A/N: Hey, it's me: the big fat jerk that doesn't update for like, 2 weeks. Blame school. Blame it hard. Anyways, so the few readers I have left are probably wondering why the hell is this posted as an Angst/Romance story? I see very little of this angst you speak of. And why does she insist on writing these damn A/Ns in every story? Well gentle viewers, the answer to your first question is that I'm pumping in a bit more angst into this very chapter, so don't you worry your pretty little heads. (And the answer to the second question is… I spend much time alone in the dark watching TV and have very little friends. My A/Ns entertain me.) Okay, let's grab a spine and get crackin'!

He walked into his apartment, still feeling a bit down and closed the door behind him. The dark blue walls were adorned with various posters of his favorite bands and some surfing memorabilia here and there. Great mix. He walked over to where the remote was sitting and flipped on the TV for some background sounds. The news was on and they were talking about the case he was working on. It wasn't all that surprising, considering that amount of cameras buzzing around the scene like a bunch of hornets.

"The two victims, Kevin and Kenn Ayers, appear to have been stabbed in the stomach. Police won't reveal anymore information at this time," said a man with a really bad toupee that looked like a stray cat had walked up there and died on his head.

He changed the channel to some stupid cartoon. He had heard enough about work for the day. He walked over to the fridge and opened it up. Peering inside, it looked pretty bare except for a few condiments and some old celery. Note to self: Get your ass to the grocery store he thought as he closed the fridge and looked through the cupboards. He found some old cereal and decided that was probably his best option.

He was just about to eat his dry cereal when the phone rang. He picked it up on the third ring and said cheerily, despite his mood:

"Greg here," There was a pause on the other line. "Anybody in there?" he asked, waiting for a reply. When he got one, he was a little surprised to hear the voice.

"Hey Greg… it's Sara,"

"Oh, hey. How's it going with you?"

"…Not too good. I was…" there was a brief pause as she sighed. It sounded as though she just wanted to hang up right then. Luckily, she continued, "I was wondering if I could drop by your place. I need some company right now,"

"Well yeah, sure. I'm here for ya… But, wouldn't it be easier for you if I went to your place?" he asked growing a little worried. This must've been pretty bad if she needed company right now.

"No. I have to get out of here. You sure it wouldn't be much trouble? Me barging in and demanding company?"

Greg chuckled a bit "It's fine,"

"Okay. See ya soon,"

"Yep. Bye"

He hung up the phone and tried to make sense of their short conversation. Man, I hope she's doing okay. He thought to himself. He looked around the apartment and decided he'd better try and clean up a bit. He picked up a few clothes and plates, then gave up and sat back down on the couch. He glanced over at the coffee table where his dry cereal sat. He picked it up and finished the contents, which kind of tasted like an old dishrag.

Just then there was a knock at the door. Hell, that was fast. He walked over to the door rather excitedly and swung it open. There stood the bitchy middle-aged woman from next door. She was holding a cigarette in one hand and a look of distaste was set on her face.

"Okay don't talk just listen, loudmouth,"

"Sharon-" started Greg exasperatedly, but the woman interrupted almost immediately.

"What the hell did I just say? Shut up!" Greg stopped talking reluctantly and waited for what was next. She began to speak again, "The deal is you play your crap music too loud and/or too often. The next time I hear that freak Manson blaring through the walls, I'm calling the cops who are going to bust your ass. Then you can sit in jail and I can live in happily ever after. Got that?"

"Please! You're to one who's yelling at your greasy boyfriend every night. I play my music, which is NOT crap, to drown that out," he snapped. He wouldn't usually be like this, but he was a little pissed off that it was Sharon at the door instead of Sara. Furthermore, she was wasting his time with this. She ignored him and said quite matter-of-factly that this was his "final warning" and strode away. He stood at the open door for a few minutes letting his anger subside. As he was closing the door, something stopped it and pushed it open again.

"Sorry Sara. I didn't see you there," he said as he let her in. "Welcome to my abode. Make yourself comfortable,"

She gave him a weak smile and stepped inside slowly. "Hey," she said as she peered around his apartment. He sat down on the couch and gestured for her to follow, which she did.

"So, is there anything you needed to talk about?" he asked her in his best I'm-here-for-you voice.

"Nothing specific, really. I just wanted to talk about something besides work, and you're really fun to be around,"

He grinned and blushed a little. That was probably one of the nicer things she had ever said to him. "Well, I'm here for your entertainment," he said and smiled. There was a long silence after that in which Greg tried thinking of things to talk about with no success. He was growing more nervous by the minute and Sara never took her eyes off him.

"Greg," she said suddenly causing him to look up at her. She continued still never moving her gaze from him. "I've been thinking about you a lot lately,"

That last remark took him by surprise. What? He thought growing really confused and tried to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

"What?" he said finally, not able to think of anything else to say.

"You," she said almost seductively. At this point, Greg had pinched himself to make sure it wasn't a dream. "You're cute and smart… and funny," she said moving closer to him with each word. Yeah, this is definitely a dream. Damn it. He sat waiting and preparing himself for the awakening and for the disappointment he would no doubt feel.

As her lips brushed against his, his swore his body had turned into jello and his hands were shaking a bit. She began to kiss him more passionately and slid her finger into his hair. He wasn't waking up, and this was way too real to be a dream. He was so utterly confused right now. This couldn't be Sara doing this, and yet it was. When he felt her hands gripping the bottom of his shirt, he pulled away.

"Sara, wait. What are doing? This is too fast… I just…I think-"

"Don't think," she said and began to kiss him again. He closed his eyes and raised his hand to her head. She began tugging at his shirt and his mind snapped back in gear again.

"Sara… what about work? We can't,"

"Forget work. I know you want this," she said staring at him determined. She was right. He wanted to be with her. It's what he'd wanted for years, but he couldn't help worrying about what it would be like at work and how fast she was going; way too fast. They had only gone on one date. But, as her lips met his yet again, the thoughts on his mind melted away. He couldn't resist any longer.

O0oO0oO0oO0oO0oO0oO0oO0o

He opened his eyes groggily and tried to remember why he was sleeping on the couch. As the memories came rushing back, he sat up and looked around for Sara. He saw her standing near the door, presumably getting ready to leave. When she saw him she looked at him poker-faced as she grabbed her coat. Yet again, he was confused.

"Wait. Where are you going?" he asked.

"Home" she said flatly as she put on her coat.

"…Why?" he asked her, starting to feel a bit hurt that she was just going to leave, and without saying goodbye at that. She paused in front of the door and without turning around and said quietly,

"Because… I got what I wanted,"

She opened the door and walked out. As the door closed with a slam, he sat there alone, feeling much like he had just been disemboweled. This wasn't a dream. This was a nightmare. This was the worst feeling he'd ever experienced. He didn't know how Sara could ever do something like this, something so cruel. He knew what she had done, and it made him feel sick.

She had used him.