Shit's getting to me. These four walls are closing in giving me a sense of heightened claustrophobia and it is settling in snugly. Thirty-six hours, I've been cooped up in this eight-by-ten pen for thirty-six hours and, not counting today, I've got thirty-six more to go before I set foot outside of this wretched place. I'm yanking my chain; I can't keep focus. Clark fucking Kent needs to swoop in through the window and save this distressed damsel! I'd appreciate a morsel of human contact, it'd keep me sane.

Rapping on the door bring me back to my sense and I rush over to see that it is none other than Chuck, "Chuck!" he creaks the door open and I assault his personal space with a hug, "You don't know how happy I am to see you!"

He lifts his hands away from me, "No Contact rule, Soto."

"Can you fuck your rule and just soak in the hug for a second?" I whine.

"Uh…just for a quick one," he hugs me and pries me off, "You're acting odd…"

Twiddling with my disheveled hair, "I am twenty-two fucking years old about to cry from desperation, Chuck. This lockdown is testing my sanity and it's effectively wearing me down. I'll promise to refer to you by your actual name if you lounge and talk to me. Yes, please, say yes," in my lifetime, I've never begged for company…'till now.

Mark, not Chuck, leaves the door hanging open, "I was instructed not to fraternize with the patient, meaning you," he opens up looking a tad bit flustered.

"Sorry but this is like cold turkey or something," he pitifully nods and I think up an ice-breaker, "You dig wrestling?"

Checkmate. Being a wrestling fanatic is a dime in a bunch, it's not a popular as prior years. Luckily I found the dime. We discussed the current Taker versus Randy feud and rated the divas. We also went over the Melina angle – she's my third favorite diva but maybe I'm biased. He mentioned Maria which irked me a bit.

"I still am not feeling the whole Taker and Randy thing," he says.

"The more screen time Randy gets, the more I enjoy. The guy's a sight for sore eyes," I reply with wistful hint in my voice.

Mark snorts, "Never going to happen, Soto."

"Call me Marleene. We've been getting along for a good hour; I'd like to go by a first name basis."

He shoots me a smile, "Alright…Marleene."

Eyeing the door that's been open since my guard came in, I ask, "Is it worth asking to be let out for a walk? It doesn't matter where; I just wanna read somewhere where it isn't a claustrophobically tight."

Mark scratches his forehead looking like he's going to deny my request, "Fuck it," my face lights up, "Yeah, you're the only patient I've had to escort that wasn't on the brink of insanity. C'mon, I'll just tell them that I was on guard, doing my duty and whatever. Is the Family Waiting Room okay?"

"Better than that!"

ΔΔΔΔ

For the better part of the time Mark and I have been lounging the waiting room, I've been catching up with my romance. I'm up to '98. I mostly rant about how things are going, ya' know. How one week I took the kid to meet single most important men in my life, Pops and Uncle Vidal, and how mortified I was when the two evil men recounted tales of my childhood. One entry talked entirely of how in the two months we'd been together, 'till that date, I felt like Punk was a keeper and how he was the only one to really make a breakthrough. Another spoke about the things we discovered about each other. In one, I stated how we had something going on prior to those two months, nothing physical but it was unofficial…everything was still off the record.

At times, I feel like I can catch and hold onto glimpses of the past I concealed in these notebooks. In my junior year, I took a psych class and can follow back on a passage in one of the textbooks that said that we sometimes force ourselves to forget shit as a defense mechanism. Usually, this happens to people who have been severely traumatized. If my memory serves me any, I've never really gone through anything so horrendous just your regular heartache. Though, these memories being fuzzy tells me otherwise.

"Oh, I remember this…" I let out under my breath.

Mark peeks over his newspaper, "You say something?"

"Uh…no, no, just talking to myself," he shoots me a wary look and returns to his read.

An entry for a day in April. Most times, this notebook is vague or just snippets. This day, I decided to be somewhat of an author and be all descriptive and shit. Painting pictures, that's why I enjoy reading even though I barely read anything more than magazines nowadays.

Seven years ago…

Tis' a sharp sunny April day, no signs of slush and snow. It could be summer except the weather is still leaning at fifty and sixty degrees but it is good enough. We're downtown, well, the park to be specific. Kids are bouncing around the playground like annoying grasshoppers as their nannies gossip. My blonde bombshell and I are situated under a shady tree just minding our own. I'm picking apart a daisy as Punk rests his head on my lap. Our world is calm; well he seems a bit out of it.

"What's on your mind, stud?"

He shifts, "Stuff, beautiful, just caught on a though…" he says all vague about it. What am I, a mind reader?

"Care to elaborate?"

"What are we?" his pretty lil' face looks up a me, question in his eyes.

"I have a reason to believe we're humans. Our origin? I don't know, I kinda lean on the Darwin theory though," I answer cheekily.

The kid snorts, humored, but turns serious, "You're a smart ass, you know that?" I stick out my tongue, "I meant, what are we? Are we a couple, friends with benefits, open…?"

Not that I never expected this question to pop up but…I am not ready to answer. We've gone by, what, four months just being a "we" and now we're about to tag it? Tag, labels, whatever, always seem to make things more serious. Marleene Soto isn't all about commitment. That doesn't mean I've been all over the place behind his back, I hope same goes for him but…boyfriends aren't kept for long with me. Guys get the label and they feel restrained.

As if spotting out my inner-conflict, he speaks up, "Listen, I don't give a shit about labels, if that's what you're thinking. I don't want to be just a rebound either, sweetheart. Since the day I told you I liked you, I've been all about you. No other girl in my life and I really hope I haven't been licking some other guy's leftovers."

I shake my head, "You're the only one. Labels just seem to make guys feel encased…the last thing I want is for you to feel that way."

He sits up and caresses my face, "Not in the long run. You make my days, Marleene. You get me and accept me. Waking up in my situation is hard as shit but waking up knowing you'll be my protein bar…life just seems better-"

With the power invested in me, I knock the guy onto his back with a thump and a sharp exhale and kiss the life out him, "Let's just be, sunshine."

Giggles escape me as he flips me over and tickles the shit out of me, "Dear, heavenly, lord! There are kids here, you little degenerates. Take those sinful actions elsewhere!" some random lady yells as if her eyes were burning at the sight.

ΔΔΔΔ

Reopening my eyes, the world comes back into focus. I feel a bit woozy but whatever. In the time I zoned out, Mark picked himself a mousy nurse from the day shift. He's got game, never would've thought.

Deciding to use my time wisely, I jump back into my notebooks. Most of them describe priceless, memorable moments that would make anybody laugh and hide their face. Others are rants about how we got into some unresolved discussion and how much guys suck. A series of hours on the road without a destination or location but joy as we jacked Mr. Brooks ride and going out to catch a matinee movie during school hours. I find myself blooming up over the sweetness of the time when it seemed that love was unfolding until the last couple of pages which are nothing but doodles and clippings from sad songs.

Our stint came to a close in late May – just a couple of days before his and Fannie's graduation ceremony. The single entry is disheartening. Young Marleene wrote as though she clutched her still beating heart in her hands. She – I was left. It was vague but Punk boarded a train with the prospect of pursuing a wrestling career, told me he'd come back, and left.

Crossing my legs, I force myself to bring back that lost memory. I'm curious by nature. I know it's here, somewhere in the depths of my mind but…blank! My hair is suffering from the pulling; it's irritating this whole forgetting deal.

"Am I allowed a call?" I ask, interrupting Mark and Mousy's little get together.

"Yeah but fair warning, shit around here is monitored."

Fuck that! My room already has censored television, room stripped to shreds, and I'm searched endlessly – I don't need my privacy to be invaded any further but I really need to phone somebody, "Too much to ask for a cell? It's deathly important," I pulls Dom and Phil's signature puppy-dog eyes for effect.

Switching between me and Mousy, Mark digs into his pocket and hands me one hell of a brick, "We gotta go about this discreetly, okay? James Bond level of discretion, Marleene," he turns to his gal, "You mind keeping this on the down-low?" bitch is so over that she nearly sighs in agreement, "Let's take you to the bathroom but you got to be quick."

The thousand lightyear trip to the bathroom wasn't really worth it. All Wesley had said was what I had written down give or take a couple of extra lines. It hit me though, I had said I'd wait on the guy, like a good little girlfriend but in reality, I had fucked him over with his own kin. And somewhere between realizations and such, I dropped to the ground and realized that whatever happened with Noah was karma. Because is say how shit cheaters are but I myself am one. In short, I deserved the ending to my fairytale with Noah and the fact is a gut punch.

A/N-Alright, so we've discovered that Punk and Marleene got some history. He left for the pursuit of wrestling. She cheated. So what's next? Read!