Hey, guys! I've finally decided an ending, so expect about a chapter a week. Reviews and comments are encouraged! Thank you so much!

I've always been the type of person who deals in concrete facts and examples. Before my narcotics habit flared out of control, I was enrolled as an economics major at Nevada State. By now, I'd be in my senior year ready to take on the odds of the workplace. Now the only percentage relevant to my life is the 15% I bring in.

But this week is slowly chopping away at my logical perception of everything. Benches do not just dissipate into thin air. Men who allegedly have the power to make these benches disappear don't suddenly become obsessed with minimum wage earning waitresses. Reformed waitresses don't decide to reestablish nasty drug addictions only to be saved by crazed magicians. And finally, cynical bitches don't change at the drop of a hat.

"Oh my God, Olivia!"

Also, what are the chances of walking into an elevator to see your estranged and only friend? Bethany's impossibly tanned arms flung around my neck, "Olivia, I've been trying to find you, I've been worried sick. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," I answered awkwardly as she frisked me for signs of injury.

Tears clouded her blue eyes sending mascara streaming down her cheeks, "I honestly didn't know it was your journal, Liv. I swear to God, I never would've even touched it if I did."

Taking my turn to embrace her thin form, I assured, "Don't sweat it, Bethany, I should've told you everything in there a long time ago."

"And about Kenny and your mom. I know it's not the same, but I lost my dad in eighth grade. So if you ever need to talk?"

"I'd love that," the doors clicked open on my floor, "I'm pretty sure there are Dawson's Creek re-runs playing all day if you're not busy? And I don't think my ice cream expired yet?"

"Please, I was just gonna do the same thing alone in my apartment. This way makes me seem like way less of a loser," she accepted pulling me up the hallway as we shamelessly giggled like two teenagers.

As I wrestled my key card out of my wallet, she barraged, "What kind of ice cream?"

"Assuming it doesn't look like a science project, chocolate. What other kind is there?" I challenged surprised at myself I was actually bonding with another human being.

"I knew there was a reason I liked you, Stone."

Aside from the newly immaculate state of my room, two plants on my end table immediately grabbed my attention. One small pot of yellow alstroemeria innocently perched on the edge. The other massive rose bouquet cascaded out of black glass vase leaving the small flowers in its shadow.

"Holy shit, mine just looks pathetic now!" she remarked revealing the giver of the delicate blossoms.

"It's the thought that counts, thank you so much," I told her quickly moving the pot to the windowsill to give it light.

"Who's the entire garden from?'

Amongst the baby's breath sat thirteen perfectly bloomed red roses. Handwritten ink sprawled across the card, "Olivia, I hope this second round goes far better than our first. Also, I hope I guessed your favorite flower right. Then again, roses are sort of a give. Thinking of you, Criss."

"Let's see here, who would send Olivia flowers? One of the countless customers who stare at your ass at the restaurant, men and women, your gynecologist, Santa Claus, Criss…"

"Bingo."

"What? I wish my one night stands would send me flowers. These are gorgeous," she ranted stepping forward to examine each petal.

"Well, we do have a date tomorrow, so…"

"WHAT?"

"Will you stop asking that?"

"I practically had to drag you to even meet the guy and now you're, wow, I never thought you were the dating type," she ranted as she rifled through my modest-sized closet, "Where are all your clothes?"

"You're looking at them," I answered confused.

"These are work clothes and one dress that looks like the one my mother forced me to wear on Easter Sunday when I was 12!" she snapped haughtily.

"Well, sorry, I don't know about you, but my tips aren't getting me a top of the line wardrobe," I defended.

"Christ, Olivia, there's no way in Hell you're going on a date where paparazzi will probably follow you looking like the help. So you are going to take the tips I got on your shift where your regulars kept asking where the brunette was and buy yourself something amazing," she explained slapping a wad of bills into my hand.

The hundred dollars the "yuppie" bribed me with to pole dance burned a hole in my pocket. If I'm going to turn over yet another new leaf, I have to erase everything that hasn't been made permanent, "Thanks, but I got it. You're okay with missing Dawson?"

"Screw Dawson, I've seen every episode 3 times. Let's go!" she grabbed my hand as we charged down the hall.

What makes you forget the past afflictions on your heart more than any drug in the world is letting a new friend in.