I have tried to write this 3 times. (They say 3 is a magic number.) Version 1 was overly written. Version 2 was so random even I couldn't finish it. And now... Version 3. (Oh you magic number!)

So, there is a plot. A plot that's really hidden and... my lungs hurt. And I sound like Alanis. But, to those who know, there is a very brief little "thing" said in the first paragraph- had to use it. You know I did... As for this chapter... It's sketchy. It's weird. It's something that doesn't make sense but it does. Think my children and you shall hear. Really, the sketchiness and oddness of it all just shows you where Jude's head is. Repression is an art form.

Chapter 12 is going to kick start this thing. I've suddenly been inspired so excuse the undeniable shitness of this one.

Something about writing once in present tense has tarnished me. Now, this should be there too.

Just wait...

Chapter 11 / The Father, the Skeptic, and the Son

Father complex. Inferiority complex. God complex. Complex complexes. Skewed enantiodromia. In and out... in and out... in and OUT.

Jude sat in his kitchen sink, the duty for coffee making taken up by Tommy before she could reach the kitchen. The drips from the faucet mixed with the percolating drops; the rust and the rain endure. She wanted it iced, tepid, scalding her tongue into recession; macchiato of sage surrounded by similes in metaphorical cinnamon.

She willed the sleeping demons to awaken fully, to scream at her once more. She wanted them to feel her coming of age, feel her shoot them down and count the feathers hitting the azure sky. Wake up...

The matte stainless steel was comforting, as was the hard soapstone countertop under her knees. She enjoyed her hunched position and watching him when he toyed with water levels and measuring spoons. She savored the way he squinted his eyes at ten and his fingers on the glass carafe. It all looked so eloquent, so orchestrated and so damn endearing. She bent her head to smile at the peculiar perplexities of his robotic mechanics, to examine her bare feet dangling against his beech cabinets.

He leaned against the same counter that indented her skin and you could smell the voltage emanating from his finger tips. The rust and the rain endure... electrocution.

"Come here," she demanded. He looked to her, surprised but up for whatever she wanted. He moved and wedged himself between her legs, barely getting a glimpse of her in before she took his mouth with her own. She owned him; she felt it just as she felt his morning stubble sanding away at her face and the pure adrenaline that pushed her farther down in the sink.

She felt so far away from the real world at that moment, so far away from him. She was too far away from herself and all that made her feel as abnormally normal as possible. She was the girl in the bubble acting on impulsivity rather than her over calculated logic, but she owned him and it felt like she knew it would.

He pulled away, wild eyed and gasping for breath. He kept his hands on her thighs, whispering like cold November rain.

"What was that for?" His words struck her as comic, astonishment lingering at the tail end.

"Absolutely nothing..." The smile had long since faded, replaced by a disclosed stare. He turned his face to match her gazing, wonder stepping up to the plate.

She said nothing but slid out of the sink, down his torso, and out of the kitchen. She picked up his cell and slid her fingers over the keys. She counted every slip sliding ring and crackle, patiently lulled by the monotony of each sounding.

"Hello?"

"Is mom around?"

"Jude? Is that you?"

"Yes."

"It's eight in the morning..."

"Is she around?"

"No, she had an early meeting. Why? Is something wrong?"

"Why would you think something was wrong?" Doctor Barry, how you taught me well. She didn't wait for her answer, taking a look over her shoulder to see Tommy still in his mannequin position. "I'm out."

"Out?"

"Out of Brice. I'm out."

"What? When? How?"

Twenty-one questions, twenty-one answers.

"Yesterday. Tommy checked me out."

"Oh." Sadie didn't try to conceal the disenchantment curving her monosyllabic response and Jude's expanding sadism enjoyed it. She owned nothing. It made her feel good, making up for every second she had to see what wasn't rightfully hers. Jude wanted to be spiteful, but veered off track.

"I'll call mom at work."

"So you're at Tommy's? When are you coming home?"

"One day..." Jude disregarded the mentioning but suddenly felt bad. Everything always hit so suddenly in the time of late – lust, loneliness, bitterness, sadness – but it was The Way. "I'll come by today. I have to go. I love you, Sadie."

"Love you too, Jude..."

They hung up simultaneously, thinking about home and kisses. Jude... Her lips turned up to the mumbling.

Painlessly though haphazardly, she was amongst the real world inhibitors once again. Time to be...