They really weren't kidding when they called this place the Garlic capital of the world. Seriously, the smell of fresh picked garlic dominated even the new car scent that Paul's leathery Jaguar possessed.

I couldn't imagine how the people could stand the strong scent of it in their stores, wafting around in their streets, or even sticking to their clothes. But there were still people that were happily walking the streets of the small town.

I must say, the town possessed a certain small-town charm to it. There were many little dining facilities and even some small gift shops, which all seemed to have a Garlic theme to them.

But over-powering the personality of the quaint little town, was the reeking smell of its garlic breath.

Jack noticed the smell and went, 'Ew, Paul! What'd you eat last night?'

Paul let out his hearty yet chilling chuckle and replied, 'Just be glad I don't take a liking to eating funny little kids.'

'Nah. I'm just glad I'm too chewy for you.'

I couldn't help but smile a bit. It was to be admitted that the Slater brothers had a pretty strange relationship as far as their brother status went. I mean, the closest thing to brotherly affection I had ever seen from the two of them was that which I had been forced to witness at that present moment. Forced only because had I known BOTH brothers were coming along, I wouldn't have even considered going.

Jack, on his own, was a genuine sweetie. But with Paul? They were the unstoppable Twin Terrors. Only, you know, they weren't really twins.

But yeah, joking about cannibalism? Not something your average "Leave it to Beaver" family would do, you know?

My bad mood was sort of fading then, but I had still regretted coming. The good news was, I had the option of ditching the pair to do some mad shopping at the little gift shops. I mean, who doesn't want a tee-shirt that says "I have permanent Garlic Breath"?

What? I was going to buy it for Adam. He'd probably appreciate it more.

'There it is,' Paul points with one finger casually at a building with a sign on it that said "Pete's Pizza". It was a pretty big building in comparison with the little shops surrounding it. It was kind of old-looking too. Let's just say it really didn't look like a great atmosphere to enjoy a slice, you know?

I mean, what if dust gets in my pizza? EW!

'Joy,' I replied sarcastically. 'Where can I find a mall?'

I looked down the street in both ways as Paul drove into the small parking lot in front of the building. On either side of the restaurant (if that's what you would call it) was practically nothing, besides this one pathetically named shop called "Young At Heart".

Basically, it was your typical granny shop.

Jack saw the direction of my gaze and laughed. 'Ha! I see where you are looking. So what'll it be, Suze? Grundies or tightie-whities?'

I went kind of red because, well, I was discussing underwear with a thirteen-year-old. I so did not want Jack to know my undergarment preferences. Or Paul for that matter. I mean, that was just WRONG.

'Shut it,' I told Jack as I turned back to give him a warning glance. 'Just because you wear girlie panties, doesn't mean you have to mock those of us who choose to wear decent underwear.'

'I don't wear girl's panties! YUCK!' Jack protested wildly from the backseat. This may seem mean to mention, but I was actually a little glad to see Jack squirm. I mean, he and Paul had done that to me the whole ride over, and now it was their turn. Only . . . nothing could ever make Paul squirm. He's unsquirmable.

'As long as you've got clean ones on, Jack, it really doesn't matter,' Paul replied as he turned the ignition and put the car in park. God, could they get any more disgusting? We were about to eat, here. Paul added, looking over to Jack in the back, 'Let's just go and eat. I'm starved.'

Well, I'm not so sure I was anymore.

Paul hopped out of the car and opened my door for me as usual, with a huge glittering grin on his face . . . almost as if he were making fun of me or something. I gave him a sarcastic look and said, 'You're suuuuch a gentleman, Paul. Trying to live up to Jesse now, are we?'

'It's not that hard,' Paul's grin grew darker, 'to live up to the dead.'

I hurriedly looked away. Um . . . yeah, I knew Jesse was dead. It's still really hard to take even when you've heard it a few million times. In fact, with Paul living in the school, I'm sure I heard it practically everyday. But it's just so hard to grasp that someone so . . . well, you know . . . could be dead. He's just so . . . alive.

. . . And still a complete jerk. Humph!

Paul pulled me back to earth by saying, 'And besides, Suze, someone has to teach Jack how to treat a lady.'

Jack turned to me and flashed a toothy smile. 'You look hot today, Suze,' he told me with a wink. Then he turned to his older brother and said, 'See! I'm great with girls.'

I rolled my eyes at him. 'Charming, Jack. Juuust charming.'

Really . . . what do they teach kids these days? What have they been putting in TV shows? If Jack weren't already corrupt enough being the brother of a demon.

Paul ruffled Jack's hair and winked at me, saying, 'He needs a little work.'

I'll say.

I nodded awkwardly. 'Er . . . yeah,' was my astounding witticism.

Paul was still smirking at me, and I was getting more and more uncomfortable. Because . . . you know, I suck and everything. But whatever. So we were just walking down the street, Paul looking confident, Jack looking happy and me looking like a loser and all, when my cell phone vibrated to indicate that I'd gotten a message.

I swear, when will I LEARN that no one nice EVER calls me and I should just pitch my cell off a cliff? Because seriously, the message that I received only served to make my face drain of all blood, as if a vampire, despite the garlic surrounding us, had latched onto my neck and was drawing out every drop of red life from me.

"GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE OR YOU WILL REGRET IT. I AM SERIOUS."

I blinked a couple of times, and stopped walking, staring at the little screen on my Nokia. My face felt like it had just got a Botox injection or something, because I couldn't move my facial features. My hand that held my cell phone was very white. I knew that I got these messages often, but their effect still left me with the chills.

'Suze?' Jack too, had stopped.

Paul's prickly tones washed over me. 'You look like you've just seen a ghost, Suze,' he chuckled nastily. What a loser. He totally was aware of the fact that I see ghosts every day of my freaking wannabe-life. Jeez, what a shitty joke.

Hurriedly, I broke from my spell of stillness, and fumbled with my phone, stuffing it back in my Kate Spade. 'Um, it's fine,' I babbled furiously, 'Just someone wanted to let me know, that, um, their . . . um, car blew up, and . . . um . . . they were still in it and . . . I mean, no they weren't, because then they would be dead and couldn't have, um, texted me, so, um, they ran their car off a cliff – oops, then they could still be kind of ghostish – Hey, it's NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!' I yelled at him.

Paul raised a dark, elegant eyebrow. 'Sure,' he said.

'What business would SHE have?' Jack grinned, and I shot him a look.

A lot. A whole lot.

Paul opened the door for both Jack and me. The heavenly scent of freshly made pizza floated around us as we stepped inside. The interior of the little pizza place was kind of dark, lighted only by a few Christmas lights strung all over the place. A few signs advertising the "All you can eat" pizza special were placed all over, and a few signs pointed to the buffet, where there was a few ready made pizzas waiting under some warm lamps. What was even more unique about the place was the little mini-arcade in there, featuring pinball, a ski-ball machine, a few arcade games, and an air-hockey table.

Jack was already lost. The instant he laid eyes upon the arcade, his face lit up. He turned to Paul and asked, tugging on his sleeve, 'Paul, can I have some money?'

Paul hesitated for a moment, so I took advantage of it by digging in my purse and fishing out a few coins. Money can't buy love . . . unless you're a thirteen year-old-boy.

When I dropped the coins in Jack's hands, he looked down at them in disappointment. Paul rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet, slipping Jack a fiver. Jack's eyes lit up as he pocketed the bill, and skipped merrily to the pinball machine.

'Wait, Jack,' I called after him. 'What kind of pizza do you want?'

'Whatever Paul's having.'

I felt a little hurt. I mean, Jack totally preferred Paul to me. You could so tell. It wasn't fair that Paul was dubbed cooler than me, just because he has the cash and a fancy-schmancy Jaguar. And all I've got is a winning personality. Or losing, now that you mention it.

However, when Jack got over to the game machines, he looked awkwardly at the note that Paul had given him, before pocketing it and using my coins instead. I shot Paul a triumphant look. We were still battling. What the prize was, well . . . it was something intangible, but something I desperately wanted from him. Pride. So, I had one point, with the coin thing. They were more convenient.

Ha, that's me! Convenient!

. . . Wait . . . I don't think that's a good thing . . .

Ugh. I'm convenient all right.

I looked down a little, feeling awkward again. I totally, TOTALLY shouldn't have come . . .

Whatever. I was here. What I intended to do, I had no idea. It kind of pissed me off that we had changed from going out to cheer Jack up, to a Insult-Susie session.

But I dunno. I don't ever know. That most recent message from Cole was still weighing on my mind, and I didn't exactly feel like sharing this information with anyone. It was my own problem, I'd deal with it on my own.

But I was still freaked.

After a forever of glaring at Paul, who was smirking back at me, he turned and went to order pizza. Pepperoni and cheese for everyone, no pineapple.

I didn't even get a choice in the matter.

Great.

But yeah. While Paul was waiting at the counter – having decided to wait there as opposed to sitting with me and talking, which neither of us were too keen on – I sat by myself, glumly running my fingers down the side of my menu. I felt low again.

I was sitting by the window, so I could see everything outside, and yet it didn't seem to interest me. Jack was apparently kicking ass on the pinball machine. Good on him . . .

I felt worried for him. Worried that he would grow up to be a complete jerk like his brother. That episode in Paul's car had been a taste of what I could expect to come, if Jack continued to hang around Paul.

I mean, he was being rude. Sure, he thought it was all just a big game, and that I was mucking around as much as he was, but still.

I didn't know why Paul told him to stop back there. He seems to enjoy himself at the expense of my emotions often enough.

That was when Paul DID come over, with a tray of drinks. Well, three. A Fanta for Jack, a Coke for himself and a Diet Coke for me. Which was weird, because I hadn't told him that Diet was all I drank. Could he have . . . remembered that from six years ago? Nah way . . . he probably just thought I was fat, and that Diet would be the way to go for someone as potentially obese as me.

Unfortunately, Jack was still at the pinball machine, looking pretty smug. So that meant that Paul and I were alone at a table, and the only normal thing to do would be to strike up a conversation.

My heart SINGS with joy.

REALLY.

Opera and everything.

Ugh. More like a Greek Tragedy.

Paul sat himself right across from me in the booth. I continued to trace the edges of my laminated menu with my index finger, looking dully at it. I fake smiled at Paul when he did push my cup of Diet Coke to me, before looking back down.

Not a conversation . . . ANYTHING but a conversation . . . I'd take the plague, earthquake, Biker Bob's bikie gang again, just NOT a convo with PAUL.

Well . . . not ANYTHING. For example, I would NOT take Cole Kennedy over talking to Paul Slater. I prefer to get insulted rather than smacked across the face, you know?

That bruise on my cheek was just about gone. I was just thankful that everyone thought it was from the bikie battle. I mean, if someone noticed it before that, and began to ask questions, I would totally plead the fifth.

'We're number two,' Paul said, looking at me from across the table.

I nearly spit out my Diet Coke, and then I realized he meant the number of our order. You know, the one printed on the lovely receipt they printed out that Paul was playing with? I was totally spazzing for no reason.

Stay calm, I told myself. You've faced Paul before. This time, I'm even in better circumstances. I mean, what can the guy pull with his kid brother about 20 feet away? There was no lovely sunset, no being trapped in shiny silver BMW's, and his lips were a good five feet away from mine. Which is where I hoped they would stay.

'Number two,' I said to myself. 'What? Are they implying something?'

Like, you know, that I suck. That I'm a total loser that can't keep up a job nor a steady boyfriend that doesn't abuse me and that my only greatest asset is my long dark brown hair that no one notices because they're probably too busy insulting me.

Paul overheard me and replied, 'Possibly.' He looked around and then pointed out this older couple totally going at it in a booth on the other corner of the restaurant. 'Number one is probably that couple over there,' he said in a low voice, leaning just a little over the table.

Five feet. FIVE FEET.

I leaned back in my seat cautiously and said, 'Ew . . . do they have to do that in here?'

'You know how romantic family-friendly atmospheres are,' Paul said, a small crooked grin tugging on his lips.

I tried to smile, but it looked more like a wince, I think, so, to save the embarrassment of faking a good mood, I looked over to Jack to see that he was angrily kicking the pinball machine.

'And the Miss Congeniality Award goes to . . . ' I drawled, raising my eyebrows at Jack. Paul chuckled that freaky little chuckle that he does, that serves only to send my head into spins. Of frustration, I am sure. But yeah, it totally sucks.

Jack was now glaring at the machine.

'What? Did he find out Mary was cheating on him with the pinball machine?' I asked. Ha, I can just imagine some blond girl screaming, "I prefer pinballs to pindicks!"

No offense, Jackie-poo.

. . . Eww . . .

Paul leant back as far as the booth seat would allow, looking at me casually with darkly light eyes. 'He'll get over it,' he said nonchalantly.

I looked up at him for a second, as he stared back at me with that permanent look of superiority in his eyes, before busying myself with the menu again.

What was THAT supposed to mean? I mean, it had to mean something. The look behind his eyes revealed that maybe there was some sort of double meaning.

He'll get over it . . .

About five silent minutes slithered by before the chef roared out, 'Number two! READY!'

Paul raised his eyebrows and went to stand, but I shot up, glad for the distraction. 'Um, I'll get it,' I chattered quickly, and felt myself going very red. I had no idea why. I mean, he wasn't embarrassing me. Yet. So why was I so weird? And why did I feel so flushed?

. . . Maybe I'm allergic to cheese.

Ugh. Or maybe I'm allergic to Paul. YES PLEASE, THEN I HAVE A MEDICAL EXCUSE TO STAY AWAY.

I zigzagged between the tables, brushing my blow-dried hair out of my eyes. It still fell softly around my arms, and suddenly, I felt really stupid to be wearing a mini-skirt. Who was I kidding? Okay, so I looked okay, but I wasn't a model. I didn't have Dani's long, tanned legs that were perfectly defined from many lessons from a private trainer. And I totally didn't have the right to be walking around in clothing designed for seventeen-year-olds. I was clinging onto the past.

God knows I still LOOK like a seventeen-year-old. Seriously, when I say that I'm 5'4 I'm not joking. I can still get into the cinemas as a student if I really wanted to. Yeah, all to save a whole dollar fifty, right?

Oooh . . . pizza . . .

My mind is officially blank with bliss.

I smiled as I picked up our tray, and thanked the assistant after producing our receipt to prove that we were indeed, No. 2. Not in an Austin Powers, eye-patchy way, but you know. Seriously, the two pizzas was bigger than car tires and the cheese was still steaming, looking all moist and heavenly and hot and yellow and the pepperoni was amidst all the melted dairy.

Yum.

I made it back to the booth by the window, and set it on the table in front of Paul. Jack, having detected food, came bustling over, leaving his unfinished game of . . . well, I didn't know what it was but it had a whole bunch of muscly girls and tough guys in colourful suits painted on the display board.

Ugh.

'Oooh, cool!' Jack grinned, plopping himself down next to . . . me.

Oh yeah . . . I still got it . . .

Jack, as aforementioned, seated himself next to me, and then proceeded to ogle the pizza hungrily. There was a loud rumble, and I blinked in embarrassment on his behalf.

'Whoa,' Jack smiled, 'I had better eat more than two breakfasts next time, huh?'

Kill me.

If BAKED BEANS were involved in one or more of those breakfasts, and Jack decided to have a flatulent fit, I will kill HIM.

Well, Paul was still grinning at me in that weird I-win-you-lose way, so, to be all winner-ish, I haughtily took the first slice of pizza, and bit into it.

God . . . heaven . . . Who needs cloud nine when you have gourmet pizza? Seriously. It was so delicious how the cheese just melted in my mouth and the crust was soft, yet at the same time kind of crispy and the sauce was absolutely perfect. I could even taste a touch of garlic that was added in. But I didn't mind because it just made it so . . . divine. Only a god could create pizza like that.

'It's great,' I declared, digging in. 'Really, really great.'

Jack got a clue, and carefully took a slice from the now incomplete circle. The mozzarella's stringiness was alluring, and I grinned a bit more.

Jack gave Paul a weird look. 'Are you gonna eat? Or are you like, going vegetarian on us or something? Because, if so, well, more food for me.'

'We're his taste testers,' I informed Jack. 'We're checking for poison. And it most definitely poisoned. Nup, you can't eat it,' I shook my head sarcastically. With a weird look at me, Paul, with something in between sophistication and nonchalance, also took a piece for himself, and began chomping.

'This is the best pizza I have ever tasted,' I said as I paused to take in a sip of refreshing diet Coke. I mean, who knew that something so unhealthy could be so good? It just wasn't possible. I think I just died and went to heaven. Well, okay not heaven because PAUL was there, but something very, very close to it.

'It was almost as good as the pizza at that one Italian restaurant in Seattle, right Paul?' Jack asked, taking a moment to reminisce as he closed his eyes. Paul didn't answer, so Jack went, 'You remember don't you? The one mom used to take you for your birthday every year before you moved? The pizzas were, like, fifty bucks for a large or something. That was, like, the best, right?'

'Oh yes,' I drawled sarcastically, 'only the best for the Slater brothers.'

Paul set down his pizza suddenly as if he weren't hungry anymore and gave Jack a quick nod in agreement and looked away.

What was up with that? I never got fifty-dollar pizzas for my birthday. What was his deal?

'I used to get cool stuff all the time. Not anymore, though, except for birthdays and Christmas,' Jack sighed sadly as he picked up another slice – his third – and started munching on it slowly.

'Oh yeah, you live with Grandpa Slater,' I said. 'Right . . . I remember now.'

'They cut you off too, didn't they?' Paul asked, his eyes turning from amusement to anger. 'That is so typical.'

Jack shrugged and continued eating. 'Yeah. Dad said that if I wanted to move out, it was my own business.'

'But you're thirteen!' I interjected loudly. 'And you were – what, NINE? -when you moved out. Oh my God!'

Jack did seem phased at all by it. In fact, he looked at me as if I were crazy for not thinking it natural. Which I guess maybe it was natural for the Slater brothers considering the parents they were unfortunately stuck with.

'Mark, Pops' day attendant, was cool though,' Jack said as he smiled fondly. 'Mom pays him to take care of grandpa and to keep an eye on me. That's about it. She's probably happy that I'm out of her – '

'Yeah, Mark's great,' Paul interrupted suddenly, cutting off Jack. He looked about as uncomfortable as I felt right then. Which is so not like Paul, who was the picture of confidence and poise. I mean, he was a lawyer for God's sake. He was paid to be persuasive, charming, and smooth. He was so not supposed to be uncomfortable.

Hah. Paul has a weakness. I ought to keep that in mind.

'So, um, what room are you in?' Paul asked, changing the subject to something a little less personal. And something that he seemed very interested to know, by the way he kind of leaned forward in anticipation of hearing.

Jack took a long sip from his Fanta and replied, 'That one with the view of the ocean. Your old one.'

Paul instantly looked at me with a wide smirk spreading across his face, like he had a dirty little secret. One that I knew all too well because, well, I happened to be a part of it.

'Nice room, isn't it, Suze?' Paul asked as he looked across the table at me. My eyes widened naturally as I quickly shot him a subtle glare. 'Um . . . I dunno. I only saw it quickly that one time.'

That response, I realized, was probably not the best, because Jack grinned widely all too quickly and went, 'Suze was in your room? HAH!'

'Paul was, um, helping me with . . . a project,' I said, trying to look away as my face heated up. I'm pretty sure I was red as the tomato sauce in the pizza.

'Suze had a lot to learn,' Paul added, winking at me in a way that Jack couldn't see. My face by then was burning so much that I felt I might've broken out in a sweat. I sunk lower in my chair so that Jack wouldn't be able to tell. Which he didn't much to my luck.

'Oh,' Jack said, chuckling a little bit, 'that would have been funny if you were really making-out or some – '

'Jack, don't you want to play some pinball before we leave?' I asked, covering Jack's mouth with the palm of my hand. Jack looked down at my hand and scowled at me saying, 'Not really. I'm not finished eating.'

'Well, I am. I haven't played pinball in forever,' I announced as I stood up, feeling a little embarrassed. When I got up from the table, I noticed Paul lean over the table and say something quietly to Jack.

'Paul, what are you – '

But then I realized it was no use. I didn't care. And even if I did care, I really shouldn't have. So what if I kissed Paul. That was, like, six years ago. And besides he kissed me first. I was the victim, not him.

Sure, I may have liked it and encouraged it. But I was a teenager . . . I probably would have let any guy shove his tongue down my throat. I've had many other kisses since then. I've totally had better.

Like that one time in the rain . . .

NO! No . . . it was too wet outside, and cold too. And that was Paul . . .

Oh, I liked that kiss in the graveyard. No wait . . . that was Jesse.

Whatever . . . there's just too many to think of any right now. Get back to me later.

Yeah . . . and maybe one day I WILL wake up from this horrible nightmare.

Jack wasn't giggling or anything like I thought he would after hearing whatever it is Paul was saying. I have no idea what it was, but Jack was nodding his head and sipping on his Fanta as he listened intently.

I couldn't bear to hang around any longer, so I stalked over to the little mini-arcade. All of the pinball machines were taken, and I really didn't recognize any of the other games they had there, except for Pacman, which was out of order. So I just leaned on the air hockey table.

Damn. That's a two-player game.

'Do you have what it takes to beat an air hockey champ?' asked Paul from behind me.

'Why? Do you know one?' I asked him pointedly as I turned to face him. Paul shook his head and laughed, going to the other side of the air hockey table. 'You wanna play or not, Suze?'

'Um, sure. If you tell me what you told Jack,' I bargained. Might as well milk something out of the deal. Otherwise it might seem like I actually wanted to play with Paul. Which I so didn't.

'If you're really concerned, I told him not to get any crazy ideas. You only came around to learn and nothing else,' Paul told me. Which was the absolute truth. I only went because I was baited by the idea that maybe I was something more than what I thought. Paul had put ideas in my head that haunted me, knowing that there were so many things out there I didn't know. I never expected to end up with screwed up feet and bruised lips.

Not that Paul had ever really admitted it was the truth until now. But now that he finally was, he sounded bitter for some strange reason.

'Oh.'

Paul slipped four quarters into the change slot and the air instantly came on. He took the thin green puck and placed it on the middle of the table. The machine began beeping a little annoying ditty as the scoreboard on the side of the machine lit up with brilliant neon lights.

'Are you ready for this?' Paul asked as he assumed the position, bending his knees and leaning a bit over the table. The neon lights played on his light blue eyes and made them dance with a wild flash of color.

I gulped and said, 'Yeah,' as I, too, got ready. I felt a little nervous not because I was afraid to lose, but because of the way Paul was looking at me. He was looking me straight in the eye . . . a sure-fire intimidation tactic, no less, that he probably used in the courtroom as well. Well, as much as he could for being an intern.

He hit the puck and it glided towards me. I broke eye contact as I followed the green puck, whacking it back. It bounced on the side and headed straight for Paul's goal. I looked up at Paul, but then looked away because he was looking at me. And not just that one time . . . the whole entire time. How in the world could he do that?

I smacked it back and the puck zoomed. I concentrated on the green blur as it glided across the table in a flash. He hit it back to me with hardly any effort, even though I had hit it hard. It was weird . . . he seemed to know where the puck was at all times, even though he had his eyes on me the whole time. I figured that maybe it was all of that extensive training in tennis.

I struggled to match his speed, but he was going too fast. I almost wished I took up the free tennis lessons that the Pebble Beach Hotel and Golf Resort offered me a few years ago. I certainly could have used that.

But no, I'm Suze and I suck.

Especially since I was too busy thinking and I accidentally let Paul, score the first point.

'Damn it!' I yelled a little too loudly. A few parents with their little kids glared at me. Way to put him in his place, Suze. Really.

'You still have a chance,' Paul assured me.

'Duh. That's only one point.'

I got the puck from my goal slit and placed it on the table. I whacked it really hard and watched it fly towards Paul. Paul smashed it back to me and it hits both opposite walls and it flew back to me.

This was so annoying. This game wasn't getting anywhere. I mean, we were two shifters with accelerated senses. This game could be at a standstill for hours.

In a huff I hit the puck as hard as I possibly could. The angle that I hit it caused the puck to bounce up into the air and towards Paul's head. It bopped him straight in between the eyes.

'Oh my God!' I said as I threw my hand over my mouth to keep myself from laughing too hard.

'Ouch. Jeez, Simon, it's just a game,' Paul groaned, his hand cupped over where it hit him.

'Jeez, Slater, it's just an accident,' I rejoined mockingly. Paul uncovered it and revealed a small red bump, but no permanent damage, sad as it may be. He shrugged and went, 'No pain, no gain.'

To which I wittily replied, 'No brain, no pain.'

And that's when Paul whacked the puck straight into my goal, and grinned at me victoriously.

'That wasn't fair!'

'Was too,' he replied, smacking it back hard.

And on it went . . . the battle was furious. Seriously. We didn't look like two people playing air hockey. We looked like we were jousting to the death, or something. There was so much more at stake than who was winner, and who was loser for me. This was a matter of pride. It meant something that I had lost a long time ago, and I had to try and steal it back from Paul. I was passionately determined to win. His very unctuousness infuriated me and spurred me to play harder than ever.

The frustration was setting in now. Back and forth . . . faster and faster . . . anger and amusement . . .

Then . . . he missed one.

'HA!' I roared, and jumped in the air as I heard the victorious clunk of the puck getting in his goal, 'I mock you!'

Paul shrugged, looking unruffled. But I could tell, that he smelt the threat, now. He wasn't going to let me get one over him . . . he was going to fight this to the death, too. Keep me beneath him. He would NOT be beaten apparently.

Oooh YES HE WOULD. You just WATCH me.

We heatedly returned to the game, with me grinning a little and Paul hitting it harder than ever. I totally doubted that Pete's Pizza ever got people who played this well. Seriously, we were matching a shifter with years of kick-boxing against another shifter with experience in tennis. It was pretty fair fight. He was only leading by ONE.

The puck glided back and forth, at high speeds. My arm was starting to ache from the strain.

'It's just a game . . .' Paul reminded me with a wry grin.

Ha. And Britney's still a virgin.

People even stopped to watch us . . . Eeek. Some were pointing. I could see, from the very corner of my eye. I could hear one or two making casual bets. Most were for Paul, damn it.

Which made me want to beat him even MORE.

Paul was looking angry, now.

'Just a game,' I sang at him. We both knew differently, however.

'I'm – GLAD to – hear it,' he growled, whacking it hard. Seriously, the puck could have beaten a bullet, the way he was hitting it.

'I'm GLAD – at your – GLADNESS – ' I replied shortly, smacking it back with a hard, sharp movement. Paul still never took his eyes off me, which was starting to really, REALLY creep me out.

'He's not even looking at it,' someone whispered behind me.

There was a giggle, and I distinctly heard the word "hot."

. . . Stupid people . . .can't they recognize evil when they see it?

There was something very strange here. Paul wasn't looking at the puck. That's impossible, to strike it with such perfect accuracy . . . and he couldn't PREDICT where it was going to go.

It was like he had Spiderman's Spidey-senses or something. Except, well, Paul didn't wear the tights. There's at least one thing in this world to be happy about.

But it was like he had this extra knowledge, an extra feeling . . . a sort of sixth sense . . .

Oh wait. Paul might not have the ability to fly through New York city on a web or the incredible ability to climb walls and stuff. But he did have an unfair that I only just then realized . . .

'Paul, are you controlling the – ' I began, but the fateful clunk of the puck told me that I had looked up for too long, and that he'd scored. 'Aw man!' I scowled, retrieving it, and sending him a glare. He grinned, and while he was doing so, I gave the puck a HARD hit and scored, myself.

'Cool,' I said quickly. Paul, now looking sufficiently annoyed, got the puck and placed it under the rubber hitter teasingly. 'Not . . . nervous, are you?' he asked slowly, with a coy smile, his voice dipping low and raising hairs on the back of my neck. 'Pretty close game, and all.'

'Shut up,' I snapped.

The double meaning sung loudly in my ears.

'Two choices, Suze,' he said coolly, 'Back out now, or go on, knowing you'll lose. You choice.' He smacked the puck.

'Go puck yourself,' I punned angrily, hitting it back. I know . . . corny . . . but in the air hockey spirit, no? 'I'll go on.'

Because I DON'T GIVE UP.

. . . Not to you . . . I won't let myself . . .

On and on . . . Paul eyed me with a dark smirk, and I was practically exploding in stress. All for a little game of air hockey . . .

It wasn't a game. It never would be . . .

I HAD TO WIN.

My concentration was pouring out in extremes. There was more whispering, but I wouldn't be put off. Even when I heard the word "boyfriend."

Kindly crucify him? Or me, whichever you can get around to first.

Paul was persistent. Headstrong. And he wouldn't take to being a loser. There was a sort of athleticism that he added to the game . . . making it seem more sport than arcade game. No, not a sport. A war.

I wasn't really an air-hockey champ. If this were anyone else who was acing me, I'd probably just give up. It's what I did best, after all. But this was Paul. This was the guy that I really had to prove wrong . . . that when things got tough, I really could stand up for myself, and not just scarper. I was going to win. Paul was going to lose. And then I'd rub it in his perfect lawyer face. I would make sure of that . . . I wouldn't give up now . . .

Suddenly . . . the room began to shake. Little things. Just vibrating . . . and I had a feeling that I knew why.

People were looking around, trying to find what was going on. The owner of the shop came by to look at all the ruckus going on in the arcade room, and noticed us two young adults battling to the finish at . . . air hockey? But that's exactly what it was . . . a battle to the finish.

Up and down . . . faster . . .

Paul was getting ready to blast the puck with a great amount of strength, but when he struck it, the puck didn't move much at all. The little lights on the game had been off. He looked around and saw the owner holding the plug on the machine.

. . . Oh.

'What was that for?' Paul asked the owner, with some frustration.

I blinked.

The fire was slowly dying from me . . . everything stopped shaking around the room.

Then I realized something.

Paul won.

He always won.

By default, now, but STILL.

'I appreciate you two giving such a show for my customers, but you two were causing such a scene. Some people were complaining,' the owner said nervously, motioning to the old couple, who were still swapping saliva. Honestly.

Jack, who was now beside me, rolled his eyes at the owner. 'Yeah . . . and they had a whole lot of time to do that between tonguing each other – '

'Jack. Shut up,' I said quietly. What? Pardon ME for being freaked out, okay? I mean . . . making things shake . . . was that Paul? Or me too?

With a shrug, the owner awkwardly waddled away, throwing the dishtowel over his shoulder.

Paul and I noticed the crowd we'd stirred up. Everyone looked just as disappointed as I felt. A few older men patted Paul on the shoulder, while a young girl assured me that I would have won if the game hadn't been shut off.

Which I totally agree with.

. . . Almost.

I smiled cordially, and went to shuffle back to our booth, when Paul stepped in my way. 'Good game, Suze,' he nodded at me, not able to hide the look of utmost superiority from his face.

I was still below him . . . I'd never be good enough . . .

I felt like shit again.

Not only did I have no life, as he'd so graciously pointed out, but I was good for NOTHING, as he'd so graciously just PROVED.

'Whatever,' I said moodily. 'You won.' I moved around him, but he blocked me again, grinning down at me.

'Aww, come on,' he goaded, 'be a good sport. I won by default. Good game.'

'Yeah,' I said with a shrug. 'I mean, I would have won, if you hadn't have cheated.'

With a toss of my hair, I pushed past him, while he was still stunned at my accusation. Yeah, I'd caught him red handed.

'What?' he demanded, his hand coming to my arm and whipping me back. Oooh, shock, horror, his Lordship had been accused of foul play. The world weeps . . . not.

'I saw you,' I said huffily, in an angry hiss. 'You were guiding the puck. You can't just stare at . . . um, elsewhere, and keep hitting it flawlessly. It's not natural.'

Yeah, not natural. Like Dani's boobs, or her fiery red hair.

'Unless you have certain other senses that you haven't discovered yet,' Paul smirked at me. His eyes . . . they were so endless. Like I was looking into light blue holes. They were light, but so dark, and shallow. They looked, however, indignant. 'I could have taught you if you hadn't been so obsessed with Rico –'

I glared at him and wrenched my arm away. 'Shut up. Just – shut up. You keep bringing that up! Stop making me feel guilty, okay?' Now I was angry. 'I already know it was a mistake! But you DON'T have the right to make me constantly remember that!'

I stormed back to the booth, grabbed my Kate Spade handbag, and stalked out of the pizzeria.

Outside, I ran my hands through my hair. I felt so strange . . . like I was prickling all over. In fact, no, I felt sick in the stomach. Remembering the past, and what could have happened, was a horrible thing for me. One of my most frequent activities.

I knew he'd come out in a second. He always ruined my solitude. But seriously . . . why couldn't we both just let it go? Because . . . really, he was clinging to what went down as much as I was. Only I was the one that felt the pain. He was just using it against me. The whole ha-ha-I-ruined-your-life-get-over-it-already? thing.

Jack came out first, walking through the plastic panels of at the door, followed by Paul, who was giving me a weird look. Like he was sympathetic or something.

Oh GREAT. PITY. THAAAANKS.

Jack looked at me anxiously. 'Uh . . . can we just go look at the shops? Suze can look at grundies if she wants,' he shrugged, 'But I saw a candy store on the way here and its packed with all of these different –'

'I am NOT looking at old women's underwear!' I protested, shooting a friendly glare in Jack's direction. I wore perfectly fashionable panties, THANK YOU. But I . . . um . . . wasn't about to tell this to Paul or Jack, on the off chance that they urged me to prove it.

One word: Ew.

'I'll go and have a look around, or something,' I told them awkwardly.

Paul was still staring at me. Probably marveling over how much I'd eaten in there, compared to his anorexic girlfriend. I felt . . . so low . . . why did he ALWAYS make me feel like that? Remember how much I really had lost, I mean? Not only Jesse, and my life, but the chance to learn about being a shifter as well . . . that was something that no one else could teach me, and Paul had just left, leaving me alone and desperate to know.

Well . . . it was me who'd done the leaving . . .

Sort of.

No. Jesse left me. I was heartbroken. Then I went to Paul. We went to the Point. Then he kissed me, I ran, he locked me in his car . . . kissed me again . . . I almost got hit by a car. I bashed my head. He drove to the hospital. I passed out. I woke up with Jesse beside me. He'd come back, after leaving. He kissed me. Paul walked in. He killed every chance I had with Jesse, again. Jesse was disgusted with me. The idiot BELIEVED what Paul had told him. Paul materialized me back to the Point, in my hospital gown, still. I was scared. Paul told me he loved me . . . I didn't want to hear it. I wanted Jesse. I ALWAYS wanted Jesse. And Paul, too, was revolted that I wouldn't change my mind. I returned to the hospital alone, after one last desperate goodbye from Paul. But by then . . . Jesse was gone.

He left a note.

God . . . I remember THAT note . . .

"Dear Susannah.

I now see that it is Paul whom your heart belongs to. I wish that you had have told me; a lot of pain could have been saved, and love would not have been wasted, on my part.

You've hurt me, Susannah. I do not take well to deception. I hope that you are pleased with your accomplishments, and do not expect me to be fooled by you again."

He didn't even sign his name . . .

So THERE. How PRECIOUS is your frigging Jesse de Perfecto NOW, ladies? He was no gentleman that night. What he did . . . I have never recovered from that. He not only truly hated me, but even if he HAD have cared, he didn't even bother to check if he was TRULY correct in his hasty assumptions – that I loved Paul. Because, HELLO?! I did NOT. Paul had been an evil, LYING FREAK. And Jesse had just accepted Paul's manipulations of the truth, and had left.

And God . . . heartbroken is an insulting understatement for how I felt.

There was the feeling of being abandoned . . . of loss, of fear, of anger, of confusion, of terror, of hatred, of despair, of misery . . . all rolled into one, life-changing emotion.

And I hadn't seen Jesse after that.

Not since just recently.

That's how he'd LEFT.

. . . So that was my story. That was the night that broke Susannah Simon. That's where I reached my breaking point. That's where God ultimately spited me for all the wrongs I had ever done. Honestly . . . if God wanted to punish me . . . he couldn't have done a finer job.

My soul, heart, and spirit were oh so brutally crushed, that night.

And Jesse and Paul held the hammers. No . . . hammers are too small. Demolition trucks . . .

Make light of my depression, if you want. I don't care anymore. I sure as hell am NOT over it. I've just accepted that it happened, that's all. But I will never, EVER forgive either one of them. Hide my fury, maybe. Hide my hate, maybe. Forgive Jesse and Paul?

No way.

I'd spend an eternity in the bowels of hell, burn in the fire, char like the coal, die from the heat, before I forgave them completely.

Or eat shards of broken glass, or get a ten thousand papercuts on my finger, or pull out my spleen with a plastic fork, or slam my fingers in the car door over and over again. I'd rather have my blood sucked entirely out by leeches or maybe even a few vampires, or rip off my fingernails one by one . . . toenails too, or clean the biggest horse stable in Texas with my tongue. I would gouge my eyes out with an unsharpened number two pencil before I'd ever forgive those two for what they did to me.

In other words . . . it wasn't going to happen anytime soon. Not even at all.

. . . Breaking me from my intense musing, was Jack's sweet little voice. Well . . . okay, it was deeper than when he'd been eight. But whatever.

'Fine by me. Paul? Wanna come and pig out on chocolate? I've still got some money from Suze. And your five dollars. Or . . . was I supposed to give Suze's money back? I thought you wanted me to have both – '

'It's okay Jack . . . you can keep the money I gave you. Come on . . . I heard they had some of the finest chocolate around in these parts,' Paul said to him. They both turned away from me, leaving me kind of standing there. You know, alone. As per usual. I overheard Paul say to Jack, 'I also heard, that they have these lollipops with garlic in the center . . . in honor of Gilroy being the Garlic Capital and all.'

I snorted, and they stopped walking, and turned back to me. 'Whatever floats your boat, Slater,' I said.

'Eww,' Jack scowled. 'Garlic and candy? Wrong.'

You said it, sister. I mean . . . yeah, sister.

Sue me? I was still pissed at Jackie-poo for ganging up on me with his brother before.

That had been so mean . . .

I fiddled with my hair nervously. It was so long. That was the thing I liked best about me. My hair. It really was beautiful. At least I could recognize that about myself. Guys told me that I was sexy . . . that I had a great body, but for all the trouble it had potentially caused me, I now hated it. And plus . . . models were obviously what guys wanted. I was too short to be a model, and I had not undergone any plastic surgery. So I was therefore, ugly.

'Hey,' Paul said. I jumped. I hadn't realized that he'd moved right next to me. Seriously . . . I HAVE to stop daydreaming. It was getting really annoying now – I totally spaced out. 'Winner buys loser chocolate?'

Loser, loser, loser, loser . . . loser . . .

'Ha! You called Suze a loser – ' Jack laughed, but Paul gave him a hard look, and he shut up. Seriously, he was like Hitler or something. I wonder what Paul would look like with one of those little gay mustaches on his upper lip, huh? What if he did that crazy march where he kicks up his legs in the air like a can-can dancer?

Ignore me.

I didn't answer Paul, so he just kind of guided me, half forcefully, half casually, to the candy shop, aptly named the Candy Shop. We stepped inside, and a sweet, confectionery scent graced my senses delicately. It was lovely. The walls were decked with lollies and sweets so colourful, I felt I'd just stepped inside Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory or something.

I was kind of waiting for Oompa Loompas to come and serve us when Jack begged Paul, 'Can I get one of these?' pointing wildly to a two meter novelty string of marble-sized toffees.

He was one WEIRD thirteen-year old . . . honestly.

'Whatever you want,' Paul shrugged. 'Just don't go overboard, and zombify yourself with sugar.'

'Zombies are cool,' Jack said carelessly.

'Why?' I asked. 'Your girlfriend Mary one?'

Jack gave me a frown. 'No,' he snapped. 'She's almost as pretty as Dani.'

I looked away hurriedly, after that.

Me? Jealous? Nah . . .

'It's okay, Jack. It's Suze's duty to make fun of our girlfriends,' Paul said snidely to Jack, but glaring AT me. 'But we are really lucky that we have them, and that's all that matters, right Jack?'

Jack glared at me too.

It was kind of intense. Seriously, you go from Slater Puppy Eyes to Slater Glares of Fiery Death. Can't we find a HAPPY MEDIUM, GUYS?!

And just to complete the picture . . . my mobile went off.

I'm so serious.

Angrily, I answered. 'Hello?'

In a sing-song voice, a male voice sang out, 'I'm waaaaaaaaiting . . . '

My eyes went wide for a second, and I hung up immediately. Jack was giving me a funny gaze. I refused to look at Paul, as if, with one look, he'd immediately KNOW that some psycho freak was after me.

Only . . . the mobile rang again.

I stubbornly ignored it, but everyone was giving me pointed looks, for me to answer it. Because it was kind of loud, and all.

Ring. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.

With a defeated sigh, I rushed out of the shop, and stood awkwardly by the door. 'What?' I demanded with a bite of anger, and nervousness.

'You haven't come home yet.'

That, I'll say, was kind of obvious. But there's a reason that I hadn't.

A familiar chill attacked every bit of exposed skin.

'Oh, where are you? I've been waiting at your apartment for days, Suze,' Cole slurred. Was he drunk or something?

Wait a minute . . . he'd been . . . WAITING AT MY APARTMENT?!

Oh my God. He must have been wasted. Or criminally insane. Possibly both.

'You know, it really hurts, Suze,' he continued, as I remained silent.

. . . I think he was sick. No, really. I was pretty sure that Cole needed some psychological help. He was becoming fixated . . . and it wasn't healthy.

For him, and most certainly not for me, if he ever got his hands on me again.

'It hurts how you've just up and left me. And all without calling me first. I need you, Suze. I need you now,' he growled with urgency.

I swallowed. 'Well . . . you're not getting me. Um, hello? We are over. I did not even think about you when I left, because . . . well, I didn't have a boyfriend to think about. We're not going out anymore. So why the hell would I call you?'

This was the same old thing . . . only, he still didn't want to hear it . . .

And for effect, I quickly added, 'And it hurts? Well, guess what? It hurts when you whack me across the face, you anus.'

'But Suze . . . I need you. I'm going to die without you.'

'So?' I asked. Seriously. I'm a decent human being. I help another in need. But Cole Kennedy? Yeah, not likely. He was NOT going to die without me. And even if he was . . . I was no fool. I wasn't going back to him even with an atomic bomb for protection. 'I'm supposed to care still? God, DIE, for all I give.'

'Well . . . I might just have to bring you down with me, Suze,' he retorted angrily, over the phone. 'And I will.'

Somehow, even though he was far away with no possible way of finding me, I still had no doubt in my mind that he could get me. It was, as he had threatened, only a matter of time before he'd find me.

I wanted, more than anything, to hang up. But my traitorous fingers would not allow it. Why did I keep doing this to myself? WHY?

'Come home, Suze. You'll be miserable if you don't. I will make your life a living hell until you decided to pack up and head home.'

'Not if you don't know where I am,' I said softly. 'Cole . . . please . . . just stop it . . . ' I would have encouraged him to move on, but what if he started stalking some OTHER poor girl? Jeez . . . this sucked so, so much. Because, he was actually making me feel real, genuine fear. 'Please, don't ring me again?' I said hopefully –

'IF YOU WANT ME TO STOP THEN COME HOME ALREADY. I'M TIRED OF WAITING FOR YOUR SORRY ASS TO GET HERE!' he exploded.

I flinched, and stepped back for no reason. Seriously . . . despite the fact that he was on a cell, you could hear that voice from ten meters away.

It was almost as if Cole were right in front of me, hitting me over and over again with the back of his hand. Not with a fist because it would leave a mark . . . just with the cold, flat palm of his hand.

'No . . . ' I said after a while, my voice painfully soft. 'Just . . . go . . . '

'I'll just have to find you myself,' he decided, his voice sounding dangerous.

I felt scared, and depressed, all over again. So weird, how my mood changed like lightning these days.

'Don't you dare,' I snapped, now alarmed. Because I knew that he was serious.

'I've got my car, a change of clothes, and enough money to get me all over the United States, and even parts of Canada. So, if I must comb the country . . . I will. Don't think that I won't,' he yelled.

WHY? I didn't UNDERSTAND. Why did he BOTHER? I wasn't WORTH THAT. God . . . why did he even want me? Okay, we have concluded that my hair is nice. BIG DEAL. I didn't exactly put out to his satisfaction, so WHY?!?!?!

And of course, before I could stop them, tears pricked the corners of my eyes. Why was this so UNFAIR?! Why did I have to land THIS guy?! Why did God hate me so DAMN MUCH?!

With breathy tones, I furiously replied, 'And, if you found me, what do you plan to do then? Cole, you're being a selfish DICK. Just because you're not getting what you want, don't you DARE take it out on me! This, if you have forgotten, is YOUR FAULT.'

Well . . . okay . . . I still sounded like a wuss. My voice was as weak as wet paper.

In response, he said, 'My fault for being stupid enough not to realize that I needed you so much. But what's more important . . . you need me too. And sooner or later, you'll come crawling back. It better be sooner . . . or I'm coming to get you – '

I hung up.

There's only so much a girl can take.

My eyes were positively stinging. I knew that I was crying again, God DAMN it. I stared ahead blankly . . . Gilroy was such a rural place . . .

'Credit Card Company?'

I almost shat myself. Seriously. I whirled around, and saw Paul standing coolly at the door. Only . . . he looked kind of curious.

'Get lost,' I said. I was edgy, so hence, the bitchiness. I blinked furiously, and looked away, sniffing a little.

I am SO pathetic . . .

'No really, Suze. Who was it?'

'Um . . . wrong number . . . '

'You were out here a while,' he drawled.

I shuffled. 'Um . . . well . . . this person needed convincing. I – um, it was an, er, old lady. She kept telling me to speak up. Yeah, um, and I had to keep repeating myself and then she said that I was really her daughter and I really didn't want to speak with her and I was making up a voice and that she was ashamed to call me family and – ' I babbled unconvincingly, ' . . . um . . . old people these days?' I finished with a half-squeak.

Paul wasn't fooled. 'Try again,' he advised. 'This time, try to be a little more believable.'

Dickhead.

'It's none of your business, okay?' I snapped. 'What do YOU care?' Then . . . recollecting the conversation I'd had with Mr Kennedy, I realized that some things were very self-explanatory. 'Um . . . how much did you hear?'

'You called someone a dick and said it was their fault,' he answered, moving a little closer to me. I stepped back . . . did he know, though? 'Where have I heard that before?' he wondered with a little chuckle to himself.

I closed my eyes for a second, realizing how wet they were. Oh, God . . . 'Stay out of it,' I warned him hatefully, giving him a sharp prod in the chest.

Jack then burst out between us, carrying a bag full of colourfully wrapped sweets, sucking on a huge, un-garlicked lollipop. 'Aaah, succulent sweetness. I – . . . Suze? Are you crying?' he asked, awed, 'You don't cry. What? Is it all the garlic?'

'Um . . . sure it is,' I mumbled. I broke away from the intensity of the Slater eyes. Both pairs. I shoved my bag and my cell into Jack's already occupied hands. 'Um . . . I'm just going to go to the toilet,' I mumbled quickly.

Yeah, sure. To check how puffy my eyes really are . . .

I moved briskly down the street to one of the portables, and saw a symbol that indicated the female toilets. I ducked down the alley, and then through the door with the corresponding stick-figure woman on it. I landed in front of the mirror, and gave a huge sigh.

My hair still looked nice, and my clothes were totally cute . . . but my face looked broken. Like I'd just been told that my mom was dead, or something. At least my mascara and eyeliner was waterproof. I was no fool. Although, lately, it was a brave day that I ever wore make-up of any other kind. I was prone to crying all the time, these days . . . so unfair, right?

After washing my face a little and sighing, I fixed my hair unnecessarily, admiring it for a very short, content moment how curly and glossy it looked. Well, that was one plus, right?

I stared for another moment at my eyes . . . they don't look so bad anymore. I opened the door to the toilet, and went back down the alley, looking down the street. Jack had gone back into the candy shop, the little piglet – or somewhere, he wasn't there, but Paul was still out, with his back turned towards me.

Ugh. Joy.

I ambled back over to him, glowing red. Really . . . how big a head case had I been exactly? Honestly . . . I suck so much.

'Look,' I said awkwardly, 'Sorry about before, garlic, um, really gets to me. It really irritates my eyes – '

I blanched, very suddenly.

Because, Paul had just very slowly rotated.

And in his hands was my cell phone.

And even I could see the message that was being proclaimed across the small screen.

"COME HOME OR ELSE."

. . . Oh . . .

SHIT!!!!

'What is this?' Paul demanded as he held up my phone. '"I'm waiting"? "I need you"? "Come home or else"? Suze . . . what's going on that you aren't telling me?'

My blood suddenly chilled in my veins.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh-

I tried to grab my celly back, but Paul held it up away from my reach and continued to read the threatening messages Cole had left me.

'"You can't run forever"? "You know you want me"?"

'Stop it!' I yelled, trying to reach for the phone. 'Don't read them!'

'I think it's a little late for that, Suze.' Paul waited for an explanation, one that I did not – no, COULD NOT – give him.

But it would look even more suspicious if I said nothing and ran off, wouldn't it? I panicked. The only thing I felt I could do was lie . . .

'It was a prank. My friend and I do this all the-'

It was no use. I knew that Paul could see right through me with his bright blue laser eyes. My stomach was bubbling with foreboding hysteria. Did he know what was going on? Did he know I had a creepy stalker ex-boyfriend that threatened me practically everyday to "Come home or else"?

'I didn't go to law school for nothing, Suze. I'm not stupid. I want an explanation,' Paul said, his voice low yet commanding, 'and I want one now preferably.'

'There's nothing to tell,' I told him as I crossed my arms. Paul held my cell phone out in the palm of his large hand. I looked at the phone with wide eyes, the words "YOU KNOW YOU WANT ME" expressed in bold, black lettering.

Paul noted my expression and said, 'I can see what this does to you. Nothing . . . when has "nothing" actually been "nothing" to you? It's always something.'

I instantly looked away. I knew that his words had a certain double meaning, both meanings that I knew very well, but would have rather not admitted. No matter how many times I said so, what was nothing now was really something. It was ALWAYS something.

Like that time . . . long ago . . .

"Okay . . . enough, Jesse, he's just trying to get a rise out of you. It was nothing, all right? I went over to his house because he said he knew some stuff about something called soul transference. I thought it was something that might help you. But I swear, that's all it was. Nothing happened."

. . . Nothing . . . I just kissed him back . . .

Really, that's where this all began. With that stupid kiss. That's when my life began to deteriorate. When Paul butted in . . .

Nothing.

'Credit card companies don't go that far. And neither do old ladies nor people who dial wrong numbers,' Paul said. He took his eyes off of the bold threat on the screen of my cell phone and directed their laser beams into my own eyes and scanning me for a moment . . .

'Someone out there is trying to get you, aren't they?'

No, I wanted to tell him. I even had my mouth open, about to form the words, but I couldn't find it in myself to say them. I don't know why I couldn't lie to Paul. I mean, Paul had done a lot worse by me. What was one little lie?

Obviously a lot. Because the only thing I could manage to choke was, 'Can we go?'

To which Paul answered firmly, 'No.'

'I'm – I mean, I think we should get back to-'

'No.'

'But-'

'No, Suze. Not until you tell me what the hell is going on here.'

'I don't HAVE to tell you anything,' I told him, shaking my head furiously. 'I plead the fifth-'

'Overruled,' Paul interrupted, turning around. Holding the phone close, he began punching buttons on it. I tried to grab it from behind, but he kept dodging me.

'Cole Kennedy,' he said finally. 'Who's that?'

'He's a – classmate,' I answered in a hastened panic. 'Yeah, he's in my psyche class. A friend of my friend. He's-'

'The one sending you these messages,' Paul said as he turned around and looked me straight in the eyes. In panic and terror, I tried to secure my phone back, but he again held it from my reach.

'Give it here!' I finally yelled, shoving him in the chest and seizing the phone form him. I instantly exited from the horrifying message that was on the screen and went back to the menu, which was less intimidating.

'Suze, I'm just trying to help,' Paul explained.

'I don't WANT your help,' I yelled back at him. I tried to stalk away dramatically, but the dipshit decided to follow me.

'Of course you don't WANT it,' Paul caught up to me quickly. 'But you NEED it.'

I ducked back down the alley with the porta-potties. It was darker there, more chance of me "accidentally" losing him there. Or else he might be afraid of getting his fancy shoes dirty and choose not to follow me at all. I didn't care, as long as he would just GO AWAY.

'No, I don't need your help. I'm PERFECTLY capable-'

'Of what? Handling things on your own?' Paul demanded, his voice stopping me in my tracks. 'How are you going to handle this? By doing what . . . running away?'

I always ran.

I glared at the opposite wall, anything to keep from looking at Paul's condemning face. Condemning me to what, I don't know. Probably another five years of misery.

'That's the plan,' I mumbled darkly.

God, why did he even CARE? Okay, I got it! He was better than me! These silent, secret competitions had been fruitless, because in the end, Paul Slater would ALWAYS triumph over Susannah Simon. I was the loser. He was the winner. I could never beat him. I could never even hope to equal him. He was the uber-shifter, I was the stupid, clueless one. He was the lawyer, I was the unemployed girl. He was in a steady relationship with an archetypical girlfriend with implants for his convenience, and I had Cole Kennedy.

But, I just didn't understand why someone like Paul would care about someone like me, now. When everything was perfect for him, why would he bother to peak over his heavenly cloud to look down upon the mere mortals whom he was aimlessly pelting lightning bolts at? Why did he want to know about Cole? Rub it in more that he was, indeed, the winner? That I had made mistakes so stupid that I'd NEVER live them down?

I UNDERSTOOD.

PAUL ALWAYS HAS BEEN, AND ALWAYS WILL BE BETTER THAN ME! I was junk – a waste of space. He was a beacon of the community and lots of people would come to his funeral and cry and stuff, when he kicked it. But why did he have to PATRONISE me?!

Make me KNOW that I was as shitty as I really felt?

I knew . . . Jesus CHRIST, I knew.

That made me MAD. That he was going out of his way to diminish my already non-existent self-worth, well . . . that was vindictive.

'Shut up! I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP!' I insisted loudly. God, how could ANYONE follow me to a TOILET? Not that I was going . . . but I TOTALLY could have been! I took a huge breath, and held it. Don't break down . . . don't let him see you cry . . .

I wouldn't let him. He didn't deserve the satisfaction. He didn't care. He just wanted closure that he was the winner. In something much, MUCH bigger than air hockey. 'I don't need help,' I breathed again, in barely a whisper.

'Yes you do!' he snapped. 'Look at yourself, Suze. You're a nervous wreck. You're going to crash and burn, real soon. You think that you can hide this by running into alleys and plastering smiles on your face? It's fake, Suze. You're pretending. Again.'

'Maybe!' I freaked, 'but not EVERYONE is perfect like YOU and gets EVERYTHING they want handed to them of a SILVER PLATTER!' I jerked away from him, and only succeeded to slam against the wall. But it was some distance . . . that's all I cared for. 'You got Dani, I got him. That's how it is. God knows, it's what I deserve. But I will handle it BY MYSELF. It's MY mess.'

'Yeah, and your methods of helping yourself are very effective,' his voice was obscenely saturated with sarcasm. He didn't care . . . he didn't want to help ME. He wanted to boost his ego, just to know that I was as pathetic as he thought I was.

I held my head in my hand, leaning on the wall tiredly. I covered my eyes with my hands, and sank into a realm of consoling darkness. My legs were ice. What I get for going out in public in a mini-skirt. Seriously what was I thinking? I was NOT Danielle Moore. I had no business showing my legs off. Heaven knows it would only attract more of the trouble that I was so desperately running away from. So what was I doing? I didn't deserve to feel pretty. It only ended up in getting me hurt. I should seriously just keep to tracksuits. Or hell, my Starbucks apron. Thaaaaaaat's attractive.

With a sigh, I began, 'Just – '

But Paul cut me off. 'Just what?' he demanded.

Just go . . .

I dropped my hands from my face, and again, surrendered myself to the mercy of his icy blue irises. They were staring at me so intensely I felt as if he was separating me from my soul. Almost as hurriedly, I lowered my gaze to my hands, and saw they were shaking again.

Aww, man . . .

I went to move, but the jerk totally blocked my way. Move to the left . . . right . . . he kept moving in front of me.

'Get out of the way!' I yelled at him. It was like a dance. He had the power, and I wanted to escape from dancing with condescension.

'Come on,' urged Paul, propping one hand to the wall beside my face, and leaning in a little, making me feel very uncomfortable, 'Tell me what's happening. I won't get mad, I promise.'

'But the mutual hate?' I said, 'it's working wonders for me.'

'It's not mutual,' he informed me.

Yeah. Whatever.

'Oh, because you're suuuuuuch a good person,' I rolled my eyes at him, wanting him to MOVE.

'Nah,' he shrugged, still leaning against the wall, 'Too much energy channeled into hate.'

'But for you, mine comes naturally,' I said truthfully.

'I'm touched, Simon.'

'Welcome. Now shove,' I retorted rudely. I did not want to say ANYTHING to him about Cole. It was MY problem. I'd fix it on my OWN. That's how I ALWAYS WAS, right? On my frigging OWN? Yeah, so WHY NOT NOW?!

'No.'

'Move!' I snapped angrily. What a freak.

'NO!' he shouted.

Pissed, went to push past him, but he wasn't falling for that, and he grabbed both of my arms, hard. And he wasn't getting go anytime soon.

I could totally SUE the lawyer, huh? I mean, for manhandling me and all, right? YEAH. GET HIM UNEMPLOYED!

'Suze,' he said through gritted teeth as I was writhing about, trying to shrug him off, 'What are you afraid of?'

I stopped, and just stared down at the dark, mocha hands that imprisoned my fair arms. A string of dark, dark thoughts came flooding back, with that question.

He hadn't been the only one who'd manhandled me, you see.

I was Susannah Simon, after all. It's in the job description of get the stuffing beaten out of me on the occasion. Just quite a lot, recently, it had been at the hands of people who were certainly not dead. And had no real motive to want to hurt me.

Cole Kennedy was just the latest, is all.

And for some reason . . . I found myself totally incapable of defending myself. Someone about him just stopped me from thinking. I shut down, and I became so . . . NORMAL. Funny, how I'd always wanted to be normal, yet when I found out, it wasn't as cool to not be able to fight back . . .

Normality isn't all it's cracked up to be, my friends.

What am I afraid of?

Nothing that Paul was going to know about . . .

'Noth – '

'Don't even try it,' he warned.

I shut my mouth kind of quickly, and looked at the ground. Great, now I didn't even DESERVE to look him in the eye. He was first class, and I was a commoner. We didn't walk on the same side of the street . . .

'Suze, look at me.'

No.

I swallowed, and didn't really do anything.

Only, Paul's index finger came to the edge of my chin, and he tilted it up ever so gently. Curious shivers raced down my neck, and my gaze flickered to meet his. 'Are you afraid to get help when you need it? Or are you just afraid to show weakness?' he asked me quietly.

. . . Both.

'I don't need your h –'

'Liar.'

And then he started pounding on my Babble Button. 'No, I really, really, really don't. I'll handle this on my own and I know I can because I'm practicing kick-boxing and stuff ever day now except for lately because we don't have one at Fortunaschwein but I'm running and stuff and I'm getting stronger and next time he does it I can defend myself and I'll be fine –'

'Next time he does what?' he interrogated crossly. His face had changed totally. Dawned with realization.

. . . Aww, shit.

'Uh . . . challenge me to chess?' I suggested hopefully. Now I was scared.

He knew.

'Oh, so I see chess did that to you,' he glided his finger over that bruise that Cole had ever so nicely given me. Yeah, the one that I thought was gone. That one I'd hoped everyone believed I'd gotten from that bikie bash-up thing.

I hadn't swindled Paul, though.

Of course, not. He's a lawyer, Suze.

'Um, birthmark – '

'A purple birthmark?' his neat eyebrows ascended, 'Tell me, this hurt at all?' With that, he totally jabbed his thumb at it!

'OW!' I protested, but he still had me by the shoulder. He wasn't done with me yet, obviously. I was entrée to his hungry ego. He still needed to know that he'd won . . .

'Thought as much,' he glared at me.

'Er . . . maybe, um, I won and he, er . . . threw a pawn at me - yeah, he's totally a sore loser – ' I was TOTALLY bombing the lie-detector, ' – just never MIND, okay?' I tried half-heartedly squirming away from him, but no such luck.

'It's obvious that he IS a sore-loser,' Paul brought his hand to my arm again, moving closer to me and making my breath quicken. I mean, okay, the alley was kind of small, but him being THAT close wasn't necessary. He was trying to scare me again, probably. God, you'd think I hadn't been scared ENOUGH in my time, without pompous-butt here trying to thrill me with even more heebie-jeebies. 'Considering those messages he sent you. But I have trouble believing it was about chess. This guy . . . he seems sick.'

You don't say.

'Really sick, Suze,' Paul gave me a look that came freakishly close to concern. Ugh, kill me.

'I know how to pick 'em, right?' I glared at him. While, funnily enough, I was also vaguely thinking of Jesse . . . who initially left me on the night of my GRADUATION DANCE. Like, the SECOND BIGGEST THING besides the PROM.

For the reference, that was BEFORE he kissed me in the hospital, after I had almost died out at the Point.

Yeah.

DIED.

Did he care?

NO.

'I can get this guy to stop, Suze. I know people from the firm that can get him in his place –'

'No!' I squeaked. 'No! No, I'm fine!'

Yeah, and I didn't have enough money for a lawyer like Paul. No doubt he charged a million dollars. Was THIS how he got his business? Was I not the FIRST person he'd ambushed in a dark alley, into employing him?

What a FREAK.

'You're FINE? What are you going to do when he finds you? Run off to Texas or something? Wherever you go, Suze . . . he has a chance of finding you.'

'Well if he finds me, I'll be fine!' I maintained mulishly. 'And, I'll just, um - punch him back – ' OOPS! 'Uh! I mean –'

NO, NO, NO!!! ME AND MY FAT MOUTH.

Paul's eyes went very cold, all of a sudden. Like, if they were ice before, now they were miles below subzero . . . I could feel the front of his gaze lingering across my skin, and making me shiver even more than I was.

These secrets were not meant to be known . . .

'You were right the first time. He hurts you, right?' Paul glared.

He was GLARING. At ME.

. . . Not even the TINIEST bit sympathetic . . . God . . . I'm toast.

I blinked down. I could answer because my vocal chords decided to suddenly malfunction.

'Thought so,' Paul concluded.

My eyes were still closed. ' . . . You think I'm such a loser now,' I laughed humourlessly. 'What? "Wow, look at Suze Simon, the girl that no one dared to piss off, who could bust your chops in two seconds flat. She's scared shitless. Now I've seen everything." Right? Yeah, you were wrong when you met me, saying I haven't changed. I have. I've gotten worse. I'm like every other girl, now. I can't frigging defend even myself!'

Paul went to say something, but I was on a roll. 'Stupid GHOSTS can knock me over in a heartbeat, and this guy – he shouldn't, but he scares me. Back when I was seventeen, or whatever, I was fine. I would have been able to kick his ass, but . . . I don't know why, I can't anymore. It's the PITS. But I do NOT need help. This is MY mess. I let it happen. It's my fault, and I'm going to deal with it! So can we GO now?! Are you HAPPY?!'

I was crying.

'I'm a headcase! I've SCREWED UP! Okay?! You've WON!'

There. I had declared forfeit. I had lost. And I felt worse than ever . . .

I stared back at Paul, horribly disgusted with myself. I was nothing . . . dog shit, bacteria, fungus, sin, waste, empty . . .

I mean . . . it's what Paul wanted, right? To reduce me to this? Of COURSE it was.

So what he said next floored me.

'This isn't about who's winning anymore, Suze. But . . . I just hate to say it . . . I told you so. I guess it's my fault too. But I'm here in the present. And that's all that matters, okay? We can fix this, all right?' he gave me an earnest look. His hands were closed around my bare arms comfortingly.

I was NOT going to be tricked. It was another game . . . he didn't want it to be over. I obviously hadn't punished myself SUFFICIENTLY for him . . . he wanted me to sink even LOWER.

'No, it's not all right,' I told him flatly. 'I don't need you to fight my battles for me. That's final.'

I was so very deeply ashamed with myself . . .

I felt Paul slide his hands off my arms, and step back. I looked up again, only to find that this very small ocular action caused the gathered liquid to spill from my eyelids, and down my cheeks, indicating that I was ACTUALLY crying.

Paul looked at his watch. WHAT? Someone ELSE to go and make cry? You have a SCHEDULE for this?!

'Jack's probably wondering where we are. But Suze?'

I sniffed, and gave him a humiliated glance.

'This isn't over.'

He stepped back, and just walked promptly out of the alley, towards a confused Jack . . . with a lot of candy, no less. God . . . Paul had bribed his brother to leave him alone with my phone. Thus Jack now has more candy than he could ever eat.

It was scary . . . I thought that Jack would be the little angel that I'd met at the Pebble Beach Resort. But I forgot that kids grow up. Sure, Jack was still gorgeous. But he wasn't the same.

Then again . . . what was?

For a moment, I hung around in the alley, and changed the name on Cole's number to "Aimee Smith." Just for security reasons, in case . . . yeah. Then I deleted all of Cole's messages. Even though the damage was done . . .

Slowly, I too emerged from the alleyway, with eyes puffier than what they would be from an allergic reaction, I'll bet. I felt so, so, so bad. Worse than I had in a while. I didn't WANT Paul involved. God, why couldn't he just MIND HIS OWN?!

I finally reached them. Paul was still glaring at me, like this was MY fault. Oh yeah, I totally sponsored Cole's abusive behaviour, REALLY. Jack was totally scoffing down this brightly coloured python, from the Candy Shop.

'Hey, don't choke on your snake,' I advised.

Jack stopped in mid-bite, and gave me a very weird look. 'Eww . . .'

I went red, momentarily, but then rolled my eyes and scruffed his hair. 'Sick minded little twat,' I commented, in half my usual voice. I just wanted to leave . . . get back to Fortunaschwein, and distance myself as far away from Paul as possible. I didn't want to look at him. Not after what he knew . . . 'We're leaving, right? I mean, you two can totally stay, I can get a cab to take me back to – yeah, that's good. I'll see you later, Jack –'

'I'll go get the car,' Paul butted in. 'Wait here.'

'No, I can get a ride home,' I claimed, 'I'll be fine – '

I don't think he believed me whenever I said that word anymore. Fine, I mean.

So, with a sharp look, he turned, and headed in the direction of the car, which was still in the parking lot of Pete's Pizza.

Jack looked up at me with big blue eyes. 'What did Paul talk to you about? He told me not to interrupt before, for when you came back. Was it about the air hockey thing?' he asked.

I paused. ' . . . No, it wasn't about the air hockey thing.'

I crossed my arms. It was as if my mind had been violated. I felt like Paul had stolen a secret away from me that I was meant to die with.

. . . Or die for . . .

Ugh.

'Well, was it about the – ' Jack began, but I got TOTALLY FRUSTRATED.

'Nothing! What is it with you Slaters?! God, when I don't wanna talk about something, why can't you just go "oh, okay," and shut up like the rest of us homo sapiens?!' I seethed, ripping the little bit of the candy python that was hanging leisurely out of his mouth, and threw it on the floor.

Wow . . . that was stupid . . .

Jack looked crushed. 'I'm . . . I'm sorry, I'm - I'm, er, I was just –'

I groaned, holding my head. 'Look . . . Jack, it's me who's sorry. I'm just . . . tired.'

'Just checking . . . it's not about that cockroach thing, is it?' Jack asked boredly.

I gave him a peeved look, but then I finally cracked a smile. He grinned broadly after seeing it. Then, not being able to resist the urge, I pulled him into a huge hug, whether he liked it or not. He didn't seem to mind so much, though. I mean, it wasn't as if I was like, his grandma pinching him on the cheek. Nah, I was more like Sarah Michelle Gellar publicly showing affection, or something. Not that my acting skills are anywhere up there with MG's. But you know what I mean . . . I wasn't a HUGE embarrassment.

Well . . . I certainly hoped not.

'Suze . . . why are you crying? You're not supposed to be upset,' Jack whispered in my ear. 'You're Suze. Stop acting like a normal girl. Only girls cry. You're Suze.'

I frowned at that. What did he mean? Was being Suze such a good thing? Having a reputation of not crying for so long? Was I . . . unfeminine, or something? He didn't even see me as a girl. Oh, no. I was the one who taught Jack to swim. Not a girl.

Hey, hey, I am NOT saying that I am a hermaphrodite, okay?!

Interrupting my thoughts, as usual, was Paul's car horn. Jack jumped, and then shoved my Kate Spade into hands before running towards the back seat of the car.

Paul gave Jack a corny look. 'Did I miss a cheesy bonding moment?'

Faggot . . .

Jack grinned. 'It wasn't cheesy. We've had enough cheese for today, Paul. I just hope the toilet doesn't have to suffer, by the time you get to it.' And with that, he started humming a Weird Al Yankovich song. A Complicated Song, in particular. 'Why'd ya have to go make me so constipated –'

'Hey, Jack,' I cut his solo short. 'Wanna ride in front?'

'Sure,' he beamed, and hopped in the front. Paul gave me a very hard look, as if he wanted to protest or something, so he could grill me for more information and make me feel even lower. But he didn't thank God. Maybe he WAS human?

'It's probably for the better. This way, Suze can't object to my driving,' Paul quipped.

I gave him a fake smile, before sliding behind Jack's seat. I leant my head against the window, feeling mighty exhausted, for some weird reason.

Crying can do that to you, I hear.

At least I'd stopped now. But my eyes still stung, like wind was rushing at them or something. I felt so tired. Drained, emotionally and physically.

I brushed my hair back gently, wishing that I had someone that loved me to do that for me. Brush my hair, I mean. And just . . . hold me . . .

That's all I ever wanted.

To be held by someone who loved me.

Well, since when does Suze Simon ever get what she wants?

No, I'm not ungrateful for the Lord's blessings. Only . . . well, I kind of think that my blessings are outweighed by my curses. Honestly, you weigh them up and you will TOTALLY agree.

I tried to look bored, and not upset. But I didn't think that I was doing a very good job, judging by the look that Paul sent back at me. One which I hastily blocked with my hair, by shuffling my head around a bit so he wasn't in my vision anymore.

The sound of the roof going up burred in my ears.

'Aww!'

'Sorry, kid, looks like it might rain.'

'Er! The clouds are way over there!'

'Well, it might.'

It is. It's always raining.

Welcome to my world, Jack . . .

- 8 -

Well . . . whoa . . . that was all one scene. It was kind of a bit much, probably. But OOOH, PAUL KNOWS ABOUT COLE. OOOH, OOOH – aww, come on people, humour us?

"Oooh!"

Thank you.

So yeah. REVIEW. LONG REVIEWS! NOW! PRESS THAT PURPLE BUTTON! SHAKE THOSE TALE FEATHERS! OOOH, YEAH –

Shutting up.

Chapter 12 will be up soon, and in it . . . Suze ALMOST DIES.

Yeah . . . cool.

Love!

Lolly and Hayley.

Btw – Hayles, sorry for updating without any editing, I just couldn't WAIT.