A/N: OMG!!! I just read the whole of my Never the Normality a.k.a Trouble Love story, and IT SUCKS!!!! I laughed through all the serious bits and cried through all the normal bits it was so bad! HOW CAN YOU HAVE LET ME GET AWAY WITH SUCH CRAP?????? I don't sound like any of the characters!!!! It's hilarious. It truly is. I am sat here laughing and crying at the same time. I'm like some snorting hippo. How attractive.
AAAAAAAAAAAW!!!!!!!! I went on Meg Cabot's book club and, very subtley, advertised myself (stop screaming! I am not a story whore! I don't get paid...) and you know what the response was? I'm gonna tell you because frankly, my head isn't quite big enough yet. They said:
"delilah gigglesworth u da bomb gurl! and ya story occupational hazards wuz off da chain gurl! so creative and so awesome! ya gotz 2 keep writing! ya gotz 2! i luved it! it wuz fabulous!"
"lol i know! i just finished reading occ. hazards, its SO GREAT! omg i luv paul in occ hazards! hes so hot!"
That is what they said. Plus more. And most of it is thanks to Lolly. Who shamelessly flaunted several of us Fanfic authors' talent. Don't get excited, ladies. I'm talking about their writing abilities. Honestly, you've been reading too much Paul/Suze fanfics. But...but Lolly...WHY DIDST THOUST NOT ADVERTISE THOUSELFST? Moron. But, fear not, FOR I WILL DO THAT.
And stop saying "Nooo, noooo. Donnae do that, lass." In your funny accent. "Donnae do that. Gimme a haggis and I'll be fine, lass." But i will ignore you. And not only because i can't understand what you're saying because of your funny funny accent. I will ignore you because YOU ARE A KICK ASS WRITER. (And you, Hayley. I'm not forgetting you. Wherever you are.)
Anyway. Enough of that. Here are my acknowledgements:
Heidigirl: HEY! Did you go on Meg Cabot's book club and write about being in Land of the Holey Cheese without the other 2 Where-R-U books? Cos if it was you, then I can TOTALLY sympathise with you.
Alexis de Silva: Howdy! And, by the way, i thought you Americans INVENTED the word "randy". It means - saucy, horny, cheeky, sexy. Cheekiness. Go spit out your chaw, gal. And ride 'em coyboys! I MEANT COWBOYS!!!! AND I DIDN'T MEAN RIDE THE COWBOYS!!! I FORGOT TO PUT THE COMMA IN!!!! I SWEAR!!!!
mediatorgurl: I like the name Sam. No joke. I am going to name my baby Sam. Whether it's a girl or a boy. I am in favor of girls having boys names, like Chris and Sam. But not George. Too Enid Blighton-y. (What state is TN? If it is a state... Is it Tennessee? In which case - DO YOU HAVE A FUNK-ASS ACCENT?) And i wasn't angry at your criticms. I do actually respect you freaks and your opinions. SO DON'T APOLOGISE. It should be I, humble Delilah, apologising to you for not pleasing you with my writing. (Criticisms are welcome, fair munchkins, by the way!!!)
Gen. Kenobi: HAHAHA! You cheeky, devil, you! And no, i am not an internet pervy! Naughty monkey. I am 14 (15 in September) and i am a lady. I'm just sick of England and want to travel and am curious to know as to where you guys come from. I would love to go America. So you know. I am gathering info on that topic. BEWARE AMERICANS!!! Pennsylvania sounds like a groovy place, so i will forgive you of your cheekiness. And if you're thinking, "Well that biased bitch thinks all of America is cool! Stupid cow" then you are wrong. I am against lots of states in America. And cities. But unless you tell me you are from one of these pits of hells, i am not mentioning any names as yet... (I'm hoping this is incentive for you to tell me where you come from....until then....the tension mounts....)
SweetestReject: You drama queen, you.
MystiqueAngelique: Oh God. When people say things like "I can't stay long", you expect the review to be, oh i dont know, on the shortest side? THAT'S WHAT YOU EXPECT. But oooooooh nononononono. Instead, i get PAGES of review. PAGES. Thank you for revealing bunnygirl1's real name. BIANCA. How do you know everyone's real name? It's scary, Lolly. Scary. And a little bit stalkerish. You are a scary girl. I've said it before and I'm not gonna stop now. You are just a little bit odd and scary.
UnangelicHalo: "Ooh. Lolly told me, that when she told you something, that I can't say in this review, in case of wandering eyes, she said, you said " Aww, boring!"
Haha.
Oh yeah. She was in a bathtub. Well I gotta go now." Need i say more? You, my dear, sweet, once-innocent friend, have been spending too much time with Lolly. You odd people. You scarily odd people. Kat Kat Kat Kat Kat. Oh dear.
BloodSoakedTiger: What is it with the blood? Vampire, much?
Anna S: ANNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My favourite person!!!!!! No seriously. You are. As well as Jingalingablingamingawingazingagingaking. And yet you'll say, "No Emily. That's just the drugs talking," WELL I HAVEN'T TAKEN MY PILLS TODAY! SO PUT THAT IN YOUR PIPE AND BUUUUURRRRRN ITTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!
Hauntergurrl: AAAAW! Hello! ACK ACK ACK. Sorry. Furball. whistles a happy tune
I pushed him away the instant his lips touched mine.
Or, at least, a couple of instants later.
I placed my hands firmly on his chest and pushed him back. Our lips disconnected and I could almost hear a pop. I stood firmly and scowled at him. "Sorry, you're still a frog. Obviously no prince in you." I winced as my voice came out breathy and low.
Paul just grinned. "Maybe we should keep on trying..."
Shaking my head and putting my hands out in a "Stop in the Name of Love" motion, I backed a step away. "Uh-uh. I think you should go now."
Frowning, Paul started to argue, "Suze..."
"I'll be at your place at about seven tomorrow. OK? Buh-bye now." He stood frowning for a little while longer, then dematerialised. I released a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
Why couldn't Paul be an ugly obnoxious guy? Why did my life always have to be so difficult? Because Paul was certainly no frog. However, he wasn't exactly what I would define as a prince, either. Jesse was a prince, though. He was a prince all the way down to the fact that he rode horses and wears big boots. A true prince. And Paul is the ogre, the wolf, the dragon, the ugly stepsisters (minus the ugly). But he is certainly not the prince.
Andy called up announcing dinner. After I'd done the dishes and flung my share of insults at Brad I went out for a walk. I know, I know. Susannah Simon, going out for a stroll on a moonlit night? Has hell frozen over?
No. Because then Paul would be a Popsicle.
I went out because I felt like it. How many nights do I take advantage of Carmel's beautiful weather and skies? I always just sit at home, doing my homework, reading magazines, calling friends. Or I actually go out with my friends. But even then, I'm still being lazy. Going for coffee or going to the movies. I figured I owed Carmel something.
It had nothing to do with the fact that I was going to detour to the cemetery and see if Jesse was by his gravestone. Nothing at all.
I stepped into the warm night and felt instantly refreshed. The sky was clear, it was quiet and peaceful, and I felt safe and nice. Seriously. Nice. Me, Susannah Simon, the epitome of anti-nice.
I felt nice right up until the moment I almost got hit by a flashy sports car at the intersection. It blared its horn and I swear I heard laughter coming from inside the car. I took a calming breath, and carried on towards the cemetery. Nothing was going to stop me from at least appearing nice when I bumped into Jesse.
I walked up the path glancing from side to side. It's true that ghosts tend not to hang out at the graveyard – Jesse is the exception – but occasionally you do get the amateur spirit slumming there.
The graveyard was as clear as the sky though, and I strolled up to Jesse's headstone, adorned with a sprinkling of fresh lilies at the foot of the stone, courtesy of me. I know lilies are a kind of girly flower, but I thought they suited Jesse. They were beautiful and pure and, like I said, I thought they suited Jesse to a T.
And that was the only thing by the gravestone. No sign of Jesse anywhere.
I gave a weak smile and heaved a deep breath. I hated it when Jesse just...went. Especially when he was in a bad mood. It's just so easy for him to go and never come back.
And that's my greatest fear: That I might upset Jesse so much he'll leave and never come back.
It would be ironic if he did decide to never come back. The fact that the reason he'd be leaving would be because I was fighting to keep him from being forced to leave.
I left the graveyard with my "nice" feeling dissipating slowly, like there was a mini tornado circling above my head, sucking up my "nice" nice and slowly.
As I left the school and started the five mile walk back (why did I decide to walk this?) I began to hear footsteps behind me. I turned to look, thinking maybe it was Jesse. There was nothing there.
Oh, great. So now cola gives delusional after-effects.
I kept on walking, a little bit more aware of my surroundings and noises around me. But then I heard it again. Heavy footfalls behind me. I whipped round as fast as a cat, and came face to face with an empty street.
I turned slowly around, expecting every suspicious looking bush and tree, and this time came face to face with a rather troll-like man.
His glow informed me he wasn't at his best. In fact, he was dead.
He gave me a slow once-over and smiled an oily smile. I could feel it running through my insides, slicking itself across my body. "You the mediator, swee'heart?"
His wonky nose and black gaps between his teeth set warning signals clanging loudly in my head. His collection of scars that ran through his eyebrow, across his cheek, through his lip and down his neck set of scare signals that clanged louder than the warning ones.
I puffed myself up and hoped my voice didn't waver. "Yeah. And there's no 'sweetheart' about it." He threw back his bald head and laughed. It was creaky and raspy and low. He was about six foot five inches and every inch of it muscle.
I'm about a foot shorter and less than half of it is muscle.
This guys hands were as big as my head. The fact I wasn't screaming for help at the top of my voice was proof enough of my bravery. Or stupidity, if you look at it from a different angle. The angle I know my mom would look at it from.
He reached out a calloused finger and trailed it down my cheek. I flinched back and he gave another oily, sleazy grin.
"I was told to come to you. I was told you'd..." he looked me up and down, "lend a hand." I stood stiffly and fought off a shudder.
This guy was worse than Paul when it came to pick-up lines. I could feel my teeth clenching and my fists curling. Why did guys have to be bigger than girls? Did God not see when he was planning his world that the male species would only take advantage of their build?
"I can help you move on. First: name and situation of death." I added: "Please."
He took a step closer and I retreated half of one. If ghosts could smell, I would've bet you'd get ten for five he smelt of stale cigars, booze, sweat, and blood.
He gave a grin. "My friends called me Stiff-"
"Stiff?" Mom always told me it was rude to interrupt but come on. Stiff?
His grin grew and I regretted asking. "You get on the wrong side of me, that's how you'll end up." Boy did I regret asking.
I gave a dismissive hand gesture to hide the flash of hot bile I could feel climbing up from an unsettled stomach. "And situation?" I knew I was going to regret this even more than the name.
"Wet work," was all he said. I stared at him. He was a painter? A plumber? A kiddies' pool attendant? I almost snorted out loud at that.
I swallowed and squinted up at him, knowing I needed to know the answer to my question – and kinda curious at what wet work might be – but feeling sick at what the answer might be.
"And what, what exactly is wet work?" He traced my hairline with his finger then slowly brought his digit to the centre of my brow.
"Bullet between the eyes," he whispered. "Close range." He gave a push with his finger on my forehead and I stumbled back.
Now I knew what wet work was, and why it was called...wet work. I worked hard on not showing my feelings...and my dinner.
Instead I gave a weak smile. "How lovely."
He lashed out so fast with his right fist I never saw it coming. But, boy, did I feel it. I fell to the hard sidewalk with an audible thud. With black dots dancing in my eyes, I blinked a couple of times from my position on my side. I started to heave myself up when a shadow fell over me and hard hands yanked my shoulders around and against the concrete.
What he had left of his teeth glinted in the moonlight.
I could feel my heart thudding with such force against my ribs I thought I might have an episode not much different from the one in the film Alien.
I stared at him with wide eyes then glowered. "What the hell did you do that for? Get your hands off me!"
I struggled against his grip to no avail and my cheek was starting to throb fiercely. Talk about unfair! First, my make out session was interrupted by my boyfriend's – and mine – arch nemesis, then my boyfriend ups and leaves me, next I'm forced to arrange a meeting with the mentioned arch nemesis, and after that, I find my boyfriend is not where he was meant to be where I could find him which leads to me meeting with an unsightly fellow called Stiff with more scars on his face than spots on a leopard.
How had this evening gone from a dream-come-true to nightmare-on-Warson-Street?
I felt resigned to just let myself get pummelled and possibly killed. But I was wearing a new slip-dress and I did not want it getting creased, stained, or ripped. I paid enough for it. And my head was dangerously close to a suspicious looking plant. I was fully prepared to undergo a pummelling, just not fully prepared to get a rash over my face from poison oak.
So I need old Stiff here in his most male of regions. He gave a grunt and rolled over and off me. I hastily pushed myself up and was just starting to dart off when a thick hand came around my ankle and pulled sharply. I flew as my feet came off the ground beneath me and crashed to the floor again.
A crunch resonated dully beneath me as I landed on my twisted wrist. I knew that was gonna hurt in the morning – it was hurting badly enough now. I was flipped onto my front as my new acquaintance flicked his wrist – the one still holding onto my ankle. My head cracked on the sidewalk and once again, black spots blinked in and out of my vision. I groaned as my head went light.
Knuckles clipped my right cheek again and, again, my head hit the sidewalk with a sickening crack. Not to mention it felt as though my already injured cheek had just exploded.
This time, black dots swallowed my vision, forming one large cloud as I lost consciousness.
Only to regain it about three seconds later. Consciousness, I mean. I blinked lazily as I tried to gain focus. My sharpened vision made the outline of a huge fist, flying towards my left cheek when, out of the corner of my eyes, I saw something sparkle.
So did Stiff, judging by the way he froze and uttered an intelligent sounding, "huh?" as he turned his head.
"Susannah?" I tilted my head and saw Bethany, eyes wide and frightened, hands curled in front of her mouth.
I stared and stared, not knowing what to say or do. Until Stiff made a move to grab her, too.
Then I acted. As Bethany let out an unearthly scream, I threw all my weight into my arm, and my fist exploded against the side of Stiff's head. He let out an angry yell, Bethany let out a sob, and I fell back with a grunt, black dots reappearing all over again as my probably sprained wrist took the power of the impact and my hand crunched ominously.
"Go," I managed to gasp out at Bethany. I had to get her away from Stiff. She gave me one last whimper and tremulous gaze then disappeared, and I had a moment of relief before a backhand to my left cheek brought back the reality – and horror – of the situation.
"Stupid bitch," I heard him rumble and he knelt all his weight on my knee. I yelled as pain exploded in my knee and danced up and down my leg. He twisted his knees and mine went with his, bringing out even more pain.
He stood up and I barely noticed. I clutched my knee and groaned, gritting my teeth to stop the screams and hysterical giggles that were escalating in my throat. And then I felt a foot connecting with my side. I rolled with the momentum and somehow managed to get to my feet, staggering and coughing.
Stiff came looming towards me and I heard the most beautiful sound in the world.
A car.
A car was turning the corner of the road, and heading in my direction. I ran into the road, waving my arms and yelling. Stiff ran after me, and it was he who took the brunt of the car.
Not that it was travelling very quickly. The car, I mean. I fully saw and, as it wasn't travelling particularly fast, it braked fairly rapidly. So it's not like it was going to hit me, or anything. But Stiff was a few feet in front of me, so he got hit by the car. It flipped him off into the middle of the road where he lay, unconscious. For how long, though. The driver – a guy of about twenty years – got out of the car and stared at me with concern and a little bit of fear.
"Are you alright? Did I hit you? I swear, I heard something..." He stared down at his car then at the road.
"I'm sure you were just imagining it," I hastily reassured him. Not hard with a swollen face. "Can you give me a lift home, please?" The man shot his eyes back to me and seemed suddenly startled at my appearance.
"Good God! Do you want...Are you sure you wouldn't want me to take you to the hospital? I'm sure we can call your parents from there," he started walking towards me which was a good thing, as I was pretty sure I was either going to collapse or hurl if I didn't get some support, and soon.
"That would be great," I replied sleepily. I wasn't in the mood to argue, to be frank. And this guy seemed safe and genuine.
His arm came around my waist and I winced as his hand gripped the place where Stiff's foot connected with my side. He escorted me gently to the passenger side of his car and leant over me to secure my seatbelt.
I got a good look at him then and, even though I'm pretty sure a girl in my position shouldn't have been thinking things like I was, he looked good. Like a real Prince Charming. Flaxen-hair, warm hazel eyes with gold flecks in them, and a soft mouth. He smelled of masculine soap, too. It was comforting, in an odd way.
I don't know. Maybe I was just suffering from a concussion.
"Actually," I suddenly remembered as he climbed into the car, "my house is about three miles from here. Maybe you could drive me there, tell my parents what happened, and then drive me to the hospital, with my parents following." In my head I was screaming, parent and STEP-parent. STEP-parent. But I couldn't be bothered to go into all of that.
He gave a nod and started to drive off. He spared a glance in my direction and asked, "How did this happen, anyway?"
I blinked myself from the reverie of pain I had gone into. "Um...How did...? Oh. I got mugged," I managed to get out. Everything was blurry and I was finding it kinda hard to concentrate.
My eyes were slowly closing when I felt a warmth spreading across my hand. I looked down and saw a golden-brown hand gripping it encouragingly. "Hey, no sleeping, alright? I know I'm not the most interesting guy in the world, but I'm not that dull."
In my delusional state, I laughed. He was a genuine good guy. Like Spider-man. And I'm not a bug person, but I really like Spider-man. "What's your name, anyway?" I dragged my eyes from the hypnotic lines on the road to my rescuer.
"Um...name? Suze. Suze Simon. You?" He glanced over to me and smiled warmly.
"James. My friends called me Jim. I'm not sure which I prefer: Jim or James," he gave a small chuckle, "they're both not exactly bread-winning names, huh?"
I smiled and made a noise that might have signified a noise of agreement, or a cover-up noise of pain.
The journey continued with me giving directions and chatting about myself – school, home, shoes. The guy's voice was reassuring and continuously spreading strength and warmth through me.
Then we pulled up outside my house, I went very, very cold.
"Oh God," I choked out.
Jim whipped his head round and reached his hand out to touch me gently on my less-injured cheek. "What? What is it?"
"Please don't tell them how bad it is. I don't...I don't want to worry my mom."
Jim grimaced and said, "I'll try." And then he was out of the car.
To be fair to my mom, she didn't suddenly cling to him, or throttle him, to get more information out of him. She didn't burst into hysterical tears or faint. She nodded sharply, looked over at me with tearful, concerned eyes, then grabbed the keys and Andy, and was out of the house, with Andy yelling something at the house that I'm sure was meant for David, Dopey and Sleepy.
Jim returned to the car, and suddenly we were driving off to the hospital. Jim asking me questions, and me replying feebly, with my eyelids growing heavier and heavier and my voice weaker and weaker.
I don't remember getting out of the car, except for mom and Andy rushing out to help support me, and Jim striding ahead to get the attention of the receptionist.
No one questioned me, or bothered me about what had happened. I went through the usual X-rays, CT scans, prods and pokes from doctors, and soothing words from nurses. Thank God I didn't need stitches. I hate looking like I have a spider trying to crawl out from a gap in my skin.
I was all bruises and bumps, this time. Not even a broken rib! However, I did have a broken wrist, and fractured cheek bone. Not to mention a slight concussion. And sprained kneecap.
Nothing serious. Unless I don't wake up from my concussion, in which case I think it's safe to say there was something serious.
I didn't have to stay overnight in the hospital because my concussion was small and I've had them a few times before, proving my body can take care of itself. And there was no chance of internal bleeding. So they let me off with words of caution and prescriptions for antibiotics – to stop infection – and a variety of pain killers for the different parts of my body.
We walked out of the hospital to the parked car, mom casting sheepish glances over me as she helped me walk, and Andy glaring around, in case my "muggers" came back for more. When we got to the car, we found Jim's still parked next to it, and Jim, leaning against his door.
"Is she alright? No permanent damage, no breaks, or anything?" He stood up when we got closer and looked from mom to Andy to me with deep concern.
Andy filled him in and blinked sleepily at him, thinking how really very nice and truthful he was and how, if I wasn't already involved or zonked out on drugs, I wouldn't mind taking his face in my hands and kissing him senseless.
I blame the drugs.
When he looked over to me with a small smile and said goodbye, I thanked him by shaking his hand, returning his smile, and giving him a peck on each cheek. His smile grew and said he's stop by some time this week to check up on him. And then we were getting into our cars, and driving home.
You'd have thought I would have been able to catch a break when I got home, right? I mean, it made sense that I should be able to get home, climb into my comfy PJs, and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.
But no. The doctors at the hospital had informed my mother and her husband that, every hour, they had to wake me up. To make sure I would wake up, and not stay permanently asleep.
So I was forced to climb into my pyjamas, and settle for resting in the lounge on the couch, watching the TV with mom and Andy. I didn't do much TV watching, but I didn't exactly do much sleeping either. And, when daylight finally hit and I had eaten breakfast, I finally got to go up to my room and sleep.
Which I did. All day, and all next night.
I woke to someone softly stroking my cheek. So gently, it felt as if someone was slowly dragging a feather across my skin. At first, because it was so gentle, I thought it was Bethany.
After all, she was the one who had witnessed some of my attack. Then I realised, as I painfully opened my gluey eyes, the fuzzy blob sat on my bed, next to my form, was a bit bigger than a six year old girl's.
So, logically, my next thought was that it was Jesse. And I'm not ashamed to admit a girlish feeling of pride filled my heart. My boyfriend was comforting me even though I looked like a bloodied-up frog. Then I remembered how Jesse had stormed off last night. He could have returned, I reasoned. Somehow, though, the body didn't give off a Jesse feel.
And suddenly it hit me.
Stiff.
I sat up fast and scrabbled to get away. "Get the hell away from me you sick sonofa..." I screeched.
"Suze! Shh, it's all right. It's just me! It's Paul, Suze. Paul."
It did sound like Paul... I frowned and tried to get my eyes to focus. And Paul came into view. I gave a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry. I thought you were...someone else."
I gave a small cough and frowned when it echoed painfully in my head. "What are you doing here, Paul?" I asked. I looked over at my bedside clock. It was three in the morning. Luckily I didn't have to worry about school. Mom said I was having the rest of the week off and – if I was still I a lot of pain – the week after that off, too.
It is hard to write when your wrist is broken and concentrate when you pain is ricocheting off the inside walls of you head.
"I came to check up on you. When you didn't come to mine to help research shifting-sticking, I got a little worried. When I came here, and found you" – he waved his arm up and down my length – "like this, I stayed and sat with you." He frowned slightly and searched my face, "You looked like you were having a bad dream."
I just stared at him. I couldn't remember any nightmare, though I didn't doubt what Paul was saying. I was probably mentally scarred from Stiff's attack. Yeah. Right. Like one more brutal assault to Susannah Simon, toughest girl mediator, was gonna add up to something serious. Mediators are hard to kill, physically and mentally. Goodness knows how hard it is to kill us shifters – probably darn near impossible. I hope.
"What happened, Suze?" I settled back into my pillows when my strength started draining away. Paul tucked my duvet in tightly around me, and unnecessarily smoothed it down.
"I got a spectral visitor while I was out walking. His name was Stiff, because apparently anyone who crosses him ends up that way. And I don't doubt that for a second, now." I gave a self-pitying smile. "I guess I crossed him."
A muscle in Paul's jaw twitched and his eyes flared for a second, but he continued to stroke my duvet with gently trembling hands.
"Luckily Jim came along. He unknowingly hit Stiff when I ran into the street and in front of his car. And the rest is history."
"What did you tell everyone happened?"
I gave a snort. "I said I was mugged. Can you believe it? As if any mortal could do this to me. As if I'd let them." Tears sprang to my eyes. I couldn't believe I had been so unprepared. I couldn't believe I had let this happen to me. Again.
Paul stroked a hand across my bruised left cheek. "You're not invincible, Suze. You can't blame yourself for letting this happen. You're not strong enough to fight everyone," he gave a weak smile. "Just me and a couple of other guys who try to make their move on you."
I gave a small smile back. "A girl's gotta have standards, Paul."
"So what exactly did our friend Stiff do to you? What's the damage?" I repeated everything the doctors had told me and watched his face grow darker and darker and I ticked off the list of injuries.
"Did Bethany come to you, Paul?" He looked a bit confused.
"Bethany? Who's she?" I obviously hadn't told him about my newest ghost cutie.
"That little girl that thought I was her mommy and you her daddy at school. Did she come to you at all yesterday or anything?" I hadn't seen her since she witnessed my attack and I was a little bit worried about her. I know TV these days is a lot more accessible and kids are used to watching a lot more racey stuff than usual but still. The smallest thing can set a kid on edge, and an even smaller thing can push him or her off.
Paul looked kinda startled by my question though. "No, I haven't seen her since that time in the breezeway. Why?"
I closed my eyes gently when I started to feel a bit light-headed. I may not have had a concussion, but I was still feeling like a Ming vase floating on a rather unsteady gust of wind.
"She popped in on me when I was getting visited by Stiff. I told her to run but you know, she strikes me as the gentle kind. I don't want to be the reason she's going to be traumatised for the rest of her life," I opened my eyes and did my usual squinting routine to adjust the focus of my vision. Finally everything grew sharper and I looked down at Paul...
...Who was looking at me as if I'd just said I wanted to go on Jerry Springer and announce my secret to the millions of viewers that tune in to watch.
"She's dead, Suze. She doesn't have a 'rest of her life'."
"Oh. Yeah. She still might be traumatised..." I trailed off when Paul's 'are you mad?' look intensified.
"She's a ghost, Suze! It doesn't matter if she's traumatised or not, she's already dead so it's not like it matters! Come on, Suze! When are you gonna stop letting ghosts dictate and ruin your life? You could be having fun! Staying out of trouble, not getting hurt!"
I opened my mouth to argue. This conversation was getting old, and fast. Who was he to say that I shouldn't let ghosts dictate my life when he was trying to just that! I wanted to paint the word 'hypocrite' across his forehead in red pen.
Paul's face rushed towards me just as I was about to tell him where he could stick his 'ghosts are ruining your life'. Next thing I knew, his mouth was encasing mine in a hard and brief – and somewhat wet – kiss. And then he was drawing back just as quickly as he'd attacked.
"Damn. I wish you wouldn't do that," he breathed, glaring at me with warm, smiling eyes.
"Me?" I squeaked, doing a fairly good imitation of Minnie Mouse. "What did I do? You were the one who kissed me!"
Paul actually had the nerve to grin, a little sheepishly, I might add. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah I did."
Eyes glazed over and staring at my mouth, Paul began to lean forward again.
I slapped my hand over his mouth. "Why? Why would you do that?"
"Mmf mmmf," he said against my hand. I took it away and slowly pushed myself up to a sitting position against my headboard. "Do what?" He asked.
"Kiss me!" I said, throwing my hands up in the air. I regretted it when my wrist started throbbing viciously.
The grin returned to Paul's face. You'd have thought even Paul, bad guy in my un-fairy-tale-like life, wouldn't try to take advantage of me in my incapacitated state. "Well, since you insist..." And he leant forward again.
My hand cushioned his lips again and prevented any further Paul escapades to continue. "That was not an order. Why did you kiss me? I'm damaged goods!" My eyes widened with the horror of my next realisation. "I don't have any make-up on and I have..." I trailed off. I was not going to be telling Paul I haven't brushed my teeth in about thirty-six hours.
Paul raised his eyebrows and I lifted my hand away. "You're cute when you're worried. And angry. And confused. You're cute all the time, even when you've been beaten to a pulp." He smiled kindly at me. "So I kissed you. You were doing your adorable 'I'm Suze and I like to argue with everything anyone says when they're saying I'm not a bionic superwoman'. It seemed like a suitable way to shut you up."
I stared at him in disbelief. "You kissed to shut me up? Oh, well now. I feel so much better. I feel so privileged," I crossed my arms huffily.
I may not want romantic liaisons with Paul, but if some romanticism were to occur, I had always hoped it would be just that – romantic. Not as a way to shut me up. Call me old-fashioned, but come on. A girl has dreams.
If all kisses and lovey-dovey gestures were made just to shut a woman up (and I am fully aware that a lot of the above happens for just that reason – guys buy girls flowers to shut them up whingeing all the time), then every girl would have her a boyfriend. Scrap that. Every girl would have a lot of boyfriends.
Paul merely smirked. "You wanna feel privileged? Stick with me."
I rolled my eyes.
Really, what else was there to do?
"You're giving me a headache, Paul. Worse than usual. So can you..." I made some short, sweeping motions with my hand, "scoot away to land of the ghouls?"
Paul shook his head, his glowing fixture casting shadows on my bed quilt as the light danced across the creases and dips and ridges. "Uh-uh," he said. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
I raised my brows. "Uh-uh? What, have we digressed into the nappy stage of life? Or the Neanderthal state of mind? What exactly is 'uh-uh'? Repeat after me: Bye bye Suze. Not 'uh-uh'."
Paul leaned over and gave me a soft peck on the forehead. "Go to sleep, Suze. You need your rest," he sat still next to me, smiling down at me.
It was kinda creepy.
I frowned at him. "What are you, my mother?" Paul gave a deceptively ungentle tug at my waist and I slipped from leaning against my headboard to lying down amongst my pillows. He brushed my hair away from my face.
"Go to sleep," he whispered. "You're getting bags."
I scowled. "Turn off the night-light. I haven't been afraid of the bed-monsters since I was about six months old. And you don't look like a bed-monster."
"I like to think of myself as a bed-god." I guess he does have to have some god-like qualities such as super-strength in order to lug around that gigantic ego of his.
"I'll bet you do," I muttered. But waves of sleep were already blissfully washing over me. And, even though I hate to admit it, having Paul there was a huge comfort. I felt safe knowing if Stiff decided to make a return, he'd have Paul to deal with.
And a pissed-off Paul is worse than a disgruntled Stiff. Because if Stiff did decide to show his face, it was a guarantee that Paul would be a little less than happy. Stiff had beaten me senseless, Paul had to defend my honor. It was his duty as acting out the infatuated-stalker.
But Paul guarding me did feed some misgivings into my mind.
Where was Jesse when I really needed him? Because usually it was his job to watch over me. Heck, usually it was his job to rescue me! I don't know why I didn't call him. I was pretty occupied, though.
The next day I woke up at one in the afternoon with the sun streaming through my newly-opened window and a Paul standing over the bed.
"Rise and shine, princess. It's the dawning of a beautiful day," he stood, hands on hips, in front of my window. The sun was streaming past him and adding to his ghost glow.
He looked like an angel in Lacoste.
I almost snorted out loud at that. Angel. Paul was the antichrist of angelic.
"It's the afternoon, Mr Perky the Happy Hound," I retorted. I'm not a morning person. Or an afternoon person, if I've just woken up.
"You know your problem, Simon?"
I did snort out loud at that. Of course I knew my problem. I had a list of problems that even Ricki Lake wouldn't be able to handle.
"Yeah, I do. It's name is Paul Slater and he won't leave me alone. Whether he's acting out the devil or trying to be Gabriel, he's still really annoying."
"Nah. That's not it. And I don't 'act out the devil'. We just have a lot in common."
"Oh God," I moaned. "You're always going on about how we have so much in common too, but you don't see me harassing innocents, do you?"
Paul decided to ignore me and instead started pacing in front of the window. Back and forth, back and forth. Not particularly helpful when I felt like I was waking up from a twenty-four kegger after which I'd gotten less than a quarter of that time sleep.
"Your problem is you need some motivation for waking up quicker. It'll make you feel happier, more complete," his eyes twinkled dangerously and I could guess what was coming next. "I can provide you with some motivation, Suze."
Eye roll. This movie was so predictable. "You're certainly doing a good job of it so far. You're motivating me to get out of my bed and kick you where you in the place that seems to feed your ego to no extent."
Paul had stopped pacing but his eyes still sparkled. "Well, the motivation I was thinking of certainly involved one aspect of what you mentioned then. But it wasn't the kicking part, that's for sure."
I would have rolled my eyes again, but I was getting a headache from doing it so many times. I'd probably end up rolling them right back and seeing the inside of my head.
I wisely decided to ignore what Paul said and instead busied myself with getting up. I pushed up on my elbows and flung off my duvet. My knee was purple with a tasteful yellow/green tinge outlining it.
"Hmm," I said. "Looks like I've grown an extra knee cap." Because that is what it looked like. There was a bump on it so big it looked like, instead of a third nipple, I had a third kneecap.
Paul came round to the side of the bed and took a look. "Oh man. That is the nastiest thing I have seen since Jack mixed pickles in his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and decided, two hours later, the concoction didn't quite settle his stomach."
Paul's face took on a nostalgic look. "Do you miss Jack and your parents?"
Paul snorted, still staring at my mutant knee.
"I don't miss my parents. They either paid me off to be the good boy, or they ignored me. But Jack..." He gave a little sigh. "I miss Jack. Before, we had never been exactly best buds. But we joked around. And now, he hates my guts. Thinks I'm this big baddie who's out to get you," he cast his over to me and they were filled with amazement.
"Well, duh. No offence, but that is how you come off in first impressions. I mean, you did try to get rid of my boyfriend, try to kill me in Shadowland, almost kill your brother because of your social connections, and, oh yeah, lie to Jack for basically the whole of his life. He was petrified and you just laughed at him and told him he was nutso!" I stared at Paul in incredulity. "Of course he's going to hate you! What did you ever do for him but lie to him and call him certifiable? I heard that brothers were supposed to support each other and help each other. And that's what Jack heard too. So imagine his surprise when he finds his brother has been doing the complete opposite."
I was breathing hard and Paul and I were locked in a stare down with equal looks of wonder on our faces.
"For someone who goes round punching her brothers, I'm not sure I should be taking any notice of you," he said wryly.
"One: Stepbrother. And two: I only punch Brad. And only when he deserves it which, unfortunately for him, happens to be most of the time."
Paul grinned. "Jack really loved you, you know." I grinned widely back.
"Like anyone could do anything but love me," I shook my head. "He only loves me cos I showed him he had nothing to be afraid of. And I taught him how to swim." I stared up at Paul. "I can't believe you guys never taught him how to swim! He's a big enough freak as it is, he doesn't need the add freakiness of not being able to swim!"
Paul laughed. "Oh, so my brother's a freak?"
"Well," I said haughtily. "I'm judging from you. You're what he's going to turn into when he's older." I gave a shudder.
Paul attempted to look offended. "Actually, that's not true. He wants to be you when he's older," he tried to hide a smile but his lip corners were irresistibly twitching.
"But...but I'm a girl!" I'll admit, I was kind of proud that I had someone who wanted to grow up to be a mini-Suze. But I always thought it would be a girl...
I didn't want to be the reason Jack would be a social reject.
The twitching corners broke into a fully-fledged smile, lit by the sunlight pouring into my room and the rest of Paul's face, and for a moment I completely forgot what we were talking about.
"Yeah, and you act like such a girl all the time," Paul's smile was contagious and his eyes had that warm sparkle again.
"Hey! I'll have you know I use my feminine wiles to get a lot of things! I take full advantage of the fact that I'm a girl, all the time!"
Paul raised an eyebrow. "I'll bet you do," he said in a low voice.
I felt my cheeks burning and attempted to heave myself off the bed. My legs his the floor and my mutant-knee buckled.
"Holy..." I bit my lip as a string of curses floated into my mind. Taking a deep breath, I gripped Paul's proffered hand and he tugged me up and into his chest, wrapping his arms protectively around my body.
I lifted wide eyes up to Paul's and we stood stock still.
Then Paul went and ruined it. Thank God.
"I'll have to find out how I can get you this vulnerable again," he joked.
"You're a real Superman."
"You want me to be Superman?" He twisted and dipped down in a move that should only be used by parents taking ballroom dancing lessons in an attempt to spice up married life. "Just ask and I can be Superman," he looked down at me intensely and I looked right back up.
And, of course, because he hadn't shown up at any crucial time last night, or the night before, he decided to make up for it now.
By materialising right next to Paul and me.
Jesse's timing could do with a lot of practice.
OK. Here is my list of "holy"s that i deem worthy of mentioning:
Holy moley, holy crap, holy christ on a crutch, holy cannoli, holy smackballs, holy Toledo, holy petunia, holy cow, holy shit on a stick, holy Hannibal.
KEEP ON SENDING ME "HOLY"S!! (only if they're good, you weiners. NO OFFENCE IF I DIDN'T PUT YOURS UP!!! But i couldn't be bothered to go through my email again looking at the holys you put. So sue me, I'm a lazy mushroom!)
