So I decided to torture you guys with a chapter today that isn't totally about Zane. He's part of it, kind of, but we won't find out what happens to him. :3 I'm just too tired to write that much detail about a very crucial point in the story that I should most likely be awake for. I didn't want to NOT update, so sorry, but bear with me here. A smidgeon of Twinkies, anyone?

10. Not Everyone Has Maturity
~Yin

Yeah, I blew it.

It's been three months since my last "trick." I like to consider myself proud that I cut myself out from it for so long—I mean, let's be honest now: do you know of anybody who can quit streetwalking cold turkey, especially when money is needed? I might've only ever done streetwalking 3 times before, so I'm not exactly addicted to it or anything, just looking when we need to pay bills, but it's pretty hard to leave it behind when you get paid more than you do at a real job. I know I've met plenty of girls who have sworn they're going to cut themselves out of the bad habit that seem to only have excuses for the reason that they keep postponing the day they actually do. The day, as I like to call it, that never comes. Considering the past history of the Artenian girlfriend-for-hire business and the statistics of women who actually quit, it's a pretty amazing thing that I was able to yank myself off the market by just a late-night decision, dropping off the face of the streets without so much as a good-bye letter. It takes guts and strength to move yourself out of a big-paying job when you're trying to support yourself, your bastard son, and a funky Green Ninja who works at a comic book store and has a taste for going out with his friends a lot. Seriously. Working one job doesn't cut the crap, and with my hasty background, I didn't have very many options left. No schooling, a record with the police, and alacritous stalking aren't exactly three key points to put on your resume when you're applying to work at the Macy's department store.

I never really told Twinkies McSnickerdoodles, my friendly roommate who people better knew as Lloyd Garmadon, that I was fired from my waitressing job for flying off the handle at one of the dickhead customers who was being—well, a dick. Let's just say that he was being incredibly rude, and, frankly, I don't tolerate that kind of bullshit when I'm trying to do my job and earn a living. But in my defense, the manager did overreact when he said I was fired and never allowed to return. I mean, come on; the guy had it coming! I only sped up the process in which will one day end up with his ass hauled to jail for being a wife-beater by taking his beverage and throwing it in his face, then smashing the plate of meat over his head. And dammit, I will not feel guilty for having good aim.

Thankfully, the dick didn't press charges, although it looked like he really wanted to. Mainly because he just so happened to be someone I had met before, someone who seemed particularly interested in me, but I guess that's not really information I feel like sharing with you, a face behind a screen.

Either way. I blew it last night. I've been clean for three flippin' months. But overdue bills seemed to tell me that my personal preferences and my fears were the least bit of my priorities if they weren't paid. Face it: I could've suffered eviction. Life on the streets. Total, utter crap life that I didn't exactly foresee when I was a little girl answering a few questions on a piece of paper in first grade. "What do you wanna be when you grow up?" Hell, I don't even know what I wrote. Don't remember. Don't care to. I just know I didn't have this planned out when I answered it.

Of course, I probably wouldn't have had to live on the streets. I'm sure that Zane would be more than happy to accept me and my…son…back into the monastery with open arms, a huge smile pressed over his face. Including that creepy hospitality I never got used to.

I still blew it. Took advantage of the fact that Snickerdoodles decided to take my little "bundle o' joy" to his parents' house for the evening, desperate for the money to pay off the bills I knew wouldn't be covered by my coffee shop coinage and a few dollars scrounged up from bought comic books. I'm not really into sticking my hand in an account given to me by my frightening doppelganger who once pretended to hate me, actually loving me underneath the snarls. The news of how much Maya Kiko, the ever-vengeful Original Vampire, cared about me underneath the dirt and grime caking her surface was a blow to the head the night of her death when she sacrificed herself for me at the hands of my worst fear. Snickerdoodles told me everything after I found the note on my bed, practically handing over the keys to her safety deposit box—except she'd already done all the paperwork. Maya had known she was going to die, so she gave me the millions of dollars she'd saved up over her long life. The millions of dollars, she claimed, that she was keeping for me.

I can feel my mistakes hanging in my bones, you know. Not that getting up every morning is easy, but today it's…harder. Like the four hundred dollars sitting in my pocket are actually five hundred tons of steel that are just trying to drown me in them.

Those aspirin aren't helping, I thought of the pills I'd consumed when I woke up this morning. The kitchen was cold, but the air was heavy like the heat spreading across the swamps during the summer that was just beginning to transition into cold. My bare feet padded across the checkerboard linoleum tile with prickles of ice leaping into the soles of my skin. The place where I spent a lot of my time at home was not yet awake, barely brimming with the smells of food and of coffee that normally were heady at this time of the day, so early at like 9 in the morning. The lack of luster was probably due to the fact that it was a Sunday, meaning Snickerdoodles didn't have to get up for any spendy college classes or an outing at the comic shop that normally made him rise wincing at this time of day, trying to swallow revitalizing coffee. I wrapped my hands over my bare arms, taking a deep breath of the stale air for comfort. Grabbing a sweater was a good idea, but as it may be, mine were all in the washer. Wet.

I moved into the small living room directly connected off the kitchen, looking for a blanket to wrap around myself, particularly the one that Misako, Snickerdoodle's mom, had knitted for me for Christmas a couple of years ago. I found no sign of anything but a coffee table covered with Bokuyo's senseless creations out of multicolored Legos, until I realized that I'd offered him to use my blanket in his bedroom, since he only had one blanket in there and it got pretty cold in his room at night. I growled with irritation. Why did you have to pick THAT moment to care about him freezing to death? I berated myself. I turned away from the pitiful living room, swearing right and left that I could see my own breath, with my tongue bitten.

Making coffee has never been my favorite morning routine. Normally, I hate coffee's bitter taste with my own preference of tea over the teeth-destroying stimulant, but today seemed like a good day to use it. I started up the coffee machine with absolutely no idea how to work it other than to plug it in. Snickers usually makes it, so I'm about the last person in Ninjago who would know just how it functions—the buttons don't even make sense. If they had words on them, I'm pretty sure I'd know how to use it, instead of replacing good ol' letters with pictures of squiggly lines and what looked like a blob with a handle. I stared at the strange, alien markings with no real intention of memorizing their purposes. Can't they make technology, I dunno, more un-complex for those of us who don't really have a handy textbook on button-picture lingo?

I tried to figure out if I was supposed to put water in it or something, pressing one of the buttons that looked to not be as complicated but turned out to be a dirty rotten liar that only faked itself out. At my excessive button pressing, the machine protested with a loud beep that cut through the silence, shaking me a little from my comfort with the quiet. The small screen on the top of the machine prompted me with what looked like another symbol for something. I groaned. This might take longer than I expected.

"Need a hand?"

In the silent kitchen, barely brimming with the sound of a pin dropping, I whirled around to find a disheveled looking Snickerdoodles standing there, wearing a pair of green plaid pajama bottoms with a wrinkled white T-shirt on top, hands crammed in his pockets. His golden hair was mussed from sleep in a way that most men try to achieve with hair gel overload, making him the envy of the morning, I suppose. Lloyd flashed me a crooked I'm still waking up smile while moving towards me without really asking for an answer; I'm sure that my confused, albeit agitated, facial expression had enough of his solution on it already. I stepped to the side wordlessly for him to begin working his magic, actually pushing buttons in a combination that the machine could recognize, and I was ruefully drawn to watch the muscles in his arm jump at the touch of his fingers to the commands. Snickerdoodles opened the cabinets above the red coffee maker, pitched into a corner on our tan counters next to our hilarious white fridge, to grab himself two mugs, bringing them out with just one hand. A couple fingers wrapped around their handles to gently settle them onto the worn surface of the counter, Lloyd used his extra hand to quietly shut the wooden cabinet that squeaked when breathed on.

The installed essential living accommodations of this apartment are a joke. The doors to every cabinet in the kitchen have fallen off at least once, and all of them refuse lubricant treatment to stop them from squealing every time someone touches them. In comparison to the lovely tan, sandpapery countertops, they're painted puke-yellow, and the sink sucks when it comes to garbage disposal. No dishwasher, but a mini-microwave sitting pretty on the counter and one of those white refrigerators that have the bumpy surface and wooden handle with the brand name that nobody cares about on it. There thankfully was a stove and oven tacked next to the sink. The kitchen table that this place came with is a dingy circle with four chairs that we had to put cushions on because we were bruising our asses. Then, the living room came with FLORAL PRINTED COUCHES. Well, just one couch, and a mismatched black recliner that was good for napping, but had darker flowers printed on it. What are we, old ladies?

I can't complain, though, that it came with a personal washer and dryer, slammed into the back corner of the living room. And two bedrooms, plus a half-bedroom coming off my room that was supposed to be for, like, a big closet area, and one bathroom next to Snickerdoodles's room. A pathetic bathroom, mind you. Don't even get me started.

"Sleep good?" Lloyd asked me, punching the silence in the gut. His friendly, groggy morning voice allured me with the way good rolled out of his scratchy voice box, like I normally was. My attraction to his voice had always gone unheard; it's not like I'd ever tell him that. I'd sound like a creep.

I found it hard to speak. Not because of listening to him, so don't think I'm being pink taffy in his hands, here. I neglected to mention that I hardly ever speak these days, except for when I'm working at the coffee shop or when I have to tolerate Bokuyo's pointless babble or when I'm sometimes trying to make an effort with Lloyd to keep conversation. That's probably why my stage name has always been "Silent Lamb."

Yeah, the secret stage name that Twinkies McSnickerdoodles knows nothing about, I thought, opening my mouth to try and force stuck words out. "Fine," I managed, knowing that to me my voice sounded hollow. I saw Twinkies purse his lips, nodding slowly, while he processed the way that I'd made no progress since he last talked to me about getting back my humanity. The humanity I had stolen from me. The humanity that I no longer could sustain.

The tragedy of what happened to me hadn't ever been spoken about since that year, but somehow it still managed to keep its grip on me, holding me down and tying me to a weight at the pit of the ocean. It stopped me from feeling things anymore. It stopped me from talking for pleasure—I even found it hard to make snarky comments at Twinkies, although a lot of times I forced myself to say them, trying to persuade his concern that I was fine. That I was myself. I wasn't, but trying to get him to stop giving me the pitiful look was more important to me than actually trying to get back my humanity.

I knew he'd discussed it time and time again with Zane. I've heard them talking on the phone before about "how much it seems like I unintentionally turned off my Humanity Switch, even though I didn't do it consciously." I don't know. Maybe I did. I feel things sometimes, but…a lot of times…I don't.

"You're up early," I coughed out. Lloyd looked over at me through misty, tired eyes, and gave me a reassuring, almost retired smile. His toned shoulders moved underneath the material of his T-shirt with strength, shifting around the world while he rummaged through the cupboards for sugar and creamer. My guilty eyes fell away from his body and onto the floor, a little scared of being caught watching him in the way that they always were. Joined to him at the cornea, my eyes always had a tendency to find him whenever he was in the room, regardless if they had my permission to wander there or not. I kept my eyes pasted to the floor with culpability.

"Ha," he said, voice almost laughing. I saw his movements out the corner of my eye. He turned his back to the counter so he could place his weight to it, clasping his hands behind his head with interlocked fingers, smirking into the air. "Yeah, earlier than I wanted to be, but I heard you get up."

"So?" I followed the lines of the rubber patent that kept the tiles glued together, shaping out their outline with my numb eyes.

"So I decided I wouldn't make you stay out here by yourself." Lloyd retorted, his voice joking. "Plus, I had a strong feeling that you were going to make coffee, and I know about the war you have with my machine."

"There wouldn't be a war if the buttons made sense," I grumbled, tucking a falling strand of hair behind my ear. Lloyd's tired chuckle filled the kitchen for just a brief moment, and I was sickeningly reminded yet again of what little feeling I could entertain, this time the tug of my gut towards him as if by some magnetic field drawing me to him. It was the same force that made my eyes follow him in secret. It was the same force that made my stomach knot and twist painfully every time I heard his voice—but a good type of pain that left me craving for more of it.

I've known him for five years, been his roommate for most of that, and never once in my time being forced to grow up so quickly had I ever gotten the courage to tell him how I felt. After aging three years in few seconds when I was attacked by a spell given to me by a now-deceased witch, my life suddenly was flipped by perspective from the narrow vision of a bitter fifteen year old to the widened range of an eighteen year old mother who had her own child to support. Knowing now what I know about how the world works I feel like an idiot for wanting revenge against it as a kid. I realize how childish I was for a fifteen year old. So hostile. So odious. I know why I acted how I did, because of what I'd grown up with and all the hurt inside of me, but now that I've faced the real world without knowing what to expect, I can't understand what compelled me to change. I mean, now I have even more reason to hate the world as passionately as I did before. But all of the anger, the will to hate, has somehow been drained out of me like my energy that usually dissipates halfway through the day. My reason for change—well, I like to think it's because I'm older now, and I'm not the same. But I know it wasn't just the aging potion that made me convert. It was my five year old son, Bokuyo, and the fact that I had to face a world I'd never even associated with before, a world where there were jobs and bills and work. Things I'd never even thought about as a younger girl.

My rock, the whole time dealing with this sudden change, has been Lloyd. He's been through the quick-aging process, and he knew exactly what I felt, able to offer me the advice, the assistance that I knew my brother couldn't ever have provided. At first, I denied and denied and shoved him away, using violence and insults as my repellent, but that never stopped him from trying to help me. Lloyd had already matured enough to know that fighting back would've gotten him nowhere.

And one day, after pushing him away for the last time, I realized that what I was doing was stupid. Fighting with him, being so angry at everything, insulting him just to insult him, being so negative—it was all just so stupid, and exhausting. I didn't exactly turn into a Cupcake with a happy-go-lucky new attitude or anything, but maturity sunk in, telling me that maybe fighting with him about the help I really needed was stupid. My insults towards him died, only showing every few times when they were meant jokingly. The anger retreated. I stopped acting so childish all the time.

But I can tell you the negativity is still there. I still make comments at the things I think are ridiculous (totaling to about half the world's population of things) without mercy for who might feel offended by my words. I take no mind to that, although I am more empathetic when it comes to saying things. I've started a trend in myself of thinking before doing. So far, it's done me good.

The whole time, Lloyd supported me every step of the way. He was the ears that listened to my problems, the smile that showed me how to be somewhat happy, the hand that guided me through life beside him. The best friend that I felt, deep in my heart, Maya had once been, although I couldn't remember my time with her. If this were back then, I never would've said it, keeping my lips sealed about the truth of the situation: He is my best friend. Probably my only friend, but my best friend all the same. He's there for me. He's been there for me.

Like every other pathetic love story, I have feelings for him that are deeper than just our small friendship. Feelings that are clearly not reciprocated by him, for time has pushed his romantic focus away from me; I know that five years ago, he had shown that he "liked" me a little bit, by trying to kiss me once. My stubborn denial that I could be loved by anyone pushed him away. My actions told him I wasn't interested. But by the way that…the Devil…Kaos…manipulated my mind using mirages, it's so clear to me now that I had feelings for him back then as well, just trying not to admit it. Time developed more of a connection to him in ways I never knew that I could feel. Feelings that make it hard to breathe. That make me love him even more. But I'm scared of loving him, of admitting that out loud, because I don't know what will happen if I told him that I've gone through the phases from a small crush to a hopeless love in five years. I don't think anymore that I'm the focus of that love because I have shown him I don't want him. I understand completely why he wouldn't want to give back the feelings I have anymore.

You might wonder how I can have feelings for him when he has the same face of the man that once attacked me and stole something precious from me, something I can't ever get back. It might not make sense to you how I can be around Twinkies when technically I'm looking at the same face that has haunted me for five years. And let me explain it as this: though they look the same, they aren't the same person, and their discriminating persons are what makes it so easy to look at Lloyd but so frightening to think of him…Kaos. They're too different to be considered the same.

And they really don't look that alike. When comparing the two, he is just a curly blonde with inimical blue eyes, but Lloyd has the golden waves and the dazzling sapphire eyes that gravitate you towards him. Lloyd's smile is friendly, but his was menacing, slimy, disgusting through all hell. His cheekbones were higher and more prominent than Lloyd's. His nose was pointier. I didn't realize the differences until I looked at Lloyd again after being with him for so long. Lloyd looks human. He looked…inhuman.

Looking at the floor, I felt my chest constrict with the inability to breathe in real air, forced to part my own lips to draw a sharp breath into my cooled mouth. I rose my gaze to Lloyd's eyes. He was watching with pursed lips, eyes still droopy—it was so obvious that the guy needed to go back to bed, and as flattering as it was to know he got up just when he was sorta worried about me, his exhaustion would make me want to go back to sleep. I deployed a reassuring smile onto my lips against their will. "You should go back to sleep," I said, voice a little hollow. "You look tired enough to pass out into your coffee mug."

Lloyd's tired smile stretched lazily over his face, a closed-lip extension while his eyes shut for a split second. "I'm fine," he said quietly. "Just gimme a minute."

I wanted to walk over to him and lean my forehead against his shoulder, close my eyes, and just stand there while he rubbed a hand over my back, but I knew it would be weird if I did that. Only people who are in love can do that, said that ever-present spiteful voice, prodding around the back of my mind, waiting for any chance it got to steal the show. Instead, I wrapped my arms around myself, cold and shivering.

"It is pretty chilly in here," Lloyd said, running a hand over his hair. "I can't believe they don't turn on the heaters in the building until November."

"The landlords are idiots," I growled. "They think we all have the superhuman ability to survive harsh Octobers without needing a little bit of warmth to live. Or that we all have blankets made out of alpaca fur stuffed in our closets."

Lloyd humored me with a tiny smile. "We just need to buy a space heater," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "They sell 'em at InOut Mart for, like, twenty-seven bucks. I think it's a good investment to make." His eyes slid towards the left, the space where our bedroom doors were, flashing with a little bit of concerned worry in his dark pupils. "Stick it in Boku's room at night and leave it in the living room during the day."

I sighed. I'll buy one soon, I thought, thinking about the money I'd earned, just as soon as the bills get paid and the guillotine for eviction isn't hanging over our heads. For now, we'd have to freeze.

"When's rent due?" Lloyd's tone quickly changed from conversational to low, as if he were worried about the currently empty room overhearing about what he was saying. His light eyebrows furrowed slightly when I told him it was due by Monday—which was tomorrow. "Damn," he sighed, chewing his lip. "I just paid off the electricity yesterday, so I'm out of cash right now."

"You did?" I asked, surprised. In this building, your electricity charge was not connected with your rent. Our heavy bill for the housing was backed by the electricity bill we kept trying to lower by unplugging things that weren't being used, keeping most of the lights off unless we were in the room, but somehow, it always ended up being high anyway. I'd gone to great lengths to argue with our landlords, up until they were tempted to kick us out, until Lloyd had stepped in to cover the ground with another layer so I wasn't stomping on thin ice anymore.

Lloyd nodded, still looking tired. With his hands resting on his elbows, he tilted his head to the side at a slight angle, chewing on his lip idly. His eyes seemed to look right through me with thought. "Yeah," he said. "I had to borrow some cash from Mom and Dad just to help shove it off." He looked a little upset, turning his head away from me to look towards my bedroom door, where somewhere beyond Boku was still at peaceful rest, unaware of what his mother and her roommate were going through. "I guess I can go beg my boss to give me what little of my paycheck I have today, although I don't think it'll be much. You got paid last Friday, right?"

I nodded. He had no idea that I had just illegally earned four hundred dollars, which, added to my paycheck from the coffee shop, meant we could clear rent by just a few pennies. I'd be dirt broke by the time I sent off the money into the hands of our shitty landlord, and we'd be out money until Lloyd got paid this Friday, unless I did something I shouldn't be doing again. Something I didn't want to do. Self-consciously, I moved towards the fridge to check out how much food we had; after inspection, I declared it was enough to feed us for the week, until we could go limited grocery shopping on Friday. Plus, we had canned food we could use if we suddenly lost the cooled supply.

How was I going to explain to Lloyd that I was able to pay rent so easily? It was my turn to chew on my lip, nervously trying to think of some excuse. I could say I got it from my dad, but…I hate my dad, and wouldn't ever turn to him in a zillion years for help. He'd be the last person I'd turn to.

My brother Cole, maybe? No, Lloyd would thank Cole for the loan, and then Cole wouldn't know a thing about what he was talking about, and that would backfire. I don't know what I'd do. I'd think of something…

The stressed look on Lloyd's face, mouth covered by his hand in thought, made me feel sick. He's trying to think of a way you guys won't have to get in trouble—possibly evicted—for late rent again, and you already have the cash secured. The voice in my head tingled. How rude. I stood up taller, defiant of the little voice, and placed a hand on his arm, making him shift his eyes towards me without moving his thinking position. "I'll handle it," I told him quietly. "Don't worry."

"There's no way your paycheck covers it," he said, letting his hand fall. "Or what I can get from mine, assuming I can get it. Don't you think you can…"

"No." I knew what he was going to say. I looked him straight in the eye. "I'm not touching that money, Lloyd."

"We're in trouble, Seiko. And plus, it's only a couple hundred bucks." He lifted his body off the counter when the coffee maker beeped for aid, ready to be emptied. He turned around to fiddle with the pot. His strained tone made me feel a little guilty. "It won't put a dent in the account, and plus, the thing's friggin' gaining interest as we speak. Can't you just take the money out? Something to help us move along? We're hitting a road block, here. We're running out of options," he said, shooting me a disproving look in reference of my choice to steer clear of the uncomfortable quantity of money. I lifted and stuck out my chin insolently.

"I told you. I'll handle it."

"What are you going to do that's going to fix this?" Lloyd hissed. He looked upset with me—an upset I didn't like to see on his face. "Seiko, we seriously don't have many options. Just take out a couple of thousand. We'll buy the heaters for the apartment, have leftover money to pay for rentand the bills, and also have extra money for groceries and stuff. You have to know when to use the money, and I think this is a pretty good example." He poured coffee into both of the retrieved mugs with a quick dab-dab, then stuffed the pot back underneath the dispenser of the now-unplugged coffee maker, sliding the sugar towards me briskly. "Do you really want to live with all this stress when you have the money—you're just scared of using it?"

I kept my chin raised. "I said I'd handle it."

Lloyd growled exasperatedly, scrubbing both hands over his face. I felt disappointed in myself for letting him down, but I refused to touch the money, and also had enough to pay off the bills…We were fine. He just didn't know that we were fine. He tended to be more concerned about these things than someone like I was, who drifted through the days without second-guessing the integrity of the situation. He prepared his coffee in silence, not exactly mad, but thwarted by my abstinence against using the money Maya gave me. I watched him without saying anything. I didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry"? I was sorry that I couldn't tell him that I could pay the bill—not without having to tell him how I got it. I sighed.

Lloyd turned around at me, flicking up his eyebrows, letting his lower face fall into a dissatisfied line. He pulled his mug of coffee to his lips, his eyes hitting me with a look of annoyance. My mouth sucked into itself, where my teeth clenched my lips between their dull edges, leaving me quiet as Lloyd gave a humorless, agitated laugh. He shook his head. Suddenly the friendly, groggy morning happiness was gone, giving instead to someone who was angry for having the same unrelenting argument with me for the hundredth time, getting the same ending. "You're right," he finally said, voice flat enough to tell me he really was cross. Lloyd detached himself from the counter. "I am up early. Too early, in fact, to be dealing with bullshit." With that, Lloyd took his mug and practically stomped all the way back to his room, closing the door without the large bang that I normally would've expected to hear after his mood swing. I stared after him, used to that, and looked at my own cup of coffee, trying to ignore the sting in my stomach that I always got when Lloyd left me mad. But then it was sparked with anger of my own. Why can't he just not get so upset over money? Really. It doesn't require a tantrum worthy of a silent movie from the vintage days.

I turned on my heel and went into the living room, plopping down on the couch with my lips puckered with disinterest for the inevitable argument I knew would be coming eventually. Jerk, I thought, jutting out my lip. I picked up a magazine off the coffee table and stared at the face of the celebrity masked with the plasticized cheeks, making her mouth so stretched out she looked to be able to shove her fist into her mouth. I didn't actually have enough interest in the shocking scandalous cover story that the magazine was advertising, but rather asking my surroundings for something to entertain myself with, flipping through the pages without reading them. I tore a page or two by flipping them a little too animatedly. The advertisements with nude women, half naked dudes, and people in the shower seemed like overkill for advertising body wash and perfume/cologne. Really. Do we need to see all that stuff when you're advertising freaking perfume? If I were the director of advertisements, I sure as hell wouldn't waste my time flaunting around the pretty girls with the skinny bodies, long legs, and beautiful long hair. If I wanted to advertise a fucking perfume bottle, I'd do it with a picture of a flower or something that, you know, had something to do with the smell. Not nudity. That has NOTHING to do with perfume.

I actually don't know when I got so bored of the magazine that I fell asleep lying against the fat pillow leaning on the arm of the couch. The magazine slipped off my lap, my head rested on the pillow, and my legs tucked themselves up on the ugly patterned furniture beside me. I guess I was more tired than I thought I was.

When I finally woke up, it wasn't because I was done sleeping. It was because I felt a little tiny body crawling across my legs and lying behind them against the seat of the couch, small hands putting themselves on my thighs. Out of the fog, I raised my head to see Bokuyo, my son, situating himself with the comforter from his bed being dragged up onto the couch beside him. I was startled by the look of him, for a second. Unlike the Bokuyo I had met five years ago—the Bokuyo who had traveled from the future to warn Twinkies and his gang about the impending doom awaiting them in their path—the one I had given birth to was nothing similar to the one I had met. I don't know what changed him from a blonde, blue-eyed, enthusiastic little boy. I'd had expectations as the kid grew up, but every second, he surprised me by being completely different than the one who asked me to hold his hand all the time. My Bokuyo's hair was a tousled mane of wavy black locks that we had a hard time getting to lie down; his eyes were a blueish gray that looked like dead skin that was bruising. He had black eyebrows that looked like dead caterpillars on his face; I plucked them every time he took a bath to make sure that they didn't grow out to be anything appalling. They looked like Cole's eyebrows. Probably genetics. I'd always been a little challenged by my eyebrow hairs, too, and plucked them to make them thinner and more attractive than the fat things I'd had before. He had a shade of slightly tan skin, very different from the other Bokuyo's, who looked like the undead with his pale complexion. And my baby was short. He barely reached my hips. Not that the other Boku was tall, but I know he was taller than mine.

MY Boku doesn't like being all smiley. I mean, I can tell when he's happy and when he's not, but he isn't smiling constantly like the other Boku always did, in a very Zane-ish way. He likes to keep to himself, especially when we go to the park and there are other kids there, but will play with them if he's encouraged to. Which is usually by Twinkies, because…I don't really like pep talks.

He was a smiley baby. He smiled a lot. But I guess his unwillingness to smile all the time is probably my fault.

So my baby is pretty much the polar opposite of the other one. I don't know what translated and changed his inner code—I don't understand it at all, but who am I gonna ask to explain it?

Bokuyo noticed that I was awake and gave me a tiny, five-year old toothy smile. His hair was messy from sleep, and his wide eyes were still trying to pry open. "Mownin," he said.

"Hi," I replied, helping him drag his blanket onto the couch, thankful for the opportunity to get warm. Once settled, Boku laid his head on my hip, putting his hand on my belly. I looked down on him. "Are you still tired or something?" I asked in a tone I'd use if I were asking an adult. Boku made a noise.

"Ya Momma. I tired."

I stroked his hair. "Join the club."

"Cub?"

"Club."

"Cub."

I thought that by now he'd be able to speak proper language. I guess not. I patted Bokuyo's head, grabbing his tired attention, and smiled at him warmly. It didn't last long. "Come up here," I commanded, patting my chest. When he was little, I used to lay down and lay him over my body, where his head rested on my chest and his teensy little body laid over my stomach. He fit there like…like he was specially crafted to match up with the contours of my body or something, like the way a yin fits to a yang. He fit there, and it makes me…calmer when he's lying there. I don't know why. Just makes me feel better.

Bokuyo crawled up my body and laid on my chest, putting his arms around me, and I to him so I could pull the blankets up over us. Comfortably, he snuggled against me, closing his eyes to become within minutes pressed under a deep sleep that I wished I could fall into again. My eyelids might've been heavy, and I might've been so comfortable I could die happy here, but I just couldn't fall back asleep. Something was nagging at my stomach. I felt like there was something wrong. Something that I should be taking care of or noticing, but couldn't actually quite grasp. It danced in and out of my perception, teasing me on the tip of my tongue like a word I had forgotten. The feeling that something terrible was happening made my whole body numb.

And then, the phone rang.

"UGGGGG," I groaned. It was pretty ironic that the receiver was on the side table next to the couch. Yeah, we have a freakin' landline—I can't afford a cell phone. Deal with it.

My hand reached behind me, fumbling for the receiver. In my effort to clasp it, I knocked it off of its resting place and had it fall to the ground just out of my reach, which was a signal to the phone that it was answered. If I moved now I'd totally wake Boku up, and…no. I groaned, reaching back with a muscle-exhausted arm, and smacked my hand over the dock for the phone in hopes I'd eventually find the speaker button without potentially opening a call that was rated R to my son's ears. I don't know where the button was, but suddenly, the room wasn't quiet. A voice from the phone on the floor filled the room.

"Hello? Hellooo?"

"What?" I snapped, loud enough for the phone to hear me. Bokuyo stirred his head on my chest. "Who is this?"

"Are you deaf? It's Cole!"

"Oh." My brother, who took it upon himself to call me when he felt like it but never return the calls I sent to him. I heard what little interest that was in my voice vanish."What do you want?"

"Is Zane with you?"

His distressed tone struck a chord on my already-uneasy dreading feeling that something was about to happen. "Why would Zane be with me?"

I heard him groan on the other end of the phone. His stressed breath told me that wasn't the right answer. "He won't answer his phone, and he left me a distressed voicemail message while I was in class."

"Define 'distressed."

"Who am I, Siri? I don't know what the definition of 'distressed' is!" Cole's obviously worried voice, full of distress and anxiety over his friend, told me that he didn't understand the blatant meaning of what I said. I rolled my eyes at the phone as if he were standing right there.

"I meant, what do you mean by 'distressed,' bonehead?"

I envisioned Cole dragging a hand over his face, standing outside in front of his fancy-pants school, pacing back and forth over the asphalt when he really should be in class. "He was crying, begging for my help—something was definitely wrong. Zane doesn't just call over nothing he can't handle."

"Maybe he burned his casserole."

"Seiko! This is serious!" Cole sounded like he wanted to reach through the phone and smack me. "Has he called you?"

"I haven't checked my messages. What time is it?"

"It's around twelve."

"Really? When I last checked it was like nine or something." But then again, you did take a nap…

"Yeah, well, it's not." Cole's voice squinched with worry. "I don't know where he is, I don't know what's wrong with him—I tried calling Jay, but he didn't answer, and I tried calling Kai, but he never answers. Something happened. I just know it. I can feel it nagging in my stomach—I've felt it all day—"

It struck me frozen that Cole had had the same intuition that I did. Why were he and I both imagining that something was going to happen? I tried to play off my bewilderment with a little crude, bad humor that I knew I shouldn't say, but pretty much did anyway. "That's probably gas," I told him, stroking Bokuyo's head. He barely noticed that I was talking loudly to a phone on the floor. "Look, Cole, if you're so worried, go over to his house and check on him. I'm sure you'll find him burying his casserole in the backyard, mourning the loss of what could've been a great meal with flowers and a goodbye speech and everything."

"Seiko, will you quit with the sarcasm? This is Zane we're talking about."

"Oh, we're talking about Zane? I thought we were talking about Zane."

"KNOCK IT OFF. I'm going over there." I heard the sound of keys being jingled and a car door reacting when the handle was let go of abruptly. It slammed a second later, the keys moving filling my ears shortly afterward. An engine roared to life. He's really worried, I thought stupidly. My own feeling of dread that had emanated before became emancipated, growing rapidly every time I even thought about it to overthrow my heart. I was worried about Zane. Though he'd been a little creepy, it was a happy creepy that not many people have the ability to successfully pull off, and to that he was one of my friends, making me have a soft spot for such a free-liver.

"Call me if you find anything."

"Hear hear." Cole hung up.

I reached behind me and slapped my hand on buttons until the receiver shut off, feeling a little more empty now that I had this talk with Cole. I wouldn't have told him that, but I felt everything grow more intense with the thought of something happening to Zane. He didn't really deserve to be hurt. What if somebody had beat him up, and he was calling Cole for help, but when Cole didn't answer he was murdered and thrown in a lake where no one would find him?

Okay, that's a little farfetched. But…Something did happen. I just know it. I can feel it. The million dollar question now is what. And why do I feel like Twinkies is somehow connected to this?

It probably isn't a good idea that Cole goes to the monastery. ~foreshadowing.

Sorry we didn't hear about Zane yet. You already know why I didn't. So we'll hear about him next chappie~~ xD

I also realize that last time I said "Go have an awesome day/night," I forgot to put an exclamation mark to it made it look like I was being crabby when I said it. xD I wasn't. Consider it a typo.

And if FFN will let me put more than just 1 exclamation point...

PLEASE GO HAVE AN AWESOME DAY/NIGHT ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! THANKS FOR READING! xD