(A/n: Thank you all for the positive reviews. I worked really hard on this chapter, so enjoy it please! I hope the romance doesn't get in the way of our friendship! Ahhh! I promise there will be more action and less talk/thinking in the next chapter.)

I was swamped today. I had more to catch up on than I thought. Basically I keep track of all of Superjail's expenses, pay for the bills and lawyers (You HAVE to have a couple of really good lawyers to back up Superjail.), and make sure the place runs relatively smooth, and thank god Alice helps out with that. Its a job, a career, that continually finds ways to kick my ass, interestingly enough, the insane amount of pressure I ingest and carry around makes me pan out the best of my work.

I am damn good at what I do anyway, and the Warden knows it.

I got most of the difficult work out of the way before lunch, and after, I really worked my ass off, and even then, the whole budget was still screwed. What I really want is a secretary---that would really ease my burden. Maybe I'll talk to the Warden, but I doubt I'll get one.

The only good thing about doing all the work is that my mind is completely occupied, and that can be good sometimes.

I didn't have a single moment to even think of the Warden, and the incident yesterday, except of course at lunch. Even then, we didn't speak. I was grateful for that, cause sometimes, the Warden likes to chat with me, mostly about Alice and how ravishing she looks. Ugh.

And other times, he can be quite the conversationalist. Sometimes, I just stare at him---

Ah...Anyway.

Well, today at lunch, the Warden was especially dreamy. I mean, he was--ah, he looked like he was day dreaming. It was obvious he was looking at Alice, batting his eyelashes and everything, he likes to do that and of course he thinks no one notices. It sort of made me angry. I mean, I wasn't jealous or anything, but still. I really want to tell him the truth about Alice, but its not really my place to do that. And anyway, who knows? Maybe he's always known about it, and doesn't care, maybe even finds that attractive? It seems more likely that he's oblivious. Its sort of endearing, despite that he blames me for ridiculous things and treats me like dirt sometimes, he really is sort of endearing. And then---like yesterday, he pulls one over on me. He shows some humility. Some humanity. And I'm stuck because I want to hate him. I want to hate him so much---for his selfishness, and that damn ego that drenches every inch of Superjail---but I can't. The thing is, he's so damn adorable, he could be stabbing a cat and people will go out of their way to make excuses for him. 'Oh, that cat, he was a mean old thing.' or 'Oh, that cat hisses at everything, even scratched my kid once.'

I mean, when you first meet the Warden, you want to like him---and you want him to like you back. Something about him is just---fascinating, intense, engaging, colorfully mad---and that's what makes his madness--work. Its entertaining. Its frightening. Its just The Warden. And he follows you. In your dreams (not like when he did literally!) and long after you've left the confines of Superjail, he's still on your skin, on your mind, in your mind, and you know you'll never meet anyone lik--

Anyone like--

Like--

Oh god.

Like Allie.

--

All my parents ever did was go to work, come home, then listen to the evening broadcasts on the Virtual Radio before going to sleep at 9:30 pm. Sunday Mass meant all day worship, every single Sunday, no excuses. No meat except fish on Fridays. They were very conservative, so it goes that I never told them I was bisexual.

I promised myself I'd never become one of those ''stuffed shirt'' kind of guys, like my father who almost never laughed and smiled without his eyes. It frustrated me to have to rely on my parents for a bulk of my existence---they were very unimaginative people. I never wanted to lose my fun or my imagination. If someone met me for the first time, got their first impressions and cliches worked out, and then went to the past, they would never think we were the same person.

When I was 17, I grew my hair out even though my mom hated it, I was skinny and pale, but toned, and I didn't have one hair on my chest, which I lucked out because a lot of the girls I dated liked feminine guys, and that was good, since I liked how I looked and wasn't going to change. I wore really hippie like clothes (which was way out there for my time, being that hippies stopped existing a least a hundred years ago, and I only knew about it from a thrift store employee.) and I didn't do drugs or drink, except for the occasional Gitane, a brand of French cigarette, but I went out a lot, chasing after girls, a couple of guys---experimenting, of course, was my excuse at the time, and I was really political. I liked to debate, especially about the legal system. Its funny, I never saw myself working for any prison or judicial system or court, or even with lawyers. I was the type that hated bureaucracy when other kids hated that they had to clean their room, well, I hated that too.

But here now, I wonder what really came about all those years, from my late youth to my adulthood, that made me so formal and --eh, so nervous and so eager to please.

From the moment Allie kissed me, the moment we became one---to the moment he left me in my own confusion and shock---I can't really remember what happened from that point---to now.

I ask myself that sometimes, and every time, and every moment, its a different answer. Its always the same premise, but the details get fuzzy and expand and contract---I try not to think about it. I know I'm horribly repressed. And its not just from the drugs.

I don't want to try and discern from what was real and what was intentionally fake.

Sometimes, I know who I am. I really, really do. I'm fine and I know what I'm doing and why I'm doing it.

I wonder about when I thought I was really happy. I think happiness is a moment---a collection of tiny little moments---that really is only there to keep you from going completely insane. I don't think life is about giving you happiness in the long run. Its about survival. Its about overcoming obstacles, to achieve spiritual and emotional growth, not really happiness. Happiness is but a distraction from those things.

And when I was really happy---it was only due to my best friend's confusion.

Once I knew this--all the moments---inside---rolled over and curled into shock, pulling and roaming, till it asphyxiated my heart with a madness, a madness that kept me from finding happiness from then on. When I was a kid, I was a take action type of guy. Now all I do is write it down. Like in here.

So, I grew up, and now I'm something I never meant to become. Nervous, sensitive, weak--- wrapped in a suit and sweaty skin---good with money---great with advice---but happy? At least I kept my smile, and I kept my laugh, and I kept my heart. That's all that matters.

--

I talked to the Warden today about possibly hiring a secretary or two, and this is what he said, "What a wondrous idea, Jared! I have just the sextetary!" He practically beamed sunshine in my eyes with his smile.

"Uh, Sir? Sextetary?" I chuckled a little, wiping sweat from my brow.

"Oh yeah!" He gave me the thumbs up sign. I sighed uneasily, wondering what he meant, if anything at all. Then I smiled.

"Uh, um, Thank you Sir." I tried not to let my laughter get out of control till I left his office.

The more I think on it, I think the reason I've stayed here--- is for the very same reason I fell for Allie.

But Allie is not the Warden.

And there is no way in hell the Warden is Allie.

But, I do know, though this is fucking scary as hell, I won't let myself tweek out. I'll stay calm.

I'll take the Warden's advice.

I'll relax.