Howdy to y'all! 'Bout time for a disclaimer, dontcha' reckon?

DISCLAIMER: I, Mariah, have nothing witty to write in the way of eradicating myself of all claim to the original mediator characters, so I'll just come out and say it. They're not mine.

That being dealt with, I'm back! In case you hadn't noticed. A giant thanks to the usual people, Double-oh-nine-and-a-half, Who is currently abroad on an ISLAND, Lucky lass, and Chocolate-chip-surprise, Who wrote THE BEST EVER RULES FOR HARRY POTTER FANFICTION, called 'come one, come all, fanfiction rules.'

Gold. Anyway. Kisses to all who reviewed, Dagger glares to those who didn't, (Kidding. Well, pretty much.) I love you all and thanks for your beautiful reviews, and I'll just warn you now, BEWARE bad spelling/grammar. Adeline brought this to my attention, and she's right! That being said, I'm pleased to present you with . . .

Bullseye

"Hit me." I mumbled.

I was sitting in my hotel room bed, trying to persuade Alanna to get me some more coffee. I'd been doing so all morning. And afternoon. And all—For a long time, lets leave it at that. Eventually she'd give in and get me some more coffee . . . and then I'd start again.

Except this time it was taking longer. Well this time she couldn't use the old, 'Go and unpack your bags.' Ruse. I'd DONE IT. Well . . . more like Alanna—in a totally uncharacteristic move—Had tipped my suitcase out on the floor when I didn't unpack it fast enough.

If I hadn't been so pissed of at Nick, then I would have noticed sooner that something was wrong.

But no, I just wanted my fucking coffee.

I swung my legs over the bed and sat up, giving Alanna my best give-me-coffee-because-im-so-cute face.

"For the last time Melinda," Alanna was frustrated, "I said NO!"

"But it's good for me!" I whinged.

"Melinda. You've had enough coffee to KILL any normal person." Alanna snapped, "And," she added bitterly, "You're not just anyone."

"All right, all right." I said grudgingly, knowing when I was licked.

Does anyone see dead people? Does anyone get stalked by freakish dead people? Does anyone—

Check and Mate.

"Yeah but I'm insane." I said. "Trust me, I'm so over it."

"You're not insane." Alanna said irately.

"Yeah." I quipped. "That's what the little voice in my head says too. Anyway. Who peed in your cornflakes?" I said snootily. Burn Scott, Buuurrrn.

"Melinda, cut it out!" Alanna practically hollered.

"I'm sorry," I apologised, "I'm just going CRAZY!"

"Well you had a running start!" Alanna screamed.

"Alanna?" hesitantly, "Are you – are you feeling ok? Like, is this PMS?"

"And just what are you trying to insinuate MELINDA? That I'm DEPRESSED? That I'm just another FLIPPANT teen, happy one minute DEPRESSIVE the next?"

Trying to get a word in edgeways I said "oh, no, its just—"

"Or are you right this minute categorizing me as a SHALLOW BIMBO?"

"I'm sorry!" I squeaked, "Whatever I did, I'm sorry! And you know, blame Arabia for putting you in Daniels car. I swear I had nothing to do with it! I'm INNOCENT!"

Huh. That'll be the day. No one in their right mind would ever believe me as innocent. In fact, even those NOT in their right mind would have a hard time believing me innocent.

I watched Alanna's face when I mentioned Daniel and the look that flashed over her face told me all I needed to know.

I got up and put my arms around her. "You know," I said softly. "It happens to the best of us. There's nothing you can do to avoid it. Its just BAD LUCK."

"I love him." She sniffed.

"I know sweetie. And I know it sucks. It's such a terrible, terrible waste."

"Melinda!" she said with a little sob, "I'm not upset because I'm in love, I'm not YOU. You'd rather throw yourself off a bridge than admit that you're in love."

Thinking it was a definite possibility, I smiled. "You're so sweet Alanna, I was just teasing. And I know you're not me. Lucky you. You don't know how lucky you are."

"But that's just it!" she was sounding hysterical, "I'm NOT you!"

"I . . . I know," I was confused. "I said that."

"Daniel probably wishes I was, but I'm not! I'm not a knockout like you, I'm not as fearless as you, I'm not as confident as you—"

My immediate thought was that she'd been smoking. Weed waffles. Hah. Then I figured out she was just panicking in general. She's so sweet, you just have to love her.

"Shut up Alanna. Daniel doesn't really think that and you know it. You're being silly and I think you know that as well."

"Move over Dr Phil," Alanna mumbled.

"So true," I said with a smile, "And I'm right too. Isn't that great? I love being right."

"Yes, I know, I'm being ridiculous," she said with a sniff. "And," she suddenly grinned, "I did tell him he wouldn't have a show in hell of holding you down. There's only one guy who'd even have a chance . . ."

I stopped smiling. "Shut up." I said, glad for the not totally unexpected knock at the door.

And I don't think it's someone bringing my coffee. Proving me right, Daniels voice called out; "Alanna? Are you there? We need to talk."

"You need to talk all right," I mumbled to Alanna as I called to Daniel to come in, "You need to tell him he's being an ass and you have decided to with hold all sexual favours for a month."

Alanna looked scandalised. So did Daniel as he heard the last bit of my little statement. "Cheerio now!" I called as I left with a wink.

God those two owe me, I thought as I carefully shut the door behind me. None of them really have any real problem. They both know they love each other and Alanna panicked. Loser. They are so perfect though. You know those couples you seem to see everywhere—more often when your own personal relationships are I shreds, have you noticed that? —Who look so right together, holding hands, looking at each other all worshipfully . . .

Usually I hate couples like that. I'm usually the first to bet that he's an alcoholic gambler whose fucking her best friend and She's a secret Crack whore, but that's usually just spite.

I KNOW Alanna's not a secret crack whore and Daniel's not an alcoholic philanderer.

Ha. Alanna's in LOVE, Alanna's in LOVE . . .

Her life is so over.

My cell phone started vibrating furiously on my way down the stairs and I hurriedly flipped it open, glad I'd thought to grab it before leaving the room—"Hello?" I sung into the phone.

"Melinda? Hi darling, its Stacy's mom."

I froze when she said who it was. Why was she ringing me?

This would also be a bad time to be reminded of the song, right? Thought so. But it's true. Stacy's mom really does have it going on. She's hot for her age. Which is like, almost fifty.

"Oh . . . Hi." I said in surprise, moving over on the stairway so I could lean on the wall . . . haven't talked to her since Stacy died . . . Wow. Awkward . . .

"How are you honey? Listen, I've missed you! Anyway," she said, without waiting for a reply, "Just wanted to catch up with you, see how you were going, I hardly see you anymore! You really should come around sometime!"

"Oh. Sure Mrs—"

"Its Ms." Stacy's mom said, suddenly cold. "Besides, I'm always telling you, call me Lisa."

Women are so funny about that nowadays, aren't they? Its Ms, NOT Mrs. I could understand it if the ex husband in question was a loser, but Stacy's dad was terrific. He loved Stace, so, so much. He was torn apart at her funeral. He split on Stacy's mom straight after. And the look he gave Stacy's mom . . . it looked like he blamed her. That look, it's the look of anguish that's tearing—no, ripping—a person apart. He looked like he'd been shot, and was waiting to die. It was a mix of unendurable grief and HATE.

"Right." I dragged my ass back to the present. "Sorry . . . Anyway. I'd love to. I'm sure Arabia would love a visit—"

"No." she said. "Arabia wont be coming,"

Well then WHOSE GOING TO BE MY COMPANION? HUH? Don't do this to me . . .

I'm shitting bricks here . . .

"How about . . ." she said calmly, "that Slater boy?"

"Nick?" I asked, surprised, "I suppose so . . . why?"

"Oh, I like to see the young people having a good time, that's all, darling!"

I started to speak up about how Nick was a big kid and could make his own decision, so YOU go chat to him, but then I thought, screw it, if I go down, so does he, and I said, "I'm sure Nick would love to . . . Lisa."

"Great! Oh, sorry honey, I must dash, buh bye!" she hung up.

Okay. I thought, snapping my phone closed and continuing down the stairs, that's nice. I wondered idly what exactly I was going to do now. It was evening, I was way buzzed up on caffeine and I had nothing to do.

A recipe for disaster if I ever did hear one. I bet most murders are committed this way. And just as a little fun fact, if I had to murder someone I know whom I'd choose. I'll give you a hint.

His name is spelt N-I-C-K-S-L-A-T-E-R.

I mean, the resort—Ferndale—was cool, I just wish I could say the same for the people here.

I decided to head back up to my room and get changed. They were having a dance down in the ballroom and I wanted to dance some emotion off. Or I might explode.

Dancing is my life. Seriously, I want to be a dancer. I love the music.

Finding our room empty – Alanna and Daniel must have made up. Hee hee. Although. I don't think makeup sex was on Alanna's mind. She wants to be married first.

Personal decision, you know?

What to wear . . . what to wear . . .

Purple. When in doubt—you know how it goes.

Perfect. Purple baby doll dress with my stonewash cuffed short shorts and bare legs. Daring, but I was in such a mood.

Shoes . . .

PERFECT. Purple stilettos. Risky, but they go really well with my jade anklet.

Go the gypsy's.

My hair was in its usual IN YOUR FACE style and I added tint of eye mousse (Purple, makes my eyes look weird. In a good way.) After some consideration flicked some chap stick over my lips and was ready to go.

Hot, I hope. Whatever. I have a style. Its called if you got it, FLAUNT IT. And if you DON'T GOT IT; don't' come crying to me. That's a lie. Every body has at least feature that's totally gorgeous.

If it's your EARS then so be it! Buy some flickin' earrings!

Downstairs was looking awesome. Seriously. HUGE ballroom. Dancing. Caterers. HUGE sound system. Dancing.

I am so there.

Besides. A quick scan of the room told me what I needed to know. I can't brood over Nick if I'm A: busy and B: he's nowhere near me.

Well, ok, mainly B.

It didn't take long for Arabia to find me, two, maybe three steps in the door?

Excellent, no time for brooding! And I love not having time for brooding!

"Scott just can't dance!" Arabia wailed, "So you're it!" she dragged me to what would have been the centre of the room, and was giving me no chance to think.

Dancing. Just . . .dancing.

Ah, now this is my future career, right here. Well not here but you know. I'll be a dancer. Or a choreographer. Whatever. I want to dance. If a strippers my only option the so be it. Pole dancing classes . . . just watch me go!

Arabia was having fun, I was having fun, we were ALL HAVING FUN!

But . . . there is no way Nicks going to be here, right? I mean, the whole thing would just be way predictable and cliché.

I hate predictable. I hate cliché.

Nick won't be here, he wont—

. . . wistful thinking maybe? I asked myself, contradictorily.

Ok. It's fine. I'm fine. I just have to forget Nick. Forget him.

Then I bump into him.

Truly. I was QUITE happy with Arabia – well, more or less, he can't read my mind – and then I actually bump into him?

WHAT ARE THE CHANCES? About a hundred people in this room and I bump into NICK?

Fuck the world, Fate's a bitch.

I ignored him. Seriously. I did.

"Hey Melinda!" Arabia shouted over the music, "Have you danced with Nick yet? I'm telling you, you two look so amazing together—"

"GOT IT!" I pretty much screamed, "Thanks Arabia! But I'm just having too much fun now!"

See, this is what comes of admitting Nicks sexy, I told myself; I fall to pieces as a result! Well, thank you Nick but I'm telling you, I'm fine.

And to prove it, (That I AM ok) I decided, as the first song ended—KT Tunstills "Black Horse and a Cherry Tree—" I was going to dance with him.

I was going to go up to him and ask him to dance.

And when the song switched to a slow song—No Doubt's "Don't Speak"—I didn't even run away.

I considered it, but I didn't. I want the records to show that.

He was leading his partner back to get a drink when I interrupted by grabbing his shoulder. "Nick?" I said nonchalantly when he turned around. "Nick, why don't you come and have a dance with me?"

For a minute he looked surprised. Then he got over it. "Sure," he grinned easily and I followed him back to the centre of the room, And, I'm happy to note, he ditched the brunette easily. Snaps for Melinda. She was pretty hot too.

"I have to say . . ." he drawled confidently, "I love the way you dance."

I just tossed my hair in reply.

We got to wherever the hell he decided we were going and slid his arms around my waist, pulling me close to him.

Close, ALWAYS close.

Yeah, well, I CAN DO CLOSE. I put my arms around HIS Neck and moved close. EXTREMELY close, in fact. And let me tell you. We were close.

Yeah . . .

So there we were, REALLY close—Sorry. I'm NOT bothered by him. That's all I have to prove.

And . . . we danced. Well, I just swayed/revolved on the spot/enjoyed the feeling of Nicks body—I should have stopped at swayed.

Definitely should have stopped at swayed. Should have stopped all together actually. Should have just . . . STOPPED dancing, stormed out of the room, and gone into hiding. In Alaska. Built myself an igloo. And if I could tell the future then I DEFINITELY would have.

Yeah, would have found me an Eskimo friend and gotten him to teach me to fish, as well. Also would've asked my Eskimo friend to share his furry jacket with me.

Those jackets ROCK.

Anyway. At that point I was in control. "Don't Speak" is a great song, but I didn't let myself go. You couldn't fault my rhythm—and you will never be able to if I'm allowed a moment to brag—but Nick OBVIOUSLY thought something was wrong.

"Melinda?" he said warily.

"What?" I replied.

"You're acting strange."

I decided this wasn't the time to be all 'stranger than usual? Gee, THANKS!' I'll save it though. This was my moment to Prove to Nick EXACTLY where we stand.

"What? As in no reaction to you whatsoever?" I said triumphantly. "Tough! See! Not all Girls want to tear your clothes off the minute you get this close to them!"

He burst out laughing, much to my chagrin.

Typically, the minute I go to show him where I stand, he goes and flips me upside down. "Stop Laughing." I sulked.

"I—" laugh, "Can't—" Laugh, "Believe—" laugh, "That that's what this all about." Laugh.

I sulked some more.

"You know what that tells me Melinda?" he said, doing the whole lowering his voice all sexily thing.

I am ashamed to admit I shivered. His voice makes my skin crawl . . . but not in a bad way. Actually . . . in the best way possible.

Damn him. And Damn the world.

Then he had to go and make it worse by actually touching his mouth to my Neck so I could feel his lips moving when he spoke. "It tells me that you BADLY want to tear my clothes off when I get this close . . ."

The Neck thing was driving me mad. I actually was rendered incapable of speech. I mean, how BOLD was he? And he wasn't done.

"And you want to know something? . . . its mutual."

What am I supposed to say to that, huh? THANK YOU?

Not going to happen. I decide silence was my best option. Nick was till smirking at me. "What is it Melinda, Cat got your tongue?"

I managed to get out a "Shut up."

I couldn't say what I would have liked to which was, "I don't like the game you're playing mister, time out?'

Nick saw the look on my face though. And the bitch was still smirking at me. I did ask for this though. And there is no way I'm going to run scared.

"I think Loves doing something strange to you Melinda." he said all smugly.

I just about choked.

"Ex-EXCUSE ME? I am NOT in LOVE WITH YOU!" I was suddenly thankful for the eardrum pounding loud music. No one could hear me except Nick.

Should I be THANKFUL? Because I WASN'T!

LOVE? I DO NOT LOVE NICK! I admitted I found him hot, THAT'S ALL! Since WHEN did that become an Love declaration?

Modern Day America, I suppose. Hurrumph.

"YOU," I hissed in his ear, "Can shut up. Sure, I asked you to dance; you THINK I'm not regretting it now? To be perfectly honest, I'll admit you get a reaction from me," I carried on, determined not to give him a chance to throw in his 10 cents, "But it's the same reaction you get from every girl you get within 10 feet of. You're hot, you know it, I'll admit it, lets move on."

And I walked off. Yes I did. I managed to put about a metre total distance between us before he hauled me back.

"No, You think it just ends there?" he asked angrily, "NO, no it doesn't. Trust me Melinda, your opinion is not the only one that matters. And if you're going to speak your mind then so am I. You're being an idiot Melinda. And idiot in denial."

"That's sounds familiar," I said.

"Can you hear yourself Melinda? You go over every single encounter between us and the result of them and you see what sort of conclusion you reach."

Can I hear myself? Well of COURSE I can fucking hear myself! Stupid, smart people and their Stupid, smart answers.

"Yeah I can hear myself Nick. And you know what? Its all clearer. You want me because I'm the only girl who's said 'no' to you Nick. And you know what? I'll say it again. NO! I heard that," I said sadistically, "Did you hear that?"

I was being as vicious as I could in hope of making him crack, to see him give in like a normal human being.

Although my subconscious was furiously telling me to give in, Nick Slater was, and never would be any ordinary Human. Much like . . . well, much like myself.

Nicks eyes were hard, I took a step out of his reach an for once, he let me.

"For Chrissake," he said icily, "If that was all I wanted from you, do you think I'd be here now, having this conversation?"

I ordered my face to stay blank, "I suppose it's understandable. But never fear, Nick, you won't be bored. The boob job bitches have got your back. And your front." I said cruelly. "And you know what?" my voice was cold, "Go to hell."

"Ah," he smiled, but his jaw was locked, "I've been there so many times, I could give tours."

I scoffed. "Go back to your Barbie dolls Nick. They'll put out when you snap your fingers."

"Your scared aren't you?" he said suddenly. "You've finally realised what it is I'm after, and you're scared."

"I'm NOT SCARED!"

"Don't worry," he told me evenly, "I won't tell. As long as you tell me. Say it Melinda, say—"

"I'll DIE FIRST!"

"Well the way your going, it wont be long," interrupted a voice. I turned and saw Blondie from Arabia's.

Boob job bitch, serial number 3459.

"Fuck off." I said at the exact same time Nick ordered coolly,

"Leave Natalie."

Natalie huh? 'Bimbo' suits her better. I think it was Nicks order rather than my blatant insult that made her turn around and walk away.

"And you as well. Just Fuck off Nick. I'm not scared. YOU'RE SCARED."

. . . That made no sense. I know. Don't remind me. Trust me . . . I know. But my reasoning follows that if you're losing an argument, then just use your opponents own words against them.

You can't copy-write words.

. . . I hope.

Screw him.

"Fine." Nick said, once more completely in control, whereas I was still breathing fire, "Prove you're not scared. Dance for me. None of this 'I'm trying to prove something' Crap. The real you. Let go, and, don't be scared."

"Dance for you?" I said, my bitchy confidence back in full. I could SO handle Nick Slater. "Oh no. But I will dance with you. If you can keep up?" I said with a challenge.

The current song was just about finished.

What came next I never did decide wether it was a good thing or a bad thing. One of my favourite songs.

It was a little like . . . Strip club music, but what can you do?

Pussy Cat Dolls, "BUTTONS"

He looked smug as he said, "Yeah I can keep up. All right, Go."

So I did. No—WE did.

I have to say this; Nick really is the perfect partner. He lets the girl do the flashy stuff while he backs it up. I'll admit, he's a good dancer. Better than good. Great.

SEE? I am NOT in denial! Credit where credits' due!

I really love this song, it's like my best song, and you know what I've decided? I'm going to do my thing. My dancing is part of me, and I KNOW Nick Loves it so . . .?

I danced. Nick twirled me and then I stepped back to him, my back facing him as the intro to the song pounded through the speakers, and I was aware of a feeling of freedom. My back was pressed up against him now, and then I flicked my torso down and grazed my hands on the ground, but I didn't crouch, and I'm kind of almost as tall as Nick, so that meant that my ass was pretty much—Well, you get the idea.

Good thing I've never had a stellar reputation anyway, otherwise this pretty much would have shot it down.

All I'm saying was I was glad Father Dominic wasn't here. I would hate to be the one to introduce him to such dancing. Dirty Dancing.

Father Dominic doesn't watch MTV.

I twisted back up and around so I was pressed tight against Nick—all my own doing this time--Then arched my back and flicked my head back before winding my leg around his and . . . you know, staying there for a few beats before bending backwards with Nick still holding my leg as I brought my torso back up to the slower beats of the pre-chorus, you know, the whole shuddering hip-hop chest out thing? Yeah . . . THAT.

I clasped Nicks hands and put them in the air, then left his hands there as I slid my hands down, lower and lower until my hands were actually running down his thighs—

I HAVE to ask him what he does to keep in shape. Seriously. His thighs are so frigging hard, (and YES, I'M SURE IT WAS HIS LEGS. GOSH, you people.) And I'm really curious.

Before reaching his calves—which were just as freaking hard, really I want to know the answer to this before I die—I flicked my hands to his back and started running my hands up the back of his body. Of course, this meant that not only was I sliding my hands over his . . . butt, but also my body was pressed up against the front of his, I was sliding up—

AND THIS IS WHERE I STOP GIVING OUT GRAPHIC DANCING DETAILS.

You've been saying all the right, things all night long
But I can't seem to get you over here to help take this off
Baby can't you see? (see)
How these clothes are fitting on me (me)
And the heat coming from this beat (beat)
I'm about to blow
I don't think you know

I'm telling you loosen up my buttons baby (Uh huh)
But you keep fronting (Uh)
Saying what you going do to me (Uh huh)
But I ain't seen nothing (Uh)

I'm telling you loosen up my buttons baby (Uh huh)
But you keep fronting (Uh)
Saying what you going do to me (Uh huh)
But I ain't seen nothing (Uh)

You say you're a big boy
But I can't agree
'Cause the love you said you had
Ain't been put on me
I wonder (wonder)
If I'm just too much for you
Wonder (wonder)
If my kiss don't make you just
Wonder (wonder)
What I got next for you
What you want to do? (do)

Take a chance to recognize that this could be yours
I can see, just like most guys that your game don't please
Baby, can't you see? (see)
How these clothes are fitting on me (me)
And the heat coming from this beat (beat)
I'm about to blow
I don't think you know

I'm telling you loosen up my buttons baby (Uh huh)
But you keep fronting (Uh)
Saying what you going do to me (Uh huh)
But I ain't seen nothing (Uh)

I made a mistake in not noticing just how many people start to watch when you get some totally great dancing going on, and people had sort of backed off, giving us some space. So now I wasn't pressed close to all these dancers. Just one.

And it's impossible to dance with Nick and be thinking if anything OTHER than dancing with Nick.

Suffice to say, once we reached our starting position – i.e, my arms around his neck, and his around my waist, CLOSE again, I was having the time of my life. I took inspiration from the video clip and spun so my back was pressed up ahainst Nick's front, I leaned forward and tossed my hair, then twisted my whole torso, before straightening up, and flexing my back so my head was on Nicks shoulder, my back was curved so . . . well, that would have pushed my chest up pretty high . . . suffice to say, Nick would have had an EXCELLENT view—

I'd have to be the skankiest virgin ever. I'm a virgin whore.

Damn. I don't think that's good . . .

We were finishing up. I brought my knee up and kept it there while I rolled over Nick so I was facing him. And seeing as I kept my knee locked, my leg was . . Between Nick's own legs.

I'm a virgin whore.

The song was winding up and we were sort of ready to finish.

Or so I thought. Then Nick dipped me. Gave me the fright of my life. Then again, it's usually him doing that.

He dipped me really far too. Seriously, I was thinking, "Oh, God, look, the floors coming up to meet me--" when he pulled me back up, actually picked me up and turned so I was being spun around, mid air—I'm telling you, I was having the time of my life, and put me down again.

Song over.

I stood their and looked at him for like, a full minute, but we were both breathing hard, so we walked over to get a drink. Electricity was flowing through my body, and I had to remind myself that I was angry with Nick; otherwise god knows what would have happened.

"Happy?" I said nastily, using the word and tone more as a cover than anything else.

"Yeah," he said with a smile. A promising smile. The type of smile that hides a vampires fangs or the blood on a werewolf's teeth.

A smile that promised danger.

I was jolted into remembering that was it.

That was exactly what Nick was. Danger. No matter how much I wanted to play with the pretty flame, it was dangerous, and I was the only one going to get hurt. No matter how many times Nick kissed the burns, it was the truth.

I could try and fool myself into thinking I could handle him all I wanted, but it wouldn't do me any good. For one who loved to control others, like myself, it was startling to discover, that with Nick, I never had the control, and never would.

I don't think I quite had the detached perception to have noticed this until now. All the while Nick was manipulating me into a corner, telling me what sounded good, letting me think I was in control when I NEVER WAS.

NEVER.

It was time to let go. I'd realised the truth, and for once I was going to deal with it.

And that was it.

"Thank you Nick for the dance, it was an . . ." I started to say something smart, then reconsidered, keeping in mind my new found insight. "Educational experience."

That was a way better choice of words than 'I hope you die in your sleep.' But I'll save it for another day, and another person.

I left the turned and left the ballroom, feeling Nick's eyes on me as I left.

XoXoX

The next morning was a bit of a rush. Owing largely to the fact that I was in the shower for a good hour more than was necessary.

So now I was hurrying around the room, wrapped in one of those fluffy white towels, trying to decide what clothes to put on.

An old legend is the toilet is the best place for thinking. I raise objection! The shower is so better. I got some heavy thinking done there. With all the steam and the silence of everything except the running water, I had been quite happy letting the hot water run over my body.

To tell the truth, I had been worried there had been absolutely no paranormal activity at all, Except from Stacy showing up with a message for me to pass on to Arabia. She, Stacy, hadn't said anything about her murderer. I hoped he'd just fucked off on to his next life as a dung beetle or whatever, but the odds have never in my life been in my favour, they wouldn't start now.

But I did think that with all the murders we have in America, I'd have more ghosts. But, then again, I had corrected myself, the one's I had at the moment were quite enough to be getting on with.

The thing about a good shower is that the water takes all the tension, all the worries down the drain with it. And its just you left, carefree and innocent . . .

Until you step out.

Which brings me back to my present problem. What to wear, and what DOES one wear to play paintball? Do they still give out those hideous overall things?

Eww.

I decided to go all black, to match my mood. As I was pulling out my skinny leg jeans and stretch polo neck, I heard the door open, but took no notice, figuring Alanna had left something behind.

Imagine my surprise when I heard a unmistakable voice behind me say, "Ready Melinda?"

I let out a shriek, dropping my clothes and almost dropping my towel, which would NOT have been a good thing. The guy already thinks I'm a skank, dropping my towel would NOT be helping me any.

I've learnt my lesson about locking doors though. Lets not forget this is AMERICA.

"CRAP! Nick, What are you doing in here?"

"Well," he said calmly, "Everyone else is ready to go, and you know we have to stick to the buddy system," He grinned mischievously, "So meet your new buddy."

"Buddy system?" I was confused, "What buddy system? You made that up!" I finished accusingly.

"Yeah . . ." He admitted with another grin. "But so what?"

"Bloody hell, Nick, get out of here. I don't know why you're here anyway, I'm riding with Alanna."

"So you were," he said, looking at my towel. Well, where my towel finished, to be exact.

The thing about the fluffy white towels was they weren't very big. WHY DID THIS PLACE NOT GIVE US BIGGER TOWELS? If a miniskirt is supposed incentive to rape, then a TOWEL isn't going to be better!

"Were? What do you mean, WERE? And raise your eyes!"

He did.

"Higher . . . " I warned.

"Arabia told Alanna you were riding with me so she should leave."

Madre de dios. She just doesn't quit.

I sighed. "So you'll take me?" He confirmed it, and managed to drag his eyes off my towel.

"Ok, well, if you don't mind waiting for me, I'll get changed then be right down."

"I'll wait, take as long as you need." Nick said, seating himself on the couch and looking expectantly at me.

"Very funny Nick, you wait DOWNSTAIRS."

"Damn." He said, managing a laugh, "I knew that might have been pushing it. I'll see you downstairs."

It took me 10 minutes tops to get down there. Which was record speed for me. To be honest, I thought he'd leave if I didn't hurry. I've seen him do worse when kept waiting, I'll say that.

I met him down there and he showed me to his car. A different one this time not the blue thing I was in when I went to his house. Wait, rephrase. Not the blue thing I was in when I went to his Mansion.

This was silver and a BMW. I could tell because it said BMW on the bonnet. Clever me.

"Wilfred's coming with us too, that Ok?" Nick said, opening the passenger door for me.

I looked in the window to see Wilfred happily perched in the back; so I opened the back door and said, "Wilfred? Hey. Would you like to sit in the front? You were here first, how come you have to sit in the back?" I walked around Nick and traded places with Wilfred, and settled happily in the back, not looking at Nick.

Nick got in and we pulled out of the park and weer on the road, Nick driving, as usual. Not that I had a problem with that. Though I thought I could probably go faster.

"Hey Nick," Wilfred said, "Thanks for giving me a lift."

"No problem," Nick said easily, "It didn't make sense for you to drive over when I had a spare seat."

I was shocked. I thought Arabia might have bullied him into it, not that he actually had a kind streak!

Well colour-me purple.

I carried on staring out the window.

"Hey Melinda," Wilfred said, intterupting my—my . . . nothing. My staring out the window, thinking about NOTHING was what he interrupted.

"Yeah?" I smiled quickly as he twisted around in the seat to look at me.

"Have you ever played paintball before? Arabia said to look out for you, but I was wondering to what she was referring. Did she mean in the general sense, or just in the game?"

"Both." Nick sounded amused. "The minute someone gives Melinda a gun, I'll be running."

I said nothing.

"Watch her Wilfred, right now, she's probably contemplating the least amount of shots she will have to use in order to bring us down." He smirked at me in the review mirror.

"You flatter yourself." I said coolly.

"I'll bet you five." Nick said to Wilfred, "But then, here I go again, giving her idea's."

I rolled my eyes and returned to looking out the window.

I think he was getting peeved at my lack of response. The big baby. Truth was, I'd just realised how futile bantering with Nick was. Like I'd discovered last night, I was just tired of it.

Give up already Nick. I have.

We pulled up and I got out and had a look around.

On my far left was what looked like a giant pit with targets and then further along, on my left still, was a giant shed which was where, I'm guessing, the hideous orange overalls lived, along with the guns and all that.

Excellent.

On my right was an actual forest—Which just shows how far out of Carmel we were—which just looked so dense and silent.

Totally foreboding and I was in love.

I walked into the shed, leaving Nick and Wilfred behind, and found those of Arabia's friends who'd decided to come paintballing—I noticed Cindy and Blondie were absent, probably scared of getting bruised—in total, about 30.

I couldn't wait to shoot every single one of them.

Kidding.

. . . Almost.

Some guys came around the corner and introduced themselves as Ban and Joel, the guys running this outfit, then they told us to follow them around the other side of the shed. We did, and I found a seat on a wooden bench overlooking the giant Target pit. I sat next to Alanna, who was starting to look a little green.

"Did you see the guns?" she sounded faintly worried, "I mean, they look REAL. I thought they'd be, like, plastic or something but they're real!"

"Alanna. Calm down, the bullets aren't real and that's what counts."

She managed a nod.

"Hey Willy!" Called some trivial little wannabe jock to Wilfred—and by the way. How DERIVATIVE is the nickname of WILLY? "Willy! Come sit by me! Come sit by me!"

Wilfred started to go over there but Alanna stopped him. "Wilfred, don't. He's trying to be funny. Ignore him and sit with us?"

Wilfred looked up at Alanna with something like hero worship and sat next to her.

"C'mon little Willy!" persevered the trifling wannabe. "Have a—"

"Shut it." I snapped, feeling like I should say something. Be a good person and defend the lesser able and all that jazz. Alanna's just so NICE. I suppose I have to live up to her. "Go on, stop talking out your ass and sit down, before you fall down."

"Right." interrupted Joel or Ben—not sure which one—starting to pace in front of us. "Paintball is a very fun game but has the potential to be nasty."

I'm counting on that, I thought, but didn't say.

"The forest behind us is your boundary, you shoot someone off that boundary and watch out, because I'll be after you."

Nice people these. Truly. Straight to the point.

"Here are maps, showing two team base's, black's this one towards the north, and greens the one towards the south."

It was then that I spared a thought for how big the forest actually was. On this map it looked fucking huge.

"You get hit," interrupted the other one, either Ben or Joel, "And you're out. No fuss, and don't pull any crap. Once you get hit, put your hand up and leave the game, come back to the home base, which is here." He pointed at the giant tin shed and I winced.

"One of your teams will be given a soccer ball. Both teams objective is to posses that soccer ball. When times up—you'll know when that is because I got hold of a hooter—the team that's got the ball wins."

"What if neither team has the ball?" I asked. "What if it's in an individual's care?"

"Then the TEAM that individual belongs to wins." I noted an emphasis on the team.

"It's a team game Melinda." Said a voice I recognised as Blondie's. Funny. I didn't think she was here. Good she was though. I was going to have a gun while she was somewhere in the vicinity. Need I say more? "This isn't first grade," she said snottily, "You should know how to share."

"Well who sounds like a five year old now?" I said indifferently.

She just glared at me and there was a moment of of tension before I said to either Ben or Joel, "Anything else?"

"No, I think we're good," said one of them, after looking at me for a minute.

"Yeah, I don't think we missed anything?" Ben/Joel said—Right. I'm going to call them B1 and B2. "OK. Come and get your gear."

Walking into the shed I was relieved to see no orange overalls. We were given masks, and they weren't too bad either. They were small and either black or green depending on your team. I was black. So was Nick. I was a little disappointed; I wouldn't be able to get away with shooting him as easily I he was on my team. Where there's a will theirs a way, however.

I shook my hair out and donned the mask without too much of a fuss. I mean, they were going to mess up my hair real good, but if that was the price of getting to shoot people, then I was more than happy.

They just covered our eyes too. I dunno what would happen if you got hit in, like, the mouth, but the dude's in charge just told us not to shoot each other in the head.

Fat chance of that rule being followed.

THERE IS A REASON WILFRED HAS NEVER PLAYED PAINTBALL BEFORE. EVER SEEN REVENGE OF THE NERDS?

Then we started the fun stuff.

GUNS.

Guns and paintball bullets.

And someone actually saw fit to give Wilfred a gun. Idiots. "I have a gun!" he said, sounding so amazed I thought he might faint for all the excitement. "I have a GUN!"

"Really?" I said, my voice sarcastic, "Me too!"

Some other bright spark called out, "So do I!" and I rolled my eyes. I could already see how much fun this was going to be.

All those times I wished I could shoot people I hated, and here I am! I just wish Sister Ernestine were here.

Although I don't think it would be all that good for my immortal soul if I shot a nun.

Karma and all that.

"Oh gosh." I heard Alanna say as she selected her gun. "Wow. This is, er . . . "

"Breathe." I said as I went over to her. "You're armed and dangerous now!"

"Armed, sure," she retorted, "it's the dangerous part I'm struggling with! It's easy for you, you're good at everything!"

"I'm not good at EVERYTHING," I replied, "But give me a gun and I'll figure it out."

"Extra bullets—" B1 bellowed over all the excited chatter, "—Can be bought at the counter! 10 minutes to sort yourselves out before I let you out into the bush."

I headed to the counter.

"I want an extra pack," I said to the chick behind it, who looked like she could be either B1's or B2's daughter, and laid down some money.

"You'd better make it two," said a voice as an arm reached over me, "She's going to need them."

I turned around to see Chad. A Jock. A nice jock though. I didn't think there could be such a thing, so it just goes to show.

"Oh, I bet you can kick my ass any day," I said with a smile.

"We'll have to see about that. But the extra pellets are for if you come across Wilfred. For the first time in his life he's been let loose with a weapon."

I laughed. "So you're keeping an eye on all the womenfolk?"

"Sure am ma'am," he said in a pretty good imitation of a western outlaw.

"Just watch those damsel's in distress cowboy." I smiled, "You never know when one of them might have a gun on you."

"I'm guessing that's a threat from you to me." He said with an answering smile.

"Now Chad." I fluttered my eyelashes and tilted my head, "I'm as innocent as a lamb."

He laughed, and with a wink, turned and left me with the girl behind the counter who rolled her eyes and handed me an extra pack of paintball bullets.

I like Chad, he was so cool. And also, every time I said his name I thought of Charlie's Angels. Chad. THE CHAD.

You must love THE Chad. Pity he wasn't on my team. Chad was the sort of guy you'd want at your back. Good guy. Far more likely to be the sheriff than the bandit.

I CALL BANDIT!

Our five minutes being up, we were led, in teams, out to our separate stations and told the other team (green) were starting with the ball.

Our team had a quick discussion, electing those to stay behind and hold the base

Its amazing, you find out who are the people that love war movies—they're the one's using all the fancy jargon, and you find out the once who love the spy movies—they're the one's talking about strategy, and you also find the romantics—Like Alanna who was currently hiding behind Daniel.

I just wanted to kick some ass. Is that so wrong? I have complete faith in my ability to do so, as well. How hard is it? Give me a gun, point out the target (Or let me spot someone I don't like) and we're good to go!

Pity Nick was on my team. Ah well. I'll just say I got mixed up. I don't hold him any grudges now, but I think I owe him at least one shot for old times sake.

We stuck a map to our base—which was really like a wooden podium with walls—so I took a quick look at that and decided on a plan of action. There was a hillock to the left of their base, if I could get on top of that I'd have an advantage.

Just then we heard the sound of shots being fired, so we knew the other team had been quicker in its organization than we were. I ran out, down the hill and kept going until I saw someone moving up ahead. I threw myself behind a tree just in time, as I saw a bullet hit the tree behind where I was a second ago. I had, I guessed, a few moments before they came over here to find me. I looked around for a hiding place, and coming up with nothing, I twisted myself around the tree, so the further they came forward, the further I went around until—in theory—I was behind them and able to get a clean shot.

I was fully aware that theory doesn't always work well, but I honestly didn't care. The blood was pounding through my veins, and the danger of getting caught and the thrill of doing the catching was playing hell with my adrenaline.

I was loving it.

Of course, I hadn't been hit yet.

But what were a few risks?

"C'mon . . . " I muttered, "Hurry up . . ."

I heard them footsteps. Crunching on the falling leaves and the odd stumble on protruding roots. I flattened myself out on the ground and aimed my gun as best I could, keeping in mind I was on the ground.

I was quite grateful to be wearing black, and tight black at that, it was just so much easier to move.

They came further forward and I was able to identify them. Two guys I didn't know, and Chad.

This was going to be fun.

They walked further forward and I slid around behind them, trying to quiet my breathing as much as possible without STOPPING all together.

"She was here." Said one of them. "I saw her."

"Who?" whinged the second.

"Who?" responded Chad. "Probably the only lady here who would hesitate at bruising that pretty face of yours."

"Excellent," I said, standing up and moving behind them. I took rough aim and shot the first two guys quickly, not wanting to take my chances with three against one. "Seems I've got a reputation." I held my gun on Chad and smiled.

I had to hold back a wince as my paintball gun had a wicked kickback on it. Mother of god—that was going to sting.

Seems I need to be a bit quicker though, as Chad had his paintball gun pointed at me as well.

One of the two guys I'd shot swore, but they raised their guns and started to walk towards the edge of the bush. I thought about yelling after them, "COME BACK, YOU'VE GOT MY BULLETS!" (hahahahaha, get it?) but I decided Chad might think I was weird. Well, I AM weird, but I didn't want to freak the guy out too much or anything.

Chad shook his head in mock disgust. "They're crushed. Beaten by a girl."

I didn't take my eyes off him. I didn't want to lose so soon into the game. Actually; I didn't want to lose at ALL.

"Yeah?" I kept my voice teasing, "But what now?"

"Well, we could just stand here, pointing guns at each other."

"Stalemate." I agreed.

"Or." He said, taking a step sideways, "We could just carry on. Let each other loose. I'll be honest and say that standing here all day isn't going to be much fun. Or . . ." he smiled daringly, "I could shoot you."

"Or I could shoot YOU. But—" I said, and lowered my gun, "I'm not going to."

I thought that was very decent of me, personally. I could have shot Chad and ran, but honestly, the idea of running didn't really appeal to me—thank Nick for putting that idea in my head—And what was to say Chad wouldn't shoot me first? He played football, he had to be quick.

And, proving my theory that Chad was basically a good guy and that he wouldn't shoot me because he liked me way too much—I will agree with Barty Crouch jnr, and say decent people are so easy to manipulate--, he lowered his paintball gun as well. "Have fun." He said.

"You too!" I laughed and turned back down the path. He was a good guy. I'd leave him alone.

Paintball has to be the ultimate sport, I reflected later on. I got to shoot people, run, jump, hide, shoot some more people . . . it was brilliant.

To make things better, I had the ball. I knew I would. I'd just managed a decent reconnaissance/ confrontational assault on the opposing team. Thing is, a few other people I was with were to charge in full on and start shooting everything wearing a mask, while I got around behind the green teams base and took the ball while they were otherwise occupied.

Not exactly stellar military tactic's, but they worked.

So now all I had to do was get back to the base with the ball. Whice was going to be easy, because, hello, I had a gun.

And was getting way too trigger happy by this stage in the game.

Pfft. And they were still trying to pass this off as a team game. I was doing fine on my own. Much like reality.

I love paintball guns.

Do they sell these things to the public? I doubt it. Modern day America and all.

I heard footsteps on the path up ahead of me, and I decided what the hell I was in a daring mood, and stayed where I was, sliding the ball to my hip and lifting my gun to the noise.

The most important thing I'd learnt today was that firing from the hip only works in the movies.

And another important thing? This gun had a serious kickback on it. And I didn't have football fanatic muscles, so it was best if I aimed a little lower than where I wanted to hit.

Remember that.

The good thing was I was a natural with a gun. Although several people I know would debate if that were actually a good thing.

Nick stepped out from around the corner.

"Oh. It's you." I said, considering lowering my gun and deciding against it. One good sharp shot in the gut wouldn't harm him too much . . . The ladies would still have their Adonis.

He noticed I didn't put my gun down and smirked. His trademark.

"You know I could shoot you, right?" I was just checking, "No witnesses and all that."

"Should I put my hands up?" Nick asked teasingly.

"You know . . . " I pretended to think about it as I started walking slowly towards him, "That's a good idea, but I can think of better."

"It's not going to involve me being tied to a tree is it?"

I aimed a shot just over his shoulder, just to wake him up a little.

"It might . . . But not yet." I was right in front of him now and I pressed the barrel of my gun into his chest. "Thing is Nick . . . You should have never let me get so close."

I was definitely enjoying lording it over him. I like power, and while I duly admitted that when it came to Nick it was a battle I was never going to win, and I'd given up, la de dah de dah, I was going to have one last moment.

"All part of my plan," He said and then neatly pushed my gun arm aside, and then quickly, so I couldn't reposition my arm, he moved his other arm—the one holding his gun—to snake around my waist and pull me to him, which was interesting as he angled his wrist so his gun was digging into my spine.

So much for that. I NEVER LEARN!

I will grudgingly admit, in spite of that, the flick-my-gun-out-of-the-way-pull-me-to-him-put-his-gun-in-my-back was a pretty flickin' move.

"Let go of me," I slapped his arm. "Stop playing."

I neglected to mention that I wasn't playing when I was considering shooting him, but from the look on his face, this was something he already knew. I pushed myself away from him—backing myself into the gun, NOT SMART, by the way—Loosening his grip on me, but not dislodging it completely.

"OFF." I said, and to emphasise my point, I shot the ground by his foot. It didn't do much good, but it was close range and I was imagining it to be a specific part of Nick's anatomy.

Not that I imagine that specific part of Nick's anatomy all that regularly.

GRRR!

"Nick, honestly, just—just . . . Make like a tree! And LEAVE!"

I know, I know. Not exactly my wittiest, but it could have been worse.

"What was it you said about other ideas?" He said calmly "I've got one. You're going to give me that ball."

"WHAT? Nick, we're on the same team!"

"I know," he said simply, lowering his gun and slowly letting me go, "but I don't trust you."

I couldn't help but grin. "Which is just as it should be."

"Give it up."

"Like I would!" I said, pulling off my paintball mask and glaring at him. He'd all ready gotten rid of his, god knows when.

Mr Macho, ooh I don't need a paintball mask because I'm a MAN. Stupid bitch.

"Yes. You will."

This was pointless. Nick telling me I was going to give something to him wasn't going to make me give it to him. He should have found that out by now.

Then, the Asno-de-gato jumped me! Dropped his gun and jumped me!

Basically, he sort of leaped at me really quick, knocked me to the ground—And my gun out of my left hand—then put his hand over my mouth so I couldn't make any noise, and pried the ball out of my grip.

I was like his rag doll. Moving how he wanted me to.

. . . until I managed to elbow him in the gut. It wasn't as effective as I would have liked, but he rolled over. The bad thing was he held on to me still, so I rolled on top of him. His hand came off my mouth though.

"What the hell was that?" I exploded, pushing myself off him and getting to my feet. As an afterthought I snatched my gun back from where it had fallen, and as a precaution, I grabbed his too.

Nick got to his feet, "Did you have to elbow me?"

"DID YOU HAVE TO JUMP ON ME?" I shouted indignantly.

"I got the ball." He threw it up in the air and caught it again.

"So you have," I said, making a grab for it, a move he pre-empted and blocked.

"Give it back."

"Mmm," he pretended to think about it, "No. However. You can come with me back to the others, and THEN you can have the glory for getting it."

"I don't want glory," I scoffed, "I want the BALL."

How childish do I sound? Any moment now I'd be demanding Nick give me back my finger-paints and play dough.

"Tough luck. You're not getting it. I told you, I don't trust you to act for the team."

I was growing to really hate that word. Team. Team-team-teamy-team . . . Yeah. I hate it.

"FINE." I growled, moving of down the trail haughtily with my chin in the air. "Keep the stupid ball. But I'm coming with you. THEN when we get back to the team," I placed sarcastic mockery on the word, "I'll tell them all how you PHYSICALLY ASSAULTED ME in order to take the stupid ball off me!"

"Oh, they wont care," his voice drifted from behind me, "They all already thing we're secretly bonking each others brains out."

"They WHAT?" I shrieked, stopping dead. "WHY DID YOU TELL THEM THAT?"

"I didn't."

"Oh fuck off. You must have. It's not true. Is it . . ."

"Oh yeah Melinda." Nick said sarcastically. "It is true and you don't know it because I've been ravishing you while you were sleeping."

"Shut up." I muttered. I say stupid things sometimes, I know that. Fuck, the whole WORLD knows that.

"No its not true," he said, walking past me and snatching his gun out of my limp hands. "I think you'd know if it were. But I suppose it's just a matter of time."

"Whatever." I said, in no mood for his optimistic crap. I knew it was never going to happen. "Lets just get back to the base, I have this mad urge to shoot someone."

No prizes for guessing who was number one on that list.

WE walked in silence for a little while, I was thinking, and he—well, I've got no idea what he was doing. I mindlessly shot the ground a meter in front of me and got no small amount of satisfaction out of seeing Nick turn around and glare darkly at me, in response, I just laughed.

I stood and watched the paint from the bullet seep through to the ground, I felt an almost perverse satisfaction at seeing the orange stained ground, a dent in the earth where the shell had spilt open, the paint was spreading itself out, contaminating all it could reach with bold orange colour.

God I was going to get Nick good. He was walking up ahead of me, so I shot again. Closer to him this time. And I didn't stop to watch it, I just looked around in my best imitation of purity.

He stopped, turned around, and glared at me again, then turned back around. I waited for him to take another step, the let off another shot, at his heels this time.

"Melinda, you're being childish." He said in a martyred voice, without turning around.

"Me? Childish? Oh no Nick," I inflicted my voice with my best innocent tone, "I haven't even BEGUN to be childish."

"You always have to make things difficult, don't you?" He threw over his shoulder in a voice that belied a deeper inner emotion.

"Hey," I said to his back, making an attempt at unconcerned cheerfulness. "Is it my fault people piss me off?"

Nick turned his head back fractionally and shot me a quick glance, "Have you ever stopped to think about how much easier things would be if you just accepted things, rather that fighting them?" he said in a patronising voice, which didn't quite hide the undernote of anger. "You and me for example. We—"

And there goes my cheerfulness. Even if it was fake. And isn't he so full of advice? Who does he think he is, Oprah?

"Don't even think about pulling that crap on me today." I said, stoping walking, extremely keen on stomping on the whole idea. "I want to shoot someone, and you're closest."

He stopped walking as well and turned to look me in the eye. "You wouldn't"

I raised my gun, pointed it at him and raised an eyebrow.

He just looked at me, daring me to shoot him.

I moved my finger and curled it around the trigger.

"You wont do it." He said with a smirk.

"Oh wont I?"

"No," he suddenly grabbed my wrist and pulled me against him. "You won't." He added firmly.

And he kissed me.

I dropped my gun arm against my side

I felt dizzy, hot where his body was touching mine, and cold where it wasn't. Nick's kiss was making me forget what we'd been talking about before, how angry I was . . . . everything, except for the heat where our lips touched.

He was gentle too, if I'd expected Nick to kiss me, I wouldn't have expected him to kiss like this. He was trying to convince me not force me, he was flirting, teasing. He took my bottom lip between his teeth and I found a new emotion. Desire.

I couldn't move from the spot where I was glued to Nicks mouth, Tantalising . . . teasing . . . something that was, for me, completely foreign in a kiss.

My head was spinning from this one kiss and I gave a small moan and managed to tear my mouth away.

"Get off me please," I managed to say, my voice sounding hesitant, wavering.

"Now don't you see?" he asked me, "do you—?"

I remembered what it was we'd been arguing about.

"I see nothing!" I choked out, "Why cant you just take NO for an answer—"

"Because Melinda," he said, his breath ragged on my cheek. "That's not really your answer."

"Are you INSANE?" I demanded, trying to ignore my now tingling lips, and his close proximity. "Stop! God, what are you trying to prove—" He didn't answer me, and I couldn't loosen his grip from my waist. "Nick—" I said feebly, "Stop this! Oh god, you have to stop this right now! Just . . . stop it?" I finished pleadingly.

"I was right wasn't I? Say it." He said huskily, and kissed the corner of my mouth invitingly.

All I could manage was a throaty growl. Even if I could've gotten away now, would I actually want to?

I think Nick knew – or had a fair idea of - what I was thinking.

Damn him. He grabbed my chin and said, "You see? How pointless it is to –" he kissed me gently on the lips, " – Deny – " he said between kisses, "What was – obviously – meant to happen?"

I didn't answer and he took advantage of my silence and kissed me again.

How could he do this to me?

This is all I'm destined to be isn't it? Just another useless female who surrenders herself as soon as a guy sticks his tongue in her mouth? All my life I've hated people like this. And now I'm acting like one of them.

My body was screaming for more, I wanted him to carry on, I really did. I was disgusted with myself, and yet I couldn't tear myself away. Further more, he knew what I wanted, without my saying a word.

Is this really all I am? Another of Nick's conquests?

That's how I was feeling. Like some cheap slut.

HOW. DARE. HE.

How DARE he treat me like this? Like all he had to do was convince me of how greater kisser he was, and I would be his to command? When he tells me to jump, I leap? When he wants a cheap screw, I give it to him?

No FUCKING way.

I twisted one arm out of his grip—the arm holding my gun—and while he was busy claiming his so called victory, I took a rough aim and tightened my finger around the trigger.

The effect was instant. He got off me all right.

A shot in the side of the ribs will usually do that.

And yet, I couldn't help but notice he wasn't writhing on the ground in pain as I had hoped. NO, he was taking such a shot – close range, VERY close range – well.

He couldn't hide his eyes though. And his anger was so far as to the point of frighting me.

If I could admit to fear, which I can't. So I was as calm as ever . . . sort of.

"So. That's what you've been reduced to now, is it?" His tone was dangerously quiet.

"Would you mind leaving me now?" I said defiantly. "If I'm right, you're OUT."

Gods bless all paintball rules.

I never in a million years expected him to do what he did next. He lifted his gun and shot ME.

"OUCH!"

My shoulder! Fucking mother of GOD! It hurt like a bitch! I mean, I'd been shot before today—one in my leg and one in my stomach—but NOT THIS CLOSE! True, Nick was closer when I shot him (you couldn't get much closer, in fact) but this was close e-fucking-nough!

And there was a good reason I shot him! It could fall under the category of SEXUAL ASSAULT.

"What the hell was that for?" I yelped.

Well have YOU ever been shot at a meter range? It FUCKIN' HURTS.

"Tough love baby!" he snapped.

"SEE? You SEE why this ISN'T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN?" I screamed, rage – and pain – getting the better of me, "YOU AND ME? WE JUST DON'T GO! IT WON'T WORK! GIVE UP! You say I'M the one in denial? Have you ever stopped to think that perhaps its YOU in denial? YOU CANT FIGHT FATE!"

Next thing, he'd thrown me into a tree—actually threw me—and forced my body up against his, and hissed dangerously "YES. I – CAN!" before crushing his mouth against mine.

This was pain. A whole lot of it. Not only was his shoulder digging into my injured one, but also I was being pinned against this tree like there would be no tomorrow.

And to be quite honest, I could not see one. Tomorrow I mean.

It was the way he was kissing me. He wasn't asking me to kiss him, like before. He was demanding it, forcing me. It wasn't sweet, it wasn't safe . . . every touch screamed danger. I could feel my skin on fire where he was touching me. I could feel his emotions, anger, fury, recklessness, and just plain LUST

Something else too . . . I don't know what.

It was nothing like his last kiss. That was teasing, tormenting. This was different.

Before he was asking. Now he was demanding.

It was scaring me. Here was someone who knew what they were doing, and fight this as I might, there was nothing I could do. I was powerless against him. He was stronger than me, better than me, and used of getting what he wanted.

And I couldn't escape.

He was still crushing me up against this tree, and every second going by made fighting him harder and harder.

No matter what I did . . . I couldn't win. Story of our relationship. I COULDN'T WIN.

Nothing I did made a difference. No matter what I did, he carried on. My hands were jammed in place beside me by Nicks, my body locked against this tree. It HURT, I had no power, and I could do nothing.

. . . Nothing.

I could barely remember why I was fighting him. Just as I thought I was going to get free, he would crush me even more. What was even the point? Fighting a losing battle meant NOTHING to me until now. I'd always believed there would be a way out. Always someway to escape, to get out, even if you couldn't find it right away.

Until now. Now I truly understood the idea of never being able to win. Not being able to flee or to fight. There being nothing to do except . . . surrender.

It was then I found myself kissing him just as much as he was kissing me, It all went numb, everything went numb . . . I couldn't feel the branch digging into my thigh, or the knots in the tree trunk I was so painstakingly pinned against. Nothing except the rough aggression that was our kiss.

I could feel the heat, our anger merging, our bodies pressed together . . .

I felt him smirk against my lips and I was amazed to find I didn't care. I was giving it to him now, I was just as angry as he was, and I was showing it in the exact same way. I could feel his grip on me – if possible – tightening. I retaliated by ignoring it. For a few short moments - I ignored everything except the heat between us.

Just as I thought I seriously might collapse of the pressure—he stopped.

Following no logic at all, I'll add. All I had to do to get him to stop was to what he wanted? What a screwed up world we live in.

"Tell me." He said roughly.

All I could do was to stare at him.

"Tell me, how does it feel?" he continued, "To discover something you'd been running from for so long?" he finished mockingly.

I couldn't forget it. I also couldn't forget the course of emotions I felt just a few moments ago. Both his and mine.

That's just it though. Mine. Mine. They were just as strong as his. Maybe more. Something else I couldn't I forget that once I was done fighting; I gave in. just . . . gave in.

I could only look at him, a shocked expression on my face.

He looked straight back at me and smirked.

"I—I'm leaving now." I managed to say, holding my head high. "Adios." (A/N: Translation: Goodbye.)

The things I say sometimes. I turned and hurriedly made my way out of the forest, leaving Nick behind me.

Why hadn't they given us real guns, I thought mournfully as I passed tree after tree. Might have made it easier all round.

I reflected that maybe there was something to this ghost business. At the moment, being dead seemed safer than being alive.

Well? Whaddaya think? Privately I think its one of my better chapters, (I absolutely CRACKED MYSELF UP with the Eskimo thing—"Build myself an igloo"—But I read it to a friend and he looked at me like I was mad. So. Was it one of my betters? Feel free to disagree—OR AGREE! Lol—in your review!

That was a hint.

Love and kisses,

Mariah

XoXoX