Chapter Twelve

Poltergeists Attacking My Bum, So What?

(Ryan)

"She hates me. She probably hates me."

Katrina shot me a severely irritated glance. "She doesn't hate you, idiot. She's probably busy."

"Nope," I said listlessly. "Nope. She hates me."

"I'm not arguing with you anymore," Katrina snapped, slamming her file down on the table in front of her. "I've been supportive and I've listened to you moan and grumble and whine for days now. I'm not arguing anymore. It's like trying to talk a five year old into eating their vegetables. Irritating, exhausting and a complete waste of my time."

"Have you even called her?" asked Heather, looking at me curiously from the desk she was perched on. "Have you spoken to her since dead time last week?"

"Well .. I spoke with her the day after, and we all saw her a couple days after that at the volleyball game. But she's been busy, y'know? I don't know if I should really bother her ..."

Heather rolled her eyes, falling backwards rather dramatically on the desk. "Ryan, you're supposed to be with her, aren't you? Aren't you both exclusive enough to be boning each other by now? You're dating her, for the love of God, are you not? SERIOUSLY BUELL, stop being such a puss. She's not 'too busy' to take your call. Just phone her, you dink."

Although I had stopped listening to Tad after the glorious image of boning Harlow had popped into my mind, I had caught the jyst of what she was talking about.

Exactly one week ago, give or take a few hours, we had all been sitting in Laura Peever's living room. After a successful hour of bumps, scrapes, thumps and pokes, Harlow had helped us send little Danny Pritch on to the other side. Between the evidence and the end result of the night, not to mention all the detailed reports Lo had picked up on in the days prior, it had absolutely been one of our most successful cases in the history of the PRS. Thus far, anyways.

I had called Harlow the day after to thank her once again for all her help, and she'd been more than humble about it. We'd talked for nearly twenty minutes before she had to excuse herself for volleyball practice, and besides a miserably short three second encounter at the volleyball game the day after that, I hadn't spoken to her since.

My heart bleeds, oh sob.

... Alright. Maybe it was from lack of trying on my part. I guess standing around her class buildings like a creep didn't really constitute as 'reaching out'.

It just kind of made me a weird, obsessive, ghost-chasin' stalker, didn't it?

"ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?"

I peered over at Heather, now cross legged and frowning on top of the table. She sniffed haughtily, folding her arms across her chest.

"You know, I'd appreciate you not day dreamin' when I'm trying to give you fail-proof and helpful advice on how to approach Harlow and get laid. I am an expert, you know."

"And what, exactly, makes you the expert on getting laid?" Kat asked, eyebrow raised in mock confusion.

Heather clucked her tongue angrily. "Just in case you didn't know, I get laid alllllll the time, Katrina Weidman. Just because I don't go around telling everyone about who I sleep with doesn't mean I don't get laid."

"I do not tell everyone who I sleep with!" Katrina snapped, balling up her half written report in her hand. "And if anyone here's the expert on getting laid, I'm pretty sure we can all agree that person would be me."

"It would not be, and you know it! I get laid more!"

"No, Ido!"

"Me!"

"No, me!"

"I never get laid," Sergey sighed.

"You're just jealous, Katrina. You're jealous because you know I get more ass than a toilet seat."

"You do not! That's a lie."

"IT IS NOT A LIE."

"IT IS TOO."

I sighed, grabbing my notebook and current case file from my desk.

Ugh. And the screaming begins.

Josh had grabbed the nearest textbook from the pile next to him and hid apprehensively behind it. Next to him, Serge's head bounced back and forth between Kat and Heather, like he was watching a particularly loud and terrifying game of tennis. I peered over at Eilfie, whose was wincing at the high-pitched shrieks erupting from the two screaming psychopaths in front of her.

"I'm gonna head on over to the library," I said/yelled at Elf.

She looked up at me, face white with terror. "What? No! What am I supposed to do with them?"

"They'll tucker themselves out sooner or later," I assured/screamed over Kat and Tad.

Elf shot me a furious look. "Really. And tell me, Ryan - have they ever tuckered themselves out before?"

"LIE LIE LIE LIE LIE LIE, YOU LIE."

"I AM NOT LYING, I HATE YOU, I HAAAATE YOU!"

"YOU'RE A LYING LIAR, LIES LIES!"

"SLUTTY SLUT SLUT, YOU'RE A SLUT!"

"N - uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm sure they have."

Elf shot me another equally scathing look, and began digging through her purse for her iPod, muttering furiously underneath her breath.

"God speed, my Pagan Queen," I muttered, ducking out of the room at top speed.

I booked it down the long hallway away from my class, the loud and angry screams echoing against the stone walls. Sweet Mother Mary, those girls could yell ...

Now, I know you're probably thinking to yourselves, 'jeeze Ryan, you're such a wimp! Get back in there and deal with them, they're only girls!' But you don't know what I know, faithful readers. Okay, look - here's the thing; I'll confront demons and ghosts and poltergeists and banshees and ghouls and God only knows what else is out there, alright? I'll face them head on with a video camera and a tape recorder. I'll fight a wailing witch with my bare fists if I have to. But the fact is, I'd rather be held captive by a malevolent homosexual rapist ghost than have to sit in a room with a screaming/yelling pack of women. What's a poltergeist assault up my bum? Big deal if I'm mangled by an invisble werewolf. Fine, bring it on blood-sucking vampires. I'll face anything - eh-nee-THING - before I face a Katrina/Heather catfight. That is the one thing that terrifies me beyond anything else on this entire planet.

The emotional and psychological scars that would come along with that would be too much to handle.

And if you've ever heard the ear-splitting shrieks that come along with Heather/Katrina battles, you'd understand. Trust me.

Hitching my book bag further up my arm, I clunked down the stairs unenthusiastically. My brain was pounding painfully against my skull. My body, exhausted. My eyes, bleary. My step, skipless. I was sick, ladies and gents. Oh so very sick. What's that? Did I have a flu? Oh no. Oh of course not. The sickness I had couldn't be diagnosed. There was only one medicine for it. There was only one word for it. It was nothing bed rest could fix, nothing chicken soup or ginger ale could, either. I had the worst of all illnesses that can plague a human being. My affliction? Loneliness. Or, as it's better know -

L.H.A.D. 'Lack of Harlow Affective Disorder'. I had it. I had it bad.

It seemed that the days I spent without Harlow, without hearing her voice or seeing her face or smelling her perfume, the days completely free of her - they had stretched on for what seemed like weeks. An hour reading a book felt like a month. A nights sleep felt like five. A two hour class felt like a years worth of study. I'd known Lo, really known and spoken to her, for only a couple of weeks now. But I could barely remember the time before that. I couldn't remember my life without her voice. I couldn't remember it without her smile, her laugh. Without her.

It had taken her only three weeks to turn me into the mushiest, lamest, whipped-in-every-sense-of-the-word bastard that had ever walked the face of this world. God DAMN.

But it was true! In the short time I'd been away from her, my whole heart had turned to ice. My head was hurting. My heart ached. My body was slow, so was mind. The world moved sluggishly without her. She seemed to take all the purpose in the world with her in her absence.

Without any real destination, I padded through the campus grounds. The air was hot and sticky - humid. There weren't a lot of people outside today - most were keeping cool in the surrounding buildings, and I could barely blame them. I'd been outside a minute and I was already sweating through my shirt. Hey, whatever - I'm sure ladies just love pit stains.

"Ryan!"

Oh, sigh! I missed her so much I could even hear her voice! Familiar, honey smooth - cheerful. It was like she was right next to me I heard it so clearly .. what I would give to hear it come from that beautiful mouth just one more time.

"Ryan!"

Oh, and it was only getting louder and clearer! The sun was soaking up every bit of knowledge I had managed to store in my now useless brain, but by God, it'd left me that sweet sweet memory of that sweet sweet voice. Oh Harlow, come back to me my love!

"Ryan you doof, I'm behind you!"

OH SWEET BALLS OF THUNDER, I WASN'T DAYDREAMING!

I stopped dead in my tracks, my heart hammering. I turned, realizing immediately that it really was rather useless to try and hide the unfathomably happy smile spreading over my face.

Oh, my Harlow!

And there she was, in all her tall, brilliant, cheerful, beautiful glory! Those immaculate chompers, bared in a friendly grin. Those long and perfect arms, wrapped around a stack of books so enormous, they tipped and swayed precariously with every cautious, graceful step she took. Her emerald eyes, crinkled with happiness as she peered over the tower of novels and textbooks balanced in front of her.

"Lo," I stammered, trying to take her all in - it had only been a couple days but it'd felt like forever. "I .. hey!"

"Hola," she said happily, adjusting her grasp on the books carefully. "How are you!"

"Fantastic now," I said, with complete honesty. "How are you? Haven't talked - actually, I haven't even seen you in days .. "

"Tell me about it," she sighed, a tired look sweeping over her face. "And it's no fault of yours, trust me. I've just been completely swamped with homework, it's like all of my Profs decided at once to double the coursework without telling me. I can barely finish one classes homework by the end of the night, nevermind all four. I think I just single-handedly cleared out the entire Psychology section of the library."

"No kidding," I said, stooping to catch her agenda that was sliding off the top of her pile. "Here, let me help."

"Thanks," she said with relief, as I grabbed the majority of books from her arms. She straightened up, flipping her long hair behind her shoulder. "I'm just heading over to my developmental statistics class, it's in the Taylor building."

"I'll walk you," I said, attempting a tone of helpful earnest - it came out as a more pleading, whine, I think. Dammit.

"What a gentleman," she said, that dazzling smile lighting up her face.

We turned down the sidewalk, walking side by side towards the building. My steps were slow, strides purposefully short. She kept up with me easily, matching my slow steps with her own quick and elegant ones. She slung her purse further over her shoulder, textbook and agenda in hand, all the rest of her books tucked under my arm.

"I'm so sorry I didn't get to talk to you at the volleyball match on Sunday," she apologized, looking up at me with those big round eyes - oh God. "It was such a hectic day, I was so stressed out. The girls were driving me up the wall."

"It's alright, really," I said, adjusting my hold the small frickin' library I'd taken from her. "I could tell you were pretty strained to begin with. But hey, clearly stress isn't really a bad thing for you, is it? You guys destroyed the U of Pittsburgh team."

She nodded, unable to keep the complacent grin from her face. "We really did slaughter them, didn't we?"

"Like untamed beasts," I laughed. "In the best way possible, of course."

She chuckled heartily as we passed a group of students Harlow's age curled up on the ground in front of the Niffenberg Building. They peered curiously at the two of us, clearly scrutinizing why Harlow, the Captain of the University League volleyball team, prettiest girl in Uni (perhaps the world? YES I THINK SO) and the highest ranking Psych student PSU has had in a half a century would be socializing with me, the leader of the second nerdiest student led group on campus (take THAT 'Cyberfeminism 101'). I'm not gonna lie, I'd be wondering the same thing if I were them.

"How are you feeling now?" I asked, trying and failing miserably to ignore that terrifically awful feeling of being harshly judged by complete strangers.

Harlow sighed, shaking her head exhaustively. "Drained."

"Yeah?" I asked sympathetically, and she nodded.

"You know what I've done the last five nights in a row? I've sat in my living room with text books, notes, pictures and old reference essays strewn all over the place. I wake up at 7:30, get to class for 9:00. I'm in class all day until 3:00, go home to eat, rush back here for volleyball practice, get home and shower and work on my assignments until one in the morning, sometimes even later than that. Then I just do it all again the next day."

She yawned, raking her free hand through her hair grumpily. "I know it's the life of the college student, and I'm not complaining, don't get me wrong. It's just ... the year's almost over, so now they lay it all - including exams - on you, all at once. Not to mention since we killed U of Pitts on Sunday, we're officially headed to Nationals. Which is great, don't get me wrong, but .. even if I survive through exams, I've still got to worry about the team. I've only been the captain for three years, but we've never made through to Nationals before. I can't mess this up, we actually have a real chance this year."

She shook her head, as we approached her Psych building. "I'm sorry, I'm sure the last thing you wanted to hear was how I'm a living, breathing college zombie."

I laughed, and put a hand comfortingly on her back. "No, really - it's good to vent. I just wish there was something I could do for you ... "

We came to a slow stop in front of her building, and she turned to face me, weary smile on her pretty little face.

"You don't need to do anything," she said softly. "I know you're there if I need you. And that's .. that's a wonderful thing to know."

"I'm a phone call away," I agreed.

"And if you need anything," she said, eyes glancing over at the buildings tall, wooden doors warily. "With any .. cases, or really anything for that matter. I can try and lend a hand, do whatever you need me to do."

I smiled at her, adjusting her books into a nice, neat pile in my arms.

"Just go home and rest today," I said. "You don't have practice tonight, it's Thursday. Just go home and eat and go to bed early. Take a night off from it all."

"I might do that," she agreed, taking her stack of books from my hands - it teetered unstably to the left. "Drink some wine, watch some late night re-runs of Jerry Springer. Maybe a night off is just what I need?"

"I think it is," I said, an idea popping BRILLIANTLY into my head.

"I have to run," she said, motioning to the front doors of the building. A loud bell clanged somewhere in the distance. "Well. Not run. Walk very cautiously is more like it."

"You better take care of yourself," I threatened, and she laughed - man, no one ever took my threats seriously. Sad faaaace.

"I hope I see you soon," she said, quietly, eyes bright with something I didn't immediately recognize. "I've missed you, as lame as that sounds."

I smiled, cheeks flushing a bright red. "I've missed you too."

The bell stopped clanging, and before I knew what had happened, Harlow had propped up on her tippy toes, leaned over, and given me a quick but meaningful peck on my lips.

"Goodbye, Ryan," she said cheerfully, eyes twinkling once again.

And with that, she'd turned on her heel and marched up the stairs, disappearing behind the large wooden doors of the Taylor building.

(Harlow)

"Hello?"

"In the living room."

"Gee, how ironic," I laughed.

I dumped my sweater over the coat hook in my front room and kicked my shoes off into a messy pile on the floor. I hoisted my book bag farther up my arm, and padded dully down the hallway and into the living room.

Hair pale and lank as ever, Chick peered over at me with her big round eyes from the sofa.

"More homework?" she asked incredulously. "What are they doing? You must've read half the freakin' library already."

"Feels like it," I mumbled, dropping my bag on the floor - it landed with a heavy THUNK. "I'm going cross-eyed from reading all of this crap."

I plopped down onto the charcoal grey sofa next to me, curling up into a little ball. The television was humming quietly across the room, the sound muted.

"National Geographic channel?" I muttered in amusement. "Didn't know you liked that kind of thing, Chicky."

"I can't use a clicker," Chick sighed from somewhere near my head.

I felt a cold rush down to my bones flow through my body, and I shivered. "Don't do that!"

"Sorry," her voice said indifferently, now from behind me in the kitchen. "Harlow, when are you going to take a break? You've barely slept or eaten anything in the last week - this is getting ridiculous."

"It's the last couple weeks," I said, feeling a soft but angry grumble in my stomach. "I just need to plow through this next month, I'll be fine."

She tutted from somewhere behind me.

"Eat something," she said, monotone voice floating closer to me. "There's deli chicken in the fridge, and I'm pretty sure the mayonnaise is still good."

Grudgingly, I stretched out of my warm little ball and glared pointedly at the television. Stupid ghosts. Why they gotta be so smart?

She was right - as much as I hated to admit it. I ran a hand up and down my side, and could feel the slightest hint of rib protruding through my skin. I knew the importance of a good diet - but I'd been neglecting it. And now? I was almost bones. It was unhealthy, stupid, I knew that - I had hardly eaten anything in a week. I was an athlete, I knew how important nutrition was.

But the fact was, I'd been swamped for more than just seven days. I'd been swamped all year, but I was just starting to really feel it these last couple of months. The course load for any student in my year was always heavy, it was just something you dealt with. But with the ongoing success of our volleyball team, I'd had about a million other things to worry myself with. I could only focus so long on the definitions of sociopathic tendencies and symptoms when game plans and setter positions were threatening to overflow my already flooded mind.

I had barely seen Sophie in two weeks - her courses were getting heavier, her workload intensifying. When I say I hadn't seen her in two weeks, that wasn't really true - I saw her just about everyday, but that was for volleyball. I hadn't hung out with her, had a dinner date, slept over at her place or her at mine in what felt like forever.

I hadn't gone out, I hadn't shopped, I hadn't even made it to the library for some recreational reading. I hadn't worked out, I hadn't really grocery shopped, I hadn't seen any of my other friends. I was living the life of a hermit, and I didn't much approve of it.

And perhaps even more importantly than food or shopping or sleeping or anything - I hadn't seen Ryan either.

Today, for the first time in almost six days, I had actually spoken to him for more than 2 minutes. Today, for the first time in almost five days, I'd actually seen his face. I was slowly losing everything that made me sane.

All I was left with?

Ghosts, essays and textbooks.

Strike me down, now.

I was exhausted. My eyes threatened to shut and stay that way everytime I sat down. I was irritable, I had barely slept in fourteen days. I was weak and I was tired from a diet of literally water, milk and oatmeal-to-go bars. I was the shadow of my former self, and it was killing me. Maybe not literally, but I felt (and I'm sure looked) like death. Ughhhh.

"You're right, you're right," I yawned finally, looking over at Chick. She was now folded into the armchair, cross-legged and still as the night. "I'll go eat something."

"Good," she said, face and body still as stone. Her eyes followed me from the sofa into the kitchen.

I grabbed the chicken from the fridge, along with lettuce (that was sort of mushy), mayonnaise (that appeared to still be white), tomatoes (so ripe they were probably borderline rotten) and mustard (that I hadn't used in so long, a millimeter thick film had crusted all around the cap of it). I bumped the fridge door shut with my bum, and grabbed the loaf of good, albeit slightly hard, rye bread.

I peered up from the counter, looking through the bar window that opened into the living room. Chick was still staring at me - she hadn't moved since I'd been in here.

"You're kinda creeping me out," I said, taking out two pieces of bread. "What are you staring at?"

"Nothing," she said slowly, eyes narrowing a bit. "Just .. nothing."

I wiped mayo across both pieces of bread, eyeing her curiously. "Just what?"

"Have you been feeling okay?" she asked, a nervous edge to her usually dull and listless voice.

"Fine, just tired," I replied, heaping thick slices of the deli chicken on the mayo'd slice. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason, I guess," she said, still looking at me eerily. "Just .. worried, that's all. I keep getting this bad feeling about you everytime I see you."

I stopped ripping lettuce off the head, and looked at her in confusion. "Bad feeling? What kind of bad feeling?"

She shook her head silently, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't know. I feel like something bad is gonna happen."

I blinked a couple times, hands frozen over the head of lettuce. "Can spirits see that kind of thing?"

"You tell me, Psychic Sue," she sighed.

"How long have you been feeling like this?" I asked.

"About a month now, it's just increasing a bit every week," she said, and I knew by the tone of her voice she wasn't lying.

I shook out of my daze, and continued ripping chunks of lettuce. "What, am I gonna die or something?"

Chick frowned, and shook her head rapidly. "Don't even joke."

"I'm not. I'm just trying to figure out what kind of bad thing could happen?"

"You're just giving off a weird aura, that's all," Chick said. "It's like .. every week that passes, you're getting weaker and smaller and more tired - more susceptible."

I chopped at the tomato, sleepy smile on my face. "Chick, I have been getting weaker. And smaller. And more tired. My schedules whacked from school and volleyball."

I slapped the second slice on top of the other one, and carried my sandwich into the living room.

"I'm weaker because my diets off, I'm smaller because I'm losing weight and all I do is curl up like a hunchbacked hermit and read every night, and I'm tired because I don't have time to sleep."

I plopped down into the chair next to hers, and curled up cross legged, like her. She eyed me warily.

"Don't worry about me, Chick. This is normal - I have so much going on right now, between school and volleyball and friends and Ry - er .. and, and everything .. well, of course my aura's gonna be whacked. My life's in a state of shambles."

I took a big bite out of my sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. Chick was looking at me, strangely still, but she seemed to have relaxed at least a little in her spot.

"Alright," she said finally, leaning back into the armchair. Her eyes trailed back over to the television. "Alright."

I smiled, munching happily on my sandwich and successfully ignoring the uneasy feeling that had settled in my stomach. I reached over to the remote and unmuted the television.

"Bitch," Chick mumbled.

The life of the African elephant is -

Riiiing. Riiiing.

"I just wanna watch TV," I moaned, dropping the remaining bits of my sandwich onto the coffee table.

"It's Bitchface, ignore it."

I rolled my eyes and reached behind me to pluck the phone off of the hook. "Hello?"

"Friday, lunch. Me and you. Tasty num nums at Flora's Cafe."

"Soph, you know anytime there's food involved, I'm down."

From beside me, Chick clicked her tongue in disgust and frowned. For some reason, those in which I'd never ever understand, Chick had hated Sophie from the first day she'd stepped into my apartment. Bitchface, as she so lovingly called her, had never done anything to her. How could she? Chick was a ghost, Sophie didn't even know she existed. Well. Actually. I guess Chick didn't really exist, did she? Either way, Sophie was making enemies even beyond the grave. I'd asked Chick on numerous occasions why she disliked Sophie so much. And everytime I did, she'd respond with the same thing.

"She's a slob and she's a bitch," Chick would say, over and over again.

When Sophie would leave, Chick would swear after her. "Get out of here, blonde dunce. Get your stick ass out! Ugh, the apartment smells like whore now, where is the Febreeze, Harlow? GAH."

I'd reprimanded her many-a time about it, but what good would it do? She was dead, how could you possibly threaten a ghost? Until people actually came up with those Ghostbuster's ghost collecting cans you attach to a vacuum, I had literally no power over Chick. Ohh, how badly I wanted someone to make one of those .. what were they busy doing anyways? I can't think of anything more important.

"Practice'll only go until about 11:30, anyways. Not too long," I assured her, munching down the last of my sandwich.

"Why do we have to be there at 9:00," she whined. "That's so early .. I haven't woken up at nine in forever. Har-lowwwwww."

"Because we have to hand out the Summer schedules," I sighed, propping my feet up on the coffee table. "We're lucky the PSU staff all have the convention in-services tomorrow off campus, otherwise we'd be unable to do it period."

"But on a Friday day-off, that earrrrrly," she moaned. "You're killin' me."

"Better tomorrow then the weekend," I countered. "You know how pissy the team gets when we call practice early on the weekends."

"Ugh. Why can't we just bump the whole thing back to tomorrow evening?"

"Because half the team is gone tomorrow evening to the Summer course seminar."

"Can't we do it without them?"

"Stop whining," I sighed, nestling into the big cushions behind me. "It's not going to be a hard practice. God, you're sounding like Natalie."

"Don't you ever compare me to Natalie," she said irritably. "I may be dumb, but that's a whole other level. There's dumb, and then there's stupid, and then there's mental retardation and then there's Natalie."

Bzzzzzt!

"Then stop bitching like her," I said, uncrossing my legs and grudgingly hoisting myself up off the couch. "I'll talk to you tomorrow though, someone's at the door."

"You expecting anyone?" she asked.

"Mm .. no, I don't think so."

"It's probably a rapist, you're gonna die. Bye."

"Bitch."

Click.

"Who is it?" Chick asked, looking curiously at me from the chair.

"I don't know," I said, padding away from the living room.

Everytime the doorbell rang, or someone came over, I had half the mind to tell Chick to go and hide somewhere so they didn't see her - I didn't want any of my guests to be freaked out by the little 20 year old blonde ghost sittin' on my love seat.

But then, of course, I'd realize I was an idiot, and no one except me - why, oh why me? - could see her.

I stopped at the large, wooden door and peered through the peep hole - my breath caught in my throat

My hands shook a little as I undid the locks clumsily, my heart beating painfully against my chest, my stomach flopping with butterflies. I slid the deadbolt across and flung the door open with an embarrassing amount of excitement.

"Ryan!"

(Ryan)

Two and a half hours after I'd knocked on her door, here I was - sitting next to her on her couch. She was curled up next to me, head on my arm, hands around my waist. My arm was around her thin shoulders, other hand resting on top of her own two small ones. Some shitty movie was playing on the television - The Holiday? Your Holiday? Holidays? Last Holiday? I don't know - it was terrible. But it was mostly background noise, to be completely honest.

"I still can't believe you brought all of this," she said softly, nestling her head cozily into my shoulder.

"I just didn't want you to be stressed, that's all," I replied, fairly calmly for someone who had the girl of his dreams wrapped around his body.

No, actually. I'm serious. Her vagina was probably six inches away from my hip. Oh my sweet lordy.

After walking Harlow off to her class earlier in the day, I'd decided on bringing her a couple of little ... 'necessities'. Things I thought she needed, might want, might appreciate. A bag of groceries (she'd been looking strangely frail since last week), a couple of new book releases (I figured she could get to after the exams were over), flowers (to brighten her up just a little bit), a Kit Kat (her favorite kind of chocolate bar), magazines, five hour energy shots, a bag of apples and wine.

Yes. Wine was one of those things.

C'mon, it could've been worse. I could've brought her condoms or somethin', right? Subtle, much?

She'd cracked the bottle and we were now dangerously close to the bottom of it. I felt groggy but strangely alert. Aware of exactly what was happening. Harlow, who I could tell wasn't much of a drinker, was sleepy, heavy-eyed. Strangely flirtatious.

I liked semi-drunk Harlow!

She pulled her head from my arm, and peered up at me with her doe eyes. She batted her eyelashes a few times, before smiling.

"You're simply the sweetest."

I smiled in spite of myself, gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I don't know about that one."

She leaned forward this time, but I wasn't caught off guard, oh no, not me! See, it'd been happening - casually, sweetly, innocently - all night now.

With the ease of someone who actually knew what they were doing, I took her face in my hands, her skin soft and warm against my own palms - her cheeks were rosy from the alcohol. Her lips pressed against mine, soft at first, then a bit harder. I could feel her breath on my face, feel her eyelashes tickle my skin. I could feel her soft hair brush past my cheek. Her left hand ran over my chest, sure and strong. My own hand moved from her face, over to her back, up and down her thin frame, and finally resting on the small of her back. I wanted to touch every inch of her. Remember every curve, every bone, every soft part of her body. She breathed in, other hand snaking around my neck, body pulling closer to my own.

By now, although I hadn't quite gotten used to it, I was getting a little better at controlling my spastic brain and heart from exploding. Yeah, sure, I had only the most beautiful girl up against my chest, mouth nibbling at mine hungrily. But whatever. So? Big deal.

Oh, riiiight. BIG FREAKIN' DEAL, OHGODOHGODOHGOD.

Her hand raised from my chest, snaked around the other side of my neck. I pulled her in, closer to me yet, her chest now against my own. Her lips had parted, kisses had deepened, hands were running through my hair. I was surprised how light she was, I could pick her up with one arm if I had wanted to.

She broke away first, nose resting on my own.

"I'm glad you came tonight," she said softly, hand running sensually down the back of my neck.

"I'm glad I came too," I said, rubbing her sides lightly with my thumbs.

She leaned away and grabbed her glass of wine from the table - there were only a few sips left inside.

"How long had you planned on coming down?" she asked, eyes twinkling even more than her crystal glass.

"Only after I'd walked you to class," I admitted, crossing my leg. "You looked so tired, just drained. I figured you could use some food, some candy, some entertainment. Some .. wine."

We both laughed, and she nuzzled back into her couch, lips pressed against the side of the cup. "It feels so nice to be able to take a break from it all."

"I was worried you wouldn't be here," I said, looking over at her petite frame curled into a little ball next to me. "I thought you might've gone out with Sophie."

She shook her head. "Naw. Soph's my best friend, but we need time apart, too. I think if we were together all the time, I'd kill her."

I laughed. "I always thought you guys were like peas and carrots."

She grinned. "We are. I can't imagine life without her, not even for one second. But we both come from really different .. families, if you can call them that. Backgrounds I guess is more accurate. She's an only child, and I had five siblings. She's used to peace and quiet, and I had never had it."

"Five siblings? I thought you only had the two ... brother and a sister?" I asked, looking quizzically at her.

She shook her head. "Brody and Kingston are the only ones that lived past the age of two, and that were with me up until I was removed from my mother's custody. I had three other ones, two sisters, one brother. I didn't know the first two that well, though, so I suppose I can't count them. And the third one, my first brother, my memories of him are kind of sparse. My mum was married five times by the time I had even turned six."

"Five times?" I repeated incredulously. "Which one was your dad?"

"Well, I was the last born, the youngest," she said thoughtfully. "My dad was her third husband. She was married to a guy named Tom first, they had twin girls named Shiloh and Lawny. Shiloh died a couple months after she was born, from my understanding. But when it comes to my mother, you never really know what's the truth and what's just a story to cover her own ass. Tom took Shiloh when they split up. He died, I don't know when or how, and she was put in Foster care."

"Do you know where she is now?" I asked, dreading the answer but interested nonetheless.

"Dead," Harlow replied vaguely. "It's a tough system to survive. She wasn't much older than I was when I was placed .. I was one of the lucky ones, if you can even call it that."

"I'm sorry," I said softly, wanting to know but not wanting her to have to elaborate.

She shrugged again indifferently. "They were the first. I'd never met them, only seen a couple of photos. Shiloh looked a lot like me when I was a baby. Lawny I imagined looked a lot like Tom when he was young. My mother divorced him two years after they were married. She worked at a brothel for a year after that, found out she was pregnant a month after she'd quit the place. Had the third oldest, Oliver. Then a couple months after Ollie, she met a guy named Vance. Married him, and a couple of weeks after that, she found out she was pregnant again. Brody was born next, a year younger than Ollie. A little over a year after Brody, she had Kingston and kicked Vance to the curb. Loaded up Ollie, Brody and Kings in a minivan and ditched whatever city she'd been living in at the time."

"How much older is Kingston than you?"

"Two years," she replied. "I don't know much about what happened in that time. I was young, you know. Everything I've gathered since then I've learned from other people, records. All I know is my dad's name was Keith Vincent, and a year after I was born he died."

"That's awful," I whispered.

She smiled coldly at the wall. "Coward. I was born almost exactly two years after Kingston - our birthdays are only a couple of days apart. After my dad died, we moved to Nevada, she eloped with some oil tycoon down there, the marriage was annulled the next day. And a month later, she met Kurt."

"Your step-dad, I guess?"

"For the rest of the time I lived with my Mum."

"Was he a nice guy?"

"As nice as reaching into a jar of vinegar filled with barbed wire."

"Shit."

She ran a hand through her hair, eyes lost in thought. "When I was six, my mother - Nia - she got into a big fight with him, Kurt. About Brody. They fought all the time, but this one .. this one was different."

She readjusted her legs, and took the last big sip of wine.

"I don't remember what it was about, exactly. I remember Brody being calm, though. She was the oldest, she always dealt with their moods. She'd protect Kingston and I, even if it cost her .. everything."

"What happened to Oliver?" I asked, remembering that according to date, he should have been the oldest.

Harlow frowned, pondering. "I don't know. After my fourth birthday, I don't remember him being there. Brody never talked about him, Kingston didn't remember."

"He just disappeared?"

"From my memories, at least."

"Haven't you ever wondered what happened to him?"

"All the time," she said simply. "I've looked back on years and years of paperwork. He wasn't even in the system. There's no record of him having even been born. I know he was, because I have photos. Only a couple, but I know it's him."

"Do you think he's still alive?"

She shook her head, eyes resigned. "No. My family doesn't have the greatest track record of survival. All I know is that as soon as he left - died, disappeared, whatever - Brody was the leader."

There were chunks of this story, pieces and facts that didn't make sense. How can a person be wiped from the face of this Earth without a trace? What did she mean her real father was a coward? How had her eldest sister, Shiloh, died in the system? There were gaping holes that she hadn't - refused, maybe - to fill in. But I wasn't a big enough idiot to question them, ask her. She was telling me more than I think she'd told anyone in the years since, maybe even ever. I should appreciate what she did entrust in me. It made her uncomfortable - every time I knew she was holding something in, her face darkened. Guarded itself. Was it herself she was protecting this from? Was it me? Someone else? I couldn't know for sure.

Maybe one day I'd learn what happened. The whole story, without the gaps.

"What happened that night? When you were six, with Brody and your mom and step-dad fighting?"

Harlow placed her glass on the table in front of her. She didn't speak for a moment, but instead curled into a ball and lay her head in my lap. I ran a hand over her side, rested an arm around her stomach. She sighed, caressing my leg gently with her hand.

"We had run upstairs, all three of us - Nia and Kurt were screaming at the each other in the kitchen. Kingston - he wasn't well, he never has been - he was on the bed in the guest room, crying and yelling. He did that when he was upset, he would just completely lose control. Brody usually dealt with him, it was better than letting Kurt deal .. nevermind. I had followed Brody. She was my big sister, y'know? When you're little, you rely so much on your older siblings."

She drew her legs up a little closer to her stomach. Her voice betrayed no signs of sadness or horror, it was flat, toneless.

"She told me she had had enough, that the police would be here soon for Kingston and I. I didn't know what she meant .. she told me to go take care of King, that he needed me. I always listened to her .. I wish I hadn't that night. Maybe things would've been a little different. I went into the other room, tried to calm King down but he was having another episode and there was nothing I could do. Brody was always the one that helped him. I went back into the room to get her, tell her I couldn't calm him down, but by then .. it was too late. I hadn't registered what she'd said. 'The police will be here soon for you and Kingston'. I was an idiot not to have thought about what that really implied. That she wouldn't be coming. If I was older, I would've put the two together. King and I, without her. Her admitting she had had enough. But I was only six, I didn't .. "

She paused, and rolled over on her back, took my hand and squeezed it very lightly. Her face was hardened, emotionless. There were no hints of tears, of pain, of sorrow. There was just her. Recounting what had probably been the worst moment of her life, with next to nothing emotion wise.

"She'd killed herself by then. I saw her do it. I had only been gone for three minutes, no more. I saw her .. go, and I panicked, freaked out. Kingston was screaming, Nia and Kurt were fighting, Brody was dead. I had saw it with my own two eyes. I was only six, remember, so I couldn't really fully understand what was happening. It's hard to comprehend death at any age, but seeing it, really seeing it .. it makes it that much more surreal. I made the mistake to run downstairs to get Nia, tell her what had happened. She'd never cared before .. I don't know why I thought today would be any different."

She laughed humorlessly, resting her hands on her belly. It scared me a little, seeing her like this. I would never admit it. But it did. How one could talk about death and suicide like this, without emotion, without feelings. It was her memory, but it was me that it was affecting the most.

"I walked down into the kitchen where Nia and Kurt had been yelling at each other. The closer I got, the more I realized that it wasn't yelling anymore. It was crying, and it was pleading. And it was coming from Kurt, not Nia. It'd never been like that before, it was always her .. don't get me wrong, though. She was never the victim, she was as much as the offender as anyone. I heard Kurt crying, and I ran down the stairs, as fast as I could. I just flew into the kitchen. Right in time to see Nia, my own mother, raise a shot gun up to Kurt's throat. I saw it all. And then after he dropped on the floor, she turned it on me."

I guess she felt the sharp intake of breath I tried to hide, and she turned her eyes up to my face. They were worried, filled with concern.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I shouldn't have told you all that."

I shook my head. "I'm glad you did, honest. I just .. I can't imagine any mother who could've done something like that."

"She could've," Harlow said quietly. "And she would've. But the police got there a second later."

"Thank God," I muttered. "Right on time."

"Was it though?" she said thoughtfully, looking up at the ceiling. "Kurt wasn't a good person. But no one deserves to die like that. And what about Brody? They saved me, but they were too late for everyone else."

I nodded solemnly. "That's true, I guess. What happened to your mother?"

"They arrested her, charged her with homicide and negligence. A load of other things. She was sentenced to death, and twelve years later she was gone."

"Did you ever talk to her again."

Harlow hesitated, but shook her head. "No, I can honestly say I didn't."

"What happened to Kingston?"

"He survived," she said simply. "As best as any of us could, I guess. But he was never the same again. He lives in New Jersey now."

"Do you still talk to him?" I asked.

"He doesn't remember me anymore," she said softly, and for the first time the entire story, I saw a hint of misery pass over her face. "He's .. not well."

I looked at her carefully, and she looked back at me. She turned slightly, edging her way back up into a sitting position. She scooted a little closer to me, questioningly, and I pulled her as close to me as I could. She nuzzled up to my chest, the two of us falling slowly back. We lay together on the couch in silence for ten minutes, one arm wrapped around her shoulder, one around her lower back. Her hand was over my stomach, face nuzzled against my side.

After a few moments, she rested her chin lightly on my arm and smiled. "Thanks for listening."

"Thanks for telling me," I said softly, returning the smile.

"Don't think of me too differently now," she said, in all seriousness.

She patted my stomach, and burrowed once again into my side.

"Would you change it? All of that, your life - would you change it if you could?" I asked softly, exhaustion flooding my entire body.

"I haven't known anything else," she murmured next to me. "I can't change what I don't know."

"I guess it has made you who you are," I said quietly, arms wrapped around her warm body. "Taught you what you know."

"To fight and fight again," she whispered.

And as silence fell over the room, her voice floated up to my ears one last time, softer than I'd ever heard it.

"And to keep fighting."

Author's Note:

HOLAAAAAAAA. I'm not even going to try and make an excuse to why I haven't updated in like fifty years. I will just stand before you lovelies and allow you to throw things at me and be angry and hate me and all of that. I still love you guys though? *puppy dog eyes*

This has gotta be quick, since I'm running on like a 12% battery life on my laptop, so lemme just say (pulls out piece of paper with all my lovely reviewers names on it) - THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, TO:

xDeadlyImperfectionx (you're amazeballs), Sora (let's be friends?), (WE HAVE THE SAME DREAMS! can you say, soulllll sistahs?), Kakashis-girl90 (i think you're WONDERFUL!), weasley0 (i must say, i love your name - ronald billius weasley ftw? and rip fred :(), starlight (i'm hooked on YOU!), ModWolf98 (you're the hottest hottie that's ever walked the face of this earth), lindzxhatter (HI MY LOVE, MY LIFE, MY SHAWDEEE MAH WIFE, how're the kids?), Chanel (i'm glad you decided to review! thank you!), xoxoMyRealityIsFiction (my reality is ALSO fiction, we're twins!), Luna (you super precious wonderful ball of adorable, i'm sorry it took so long!), kcollins (i've missed you, my love!) and heyymelx3 (how is this ryan hunting going? please fill me in asap!).

You guys make my entire lives. I just wanted to say that. Also, Michelle Belanger may or may not make an appearance in this little ficcy of mine, but Chad absolutely will. Although I really dislike him, he's gonna be super important later on in the story, me thinks. Anyways, I'm off to watch Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. LONG LIVE DOBBY *cries*

love; ellah!