The next morning, I wake up late. It's way more of a relief than it should have been. I am so used to waking up at ungodly hours, that waking up at any type of normal time is almost completely and utterly foreign.

My eyes wander to the floor, as I stretch out. Passing out on the couch was not my best idea ever, though it did beat the times I've passed out in the floor. Or worse, in the tub or on the toilet. Talk about sore.

A rather loud yawn escapes me, waking up Anna who was sleeping across the room. She opens her eyes and looks at me. One of her ears flicks, but that is about the extent of her movement before she sighs and shuts her eyes again. Seemingly content in the fact that what she heard wasn't actually some strange dying cow-like thing that has invaded her home, Anna curls further into herself and goes back to sleep.

"Sorry, An. " I mumble, rubbing my eyes. I lay on the couch listlessly for I'm not sure how long, before I finally decide to pry myself off the couch and go take a bath. Heaven and everything else above knows that I need one after my last shift at work. My feet are sore from being in my work shoes all night. I have tiny feet - what Vivian called "pixie feet" - so I have to shove extra socks in my shoes to make them fit. It works, but not without the expense of being really painful after awhile.

I walk down the hall, a song that Lou used to sing at the top of her lungs coming to my mind. It might as well of been her theme song. Not that she sang it badly, that's not it. I tried without success to sing it along with her, as I was always too uncertain of my own voice in comparison to hers. Now that she is gone, I find myself randomly singing it at the top of my lungs. I cry every time, but I sing it as loud as I can in hopes that she can hear me.

Too bad, it's kinda a dirty song.

Living alone means that I can try out the little 'dance' that Lou made up for it. I probably look stupid, but the only other person in the apartment doesn't care because well; she is a dog. It feels so freeing, yet so wrong in a way. I guess it comes from me being the more 'shy, quiet, does-nothing-interesting-or-naughty-of-any-kind-ever' kind of girl.

Either way, no one will ever know.

My sore feet carry me to the bathroom, where I can finally free them. Kicking off my shoes and biting my lip as I try to bring feeling back into my toes, I set my clothes and towel down on the counter by the sink. My work clothes come off and fly into the basket I set aside for them, followed by everything else, which I put in the basket that's for everything. Carefully stepping into the shower, I try my best to get the water at a temperature that won't turn me into a popsicle - or boil me alive, either. With these lines, it's hard to tell when they will or won't cooperate.

My shower takes me a little under forty-five minutes on most occasions, although today I choose to take as long as I can without turning myself into a giant prune.

When I finally get done bathing, I get out and start slipping my clothes on. In the mirror, I can see my clear blue eyes staring back at me through a sea of freckles stuck on a mess of pasty skin. My fiery red hair looks so much better like this - it is still wet from my shower, so it has remained straight. I wish I could find a way to get it to stay this way. I can actually see how long my hair is, and for once; I can see the bangs I forgot I had.

To try to keep my hair from frizzing up too much, I decide to braid my hair off into two French braids. It may or may not look good with the hat I've chosen to wear today, but oh well. it isn't as if I have ever really cared about what I look like. That's was always Lou's department. Always fussing at me to try to and make myself feel pretty "for once."

I kind of miss that..

Once I've gotten dressed for my day, I feed Anna, then head out the door to 'explore' the world. I have walked this town alone so many times that I no longer care when I go out during the day. I know my way around my area well enough; and, well, I have come to realize I have a complete and utter disregard for my own safety. So, that probably helps.

Today, I have decided to go to the library. It is on the other side of town - or whatever one would call something that is seventeen and a half blocks away. I don't have anything else to do with myself; meaning: I have all day to walk there, spend as much aimless time as I please, then walk home, as I want. I'm still not sure that I enjoy it, though.

The walk there is lonely, and cold. My nose feels frozen, and I can see my breath coming out in clouds like I am some kind of magical dragon or something. By the time I reach the library, my feet are numb. It's only Autumn - I shouldn't already be turning into a Meaghan-cicle! I catch myself thinking as I walk in the doors and look around. Something about the sudden rush of the smell of old books is immediately calming to me. It is like an indescribable warmth , like I am being welcomed home after being away for most of my life. I have never understood why I felt that way any time I was in a library; but I know that I feel most alive with my nose stuck in an old book, and with the entire world being drowned out by the sounds of the stories playing out in my head, though.

I don't remember much about my life before the time when I lived with Mrs. Pitterling. But for some reason, standing in the middle of a large aisle of books, with shelves that reach an impossible height and tables set in a big open area not far away; I can remember a smaller me. A very little me - in some kind of a dress that I kept stepping on. I remember holding a book, and running from someone. Who, I have no idea. I only remember bits and pieces of it, but I know that I was happy. It is an odd memory to have, being that it seems more like a dream to me than a real memory - though something about it. I know, I just know. It really happened. But..where..?

I ponder this as I look along the aisles for something to read, my fingers tracing countless covers as if the feel of them will tell me which to read. By the time I see something I might be interested in reading, it just happens to be right out of my reach. In frustration, I look around for something to stand on or something to help me reach the book. Along the wall, a really old, really rickety looking, librarian's ladder stands. It doesn't look very safe - to the contrary. Anyone with a small amount of sanity in their heads would give up and look for another book to read. Fortunately for me, I don't.

Pushing the ladder over to where the book is shelved, I lean it against the shelf and start up. The unstable wooden frame creaks in protest when I step on it, the rung closest to where I need to stand seeming to be the most unstable one. I can feel the tremble of the ladder growing worse just as my fingers grace the side of the book I am after.

The moment I have started to pull the book out, it feels like the Earth has decided to dump me off it; like my footing has been betrayed by its closest friend and is being flung off into free space. For the few seconds I am falling, I am greeted halfway through by the fact that I've hit something. It's hard, kind of like the floor - though it feels a lot more like I have fallen on a person.

When the world stops spinning and I open my eyes, I take in a sharp breath and feel beside me to confirm to myself that I have not fallen on someone. Unfortunately for me, my hand finds not floor, but someone else's hand. I spring up and immediately turn to apologize, though air gets caught in my throat. Laying on the floor underneath me, is not someone I recognize right away. It isn't until he opens his bright green eyes - and coughs from the wind being knocked out of him - that I can feel heat rising to my face.

I realize that I do know him - at least, vaguely. He was the last person I served at the diner yesterday night. He's also, the first person to ask me out. E v e r.

"Oh my gosh...oh my gosh..I'm..I'm so sorry.." I bite my lip, and push myself away nervously. "I had no..no idea there was anyone behind me.." My face is still burning as I look away and brush some rogue hairs out of my face. I have an inescapable desire to run away and hide forever for this. Oddly, though, he still hasn't said anything. When I cautiously look up again, I see he is now standing up, and holding his hand out to me. He's offering to help me up, like he was the one who suddenly landed on me and knocked the air out of me. What..?

"Are you alright?" he asks, such concern in his eyes and his voice that I am stunned into further silence.

"I..yeah, I was trying to get a book.. I'm kind of short so.." I trail off as if I should be the one who is most injured. My head is starting to hurt, I think from where my head must have cracked into his when I fell on him.

A soft chuckle comes from his direction. He shakes his head at me and helps me up. His grip is so much stronger than I would have expected, and a lot more so than mine; my hand is really shaky and it takes great effort for me to accept the help and stand up. When I do, my hand goes straight to the back of my head. I can see on his face how I must have fallen on him. There is a bruise on his cheek and on his lower lip, which are turning darker as I stare at them.

"I'm so sorry.." I whisper, covering my mouth in embarrassment. "I should have been more careful.."

"It's alright, you couldn't have known. I'm sure if I were angry, you would know.." he shakes his head again, giving me a half smile. "You were the one who fell, though. Are you sure you are alright?"

It takes me a bit of time to convince him that I am actually okay, before he reaches up and gets down the book for me that I wanted. After checking the book out, I am walked home upon his insistence that I shouldn't walk alone. It is strange, for some reason I feel more comfortable in his presence than I probably should. Like when I would walk around with Lou, I had no need to worry about anything. True - I do feel a bit of nervousness still. That, I believe is mostly from the fact that no one of the opposite gender - or any gender, actually - has ever shown interest in me like this. Walking with him is, and isn't, like when I would walk with Lou. I can't quite figure out why, or what it would be; but..something about how he acts.. reminds me of how I have seen guys act towards their girlfriends. Perhaps, I have developed a misconception based on the fact that he is also the first man to actually act gentlemanly towards me. Although. He did ask me on a date..

By the time that we've come to my apartment, I realize that even though I swear I have heard his stomach growl close to like, fives times, he hasn't once said anything to me about being hungry. Instead, the conversation has mostly been about..me. How long I've lived here, how long I've worked at the diner - and if I know what the best or worst food is so he doesn't get something horrible. (Unfortunately, I cannot afford to eat there, so I have no idea. Ironic, isn't it? I can't afford to eat where I work..)

What kind of job that I would rather be doing, how much of the city I have seen. How often I am alone - I think this was because I kind of give off a vibe of 'person-who-has-no-friends,' so I don't find it too overtly weird.

Random things of that ilk.

When I am just about to open the door to my apartment, I find myself turning to him with a question even I was not expecting to ask.

"...Do you want to stay for dinner..?"