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Six

Women can be so stupid sometimes. I've had a problem with my body my entire life, and believe me, if there has been a diet fad to try, I've tried it and failed miserably. Thing is, I seem to be the only one who disapproves of my shape. My former boyfriends have never filed complaints with the Department of Fat, and my friends are always telling me I look fine, whatever that means. Greg is the same way. Whatever I see as a flaw on my body, he sees as a little bit of perfection. What's wrong with the boy?

He may have a slight stomach fetish, because whenever the two of us are alone, he gravitates to my abdomen, whether he's kissing it or simply poking at me like I'm a life size version of Pop-N- Fresh.

"Don't mess with the tummy," I'll moan like an insecure six-year-old, but he'll just grin at me.

"But I love your little Buddha belly," he'll say. Either he's being honest, and likes my body for how it is, or he is some sick demented freak posing as a scientist at the crime lab who is in all actuality a serial killer who keeps his victim's stomachs.

My money is on option two.

Serial killer or not, Greg had the ability to make me feel like I was a Greek goddess. The more time we spent together, the more comfortable I became with myself and with my body, as corny as that may sound. I'd never felt so human around any of my other boyfriends. Maybe it was because Greg didn't take himself seriously, and was always making an ass of himself for my entertainment. When we were leaving a restaurant one night, I saw an elderly women sitting by herself on a bench. I commented to Greg how sad she looked, and he immediately headed for the bench, sat down next to the woman, put his arm around her shoulders, and asked for her phone number. She declined, of course, but Greg knew it would make both me and the woman happy. Swoon.

Unfortunately, one miserable day at the crime lab would turn my idea of Greg the Stud into Greg the Dud.

Wednesday was always a slow day for messages and faxes, so I was excited whenever the phone would ring. I was just as eager to hand deliver files and notes to people, especially if it gave me the opportunity to see Greg. I had two more stops to go before reaching Greg's lab, but the place before it was somewhere I had never been before.

I knocked on the door of an unknown lab and let myself in when no one answered. A man was bent over a microscope in the far corner, and he looked up when he heard my footsteps. I had never talked to him personally, but I had heard other people in the lab call him Hodges, so I did the same.

"Hodges, I have a release form for you to sign," I said. It was so weird to be so casual with someone I had just met.

"Release for what?" he asked, scrunching up his little rat face.

"Some evidence for the Bristol case," I replied, and he started walking towards me. I suddenly felt nervous about his proximity, and backed up a bit into the wall. "I don't know the specifics." Grudgingly, he grabbed the paper from my hand and began reading it over, making faces of disbelief and disgust.

"Fine," he mumbled, pulling a pen out of his pocket and scratching out a signature. His presence was giving me the creeps, so I was more than relieved when he handed the paper back. But he wouldn't let go. He just kept grasping the sheet, studying my face as if he was trying to pinpoint who I was.

"You're the new receptionist?" he asked.

"Yes," I managed to say.

"You and Sanders, huh?" I was taken back by his mention of Greg, especially since I hadn't considered how many people really knew about, well, "us". I knew nothing about this man, not even his first name, yet he was completely aware of Greg and I's relationship.

"Yes," I spat out, a little displeased at his question. "Why?"

"You just seem like an intelligent girl," he replied, and let go of the paper. He walked back to his microscope, and I knew that he wanted to leave me confused and angry, but I wasn't going to let that happen.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I questioned, walking over to him.

"It's just that Greg usually goes for the dumb blonde supermodels. You know, those kind of girls." he smirked at the expression of my face. "I'm impressed with you, though. You seem to have kept him in a relationship longer than any other woman he's ever been with, and there have been a lot of them."

I felt my heart drop through my stomach, and there was a hollowness in my body. Hodges's comment made me nervous, made me confused, made me pissed off. Why would Greg go for me when he could have any girl he wants? Why hadn't he told me about all of these other women? Was he just stringing me along? Was this some sick joke? I stomped out of the lab, thinking I would find Greg and tell him off; call him a pig in front of everyone. But my strength left me, and I turned into an empty hallway to find somewhere quiet to think. I slid down the wall and found myself sitting Indian style like I used to in Kindergarten, my face buried in my hands.

Hodges had only said one little comment, and for all I knew, it could have been a complete lie. Still, I let doubt get the best of me. My former boyfriends had never been that great, and I'm sure they would have cheated, too, if given the chance. Greg was too good for me; he was everything I asked for in a guy when I blew out my candles on a birthday cake or wished on the first star in the night sky. Damn me and my superstitions!

I needed to get out of the crime lab before someone found me sobbing like a baby. I couldn't let a little high school drama like this effect the integrity of my job or the impression my co-workers had of me. I moped back to my desk, and left a note for Missy, telling her that a family emergency had come up. Usually, I would say goodbye to Greg before leaving. But today, I just felt like vomiting at the thought of him and his lies. He was probably just like the boys who used to pick on me. I bet he told his buddies everything about us, and how dumb and gullible I was.

The only man I wanted in my life at that moment was Winnie the Pooh...and maybe that dinosaur on the Macaroni and Cheese box.