AN: I actually like this chapter. We are finally getting into the good stuff (sorry that the first bazillion chapters were boring and confusing). After this, there's going to be a lot of thinking, planning, and confusion. So ye be warned.

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Chapter 7

The plane landed and I rushed home as quickly as I could. It was late. We had had a two hours layover in Chicago that had turned into a seven hours. While unlocking my door, I think of Susannah. The smell of her hair, the taste of her lips on mine.

I moan and Kate looks at me funnily.

"Sorry," I say while trying to hide my blush.

"Whatever," Kate says while following me into my house. "So…what are you going to do now?"

"Call Susannah," I say while grabbing for my cell phone.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Kate asks me and I look at her curiously.

"Why? Shouldn't I want to call her, to talk to her after a week of no communication?" Kate kicks the floor. "Kate…what's wrong? Is something the matter with Susannah?" I try to keep the nervousness out of my tone of voice, but it sticks and Kate looks up at me.

"Shit," she says while she dematerializes in front of my eyes and I moan in anguish. Flipping open my cell phone, I dial Susannah's number and stare at the ceiling.

The ringing doesn't seem to end; it just keeps ringing, and ringing, and ringing. Finally her voicemail clicks over: "Hey! It's Suze, leave me a cool message and I'll call you back." I smile at the sound of her voice. I feel my knees go weak.

"Susannah. Hello." I pause for a moment—not knowing what exactly I want to say to her. I know plenty of stuff I want to say to her, but it is extremely inappropriate and her father would curse me if he were to overhear it. "I'm back from Washington. Hope you are well, and I'll see you tomorrow." I pause again and drag a hand through my hair. "I love you." I hang up the phone quickly before I say anything else and then slap my forehead. Sometimes I am extremely thick.

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I lie awake in bed thinking about her. Whenever my eyes are closed I see her face looming in front of me. Whenever I inhale I smell her scent on my sheets. I sigh frustrated and hit my pillow with a loud curse. Rolling over, a thought strikes me. What if I just went over there now and knocked on her window.

With the sudden rush of adrenaline and hormones, I throw on some pants and a shirt and run out of my house. I jump into my car and drive quickly over to Susannah's house. Trying to be careful, I park a block away. Once I'm on the sidewalk, I run flat out to her house, then climb the tree up to her window and look inside. She's not there. Her bed is unslept in and panic begins to climb up into my throat. I can taste the bile on my taste buds. Where is she? What if something serious has happened? Is that why she hasn't been returning my calls? Is she injured? Why wouldn't Kate tell me?

I climb back down the tree and walk slowly back to my car. My nerves are about to explode, I need to hold Susannah, mi Querida. She's the only thing I have to live for, and if I don't have her, then whom do I have?

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The next day, I take a long, hot shower and end up being a half an hour late to my first class. However, when I turn in my perfect paper to the Professor Longfellow, she smiles at me and tells me I'm her best student. I return her smile and then rush out of the class and onto the quad. Wherever I go, my eyes scan the area for Susannah. I see her face in tons of people, but then I take a second glance and realize that it is not her.

I sit down under the big tree in the quad and wait. Only a minute later I see Kirk rush up to me with a big goofy smile on his face.

"Jesse!" He yells and hugs me vigorously. "How was your trip, buddy?"

"Fine," I say and then cut right to the chase. "Have you seen Susannah?"

"Susannah?" Kirk asks me with eyes wide. "Nope. Why, didn't you guys like talk for hours on end every night?"

When I don't respond, Kirk goes, "Oh, I'm so sorry man." He slings his arm over my shoulder and I look over at him surprised.

"What are you sorry for?"

Kirk raises his eyebrows at me. "Well," he begins uncomfortably. "Did you guys break up?"

"No," I say hotly. "Why would you think that?"

Kirk looks flustered, but then points his finger past me and says, "There she is dude!" I turn around and my eyes scan the area for mi querida.

I spot her, talking to some friends—her hair tossing around in the light wind. I smile and my heart begins to feel alive again. I walk over to her, watching her the whole time. There's something off about her. She looks out of place and uncomfortable.

As I approach, I catch snippets of their conversation. They're talking about their professor. I stop and stare at Susannah's beauty. I'm flabbergasted every time I look at her. Her friends leave and Susannah looks around the quad slowly. Finally I walk up to her and tap her shoulder.

"Hello, querida."

She spins around and glares up at me. I am taken aback. "What do you want?" She spits at me. I notice that she has a case of bad breath which points to low blood sugar. She hasn't been eating. Susannah quickly takes out a piece of gum and pops it in her mouth chewing briskly.

Something is wrong with her. She is not herself. Maybe it's just a bad mood. "Susannah, it's me, Jesse. What's wrong? Are you not feeling well?"

"Arg, Jesse, I'm fine. I'm just waiting for someone. Do you mind leaving me the hell alone?"

I take her hand in mine. "Susannah, what's the matter with you? Why haven't you returned my calls? Why are you acting like I am not your boyfriend?"

"Because you aren't, I am."

The voice is not Susannah's; it's a much deeper, kind of nasal, male voice. I drop Susannah's hand and stare at the intruder.

"Stephen, he won't leave me alone," Susannah whines while clinging to the man next to her.

"What's your problem, buddy?"

"Excuse me?" I say my eyebrows dangerously high. "Susannah, may I talk to you alone?"

"No," Stephen says while gripping Susannah's hand. Mi querida's hand. I can feel the anger boiling up and I strive to repress it. I won't 'loose my cool'.

"Jesse, I don't want to be with you any more. I'm with Stephen now." Susannah looks at me and then turns to Stephen. "Let's go." They walk off holding hands, but not before Stephen can shoot me a dirty look.

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I walk back over to Kirk and feel as if I have nothing else to live for. Is this how Susannah felt when Paul and I switched personalities? Did she feel as if her whole world had come crashing down around her? In my head I'm crying, but I don't dare let down my guard in public. I am a man—a de Silva. De Silva men do not cry, period.

Kirk takes one look at me and sighs. He had been watching the whole thing. "She broke up with you…" I ignore him, pick up my stuff, and sling my backpack over my shoulder.

"Kirk, did you know about this?"

Kirk doesn't meet my gaze.

"You did?" I say hearing my own voice raise an octave. I'm on the brink of breakdown. I can feel toes dangling over the edge, but I'm not ready to fall. I clear my throat and try it again.

Kirk still doesn't look at me. I'm about to ask him again, when he suddenly bursts. "I'm so sorry man, but I saw her about two days after you left with this guy, and I walked up to her when she was alone and asked her if you guys had broken up, but she was a real bitch to me—"

Suddenly I'm holding Kirk up by his neck against the tree. "Susannah is not a bitch." I say calmly. It takes me a second to realize what I'm doing, and the moment I do, I let Kirk go and take some steps back along with some deep breaths. "I'm sorry." I say to Kirk while he bends over trying to catch his breath.

He looks up at me. "No problem man," he says easily enough. "I understand."

I smile over at him and pat him on the back. "You're a good friend, Kirk."

"Thanks, buddy! You too." Kirk pauses and then goes into the classical 'thinking' pose. "I know something that'll make you feel better."

Curiosity overriding depression, I ask, "Yeah? What?"

"Let's get you plastered."

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I deny Kirk's attempt to make me feel better, knowing very well that alcohol does nothing to cheer you up, but rather is a depressant. Plus, I need my head clear for what I have to do.

I finish going to my classes for the day and then drive home, breaking the speed limit by about twenty miles. Once I'm home I pace around my living room trying to figure out my best approach to this situation. I pace back and forth for about an hour, letting all the possibilities entry my brain. I cogitate over and over again. If I stop pacing, stop thinking about my plan of action, then I'll have to think about how I feel, and if I do that, I will break down. Be pushed over the edge and I would freefall into the dark, deep abyss of this unknown feeling.

Is this how Susannah felt? Did she ever feel hopeless? Did she not have faith in me, faith to know that I would be able to pull through? What if I damaged our relationship so badly that she couldn't stomach the thought of kissing me anymore? Whenever I kissed her, did she feel as if she would throw up, because it might be Paul on the other side of those lips?

I stop pacing, lost in my thoughts, and when the string of thoughts disperses, all these different emotions pass over me. They darken the sky and my heart. I can feel the tears begging to come out, to hit my cheeks, marking defeat.

On some level, I want to give up, just let this so-called Stephen have Susannah. Pain creeps into my soul and settles in for a nice long stay. I recoil in not only anger, but in disappointment as well. In myself, in my faith.

The tears press on, but I repress them as best as I can. De Silva men do not cry, I tell myself over and over again. I resume pacing and then come face to face with the wall of my living room. I have the sudden urge to hurt something. To damage something more than I feel damaged. I've been broken, so I need to break something even more.

I throw back my arm, a fist connected to my wrist, and then punch the wall as hard as I can. An unexpected shock of pain shoots through my arm and for a moment I forget about my heartache. I look down at my knuckles; they're bleeding. I sigh in frustration. That was a stupid thing to do, I say to myself and then look at the wall.

A humongous hole is gaping there; I have punched through the dry wall, and know the insulation is peeking out of the almost circular hole. I study the hole for a minute, and realize this is how my chest must look. My heart is gone, and instead of a double-pump muscle, there is pain, depression. A dull throbbing envelops me and I struggle to repress tears again.

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AN: I feel so bad for having to put Jesse through all this hardship…awww