The Young & The Hopeless
Chapter Two.
Author's notes: yes. I am back. Creepy isn't it? Lets just say I never forgot about this story…even though it's been two years since I updated it. I just hope I can keep the inspiration train going. Enjoy, and if you do enjoy please review. And if you hate it tell me about it. I would love some input.
"Good morning." she whispered casually into his ear. He gazed around his room in wonder.
"What's going on?"
"I came to wake you up." she batted her pretty eyelashes at him, and pushed her blonde hair back behind her ear.
His hands reached out to touch her, but she pulled her body backwards so she was sitting straight up on his lap. The room was dark except for the early morning wash of colour and light coming through the gaps in the curtains. From where he was lying on his bed he could vaguely see the outline of her body; she was wearing little clothing, a white halter that exposed a wide expanse of her perfectly flat stomach, and enough of her cleavage to provoke a feeling under the bed sheets.
"I have to tell you something," she was whispering again, and he waited in awe for her to speak again, not willing to halt her voice with his own. Without taking her hands off her thighs where they sat comfortably, she leaned down into his ear, so close he swore he could feel her touching his ear with her lips and the sound of her breathing. "I..."
He couldn't hear the rest. There was a noise blocking it out. He tried to read her lips. What was she saying? The noise continued. What the hell was that noise?
He opened his eyes and was face to face with his blaring alarm. "Fuck."
That was definitely not the best way to start a Monday. Especially considering everything else that had been going on. If it had been reality, sure, it would have been better than fantastic, but since it wasn't? It was bullshit. He was so sick of these constant dreams plaguing him. Reminding him. He was starting to have problems separating his fiction from his reality, but everything in his life had been such a roller coaster lately. He didn't know when or if it ever would go back to normal. Actually, he wasn't even so sure what normal was anymore, or if there ever had been such a thing. Everything was always changing so quickly. He should be better at adapting.
He climbed out of bed, and pulled a pair of boxers on, momentarily ignoring the problem he was facing in the southern portion of his body and tugged his hair into a somewhat manageable mass, before opening his door, glancing out to make sure the coast was clear and then bolting into the bathroom. No need for anyone else to see what kind of an effect his dreams were having on him.
He stood underneath the chilled water trying to clear his head of the thoughts of the blonde DuGrey girl. He remembered the first time he met her. How nice she had been to him. He thought she was sweet that day, thought she was a good girl. That was back before he had ever gone to Chilton. Back before he knew what she was like. But then again, Atticus was very sure that underneath everything she put on she really could be sweet. Okay, maybe sweet was an overstatement. Tolerable was a more likely reality.
After showering, changing and grabbing something quickly he left the apartment. It was an hour earlier than he usually left for school, but he knew if he could manage to have left by this time he wouldn't run the risk of running into Rory. He was careful not to slam the door on his way out.
The streets of Stars Hollow had the same feeling of every morning. Gentle insistence. Bustling casualty. The fall day was warm and bright, the sun casting its delicate but enchanting glow upon the small town, which held so much underlying disdain for the boy driving its streets.
Atticus was stopped at the only stoplight in the entire town and had a clear view into Luke's diner. The usual hustle was going on and he decided that picking up a coffee in Hartford would save him the trouble of any awkward encounters with the townsfolk. He had been living in this town full time for nearly two months and was still doing anything he could to avoid the members of the Stars Hollow community. Atticus had a difficult time dealing with regular people, so dealing with the people of this town was something he hadn't yet mastered the art of. Finally, the light turned green and he could continue on his journey to his second favourite place on earth – Chilton.
By the time the bell rang for lunch Atticus was ready to go home. Actually, that was lie – he was ready to go home five minutes before first period. But he had stuck it out because he had a history of music and English after lunch and those were his two favourite classes. He had hoped he would be able to find Tobey kicking around in the hallways, but after having little luck he made his way to the dining hall to see if perhaps his friend had stumbled in there by accident. He looked around the large room to see a variety of his classmates, but no best friend.
"Dodger!" he turned his head to see who had shouted his name from somewhere across the room, but couldn't determine the origin. "Dodger!" he heard it again and realized that it was coming from the back of the hall. He made his way over to the small group, who were huddled around their coffees and instruments.
"How's it going guys?"
Skogen was the first to speak, "It would be going much better if we could find our effing drummer. I'm going bloody ballistic. We've got a ruddy gig in the morrow."
Tanner and Atticus both gave him a bit of a look, before Vaylen informed them that Skogen had been doing quite a bit of research into Anarchy in the UK in the eighties over the past few weeks and was going through a bit of a phase. "He'll get through it." She said.
"But have you seen Tobey?" Ash asked. "He said he would meet us to practice in third period because we all have spares, but he never showed. We were hoping you had seen him?"
"I've been looking for him too." Atticus said.
"So you've got no idea either?" Vaylen asked. He shook his head and she muttered a quiet "shit".
"Thanks for your help anyway dude. You coming tomorrow night?" Ash asked to a retreating Atticus.
"Uh, well, you never know." He smirked and then turned away, determined to seek out Tobey Hart.
About ten minutes later Atticus found himself wandering the halls aimlessly. He hadn't been able to find Tobey anywhere and was about to give up hope when he thought perhaps his friend could have been blowing off some steam. This was convenient considering Atticus was standing outside the door to the boys locker room, but it was as good an idea as any he had so far.
As it turned out it was also a fairly accurate idea, as he found his one and only best friend right where he suspected – in the boys locker room. He was not, however, in any type of shape that Atticus had ever imagined he would be in. Instead of the warm glow that normally highlighted his skin after a workout, the boy was pale, gaunt and draped in a cold sweat. His eyes were empty and missing the passion that Atticus had grown so used to. And instead of being the always ready to go, always perfect, always put together, son of a congressman, he was nearly passed out on one of the benches.
"Tobey!" Atticus rushed to his side and kneeled beside him. "You okay man? You look like shit."
Abruptly Tobey sat up and wiped his brow. The energy hit his eyes and he looked at Atticus. "Yeah man, I'm fine. What's wrong?"
Atticus stared him down for a minute and then diverted his eyes. "Nothing, you just looked…" he paused, and shook his head, "Don't worry about it."
Suddenly the red of the lockers took on a bright colour, emphasizing the background, and almost willing Atticus to look anywhere but at his best friend. At least, that's what his brain was telling him was happening. Everything took on a contrast to the lockers. The dingy grey floor, the dark wash of Tobey's pants, the pale shade of his skin. Something in the back of his mind was trying to tell him something he didn't want to hear and it was causing his head to pound. He needed to get away. He needed some type of release for whatever pressure was building up inside his head.
"I've got to run man. I'll catch up with you later." Atticus said as he began to leave the room.
"But we didn't get to – " he didn't hear what Tobey said as the door swung shut behind him.
Now Atticus was storming the halls in the opposite direction of where he had previously been going. Now he was trying to get away from the friend he had spent all that time searching for. Now he was thinking that perhaps what he really needed was to be alone with his thoughts. He needed to be alone to think, and to compile a list in his mind of all the reasons why what he was thinking could not possibly be true. That it was absolutely impossible and completely deluded on his part to even let it cross his mind. He rounded a corner and stopped just in time to see Oliver and Teal standing about half way down the corridor conversing with each other, giving him enough room to turn and continue his path in the opposite direction. Of course, the mere sight of those two suddenly pulled his thoughts from Tobey and onto another blonde with secrets in the school. And to where perhaps she could be if her best friends were conversing in the halls. It was unlikely that she was dining, as girls such as Dominique were well known to not eat in public, or even at all.
And because of these thoughts he had to feel guilty. Because his mind had been pulled away from worry for his best friend and onto a pair of legs and hips and breasts. Not that they weren't fascinating body parts and worthy of his attention, there were just other things he should be thinking about at the moment. Like Tobey, and the fact that he had been behaving oddly, and moodily, and then there was the part about him kind of looking like a cokehead. He looked ill, really quite ill and part of that shook Atticus a little bit because it brought him back to the spring and the last time he had seen someone in that state. The last time Atticus had seen anyone look that bad he ended up dying on the street in front of his apartment. So why had Atticus just left Tobey lying in the locker room after he had seen him go from horrible to fine in less than a second? Because he wouldn't – no, couldn't – allow himself for a single second to let those two situations be considered to be at all similar. So he was going to be fine. He probably just had the flu.
Or at least that was what Atticus would have to settle for as his brain stopped functioning the second he walked outside and encountered the very legs, hips and breasts his mind had been trying to avoid since he first woke up this morning.
Her feet sloped upward in a gorgeous pair of Manolos that probably cost more than his car and were exceedingly distant from the saddle shoes that were to be worn with the rest of her uniform. Dominique in a school uniform was the epitome what every boy who lay alone at night thought of; in those clothes, she was utter stroke material. Her tan was still strong from the summer and peeked out from under her skirt, which was unlikely to be at regulation length. But she looked stunning, even above the waist. Her white oxford was unbuttoned enough at the top to show off her neckline, which was graced with a beautiful white gold necklace with her birthstone. He shouldn't have known her birthstone. The curves of her body were outlined and defined to the point where one knew they existed, but still had plenty of room to let their imagination run free. She was lovely. With her platinum hair pushed back off her face and in curls, she gave Atticus a small wink before walking by him and into the halls of Chilton. He smirked and turned around, allowing himself to watch her enter the building.
She was cunning, she was beautiful, and if he could only have it his way, she would be his. At least for one more night.
It wasn't that she didn't know what to do in this situation, it was just that no matter how many times she created it in her head she knew that inevitably, it wouldn't go the same way in real life. No matter how well she planned it, no matter how many different scenarios she ran through, the outcome would not be predictable.
"What is this?"
His eyes looked up from the newspaper quickly and pierced into hers. They were vivid and she felt disarmed. She looked away from him, feeling as if that was the only way she could continue. And she hated that, because before she had prided herself on her ability to stand up to him and be honest. But now? Well now she supposed she had something to lose.
So she continued, "It's just that…well, I mean…I waited a long time for…something, anything and now…" Rory couldn't get her words together. She just wanted to give up, say nothing. It was easier that way, wasn't it? It wouldn't resolve the conflict resounding in her head. Instead she did the brave grown-up thing and just spoke her mind. "You move here, years ago, then eventually you steal me from my boyfriend. We get together. I get pregnant. You run away. The kid grows up. You come back, we hook up. Where does this leave any of us?" she paused, catching her breath and finally gathered the courage to meet his eyes. "Where does this put you and me?"
This time he was the one without the courage to look at her. "I don't know."
She rolled her eyes. Suddenly thinking herself an idiot.
He looked at her again, "What do you want this to be?"
She glared. He smirked.
"Rory, this all happened so fast. I didn't see things going half this well. My apologies for not being better prepared."
"Fine. You know what? Let's not have this conversation. Not now. I just wanted a fraction of an idea of what was going on before we barged over to see my mom and Luke and had to explain what the hell is going on." She crossed her arms and huffed. She knew she was overreacting, but she didn't care.
"Why do you need a definition?"
"Why Jess? Because the last time we were undefined you thought it was suitable to knock me up and run away for 18 years."
"Rory-" he tried to explain but she interrupted him.
"Oh just fuck off Jess. I don't need bullshit from you of all people, at least give me that much respect." She turned around and left the room before he could even get out of his chair. He slumped onto the table, putting his head in his hands and sighed in frustration.
"Women".
Dominique wasn't sure what it was about today but she was in a good mood – or at least what she would consider a good mood for herself. It could have been that she woke up this morning feeling well rested and in her own bed. Or that Tristan and her had sat up late talking and watching movies, but still managed to be asleep long before her usual bedtime. Or even the fact that it was a Monday and nothing had happened yet to sufficiently piss her off. Whatever the case may have been she felt like today she could do anything.
Today was the kind of day where she took quiet notice of her surroundings. The type of day where all the colours seemed brighter and more vivid, people seemed more enchanting, and everything felt more real and alive than usual. It was the type of day where she wished she could fall in love.
But of course, she couldn't do a thing like that. She was Dominique DuGrey, the mysterious heartbreaker. She had not always been that way, as no one ever is. When she was a child she remembered warmth and love and comfort. Her parents of course, provided very little of any of this and what she remembered mostly came from her brother and her more distant relatives. But she, like so many other scorned teens quickly learned the beauty and precision of a defence mechanism. She assumed the difference between hers and most others was that where they let their falter and be swayed by others hers stood like a stone wall.
It wasn't that she didn't want to love. It wasn't that she didn't want the company, or the constant reassurance that she was deserving of love. She just felt as if none of it –no matter how incredible or powerful her emotions could become they would never equal the pain she would feel after the loss of them. That was why she never took any time to think about the men she knew. If she thought about them they would start to get to her. And that was something she simply could not allow. Which was why she was now berating herself silently for allowing her thoughts to linger on one Atticus Mariano.
Try as she might though, they just wouldn't stop.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did she allow herself to behave like this? Rory Gilmore was silently berating herself for always being a fool over the opposite sex. It wasn't as if she hadn't had enough practice dealing with them by this point – she raised one, she should be the expert. And yet still…here she was, confused once again. It wasn't fair.
Life wasn't fair. She knew that. She just had to stop on occasion and remind herself that she knew it. More often than not Rory had a difficult time believing that she was a mother, let alone the mother of a teenager. She felt like a teenager herself. Time passed quickly, and more quickly with each year. She was nostalgic for the days when it was just her mother and herself. Things were simple before boys and work and life. Lorelai had Luke and her own tight knit family, and although she and Rory were still best friends, Rory still felt distanced from it all. It could have to do with the fact that Rory had been moving about the country in a nearly frantic pattern for the past eighteen years, searching for some sort of solidity that she thought only a job in journalism could suffice her with. It was only after several years of chasing her dream that she realized it was only that – a dream.
Dreams served a purpose. A well intended purpose as well, but for girls like Rory they were only there to taunt and keep them on a set course. It wouldn't be until years later that they would realize that the dreams they were so eagerly pursuing – the lives that they dreamed of – were what would inevitably keep them from ever having a real life. If life is not what you achieve and it's not where you end up, it is in fact the journey to get there, where had late nights at the office, countless horrendous business trips and shattered relationships with her family (most especially her son) gotten her?
Certainly not a life. At least, not the one she had dreamed of.
Tobey was shaking in the dark. He closed his eyes to try and stop the images from flooding his eyes, and rolled onto his side. He was at home, lying in his king sized bed in hopes of sweating off whatever it was he had consumed.
Once again he was alone, quivering like a little girl, and rebuking himself in the cold upper wing of his house. There was no one home – there rarely was – so he could have made as much noise as he wanted. If he weren't so sick he probably would be screaming out loud, throwing things, or maybe banging out something indecipherable on his drum kit.
He leaned over the side of the bed and threw up. He would feel better now. And if he had a nap. That would make him feel better as well. He hoped in any case. His thoughts were stagnant. Stale. He felt like everything he heard inside his head had for some reason already been repeated out loud. But there was no noise. No noise at all. In fact it was too quiet, he needed music. He reached beside the bed and hit the remote. His stereo started up, the surround sound suddenly filling the room with loud music. Too loud. He needed something softer. He hit another button and a new song started. Some woman, no, not just anyone - Tori Amos, covering Nirvana. She had such a pretty voice. Such a lovely voice, kind of like…no. He wouldn't think about her now. Not when he was like this.
He climbed out of bed and walked across the room to the bathroom. The light inside was blinding and he switched it off, opting instead to turn on the light overtop of the Jacuzzi tub that was controlled by a dimmer.
Tobey looked into the mirror at himself. Or maybe he wasn't himself anymore, he really wasn't sure. The lines were visible again, etched into his perfect complexion. He pulled on a cheek and the under-eye bags stretched out, revealing pale, discoloured skin. He looked like shit. At least his outside was finally a reflection of the inside, he thought. His stomach lurched again and he emptied the remaining contents of his stomach into the sink.
Maybe, he thought as he wiped vomit off the side of his mouth, this was a sign that he should stop. Maybe it was getting out of his control.
The phone interrupted his thoughts and he searched the room for the cordless phone. He left the bathroom and stalked over to beside his bed where it lay resting. He cleared his throat before answering. "Hello?"
"Bee?"
"Hi mom"
"I need you to tell your father that I'm not coming home."
"What does that mean mother?" he had gotten used to these calls about ten years ago. His poor neglected mother was a bit of a drama queen and would randomly decide that by threatening to leave them she would gain a bit of headway within the family. His dad being a man's man usually knew when she was baiting him and would play along with just enough enthusiasm to make sure she wouldn't actually leave them, before going back to pretending she was only around to spend his money.
"You know what this means bee..."
He inhaled deeply, "Fuck you mother" and hung up the phone.
He rolled over, so that he was flat on his back staring at the ceiling. He just looked up and felt bland. He supposed there might be something wrong with that, but in this instant he couldn't force himself to care. He closed his eyes and welcomed the haze that passed over his barely conscious mind. Everything was getting darker and further away.
And he loved every second of it. "You are the smell before rain. You are the blood in my veins." He whispered into the dark with a laugh. She wouldn't hear him here though. Not now, and not ever.
A small, ironic smile graced his lips as he drifted off to a drug induced sleep.
"Hi Mom" Rory Gilmore spoke as her mother, Lorelai Danes welcomed her at the door.
"How's everything going babe?"
That was a loaded question, with an unpredictable answer. While half of her wanted to break down and wail to her mother that her life was full of unaccomplished goals, and that everything she had achieved was worthless because her son didn't love her she knew better. She shrugged and pulled herself into her mother's arms. Lorelai brought Rory into the house and the pair sat on the couch.
"Is it wrong that I think that I deserved more than this in life?"
"Rory, sweetie you are just beginning. You are finally starting to get it all together. You've got your job, which is what you've always wanted, and Dodger is almost grown up. And he's almost a functional human being."
She covered her face. "No, he's not. I wrecked him. I don't know how, but he didn't come out right."
"You did not wreck him. He is fine; he's just a teenager that's all. You don't realize this because you were born and then you were 30. There was no awkward in-between stage."
"I left him alone too often, I gave him too much space."
"You didn't. He's a boy, had you crowded him he would have ended up living with his mother until he was 40. He would be Kirk. You wouldn't want a Kirk would you?"
"No. But I didn't want a Jess either. I mean, who knows what he even does with his time? Does he date? Smoke? Have sex?" she whispered the last part like a child scared to talk about a forbidden topic.
"Is this Jess you are wondering about? Or your son?"
"Well…both of them I guess. I feel like I don't know either one. That's pretty scary considering I haven't seen one of them in 18 years and the other one I've spent just as many raising."
"Rory you were having sex at his age. Anyone who can do math can figure that much out. So I think it's fair to say that our dear Dodge has probably been getting it on for a while now." A new voice entered the conversation and caused both the women to swing their head towards the door.
"Kennedy…now is really not the time for you to be a smart ass." Lorelai glared down her younger daughter.
"But, I mean come on…he's eighteen…you two don't seriously think he's a virgin? I mean, this is the Gilmore family we're talking about. Shouldn't we be impressed with the fact that he hasn't managed to reproduce by now?" Kennedy replied.
"If you think that attitude is going to earn you a longer punishment darling you are completely and utterly correct." Lorelai spoke in an authoritative tone.
"Why thank you mother dearest." Kennedy replied by sticking out her tongue, which was purple and swollen. Probably the by-product of the piece of metal that was now piercing her tongue.
Rory stared back and forth between the pair; this was nothing like the relationship she shared with her mother. Rory and Lorelai had never really been mother-daughter. They had been friends first and foremost, and Lorelai rarely pulled out the authority card. And yet here she was with Kennedy, who was about as different from Rory as Atticus. But somehow Lorelai still managed to have fun with her younger daughter, encouraging her to be different, but at the same time maintaining sensibility.
"How come you never grounded Rory as a teenager? Was it because she was perfect and boring?" Kennedy asked
"No. It was because she never would have had the nerve to dye her hair that horrendous colour" was the reply from the eldest of the three, and then she added, "but yes, she was perfect and boring."
"I was not boring!" insisted Rory
"Uh, I beg to differ. What was something crazy you did? I would leave you alone in that house to have keggers and you would do laundry! Hardly a proper utilization of time."
"Well, I got knocked up. That was good and crazy. Was that proper utilization of time?"
The other two fell silent as a pained expression covered her face.
"Look on the bright side, at least you got to lose your virginity to Jess. He's bloody gorgeous." Kennedy insisted.
Rory sighed, "Well, at least that's something that hasn't changed."
"How is that going anyway?" Lorelai asked, leaning over to pick up a bowl of cheesies.
"Ugh" was Rory's only reply.
"That good eh?" Kennedy asked with a grin on her face.
"He's such a…" Rory fell silent
Lorelai quirked an eyebrow, "Such a?"
"Such a boy!" she exclaimed finally
"Ahh…" Kennedy and Lorelai said at the same time.
"Yeah, boys suck." Kennedy elaborated.
"It's good that you've learned this early grasshopper." Lorelai told her youngest.
"It's just unfortunate that you'll forget this very important lesson every time one looks at you in that…way that they do. That way that makes you forget your head. It's not fair that they have that ability." Rory added.
The three just nodded and stared ahead in silence. However, with Kennedy in the room they all knew it wouldn't last very long.
Atticus headed towards the Dragon Fly with a look of determination on his face. He pulled open the French doors and walked in as if he owned the place. He strode up to the front desk and smiled at the girl answering the phones. She had lost focus on what she was discussing on the phone and was now flat out staring at him. Atticus rolled his eyes. He hadn't always been good looking and it was hard for him to grasp the concept of being mentally undressed. He stopped at the counter, and she continued staring, lips slightly parted.
"Hi."
She blushed and averted her eyes, "hi dodger"
So she knew his name. Or his nickname in any case, which was about all he had come to expect from people that knew him by reputation. "I'm looking for Jess Mariano."
"Mariano? Isn't that your last name?" she looked suspicious, as if she had heard a few too many rumours and didn't know what to believe.
"Yes. Hence the reason I am looking for him."
She blushed and typed something into the computer that was sitting next to her.
"He's in room 13"
"How expected."
Atticus made his way towards the stairs with as much stature as he could muster. People here had become accustomed to his occasional visits. Usually he would just wander the grounds in pursuit of some greater enlightenment, looking casual and aloof. But no matter his manner he was rarely approached from someone that wasn't kin to him. So he had fair reassurance that he would not be interrupted on this rather ominous journey up the stairs.
It was the most difficult eighteen steps he had ever taken. Eighteen stairs, eighteen years. Each step felt like a lifetime, each second and each breath daring him to turn around. What are you doing little boy? Chasing after the father who left you years ago. He doesn't want you. He never did. Part of him was screaming. Part of him was whispering support. He came back for you didn't he?
Deep breath now. He was at the top of the stairs. The room was not far off. He made it to the door, raised his hand and stopped. He paused, thinking things over in his mind. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe –
His thoughts were cut off as his hand on it's own accord lifted itself and knocked firmly against the door. No answer. This was a dumb idea what was he doing? He was being stupid. This was stupid. He turned to walk away as the door opened. He paused.
"Hey" his father greeted him gently, and Atticus could almost predict the look on his face.
"Hi," Atticus said awkwardly without turning around.
A moment passed with Atticus staring at the wall and Jess staring at Atticus staring at the wall in wonderment. Jess didn't feel old enough to have a kid this old. It was all a little bit unreal.
"Uh, do you want to come in or something?" Jess asked
Atticus finally turned around to face him, their eyes making contact for the first time in several days. "Yeah, sure, I guess".
"Okay". Jess held back the door and let his son enter his small hotel room.
Atticus walked in and looked around at the scattered belongings. A laptop sat closed on the antique desk hooked into a small set of speakers. A couple of t-shirts were hanging out of a half-open drawer and there was a discarded pair of jeans lying on the ground beside the wooden chair that sat beside the desk. There was a pack of cigarettes on the bedside table and for whatever reasons this relaxed Atticus. He took a breath. This was easy – this should be easy. There was no need for anxiety or stress or heavy breathing. He was forgetting the cardinal rule in dealing with his father. The one thing that had been guiding him the whole way along.
They were the same. And while Atticus held fear and loathing for many people – he was not one of them, as much as he sometimes complained.
"I just thought I'd stop by and see if you wanted to talk or something. Since you know…you live here now and everything."
"Yeah, no, I know…that would be good. Perfect, actually." Jess paused, gathering his thoughts. "Do you want to go for a walk or something?"
"Sure, what could be less conspicuous than two of Stars Hollow's most wanted trouncing around town together"?
"Well at least they will actually have something to stare at now."
"Yeah, imagine. The two biggest monosyllabic loners Stars Hollow has ever had engaging in normal conversation right on the main street for all to see."
"Hey, what makes you think I was a monosyllabic loner?"
"The stories man. They get around."
"Huh."
"Yeah."
They just stared at each other for a moment. Then Atticus opened his mouth once again, "Maybe we should stay away from Main Street though."
"Just to be on the safe side." Jess said nodding his head in agreement.
"Yeah."
"Okay."
