Authors Notes:

This chapter is not as long as I was hoping it would be but I figure I'll go for quality over quantity. I'm not gonna add a bunch of nonesense to make it longer. I thought I ended it at the right spot so I didn't wanna mess that up. I hope you all enjoy this newest installment of "You Again?" Hopefully you like where it's going- tell me what you think!!

Happy read :)

You Again?

Chapter 6

Cindy's confused expression was completely understandable. She had no idea who Darien Shields was after all.

"Shields?" She repeated in a question. Her brows were scrunched up in puzzlement. "Like swords and shields?" She asked, grasping at straws. "Or is it some new book you're working on?"

I didn't reply to her questions right away since I'd gone back to my cocoa.

"Sere, can you give me anything more to work with here?" Cindy asked, really curious.

"Not swords and shields." I managed to finally tell her. "And not a new book either." I took another sip of my cocoa and couldn't help but mutter "bastard".

This shocked Cindy more than anything else. I don't think Cindy's ever heard me swear- since that's such a rare thing for me to do.

"A person?" She asked after she'd gotten over some of her shock. Then she muttered as an afterthought, "Who would name a kid Shields?"

I laughed a little at her stray thoughts.

"It's his last name." I told her.

She looked up at that.

"It's a his?" Cindy had an odd gleam in her eyes. I think it's something in teenage girls' genes that makes them pick up these little insignificant details. Anything remotely male or related to testosterone and all of a sudden they're all perky. I remember those days…

"Not like that Cindy." I replied, quickly diffusing her very wrong inferences.

"Then what is it?" Cindy asked again.

"Just some old high school enemy." I told her.

"An ex?" Cindy questioned, her soft brown eyes now alight with sympathy.

"Not even close." I said with a small smile at the absurd thought.

"Then what is it?" Cindy asked again- she was getting a little impatient now. Cindy doesn't like to not be in on things.

"Well," I was about to begin but my cell phone rang. I looked at her apologetically for a moment and she sighed in frustration as I picked up my phone.

It was Brad… I really wish he didn't have my number but it is necessary.

"Msss. Tsukino" Brad spluttered on the other end of the line. The way he said it made my name sound almost like "Misino" actually.

"Yes Brad?" I prompted and Cindy smiled in sympathy. Cindy, of course, knew all about Brad.

"Ms. Shepard is here for you." Brad managed to say- without a splutter! I am so proud!!

"Oh, yes," I replied remembering my appointment with Jennifer Shepard. "I'll be up in a sec Brad, tell Jenny to wait in my office."

"Yes, Msss. Tsukino" Brad replied courteously- but with a stutter again. Man, I thought we'd made progress! Guess not.

I hung up the phone and turned to smile apologetically at Cindy.

"Sorry, Cin. I gotta run." I got up and gave her a one armed hug- my other hand was still occupied with my cocoa. "Thanks for the pick-me-up." I smiled one last time and she waved and went back behind her barista station.

"You're going to tell me later!" I heard her call before the elevator door shut behind me.

Work was officially over but of course not really.

Jenny- or Jennifer Shepard as she's more commonly known- just finished another few chapters of the third book in her fantasy series. Jenny still has a few more months before her deadline but she's almost done.

That's why I love Jenny, she always finishes things way before they're due which makes it easier for me.

So since she finishes prematurely I have plenty of time to read and dissect her work but I always read it as soon as I get it. I love her writing.

Her stories are always full of magic, mystery, and of course her signature tear jerking romances.

I am currently curled up on my peach colored sofa with a blanket wrapped securely around me for warmth- my heater stopped working sometime last week and I've been too busy and lazy to call my landlord to fix it.

Next to me is a cup of steaming hot decaf peppermint tea- caffeine after six keeps me up all night.

I'm in my comfy pajamas although it's still too early for bed but since no one is here it really doesn't matter. I also have a pair of reading glasses perched on my nose (instead of my usual contacts) so that I can properly see Jenny's wonderful writing. My hair is in a messy ponytail and my makeup is completely wiped off.

That's what I'm like outside the office. I don't have to worry about how disgruntled I look because no one is there and no one cares. It's absolutely wonderful.

But sadly, Jenny hasn't written more than a hundred pages so it doesn't take me too long to finish it. Jenny's work isn't without its flaws of course so I've circled a few passages in red ink with comments on the side and added the occasional coma or period or changed a careless typo.

But all this doesn't take me long and by the time I'm done it's only seven and I have nothing else to do for the rest of the night (I've finished my other work at the office).

I decide that some TV would be a welcome distraction from my boredom so I turn it on but there isn't anything interesting on. I keep channel surfing for a while but that proves to be a lost cause because television so rarely has anything interesting on Wednesday nights. Thursday nights are great- you can't not find something to amuse yourself- but Wednesdays are just plain sucky.

And that's when I notice it. It's just sitting there. Annoyingly tempting. Sort of like its creator actually... Kidding of course.

It's like the stupid thing has some sort of siren call on me. That's the only reason I have to explain why I got up from my comfy position on the couch and dug out the pages of Darien Shields's manuscript from within the confines of my briefcase.

I'd taken the stupid thing home so I could burn it or something in the comfort of my own home but now I can't seem to do that. I feel compelled to read it. To see what exactly Darien Shields writes about in his free time. To see what interests him. A part of me is hoping to find out that Darien cannot write to save his life but the more logical part of me is saying that that hope will only lead to disappointment.

The second voice was right… of course. I have no luck.

By the time I finish reading just the first paragraph I am completely enthralled.

It's truly amazing how just after a few sentences I forget entirely whose story I'm reading.

I'm no longer thinking about what a jerk Darien Shields is.

I'm mesmerized by the tale that unfolds in front of my very surprised and incredulous eyes.

From the beginning of his story I could hear his writer's voice come off the page. It was as though he was there with me telling me this impossible tale of a young boy abandoned at the fragile age of six who eventually (after turning thirteen) discovers that he was not abandoned at all. His parents were murdered and the villains that had gotten them were after him.

Before I knew it, I was traveling on broken down subways hiding behind strangers' seats and crawling on hands and knees beneath abandoned warehouses.

And not long after that I was being taken along for a ride to a strange and mysterious city where demons were not just creatures of the underworld. They were people just like any other but with impossible strength and bizarre supernatural powers.

And then I was faced with a choice. An impossible choice to make at such a young age- only thirteen!

I could stay with the demonic creatures of which I was so unaccustomed and eventually- most probably- die fighting with them against their enemies (some other alien forces that had taken my own parents) or…I could run.

I could run and hide and try to live as normal a life as was possible for a demonic creature like myself.

And then it was all over.

I was no longer running and hiding.

I was no longer in the odd demonic city that didn't seem in the slightest bit demonic or evil.

I was back on my sofa staring in shock at the manuscript of Darien Shields.

I looked at the page number on the bottom of his manuscript.

689

I looked at the time on my cell.

1:44 … AM

I looked to the endtable…to find a now very cold mug of tea.

Darien Shield's work had done this to me. It had enraptured me to this extent. I had not noticed the time or the pages fly by, I had not even once taken a sip of my favorite hot beverage.

I would have to go back to work in a few hours and when that time came… I knew what I had to do. No matter how much I hated doing it.