Um, yeah, this took forever. Sorry…I got surgery and was on these strong narcotic pain killers…it doesn't make it easy to write. I apologize for any spelling mistakes. I'm still on medication. But it's all good! And now, two chapters, from yours truly.

Mark used to wonder about the people who did their work on the subway. He didn't know why…it was just a pet peeve. After all, a subway ride was like, what? Nine minutes tops? How much work could someone get accomplished in nine minutes? Only seven if you count the time it takes to get a seat and get all your stuff out. Why can't people just get that stuff done at their jobs or at home? But now, Mark David Cohen was a living breathing hypocrite. Or was it a hypochondriac? Oxy moron? Onomatopoeia? Whatever, he thought; I got a C in English. Yes, Mark Cohen was so swamped with his dumb CNN work, he had to do it on the damned subway if he wanted to be in bed before the sun came up. And it's not like it was even a good story. Just some lame human interest piece about people not washing their hands after they used the bathroom. He never wanted to read this much about human feces ever again. And now, thanks to his oh-so-lovely boss, the demon known as Cheri, he had to figure out how to put a "twist" on the story. He was thinking "Do toilets spin in the opposite direction below the equator?"Then again, maybe not…

The train stopped and that damn inertia thrust Mark forward. All of his papers flew out of his hands and he scrambled to retrieve them before the doors closed. He made it out just in time, thinking another reason why people just shouldn't do work on the subway. He made his way up to the street and walked home, thinking of nothing in particular until his legs involuntarily stopped moving. He looked to his left and saw the big brick building. Dar lived in that building. It was like his body was telling him to stop, walk up to the steps, ring the buzzer and ask her to dinner. But he was scared. He couldn't do it. It was too forward. He couldn't risk her rejecting him. He contemplated taking a pebble and chucking it at her window. It would be very Romeo and Juliet or him. No, he decided, stalkers do that. The last thing I need is a restraining order. If only he had her phone number. He should have asked for it when he had the chance. It was too late now. So he kept walking until he found himself in his apartment, miserable and bored as usual.

Roger was sitting on the sofa with Mimi resting peacefully against his chest. They acknowledged Mark with a smile. Part of him wanted to join them, but he didn't want to be a bother. So he just trudged into his room and collapsed on the bed. He sighed and settled on counting his ceiling tiles to pass the time while he blew off work.

An hour later, the phone rang. He was too busy trying to bullshit his way out of the CNN story to answer. Moments later, Mimi called, "Mark! Phone! It's for you!"

"I'm not home!" he grumbled back.

"It's some chick named Dar!"

He sat up. Dar? His Dar? Holy…He ran to the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mark," said the voice in the phone. "It's Dar."

"Hi! Um…how'd you get my number?"

"Heh…uh…it was in your hospital record. And it was kind of illegal for me to look for it, so shh. Don't tell."

"You're secret's safe with me," he promised, raising his right hand even though she couldn't see him.

Mimi, who had been ignoring Roger on the couch and eavesdropping on Mark's conversation, childishly waved her arms for his attention. He looked up at her and gave her a what do you want? look. "Who are you talking to?"

He disregarded her and said into the phone, "Do you want to continue this conversation somewhere else?" He looked at Mimi then and she rolled her eyes and turned away. "Like, in person?"

"Sure," Dar agreed. "My sister's sleeping at a friend's house, so I'm free as a bird."

They decided on meeting for coffee at the Life Café in 20 minutes. Mark, eager to see her, got there a little early and anxiously began to worry that the whole coffee thing had just been a cruel joke. After all, he thought, why would she want to see me? Only a few moments later the door opened, letting in the cool February air. Mark's glasses fogged up. He took them off and rubbed them with his shirt, and when he put them back on, he saw Dar standing in front of him. He had to remind himself not to gape. But he couldn't help it. He'd never seen her like this before. Her red hair—the hair that was always in a tight bun—was worn down loose, with beautiful thick curls spilling over her shoulders. She was wearing a green skirt and matching blouse (a nice change from the usual white lab coat). It brought out the color of her eyes. He hadn't noticed how bright and green her eyes were until now. He hadn't noticed a lot of things. And Mark really couldn't believe it. She was beautiful. He'd always thought she was pretty, but he'd just never paid much attention to her looks until now. How could he have missed it?

"Hey," he said finally, after staring way too long. Hey? Is that the best you could think of? Asshole. No, I'm a douche bag. Because only a complete and total douche would say "Hey" to the most beautiful girl in the world. Oh, no. Unusually long silence. Quick! Say something, Cohen! "Um…"

"Hey," Dar said, with a sweet smile upon her pleasantly bow-shaped lips.

Well, maybe "hey" was kinda smooth…

She led Mark to an empty table by the window. They sat and talked. They stopped talking and drank coffee. They fought about bands. They laughed.

"Dar," Mark said at one point, "You look really nice."

"Thanks," she muttered, eyes downcast. She looked uncomfortable. As if she didn't believe she was beautiful.

"No, really," he insisted. "You look…I mean…"

"Stop." She shifted in her seat. "I…oh, God, you have no idea how hard this is. Just please don't…oh, I'm so anal!"

"No you're not. Talk to me, Dar."

She shrugged. "No one's told me I looked nice in two years. And he…well, you don't want to hear about that."

"Yes I do."

"No, I mean. It's too soon…It's so stupid."

"If it makes you uncomfortable—"

"My last boyfriend," she blurted out. "The prick. He wasn't…good news." Mark narrowed his eyes curiously, contemplating the connotation of that. "James," she spat, as if he was unworthy of even having a name. "He was great at first. We met a little more than 2 years ago. Shortly after my dad died. And Annie—you remember my sister. Well, half sister—she wasn't in very good shape. I just became her guardian and I had no idea what to do with her. And then this guy, James, he moved in next door. He was so nice. He made excuses for me when the neighbors complained about Annie crying at night. And he'd bring us take out…even homemade stuff sometimes when I didn't have time to make anything. He even watched Annie when I couldn't get out of work. He was fantastic. And Annie just adored him. We started dating. He'd tell me I was beautiful. He'd kiss my forehead. He made me feel…special. Then, one day…" She stopped and shook her head. Mark extended his arm and took her hand from across the table, giving it a little squeeze. She continued. "I came home early from work. My boss decided to give me the day off because I'd worked 23 hours the day before. Annie was supposed to be in school and I was going to have the apartment all to myself. Heaven in my book. But the door…it was unlocked. I went inside and it was totally silent. But then I heard a cry. Annie. I rushed toward the sound—the bathroom. I opened the door and…and there James was. Standing over her. He was naked; they both were. He had tried to…oh God, he tired to put it in her mouth but she bit it and…when I came in and saw him, I realized. I realized how stupid I was and how evil he was…I lunged at him. Annie passed out. I tried to kill him, but he beat me. He beat me bad. And then he, well you know. He raped me. And then he left. He just left. I was just gone, you know? I had 2 broken ribs and a concussion and a chunk of my lip was flopping against my tooth. Annie woke up and called 911 for me, but they never found him. James—if that's even his real name—he used me just to get to her. And then to me. And I haven't dated anyone since then. I didn't think I ever would. Oh, God, I can't believe I just told you this."

Mark was speechless. He didn't know where to being. I'm so sorry. I hope you're okay. I hope he rots in hell. Nothing he could say would take away her pain. "I'm not like that," he told her finally.

"What?"

"If I ever met that pathetic excuse for a man, I would kill him, Dar. Because I'm not like that and I want you to know that. I will never hurt you."

She started to cry. "I know," she wept. "I…I trust you. And that's what's so scary. When you spent the night on my couch…I thought I'd be a nervous wreck. But I was okay. And that terrifies me."

"I will never hurt you," he repeated. "Never. I care about you."

She smiled an I'm sorry smile. Then she promptly stood up and left. He throuth he ought to let her alone to cool down, but he couldn't. He stood and ran after her, ignoring the waiter screaming, "You'll have to pay for that, you know!"

"Dar!" He cried when he was out on the street. It was midnight and he could barely see her.

She turned around and wiped tears from her eyes. She stared at him and he stared at her. Then, without thinking another thought, they ran into each other's embrace. Their lips met, locked. "Mark," she whispered."

He kissed her again. And again. They kissed as they got out of the street and stumbled toward his apartment.