Author's Note:
How is it that my most recent story "Sweet Crusader" has been up on FFN for a couple of days now and not ONE friggin' person has written a review? Was it that bad? Was it that far-fetched? Was it that cheesy? Okay, I should get over it. It's summer, people are probably smart enough to spend time outside instead of sitting in front of the internet. Not to mention vacations and summer camps. Yay for everyone who doesn't have to work right now. :o) (Hint: I'm not one of those... but I will be in August!)

Anyway, here's a little snippet that I just finished. Hope you enjoy it. And if you do, please please please leave a review, that would totally make my sorry and anticlimactic day. Oh, and can I just say: Thank you to everyone who has left a review so far on any of my stories! It really helps wanting to write more. You don't know how much I appreciate it!

Music fact: Listening to Jem's "Falling For You" makes me want to write something about Joan and Adam's beginnings, but—alas—I'm stuck with this. Not that I'm enjoying it any less.

--...----...----...--

Did you really think it would be that easy?

.:. insert picture of Joan, standing in front of her
pin board, taking a photo of Adam off it .:.

Joan:

Today is the day. The day I've been dreading the whole weekend. It's been following me ever since I came home on Friday, like a ball and chain I can't shake off. He appears in front of my eyes—Adam, the root of all evil.

Adam, Adam, Adam. I hate him, hate him, hate him. I hate his sorry face, the little cheating rat. How could he? I trusted him, I loved him. And he went and screwed Bonnie. God, it makes me so angry! How could I have been so stupid? How could I have put my trust in him, thinking he loved me as much as I loved him? How could I not have noticed something was going on?

When did he start changing from the perfect boyfriend to the perfect liar, the perfect cheater, I wonder. How did I ever deserve this? How could my immaculately shaped plans crumble to dust so suddenly, so rapidly? And how could he honestly sit there, telling me he still loved me? Yeah, right! Fuck you, Adam Rove! You can't love me if you go and sleep with the little freak while I'm the person you come to for moral support.

And how can you think that I will ever forgive you? How can you even expect that after what you did? Did you not notice what it would do to me, to us? And how did you think this was going to work out? Just a hook-up... And how was that going to work? Would she be the outlet for your physical needs when I wasn't ready to give you the whole of my body on top of my heart and soul that I had already promised to you? Did you really think it would be that easy?

I walk over to my pin board and take a photo of you off it, take a black marker and whisk it across your face, hoping it would blot out your face in my mind along with it. Which isn't working, so I throw myself onto my bed on my stomach, tearing the photo up into little shreds, letting them fall onto my bedspread. I don't want to see you in school today, because I already know it's gonna be awkward, hard, nerve-racking, heart-wrenching and scary.

I briefly consider putting on my best ailing expression and tell Mom that I'm sick and have to stay home. But somehow I know she will see right through my disguise, so why not quit trying and spare myself the embarrassment? I don't wanna go to school. I don't want to, don't want to, don't want to. Will it come true if I repeat it in my mind often enough?

I hear a knock on my door, and my mother's voice, telling me to get ready. I look down my body. I'm still in my pyjamas, haven't even been to the bathroom. I sigh, trying to turn my anger into something more motivating, but don't succeed.

My mom knocks again, her voice getting an irritated edge, then softening because she knows that I must be dreading this day. She almost pleads that I come out of my room and have some breakfast before going to school. I wearily sigh again and open the door, knowing it will shut her up for now. 'All right, Mom, I'm coming already.'

There's a slight look of relief as she sees me, not in tears or depressed or apathetic. Because I've been all of that the past two days, and much more. I never thought so many negative emotions could rage through you and overpower you, never thought there was that much fluid in my body to leave my tear ducts. But all that's left for now is anger. Anger I can deal with. Anger I can channel and use and wear around me like a cloak that makes me unsusceptible to being hurt again. For now I'll stick with that and hold on to it.

I stomp into the bathroom with renewed energy and start washing my hair, inwardly cursing Adam Rove and thinking about how I am so above him ever affecting me in any way. He doesn't deserve that, so I won't let it happen again.