A/n: First off, dear god, people, you are Awesome! Thank you all for your great reviews.

There is a very loud party going on a few apartments over from me. There is a lot of yelling and, after walking to my slider to see, there seems to be a soccer game going on in the courtyard with a giant inflatable beach ball thing. Know that it is 230 am. I'm partially tempted to go down and crash the party and gain some free beer, and partially tempted to yell from my balcony "for god's sake, people need to get some sleep!" But seeing as how I'm writing this, and not sleeping, and I'm in my pjs (plus it's cold outside--cold being 50 degrees, but still. This is Florida. 50 degrees is artic.) So I'll just listen to the sound of them having fun and try to ignore the pounding headache they are causing. The jerks.

References:

"Second star to the right"—Peter Pan. Straight on till morning, ya?

Though I'm wondering where the name "Clarence Fishmonger" came from. I Googled it, but nothing came up. Guess my brain is just weird. It does sound familiar, though, you guys are right.

So I am going against my preordained chapter order and am putting the Lust Test before the Envy one. Why? Because the Envy one is going to deal with things that I do not have personal experience with, and therefore, I need to do more research, so I switched things around. Just so you guys know, this is not the chapter that will have the hinted slash in it (no matter what you may automatically think whenever you see the word "lust")—that is the Envy chapter. This one does, however, deals with some very…adult…themes, for lack of a better word, and therefore I put the following warning:

WARNING: This chapter contains Cutting. If you are a Cutter and are easily triggered by reading about the subject, please skip this chapter and wait for next week when I update again to continue reading. I'm serious. It's hard enough for me to handle that my own irrational addiction put the idea into a friend of mine's head years ago that it's a good way to deal with emotional pain. I would hate to have someone have the urge to cause themselves to bleed because of my words. And anyone who looks at this and thinks that I'm being conceited by thinking that what I write is going to affect someone that way, think about someone who smoked for years and then quit. Every time that person is around a smoker/watches someone light up/smells the smoke, etc, he is going to want a cigarette. His fingers are going to itch for the feeling of that tiny paper tube between them. That's what it's like for any addiction and Cutting is no different. Sometimes you read about it or hear about it and your fingers itch for a blade and your skin feels too tights and all you can think about is what a release it would be to spill your own blood. I dare you to tell me that I am wrong.

So please, this is going to be hard enough for me to write. If you think it will upset you, just don't read, ok?

I would like to thank anyone who may be reading this who read my little note in OLT and sent me their sympathy or what not. It means a lot, both because it's nice to hear that someone gave a damn enough to take a minute out of their time to tell me that they understand, and also that you will all be patient for an update on that story. Thank you so much for your understanding.

So sorry that this has taken so long. A lot has happened within the past month and it's been hard for me to write. I find it ironic that I take a break from this site right when I got so many compliments on how quickly I updated. Heh. But thank you all for your patience. Really. You are all wonderful.

So without further ado, I'll leave you guys with the next chapter.

DISCLAIMER: Why am I even bothering? If you think I own Zim, you're insane and think that six is a prime number. (Oh bloody hell.)

You Only Live Twice

PART EIGHT: In which Dib discovers pain.

Main Entry: lust
Pronunciation: 'l&st
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Old English; akin to Old High German lust pleasure and perhaps to Latin lascivus wanton
1 obsolete a : PLEASURE, DELIGHT b personal inclination : WISH
2 usually intense or unbridled sexual desire : LASCIVIOUSNESS
3 a an intense longing : CRAVING b : ENTHUSIASM, EAGERNESS

The blade ran easily and smoothly over my skin. Once. Twice. On the third pass, I cut a little deeper than intended, causing myself to wince involuntarily as the red welled up and flowed over my arm, dripping onto the floor in small splatters like opaque spider webs. Closing my eyes for a moment, willing my breath and heartbeat to slow, I clenched my jaw tightly, begging in my mind for the tears to stay hidden safely behind my eyelids. This was neither the time, nor the place to be caught with swollen and tear stained cheeks. Come to think of it, this wasn't the time or the place to be caught with a blade in my hand, either, but it was a little too late to deal with that little problem. One thing at a time.

"Dib?"

I heard the door to the bathroom swing open and then shut again, as an all too familiar voice called my name.

"Stink Beast? You in here? Hello?"

His boots treaded heavily on the cheap and peeling linoleum floor as Zim paused before every stall, checking for inhabitants. I realized that even if I were to put my feet up and curl myself up onto the toilet seat, he would see the drops of blood on the floor and I would be discovered. Hurriedly I placed the toe of my sneaker over the drops and called out, "Go away, Zim."

The alien's footsteps paused for a moment and then turned towards the sound of my voice. He walked over to the stall where I was hidden and stood in front of it. While all I could see where the toes of his Irken issue combat boots, I knew that he was cocking his head quizzically at the door to the stall, the way he always did when he was confused about something.

"Hello, talking bathroom stall. Have you eaten Dib, again? That isn't very nice you know. And you know that you don't like the taste of him, anyhow, or else you wouldn't keep spitting him out like you do, which I understand completely, since human meat is kind of tough and sour tasting." Zim's voice stated though the door.

I scrunched up my face at his last comment. Yuck.

"But since you have decided that you wanted to give him another try, and since he is my friend, I must demand that you spit him out right this instant or face the wrath of the Irken Elite. And I warn you, my Irken Eliteness is more Elite that I think you, as a lowly talking bathroom stall would be able to handle. I am a very formidable opponent whenever I am mad, and you consuming my friend doesn't make me necessarily happy. So again, I must insist—"

I couldn't take much more of his ramblings. Sighing, I pocketed my switchblade and wrapped my injured arm in toilet paper, stanching the flow of blood for the moment. Flinching as I pushed the sleeve of my shirt back down, I unlocked the door and pushed it open.

"Give it a rest, Zim, will ya?" I asked as I pushed past him to the sink.

"Ah ha! The talking toilet stall has released you once again! Victory for ZIM!"

"Whatever." I mumbled, turning on the water and squeezing some soap into my hands from the dispenser.

The alien joined me at the sink, watching over my shoulder as I washed my hands. He had, years ago, discovered a serum that would make him grow at the same rate as the rest of us. This made it so that, while I was still taller than him by a few inches, he was able to look over my shoulder with little to no difficulty.

"So, isn't it customary for your people to flush the toilet…thingy…when leaving the bathroom stall?"

Damn. I knew I had forgotten something.

"That's only if you actually, you know, go while you're in there." I explained, still focusing on my hands. I knew that I needed to wash out the cuts that I had just made, but there was no way I could do that with Zim standing here over my shoulder. The jerk.

"So you didn't go?"

"Umm..no."

"Oh. So…why where you in there, then?"

Damn, again. Come on, brain, there're 180 IQ points at your disposal, think of some kind of excuse!

"I was thinking." Oh, that's it, Dib. Nice one, there's no way he could see though that.

"You came in here to think?"

"Umm…yeah." Realizing that he wasn't going to leave me alone long enough for me to clean my wounds, I shut off the water and made my way to the paper towel dispenser.

"Why?"

"Damn it, Zim!" I angrily threw the towel that I was using into the trash can and spun towards the green boy, "Why the hell are you so interested in my bathroom habits all of a sudden? What's it to you?"

Zim looked sheepish and small, as if the force of my words had hurt him. "Sorry, I was just concerned. You've been in here for the entire lunch break every day. I mean, I could understand if the cafeteria drones were serving creamed spinach and sauerkraut, again, but it's been weeks since we've had that—"

I sighed and held up a hand, cutting him off, "It's ok, Zim. I've just had a lot on my mind, lately, and haven't really been able to stand the herd, you know?"

Zim nodded and shrugged, a gesture that would seem normal on anyone else, but still looked so foreign whenever he did it, even though he had been on earth for a little over five years, now.

As we started to leave the bathroom, something occurred to me. "Hey, Zim? How do you know that humans taste tough and sour? When did you eat a human?"

He grinned that zipper toothed grin of his, "I ate your sister last night, Stink Beast."

I stopped, dead, and stared at him, "Dude. Zim. Ew."

He stopped as well, cocking his head at me, "What? I thought that your people made sexually euphemist jokes about each other's family members all the time?"

"I know, but still—it's Gaz. That's disgusting." I turned and started back towards the door.

"But I thought—"

"No."

"What if I—"

"No." I pushed the door open and walked out, not bothering to hold it for the alien, who was still standing in the doorway, trying to figure out a way to make his joke less gross.

"There's got to be a way—"

"No, Zim." I called back over my shoulder as I made my way down the hall. I could hear the door shut softly behind me, blocking the sound of Zim's voice.

I didn't bother waiting for him to catch up. I had things to do.

I don't know when this intense need to live my life as drastically as possible started. I would like to think that it was when Zim walked his skinny green ass into my sixth grade classroom, but deep down I know that it had begun long before that. Why else would I have devoted my life to discovering and documenting the things that made my heart race and my breath catch in my throat? Why would I have such an obsession with death-defying stunts and that sudden rush of adrenalin when I was face to face with a bleeding ghost or climbing the radio tower after the Bigfoot baby that lived next door? I needed that rush, that feeling, that sudden burst of energy that let me know that I was actually Alive and not just Living. Zim's arrival may have made my obsession more obvious, but it was far from the beginning.

I stood on the roof of my house, feet halfway over the edge, my arms spread straight out at my side, my face tipped to the sky, relishing in the feeling of the wind as it playing with my hair and caressed my face like a lover. I leaned forward slightly, into the wind, balancing barely on my perilous perch. What would happen if I were to fall? Would I die, or would I merely injure myself, yet again? Some small, sane, reasonable part of my brain informed me that my constant dance with death was just another form of Self Mutilation, but I pushed it away, chuckling. I had been forced to go to enough head shrinkers at this point that I already knew that; it was old news. It didn't matter because I didn't care. I lived in the moment, and this moment was dedicated to knowing that the slightest change in movement would send me to my death. This moment was dedicated to knowing that I was Alive.

"Dib, what the hell are you doing up there?" my sister shouted from the sidewalk, her long violet hair whipping around her like a cape in the wind as she glared up at me.

Her voice had startled me and I felt myself momentarily lose my balance and start to fall. I spun my arms, trying to regain purchase as my heart leaped into my throat, my breath seemingly frozen in my lungs. There it was, the perfect moment. A second later, I was able to right myself and allowed my legs to finally collapse from under me and my body to relax as I sat back on the roof. I lay on my stomach, my head hanging over the edge in order to look at my sister.

"What do you want?" I called to her.

"You idiot! You almost gave me a heart attack!" She shouted back, one hand pressed to her chest as the other fought to keep her hair out of her eyes.

I fought back a grin as I wondered what a real heart attack would feel like, "Sorry, Gaz. I didn't mean to."

I couldn't tell her expression from up here, but I knew that she was scowling. She almost always was. "You should come inside, it's going to storm." She stated.

"So?"

"So, it's going to lightning, and the last thing I need is to explain to Dad when you get struck, as fun as it would be to see if that stupid hair cut of yours would make the cable come in better."

I frowned as I self consciously reached up and smoothed down my hair. Stupid cowlick. Damn Dad's stupid genes.

Gaz was still looking up at me, both hands now holding her hair down from the wind, "Are you coming in or not?" She demanded.

I sighed. As much as I would like to watch at least the beginning of the storm from the roof, the argument that would ensue was just not worth it. I rolled my eyes, "Yeah, I'll be down." I called. She nodded and walked back into the house.

Rolling onto my back, I stared at the darkening sky, my arms crossed under my head. I closed my eyes and breathed in the electric, muggy, wet smell of the coming storm. It was a smell that, as a child, always reminded me of smooshed worms, but now made me think of raw power. Even the air itself was anxious as it lay in wait for the first bolt of lightning to strike. Amazing.

Sighing again, because I knew that the longer I stayed up there, the more I would have to listen to my sister bitch, I stood and made my way to the ladder.

Perhaps next time I would get to watch the rain.

"What's been going on with you?" Gaz asked from the couch as I walked in the door after climbing down from the roof. She didn't even raise her eyes from the television where she was brutally killing zombies.

"What are you talking about?" I responded, my hand nervously and subconsciously rubbing my arm.

She paused her game and looked over at me, her eyes narrowed in suspicion, "Zim called earlier, while you were on the roof. Said that you were hiding in the bathroom during lunch period, again.

"So?" I rolled my eyes at her and started towards the kitchen. A grilled cheese sandwich sounded good right about now.

"'So'—what's going on with you, lately You're hiding in the bathrooms at school—and not even during an actual class like a normal person, you were standing on the edge of the roof when it was about to storm," I could hear her voice grow louder as she joined me in the kitchen, "and I found this in the laundry basket, this afternoon." I looked up from the fridge to have a cloth thrown on my face. Sputtering, I pulled it away and gasped. It was the shirt I had been wearing, today, the sleeve still stained dark red with blood, even though I had rinsed it out after I got home from school.

I glanced up at my sister who was standing there, smirking at me as if she had made a good point.

"Well?" She asked, obviously expecting an explanation.

"Well, what?" I replied, glaring at her. I put the bloody shirt on the table and then turned back to the fridge, pulling out the tub of butter and a few slices of cheese.

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

I rolled my eyes, again, and slammed the food items onto the counter, trying very hard to keep my anger in check. Even if I were to tell her the truth, there was no way that she would understand; no way that she could possibly comprehend the feelings and sensations I experienced when I stood on the roof or pulled the blade across my skin. No way she could appreciate how it felt to touch death; to know that if you made one wrong move, it was all over. She had denounced the world outside of her video games long ago. She didn't know what it was like out there: how people would push and crowd you and try to focus your attention on anything but your own thoughts. How their closeness would clog your pores and your lungs, forbidding you from taking even a breath of air that was your own. She wouldn't understand the claustrophobic paranoia that came with being in a room full of people and knowing that you were utterly alone. She wanted me to explain my actions? To put into words what I was feeling? To hell with her; what did she care?

I turned to her, leaning against the counter, my arms crossed. "If you must know, I've been 'hiding' in the bathroom 'cause the cafeteria food is making me sick, and I was on the edge of the roof because I was trying to get a good view of the gutters to see if they need cleaned so that I don't get attacked by a five year old, decaying bird nest, again like I did last year."

She continued to glare at me, her lips pursed in disbelief. She walked over to the table where I had laid the shirt and picked it up, holding it up close to my face. "And this? What about this? Where is this blood from?"

Looking her straight in the eye, I said the first lie that came to mind, "Nosebleed."

She lowered the shirt, standing on her tip toes to get into my face, "You don't get spontaneous nosebleeds, Dib." She sneered.

I pushed her away from me, "How the hell would you know?" I spat, turning back to my sandwich making. Screw grilled cheese—cooking would require me to be in the kitchen with Gaz for longer than I would be able to stand at this point. I would just have to eat it cold.

Gaz put her hand on my arm, trying to turn me back towards her, "'Cause I'm your sister, dumb ass. I would think that after staring at your stupid face for the past fifteen years I would know that your nose does not just spurt blood at random." She held the shirt back up, again, "At least not this much." she finished, her voice softer.

I sighed and turned back to her, sandwich in hand. "Look, Gaz, I'm fine. I don't know what you're all worried about all of a sudden, but I'm fine. Just leave me alone and butt out. Tell Zim that, too, next time you talk to him, since he's your best buddy now, and all."

I pushed past her and made my way out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Faintly I could hear Gaz kick a cabinet and curse, but I decided to ignore it. If she broke something, that was her own problem, not mine.

Later that night, I lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, one arm crossed behind my head. My other—the right one; the injured one—lay across my stomach, freshly bandaged. It hurt too much to put any pressure on it. I had cut deeper than I had originally intended. That had been happening more and more, lately. I never even noticed it while I was doing it, either. The only thing that I was focused on was the blade as it sliced through my skin. I barely even felt the pain, anymore, in the moment. Part of me wondered if that meant I was starting to cause nerve damage. Another, quieter, smaller part said that it proved I was falling further into my addiction. The rest of me thought that I should start using my left arm. Too bad I wasn't ambidextrous.

There was a knock on my door. Soft. Hesitant. I ignored it.

"Dib?" My sister's voice through the wood. She sounded upset. I didn't care.

"Come one, you loser, I know you're not asleep in there, let me in."

Nope, sorry, sis. Not in the mood.

"Damn it, Dib!" All semblance of gentleness gone. Knew she couldn't keep it up for long. The door shook a little as she kicked it, "Look, I'm just worried about you, alright? You've been doing some really dangerous things, lately, and I just…I don't want to lose you, alright? I just want you to be careful."

If this were an after school special, this would be the point where I got up, opened the door, and embrace my dear, loving sister, thanking her for her intervention. As it's not, however, I just rolled over, and put a pillow over my head.

Fuck her. I hope she gets an ulcer from all that "worrying".

The next few weeks passed by in silence. Gaz ignored me and Zim was lost somewhere in the bowels of his labs, cooking up some scheme or another to take over the world. While he and I had a tentative truce that allowed us to be friends, the fact still remained that he was still an Invader and therefore it was still my responsibility to stop him at every turn. However, his plans seemed to have more holes in them the older we became—almost as if he wanted to be foiled, and my attempts to stop him seemed to have less enthusiasm than before—almost as if I wanted to fail.

But that couldn't have been the case…

…right?

"Dib!" My sister's voice made its way up the stairs, down the hall, through my door, past the barrier of my headphones, and into my brain.

"What?" I shouted back.

"Phone!"

I sighed and turned away from my computer, reaching for the cordless phone that sat on my nightstand. I clicked it on and held my hand over the mouthpiece. "I got it, Gaz!" I called, before placing the receiver to my ear.

"Hello?"

"zzzzzDib? zzzDib, lookzzzzz it'sz zzzrinzzzz—"

"Hey, I think we have a bad connection, I can't understand you."

"zzzit. There isn't muzzzz zzime. I knozzzzz zzzember, but there is somethzzzzzz zzzzerous in the Tezzzz."

"I'm sorry, whoever you are, but—"

"zzzisten! Your Soul is at zzzake! Don't liszzz zzzzzzzzzzzer! Whatzzer you zzzzz."

"My soul? Look, if you're selling God, I'm not interested, alright? I don't see why you people have to keep calling here. How about you just keep your religion to yourselves, alright?"

"No, you zzon't zzzzstand! zzzib! Don't—"

"I'm sorry, I'm hanging up, now. Goodbye."

I clicked off the phone and turned back to my computer.

Fucking Jehovah witnesses.

"You're bleeding."

A tap on the shoulder, a soft whispering voice. I looked beside me and saw clear green eyes. Stephanie. Her family had moved to town a week or so, before. She kept to herself, mostly, her face always planted in a comic book or guitar magazine. I think this might have been the first time I heard her speak, which is why I was so dumbfounded at her statement.

"What?"

Here eyes traveled downward to the sleeve of my shirt, which had turned from off white to a rather dark maroon colour. Following her gaze, I gasped and quickly tried to pull it from sight. She was faster than me, however, and caught my arm in a steel grip, her fingers pressing on where the wounds were in such a way that was not so much painful as…sensuous.

"Cuts that deep you should keep bandaged for at least a day—might help if you carry some Band Aids in your book-bag." She whispered. I gaped at her like an idiot and she smiled a secret smile and let go of my arm.

Before I could say another word, the bell rang and she was gone, making her way quickly through the mass of bodies that were herding themselves through the door. I jumped to my feet and gathered my books, bloody sleeve forgotten, determined to catch up to the girl and ask her how she knew about the cuts. I mean, the blood could have come from anywhere, even my trusty "nosebleed" answer that had become almost a trademark phrase by this point. But that she Knew that answer was bullshit and she Knew that the cuts on my arm were deeper than usual…I just needed to speak to her.

I fought my way through the crowd, standing on my toes at times to get a better look. It didn't help, though. I had lost her. I sighed, finally admitting defeat, and then was pulled by the back of my shirt into a nearby classroom. I turned to face my attacker, only to find myself staring back into bright green eyes. Stephanie was smiling that secret smile, again, and she pushed her long black hair behind her ear and winked.

"Looking for someone?"

Again I found myself at a loss for words, which was odd considering my penchant for talking to anyone who would listen (even if that person was myself most of the time) and she giggled.

"Funny, I never pegged you for the quiet type."

I just shrugged, wary of her attention. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the lump blocking my throat disappeared and I was able to manage speech.

"How did you know?"

She smiled, again, and then reached into her book-bag, pulling out some bandages. "We should get you cleaned up."

It was then that I realized that she had pulled me into one of the chemistry classrooms. I followed her over to one of the sinks, but flinched back as she reached for my arm. Her eyes met mine, again, one of her brows arched in question. I sighed and offered my bloody sleeve, which she pulled back to reveal my newest work. I cringed, expecting some negative reaction from her, but instead she worked silently and proficiently, her fingers cleansing the wounds gently enough not to make it hurt too badly, but firmly enough to wash away the dried blood.

I watched her in awe as she turned off the sink and dabbed my arm dry with paper towels. She then perched herself on the counter and began wrapping my arm in the gauze that she had magically pulled from her bag. Again, I was able to find my voice, "Why are you doing this?"

"It's going to be warm, soon, you should stop using your arm. That is, unless you are secure enough with yourself to go around in short sleeves." She replied, ignoring my question.

"What are you talking about?" I responded automatically, "I didn't do this myself. I—"

"—Fell on some glass, hurt yourself skateboarding, pissed off a cat, got into a fight, fell out of a tree, feel free to interject any original excuses here, if you have them, because I'm pretty sure that I've used every one in the book." She interrupted.

"You've—"

She stopped wrapping my arm for a moment and held up her own. Through the black gauze sleeve of her shirt, I could see the fine inter-workings of scars and cuts, all in various stages of healing. I met her eyes, again, and she shrugged, going back to her work.

We sat in silence for a few moments as she finished up, securing the bandage with a few strips of tape. "There, good as new." She stated.

I started to pull my sleeve back down over my arm when, again, her strong fingers stopped me. "You might want to rinse out your sleeve. Take off your shirt."

I frowned, but did as I was told. This mysterious girl obviously knew what she was talking about. I straightened the t-shirt I was wearing underneath and watched as she moved to a cabinet in the corner of the room, searching the shelves for a moment, before pulling out a small brown bottle. She walked back over to where I was standing and handed it to me.

"Peroxide," She explained, "pour it on the sleeve, first. It will help break up the blood so that it doesn't stain as badly."

I nodded and did as I was told, mentally chastising myself. Why didn't I ever think of that? After the sleeve was clean, I rang it out as best I could. I was hesitant to put it back on, though. The thought of cold wetness soaking into my newly bandaged arm just didn't appeal to me in the least.

"It's lunch, so you don't have to put your shirt back on quite yet. We can hang out here till the end of the period, and then if it's still damp, you could always hold it under one of the blowers in the bathroom." Stephanie said, again seeming to read my mind. I nodded and laid the shirt out on a nearby table before jumping up to sit on the counter opposite of hers. We stared at each other for a few moments, sizing each other up. She was only a few inches shorter than me, long and willowy, with waist length black hair that matched the rest of her attire. Too much black makeup lined her eyes, making her look dangerous and exotic. She looked like a witch, and I told her as much, to which she giggled in response.

"Will you be disappointed if I'm not?" she asked.

I shook my head, grinning, and she laughed, again.

"So, really, how did you—" I began.

"How did I know that you were a Cutter?"

I nodded. It was all I really could do.

She shrugged. "I can tell the signs. The fact that you were bleeding so profusely defiantly was a big one."

I rubbed the back of my head, slightly embarrassed. "Oh, yeah."

She rolled her eyes and slid from the counter and made her way towards me. "You know that there's nothing wrong with it, right?"

I instinctively leaned away from her as she slid closer. "What?

"Embracing the pain, taking control of it, making it your own. You know that there's nothing wrong with it—nothing wrong with you, right?"

She was right in front of me, her fingers tracing seductive lines across my chest as she looked up at me through her lashes. My heart was racing in my chest and my pants were suddenly feeling a bit too tight, and the only thing that I could really focus on was those eyes and her hands that were moving in almost hypnotizing patterns. "I…I—"

"There is nothing wrong with taking Control of things in your life," she continued, "The way that I see it," her face moved closer. I could feel her breath on my neck, "you can either let things happen To you," he voice was in my ear, breathy, teasing, "or you can Make things happen. That's all you're doing by cutting, Dib. You're Making things happen. You're in control."

"I…uh…but you can't exactly say that it's normal." I answered, still trying to ignore her come-ons.

She smirked and moved away from me, "Neither is being best friends with an alien, or having a father who can shoot electricity from his hands, but you don't seem to mind that."

I grabbed her arm as she started to walk away, "How do you know about that?"

"I know a lot of things." she replied, gently disengaging my hand from her bicep.

"But—"

Before I could say another word, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Stephanie picked my shirt up from where it had been drying, inspected the sleeve, and then tossed it to me. I caught it with one arm up against my chest.

"Feels dry enough. You should be getting to class. Wouldn't want anyone to suspect anything, now would you?" Again with that coy smile. I nodded dumbly and slid from the counter, pulling my shirt over my head. I could feel Stephanie's eyes on me as I picked up my bag and moved to leave.

"Hold on a sec." She said. Digging into her bag she pulled out a red pen and grabbed my hand. On it she wrote an address. I looked at her, questioningly. "Go there, tonight. There are other people there who understand about taking control. I'll be there around midnight."

"I'm not sure—"

"Tonight." She closed my hand around her writing, her fingers lingering a little longer than necessary before moving away, entirely.

As she bent over to pick up her bag, then, I noticed strange markings on her back. The bottom of a larger picture.

"Is that a tattoo?" I asked.

She straightened up, and smiled, softly, "I suppose you could call it that. I think of it more as a brand." She turned her back towards me and lifted up her shirt, so that I could see the design. Long wings were drawn, going from her shoulders to right below the line of her jeans. They looked to me made of metal, and were coloured red at the edges. Satisfied that I had had a good enough look, she replaced her shirt and shouldered her bag.

"Remember, Dib. Tonight." she stated, moving towards the door.

"Wait, what does your tattoo mean?" I asked, not able to staunch my curiosity.

She looked back over her shoulder at me, one hand positioned on the doorknob. "I am the original Fallen Angel." She answered, and then was gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts, an address, and a challenge to 'take control'.

…LOGGING IN…

CONNECTION ESTABLISHED

WELCOME BACK, MOTHMAN. YOU HAVE 1 NEW MESSAGE. WOULD YOU LIKE TO READ IT?

PLEASE WAIT…CONNECTING…

From: redeemer at questionsleep com

To: wanttobeleive at swolleneyeballs net

Subject: URGENT!

Dib,

I'm not sure if this is going to get to you in time, or even get to you at all. There is some outside influence in the Test. I know you don't know what I'm talking about, but it is imperative that you Do Not

CONNECTION INTERRUPTED…PLEASE WAIT…

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I sat back in my computer chair, and rubbed my eyes behind my glasses. Just another porn mail. I could have sworn…

…nah.

I stood in front of the address that Stephanie had given me. It in a more run down side of town, in an ally. The spray painted sign over the door read "Fallen", and from where I stood, I could hear the vibrating baseline of angry metal rock.

I took a deep breath, steeling every nerve that I had, and reached for the handle of the door.

"Dib, wait!" A voice from behind me made me hesitate. I turned to face a girl a few years older than me. In the darkness it was hard to really make out her features, aside from her white tank top. The dim light from the entrance to the club reflected on her glasses.

"Do I know you?"

She ran a hand through her hair, "Yes, well…no, not really. Look, I don't have much time to explain, hell, I'm lucky I was even able to reach you."

I was starting to get a bit impatient, "What are you talking about?"

"I know this sounds crazy, but you just can not go in there."

"What?"

"Listen to me: you are in great danger, Dib. There are forces at work here that we weren't expecting. At least not at this stage. Your Soul—"

"Oh, so that's what this is all about." I interrupted, throwing my hands in the air in frustration, "What is it with you people? I. Am. Not. Interested. Take it from me, you can't save the world, lady, and even if you could, my Soul is the least of your concerns."

"Dib, you don't understand—" her hand reached out and grabbed my injured arm. I gasped through my teeth and pulled away, knocking her backwards a little harder than a meant. She frowned, but said nothing about it.

"Look. Just stop, alright? I don't know who you are or how you know my name, but I'm going to go in the club, now. Alright?" I turned away and opened the door. Pausing for a moment, I turned back, slightly, "I'd get home if I were you. This isn't a great neighborhood."

I allowed the door to shut behind me.

Every one of my senses was assaulted by the atmosphere of the club. The music was loud and angry, yet seductive at the same time, making me want to fight and fuck all in the same thought. The lighting was dim, the walls black. Red velvet and gauze hung from the walls, and covered the couches and chairs that were placed randomly and haphazardly around the lounge area. On the floor people were dancing, their bodies weaving to the music, hands and arms and legs blurring into one mass. The air tasted of alcohol, sweat, and cigarettes, and I could feel my lungs protesting as I breathed in a deeply as possible. Something was causing my heart to beat a million miles an hour. Something was making my blood rush with adrenalin. I didn't know exactly what this something was, but what I did know was I liked it.

I found Stephanie in a shadowy corner, sitting perched on the bar, staring at the crowd, one long leg crossed over the other. It looked like her leather pants were painted on, and she wore a tight black halter that left not only her back exposed to show off her tattooed bloody wings, but her arms showing as well, the scars and cuts seeming to glow in the faint light. Seeing her there made me feel something that I had never experienced before—at least not to that extreme. Something primitive and dark and angry.

I didn't know exactly what this something was.

But I knew that I liked it.

As I approached her, she turned to me, a seductive smile on her lips.

"You're late." she stated, shouting above the music.

I shrugged, "I got held up. Worried I wasn't going to come?"

She shook her head, "No, I knew you would come. I was just stating that you're late. Now you owe me."

I laughed, intrigued, "Really? Do I, now? And what, exactly, is it that I owe you?"

Her grin grew wider, more dangerous. "A dance."

Instantly my swagger disappeared, replaced by familiar uncertainty, "I…I don't think—"

She laughed, hopping down from the bar. Leaning close, so that she didn't have to shout, she whispered, "Don't think, Dib. Just do."

Taking advantage of the daze that occurred as a result of her breath on my ear, she grabbed my hand, pulling me with her onto the floor. Once there, we made our way to the center of the writhing mass of bodies, and she put her arms around my neck, pressing her body tightly against mine as she swayed slowly and seductively to the beat.

Not really knowing what to do at first, I followed her lead, allowing her to guide my hips with her own. After a while, it became easier, and I just allowed myself to close my eyes and become lost in the music.

Turn her over
A candle is lit, I see through her
Blow it out and save all her ashes for me
Curse me sold her
The poison that runs it's course through her
Pale white skin with strawberry gashes all over all over

Her hands were moving over my back, drawing pictures that I could only imagine the meaning to. She pulled me tighter against her, leaning her head into my shoulder, her breath on my neck.

Watch me fault her
You're living like a disaster
She said kill me faster
with strawberry gashes all over
Called her over
and asked her if she was improving
She said "feels fine" it's wonderful wonderful here

"See, this isn't so bad, is it?" She whispered against my neck.

I suppressed a shudder, and tried to focus on anything but the feeling of her body. "No, it isn't" I managed.

I could feel her smile. That smile was going to drive me crazy, "Are you having fun?"

I nodded, losing myself again to the music and the beat and her body and the warmth of those surrounding me.

Hex me told her
I dreamt of a devil that knew her
Pale white skin with strawberry gashes all over all over
Watch me fault her
You're living like a disaster
She said kill me faster
with strawberry gashes all over

There was something that had been nagging at the back of my mind since that afternoon. I figured that now as good of a time as any to bring it up.

"Why me?" I asked.

She chuckled and pulled me closer, "Why not?"

"Is that really all?"

"No. Lets see…why you…because you're Different, Dib. You understand. You Feel. And besides, who better to be on at the side of the original Fallen Angel, than the Savior of the Earth? The irony is delicious, don't you think?" She punctuated her statement by slowly licking the side of my neck. This shudder I could not repress. Nor did I really even want to, anymore.

I lay quiet
waiting for her voice to say
"Some things you lose and some things you just give away"
Scold me failed her
If only I'd held on tighter to her
Pale white skin that twisted and withered away from me away from me

I closed my eyes, "I'm not the Savior of anything, Stephanie. That was just a game I played as a kid."

"Really, now, is it?" she murmured.

"Yes, it is. I can't save the world. Hell, I can't even save myself."

"How do you know that you're not?"

"What?"

"How do you know that you're not saving yourself? Really? What do you think you're doing by Cutting, Dib? What do you think that it really means to embrace that pain? To take control? Where do you think you would be without it?"

I thought for a moment. It did make a twisted kind of sense.

"But that can't be all there is, Stephanie. Balancing out the emotional with the physical…that can't be all there is."

"Balance is the axis on which the world turns, Dib." She answered.

We were quiet for a moment.

Watch me lose her
It's almost like losing myself
Give her my soul
and let them take somebody else get away from me
Watch me fault her
You're living like a disaster
She said kill me faster
with strawberry gashes all over all over me

"Mmm… I love that line." the girl in my arms stated.

"Which one?"

"'Give her my soul and let them take somebody else." She answered. She moved her head from my shoulder, and looked me in the eye. "Would you do that, Dib?" she asked.

I was confused, my mind muddled by the smell and the feel of her and her eyes, those swirling green pools that seemed to glow the way her scars did. "Do what?"

She leaned in close, her lips brushing mine as she answered, "Give me your soul?"

I froze. For some reason things seemed to click into place. The phone call, the phantom email, the girl in the hall. Something was horribly wrong, something was out of place, something was off, and if I could only put my finger on it….The girl. I needed to talk to that girl.

I pushed myself away from Stephanie, disengaging myself from her embrace the moment before her lips fully descended on mine. She gaped at me, her expression turning from shock to anger in a split second.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She demanded.

Away from her arms, I was able to think a little clearer. My mind raced as it searched for an excuse, "I—look, Steph, I have to do. I'll—" I didn't even finish my sentence. I needed to get out of there, and I needed to do it fast. I turned pushed my way thought the crowd, towards the door. Everything about that place was Wrong, everything about it Off. I was no longer intoxicated by its aura, instead it made the fine hairs on the back of my neck begin to crawl and the wounds on my arm itch.

Finally making it to the door, I burst back out into the ally, scanning the shadows for the girl in white. Not seeing her, I made my way towards the street. As I neared the mouth of the ally, I could hear a voice. A one sided conversation—someone speaking into a cell phone.

"—I tried, but you know how stubborn Dib can be."

My name! That voice! I broke out into a run. The girl was standing on the corner, under the street lamp. Her back was towards me and she held a small cell phone to her ear.

"I know, J, but really, what can I do at this point? I can't get in there, I already tried and got a rather nasty burn for my—" Her words interrupted as I grabbed her arm and spun her towards me. Her eyes widened in surprise and fear for a moment, and then softened as she recognized me. I could hear the a tiny voice from her phone calling her name. "It's alright, J, I'm here. Look, I have to go. Things…something just changed. I think…I'll call you later." The small voice continued to protest as she lowered the phone from her ear and snapped it closed.

"What is going on?" I demanded, cutting straight to the point.

"You left the club." she stated, ignoring my question.

My hand tightened its grip on her arm slightly in frustration before I let go. "You're powers of observation are astounding. Now tell me, what the hell is going on and why is everyone so obsessed with my Soul all of a sudden?"

Her eyes widened behind her glasses and it was her turn now to grab my arm, "What do you mean, what's in the interest in your Soul? Who asked you about your Soul aside from me?"

I yanked my arm from her grasp, "Stephanie. The girl that I was coming here to meet. She asked…there was this song playing and this line she liked and she asked if I would give her my soul."

"And?" I couldn't tear my eyes from hers. It was almost like Stephanie's gaze in that it was unnerving and dangerous, almost as if, if I said the wrong thing, there would be no hesitation on her part in breaking my neck. However, the difference was that this girl's eyes held fear. And for some reason I was able to sense that she wasn't afraid for herself. I wondered why.

"And…and for some reason it reminded me of you and all these weird things that have been happening lately and I wanted answers more than making out with some chick I just met, today."

She broke eye contact and chuckled, running her hand through her hair, "Well, in some round about way, there's the winning answer. Looks like you passed, you get to move on, though I'm worried about what exactly is going to happen to you next."

I grabbed her arm, again, my frustration growing, "What the hell are you talking about? That isn't an answer."

She pulled away, again. I was surprised to see angry tears shimmering on her cheeks in the lamp light, "I can't give you any answered, Dib, no matter how much I want to. That's cheating, and God knows that J and I have made enough changes in the system here to keep your Soul in one piece! I can't do anymore for you! I wish I could, but I can't. All I can do is send you on your way and pray that I'll be able to slip into the next Test before whatever the hell is interfering puts up another shield. It took almost all my energy to get through the one on this Reality!"

"You're not making any sense!" I shouted, "Why can't you tell me what is going on?"

The girl glared at me for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm herself down. She raised on hand, her fingers curled into something that wasn't quite a fist. "We don't have time, Dib. I'm sorry, but you have to go."

"What are you—"

"I'm sorry." She repeated.

And snapped.

A/n: Ok, so that took a bit of a different route than I was expecting, although it didn't come out too badly, considering. Personally, I don't think that this is my most well written chapter, but seeing as I've had to force myself to sit here and write it and focus, I guess that's to be expected. But then, I could just be a perfectionist.

I think that there are three references in here.

The song that I used was "Strawberry Gashes" by Jack Off Jill.

If anyone cares, and hasn't noticed, yet, I have another story up called "My Life Is Hell". As much as a shameless plug as that sounds, I really only mention it because the idea started out as how was I going to end This story, but I decided to make it a one shot of it's own and end this one on a bit more…upbeat light. Tho I still Do like the idea of Dib fighting so hard to keep his soul from going to hell, not even realizing that it was already there. Whoops.

Again, thank you all so much for your support and patience. I'm going to try and get back into the swing of things, it's just that…ugh. I can't even really get into it. This past month has been sheer Hell for me. Things are starting to taper off and become at least tolerable, but for a while there…you can tell that things are bad when I can't even lose myself in my writing. Bleh.

But yeah, so thanks everyone, you are all wonderful.

My eyes burn. Wow….lookit that. It's 419am.

As always, r and r, please.

j