Wow…even for an angst story, this one's getting pretty angsty, huh? Ah, the joys of being confused in matters of love and hate. I won't go on a tirade about my Christmas things, but I would like to proudly jump out of my chair, dancing and singing "I've got a jar of di-irt! I've got a jar of di-irt!" (Special edition 3-D box even! Yayness.)

Also, this chapter was especially painful to write. Literally. See, I had Bagel Bites this morning for breakfast, and, being the clever person I am when having just woken up, I rested my fore- and middle finger on the tinfoil for a bit too long while trying to peel one off. Needless to say, I will be in pain typing on the keyboard, particularly because I finger find. (Don't let that confuse you; I'm not slow at all (42 words per minute average baby!!!!) .)

So enjoy, and again, I hope I've been keeping these two relatively in character.

Chapter 11: 17pov

Is possible to absolutely loathe the very existence of air? I'm not sure which I was angrier at: the fact that he was going to leave and, even though I owned him, I couldn't do anything about it; or that because I was such a prick, he ran off and hasn't come back for ten days.

Every day I've waited. I waited by the door, the window, even put up with the idiots in the lobby. He never came.

On the eleventh day, I was as close to an emotional breakdown as I could get. I couldn't make heads or tails of anything except for two thoughts: he was gone, and he had become the life that I had lost almost six years ago.

Not being able to take my head going into overtime, I decided to go out for some caffeine—wake myself up a little with a good cup of coffee.

On the way, I noticed more of the city than I ever did before. Was it because I was still subconsciously looking for him? There was a child crying on the corner, his mother fervently trying to quiet him down. A fire engine rushed by, leaving behind only a gust of wind and the faint sound of a disappearing siren. There were still buildings covered in Christmas lights and wreathes, though it was far past Christmas. Even my destination was still decked out with a few strings of tinsel; the little coffee shop on the corner.

I liked this place. Everything around it for twenty feet smelled like cookies and coffee. They also have exactly what the name promises: 'Honest to God Coffee'. I suppose they meant that they don't add all this cream and sugar crap to it (cough. Starbucks, cough). Unless you ask for it, they will hand you a mug and tell you to say when. They also give hot apple cider and gingerbread biscuits if it's really cold out.

So I went ahead and ordered my cup; black as night and perfectly hot. The family that owns the shop is very sweet, and going into their little corner of the world is like visiting old friends. The daughter (whose name was Sally) looked up from her book behind the counter,

"You look troubled today."

"I've just got a lot on my mind," I replied numbly, taking a sip, "it's got my all riled up."

She hummed thoughtfully and placed her bookmark before leaning over the counter.

"You look like the aftermath of a lover's spat. Girl troubles?"

I took another long sip before answering shortly, "guy troubles."

She seemed only momentarily shocked, but recovered gracefully, giving a sympathetic smile.

"In a weird sort of way…I can relate." She sighed sadly. "My boyfriend might be moving, and he wants me to go with him and get married—but I just can't leave the shop."

I stared blankly at the half empty mug, swirling the content slowly.

"I only wish it were that simple for me."

"Oh…don't worry," she comforted, getting up to go to the register, "things'll get better."

I watched her pull out a roll of quarters and crack it on the counter.

"Relationships," she started, "are kind of like…a roll of quarters. They crack and fall apart," she spilled them into their slot in the register as I watched her curiously, "but you still have five dollars, right? And who knows when one of those quarters will be in someone else's pocket later? You just have to be willing to get a lot of change."

I thought about the double meaning of the word 'change', and then to his and my conversation on the rock. I took another sip of coffee after repeating my line,

"I hate having loose change."

She was right about one thing at least. There was going to be change. Too much change. At that moment, there was a loud crash, not much more than a block away. People up and down the street began poking their heads out of windows and doors, some running to see what had happened. Then, I felt an odd chill. There was a familiar ki; very weak now, however. The pieces began to fit together, and standing quickly I said,

"Sally, can you put this one on my tab?"

I didn't have time to hear her response, because the next minute, I was half running down the walk. The sinking feeling in my stomach grew worse with each step. I saw a huge crowd already forming, and in the center were a few crunched up cars. The drivers all seemed more or less in one piece, maybe a broken arm or two, but I couldn't care; it was the body half under the nose of the blue Honda that left me cold,

"Trunks?"