enough. Her two feet feel like they're stepping in and out of mud and her breathing is still irregular—now it's just anxiety at this point.

When Candy freezes beside her, Tiffany follows suit. She looks up to see two boys and an older lady.

Jack is concerned. Eddie is confused. The lady, well, just has a permanent mug on her face. It's not an ideal situation in the least.

"What are you doing here? Is she okay?" Jack blurts. He's worried and she can tell from the way he's stretching his pinky out. It always starts with one finger than the rest until his whole hand is up and he's making his way across whatever distance to meet her.

"We were just... You know," Candy says, waving her other hand around in nonsensical gestures. "Not everything in life has answers."

"You were spying on us, right?" Eddie abruptly comments. He's not surprised nor offended. He has a tired look in his eye from all the effort pulled in the greenhouse, but, in response, he doesn't seem to care. He seems to have already known and come to terms with it. Candy doesn't know if she's offended that he's comfortable of her mess or relieved.

That says a lot about my character, she thinks.

"Seriously?" Jack faces the girl limp in her friend's hands. However, he seems a lot closer now, Tiffany notices. He's still worried, but he might also be mad. There's a disappointed look in his eyes, little at first and then slowly growing, and she feels even fainter already. "Why would you spy on me?"

She can't answer. Doesn't want to.

"Do you not trust me?"

"Can you drive Candy?" Eddie asks abruptly again in the middle of Jack's volatile frustration. Only, his body is slouching as he says it. He seems disappointed in a different way than Jack. Quiet, submissive, but disappointed. "I'm tired. And I really don't want to talk."

There it is, the darker, smaller one notices. There's his anger. Quiet, but boiling. Small and little, but there. Candy feels even worse at this reaction rather than an explosive one. He seems too exhausted to even entertain his emotions—probably because of all the dirt on his shoe and under his fingernails. It's an anger that takes a while to fade away. Typically, Candy finds herself at the face of it for weeks.

"Sure baby," she lightly complies. Releasing Tiffany into the hands of her partner, she trudges away after Eddie. They both walk on ahead one before the other, quiet and in thought, and Candy makes no moves to hold his hand or rub his back.

Tiffany can feel her own guilt swell when the couple disappears behind the tall and dark fence. The elderly lady watches them go silently. She doesn't say a word to either of them, but she does turn to Tiffany with a quirk on her face.

"Guess it's not appropriate now, but I'm Lily. And you're Tiffany, right?" Lily gradually lifts her lip into a smile. "You should trust your boyfriend here a little more. He's not that bad. Real focused."

In all of her sudden beaming light, Lily turns away. Each step of hers small against the old, withered grass, but her way to the door is eventual. She's all small frame and gray thick curls with a vibrantly brown dress and sneakers. Tiffany thinks she might already be the coolest older lady to ever live in this planet. However, it truly stinks that they had to meet this way—in the middle of a guilt attack in her own backyard. Now I feel possessive, she tells herself and the rest of her inner world.

Jack stares on ahead toward the house. She tilts her head up at him and sees a glimmer of anger in his eyes, but it's not too intense—the frustration, on the other hand, is.

"Let's just go home," the brunette puffs out tiredly.

"But—"

"Let's. Go. Home."

Tiffany doesn't fight him again. She slumps back into his shoulders and makes a step forward. Her steps are a little easier now, but the feeling in her heart isn't. It might be the single worst feeling she's felt in a while—actual justifiable guilt. Guilt that has reason and cannot evaporate into thin air so quickly. She has to apologize and confront stuff this time.

If only she actually listened to Candy in the car. Sometimes the girl can be right—and it's better being wrong and learning then being right and doing everything wrong. It's a lesson she still hasn't learned...

Unfortunately.

Jerry still doesn't feel all that well.

It's a Saturday afternoon with a warm and generous sun. People are silently walking left and right, no more than two at a time, invested in each other's worlds. There's a faint Christmas song playing in the air, somewhere inside one of the many stores across the street, and it echoes all around. Normally, it would lift his spirits and spread some holiday cheer, but something is wrong today. Something has been wrong for a while. He can't put his finger on it, but eating, taking in the feeling of people around him, and holiday cheer is doing nothing for him. He feels just the slightest bit distant and away from the world.

And that is the scariest feeling.

No one told him that love would ever do this to him—not this deep. Not as sharp. He can't even remember the last time he's felt in touch with himself. In touch with his reality. Some days pass by and it's like he's floating. Other days, Jerry feels like he's stuck in quicksand, but he doesn't sink. He feels a never ending feeling of inevitability, but he doesn't sink. And it... He feels so scared. Even now, whenever he's alone, except... Not with Kim. Kim made him—

"Jer!"

He stops chewing his Subway sandwich suddenly. He can feel a bit of tomato sauce on the corner of his lip. He doesn't bother to clean it—he's going for another bite in a second anyway.

Lifting his head lethargically upward, Jerry faces a familiar blonde. His nerves do a weird thing to his face for a second. It's like he can't feel it and then he doesn't. Consequently, he turns away. He can't help but feel excited that she's here and then nervous that he might drive her away again.

"Jer," Kim tries once more, but with persistence at her side. "What are you doing here?"

"It's my lunch break." He bites into his meatball sandwich. Kim lifts an eyebrow interestedly.

"You work?"

"Yeah," the man mumbles, lifting his hand against his lip to wipe off some sauce in the process. He could feel it against his skin and it was tickling him.

Kim sits beside him without hesitation. Bumping his shoulder with her arm accidentally, she falls into a quiet silence with him. She doesn't do anything other than stare at her shoes and stare at the people walking to and fro. Some small wisps of her hair brush against her nose and eyes. Jerry can hear the breeze playing around with it. It's a comfortable, yet teetering sound between the two.

Jerry feels relief in it. Though nothing is to be said, he likes it. He feels not as alone with her around. It's easy for him to feel alone.

"I'm sorry," Jerry blurts, turning his eyes to the floor. Desperate for her to stay. "Please don't be mad at me anymore."

"I'm not!" She almost shouts. There's a relief in her reaction somewhere, but he can't tell what it's necessarily from. "I'm not mad at you. You didn't do anything Jer—at all. You—you mess up sometimes and that's really annoying, but I'm not mad at you right now. Actually," she declares, puffing her chest out before she lowers it once more, "I can't stand being mad at you. I can't stand even... Being mean to you. I just hate it when I do that. Whether or not, you messed up. I hate being mad and I hate being mean and I—I... I just don't like making you feel bad Jerry."

Jerry furrows his eyebrows at this declaration. He doesn't exactly understand. He messed up, didn't he? "But I—I messed up."

"No." Kim turns to face him. "You didn't mess up this time—I did. I got angry and I intentionally let you sit in... In your guilt. I did that. And, I don't like doing that. I hate making you feel bad. I really... Really hate it."

He doesn't respond. Kim can tell he's listening.

"Something is going on with you and you won't tell me. And, and everytime you sit in your guilt I know there's something you're not telling me. You—you don't have to, but I know something is wrong."

Jerry gulps. His hands start to get a little clammy and he feels something heavy blocking something in his chest. He doesn't answer or say anything at all, but he knows his friend can see everything anyway.

Kim knows him as much as he knows her.

He never knew that. Never knew any of his friends could see much of what was going on inside of him. People know he's sensitive, but his emotions... His emotions are turbulent. There's no order there—it's all chaos, a messy puzzle with lots of pieces missing, and no sense of structure nor how to fix it.

Kim looks ahead again. Her hair dancing in the wind. "I want to make you happy Jerry. And I want to make you laugh. I don't want to hurt you anymore... I feel like you deserve better than that. Better than me not thinking and being impulsive. I feel like... You deserve someone who at least tries."

Jerry looks up at her. There's a tidal wave in his eyes, each eye clear and empty, without any of the water and the redness. He's feeling a lot of things and Kim doesn't know them all, but she just wants to be there for him. Through the waves.

"I'm sorry Jerry," the blonde says finally, letting her head fall on his shoulder for just a second before she tilts it back up. "Now stop feeling bad and start smiling."

He lets his head fall.

"Hey," she says, punching him lightly on the shoulder, "I said start smiling. No more pouting."

He looks back at her. Eyes not as sad, but more so relieved. She never realized his eyes were such mood rings.

"Pleeease," the blonde tries again, shaking his shoulder in her hand. "If you're upset then I'm upset. We're like a connected... Thread or something—of strawberry jam or peanut butter."

Jerry faintly smiles, lifting both brows, as if he's amused by the situation. "You're definitely peanut butter."

"I am not peanut butter. You're peanut butter. You used to have old peanut butter jars under your bunk bed, Jerry—"

"Yeah, but that's old me, Kim. I've changed, I have priorities, and I clean stuff now—"

"That doesn't make you strawberry jam—"

Somewhere in between that riddled mess of a conversation, Jerry starts to laugh and Kim follows after. It's not something they realize, but it slowly finds its way there. Grace can see from the view of the window and she grins to herself at it all. To think that Kim doubted all the truth in the statement of hers. It's like people forget that Grace has a pair of eyes or something. Like if she can't see all the ridiculous attachments they have to each other and how confusing that thread is going to get when they both realize it's not just any kind of thread.

It's gooey. Sticky.

Inevitable.

AN:

Didn't mean to saturate the whole chapter in cheesiness, but Kerry needed some fluff.

I also wanted to talk about the different dynamic between Kim and Jerry. I don't think these two have the same intensity that Kim and Jack have. Like Grace says, Kim and Jack have such fiery ties. Those two were written in such a way that it's explosive sparks everywhere and all the while it's innocent as well. I wanted to talk about that.

However, Kim and Jerry are different in a very special way for Kim as well. I don't want to go too into detail because it will all unravel as the story goes, but they're softer, a little sweeter, and they blend together in a way that's impossible to rip apart. It's just a really sticky and saccharine tie. (You should all probably listen to Gooey by Glass Animals to get an understanding of what I mean.)

Also, I didn't want to make any relationship more special than the other. Both relationships mean a lot to Kim and have an impact on Kim. I just wanted to talk about the differences.

Anyway, how was the chapter? Did you like it? Love it? So-so? Is there anything you would like me to talk about in the next few chapters? Any ideas? Comments? Criticism? I'm open to anything you have to say. If you don't like my interpretation of the characters then you can always give me suggestions to better expand them. Also, how do you all feel about Tiffany and Candy? Or Grace? This chapter was full of different ladies. Let me know which one is your favorite one.

Too-da-loo!