ONE MONTH LATER

Lip hunched further over the keyboard to the library's shitty computer, and ignored the drone of the mundane around him.

The flicker of the florescent lights. The scuffle of dirty sneakers on worn carpet. The bickering of two prostitutes in a corner, displaying their wares even as they tried to be subtle.

He hated it all.

Lip licked his lips and let his finger hover over the 'V', worn away from age and use. He shouldn't be doing this, he really shouldn't. But he had controlled himself for 28 days, nine hours, and fifteen minutes. Not that he had been counting or anything.

He typed "Vivette Vorahnov" into the Google Search engine, and waited with disgustingly bated breath as the computer spat and sputtered, trying to fulfill it's bidding. Finally, images popped up, and he immediately forgot everything around him, the drone dying, as his eager eyes flicked over each image.

Vivette as a toddler, bundled up in a black parka, furry white hand muff, even furrier white Russian hat, standing in front of the Eiffel Tower in seemingly a blizzard. Vivette as a teen, sitting cross-legged on a gilded sail boat in an Audrey Hepburn-esque outfit with a sunhat sitting jauntily to cover smoldering eyes. Vivette at night, dancing the Salsa in a swingy red skirt with a guy who looks like a 'Ricardo', in the middle of a giant festival on the street, with the Rio de Janeiro statue in the dark as her background. Vivette in a plaid kilt and cream fisherman sweater, standing on top of a jagged crag of rock with her arms outstretched, rising out of the ocean off the coast of Ireland, and she made the gloomy and foggy surrounding seem alive with light. Vivette at a child in a green wool gown, perching daintily on top of a giant black Shire horse as it pounded on the wet green earth, the highlands of Scotland rolling behind her, her hair blowing like blood behind her.

He only raised his hand to the grimy screen and lovingly touched her grinning face through the glass. God, he missed her. No, 'missed' wasn't a word he would use. There wasn't anything to describe how much he missed her. He would gladly give up all his external limbs, ALL of them, just to see her smile devilishly at him one last time.

"What's up, fuck buddy?" came a raspy female voice behind him, and he jumped, yanking his hand away from the screen guiltily.

He turned to see Karen, her bleached hair cut raggedly to her chin and eyeliner smeared on her lids. He knew his eyes looked sad, but he couldn't help it. "Hi, Karen."

She cocked an eyebrow before dropping onto a nearby plastic chair with an unladylike thump. "You called to say you were getting married?"

He cocked his head in puzzlement. "What?"

"You mooned over her for five minutes." She winked. "I counted."

"Fuck off, Karen."

She blinked. "Huh? You called me to come here, remember? You look like shit."

"I called to ask if you wanted to…" He bit back bile. "go out sometime."

She cackled, startling him. "Hell no. I'm done with relationships, strictly one-night-stands. And beside, you looked pretty gushy for that girl on the screen there. What's her name?"

He licked his lips, which had suddenly gone dry. "Vivette Viola Vorahnov."

She lit a cigarette, and took a puff before answering, "What a fucking name."

"It's perfect."

"Right," she tapped the ashes on the floor. "and I'm a virgin. Just like I'm guessing she was?"

"What do you mean by that?" he snapped.

"I mean," she took another hit, "You are obviously full on, his-and-hers-towels, golfing-together, baking-pies-with-her in L-O-V-E. I saw it all. Yeah, especially the corny little stroking of her face on the monitor. Where is she, anyway? I would have figured you would have wanted to rub my face in your happily-ever-after."

"She wouldn't do that. She doesn't understand the idea of malicious gloating," he whispered.

"Huh? Please, explain."

He looked up at Karen, the normal, perfectly damaged and complicated girl that every boy from the slums dreams of. He didn't want it at all. He smiled. "People think she's insane, but she's not."

She gestured for him to continue wordlessly.

"Everyone thinks she's insane because she sees the best in others, and sees things people overlook or don't think are there. Sometimes they aren't even there at all, but she's happy that way. She is happier than anyone else I've ever seen, and that's what makes her so painfully special. She glows with this confidence that everything is for a reason, and that our fates are tied to one another in a big tapestry. When I first met her, I thought she was vapid and stupid, but she's just so much wiser than me that she seemed that way at first. I thought she belonged in a gilded room, locked away from the world, and that I needed to stay away. But frankly, I don't give a flying fuck anymore. I'm going to her gilded room and joining her."

He stood calmly. "Now, if you would excuse me, Karen?"

Karen grinned ear to ear. "I'm good. But please, no cliché acts of love, okay?"

He shook his head. "Normally, I would say no. But what can I say, Vivette loves that sappy stuff." He paused. "Well, I hope. I really don't know her all that well except that whatever I do find out, I'll love."

Karen rolled her eyes. "Oh god what has she done to you? You sound like a dick."

He bowed so perfectly that Vivette would have been proud, he knew she would. "And that, is why I love her. She doesn't think I'm a dick, she thinks I'm 'dashing'" He smiled fondly. "She knew I was good enough all along."

Karen started to speak but Lip was already turning, heading for the light of the sun shining though the dirty library door. He never understood that, glass doors in the worst part of Chicago. But then again, not many people here wanted to steal books and broken computers from the 90's.

He swung by the house, took all his saved money from underneath his mattress, and left a Post-It note on the counter before heading back out again to catch the 4 o'clock bus to New York.

So, this is Lip. I won't be home for a while, turns out my self control isn't what I thought. Going to New York and hopefully will be staying at the Waldorf on the top floor (double entendre intended). Either will be happy or die alone, but don't worry! Will call. ¾ Lip.

He caught the Greyhound just in time (aka, as it was sputtering down the street) so he had to pay extra, considering how much strain it put on the crappy engine to start then stop so soon. Within thirty minutes of what was most assuredly the longest bus ride of his life, he: sat in gum; was crushed by an absent-minded obese man with a stained wife beater omitting the strangest odor; was offered a good deal by a skeletal prostitute of which he politely declined; witnessed an elderly couple have sex on the bench across from him, via Viagra; and a seeing eye dog pissed on his left leg.

But he had never felt happier.

So, I know I Haven't written in a long time, but hey, it's summer. (which, to me, means reading Jane Austen novels in my Snuggie). So, at least two more chapters, including epilogue (no story is complete without one) so, it's near, folks! After I finish this series *sadface*, I intend to pick back up my Harry Potter fanfic featuring Draco and Lady Bain, a woman suspiciously similar to Vivette. So if you haven't already checked that out, do so! I think it's a pretty good story, but not nearly finished and will take some time to finish. So, yay! I can enrich your minds for many more seasons to come! So, await the final few installments of this lovely tale, then expect me over in the Harry Potter section!