Monster In Me

An Until Dawn Fanfiction

Synopsis: Josh is determined to make things right with the people he's wronged. Turns out, once you've terrorized your friends and almost gotten them all killed, they're not exactly too thrilled with the prospect. Good thing Sam's willing to help. Josh POV.

Genre: Dramedy

Ending: All Survive, +Josh. Mostly cannon, except Josh makes it out of the mines unharmed.

Pairing: [Josh/Sam]

Rating: T/M; Cursing, Sensuality, Sexual Innuendo

A/N: I had scary awful writer's block at first with this one. I definitely don't want to fall into a predictable pattern, and I have such high expectations for this fic. Sooo…. I went on youtube and found creativity hypnosis music and played it and…. This happened. Sorry? Either way, this chapter was brought to you today by maaaaagic. Special thanks to my amazing friend, Enula, who quality checked at least the first part of this to make sure it wasn't pure crap before I placed it in front of y'all. I have a natural instinct to wanna veer off into the drama. There WILL be some drama, but I'm trying to stay as true to this version of Josh as possible. He's like the honeybadger. He don't give a shit.

I WAS trying to make these chapters short but... yeah. Here's 12 pages of slop.

Chapter Four:

Everlong

aka

That One Time I Was Forced To Buy An Ugly Bag For $350.00

Someone's knocking at my bedroom door.

This is especially odd, considering ever since I kinda sorta racked up a $27,000 bill on my parent's credit card buying various raw materials to torment my friends with, my mom stopped knocking. She said I 'lost my right to privacy' after that. I'm not sure how she correlates the two, but I would figure that after the 3rd or 103rd time of both of us pretending like she didn't just catch me masturbating, it would prompt her to decide to renege on her knocking policy.

The worst part about being psychologically unbalanced (other than the part of you that justifies doing things deemed bad in popular culture) is that you will think you're making amazing progress one day, and the next you've shut your blinds and are hiding under your blankets like a physically abused shut-in. This is why therapists like Dr. Finke are wealthy, even though his shitty tweed jacket would suggest otherwise. But I digress.

More importantly, what in the actual fuck happened to my psyche between now and less than 12 hours ago? All I know is everything seemed great, I'd gone to bed with my cute li'l smiley face text from Sam (her love for me is becoming increasingly apparent. I bet it's because she got to see me drool, snot, and cry all over myself when I got pepper sprayed yesterday. I think Oprah would call that intimacy).

And then… BOOM! I wake up at 3 am in a complete, sweaty panic that renders me practically immobile.

I just don't get it. I was fine the night before; almost happy, even. I was able to write my apology to Jess (which will probably elicit some kind of Gold Star reward with Dr. Finke – although I definitely need to omit anything about her big booty… because he's still a total perv). I also let her physically assault me, which should have definitely been therapeutic to her, at the very least. I did my good deeds!

Plus... although each time ends up in some kind of injury, I've even been spending some time with dear ol' Sammy... who did I mention is totally in love with me? Poor girl. I'm gonna have to let her down easy, or at least find a way to be less irresistible to her. I tend to like my girls with a little more cleavage and a little less self-esteem.

So, all things considered, I should feel great.

…but nooooo. No, no, no. Not me. I don't get to be a normal fucking human being. My asshole brain decides to randomly go all haywire and make me incapable of leaving my bed because I have some irrational and invisible fear of monsters or demons or whatever the fuck decides to plague me.

I look down at my phone (the super spy phone, not the 6-year-kid phone). There's three missed calls and six text messages, all from my greatest admirer, no doubt. I had every intention of being bright eyed and bushy tailed for whatever horrific, painful mission Sam had in store for me today, but my girlfriend, Anxiety, decided to move into my brain sometime last night and she doesn't let me do anything. She's such a controlling bitch. But I can't leave her. Believe me, I've tried.

I reread the last text.

Sam: That's it. I'm coming over.

I groan. That was exactly what I expected her to say. Damn Samantha and her plucky, go-getting attitude.

Then I realize that text was from half an hour ago… and there's another knock.

"You'd better not be naked in there, because I'm coming in!" I hear Sam's unmistakable voice call, muffled through the door. Look at her, pretending like she doesn't wanna see me naked. So precious.

My head falls onto my pillow in pure exhaustion – I have no desire to deal with this right now. I cover my face with the blanket and pray to dissolve into my mattress.

Even still, she barges right in (as she usually does), guns blazing. Not really (THAT would be kinda cool though, and I wouldn't have been surprised if she did. She's practically a super spy). I peek out from my dark blue comforter and she comes into view; She's got her hands on her hips and glares down at me disapprovingly. This is becoming a theme with her – overstepping boundaries and gazing at me with disapproval, I mean.

"Oh, hellooo, Sammy. Lovely morning we're having, isn't it?"She doesn't think it's as cute or charming as I'd hoped. She's pissed. I sit up, propping myself up with an elbow, casually. My body still feels sore from the abuse from yesterday.

"What the hell, Josh! I texted you at 7 like I said I was-"

"Sam, sweetie, I mean well when I ask this but… do you actually have a life of your own or are you just going to spend the rest of it torturing me?" She actually looks kinda hurt by the comment, which is strange considering everything else I've dished out she's been able to throw back at me and then some. Maybe she's on her period or something.

But... that's not my biggest concern right now. Sam's been upset at me before, and if I am being completely honest, she'll probably be upset with me a million more times in this lifetime. What concerns me, at this moment, is that she is IN MY FUCKING HOUSE. PROBABLY #1 ON THE LIST OF FUN THINGS I'M NOT ALLOWED TO DO... right behind harboring sharp objects or ordering saws with dad's credit card again.

She must see my mind racing.

"Ugh, relax with yourself," she breathes, and it looks like she takes her own advice as she plops down on the end of my bed. She hands me a piece of paper. "Your eyes go all buggy when you're freaking out. They aren't home – I checked." She's, of course, referring to my parents. I look down at the paper in my hand.

Joshua,

Went to a conference, didn't want to wake you. Be back tomorrow morning.

Love, Mom & Dad

It's my mom's handwriting – dad doesn't love me anymore, remember? I look down at the bottom of the page.

P.S.

BE GOOD! ! ! ! !

Wooooweeee! Five exclamation points. She must really mean it. No Molotov cocktails or drive-by shootings for me, I guess. Aw, shucks. Moms always take the fun out of everything.

I raise an eyebrow and peer over at Sam, who's made herself comfortable. I gotta say, my room looks pretty good with her in it.

Wait? What? Shut up, scumbag brain. You're a psychopath. It'll be a cold day in Hell when Sam shows interested beyond pity in you... but ohhh no. That doesn't stop me.

"I mean... I always knew that eventually you'd end up in my bed but I never imagined it would be like this..." YUP. My stupid mouth blurts that shit out before I even get a chance to stop it; it's like watching a car crash in slow motion. I don't get to finish my innuendo, though. She's already rolling her eyes.

"Oh, shut up, Josh." Bang Bang. Shot down. I move awkwardly to the next elephant in the room.

"So, you normally just let yourself into people's houses?" I ask through a stretch. "Breaking and entering, Samantha! Believe me, you don't want a rap sheet. It's hard in the clink-"

"Well, first of all, I think you forgot that I know where the hideaway key is. I was best friends with your sisters for 8 years, remember?" After she says it, it kinda seems like she regrets it. But she doesn't let it linger too long.

"Was there a second of all?" I'm genuinely curious. She just shrugs a casual shoulder and fidgets with the fraying end of my blanket. I stare down at the note again. This is the first time my parents have trusted me to be alone overnight since everything went down. "So, no parental units for 24 hours. Maybe we should…. Ya know... Throw a party."

"Oh, I'm sure that'd be a great idea."

"We can invite all both of my friends," I gasp, tossing the note away from me.

"Yeah, you, me and Jess. Sounds like a real blast." I'm picking up on a hint of sarcasm. Who knows? I read a lot of 'Dear Penthouse' articles that started exactly that way. I certainly wouldn't mind being sandwiched between two blondies again... without the mace this time, though.

"Oh, c'mon, Sam. Don't be such a stick in the mud. A party would be fun! The last one I threw was a real killer," I wink. Sam's not impressed. She usually isn't. What can I say? I'm not really an impressive guy.

"Can I ask why you're still in bed?" she asks. I pat the empty space next to me with my hand.

"Waitin' for you." No, God. Why, mouth, why? "If we aren't gonna have a party, perhaps you 'n I can have a sleepover?"

"Be serious! Are you alright?" I sigh, my head hitting the pillow again. I was kinda serious. "I gotta admit, you had me a little worried." I don't want to answer her, mostly because admitting to my irrational fear of invisible ailments is not very cool or manly or tough, and I'd like to at least give off the slightest illusion that I'm not a total and complete fuck up… which I am.

"I can't get out of bed," I mumble.

"Why?"

"I dunno. I just can't."

"Did you take your pills today?"

"I don't have to take them til-" I glance down at my watch (the super flashy cool watch that is totally stylish and not at all cheap). It says nothing back to me. It takes far too long with me gazing at it for me to realize that it's busted. I look up at Sam and gasp, my mouth agape. She just shrugs at me, giving me a face that can only read "what's your problem?" Maybe not... but I can't help but feel paranoid. "You broke it!" I accuse indignantly. She snorts.

"Excuse me?" She crosses her arms across her chest at raises her eyebrows at me. "And how do you suppose I did that?"

"Yesterday? When you let me get mauled in the park by Jess? It must have broke then!" Her patience for me is thinning, I can tell by the hard line of her lips.

"Whatever, Josh. We have somewhere we need to get to. I'll buy you another cheap watch." She doesn't seem to grasp the severity of the situation. My watch never went off yesterday, which means I never took my meds yesterday. That would be why I'm so anxious today. I leap from my bed and get into my bag. I missed a dose, so I assume the most logical thing would be to take two, right?

Wrong. And now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure my doctor told me not to do something like that...like... ever.

"I like your apology letter to Jess," she says from my bed. She's picked up my notebook and she's thumbing through it. I near her quickly and swipe it out of her hands.

"Not your business, right Sammy?" I mutter.

"I wonder what you're gonna write in mine..." she muses aloud. I scoff.

"I'd say that me allowing you to torture me slowly, one situation at a time, has left us pretty square, wouldn't you say?" I ask, popping off my shirt and switching for a clean one. Sam tries not to watch me change... must be hard for her.

"Whatever you say, Joshua," she murmurs.

Sam's pretty adamant about getting on with our plans, and other than the slight panic she's already seen in me, I try my best to at least appear like I'm keeping my shit together. Inside, I'm freaking out a little bit, especially as I feel the pills start to hit me. It comes on hard and fast. (That's what she said.)

Sam finally coaxes me from the house and towards her car, but by the time I make it out the front door, my head is swimming. I guess it's better than hallucinating or feeling crippled by unending anxiety, but still, now I'm kinda slurring and stumbling a bit and it's not a pretty picture.

We get in, I buckle up... and it takes me .001 seconds to realize that Sam's a shitty, shitty driver. Like, Mario Kart bad – you know... the rainbow road level?

Once we'd barely made it a few blocks away, she has already narrowly hit two pedestrians and merged into another lane while an old Buick was in her blind spot. If I wasn't so doped up, I would have been terrified. But due to the excess of medication swirling around in my stomach, I kinda just feel like I'm on a roller coaster. Instead I just clutch my door handle and pray that we make it in one piece. I didn't survive a night on the mountain and nearly being ripped apart by monsters just to be killed by Samantha's poor driving skills. Seriously, who gave this girl a license?

Sam pulls into a department store parking lot. I leer out the window- I hate malls. I hate crowds. I hate shopping. If I had the mental capacity to whine at her about this, I would. But again, my overdosing of Klonopin has me trapped inside my own head, unable to fight back... although at this point I'm not sure I even could anymore.

We get out of the car and walk towards the doors of the store; I find myself leaning on her far too often. I still feel on edge. Like everyone is looking at me.

"Dude, stand up straight," she instructs under her breath. The fact that she's noticing my odd behavior is just making me even more nervous. "Why are you so quiet? Usually I can't get you to shut up," she asks. Well, the true answer is because every time I open my mouth I sound drunk. I give her a silent shrug as the answer instead. To say that I am just along for the ride at this point is an understatement – I am totally and 100% at her disposal. I don't even have any idea what we're doing here.

We walk in. Let me tell you what, mannequins are fucking scary. Maybe I'm having some kind of PTSD, but their long white limbs and faceless features are making my head spin, along with everyone's eyes on me. I grab onto Sam's arm by default. She's gonna have to protect me, and I'm not even sure from what. She looks down at my hand clutched onto her arm, then up at my face.

"Are you alright?"

"Let's just get what we need and get out of here," I mumble, my eyes on everything around us except her. She picks up her pace – I wonder if she can tell I'm losing it a bit.

We are in the women's department around a bunch of purses. They all look the same, but I'm no expert on these things. She beelines towards one particular bag – it's pretty hideous. Looks like something my grandmother would tote around and fill with partially-used Kleenex and sugar packets she swiped from a restaurant. Oh. And old, half-melted chocolates.

"So ugly," I whisper. Sam's eyes snap back up at my face and lets out a little giggle.

"I know. Do you have your credit card?" she asks.

"What?"

"We need to buy this bag. It's for today's mission." I mull on that a bit, chewing on the inside of my cheek, hesitantly. I mean... even though I kinda abused the Washington bank account privilege a smidge... yeah. I do. Mom let me keep my credit card for emergencies. (She is such a sweet li'l enabler. Gotta love Melinda.) Even still, there's no good enough reason on this earth to buy such an ugly bag.

"Josh, c'mon. There's someone who really wants this bag. She's been posting it all over Facebook and I think it would go a long way with her if you were to give it to her as a peace offering." I glance back down at the bag. There's only one person in the world with such atrocious, expensive fashion sense.

Emily.

"No, no, no. I'm not ready for Emily! She's tha devil!" I refuse, backing away from the bag like it's a weapon on mass destruction. She thinks being pepper sprayed was bad? I can only imagine the horrific things Emily's planned on doing to me. She has no sense of mercy, whatsoever. "One time when she was over for a sleepover with Beth, I accidentally spilled some soda on her and she punched me in the throat. Not the chest, not the face, the fucking windpipe, Sam!" It put me on the ground. "Plus, I have it on good authority that Magic Mike was so scared of dumping her for Jess, not only did he take three months to get up the nerve, but he waited til she was in Aspen with family and did it through text message!"

"Yeeesh..." she groaned. "No wonder she was so bent out of shape..." Sam muses. She shakes it off, shoving the purse back at my chest. "Josh, still, don't you think getting her this is gonna soften the blow a bit?" I glance down, taking it in my hands like it might explode... then my eyes catch the sales tag. I start to laugh, right in Sam's face.

"Uh, not for $350, I don't think so." I hand her the bag back and start to walk off. Do whatever you want to my body, but I am not gonna waste a cent on that disaster of a bag.

"Do I have to remind you that I'm blackmailing you?" she calls out after me. I groan and turn back.

"Sam, this is stupid."

"Look, I'm just trying to help you. We are going to see Emily today, with or without the bag. But I would highly suggest you have the bag..." she sings, shaking the bag in the air.

"Fiiiine," I grumble as images of Emily ripping me from limb to limb dance in my head. I swipe the bag from Sam's hands, and she smiles a little too smugly for my liking. "But I swear to God if she starts throwing punches I'm using your delicate little body as a human shield!" Sam raises her hands.

"Scout's honor," she promises. I am holding her to that. We promptly pay for the purse before I can change my mind and Sam drives to my impending doom that is Emily.

By the time we get to her apartments, my head is starting to clear up a bit, but it's still foggy. I'm actually a little relieved that I took a double dose, considering the fact that out of all the people Sam was making me face today, it was the most bitter and scary of them all – or at least her reputation would have you believe.

It's not like Emily and I were ever close in the first place – she had that unnecessary bitchiness that she wore like a badge of honor, as if it were something to be proud of. At the same time, at least everyone knew she was bitchy. And maybe, just maybe, it was all a front. Maybe Em has a sweet, vulnerable side to her that she'd yet to sho-

"What the fuck is he doing here?" she asks after she swings the door open and looks me up and down like I was some homeless crackhead on the street.

Nope. No, I'm pretty sure she might just be a horrible bitch. I stare at her face uncomfortably as she stands in the doorway of her luxury apartment. She's got her arms crossed over her chest and her hip out, her stature is pure sass... this is nothing I've never seen before. But the look of pure disgust on her face is new. I've never been looked at quite like that before...by anyone. And although (like Jess) I guess I didn't really do anything specifically to Emily that night, she is definitely and clearly still holding a grudge.

As I look at her, feeling inferior in her mere presence, I realize that one of my biggest regrets of that night, actually, is that I didn't do anything to Emily. Shoulda probably sawed her in half... but I don't think I'd be out in the general public if I had.

"He came to tell you something," Sam offers as I stand there, closemouthed like a buffoon. In all my fantasizing about bisecting Emily at the abdomen, I realize I am just standing there motionlessly, staring at her like a creep. Her eyes trail down to the grossly expensive bag in my hands. I lick my lips nervously, my eyes flitting to Sam for guidance, then back to Emily. What is it about her face that makes me literally want to shit myself? This bitch is terrifying. I'd take a wendigo over her just about any day.

"Well? What?" she snaps. I shove the purse into her. Bad move. You probably shouldn't shove the person you're trying to apologize to. She's pushed back a bit at my force with an audible 'oomph!', and I can only chalk my actions up to my own nerves or stupidity. Or both.

Usually both.

"I'm sorry for everything I did on the mountain," I blurt, my words running together. She scoffs, glancing over at Sam. I know what she's thinking. Are you serious with this shit, Sam? Sam just gives her an embarrassed, apologetic look... you know... the way I should be looking at Emily. Instead, I probably look just bug-eyed, fidgety and insane. Like the crazy person she now knows me to be. I'm not doing myself any favors, here.

"I don't need your apology," she sneers. She takes a step towards me, jabbing me in the shoulder. "I don't need an apology because I don't even think about you. In fact, Joshua, I care so little about you, that to apologize to me would be pointless because I would have to care that you're sorry – which I don't." I try to follow her words, and although they make very little sense, I actually kinda get it. Emily and I were never friends in the first place. We would probably never be friends. She always just thought I was the weird older brother of her friend Beth (she was never too close to Hannah, either).

Even still, I found it odd that deep down, I was kinda sorry. However, I didn't need Em's forgiveness, because there was nothing to repair with her. She eyes the bag up and down before she snatches it out of my hands anyway. She's moved on to more important things.

"Hmm... and I half expected this to be a knock-off," she says under her breath after examining it a bit. Her eyes come back up to us and she offers up a tight-lipped smile. "Are we done here?" she asks. Sam just kinda shrugs at me; I guess that for the first time since she's taken over my life, Sam's letting me have a choice in the matter.

"So, we're...cool... then?" I ask awkwardly, gesturing in the open space between us with my hand. She just rolls her eyes.

"Go fuck yourself, Josh," she growls before slamming the door shut. I turn to Sam, and I would be fuming if I wasn't so relieved that that experience was over with no injuries to count. Not quite as painful as the pepper spray, but still not great.

"I spent $350 on that?" Sam chuckles and rubs my back comfortingly.

"I think this is the closest that you and Em will ever be," she shrugs. I turn towards Sam, a wry smile crossing my lips.

"You know what, Sam?"

"What?"

"I think she likes me," I tease. She just laughs and walks back down the hallway. I chase after her. "No really, Sam! She's just shy, she doesn't know how to say it. Did you see the way she looked at me? All that burning intensity?"

"I think many would call that hatred, Josh," she quips as she presses the elevator button.

"Say what you will. I think I have a shot." Sam just chuckles.

"C'mon, Cassanova. It's been a long day; I'll take you home."

After yet another terrifying ride with Sam, we pulled up to my house, just as Everlong by the FooFighters starts playing on the radio. Acoustic version. I sigh inwardly; there are very few perfect songs in this world, but this is one of them. I lean my head back on the headrest and glance sideways at Sam.

"I...I'm sorry Sam. I can't leave yet. I can't leave in the middle of Everlong. It's like a law or something." She snickers a bit, nodding.

"It's definitely on my top 10 list," she says quietly.

"Top 10?" I'm disgusted. "More like Top 5, Samantha. Get real." We listen to the song for a bit, and I realize that it's not just the song. I don't want to get out of Sam's car – even if it's proven to be a deathtrap. I will probably die in this car, I've already accepted that fate. "I wish Kurt Cobain woulda waited to kill himself. You know, so I coulda seen Nirvana live..." I mumble to myself. Sam turns toward me, her forehead furrowed.

"Well... like... if you can wish that, wouldn't you just wish that he didn't kill himself?" she asks, trying not to laugh. That's an excellent point. But...

"Well, then we never woulda had the FooFighters, Sammy. Silly question..."

"You're ridiculous," she chuckles, turning back in her seat and leaning her head back on the headrest as well. She looks lovely in the twilight. You know... for Sam, at least.

"Gotta promise not to stop when I say when," Sam sings quietly to herself. I feel a smile tugging at the corner of my lips and for the very first time since she's popped back into my life, I find myself stupidly and sincerely thankful for her. She turns towards me and our eyes meet awkwardly. She reaches into her coat pocket. "I got you this, by the way," she says, handing me a small box. Another secret spy gift, no doubt. I open it to see a cheap, even uglier watch than my first. It's Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and it must have cost her all of five bucks in the kids section. "So you can remember to take your pills and... you know. Look cool while doin' it," she teases.

I have to say, I am feeling super stoic at this point and not at all choked up over the fact that no one, and I mean NO one, has done anything remotely this kind for me in a long time and I am a man so I am definitely not tearing up over a stupid, five-dollar Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle kid's watch.

I pull it out of the wrapping and promptly put it on my wrist, and although it's a bit snug, I will probably never take it off again.

"It's even waterproof," she adds, as though I needed any more reasons to love it. "And the alarm is the TMNT theme song..."

"Sam, you don't have to sell me the watch. It's great. Just what I needed. Very masculine and sophisticated. I'm gonna be the envy of every classy man on the block." I nudge her, and whisper a quiet thanks. I feel like we might be having a moment, so I have to ruin it immediately, of course. "You can come in... you know.. if you want." I tried to say it in a way that sounds effortless and smooth. It comes out weird and creepy. She sighs at me, then puts on that smile I hate; it reeks of sympathy.

"I mean I would...but I can't. I have to go."

"Hot date?" I chuckle. Her eyes widen, she has a look on her face that almost seems guilty. I'm kinda sorry I asked.

"Yeah, actually. How'd you know that?" she asks, tilting her head. "You actually might know him..."

"Oh yeah? Who is this guy? Do you think I could take him?"

"Daryl." I scan my memory bank and it comes back with nothing... I don't know a Daryl. But for some reason, I hate the guy already. It sounds familiar, actually. I glance back at her, but her smile has changed. It's menacing, and I am having a hard time figuring out why. She starts to laugh, a snort.

"What is so funny?" I ask.

"It's Sunday. Walking Dead, Daryl Dixon? Hello?" Well, I am kinda mortified inside. But I don't let it show on my face... at least I don't think I do.

"I knew it sounded familiar," I murmur. She gasps, twisting in her seat towards me and jabbing me in the shoulder with that boney-ass finger again. She's so aggressive!

"You were so jealous!"

"I waaaaas not!" I defend, but I can't help but notice that... yeah. I kinda was. I unclick my seat belt and turn towards her. "I don't mind sharing you with him, Sam. You really gonna pass up my sleepover offer? I'll let you be the big spoon," I assure. She smirks a toothless grin and rolls her eyes. 'Oh, you,' it seems to say. I decide right then and there that I am never gonna stop asking.

"Get some rest. You have therapy tomorrow, right?" she asks. "I'm sure your doctor will be glad to hear about your progress." I raise my eyebrows.

"Oh, memorizing my therapy schedule? Sam, you really are a stalker." She ignores my joke. I figure since 110% of everything that leaves my mouth is a joke, she kinda has to.

"And maybe we could... tackle Chris soon?" she asks. The idea makes my stomach drop and I feel my nerves growing at the mention of his name. I shake my head, at a loss of any other way to say it. "Or not, you know. If you're not ready," she retracts.

"I don't know if I'll ever be ready," I say in a rare moment of seriousness. She just nods, smiling comfortingly.

"Get inside. Go write your apology letter to Em," she orders. I simply give her a salute before I slam the car door, heading back inside. She peels out, and I kinda worry she isn't going to make it home alive.

The house is so quiet. It's usually quiet these days, but it's a different kinda quiet now. I do as Sam instructed before I forget, grabbing my notebook and opening up to a fresh page.

Dear Emily, I scrawl. I reach over and turn on my iPod. Everlong. Again. It might have made it into my Top 3 favorite songs tonight instead of Top 5.

I'm sorry for everything I did on the mountain, even if you don't accept or want my apology. I'm also sorry that I regretted not cutting you in half. I guess we're just gonna have to go on loathing each other – which to me seems like a mutual understanding, and means we are no worse than we were before the incident.

I'm also sorry I spent $350.00 on an ugly bag today. But, in a way, you wearing it out in public and people seeing it on you is some kind of weird karma, so I guess we're even.

It's not too serious, but it is sincere, and something inside of me feels like Emily would appreciate this apology... or at least understand.

My eyelids feel heavy, as they do most of the time, and I decide the best thing to do is sleep off the last of the fogginess of my double-dose today. I fall asleep kinda wishing that Sam would have taken me up on my offer to be the big spoon, but as I glance down at my TMNT watch I realize that I've gotten way more from her than I deserve already.

And I wonder when I sing along with you if everything could ever feel this real forever

If anything could ever be this good again. The only thing I'll ever ask of you

You gotta promise not to stop when I say when.

To Be Continued...