Oh, my soul breathes yet my eyes do no deceive... What was taken when it was ended, retrieved from bandit thieves. It's the return.

I'm actually slightly annoyed with this site right now. DAMN YOU FF!

On with it...

PS: Maybe I'm too taken in by details. DAMN ME.

PSS: This one's gonna be short. Just a little something to mix it up.

PSSS: I've used a HELLUVA lot of song lyric refs in this story. I dare you to find them all.

Chapter 4 / Tell Me All Your Thoughts on God

The all too familiar tremble settled in, Jude wringing her hands, her good riddance to it all. It felt too right, too known. Wasn't this place supposed to serve as a refuge? Weren't things supposed to change? Wasn't she supposed to change? Give it up, Harrison. And there it was, the thought. Give up, walk away, concede, secede; was it all she would be known for? Good for? The sympathetic character...

"Well, if it isn't Miss Instant Star, Jude Harrison. Trouble in paradise?"

Something about the question amused her in the most melancholy of ways. Trouble in paradise.

"What's up, Nova?"

"Just eavesdropping. How's Mr. Q?"

Jude grazed upon the feast the girl gave her. Scorpion black hair shorn too close for comfort, hazel, no grey, eyes that shown no emotion other than distinct matter-of-factness, model material evident in the razor thin lines of her clavicles and the crease between hip and jeans. She irritated Jude, something about the way she stood and waited for details. She intrigued Jude, something about the way she smirked and reminded her of Tommy.

"He's something." She stopped herself before she continued to edge towards ranting and raving, puzzled and confused. "Wait, how did you know it was Tommy?"

"The tabloids?" There it was, the soon-to-be evident stupefying tone Jude knew so well from some lifetime ago.

"You get those here?"

Nova laughed, rolling her eyes at Jude's obliviousness to The Truth, Way, and Light at Brice.

"Are you kidding me? Leslie would cry herself to sleep if she didn't get her tabloid fix. It's funny when you see Bina take them from her. The girl just cries and whines like someone shot her cat." Jude just laughed, knowing people already knew her business and story. Nova took it as a sign to sit down next to her. "So, why are you here?"

"Ehh... Tried to kill myself. Hanging isn't effective if you don't lock the door, you know?"

"Kid, nothing is effective if you don't lock the door." Nova lifted the sleeves of her shirt, proudly showcasing the large russet purple scars that adorned her arms. "Down the road not across the street. I'm an idiot and went across the damn street."

Jude couldn't resist the urge to touch one of the raised stripes, Nova recoiling in defense. She lowered her sleeves, crossing her arms behind her head. The moment was refreshing, making light of attempts and failures.

"How long have you been here?"

"Four months and counting."

"Shit! If I stay here four months, I really will lock the door."

Nova smiled, running her ragged nails down the length of face in lethargic restlessness.

"There aren't any locks around her except to the dispensary and the administration office. You better pray they don't catch you in time... again."

"Ha, just watch the door for me."

"No way, kid. If I'm going to hell, it won't be for helping someone kill themselves. I reserve that right to me and me alone."

"You're a freak, Nova."

"Shut up. You like it." She winked, standing and walking out of the side office. "But I'm going to go see which twosome is being the most entertaining. Stop by 317 sometime. We can talk more about you and Mr. Q."

"Sure thing."

Nova was a double-platinum smash up that unnerved her yet brought a bit of levity to the "Tommy Question" that had just been asked. How could she joke about her stay there or her arms? Will I ever be able to joke about it?

Jude made her way out of the enclosure and back to another one, this one even colder than the last. In her world, it was early but fatigue had already crept, crawled, and balled in the mix of the afternoon. How could he? How the hell could he! She figured the questions and recalling pointless, stretching back and putting it all on an invisible shelf to fester until it would count.

She reached into her pillow and retrieved the small handful of sunshine she'd not taken, popping a couple more down for good measure. If she were to get "sane", the more the merrier. She'd deal with him Wednesday; she'd make him pay his tariffs and taxes that were quickly amounting to his natural born life.

Why must I always manage my madness over you? She lay in the matchbook bed pulling the cover up and over her face. Wednesday, Mr. Q. Wednesday; enjoy it while you can.