Okay people. This one is a loooooong one. I decided that I would incorperate her getting ready to leave with her backstory. So the first story is life with her parents, just so you get to know the character and her life, better. Also, what it was like to be her. And about her writing.

R&R please! And give me honest opinions as to what you think!

And by that, please tell me if I made her mother bitchy enough. Because she's supposed to be super-duper aweful!

Alan Ayman was a person one might call tolerable on a good day. On a not so nice day he wasn't intolerable, but he was a lot less tolerable then he would have been if, say, the sun was shining. He was an easy man to memorize. He liked things and he didn't like things but had no time for anything in between, so it was easy to predict what he would eat or wear. And his routine was spotless, a clockwork of times and dates and exact precision, polished until it gleamed with pride.

He ate his breakfast, toast with exactly 1 ½ tablespoons of strawberry jam and black coffee, at exactly 8:15 after he woke up at 6:45 and had an hour and thirty minutes to shower and dress. He went to work every day, never missing one for any reason except maybe if he died. But even then it was probable his ghost would be flashing an ID card at the door. He worked as a financial advisor for the government bank and arrived at the local headquarters in the small town where he resided in Eurinona, Texas. And each and every day at 9:00 am he arrived at his desk, set out his papers and began, not saying a word to anyone until 5:30 when he shuffled his papers and put them back into the front pocket of his briefcase and left, waving an automatic goodbye to the receptionist whose name he didn't care enough to learn.

He was home by 6:05, just in time to watch the national news that came on at 6:30. And at 7:00 he got up, stretched, turned off the television and went to sit at the table for dinner with his wife, daughter and son in-law. Dinner began at 7:10 each night. And every night at precisely 7:15 his eyes strayed to the two empty seats at the table, seats they had reserved for 23 years, but might, and probably would never, be filled.

Dinner ended every night at 8:15. Goodbyes to the two guests were said at 8:30 and the two left in the house did whatever they wanted until 11:00, the strict bedtime that Alan Ayman stuck to. No exceptions were made to any of these times whatsoever, and the cycle began as it did every morning at 6:45 with a single been from the alarm clock next to his bed. Only one beep was needed, as Alan Ayman wasn't a man to be told twice and never needed a reminder.

Alan Ayman's life was a perfect circle, as were the lives of the people around him. Any disruption to this natural order brought confusion and later on a definite separation from the thing that had caused the disturbance.

This had been the case with Lillie Erin Lee Ayman.

Lillie had been part of her father's circular routine for as long as she had been alive. Her mother, formally and presently known as Rebecca J. Lee, was a born and raised God-fearing woman with the attitude of a snake. She also happened to be a nurse at the local hospital and, after years of commitment, dedication and mostly on her part, competition, she had landed a job as the head nurse in the Pain Management department. She had met Alan Ayman 27 years prior in that hospital where he had, against his perfect circle of a day, needed help relocating his knee cap after he had fallen trying to install shelves above the kitchen sink. He had been 23. She had been 18. With his stable job and perfect record, his parents had allowed them to see each other and a week after their first meeting he had asked to court her. It was old fashioned, but that was something that they agreed too. Both had no time for dates as a social get-to-know-you. They had lives to live and would have rather been living them quickly and cleanly. Six months later he had proposed quickly and she had, without a single tear or exited squeal, agreed. And two months after that, they were married.

The ceremony had been done in their house with only their parents as witnesses. She had kept her last name though; saying that Rebecca J. Lee was much prettier than Rebecca J. Ayman could ever hope to be.

He had agreed.

When Rebecca turned 20 they had their first child. Aisling Payten Lee Ayman was born on October 16th in the same hospital that her mother occupied on a daily basis for 8 hours on a $10.50 per hour salary. From the moment she came into the world her future was planned. She was to be a respectable nurse, her parents had decided. They reserved a place for her at the best nursing college they could find when she was only ten years old. Her mother had primped and polished her all her life and gave her the knowledge she needed to get a stable and suitable man. She was, as told by her parents, to marry a doctor right out of school. She attended the University for 4 years and did, a few months after, marry the second doctor she had gone out with. His name was Calvin M. Bell and her parents liked him immediately.

Now their darling girl was head nurse in the department of physical training but taking it slower because of the new life she held inside of her. And would be holding for about another 5 months. When she had announced that she was pregnant it had been a great relief to Ayman and Lee. They thought that the suitable age for a woman's pregnancy was to be 22. She was 25, a little later then they would have liked. But with how her life was tuning out they let it slide with little to no complaints.

But they did stick firmly to the idea that the latest time for their daughters to be bearing children would be 22, a respectable age for a good mother.

They had hoped that their next daughter would have been everything and more then the first. Unfortunately, they didn't get what they had wanted, and to say that they had been displeased would have been a giant understatement.

Lillie Erin Lee Ayman was born on January 29th when her mother was 23 years of age. Like her sister, the spot at the same university was reserved with all the money that they could possibly place in. She had a perfect ride to the best places at the age of ten. But the signs that she wouldn't turn out the same were evident when Lillie turned 11.

The first had been when her mother had first wanted to primp and polish her. She had taken her to a day spa, hoping to remodel her daughter much like an artist does to clay. Lillie had gladly exepted the nail polish and too her mothers delight had chosen bright and highly feminine colors, such as pinks and blue's. The real trouble began when it was time to put them on.

The woman at the foot bath had rolled up the little girls pant leg in order to place her foot in the bubbling water and her mother had gasped. On her daughters right leg, in what looked to be a fine tipped felt black marker, were words. She had demanded an answer, asking why she would treat her body like a wall for graffiti. Lillie had only told her that she had needed more room, that day apparently she had run out of paper.

The next time she had come to be trouble was at the shopping mall. Her mother had insisted on lady like apparel, things that consisted mostly of modest cuts and dainty sizes. Unfortunately, Lillie was not like her sister in any way. Her sister had sprouted tall and lean, fitting into petite shoes and other such things. Lillie had somehow become the shortest in her family. She was thin and had more curves then any of them would ever have. But she was too short to fit into anything her mother perceived to be 'dainty' and her large wide feet hardly fit into any shoes.

A large dispute, and something that continusly bothered Rebecca J. Lee was her daughters attitude toward religion. She was fine with it, something she constantly said. But she harley ever tried to practice it. It just wasnt a major part of her life. And the amount of acceptance she had for other ones as well. It was strange when she had returned home from temple with one of her frineds saying it had been interesting. But other than that, the fact that her daughter was non-religious scared her. It really did. And the fact that she skipped church or said that she found other religions interesting. However, it wasnt one of the terible evils that she believed her daughter to commit.

The second to last straw, and one of the many terrible-evil's to come, had been the hair. Alan Ayman's hair was mouse brown, strait as a board and shiny as platinum. His eldest had inherited the same as him, along with his shockingly emerald eyes. And his wife was the jewel of the family with alabaster skin the color and smoothness of milk, her long golden hair fell perfectly to her waist without so much as a curl or wave or split end to interrupt it's lines. And her eyes were crystal clear and blue.

And then came Lillie. Not only had the height been a shock for the couple, but the black hair she had held on her head since birth and the dark brown, almond eyes that looked everywhere she went without a care. Her mother had pitied her, truly she had. And when Lillie turned 13 she took her youngest to the hairdressers to see if they could do something with it. The idea had sprung when her mother had tried to te the girls hair into a simple ponytail and had nearly fainted as soon as her perfect fingers had laced themselves into the dark hair. It was thick, tangled and with more split ends then anything. Her hair wasn't as strait as her mothers or her fathers, but with a slight wave that drove her mother to insanity at times.

This and more she complained to the man who at the time ran his own fingers through her daughter's hair and contemplated color, length and style. Rebecca J. Lee insisted her daughters hair be turned a deep blonde to mix her own and Alan's. And that was when Lillie spoke up.

"But I don't want to change." She had said stubbornly.

"Of course you do, sweetheart. Everyone likes change."

"Not me." The teen had insisted. "I mean, change is good. But not this kind of change. Maybe if I really wanted it. Or if I just needed a break. But not right now. I like my hair, mother, really!"

"No you don't."

"But I do!" Lillie's dark almond eyes stared at her mother and now were filled with betrayal and confusion; that her mother would want to change her. She hadn't yet seen anything wrong with the way she looked, but the realization began to dawn on her then that she was the black sheep of her family. She didn't mind it, there was always a certain pride one feels when looked at as 'unique'. But at that time it didn't feel 'unique'. It felt like she was an outsider and that the people wanted her in desperately. The amount of want was stupendous, but what it took to be wanted was not. A change of appearance, mind and overall… character? It was then, sadley, at such a young age, Lillie realized that she didn't want to be accepted into her family unless by a casual invitation, not by force. So she decided that if they didn't want her, too bad. She would continue to do what she wanted until they understood that no matter what they did to her nothing was going to change. But that didn't stop her from giving her mother one last chance to understand, and so she stared at her, trying to tell her through her eyes and face that it hurt so badly to be the one pushed to the sidelines, and that it was more then the hair and the clothes that caused her to look that way. She was her daughter, didn't that count for anything?

Her mother looked into those eyes and saw neither hurt nor betrayal. Instead she began to contemplate the possibility of color contacts to change them from that horrible mud brown that they currently possessed to one that would suit the family genes. Green maybe. Or blue. No. Her mind finally said. A mix. She nodded at the wise decision.

They had left the salon an hour later with a smiling and proud Rebecca J. Lee toting along her now deep blonde headed daughter. That had been in the afternoon.

The next morning their daughter had come down the stairs with a spring in her step, a smile on her face and her thick shoulder length hair an obnoxiously bright green.

That was the day she had been labeled as the troubled and horrible stubborn daughter.

It was also the day her mother swore she saw deaths doorstep after promptly fainting and hitting her head on an antique wooden side table. Her head would have a large bump on it for the next few weeks.

The table was fine.

But the straw that broke the camels back was when she was 16. Her sister was away for her first semester at St. Michaels University for Nursing. The only remaining daughter at home had been in high school for two years already and was just beginning her third. That was when she began to take, against her will, a class for writing and beginners journalism. It had been on her schedule seeing as she had opted for public speaking, something that her parents had chosen for her. Aparently though that class was a great one for slackers, as told to the lower class by seniors who had taken it the year prior, and the seats had been filled without her name even coming close to the roster. The class she received had been chosen randomly from a computer. She hadn't particularly wanted the class. Spelling had never been her greatest skill and so she avoided the art of writing words altogether, afraid of the amount of work she would need to do later after her paper was scratched apart with a red pen.

The classroom she had been assigned was D334. Her school was rather large and had four wings in them. It was a long walk from her chemistry class across the school in the A wing first floor. And as the last class of the day, teachers paid a particularly lot of attention to the attendance record.

She had to climb three flights of stairs and run as fast as her legs could carry her into the assigned classroom.

She was 1 minute and 26 seconds late.

The teacher had been in the middle of an introductory hello when Lillie had barged in yelling apologies and making up non-linear excuses as to why she was as late as she was at that moment. A few students had laughed and others had sniggered. Lillie wasn't the most popular in class, so the jeers sent her way bounced off with little to no affect. Her teacher, though, gave Lillie one look and smiled the kind of smile where one looks at someone and knows that they are something more then just a student late for class. And Mrs. Marie-Joséphine LeVan did know.

"Sit behind Dillon Foster, dear." She had told Lillie, patiently. "And no worries about being late. Time is not important compared to the words we say during it."

Lillie had liked Mrs. LeVan immediately.

Mrs. LeVan herself was a woman in her late 50's who was in full meaning of the term, aging gracefully. She had a wiry frame that she hid behind cheesy, bulky sweaters and fine gray hair that was pinned to the back of her head with a single dollar store chopstick. She had a thin face covered in more wrinkles that placed them selves in suitable positions, each one telling a story of it's own and most of them, too Lillie's fascination and delight, looked more like smile lines then simple marks of age. She had thin lips and large gray eyes, the same color as her hair. But unlike the crackling gray strands, her eyes were new and young and looked more like polished coins then they did anything else. She wore red-rimmed glasses that she hung from a floral print string around her neck. It's where she kept, and lost, those red-rimmed glasses as long as Lillie had known her.

The first week had been anything but nerve wracking. The idea that no one would judge her for what she wrote on a piece of paper was completely new. That she had nothing to fear and that being different in what she said or wrote was okay, that was astounding. Not to mention that Mrs. LeVan could care less about spelling.

It was also the first time anyone had ever taken a look at something she had written and said, "try again," and she actually wanted too.

Her first paper had been on graffiti. She didn't know why. Maybe it was because of the first time she had written on her leg and her mother had called it that. Or maybe it had been when she passed the lunch room the day prior and had seen what some drunken seniors had done to the walls during a midnight dare. But whatever it was, she wrote about it. And after handing it in the first time and receiving it back with a simple "try again", she had done just that. The first draft, she did agree, was garbage. In retrospect it was three pages that summed up too 'graffiti is bad." And that hardly made a point. And so the second time, she decided to go all out. She wrote about her leg and about the cafeteria and about expression, but at the same time different forms that could be done. And when she had toiled over it for days and days, hardly speaking to anyone in her avid concentration, she had handed it in.

Her fingers trembled the first time a paper was taken in that class. And she stood as a solider would next to the desk until the last word had been read. She finally allowed herself to sigh in relief when her teacher had given her a smile and told her it was an excellent paper. It did make her feel good. That concept that her paper had been excellent. What had confused her was the look Mrs. LeVan had given her. One of pride, which was good and accepted with modesty. But stranger then that was the look in her eyes as if her teacher had won a lottery.

And in a way, she had. The prediction that Mrs. LeVan had made the first day Lillie had barged into class so rudely with little enthusiasm and a nervous gleam in her eye stood firmly in its place. Something about the girl, the way she held herself or the way she looked like she knew she didn't belong anywhere, spoke loud and clear to the old woman that the girl was something else. And when she read the paper her pupil so nervously gave to her for the first time, the way she shook or the way her face lit up with pleasure at a simple compliment. But most of all, the paper itself. There were more then words on the page. No, Mrs. LeVan had read words on a page for years. That day she had read more then 50 pages filled with just words. Her student had put herself onto the page.

Mrs. LeVan knew that she had been right about Lillie. She was special. When it came to words.

So Mrs. LeVan made sure not to give too much of a compliment to the child and instead gave her one that was sure to stew in her brain, and simple picked up another assignment and told her it was due in two weeks.

Lillie took the paper like it was pure gold. And in two weeks she had handed in yet another masterpiece of words.

In the course of the first 5 months of school, that one class became not only Lillie's favorite, but something that she waited all day to go too. It wasn't just a class, it was what kept her going. Being there every day was the only thing that now made her feel comfortable. Sure, no one really liked her. But that didn't matter. She didn't really care when her forehead was crinkled in concentration and her eyes strained on a page to the point where the class disappeared. Not to mention she got a tremendous headache. Weekends became times of torture, times when she became a jello mold for her family to observe and then fill in with lime when she really wanted to be filled in with orange. She always liked orange better then lime anyways. And even more then orange, she liked strawberry. So more and more often she went to her teacher after school begging for an assignment that would keep her locked in her room with an excuse to be away from her family who would no doubt try to make her into lime jello. It worked.

Soon she was doing five assignments every week. Plowing through them, experimenting new words and sentence formations. And even though her spelling never improved she became more and more confident in what she said.

And near the end of the year she seemed to shed away the skin that had built over her for so many years.

It had been an average night when it had happened. Nothing unusual or dramatic. There was no thunderstorm to characterize it as a "dark and stormy night". And there was no majestic meteor shower raining from the heavens. In fact, the most interesting thing about that night is how hot it had been. Not that it wasnt ever hot in Eurinona. Texas, in general was a very hot place. But the heat that night had been unbearable.

The heat was what made her stay up so late. She had been sweating; tossing and turning underneath thin white sheets and finally gave up and went to the writing desk in her room. That was the only piece of furniture in her room she actually liked. Her mother had tried again and again to remodel, but Lillie was too afraid to let her. The decorations from when she was 10 years old still hung on the walls, all cheerily splashed with a horrible dusty rose wallpaper, now old and peeling. The carpet was dark blue and held a dusty, mildewy smell that ticked her nose when she shuffled her feet and in the dark in made the floor look like it was about to swallow her up. That night she had slept with the window open and hot breezes made their way through the portal, stirring the heavy pink drapes.

She had sat at her writing desk, flicked on a desk lamp and had stared at the paper. After about ten minutes, she had begun, writing slowly and neatly in her small, rounded style.

Every so often her eyes would drift back to the assignment Mrs. LeVan had given her, and every time she did it only made her more and more frustrated. The topic had come so easily to everyone else in class.

Good and Evil: Your Side and Why?

It flashed in bold black size 12 Times New Roman at her, and she stared back with an equal amount of stubborn determination. They had gotten it on Friday, the day before, and everyone had already finished. The more courageous ones trying to impress others with that 'bad person' appeal had said evil. The ones trying to prove goodness and perfection had sad good. She had written good, then crumpled the paper and thrown it out. Then she had said evil and had crumpled it out as well. Neither side was something she was set on, how could she be? The paper soon revolved around her life, distracting her. And at 3:00 in the morning she finally sat down and wrote her heart away. And it was then that she finally allowed the lime jello to drain out of her and she filled herself up with orange and strawberry and every other flavor that she liked, not what her parents or sister or anyone else wanted her too.

And the next day she handed in the best paper that she had ever written in that school year.

Her teacher called her in after school and she did so with out any hesitation. She sad down at a desk in the empty classroom and awkwardly scraped the heels of her ratty black high-tops against the checkered, peeling linoleum.

Mrs. LeVan sat on the edge of her desk and took off her red-rimmed glasses, allowing them to hang around her neck, freely. "Lillie, dear." She started, using the word dear, something she only used with Lillie. "Dear, you handed in a paper today."

"Yes."

"And it was good." She picked it up off the desk and gave it to the girl. "Actually, it was better then good. It was… amazing."

"Oh." Lillie didn't say much, but she did scan the paper, looking at every red chicken scratch on the blue lines.

"Lillie dear, had anyone ever told you that you were special?"

Lillie looked up at her teacher. Her eyes glazed over as she searched her brain. Had anyone ever called her special? Not her father or sister Definitely not her mother. Actually, at that moment as she did think about it…

"No."

Mrs. LeVan nodded. "That's sad. Dear, I know that question might confuse you."

Lillie nodded.

"And I do understand why. But dear, you are. Incredibly. Did you know that?"

"Not really."

Mrs. LeVan smiled sadly. "I didn't think that you would." She rubbed at her eyes. "You're young. Very young. As is every one in this room and every one that has walked and sat in this classroom. But you…" she searched for the right words, moving her hands animatedly. "You're young." She repeated. "But you write better then some people my age." She smiled again. "Lillie, you don't just write. You create."

Lillie had stared at the paper and then back at the elderly woman. "I… create?"

"You have a way with words, dear." She pointed to the paper. "Those words on the paper aren't pen. They're little pieces of you. Secrets and truths and small insights to your character. You put yourself for the paper. Your life hasn't been easy, I know that. I've read it. In every single one of your papers."

"But I didn't-" Or had she?

"Dear, this paper, it was amazing. Good versus evil is something that you're going to have to deal with a lot in your life. It's something that divides us and tears us apart. And I'm afraid it's also something that not many people know how to… deal with. I think that you've already seem how it works though. The way you are in your family, in the middle of two sides."

Lillie just nodded. That was how she had felt her whole life. In the middle standing on a dividing line.

"But the way you take the topic, the way you explain it." She reached out her hand. It had taken a moment for Lillie to understand, but then she did and handed the paper back.

"What you said," Mrs. LeVan looked over the paper, squinting without her glasses on. "It's all true. There is no real side. Just a muddled mess of people living their lives." She had grabbed an envelope and scribbled an address on it, then licked it closed and slapped on two stamps. "I addressed this to Mr. Simon Bernard. Simon T. Bernard, more formally. He's the head of the English department of the local University. It's a good school, don't worry about that. I want you to send it to him."

Lillie had said nothing, just took the letter and shoved it into her fading JanSport.

"Your smart, Lillie dear." Mrs. LeVan had said before Lillie had left. "And it's a real shame that your family can't see it. It's going to come in handy some day. You're going to do something. Big."

Lillie smiled and hiked the strap of her bag onto her left shoulder. "I hope your right. My mother and father… they… they need to know I'm here."

"Send that in, and maybe they will."

She remembered how hopeful the shine in the old woman's eyes had been. And how quickly it had vanished when she had chuckled and shaken her head. "No. They wont."

"There's always a ch-

"They wont, Mrs. LeVan."

Her teacher considered the words and then smiled back. "Then I suppose you'll just have to impress whoever's around, won't you?"

"I guess so. Have a good day, Mrs. LeVan."

"You too, dear. You too."

She sent the letter behind her parent's backs and a week later had received a reply that when she was out of high school there would be a spot open for her. And if not he'd help her into any school she wanted because according to him, "talent like that needs to be seen."

Later that month, sometime near the end of June, beginning of July, Lillie had entered the kitchen at 8:15 where her father was just taking his first bit of toast with Strawberry Jam and had said in a voice that left no room for argument, "I am going to be a writer."

That had been the final straw.

Their relationship as a family ended when her mother had tried to force her to attend the forcing school. Lillie had tried her best to explain that it wasn't what she wanted. That wasn't important to the older woman. What was important was the family's dignity which, to them, would be tainted if she were to break its fragile threads. When Lillie realized that words weren't going to reach her mothers brain she found her spot on a website for the University and auctioned it off to some mother in Georgia who wanted to be a nurse.

"She deserved it more." Lillie explained to her infuriated mother.

Her mother had kicked her out as soon as school ended. But that last year before it was tense and thick with hatred. All of it came from Rebecca J. Lee. Her father was, as it said before, tolerable. But he didn't speak to his daughter, as did the mother. Only glares or quick head bobs were exchanged until the door clicked closed and their youngest child left the family for good. The last thing that she had said to her parents was a very honest, "I never liked Texas, anyway."

So she had left with her head high and did everything she said she would. She got an apartment in New York, went to a great University with the help of Mr. Bernard and eventually, to her great relief, dropped her Southern accent.

And never in all of those years did she or her parents attempt any kind of contact.

So it all came as a surprise when on Sunday morning at 8:15, as Alan Ayman was making his coffee and taking his first bite of toast, he and his wife received a phone call that was, in all ways, 4 years too late.

"Alan Ayman speaking."

There was some throat clearing on the other side, followed by a nervous voice. "Hey… dad." She said dad the same way one walks across a mine field, treading carefully and all the while unsure.

Alan Ayman recognized the voice and choked. "L-Lillie?"

"Hey. Yeah… it's… um… it's me."

"Oh." That was all he could say. Oh.

"Yeah, listen I just called to say that-"

There was a click as another extension in the house was picked up. "Alan? Alan whose that on the phone?" Rebecca's steely voice cut through.

"Hi Rebecca." Lillie still found it strange that she called her mother by her first name. She had since she was 17, when she found that saying 'mother' or even 'mom' couldn't come naturally, and sometimes couldnt even be said without hesitation.

"Alan? Why is she calling."

"I don't know, Rebecca." Alan answered.

"Lillie Erin Lee Ayman, why are you calling?"

Lillie cleared her dry throat before talking to her mother again. "Um… I just needed to tell you that I'm… I'm going away for a while."

"So?"

Even now words like that cut deeply.

"Well, I just thought that you'd like to know. In case you planned on…" She let the rest drop, knowing that it was a useless attempt at making some sort of temporary truce between them.

"Planned on having you over?" Rebecca J. Lee finished for her daughter. "No. We didn't."

"I dint think so."

"Where are you going anyway?" Alan asked, trying to break the tension between the two livid females.

"Alan, don't encourage her." Rebecca scolded. But her curious nature quickly got the better of her. "Go on, Lillie. Answer your father."

"Umm… well, it'f for my job."

"Still writing are you? How's that going? Useless, like I predicted."

"No mother. Actually, this is for a bonus on my paycheck. I'm going to… Disney."

"Disney? Like Disney Land?" her mother scoffed.

"No." Lillie thought quickly. "It's a city…" where's a good place for a Disney? She thought quickly, trying to make up some location that would possibly convince her parents and later on anyone else who might ask. "In… umm… Ohio."

"Ohio…?" Her mother did not sound convinced. "And is your boss sending you?"

"Yeah. He gave me the tickets yesterday."

"Plane?"

"Private jet."

Another bout of silence continued between the phone lines.

"H-how's Aisling?" Lillie tried. But after the words left her mouth, she wished they could be dragged back from whence they came.

Her mother snorted. "Doing better then you, I assure you. She's pregnany, you know. And married. And a nurse. And a-"

"Rebecca!" Lillie nearly screamed into the phone. "I know, okay. I'm such a failure. But please, for just one conversation, will you turn the bitch-switch off? Please?"

Her mother made a sound between a sharp inhale and a choke and then slammed down the phone. Lillie sighed. "Dad? You still there?"

"Don't be so harsh on your mother." Was all he said to remind her that, yes, he was still there.

"I can't help it. She hates me."

"She doesn't-"

"She'd rather I be someone else, Dad. And so would you."

"Well, it was a hope." Ouch, that stung. "But there's nothing we can do about it now except act like we have for the past 12 years."

"What? Ignore each other? Push me away from the family?"

"Yes. Have a successful life, Lillie. And please, don't call for a while." Then the phone clicked, and her family was gone.

Rebecca J. Lee tromped down the stairs in a huff and turned to face her calm husband. "She called, Alan."

"Yes, I know. I talked to her."

"Alan. I don't think you understand. She called. I thought we had agreed she wasn't going to be associated with this family. But you just answer the phone like it was a friendly little chat. And those two chairs!" She pointed to the seats always left empty at dinner. "Why do you save those? Huh?"

"Rebecca, she's always going to be a part of the family, whether we like it or not."

"Well, she's certainly not a part of mine." She glared at her husband before turning on her heel and leaving the room as quickly as she had come. He waited a few seconds before he heard the loud slam of a door on the second floor before he sighed.

"What a day."

And he continued to eat his toast.

"NO! BARTLEBY! STOP IT! PUT. THAT. DOWN." After getting off the phone with her parents Lillie had made the mistake of placing the phone on a couch which was, in her giant dogs mind, his territory. It had been snatched up within a second and was now in his mouth much like a chew-toy. "BARTLEBY!"

CRUNCH

He spit out the mutilated phone and smiled up at her, as if to say, "See! I got rid of the mean woman!"

She just sighed and pet him on the head. "Okay Bartleby. You are so lucky we're moving."

The day before at work she had gone in and picked up her tickets and information from her boss. That is, after he had yelled at her for being late due to a hangover. She couldn't remember half of it, so it didn't really matter anymore.

The only thing that did matter now was the assignment on her desk. Just a half sheet of paper labeled "Disney Article."

Disney Article it read;

Lillie,

I am hoping that this article fills up about a three-page portion of the magazine. It will contain facts you gather about the physiological differences between heroes and villains. You will need to do whatever you can to receive information for both. I want to see the bad of bad and the good of good. Ways for spotting these would be helpful as well for Kylie Gardner on the fifth floor. She's going to be writing another section on finding the perfect man/woman for a relationship, and being able to spot the good and evil will be an interesting thing to place in that portion as well.

Your tickets are in the envelope and your jet leaves promptly at 6:30 AM on Monday morning.

Good luck

William Peirce

The only issue about all of that was that today was Sunday. SO she had left work immediately after giving Amaryllis a goodbye hug and a promise that when she got back they would drink booze together 'like old times', and had gone home to pack.

Now all that was left out of a box was her kitchen sink. Everything else had been already placed in large packing boxes and sent out (with a large tip for such short notice; a tip she had had to pay) to a truck awaiting her arrival. That was the message that she had received on her phone, at least.

She looked down at her dog, who was now eating the destroyed phone. "Well, are you exited at least?"

He just burped.

"Of course you are."

She patted his head and grabbed a sleeping bag from the kitchen, one she had bought sometime that morning and would be sleeping in for the night. She placed it in her empty room and opened it, spreading it out. It was still too early to go to bed, but it wasn't too early to have something to do. She took one more look around the empty apartment before grabbing the leash from the front door knob.

"C'mon, you stupid dog." She teased, grabbing him by the collar. "I want something to pack in a suitcase to bring up there, so you and me are gonna do some grocery shopping. Hopefully this new place'll have a better kitchen then I have now." And using all of the weight she had, she dragged the resistant dog out the door, not even bothering to take the phone he was almost done eating out of his slobbery mouth.

They wouldn't get back until 10 o'clock that night, and when they did, Lillie packed up every single food item she had in a suitcase, zippered it, set her watch to wake her up at 3:00 AM and then flopped down into her suitcase, not even bothering to take off her jeans. Bartleby followed and flopped down diagonally over her. But by that time, she was too exhausted to realize she was being crushed by a 170 pound dog.

Both of them slept as well as they could, wondering what they had gotten themselves into.

Or at least, that's what Lillie wondered.

Bartleby just wondered if the place they were going to had snacks.

Ok! That's it! The reason for the length is that I'm going on vacation soon and wont be able to update for more than a week. But after that I'll be back in business! No worries!

Please please PLEASE R&R

Next chappie is the airport and possibly the arrival to her new apartment. I'll see how it goes and decide while I'm writing.