Sorry for the delay. My internet's been acting up lately and I haven't had a chance to post this.

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I'm back to a couple of packs a day. My disaster of a person (aka myself) decided after my disaster of a date and my horribly botched pancakes and the fact that I'm going to die either way, that I may as well feel okay in the meantime. Because, guess what, even on the mountain of medication I'm on, my panic attacks are coming back, and it's not like I can afford a therapist or anything. Well, I could if I quit smoking, but I'd rather have something that calms me down every time, instead of some judgmental, overpaid asshole listen to me bitch about every little thing after the fact. Crappy therapist and no money, or cigarettes, cancer and no money? Cigarettes, no contest.

I need to straighten out my priorities.

Haha. Straighten. Spencer made a funny. See? Cause I'm gay and--

I need to die, don't I?

So, along with smoking a couple packs a day, my whole Ashley thing came back. I don't even know what it is, it's just my Ashley thing. That's just the best name I can come up with. I don't want to invest any more time thinking about her than I already do. Which is pathetic, but I really don't care.

I mean, I did kind of like Madison. For a couple of days. And, as depressing as it is, she's the first girl I've kissed since me and whatever her name was broke up, like, four months ago. I don't miss her or anything (if I did, wouldn't I remember her name?) and I was actually kind of miserable when I was with her. That was my three packs a day phase. Or, I dunno. Maybe I would've been miserable anyway. Maybe she made it better. Maybe she made it worse.

I, for one, don't give a fuck. All I know is that I have an obsessive, fifth grader crush on a seventeen year old mental patient. Which doesn't really bother me much anymore, because I've realized that I'm a lonely bag of raging hormones, and I like everybody at some point or other. It's just how I am.

Welcome to my life, I guess.

Yes, for the record, I am aware of how pathetic I am.

Speaking of Ashley and the fact that I'm a fifth grader, it's two in the morning and she's sitting out in the living room coloring and talking to me. It's become a kind of normal thing, I guess. Yeah, it has. And I kind of like it. I need the company.

"So how'd you know you were?" I ask, staring up at the clock. It's 3 in the morning on Saturday, halfway through her third week here. I've stopped letting her ask all the questions because, hey, why not? I like her. I want to know more about her. She knows more than enough about me. Besides, it's three am and it's way too quiet.

She pauses in her coloring, and it's then that I realize just how freaking quiet it is that I could hear her marker scratching on the table as well as I could.

"I guess I've always known," She says simply, staring down at her paper like she isn't going to say anything else, but then she continues, "I mean, I was in denial for the longest time. I came out as bi when I was like, twelve or something. Because, hey, I mean.. I was bicurious. I'd never gotten further than like, second with a guy."

So she got fingered when she was twelve. I didn't have my first serious boyfriend until I was fourteen.

"So I had this boyfriend sophomore year, right? And I mean.. I wasn't a virgin or anything. I'd had sex with guys and girls before, but they were all just drunk hook ups and they didn't really mean anything. And he was the most amazing guy.. funny, sweet, hot.. the whole package, y'know? It was like, I wanted to love him. With every particle of my being, I wanted to love him. And we had sex and everything but I mean.. I dunno. I just sort of laid there."

She pauses for a moment, then looks up at me, pushing her bangs back absently. "So I finally figured out I was a dyke when I was fifteen. Haven't looked at a guy since," She says conclusively, leaning back in her chair.

"I wish I'd had all that figured out when I fifteen," I say, tugging at my t-shirt self consciously.

"No you don't. I've been the school dyke since sixth grade. I went through hell for years. My life just sort of spontaneously combusted,"

"So did mine," I say defensively, feeling anger flaring up in my stomach for a moment. Just a moment though. Then it passed.

She doesn't say anything for a moment, just sits there like she's thinking, then she smiles a bit. "Being gay just wrecks lives, huh?"

I smile back and nod.

"I mean, I probably wouldn't even be here right now if I wasn't gay,"

"Me neither," I say, chuckling a bit, before I realize, "Aren't you in here for drugs?"

"Drugs that I started using because I was so fucking miserable,"

Well there's something I never would've expected. She acts like she's so high and mighty and nothing anybody says or does can touch her. Maybe that's why. Maybe she hasn't always been like that, I realize.

We sit in silence again for another moment, but she doesn't go back to her drawing like she usually does, she just sits there and looks at me, and I just sit here and look back at her. She smiles and I smile back. It's all I can do, really.

I don't know. I'm kind of crazy when it comes to girls. When it comes to just existing, really. I'm just. I don't know.

I say "I don't know" too much, don't I? I do. I should really stop. I'm going to stop now. Really. I am.

"I honestly have no idea what I'd do with myself here if it wasn't for you," Ashley's telling me, looking up at me and giving me one of her puppy looks. Hey. Wow. I haven't seen one of those in a while.

Cute as ever.

"So do you know when you're getting released yet?" I ask, glancing at the clock again. 3:10. How she manages to stay awake this late when she wakes up at 7 every morning, I have no idea. Maybe she just doesn't sleep.

"I dunno. They said at least another week or two,"

"Oh.. That sucks,"I say, trying not to look at her as I think, thank god.

I'm selfish, I know. Oh well. Deep down, we all are, even if it's just a little. I'm just a little more forward about it.

"Come on, you love that I'm here," She says, and I look up at her. She's grinning, "I mean, come on, who wouldn't want me around? I'm gorgeous,"

"I'm glad to see that you aren't an egomaniac or anything,"

"Yeah, but you think it's adorable,"

It's true.

"So?"

Oh. Fuck. I wasn't supposed to say that out loud. Fuck fuck fucking fuck, Spencer. Honestly.

We sit in silence for a few seconds, and I hit myself in my mind a thousand times. A thousand and one. A thousand and two.

"I'm gonna go to bed," She says softly.

Okay, no. Try a million. Fuck.

I look up at her nervously, but she's yawning with her hand over her mouth, and then she smiles, stands, and kisses me on the cheek.

"G'night Spencer," She says, just as softly, and then turns and walks down the hallway to her bedroom.

I just sit here and stare at the ceiling and feel myself blushing. I never blush. I'm blushing.

She has really soft lips.

What the hell. Wow self. Just wow. I'm pathetic. I'm ridiculous. I don't even know what I am. I'm just sad. Pathetic sad. Except I already said pathetic, but that's okay. I'll say it again, because I am. I really, really am. I'm just.. wow.

I turn my gaze down at the floor and I trace all the little patterns that people's feet make. Somehow, I manage to find a face. I found a face in the carpet. I should be an artist or something. Yeah, uh, no. Not gonna happen.

I look back up, and she's standing there, looking more unsure of herself than I've ever seen her. She's tugging on her sleeves and looking at me nervously.

"Uhm," We both mumble at the same time, very charismatically. Before I know what I'm doing, I'm standing and I'm realizing like I have so many times before just how close she really is to me.

"Hi," Brilliant. I'm brilliant. Words can't even describe it. I must have an I.Q. of like 300. I should've gone to Harvard.

Yeah, I'm going to stop now.

She's got her hands in my hair all of a sudden, and when did those get there? I have no idea. They just appeared. And then my hand's on hers and then I'm looking nervously at her and I'm screaming in my head about how wrong this is, but then I get myself out of my head and just look at her and I don't care.

And then I'm learning that her lips are even softer when they're on mine. She's holding my hand and I'm learning that her tongue tastes like peppermint, even though she brushed her teeth at nine, and just what it feels like when she pulls me against her and what her body feels like on mine and I think I have goosebumps.

I have goosebumps. She gave me fucking goosebumps.

I love it.

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