Thanks to Erin McKinleyBiminigirl15LuvTommy56, Adrienne, melliebabyMrs.TimRozon92burninsecretskeptTanya50801FreakEmoWriter17Kris10roxblueyes8907romanma32, and Duddley111 for reading AND reviewing. Hope you guys enjoy this next part...it's extremely long to make up for shortness of that last one. :)
I'm trying desperately hard to finish writing this song so I can get of here earlier than usual, but I started it before I got pissed at Quincy. At the moment, I'm not feeling happy and bubbly. But it has potential so I'm going to try it out, even though thoughts of seriously injuring Quincy are floating around in my cerebellum.
It's hard to remember how it felt before
Now I found the love of my life...
Passes things get more comfortable
Everything is going right
See now there's a problem. I'm not feeling that secure with our relationship. Tom and me that is…everything was fine until he decided that he needed to start dating again and the whole reoccurring dream thing really isn't working for me either.
I told Sadie about it and she said it was just cold feet. You don't get cold feet this much time before the wedding do you? Your toes can feel a little nippy, but you shouldn't be having nightmares about the happiest day of your life, right?
And after all the obstacles
It's good to see you now with someone else
And it's such a miracle that you and me are still good friends
After all that we've been through
I know we're cool
Another half-truth (which qualifies for a lie), because it is certainly not good to see Quincy with someone else, but we are still good friends…when I'm not threatening to kill him.
We're definitely not cool at the moment.
Not in the least bit.
Just kidding?
He so wasn't kidding. That kind of stuff doesn't just come out of the blue like that, right?
But still….just kidding?
This is karma.
I'm being punished.
Yup.
That time in fifth grade when I told Jamie that I liked it him and then I said "Psych"…
Yup. This is karma….what goes around comes around.
We used to think it was impossible
Now you call me by my new last name
Memories seem like so long ago
Time always kills the pain
Ha! I'm going to need a decade to ease the pain of the newest blow to my ego…but I am finding comfort behind that old saying: "There's a little truth behind every just kidding…" Who would have thought the words of an anonymous Xanga philosopher could bring so much comfort to me at the moment?
The song is still missing something by the time Quincy comes in, but at least I'm not as pissed anymore. I'd say that itself is a major accomplishment.
"Why are you in Darius's office?" he asks, peaking in at me from the doorframe.
"Because I don't have my own office to hide in," I smile briefly before turning my attention back to my journal.
He walks in shutting the door behind him quietly. "Are you doing anything productive or are you working on your guest list?"
"Well, if I were working on my guest list, I'd say that's pretty productive," I snap.
So much for my mellowness.
"Um hum," he grunts, like one of those teachers in high school with an inferiority complex. "I see you're still in a mood."
"I'm not in a mood," I reply, sweetly, starting to doodle around the edge of my journal page.
"Yeah, you are," he sings, sitting in Darius's chair and propping his Nikes up on his desk.
"Darius is going to kill you," I grin, glancing up at him, before continuing to doodle. "You know he fingerprints his office when he leaves for a while."
"That's a myth," he says leaning back in the chair with his hands behind his head.
"If you say so," I smirk, beginning to chew on the end of my pen. We sit there silently. Well, I'm silent. He's making his swivel chair he's occupying squeak annoyingly.
"Quincy," I say, in a warning tone.
Ooh, I sound like my mother. The same tone she used with me this morning when she didn't want me to leave for the studio.
He makes an apologetic face, and grins sheepishly. "Breaking your concentration?"
Yes, you being in the same room with me is breaking my damn concentration.
I nod my head vigorously, and settle back into the chair in front the desk, continuing to doodle.
Doodling doesn't seem like I'm being very productive, but trust me I am. If I doodle long enough, then the words just flow. It's pretty mystic, the whole writing process I mean.
He leans forward on the desk, propping his head up on his forearms. I peek up at him briefly, to see him looking at me.
"Why are you looking at me?"
"Why are you looking at me," he mimics.
"I'm not looking at you," I reply flatly, rolling my eyes.
"Then how do you know I'm looking at you?" he asks.
That's a good question…
"Are you looking at me?" I ask.
"No…" he trails off, occupying himself with the pendulum on Darius's desk.
I'm sitting in the armchair with my legs over the side, so I can see exactly what he's doing through my peripheral vision. I surprisingly have good peripheral vision by the way; you'd think my driving would be a little better.
Circles and triangles,
and now we're hanging out with your new girlfriend
So far from where we've been
I know we're cool
I have another verse down before the ringing sound of the pendulum moving back and forth against the other silver balls, brings me close to the end of my sanity.
"Quincy!"
"What," he asks, with an innocent look.
"Don't look at me like that," I mumble, beginning to scribble again.
He's just blown my concentration.
Again.
"Are you finished with the song yet?" he asks, standing up and walking over to the bookshelf behind me.
"No, I was doing pretty good until you came here by the way," I remark, glancing over my shoulder at him. His back is turned from me though. "What are you doing?" I ask, turning around fully.
"Looking for Darius's stash of gummy bears," he says, feeling behind some books. He turns around to look at me with a devilish grin when he holds up a huge gallon jar of candy. "Aha!"
I chuckle softly shaking my head at his boyishness.
He plops down in the seat beside me unscrewing the lid. I watch him in amazement as he starts to pick through for green ones. "What?" he asks, through a mouthful. "You want some?" he offers, holding the jar out to me.
"Um, no," I decline, shaking my head. "He probably counted them before he left."
He looks like he's pondering that for a moment, and then shakes his head. "Nah, Darius can't count up that far."
I smirk, "The room is probably bugged."
"Oh, come on live a little," he says, wiggling his eyebrows up and down, and holding the plastic bear-shaped jar out to me again.
I laugh, rolling my eyes, but I grab a handful anyway. He grabs my journal as I'm chewing through the mess in my mouth.
"I'm not finished with that." I swallow, when I see him starting to read it. "It's still missing something," I trail off.
I'm curious about how he'll like it, so I am watching him intently as he reads.
"What's this word?" he asks, pointing to a word.
"Obstacles," I sigh.
"And this one?" he says, pointing to another spot on the page.
"Through," I groan.
He nods, continuing to read.
"And this one…"
"Quincy! Shut it," I yell, snatching my journal from him, and punching him in the arm. Geez, not everyone can have little perfect girly handwriting like him. "It's a rough copy."
He rubs his arm where I hit him. "That hurt,"
"Stop being a pansy," I grumble, swinging, my legs back over the arm of my chair.
"Stop hitting like me like a man," he grunts.
"I'm taking that as a compliment," I murmur, staring at the words scattering the once blank page of my journal.
I glare at him, as he slides my chair closer to him. "Go ahead and sing it for me," he whispers, like we're plotting some evil scheme.
"It's not finished," I reply softly, playing along with his little conspiracy scenario.
"Sing it anyway," he smiles, tickling my silk stocking clad feet.
I feel high.
…all light and fluttery.
Like only his touch is keeping anchored in the stratosphere.
He still owes me a massage, I think, as I watch him, run his hand down the length of my foot.
This is quickly inching over the line of an innocent, friendly touch, to—something else. I smile, a sort of you-better-stop-before-we-go-too-far type smile, at him before recapturing my feet from his hands. Shifting my position in my chair so that my feet are underneath me, I tuck my hair behind my ears.
"It's really rough," I warn him again, trying to shake my uneasiness.
"Let me have it," he says, leaning back in his chair, and closing his eyes.
I am such a guy.
The only thing I am thinking about right now is actually letting him have it.
I'm so happy his eyes are clothes so he can't see me blushing.
"Yeah," I murmur, before singing.
I wait for like a millisecond after I get finished singing before I start to panic.
Does he hate it?
He does…I know he does…
He's not saying anything.
"It's missing something, right?" I mumble, beginning to chew on my thumb now. I know, disgusting habit. I don't care! Would you rather me be smoking?
No. Didn't think so.
He nods, slowly, his eyes still closed, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. I watch him carefully. My eyes wondering over his body, looking for the slightest sign of a response.
Well, I was at least, before his forearms distracted me. What can I say; I have a thing for forearms. Not exactly a fetish, the word fetish makes it sound perverted. I just like it when guys have strong looking forearms.
He's been working out…
I jump a little when he clears his throat and looks at me curiously.
"What," I say, clearing my own throat. I wasn't admiring your forearms or that nice tan you've got going on…
I wasn't.
I promise.
"Was it that bad?" I ask, fiddling with one of my chandelier earrings.
He shakes his head 'no' and gestures for me to pass him my journal, and I don't know why, it's not like he can read it. He points to the pen in my hand, and signals for me to hand it over too.
Damn.
Say something man!
I'm sending him telepathic pleas but he's not getting them. I watch him as he hurriedly scribbles something down. He hands it back to me after glancing over the whole thing again.
He jumps up like there's a match underneath his ass, and tells me in our conspirator-like tone. "Um, I'll be in the studio, when you're ready to record that…"
"Kay," I say, watching him walk out the door. He startles me when he turns around at the doorframe. He looks at me questioningly again.
"What?" I ask, flushing.
I was not staring at your ass.
I wasn't admiring the view as you walked away from me.
I wasn't.
Really.
I'm aliar.
"Your song…" he drags out, leaning against the doorframe.
"Yeah," I say, hopefully, gathering up my courage so I can actually look him in the eye.
He rubs his forehead, smiling.
Or is he smirking?
"It has potential," he finishes, walking away quickly.
I get the feeling that wasn't what going to say, I look down at what he's added on to my lyrics.
And I'll be happy for you
If you can be happy for me
The song I mutilated this time was called "Cool" by Gwen Stefani.