Chapter Thirty One

These Glorious Fat Sacks We Call Boobs

(Ryan)

"You spend another minute on there and you'll wind up cross-eyed, Lo."

She peered up at me with her globes of fluorescent green, ghost of a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.

"According to Expedia, I've got mere moments before my twenty percent off coupon expires – if you think I'm booking a full price anything after they wave a one hundred dollar off incentive under my nose, you are sorely mistaken my sweet man."

I laughed, throwing a wadded hunk of paper towards her blanket and pillow cocooned body. "But will that one hundred dollar incentive be enough to cover your google-eyed corrective surgery?"

She rolled her eyes, but continued tapping at warp speed on her laptop.

I studied her hunched figure carefully. Several nights ago, she'd come slinking out of her bathroom, face as pale as alabaster, hands bitten with an arctic chill. I'd pried and pressed and prompted her until the wee hours of the morning, but she'd barely spoken a word.

"Just nauseous," she said repeatedly. "I'm just feeling under the weather, that's all."

Whether or not that was true (something I highly doubted), she'd refused to speak of the incident since. Instead, she'd gone out of her way to be overly cheerful and deliriously optimistic over the week that followed, blithely unaware that her cheerful overcompensation was more of a red flag than anything else she could've done. I wasn't the only one who had noticed, either – Sophie and I hadn't really had another opportunity to speak, but we'd exchanged a series of looks both times I'd gone to pick Harlow up at practice. Clearly the overcompensation was distinct enough to warrant concern from Soph as well.

But neither of us said anything – perhaps out of fear of Harlow's reaction. But it may have had something to do with us really not knowing what to say. How do you broach the topic? How do you tell someone "we're worried about you, you're really happy. It's weird. You should try and be gloomy again."

So try as we may to think of ways to bring up what could easily be a touchy subject, for the most part, Soph and I let Harlow be. She'd announced last night (before she took her top off and I forget everything that ever happened to me ever) that she had made the decision to push her trip to Jersey ahead, and would begin to look for flights online for a quick trip down to Kingston's Institution sometime next week. What had prompted the early trip, I haven't the faintest. But I remembered distinctly what Harlow had told me long ago – behavior was never random. And Harlow, whose life was set and planned days in advance, wasn't the type to all of a sudden throw out the agenda and bail on a jet plane.

Something had prompted this sudden change in monotony.

"I think I got it!" she exclaimed suddenly, eyes lighting up.

She curled off the armchair and crawled towards me, laptop held firmly in her lean arm. With catlike agility, she slid next to me on the cushy couch, wrapping herself loosely around my waist, head nuzzled softly into the crook of my arm. Concerned as I was for her mental health, there was little I could do to slow my heart once that beautiful body rubbed up against mine.

Good God, she was perfection.

"Check it out," she said chipperly, pointing to the screen. "Four hundred, round trip, four star hotel included in the price!"

It took incredible strength to tear my eyes away from the curves of her body, but I looked over to the screen.

"Incredible," I murmured, trying desperately to keep my hands from running along the length of her waist.

She glared up at me, harlequin green twinkling in the sunbeams flickering through her window. "You're not even paying attention."

"I'm paying attention, I am. Four hundred. Ticket and hotel. Incredible."

"I can feel your boner against my leg."

"It's excited at the incredible Expedia deals, that's all."

"Lies," she mumbled, but the corner of her mouth turned up slightly. "Pay attention to what I'm showing you, for five minutes, that's all I ask. And then I'll take my top off."

OH SWEET MOTHER MARY, DEAL MY BELOVED, DEAAAAL.

"Okay, okay," I swore, pulling my hand quickly off her leg – what's a thigh stroke when I could literally travel to boob central in 300 seconds?

"That's not a bad price, right?" she asked, turning her head towards the screen. "I mean I'll only be down there two days, and frankly, four hundred for 48 hours is obscene. But all things considered."

"It's a phenomenal price," I agreed, looking at the small image of the inclusive hotel room. "And check this out – pool in the hotel, with waterslides! You can go swimming and tubing!"

She smiled, giving the side of my forehead a light peck. "I'm not sure I'll be much in the mood for a waterpark adventure – but nice to know the options always there."

"No, of course not," I agreed, laying my restless hand on her shoulder. "Great price, though. I'd book away, if I were you."

She nodded, scrolling down to the 'Checkout' button deftly with her hand. "You are the flight and hotel master, Buell. I guess I'll listen to you this one time."

I smiled, nuzzling my nose against the silk of her cheek. "You sure you don't need me to come with you?"

She raked a hand lightly through my hair, entering her credit card number quickly and without hesitation into the greyed box. The amount this woman online shopped was evident by not only the mess that was her closet, but by the ease in which she one-handedly typed and remembered a sixteen digit number, expiry date and three digit security code.

"You're going to be out in Philly for the next case," she said softly, lips running lightly against my temple – oh sploosh. "And besides, it's kind of this thing that I have to do. Just me. And I missed our visit last year. I know he doesn't remember. He can't even remember who I am. But I remember. I know I missed it. I've gotta do it myself."

I nodded, the ever poignant coconut clouding my brain. "I understand, Lo. If you're sure there's nothing I can do to help …"

"Be here when I get home," she said quietly. "Be you when I get home. That's all I'll ever need."

"That's all I'll ever be."

With one last stroke, she hit the "finalize payment" button, and the screen turned quickly to the print-out receipt. She sighed, closing her laptop with a snap and chucking it onto the adjacent loveseat.

"Thank you," she said, running her hand along the curve of my side. "I know this was sudden. I just didn't want to put it off anymore."

I nodded, wrapping my arms tightly around her thin waist, trying (and failing) to hide my incredibly unsubtle erection. "I understand. It's strange though. You're a creature of habit. Jetting off to Jersey with a week's notice is unlike you."

I felt her tense, but only slightly. Any normal person likely wouldn't have even felt the flex – but the amount I'd gotten to know her body over the last year, even the slightest tremor felt like an earthquake.

"You know if this whole paranormal thing fails, you may have a future in psychology," she said cheerfully, but I heard the strain so faint in her voice.

I laughed, tilting my head down to kiss a soft line against her ear. "Behavior is never random. Famous psychologist told me that once – years ago, it feels like."

She grinned, looking up to meet my gaze. "That's chaos theory, actually."

I smiled, but as hard as I tried, I couldn't let the conversation slide without one more prompt at a real answer.

"You're sure everything's alright?" I asked, pushing a strand of umber lock behind her ear. "Chaos theory dictates blah blah blah …"

She smiled, but the grin didn't quite reach her eyes. "Fine. Always fine."

"You'd tell me, right?" I asked, feeling inexplicably small and needy. "If you weren't. If you were juggling around your schedule for a reason other than a need to fulfill your promise to your brother. You'd tell me, right?"

She nodded without hesitation, resting her nose lightly against mine.

"Yes," she said softly, but for the first time in what felt like ages, I didn't detect a lie.

Not in her voice, anyways. It was her eyes that gave her away. That passing wave of dark, the light speed flash of guilt that marred them for only a second – I caught it. Barely, but it was there.

Before I had a chance to say one more word, she'd swung her leg over my lap with ease, twined her arms deftly around my neck, and planted her warm body firmly against my own. The smell of vanilla numbed by brain; destroyed any remaining ability to think rationally. Her hands wove themselves into my hair, tugging firmly and causing the air to catch in my lungs.

"It's been five minutes," she said calmly, eyes burning and mouth turned devilishly upwards.

"You honestly think I haven't been counting?" I murmured, putting my hands firmly beneath that little bottom and hoisting her up against my chest. Her knees tightened against my sides as I moved off the couch, her lips setting a line of fire against my jaw.

She wrapped her arms, tighter yet around my neck, nibbling seductively on my ear as I carried her nearly weightless self towards the bedroom.

"I was banking on it, actually."

(Sophie)

"I'm not a person that can handle caring about more than one person."

Ryan gave me a crooked, slightly grim smile. "That's the cost of love, I guess."

I sniffed, but looked away from his relatively handsome face to the huddle of girls across the court.

Harlow watched over the team with a severe but patient gaze. The girls were finishing a game of scrimmage, which Harlow had offered to critique – to give me a break from screaming and throwing balls at the team, I imagine. She said it was so I could take a rest, but let's be real: she was trying to avoid any harassment suits we may get from the sports faculty. Again.

What a gem.

In all her glory, long lean legs poking through those teeny baby shorts, there was still something off about her. You'd never tell just by looking at her – something a number of the young college men in the bleachers could attest to (we rarely had a private practice – I'd chalk it up to the short shorts, but we'd be lying to ourselves if we said it wasn't because of Harlow). Her hair pulled up in a perky ponytail, copper skin aglow with a light sheen of sweat and a bright sheen of brilliance. Even from this distance, the sparkle in her emerald eyes illuminated her face, the flash of her pearly teeth visible every time she smiled.

But Ryan and I knew. We saw it.

There was exhaustion behind those globes of emerald, a fatigue not explicitly evident in her graceful lope. Her movements were heavy, her skin brilliant but muted. That jaw, chiseled but fragile. Something was happening inside that magnificent body, something neither one of us could explain.

Harlow glanced over in our general direction, friendly but always tentative – I suppose she was founded in her apprehension. Ryan and I hadn't exactly gotten off to a great start.

But for once, he and I had a common interest – the love of our lives, Harlow. Three times now we'd met behind her back (the guilt of which was not lost on either of us), gone over what felt like a million theories and conspiracies we believed could be linked to her sudden shift in demeanor. But we came up empty each time. Exhausted but unrelenting, we'd made a promise to not give up until we figured out what exactly was going on with that beautiful creature a gym length away from us.

Unfortunately, my concerns were no longer exclusively about Harlow.

We had nothing to go on when it came to what exactly was happening to her – just a gut feeling, a mutual concern about what we didn't see. All of this concern, all of these sleepless nights, what were they worth? Not much, when the obvious threat was not explicitly linked to Lo. The danger and fear and sickness I felt had taken a new home, this time in the body and soul of Lindsey.

Since Kimmy's death, Lindsey hadn't come back. Her movements were slow, her personality non-existent. The bright and cheery girl had faded to a pit of grey, permanent lines etched across her face, an unwavering frown now tattooed along her jaw. Her eyes were cloudy, hair limp. In the locker room only a number of days ago, I remember feeling shock at the sight of silvery hairs poking out of her bun. She'd aged two decades in six months. Her gait was slow, her movements uncoordinated. Her skin had become wax, now pale as snow and weathered as bark. She was no longer just a shell of her former self – she was a shell of a human.

"How's she been?" Ryan asked softly, seemingly reading the dread that poisoned every one of my thoughts – and here I thought Harlow was the psychic.

"The same," I replied, still averting eye contact. I could feel the warm brown of his eyes boring into the side of my head, but I couldn't find it in me to look over.

"Has she been going to see the therapist?" he asked, turning his gaze back onto the court.

I shrugged. "I doubt it. We see her at practice, sometimes in the hallways. But nowhere else – she holes up in her apartment every night. Even her roommates are worried."

He nodded, frowning at the limp, grey-tinged, alleged human shuffling about on the court. Harlow kept shifting her gaze to Lindsey, but looked away pained each time. More than anyone, I felt like Harlow was taking Lindsey's plight hardest. Maybe it was because she'd always been close to Linds. Maybe it was because she knew that in Lindsey's greatest time of need, she drew a ghost-seeing blank. Either way, Lo could barely look Linds in the face. But that feeling was mutual – although Lindsey seemed unable to look anyone square in the eyes anymore.

"I'm … I'm having trouble," I said softly, still unable to meet his gaze – why I felt the need to open up to him was beyond me. Maybe the threat of being judged just wasn't a concern when you were opening your heart up to a ghostbuster? "Between the mystery that is Harlow, and the corpse that is Lindsey. I don't … I don't know what to do."

Ryan nodded again, taking a small step forward so he and I were shoulder to shoulder.

"There's really nothing you can do," he said quietly, looking solemnly between Linds and Lo. "If she won't get help. She won't go and see the therapist – you can't force her. And Harlow … we can't even prove there is anything wrong there. You can't blame yourself, Sophie. This is all … it's just too much."

I sighed. "Still … Like I said before, I'm not cut out for caring this much, Buell. I hate to admit it, but I've started to really understand my Mom's thirty year love affair with Xanax. That bitch always knew how to feel nothing, and I'm starting to understand why she felt that need. Feelings kill."

Ryan smiled humorlessly. "Feeling isn't so bad. I'd rather feel like shit than feel nothing at all."

I laughed, but the laugh stopped short of my heart. "Here here."

"Maybe it'll get better," he said, a slight edge of pitiful hope in his voice. "I don't know about Lindsey. I don't know her well enough. Maybe she still needs time? But Harlow - she's going next week to visit Kingston. That should … I don't know. Ease some of her tension, I guess?"

"Maybe," I said, but I knew the second I said it he'd hear the disbelief dripping off every word. "It hasn't before. Not two years ago, anyways. But maybe this time … I don't know."

Ryan sighed. "I tried to find out more. Tried to pry, I guess. Figure out how she was really feeling, why she changed her mind over a twenty four hour span."

I scoffed. "Let me guess – twenty seconds later she was wrapped around you like a boa constrictor, and you forgot your name, your date of birth and what city you were in?"

"Accurate," he sighed.

"She's predictable, but effective, I'll give her that."

"I just don't know what to do anymore. I can't be trusted to pry. Not when she knows how to render me completely mentally incapable with the snap of her fingers - or rather, the unhooking of her bra."

"I'll try to get something," I muttered quickly, as Ryan and I watched Harlow turn and begin to lope back towards our corner. "I, on the other hand, find myself uninterested and less easily swayed by her vagina."

"Don't forget those boobs," Ryan muttered, taking a step and extending his arm out to meet Lo.

"What're you two chatting about?" Harlow asked, slipping delicately beneath Ryan's outstretched arm (to actual audible sighs from the bleachers behind us – God, get a grip men).

"Whose got the bigger dick, me or him," I replied, slipping my sweater over my head.

"Hm," she replied, cocking an eyebrow up at Ryan – he shrugged innocently.

"We decided Sophie," he announced sadly. "She'd kill me in a cockfight."

"This I know is true," Harlow agreed solemnly, giving Ryan a wink.

"You guys outta here?" I asked, to which they both nodded their heads.

"Dinner and a movie," Lo said, twisting slightly to grab her sweater from the bench (and another audible sigh from the men so clearly devastated at the idea of Harlow's boobs being covered).

"Original. Well, enjoy yourselves. I'll go tell these bitches to grab their things and get out of my face."

"Please don't get another summons issued to the team," Harlow sighed, as Ryan grabbed her bag and flung it over his shoulder. "I literally don't have time to go plead another case for you."

"Practice is over, what's the worst I can do."

Harlow rolled her eyes at me, and gave Ryan a little nudge in the side. "I'll be right out – just need to talk to Soph quickly."

He nodded and gave her a light peck on the top of the head. "I'll be waiting. Take care, Sophie."

I nodded at him, but we both made an effort to not make eye contact. Whatever kind of incredible psychic Harlow was didn't compare to her natural ability of reading people's body language. She had that, at least, down to a science.

As Ryan trudged out of the gym, Harlow's smelly bag flung over his shoulder, she turned her gaze to me, and I noticed a particularly woebegone glimmer shining in those fluorescent orbs.

"Keep an eye on Lindsey," she said softly, looking cautiously at the dissipating group behind us.

"I always do," I said quietly, eyes trailing over the bones that were at one time my close friend.

"More than you have before," she whispered. "It's worse than before … I've got ... I don't know. I've got a really bad feeling. She was even more of a shell today."

"I can see it too," I said, softer still. "I'll watch her. Don't worry. I was thinking of inviting her over tonight. Try and get her out of the house. She's kept herself cooped up in there for too many consecutive nights now."

Harlow nodded, but the fear didn't quite disappear from her eyes. "Okay. I doubt she'll go. But okay. I'll see you Sunday - call me later. Tell me if you've had any success."

I nodded, and Harlow padded silently out of the gym. I sighed, looking back over to the corpse that was Linds, dragging her gym bag somberly behind her.

Between the stack of bones that had once housed the cheer of Lindsey, and the haunting demons that presided over the spirit that was once Harlow, I wasn't sure how much more I'd be able to take.

My life was like that of a groundskeeper, presiding over the tombs of my former friends.

(Nurse F.)

"Code white in progress. Paging all orderlies from D-Block. Code white in progress. All orderlies return immediately to D-Block."

I glanced up at the intercom, frowning. D-Block was what we considered the "essentially comatose" department – the patients assigned to that unit were all barely functioning, either so doped up they were near dead or so catatonic their limbs were in the advanced stages of atrophy. A code white was a violent patient – the near polar opposite of the people housed in that ward.

I looked over my shoulder, saw Shauna staring up in confusion at the intercom as well. She glanced over at me, shrugged her thin shoulders.

"Maybe they said B?"

I shook my head. "Definitely D. But that doesn't make any sense."

Shauna sighed, shrugged again, and bowed her head once more over her mountain of paperwork. "I'm sure they just misread the script."

I nodded, but wasn't able to return as easily to my papers. Code white wasn't new by any means – in this institution there was a code white just about every other day. The strange thing was the location it was being called from. I sighed, willing myself to return to my casework, when I heard the horn sound over the intercom once more.

"Repeat, code white, code white. All available staff please report to D-Block immediately – code white in progress, code white."

I whipped around again, this time noting Shauna's face paling dramatically.

"You were right," she said softly, rising slowly from her desk. "D-Block it is."

"What the hell is going on?" I muttered, taking her lead and following closely behind her out the door.

She shook her head again, the clomp of her heels clicking rhythmically as her pace quickened. "Not sure. Never heard of a code white in D-Block. Patient must have escaped from a different ward."

"That's a code yellow, missing patient," I reasoned, feeling my breathing quicken as she and I began to jog up the north flight of stairs.

"Not missing if we know where they are," she panted, flinging the D-Block door open.

I finished the few steps up to elevated stairwell platform, nearly plowing into Shauna the second I reached the top. She'd stopped dead in her tracks, and I could see a look of pure terror plaguing her usually calm face. She was bug-eyed, frozen in place. I inched past her, checked her lightly with my shoulder, and peered around the doorframe cautiously.

My breath caught in my throat.

There was blood.

Everywhere.

All along the pristine white walls, scarlet ooze and chunks of goop, papers and posters torn from their hooks and adhesive. Handprints tinged with maroon slopped against the windows, shards of broken glass littered along the ground. There was screaming and crying, banging, a wailing of a horn, a voice of terror shouting above the usual calm.

"GET HER, I NEED HER, GET HER," it bellowed, loud but faltering, a voice I didn't recognize.

There were nurses and doctors alike, running from room to room, checking locks, securing patients. One nurse slipped, fell with a crash as her heel slid through a pool of blood leaking from beneath a doorway. Her head hit the floor with a sickening crunch.

"MY SISTER, I NEED MY SISTER," the voice screamed, louder and more frantic than before – it was a voice that sounded as if it hadn't been used in years. Rusty, unsure, but fierce and malevolent.

A doctor, holding firmly on to the right side of his face, blood seeping from beneath his palm – face whitening with every ragged and unsteady step he took. I could see a small flap of his skin dangling loosely and flopping against his cheek with each step.

"GET HER, GET HER," it screamed.

"What … what is this?" whispered Shauna, her eyes terror-stricken.

"9276 attacked an orderly," a nurse yelled, running past with a seeping wound on her forearm – she seemed unaware of the injury. "Took out 3719 with the metal bathroom bar, 6775 is critically injured, Dr. Evans is working on her in the storage closet."

"What do we do?!" Shauna yelled at the fleeing nurse, while panic flooded through every inch of my body.

"Sam's getting the tranquilizer. Secure the patients."

9276, I thought. I knew that number.

"HARLOW," the voice screamed, now shredded and hoarse with desperation. "HARLOW!"

Kingston had woken from his stupor, hell bent on finding his sister.

And he was bringing the entire ward down with him.

(Nurse R.)

"Two more hours," I sighed, throwing another case file on the mountain of paperwork before me.

"And it's holidays," Michelle smiled, tapping a pen restlessly against the side of her cheek.

I grinned, stretching my arms out above my head. "And it's holidays. Seven days, just me and Brian. Sun, sand, sangria. Oh heaven."

Michelle sighed, leaning back listlessly in her chair. "Take me with you, Reens. God knows I need a vacation."

I wrapped an arm around her neck, nuzzling my head against her own. "You know I would if I could."

She laughed, resting an arm around my side. "I'll believe that when I see it."

I ruffled her hair. "You know if I – "

"Got a code omega, in the main in 30!"

Michelle and I glanced up, looking at the frantic young orderly speed walking past our paper strewn desk. He was looking pale, but that was hardly a concern – he'd only been here a handful of days, still hadn't found his ER legs. It came with time, something we were all aware of. But the poor man looked sick every time a stretcher was hauled in the main doors. How he'd gotten this far in his career was a mystery to the rest of the team.

"Omega?" I muttered, looking out the large windows adjacent to the desk – I could see the ambulance's flashing lights at a point in the distance.

"Maybe a car accident," Michelle said, dropping a file on top of her desk.

"Omega's not usually from a car accident …"

"Attempted suicide," the orderly said, now pale and shaking behind our desk.

We glanced up at him and exchanged concerned glances – he never appeared to be fully at ease, but even for his usual demeanor, there was something a little off about the pale fear in his face.

"You alright, Scott?" Michelle asked, resting a small hand on his back.

He gulped, shrugged his shoulders, looked nervously out to the ever nearing wail of the ambulance. "I think. I am. I ... I am. I know the patient."

"You know him?" I asked sympathetically, remembering the first time I'd laid eyes on a familiar face. "I'm sorry, Scott."

He shook his head, steadying himself on the desk. "It's a she. She goes to Penn State, she's in the same faculty as me."

I sighed, patting his hand gently as Michelle rose from her desk. "Find Lucy – she can take this one, if you don't want."

"It's okay, it's okay," he said, shaking a shivering hand. "I can do this. It's just the first time … the first – y'know."

"First familiar, I get it," I said, rising from my own seat to meet Michelle. "I hope it'll be your last as well. Come on. We've got a job to do."

He nodded, following mine and Michelle's lead, looking ever paler and more uncertain as we moved towards the receiving doors.

"Attempted suicide," he repeated, shaking his head slightly. "Can't believe it."

"The paramedics called ahead?" I asked, our pace quickening as we saw the back of the ambulance doors fling open.

He nodded. "Yeah. Told me to alert the evening surgeon and any residents I could find. They weren't able to stop the bleeding – couldn't even halt it. Said it'll be a miracle if she lives."

I shook my head sadly, hitting the door's electronic button with a fist. "Terrible. So young."

With incredible speed, the two male paramedics rolled the stretcher into the receiving room, and I paled at the sight of them. You saw an awful lot of disturbing cases and people roll through these doors, but it had been a long time since I remembered seeing this much blood.

Both paramedics were covered, great swipes of scarlet across their faces. Their dark blue uniforms were tinged with a shimmering liquid, all the bits of colored material now splashed with ruby. Both were breathing heavily, both holding towels soaked in the mess of maroon.

"Heart rate dropping," one said, continuously moving to mop up the pools of red dripping out from beneath the patient's blanket. "Vitals low. OR prepped?"

"Doctor Marcus is in there now," Michelle said, grabbing an unused towel from the basin behind her. "We'll take her in."

"Slit her wrists in the bath tub," the one paramedic said solemnly, a mixture of sweat and blood dripping from his brow. "Ten minutes away, couldn't stop the bleeding. Nothing we could do."

"Of course not," I said, sympathetically as I could while trying to avoid wiping out on the slick floors. "Nothing anyone could've done."

I glanced down at the girl lying motionless on the stretcher beside me. She could have been a corpse, and I wouldn't have known the difference. Her face was white as snow, great bags dug beneath her clouded eyes. Her hair was thin, greying in spots, still dripping from the bathtub, beginning to mat where the blood had congealed. She was bones beneath stretched skin.

"God," I heard Scott whisper from somewhere behind me. "God help her …"

"Good luck," the paramedic murmured, letting his grasp on the stretcher go as we rounded the corner.

What we needed was past luck –

We needed a miracle.

(Harlow)

"Just one whole day, no plans, no adventures, no restaurants, nothing."

I sighed, feeling the delirious happy spread through my whole body.

"Really - a whole day in bed?" I asked, looking over at the raggedly handsome man to my right.

He grinned, rolled an arm around my shoulders, and pulled me in to his side. "A whole day – just sleep, snuggles, sex and sitcoms."

"That sounds like absolute heaven," I murmured, nuzzling up against his chest, taking in the magnificent musk.

I was three days away from jetting off to Jersey, and Ryan was three days away from jetting off to Philly – I'd be gone for two days, but he'd be gone for nearly a week. Which, of course, was the most heart breaking news I'd ever heard – an entire Buell-less week. What was the point of living if I had to endure five days of sexless, loveless, foodless and boyfriendless torment? NONE, I tell you! But perhaps there was one itsy bitsy reason for holding off on dying –

One week of full absence was proceeded by a 24 hour bed binge.

That's twenty four glorious hours of sleep, sex, snacks and snuggles.

I'll take it.

Since the horror that was last Friday night, when the apparition of my long dead sister came crawling into my bathroom, I admit I'd been a bit of a mess. Try as I might to hide the sheer terror that had filled my chest and still sat like a brick in the pit of my stomach, I knew somewhere, deep down, that Ryan knew I was hiding something. The good news for me, however, was that all it really took for me get him to forget about it was a quick toss of the bra and a sharp nip on his neck. Men – infuriating, yes. But God they were simple.

That being said, I beg of you, don't get me wrong. The last thing I wanted to do was build a relationship on a bed of lies and a mountain of secrets. But the first – and really last, and only – fight that Ryan and I had ever gotten into was about the horrible, terrifying and deeply disturbing dreams he and a handful of the rest of my friends had been having. The last thing I needed him to know, and by knowing therefore flipping his shit, was that I'd seen the disintegrating corpse of my sibling crawling along the side of my bathtub.

That, most understandably, might have led to a breaking point.

So I tried – and it took everything out of me, that much is the truth – to put all that terror, all that horror, on the back burner. The last thing Ryan needed was the stress of knowing his slightly clingy, psychic girlfriend was seeing cadavers slopping around her bathroom. And the last thing I needed was a boyfriend hell bent on keeping me safe from my own mind. Neither one of those things could end well.

Which is why (as I'm sure you and of course Ryan were wondering) I had bumped my flight out to see Kings to next week. The excuse my loved ones heard – and would only ever hear – was that I wanted to get it over and done with. Even knowing what I know now, it's never a fun experience, seeing someone you love, the literal last piece of blood you have left, stuck comatose in a never ending pit of torment. This reason, for most, was understandable.

But really, besides the obvious need and desire to see my brother, was the cryptic warning I'd been given by Bee only a week ago. Whether or not I imagined her in that bathroom (which, truth be told, I was positive it wasn't a dream), her warning had scared the living shit out of me. Save him, she had said, hoarsely and with terror too familiar and fitting with her wreck of a face, her mess of a life. Kingston. Save him.

From what? I didn't know. But I was scared to find out.

For a week, I had pushed myself further than I ever had before. Willing myself to forget the terror and the horror I had seen. Begging myself to let it all go. Focus on the good, the wonderful, the Ryan. The time to face this madness would come. I would deal with Kingston, and any of those problems, when they came. Next week. For two days. I would put everything I had, every bit of my heart, into solving the mystery and fear that swept over and clutched every piece of me. But for now?

I needed one last taste, one last bit of normalcy before the wave of pain.

And the best way to enjoy these last, sane moments?

Buell.

From somewhere behind me, I felt a strong hand inch its way up my back, lightly fondling the thin clasp of my bra. I grinned, planting a hand on his stomach, curling delicately around his lean sides – his sharp intake of breath only served to spike my own libido to glorious levels, sent waves of love through every inch of me.

I swear to God, I could drop every class, sport, job, hobby and person if it meant I was able to spend the rest of my life, right by his side, half naked, fully aroused.

Droooooooool!

As his fingers nimbly unlatched the hooks along my back, I swung a leg over his torso, planting my bottom firmly on his abdomen. I felt another wave of heat – sweet, sweet heat – rush through my body, as I pulled (with attempted delicacy, although it likely came off as more of a rabid flail) my arms out of my bra straps, letting the piece fall on the distinctly ruffled sheets around us. I saw the grin slide across his face, as he pulled himself up to sit, pulling my chest, my arms, my face, up close to his own beautiful body. His arms, so strong, so beautiful, wrapped tightly around my waist, the heat of his body scalding every inch of my own flesh – so hot, he was literally giving me goosebumps. Oy veyyyy!

"We can start the twenty four hours now, if you'd like?" he murmured in my ear, leaving a blazing trail of kisses along the nape of my neck.

"Or we could extend it to forty eight," I whispered back, shocked at my ability to speak (it felt like my brain had officially shut off, and given all decision-making authority to my nethers – GOOD IDEA, ME.)

I heard that throaty chuckle, felt the light bite of teeth against my earlobe. "Sign me up."

Bring! Bring!

"No," I squeaked, shooting what may have been the dirtiest look of all time towards my cell.

"Ignore it," he whispered, warm hand running up from my waist, reaching for these glorious fat sacks we call boobs – they're gifts, ladies. Thank whatever your God is for these power flaps.

"Okay," I replied, pure ecstasy dripping from my voice – at this stage, he could tell me to go and stick my leg in a polar bear enclosure, and I'd most definitely listen.

The phone continued to ring, but the rings grew softer and less important as my brain became clouded with love and the rest of my body began to scream for more. I wasn't sure where exactly Ryan had learned to do the terribly naughty, terribly beautiful things he did. But I had a sneaking suspicion that paranormal investigating might have actually been a total pussy magnet profession … where else would he have learned these deliciously dirty things?

Although I promise, not complaining.

I was literally so close – like a fraction of a second away, I swear to God – to slipping completely under his spell, when I heard the familiar, but suddenly intrusive, aggravating and infuriating beeping of my phone. How dare you, Telus. How. Dare. You.

"I should check," I muttered, now lying (how did this even happen?) flat on my back.

I saw those creamy brown eyes glance up, and saw the rest of his body move soundlessly over my own. His right hand found the back of my head, tangled itself in my hair. His left hand – well, I'll spare you the details. But his left hand was exactly where it should be …

"I'm sure they'll call back," he said softly, between light kisses down the side of my neck.

"He's right, they will, for the love of GOD Harlow, shut your mouth!" every inch of my body below my head screamed at me.

"They already called back … you should check, you know ..." my stupid brain (when the hell did my brain turn back on?) whined.

"Okay," I mumbled again, grabbing blindly at any part of Ryan I could find – a face, a chest, an arm, anything that could keep me from floating away into eternal bliss.

But by the third time, those incessant rings and screeches coming from my long discarded phone became too much to bear, and I (with a heart as heavy as stone, or whatever the heaviest object in the entire world was, I don't even know) reached a hand down to stop this glorious man I call my own.

"Just gotta check," I whispered, placing a hand softly against his rosy cheek. "Quick, I promise."

He nodded, attempting but failing miserably to look nonchalant. "No problem."

I grinned, and gave him a quick nip on the lip. "Don't worry – it's my turn next."

Which seemed to turn that frown all the fucking way upside down - boo-yah, bitches!

I rolled onto my stomach (swatting at the glorious man behind me as I felt a very distinct and very loud clap on my booty), reaching aimlessly for my phone somewhere on the floor below. For the fourth time, it had started its incessant ringing and I had half the mind to automatically pick up and start screaming "EXCUSE ME I WAS TEN SECONDS AWAY FROM SEX, HOW DARE YOU, HOW DARE YOU".

Although once I did grab it and saw that familiar phone number flashing across the screen, I automatically felt better for resisting that urge …

"Sophie," I said, glancing back at Ryan (who was now slowly [and frickin' enticingly] pulling off his boxers.

"Grab it," he said, sly grin on that perfect face. "Tell her you'll phone her – hah, or bone her – back."

I rolled my eyes. "Lucky you've already got me going, or that pun would've been a deal breaker."

With another quick tap on my backside (and more flailing swatting back towards his face), I swiped 'accept' on my phone, pulling it up to me ear.

"Soph," I said, squirming to try and escape the firm grasp Ryan now had on my leg. "Look, I gotta call you right back, I'm – "

"Don't," she said, and I heard what may go down in history as the scariest noise I'd ever heard – thick dread coating Sophie's normally icy bite. "Don't, Lo."

"O – okay," I said, this time pushing Ryan's hand away – he immediately let go of my leg, hearing what I'm sure was a complete 180 degree change in my tone. "Okay – what's up? Are you okay?"

"I'm at the hospital," she said softly, voice cracking with something between terror and absolute misery.

"Are you okay?" I asked, suddenly as alert and unaroused as I'd ever been. "What happened? What can I do?"

"I'm fine," she whispered, voice hoarse. "I'm fine. You've gotta get down here though."

"Okay," I said, already feeling around for my pants, panic coursing furiously through my body. "Okay. I'll be right there. What is it, Soph? Who?"

"It's Lindsey."

Author's Note:

Hi beautiful readers!

Look at this - me back with a new chapter and it hasn't even been a year - huzzah!

Heads up to all my wonderful friends - although this is a wonderful occasion, as I've made my way back to my beloved FanFiction, it's also a bit of a gloomy shitstorm, as the story is about to take a pretty gruesome, pretty depressing, pretty dark turn ... I swear, it's not the new grey, depressed, goth version of me, it's how I had outlined the story years and years and lifetimes ago! Hopefully you'll all have the stomach and heart to stick around (and I say this literally, as my heart would simply burst into a million sharp broken pieces if you left me - although the new Adele album is out, so I could just listen to that on repeat for the rest of my life, *SOB*)!

Anywho! I'm off to a family dinner, but before I go, I must give my greatest thanks to some of my favorite people - Ferret, Angel and Future, my three true loves! Your reviews perked up my whole week, and I danced about in reviewy bliss for hours!

Hoping to have the next chapter out within a week, talk to you all soon!

love; ellah!