Author's Note: Marley here. Sorry for the crazy-long wait for Chapter 9; it was my fault. thatgirlwhohasn'tgotanickname had a chapter ready weeks ago, and I, princess Bossy-Pants, sent it back 'cause it didn't meet my staaaaandaaaards or whatever. (Why yes, I am a fan of self-deprecating humor.)
Oh, and sorry for the wait for this one, too; between schoolwork and... well, other me-stuff, it's been difficult to get myself into the writing mood.

I'd also like to thank all the kind reviewers, especially those who like our portrayal of Chase. I've really tried not to let him fall into bitter-guy-hates-everything-and-tells-everyone-within-earshot territory, and I'm sure my co-writer has been doing the same.
On with the show.

Chapter Ten:
That Maya. That stupid, juvenile brat. How many times, and how forcefully, would I have to tell her no? The sound of my one sandal snapping angrily against the cobblestone pavement echoed off the walls of town. It wasn't until the echoes stopped that I got the feeling I'd left something behind. I paused for a minute, padding the pockets in my apron. My keys. Damn. I'd left my house keys in the room key bowl. Why did I put them there in the first place...? My frazzled mind couldn't find my own reasoning. I'd have to go back and ruin my dramatic exit. What a shame.

I hoped to procrastinate my return; the longer I was gone, the more dramatic my exit seemed. The sound of my uneven footsteps slowed; they seemed an ambient noise, altogether detached from my own being. The breeze hit my face as though I were walking forward, and the landscapes of the Maple Lake District seemed to scroll by beside me. When my footsteps began to echo again, I heard shouting from the inside of the inn.

"See, you liked him! You liked him and you wanted him!" That piercing shriek was still unmistakeable. I began to wonder if that voice would ever leave my mind... a seemingly permanent reminder of the heartbreak I'd caused. Could I really be blamed for look—

Wait, what?! "Just get out of my face, Angela!"

Footsteps echoed through town, and wordless voices rang from the square. They did not belong to people. They did not belong to animals. There were only footsteps, voices, and I, wrecker of my own home.

A green form slinked out of the bar. An almost scrawny green form, with blue shorts and brown hair and a pretty face. "Angela..."

She jumped; her brown eyes slammed open. "Ah! Um, I-- hi..." she babbled. I could almost see her frightened, startled trembling.

"Um..." Were you talking about me? Did you mean what you said? Hundreds of questions crossed my mind, but not one managed to fall through my teeth.

"Yeah, I'd love to stay and chat," she panicked, "but I've got to go water my sheep -- iron my dog -- the oven! I left the oven on at home, yeah, that's it." She'd already took off down the path to the housing district.

"But... you live at the inn!" She kept walking. "Angela!" I called after her. She started running. What had I done to her? Everything I'd done, I'd done to Maya. Maya and myself...

I started to walk after her. My brain dictated that I go back to the inn and apologize to Maya, right the wrongs I'd set and fix the universe, or at least my little microcosm. My insolent feet wouldn't listen; they only carried me to the housing district. Past Maple Lake and into the mine district, around the curve and to the Praline Woods, where Angela slumped against a small tree. She scooted so that she was on the other side of the tree from where I was standing. I went around the tree to face her. She turned further. "Angela... isn't this a little childish?" She didn't answer me. "Angela...?"

She still wouldn't face me. "Did you hear Maya shouting at me at the inn?"

"Uh... no..." I lied. I immediately felt as though my conscience had punched me in the chest. "Well, a bit..." I squatted down to her level; she still wouldn't turn around. "Was it true?"

"Uh... no... well, a bit..." she mimicked my lie. "I..." Her voice started to crack. "I never wanted anyone to know..." Angela paused; a few quiet sniffles managed to cut the ambient wind. "I thought..."

She stopped. "You thought what?" I quietly coaxed.

"I thought you'd all hate me!" She sounded hysterical, and the small, quiet sniffles had turned into what sounded like the post-nasal drip of a young elephant.

I reached into my pocket and handed her the napkin from which I'd removed the knife that sliced the ties between Maya and me. "That's ridiculous," I told her. I winced. Probably not the most comforting way to talk to a girl having a meltdown.

"Why?" I could hear her trembling. "Why is that ridiculous? I'm a slimy, no-good, homewrecking slut!" she yelled. "You and Maya would have no reason to like me, none at all. You'd never talk to me again, neither of you. I'd be better off just going back home and pretending the past few days had never happened!"

It dawned on me that nothing I could possibly say would be the right thing to say, and anything that did come out of my mouth, including silence, would be heard as, 'Yes, you're right. We all hate you, and we think you should butt the hell out of our lives.'

Unless...

"You know, you can't help who you love."

Angela blew her nose, sounding a honking fanfare fit to summon the highest peasant in all of London. "Hm?" she squeaked.

"It's sorta like... like smelling a dish that you immediately know you have to try. You don't know exactly why you like it. You didn't choose to have it on the table when you walked into the room. You especially didn't choose to love the smell of parsley. But you do, and it just murders you inside when some other lady digs her fork into that dish." I paused; I could hear her steady sniffles in the silence. "But... with love, you can't just tell the waitress you'll have what he's having... your only choices are to take her food right out from under her nose, or go your whole life thinking, 'I should've stolen that lady's food.'" God, this metaphor is stupid, I thought to myself. But I could carry it on. "And food... food doesn't care who gets to eat it. Food doesn't have feelings." I gulped. I'd never had to talk about my feelings before; I just assumed people understood, and that if they didn't, they'd figure it out eventually. "But I do. Maybe I don't act like it all the time... but I do care. When it was just Maya, I thought I didn't. I mean... she was a girl, she was there, she liked me... I thought that was all there was to it. Then... well, you moved in... and it was like... that all changed. After I met you... it's not that I wouldn't say that I loved Maya... it's that I couldn't. And, well... I'm lucky I wasn't married with a kid when I finally figured it out."

"What are you trying to say?" she interjected.

I'd been hoping to avoid the actual words, but there just wasn't any use anymore. "I love you, Angela," I whispered. "I'm sure of it."