Epilog Part 1:

The cave's cold, rock walls seemed to be taunting him as the minutes ticked by, She isn't coming, She hates you, and the worst of all She's dead, you weren't there for her, she's DEAD!

He stood up and paced restlessly, it was already six in the morning…he had expected her to be here by now. Angrily he punched the wall in a gesture that brought him back to the same cave and the same girl but in a much earlier time. He rubbed his hand across his sore knuckles and moved to the mouth of the cave, gazing into the endless blue sky, willing her to show up…Please, he prayed, Please let her come…if only to beat me up…I have to see her.

LINE BREAK!$#$%^&*()(*&^%$##$%^&*()(*&^%$##$%^&*(*&^%$#!#$%^&*()_)(*&^%$#

She slowly opened her eyes and slowly, painfully sat up. The room was spinning around her head and she felt sick to her stomach but she pulled herself towards the edge of the bed for just one reason.

It took her almost 20 minutes to stand and for the room to slow it's constant moving. She pulled herself to the bathroom and closely inspected herself in the mirror. She was thinner…but when you can't eat for almost 4 days and you have a metabolism like a bird, you tend to lose a lot of weight. There were no bags under her eyes, all she had been dong the last 4 days was sleeping…her hair was tangled like a massive jungle and she picked up the lightweight brush like it weighed 200 pounds. She slowly untangled the brownish blonde waves, getting them to look almost civil. She moved to her closet, oh-so happy the room had stopped spinning. She first bent down and removed a piece of the foot board trim and got a journal wrapped in a water proof bag and set it on the dresser she moved to the very end of her closet where the clothes were smallest. She was so warm…she felt like she was already outside in the mid-June heat. She smiled as her hand touched a black spaghetti strap shirt…cool and slightly sexy. She pulled off her pajama shirt and replaced it with the tank top. It was a slow and painful process, stretching all her muscles to seemingly great lengths. The jean drawer was her next stop where she pulled an old, well worn, shrunken pair of jeans. Another painful process that almost sent her crashing to the floor, but she managed. She picked up a belt and pulled it as tightly as it would go around her still slightly too big pants. Then she hobbled to her sneakers and plopped on to the bed, not bothering to get a clean pair of socks, just pulling her shoes over the ones she was already wearing. She stood up in the fashion of an old man and she hated herself for it.

As she pulled back the curtains and pushed open the French doors that served as windows in her room ready to leave, but she paused and returned to the bathroom, along the way picking up the journal. She slowly lifted up her hair and craned her neck to see…the black tattoo that was still there.

The tattoo that meant it hadn't been a dream.

The tattoo that told her exactly how much time she'd have with him.

The tattoo that was counting down.

The tattoo that was killing her.

Damn that tattoo.

Epilog Part 2 on the way soon!

~A.S