*Please see author's note at the end, as per usual.
Chapter 3: Inconceivable
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I sat in the front office for the next hour and a half of the day (much to the irritation of the woman at the front desk, who kept peering at me from behind her glasses like I was a fly she wanted to swat). When the final bell rang, I watched through the office window for Melissa's tell-tale hair (curly and huge) and frantically waved her inside when she met my eyes through the foggy white glass. It took about seven full minutes of what happened to you! and do you want to tell me what the hell is going on here? before I finally convinced her that I didn't have the brain capacity to discuss it just then, and could she please just take me home.
When Melissa finally dropped me off- we will discuss this later, Kimberly Marie Chitto- the house was strangely silent and the lights downstairs were all shut off. I looked towards the staircase and saw light streaming from my mom's room and attempted to climb the stairs without breaking my other leg.
"Mom?" I called, peering around the partially ajar door. "Are you in here?"
"I'm in here, honey," came my mother's sing-songy voice from deep within the recesses of her closet. Shit. That never meant anything good.
I leaned against the closet doorway, eyeing my mother, who was sitting atop a pile of clothes, frantically digging through them in search of the perfect blouse, or something. "Did you just get home?" I questioned her, noticing that she was still decked out in her grocer uniform.
"Yeah," she muttered, distractedly. "And now I'm late."
"For what?"
She paused from her frantic search to finally meet my gaze. Her black hair was twisted back into her harsh bun, graying at the temples. Her chocolate eyes were set deep within the dark, saggy skin around her eyes, and her thin lips were pulled into a grin that showcased all the laugh lines around the corners of her mouth. "Your father is coming in twenty minutes."
I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from blurting out my surprise. "Since when?" I asked, trying to speak around the sudden lump that had formed inside my throat.
My mother returned to her search (the perfect outfit to impress him) and clicked her tongue thoughtfully. "Since this morning. He's in town for the weekend visiting his father, and he wanted to meet up to talk."
My eyelids fell shut for one small moment. "And when exactly was he planning on seeing me and Amy?"
"Honey," my mother said, and the endearment was more admonishment than affection. "Don't start this again, ok? Your father works a lot, you know that. And he does want to see you. He wants to take you and Amy someplace tomorrow. I told him you were free." She stood, the desired article of clothing in hand, and bustled her way past me and into the bedroom.
I whirled around to face her again. "And what does he want to see you for?"
She peeled off the layers of her uniform and began working her way through the arms of her sweater dress. Her undergarments were lacy and black, and I felt a pang of shame at their ostentatiousness, knowing that they had been chosen deliberately. "I told you, Kim. To talk."
"About what?" I persisted, watching as she sat herself at her vanity and began rummaging through her cosmetics. Shit. Shit.
Her answering glance was sharp and pointed. "That's none of your business, Kim."
I felt the anger bubbling in my throat, and I couldn't have stopped myself from saying the words that came out of my mouth, even if I had wanted to. "It's my business if you're going to throw yourself at him and make yourself miserable for weeks, like you always do."
My mother's shoulders stiffened and she paused in applying a garish shade of red to her wrinkled lips. "You are about to cross a line, Kimberly," my mother informed me with all the calm of asking me to empty the dishwasher. The cold emptiness in her voice peppered my skin with goosebumps.
"So are you," I bit out, ignoring the survival instinct that was telling me to shut the hell up. "How many times does he have to do this to you before you get it? He doesn't love you anymore, Mom. He comes home, saying he just wants to talk, and you fall all over him and then he leaves you and you're heartbroken again!"
She slammed her bag of cosmetics against the vanity so hard that it shook. "That's enough," she growled, whirling around her seat to stare at me with blazing eyes. Without leaving me time to react, she stormed out of the bedroom and down the hallway. As fast as my crutches would take me, I followed her into my bedroom.
"What are you doing?" I asked, panicking, watching as she tore through the contents of my desk drawers. "Mom."
She produced a black photo album, buried somewhere within the tornado zone that was my desk. She flipped madly through its pages, until she came across the desired one and ripped a photo from its plastic covering. She held it up; a picture of our family, long before my dad had left. The only photograph I had of him. The only one she had allowed me to keep.
And she ripped it half without a moment's hesitation.
"Is this what you want?" she questioned me, shredding it into even smaller pieces. "You want him to really leave us? Fine, Kim, then we'll do it your way and he won't ever come back. I do what I have to do, Kim, and it is none of your goddamn business."
Tears were streaming down my cheeks and I was vaguely aware of the sound of Amy returning from soccer practice. "He already has left us, Mom. A nice fuck with you every once in a while and a few birthday cards here and there hardly makes him part of the family anymore."
I anticipated the hard slap that came across my cheeks moments later; I just barely managed not to bring my hand up to cradle my stinging cheek. I opened my eyes to see my mother standing before me, but where I anticipated fury and rage, I instead saw bone-deep weariness and despair. The tension between us was palpable, both of us knowing that the chasm was far too deep for either of us to jump across.
"You're grounded," my mother said simply, and given the heated exchange that had just occurred, I had expected something along the lines of damnation to hell and the end of all things as we knew them. I wanted-absurdly-to laugh. "Phone, laptop, and iPod in my room. You can kiss your senior goodbye, Kimberly." My name sounded like a curse on her tongue.
I had only the strength to nod weakly.
Without another word, she bristled past me and closed the door behind her, leaving me standing in the half-light of late evening, tears still silently coursing down my cheeks.
I made sure to leave my things in her room-ignoring Amy's questions about what was going on-before locking myself back in my bedroom and drawing the curtains, wanting nothing more than to settle into the welcoming arms of blissful sleep.
-:-:-:-:-:-
When I awoke, it was somewhere around midnight and the house was silent and dark. I had about one minute of wonderful half-awareness before all the events of the day came flooding back to me in an instant-Jared, panic attacks, my mother-and all I could do was lay back against the pillows and try not to vomit.
My brain was too tired to process all that had happened, but the memory of Jared's face as he brushed his fingers against my cheek was etched into my mind. I absently brought my hand to my face, expecting to feel a scar where his fingers had burned me, but I encountered only smooth, unmarred skin. Perhaps it had all been a dream.
I nearly screamed at the sound of pounding coming from downstairs.
"Kim!" I heard someone crying, and it took me moment to register Melissa's voice echoing from outside my front door. "Open the door right now! I know you're in there, I see your car!"
I stumbled out of bed, wincing as my weight shifted heavily to my bad leg. I thrust open my creaky window to poke my head out into the cool night air towards the front yard.
"Melissa!" I hissed. "Will you be quiet? My sister is sleeping!" I tried not to think about who else might be sleeping - or not sleeping - in my mother's bedroom at that moment.
Melissa's face said I don't give a shit more clearly than any words could have. Her hands were on her hips and her hair was wild around her face.
"Come open the door," she insisted, not lowering her voice even one fraction of a decibel.
"Jesus, fine, just give me one second to get downstairs." I stepped away from the window and attempted to locate my crutches in the dark. Finding them was the easy part; making my way downstairs -quietly- before I turned thirty-seven was another matter entirely.
Finally, I reached the front door and pulled it open, noting with a strange mix of dread and relief -she was still with him but she wasn't here- that my mother's car wasn't in the driveway.
Melissa shoved past me and into the house.
"Come in," I muttered to the air, shutting the door quietly behind her.
"Where have you been?" Melissa demanded, narrowing her eyes at me (she was going to be a great mother someday). "First, you like, faint, in class and Jared Cameron carries you outside, and then you beg me to take you home, not explaining anything, and now I have been calling you for hours and you haven't even sent me a text to tell me you weren't dying! I told myself I'd at least come and check before I like, called 911."
I winced, knowing that I would have been just as panicked had the situations been reversed. "I'm really sorry, Melissa. My mom took my phone and I've been asleep for like six hours."
She huffed indignantly, clearly not appeased. "What about Jared? What the hell happened in class today? Everyone thinks that you like, aborted Jared's baby and then fainted in class after the procedure and Jared had to rush you to the ER."
"Shit," I murmured.
"I mean, Jared sent me like 6,000 text messages," Melissa said, and my heart stopped entirely.
"What?"
"He's been trying to reach you all night," she said, and thrust her phone at me so I could see for myself (where's Kim? Have you heard from Kim? Do you know if Kim is ok?). "I told him I was going to your place to check on you, but that didn't seem to calm him down much. I mean, I don't even know how he got our numbers. Is there something going on with you two that you're not telling me about?"
"No," I corrected her swiftly, and plopped down heavily on my couch, tossing the phone across the couch. "I don't know what happened in class today. He just...looked at me. And his eyes got all wide and he touched my cheek, and then I freaked out...I don't know, Melissa."
"You're going crazy," Melissa informed me, and her face of disbelief convinced me that she was only partially kidding.
"I know," I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "He's never talked to me before and suddenly he's spending all day worrying about me and asking if I'm ok."
Melissa sat down gently next to me, seeming somewhat less angered than moments before. "Maybe he just feels bad about what happened at Port Angeles," she said softly, her hand on my shoulder.
"I guess," I said, my voice muffled by the sound of my clammy palms over my mouth. "What if he's screwing with me or something? What if his friends dared him to fuck around with the pathetic nerdy girl who follows him around like a lost puppy? I mean, shit, Melissa, it sounds like something they would do. I see no reason for him to be nice to me."
Melissa rubbed soothing circles on my shoulder. "I don't know. Something happened to him in these two weeks he's been missing, that's for sure. Maybe he's changed."
Right.
Thud.
Melissa and I simultaneously jerked from the couch into standing positions at the sound of a thud coming from upstairs.
"Shit," Melissa breathed, grasping onto my arm, her long nails digging into my bare skin.
My heart was thumping against my ribcage as I shushed her, straining my ears towards the stairs. There was silence.
I turned back towards Melissa. "It's just Amy," I assured her, attempting to soothe the stricken look on her face.
"Who's Amy?"
Melissa and I screamed bloody murder at the sound of a man's voice from behind me. Melissa tumbled over the arm of the couch, nearly taking me with her, but a swift arm -warm-- wrapped around my waist and secured me to the floor.
"Whoa, it's just me," came a voice from somewhere near my face, and I managed to stop screaming long enough to register Jared.
"Jared?" I cried, yanking myself from his grip to face him (good lord why wasn't he wearing a shirt?). "What the hell? What are you doing in my house? How did you get inside? Jesus Christ!"
A wide grin split his face in half. "You said we could talk later...so...it's later."
Oh my god, Jared Cameron is a lunatic. He was probably in the mental hospital those two weeks he was missing. Shit, he's probably going to murder us now, is that why he's not wearing a shirt, he doesn't want to get blood on it...?
"Kim, I'm kidding," he assured me, the grin melting off his face instantly. "You haven't returned my calls all evening, and then Melissa says she's going to go check on you and suddenly she's not answering my calls either, so I-," a pause, a strange look flashing over his face, "-drove here."
"You could have waited like five minutes for me to call you back, stalker," Melissa countered quickly, picking herself up off the couch, producing a phone from behind the cushion where it had evidently been vibrating the whole time. "See? Kim is fine."
"Maybe Kim would like to tell me that herself," he said softly, his eyes glued to mine.
I crossed my arms over my chest defensively, deliberately staring at a spot on the floor. "Maybe you'd like to tell me why you came through the window half-naked instead of knocking on the front door." I hadn't even needed to rehearse that one in my bathroom mirror. Damn.
"I didn't want to wake you if you were sleeping," he explained. "I just was going to check and see that you were safe. I saw that your window was open from downstairs, but then you weren't in bed and I got worried."
"So you were going to spy on me while I was asleep?"
"No!" Jared insisted, his eyes widening. "It's not like that. I was really worried, Kim. You scared me at school today. I needed to make sure you were okay." His (handsome) face was so insistent that I could almost believe he really was concerned about my safety.
"That still doesn't explain why you're half-naked," Melissa spat from beside me.
"It was...hot."
"It's November."
"You would be hot too if you were six-foot-seven and two-hundred pounds."
"Ok, stop!" I said, limping to stand between them, too exhausted to be amused at the irritated looks in both their eyes. "This has been possibly the craziest day of my life, and I can't handle you two screaming at each other in my living room at midnight. I need to sleep. Both of you, go home, please."
Melissa snorted. "Fine. Kim, I'll come back tomorrow, ok?"
"Um, ok," I said, remembering my dad's visit tomorrow (if he remembered) and added, "After eleven, when my mom's asleep, ok?"
Melissa stood her ground, staring unwaveringly at Jared. "Aren't you coming, too?" she asked him pointedly.
At the pleading look in Jared's eyes, I nodded to Melissa, signaling that it was safe to leave me alone with him for a few minutes (probably). "It's ok, Melissa. I'll see you tomorrow."
She let out an indignant huff and went out the front door, leaving me standing with a half-naked Jared Cameron in my living room.
Definitely need to lay off the codeine...
"Are you sure you're okay, Kim?" Jared asked, his voice so soft I could barely hear him. "Why didn't you answer my calls?"
"I'm ok. My mom took my phone." Not that I would have answered any way.
He nodded once, and then his expression shifted into something that looked almost pained. "Look, Kim, about what you said earlier at school today...about me feeling guilty-"
"Jared, I can't talk about this right now," I gasped out, squeezing my eyes shut against the intensity of his voice. "Later. Please."
Suddenly, there was a warm presence right before me. The heat was radiating off his skin in waves, and I felt a strange pooling in my stomach at the way he smelled, like earth and sun and warmth.
"Get some sleep, Kim," he whispered, and his hand was cupping the crown of my head as he pressed his hot lips against my forehead.
I attempted not to black out.
Faster than seemed humanly possible, he was out the door and I was alone in my living room, shivering from the heat of his skin and his kiss, wondering what kind of damage that fall down the stairs had done to my head.
-:-:-:-:-:-
I was ice.
The icy water whirled around me, thrashing my limbs, invading my nose and my mouth and my lungs. It reached my heart, freezing it solid, weighing it down inside my feeble ribcage. The silent, numbing sensation traveled through my blood, touching every last corner of my body until I was solid and cold. I began sinking downwards, heavier and darker and deeper, the weight of my frozen body dragging me into the unfathomable depths below.
I woke with a gasp.
Instinctively, my hand flew to my heart; the skin on my chest felt warm, and my heart was beating beneath it, steady and alive. A few calming breaths gave me enough clarity to recognize that it had just been a dream.
I glanced at the clock, groaning when I realized it was only 7:13-on a Saturday morning, no less. I groaned again when I realized it hardly mattered that it was Saturday, considering I was grounded for the rest of my life and would most certainly not be allowed outside the house.
Mom.
Shit.
I shifted beneath my covers, attempting to detangle my plaster-encased leg from the bedsheets. After a few moments of horribly complicated contorting, I was upright on my crutches and speeding (mostly) down the hallway.
I reached my mom's room, placing my ear against the door. A few moments of oxygen-less listening revealed nothing but silence. I knocked, waiting with baited breath for a response, but nothing came.
I opened the door and peered inside. The room was dark, and the bed was made. My mother's work clothes were still on the floor from where she had changed out of them last night. I saw no evidence of anything out of the ordinary. A quick glance outside the window revealed that her car was still not outside.
I took a quick peek in Amy's room, satisfied that she was still asleep- pink sleeping mask over her eyes, mouth open in a not-so-gentle snore, limbs everywhere- and made my way downstairs to pour myself a bowl of Frosted Flakes.
I chewed in silence for several long minutes; a sudden and almost overwhelming feeling of aloneness descended on me, sitting by myself in that far-too-silent kitchen eating cereal from a yellow plastic bowl. I blinked back a sudden wave of tears.
The morning was spent busying myself with the mundane; I attempted to shower by myself (dropped the soap twice, hit my head against the glass door, cut my good leg with the razor) before doing as many loads of laundry as I could possibly get my hands on. And when I was done washing, I ironed. And when the ironing was done and I felt I might burst into tears if I didn't find more housework to occupy my hands right this instant-
The doorbell rang.
Dad.
A sinking feeling settled into my gut as I pictured my father standing on the other side of my front door. When was the last time I had seen him? Had it been two years, or three?
Leaving my crutches behind, I limped towards the front door, bracing my body for the inevitable punch-in-the-gut feeling that I was sure would descend upon me the moment I saw his face. Opening the door, I took a deep breath, and said-
"Oh."
Jared.
He was wearing a shirt this morning (thank god) and the grin on his face was so infectious that I found myself returning it with enthusiasm before I could even formulate the words, why are you here?
"Hi, Kim," he grinned at me, shoving his hands deep into his denim pockets. "How are you this morning?"
"Um, fine." Eloquent, as usual. "I see you decided to try out the front door approach this morning." Better.
I might have imagined it, but a flush of crimson spread across his face as he smiled sheepishly at me. "Uh, yeah. Sorry about last night. I didn't mean to scare you."
"It's ok," I offered quickly (dammit, Kimberly, don't you have any dignity?). "So, um, what's up?"
He raised a dark eyebrow. "Can I come in?"
Now it was my turn to blush. "Right, sorry." I stepped aside to allow him entrance, in awe of the fact that he practically had to stoop down to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe.
"How did you get so freakishly tall?" Shit. Word vomit. Shut up, Kimberly, stop talking.
He settled himself on my couch like he owned the place, throwing back his head in a hearty laugh. "Good question. Then again, maybe I look so freakishly tall to you because you're so freakishly short." There was a twinkle in his eyes as he smirked at me, and if I'd had any experience with this sort of thing before, perhaps I might have registered flirting.
Instead I crossed my arms over my chest and attempted to look intimidating, or something. "You know, considering I could probably have you arrested for breaking and entering, maybe you should reconsider this whole insulting me thing."
Jared's face adopted a mischievous smirk. "Technically, there was no breaking. Just entering." His face screwed up into an expression of seriousness. "You really should lock your window, you know."
"Noted. So, um. You still haven't told me why you're here."
Jared cocked his head and flashed me a grin. "I thought we could hang out today, if you wanted."
"Hang out? With me?"
He drew his brows together. "Do you not want to?"
I wrung my hands together, scanning the floor intently with my eyes. "No...it's just, last time you asked me to hang out, things didn't work out so well..." I trailed off. My tone was a bit more bitter than I had intended.
Jared rose from the couch, his face looking pained beyond what I could understand. "Shit, Kim," he breathed, running a hand through his cropped hair. "I'm such an asshole. I've been meaning to talk to you about that night...I'm so sorry. I never would have...I never meant for anything to happen to you."
I shifted my shoulders uncomfortably. "It wasn't your fault."
Jared's face did not relax at my (hollow) words. "I shouldn't have left you alone." He stepped closer to me, his hands coming to grip my arms firmly, making my heart flutter and hiccup in my chest. "I would never hurt you intentionally, Kim. I was stupid and you probably shouldn't forgive me, but I'd be lying if I said I'm not hoping you will."
I closed my eyes at his touch, his words too soft for me to take. "I forgive you, Jared. Let's just...move on." I stepped out of his embrace, willing myself to meet his eyes. "But about the hanging out thing, I'm sort of grounded for life. So, I can't really go anywhere."
He arched an eyebrow. "Grounded? You? Never would have guessed it. What'd you do, huh?"
Tried to save my mother from smashing her heart to pieces. "I may have talked back a little."
The corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. "I always knew there was more to you than you let on. Well, is your mom here?"
Something in my stomach curled up and tightened. "No."
"The park is just across the street. I doubt she'd mind that, right?"
I shot a glance towards the stairs, half expecting to see my mother glaring at me, waiting for me to breathe wrong so she could ground me into the grave. "I guess not." I didn't particularly want to spend all day waiting around for my father to (not) show up.
His smile could have eclipsed the sun. "Let's go, then! Where are your crutches?"
I pointed towards the corner of the kitchen, trying to swallow down my nervousness. Shit, what was I going to talk about all day with Jared Cameron?
-:-:-:-:-:-
The grass was slightly damp underneath my thighs as we rested in the grass, taking in the fall morning. Jared was sitting beside me -so close- and I was keeping my hands occupied by uprooting fist-fulls of grass in my fingers.
It was simpler than I had thought it would be.
Jared, unlike me, was completely at ease with himself and the world around him. He smiled easily, laughed heartily, and radiated a quiet sort of contentment. I wanted nothing more than to sit near him and soak up the warmth in his eyes and his laugh and his voice.
"So what do you do for fun, Kimberly Chitto?"
I paused for a beat, staring into the sun, letting the warmth spread against my cold skin. "Oh, you know. I hang around."
Jared elbowed me playfully. "I'm being serious. I've never seen you at a party or hanging out at the beach. What do you do when you're not studying? Or are you one of those people that studies all the time?"
I pulled a face. "I don't study," I clarified. "Ever. I'm pretty much the worst student in existence."
He laughed and re-adjusted himself to lie on his elbows. "That makes two of us. But you still haven't answered my question."
I bit the inside of my lip, tempted to say something cool and dangerous like mountain biking or extreme skateboarding or playing the electric guitar in a death metal band. But when I met Jared's eyes, curious and genuinely interested, all I could think of to say was the truth. "I like ballet."
Jared's eyes widened and he leaned forward with interest. "You're a dancer?"
"Used to be," I corrected, tearing more grass from beside my thigh. "I stopped when I was fifteen."
"Why did you stop?"
My mom thought it was a waste of time. "Lessons are kind of expensive," I explained. Half-true.
"Do you still do it on your own time?"
I pointed towards my leg. "Considering that I can barely stand in the shower without falling over, not really." Shit! Why did I say that? That is so fucking embarrassing. Ugh, I seriously need to stop this word vomit thing.
Jared's eyes narrowed and his mouth contorted into a mild frown. "I mean before. Have you given it up entirely?"
I shrugged, trying to feign nonchalance. "I stopped practicing. Whenever I would try to get back into it, I'd be sore and stiff. Eventually I just stopped trying, I guess."
His expression of mild displeasure morphed into a full frown. "You should try again. I bet you're incredible."
I felt my cheeks warming. "You've never seen me dance. For all you know I could be horrible."
"I seriously doubt that," he said quietly. I turned my face back towards the sun (don't look at him don't look at him it's too much), but his warm fingers slipped in between mine the moment I looked away. His hand was strong, calloused, and astonishingly hot around mine.
I pulled my hand from his grasp, clutching it to my chest.
"What are you doing?" The words tumbled from my throat in a raspy whisper.
"Shit, Kim, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean anything-"
I stood up shakily, refusing to meet his eyes. "No, Jared. I mean what are you doing in my life?" I felt dizzy with this sudden rush of courage in my veins; my words felt light as air as they flew effortlessly from my mouth. "We've been in the same class since kindergarten, you know that, right? And two weeks ago was the first time you have ever acknowledged my existence. Now you're showing up at my house and holding my hand and asking me questions about my life- I don't get it, Jared."
A beat passed; I wondered if he'd heard anything I said. I turned to face him, and was startled to see his shoulders hanging in resignation, his head bent towards the ground in defeat. "I'm just trying to be your friend, Kim." His voice sounded broken.
"You can't just charm your way into my life after ignoring me for twelve years," I growled out. "It's...something's not right. I don't buy it."
He looked up at that, his eyes shining with an emotion I could not identify. "I know that I've been an asshole, Kim...I really do. But I'm trying to make it up to you. I swear I am."
"Why now?" I demanded, clenching my fists.
His eyes closed briefly and for a moment I thought I saw his body shudder- but it was over in an instant and he was suddenly standing right in front of me, his body heat curling around me like an embrace. "Because when I saw you in class that day," he paused, briefly, "It was like I saw you for the first time. I wanted to know you. I want to know you." His hands came up to grasp my upper arms, insistent and yet so gentle. "Please, Kim, I'm telling you the truth."
I pulled myself away from his hands, wanting to shrink inside myself. "It doesn't make sense," I muttered, wrapping my arms around myself. "Is this out of guilt for what happened that night?"
Jared reached out again like he wanted to touch me, but his hand shrank back to his side and clenched into a fist. "Believe me, I hate myself for letting you get hurt...but this is not out of guilt. I...I can't explain it to you, Kim. I literally can't. Not yet. I'm not trying to hurt you or trick you or anything. I just..."
I closed my eyes against his words; they were too much to swallow, too inconceivable to accept. Run. Get away from this. "I'm going to go home," I announced, and limped towards my crutches lying near the sidewalk.
"Wait, Kim, let me walk you home-"
"Just leave me alone," I bit out, my vision blurry with hot tears. I heard his sharp intake of breath behind me, trying to ignore the pang of guilt I felt at my harsh words. No. He's not trustworthy. This is for your own good.
"I'm sorry," he breathed, almost imperceptibly, and the sound of his footsteps retreating should have filled me with relief, but instead I just felt empty.
-:-:-:-:-:-
To be continued...
Author's note: I want to thank everyone who was concerned about my health; I very much appreciate it. I want to let you know that I am in fact eating, studying, and doing homework, and please don't worry about me too much. :) I am writing pretty furiously, but I am still staying healthy.
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As always, I remind you on behalf of all writers, that we are doing this for free. We love writing, but even more we love it when we know someone else is reading it (hating it or loving it, it doesn't matter. We're attention whores. Every single one of us. :)) So please take a moment to let me know what you think! I appreciate it soooo much!
Hugs and kisses to everyone.
-Madame Naberrie