So. I am so, so sorry for the incredibly long... uh, pause between updates. And for the shortness of this chapter. On the bright side, Algebra is going better. It's English that I'm not doing so well in now.

Anyway, sorry.

Disclaimer: because I'm definitely a COLLEGE GRADUATE, published, 40-year old man.

LLLLL

I had to walk home.

It was drizzling outside, a remnant from this morning. The weather seemed to be in sync with my mood.

I thought about taking the bus, but then decided against it. Buses were too small, and I'd been feeling claustrophobic in things with small exits and one main entry lately.

So I walked. I got wetter than I wanted to, but I felt good about my decision. Until I got back home.

.".".".

"You're wet."

Jack must not be in a good mood.

"Yeah."

"You don't have your bike." Her eyes narrow slightly. No one normal would have noticed this change in expression.

I wonder what that says about me.

"It got ran over this morning." My voice is emotionless.

A look of panic sweeps across her face. I'm sure a similar look crosses mine, but for a different reason.

"No, no," I say, with only the tiniest hint of desperation, "no one did it on purpose. I wasn't being careful."

The panic doesn't leave her face, but it lessens. I almost breathe a sigh of relief. Jack is... an amazing person. No matter what I tell her, no matter how sarcastic I get, she doesn't give up on me. I have no idea why.

But I'm glad for it.

"Oh. Okay. I'm going to the store. Do you need anything?"

"No." My voice stays emotionless.

"Okay. Bye, then."

"Bye."

She left.

.".".".

It happens again the next day. And again the next day. I feel like a shampoo bottle. School, house, sleep. Repeat until clean.

It happens for a week.

.".".".

Saturday is always a good day. For me, at least. I figure if it's good for me, then it must be fantastic for the rest of the world.

So it was disappointing when it rained.

I was planning on running, and my mood sours when I wake up and hear the pitter-patter of rain on the roof. Jack looks at me and tells me to do it anyway, if it's really bothering me

So I do. It's not the best experience of my life.

.".".".

Ever heard of runner's high? That's me. Right now. Except a lot wetter. (No dirty jokes.)

It's one of the few happy moments of the week, right now is. Running through the streets of London. I think I've gone two, three miles so far.

Who knew that working for the government was so beneficial to your health? (Me, that's who, you fucking idiot. And it's not beneficial to your health, you dumbass.)

I'm running, and it's good and nice and I feel like I'm flying because the sidewalk is moving so fast below me. It's a good time to be in a good mood, even if it is raining.

I get to the worse-off parts of London, and decide to buy a bottle of Jack Daniels for Jack. As a joke. Maybe a nice surprise. I should be nicer to her. She tolerates me, after all.

I go into the shop and the bell rings. The man at the counter has on a green vest with too many pockets to count. He has a beer belly and a crooked smile.

"What're you doin' here, kid?"

I look at him. He looks into my eyes – not romantically, just locking eyes for a moment – and then looks away. A lot of people seem to do that. I think I'll call it the Eye Thing.

"Buying a bottle of Jack for my housekeeper." Ironic.

The clerk mutters under his breath.

"You don't look older 'n seventeen."

Inwardly, I shrug. Three years – not too shabby. I could fake a driver's license.

"I'm not going to drink it." I stare at him. Hard. (Eye Thing in effect in three, two –)

He looks away.

"Yeah, kid, that's what they all say. Get a friend that's at least a little bit older than you next time. I'm not selling."

Well.

"Please?" I say nonchalantly.

"Out."

I leave.

.".".".

That didn't go as well as it should have, I think as I'm running home. So I stop in a little grocery store on the way back and buy Jack some flowers. It's close to Brookland, and I think I see a classmate with a parent a few aisles away. It's the sometimes rare species of student that doesn't stare every second of the day.

Which is nice.

I go to the check-out line. The grocer's nametag reads Hi, my name is Margarette. Her name reminds me of butter.

"Hi, my name is Margarette. I hope you had a pleasant experience shopping at Hamley's. Would you be interested in our Pampers' Toilet Tissue sale? It lasts the rest of the day."

A long time ago, I would have made a thousand sarcastic comments at that.

"Just this, thanks," I say.

"Alright."

She checks me out.

.".".".

Since I've got some cash left, I take a cab home so I don't mess the flowers up. They're violets – her favorite. Ian got them for her birthday when I was nine. I remember him being surprised that she liked them so much, because he had just picked up his favorites for her on his way home from… on his way home one day.

I reach the house and pay. As I'm walking up the front steps, I think about how shitty my life is.

Not really. I just say over and over that I've got a shitty life, mainly because I don't want to think why I have a shitty life.

Then again, who's ever really cared what I wanted?

LLLLL

Proposition: slower updates (where I write each chapter as I go) or really long break and very frequent updates (where I write everything out and then update like, once a week or something)?

Oh, and is the new layout messing anyone else up? I went to review a story the other day, and ended up favoriting it instead. I'm not opposed to it (although it is a little more complicated to get to the reviews page), but it is kind of... different. (Thanks again, Captain States-the-Obvious. Come again soon.)

Tell me what you think.