What if I told you what was really going on?
No more masks and no more parts to play
There's so much I want to say
But I'm so scared to give away
Every little secret that I hide behind
Would you see me differently?

- Jason Walker

Fall Semester, Week 4

"Fair warning, this is not a happy story."

It's with a violent start that Clove jolts into consciousness Monday following the robbery. It's still dark when her eyes open, not that she can tell with the blinds primely drawn together. She struggles to find any light in the blanket of darkness enveloping her, and she lets out the tightness in her chest she didn't know she was holding.

"Mama, you don't have to be scared anymore," a soft voice murmurs, curled into her chest.

This is where she finds stillness and peace of mind.

"No," Clove agrees, softly. She presses a firm kiss to her to daughter's hair and pulls Sage even closer. "Did crazy mommy scare you?" she asks, stealing the child's warmth and nuzzling at her side.

On Sunday, she'd ditched work (Fabs closed temporarily for repairs), and met up with Cato at Java Java. Before he''d been able to protest, she'd handed him an iced coffee as a token of gratitude for 'saving her life.'

He'd seemed vaguely uncomfortable with the assertion, attempting to blend in with the wall behind him, "Our first life summary paper is due in a week. Syllabus says we gotta get to age six in our interviews by Friday."

"Fair enough, but you first."

"Alright, alright," he said in an attempt to placate her. "Marvel and I are a year apart. We're half-brothers. His dad never married my mother or anything, but Jack was the closest thing to a father I ever had. He came into our lives a few months after I was born. I never knew my own dad, maybe my mom never gave im' the chance."

Sage shuffles, making herself more comfortable. "No," she says finally. "Daddy said if I ever see a monster I gotta stand big and tall and say, 'Go away, Mr. Bear! I don't mean you no harm!' and wave my hands til it leaves."

"He's got a wild imagination," Clove says generously, concentrating on the wall diagonal to herself. "What else has he taught you?"

"Mmm," Sage draws out, "you can track a moose by its poop and how not to crumple up leaves to scare baby rabbits and a lotta stuff on being exra', exra' careful."

As an apprentice of Charlottesville Parks and Recreation, Gale spends most of his working hours managing the upkeep of city parks and local trails, but when a class trip wanders through, he's the first to volunteer a tour, breaking out his repertoire of pitches, accents, and voice shifts.

He and Sage share a sense of limitless enthusiasm.

Clove's eyes fall into an easy rest, when a shatter has her scrambling under the sheets with a squeal. She pulls the heavy quilt over her head and plays dead.

"Ma-" Sage begins, before Clove hushes her hastily and cocoons them under the blankets.

Rocks. It feels like she's swallowed rocks.

Sage slips from her grasp, and darts into the hallway. "Mr. Bear, don't hurt my mommy!" she declares.

"Sage-"

Clove takes a shaky step towards the hallway when Sage reemerges from the kitchen with a clumsy wobble, beaming, "Mommy, you must have the strongest book ever!"

She gives the four-year-old a blank look.

"Daddy says knowledge is power and that book must be exra', exra' knowledge-bull because it broke Grammy Angelie's old table all by itself."

And it's true. Her Research Methods book has utterly wrecked a glass panel on the retro coffee table in her living room. The rabbit, her's, is clawing at its cage curiously. Sage's mouse is unethused with the clatter, sleeping in his running ball quite comfortably.

Cato's feet swung restlessly, "I was five when they told me Jack wasn't my dad.

He used to like me better than Marv. I was the favorite. I think he saw himself in Marvel, a frail, gangly kid with curly hair and a self-conscious smile, and he never really, I don't think he liked himself. He used to tear up all the bad pictures mom developed of him at Rite Aid.

And when I was in kindergarten, I made him a picture frame with some old popsicle sticks and Hot Wheels stickers. And then I went to go feed Porkchop dinner, and it'd been all chewed up.

Porkchop was a small dog. He couldn't have gotten it from the counter himself. And I ended up in a fight with Marvel. He just would not shut the hell up, so I pushed him to the ground, but mom couldn't stand that - her sweet prince in tears, no, no, no - so she picked me up and kept me against the wall, and really, really nicely tells me, 'Jack isn't your dad. I don't know where the fuck your dad is,' and goes to get Marvel a bag of peas."

The table belonged to her great-grandma Angeline, and she inherited it over Annie and cousin Rosemary in her rickety old will.

Mom's gonna kill her.

Annie got a college-fund, so she can eat it.

Clove releases a solemn breath, tucking Sage back into bed, and returning to her own with wonder and bewilderment.

She's nearly returned to sleep when the wind whistles and she shoots sharply out of bed.

Sleep doesn't find her.

They're burning daylight by the time Gale collects her and Sage for morning carpool.

A new mother at Kindercare eyes the two of them for a solid two minutes before flashing an artificial smile and babbling fruitlessly about what a lovely couple she and Gale make. "Your daughter looks likes just like you, such a pretty girl. You must be so proud."

To their immense credit, the two of them don't make the idle remarks that could so easily slip. Like, for example, that Mama Housewife is grasping at straws. Needle in haystack size straws.

Sage has soft features: wide, brown eyes, golden skin, and straight, dark-hued hair. Clove had been dubiously accused of kidnapping some stranger's rugrat not too long after she returned to high school.

The joke had initially been lost on her.

"They think a grimy welfare queen sold 'er to you for a buck fifty at Walmart," one of her classmates had explained, flicking his Parliament Light.

"We're so proud," Gale feigns earnestly, smiling in a grossly happy manner. He begins a long dialogue about the math workbook they purchased for Sage, and how he's unsure of which to get next. "Sage likes the cover to Bedtime Math better, but I've always told her never to judge a book by its cover, and -"

"Mom waitressed, and Jack was a trucker for Ace Hardware. He'd work five days on, seven days off, and alternating weekends. In kindergarten, one of the room moms took the boys to see Liar Liar. And when it came out on VHS, I begged mom to get it for me.

The film was supposed to be funny. A guy who can't lie for a whole day and he makes all these faces, but the best part, the best part is when Jim Carrey goes to the airport, runs after his son and promises he'll never hurt him again.'

I wanted that and I was willing to do anything to get it."

He doesn't take a breath to allow Mama Housewife the opportunity to work in a response, and she levies an anxious, wary gasp before Clove finally chimes in, "We gotta go to work."

"Oh," Gale replies sheepishly, rubbing at his neck, "Well, nice to meet you. I'm Gale, this is Clove. We're the Hawthorne-Holloway family."

Once they're back in the old Jeep, she gives him dry look. "Telling them you're gay would be a quicker stall tactic. You're not actually obligated to talk to them just be they're appreciating the goods."

Gale shoots back instantly, "If I told them I was gay, topic would shift from penis to peacoat, but they'd still be hounding me. Women like her love pet gays."

"They love Mitt Romney and breakfast at Tiffanys. The jewelry store, not the movie," Clove disagrees, and then furrows her brow, "And maybe the movie, too. I've never actually seen it."

It's hard to think he used to live for the attention.

Once they're parked, Gale flings an egg mcmuffin at Clove with a grimace. "I cannot believe you made me drive through a McDonalds."

She's sprawled her legs on the dashboard of his old Jeep Cherokee, "Buck up, Hawthorne. A girl's gotta eat."

"Not only is fast food cost inefficient, but it's shit for your health."

Lord. She should have snapped on that chastity belt when she had the chance.

Clove chomps down on the breakfast biscuit loudly, spilling crumbs onto his passenger seat, "If you wanna pack me a sack lunch, that is your prerogative, but a girl's gotta have her priorities."

"What if I could promise you high quality, dirt-cheap dinner?"

"I'd say whatever gets you hot as long as it's not real dirt," she says, rubbing the grease from her hands onto a napkin.

Gale shoves her lightly, "Ye of little faith."

She snorts, biting into her hashbrown, delighted.

"October starts hunting season, and I promised Ty we'd go for a 300-pound slab of venison. It'd keep us in gold til next summer, likely."

"In case you're wondering," Clove says taking a slurp of hot chocolate, "It's still weird that you're friends with my boss."

"Think about all the money we'll save."

It's a cheap distraction, but she lets it slide for now. "As long as you can explain to Sage why you killed Bambi's mother."

"It'd be just the two of you for a couple of days - no rides to school, no rides to daycare, or to work."

She shrugs, "I got about three grand now. Missy and I were gonna breeze Craigslist ads. I'm thinking a champagne Rav4."

"Take your time," Gale says, stealing a pinchful of her hash brown, and grinning.

"How about a tit for a tat - I take Sage on your days, but before you leave, you gotta teach me how to fight."

Gale's mouth sleuths agape, "I haven't been in a fight since junior high. Survival skills, maybe."

Cato leaned his chair against the rails, adding, "Jack liked to watch WWE. Hulk and Sid Vicious and all those big guys. I used to curl around his lap, ask their names, their best moves, their skills. He loved it.

I was a little more tactile than my brother. Got Jack's attention first. Marvel was more sensitive, more of a storyteller, but he was quick to his feet and slick on the monkey bars. He probably would have been a better candidate to understand wrestling."

Suddenly, he corrected himself, "Well, maybe back then. Now, Marvel's a theatre major at UMBC, but Jack believed in survival of the fittest. And so I became the fittest to fit in."

"Like how to use a rifle?"

"And a good hunting knife, too," Gale's brows rise as his brain streamlines the info, and then suspiciously, he asks, "What's the sudden interest? You're not going to up and join that gang the Bloody Cripples, are you?"

"Jesus, Gale. It's the Bloods and the Crips. Try not to get us shot in front of County Probation."

"What?" he asks, gesturing his arms. "There are no gangs in Kentucky. How the hell would I know?"

"Get a clue," Clove groans at the naivete, flicking him on the forehead. "And no, I'm not trying to join a gang, I'm trying keep that eight pound watermelon I spent seventeen hours birthing safe."

"Most of the time, she's the one that keeps me safe."

Clove's eyes draw to the floor, hoarse, "Yeah, and if we were good parents she wouldn't be so damn protective. It's time to get a thicker skin and take no prisoners."

Gale rests an arm of her shoulder, "What happened to you was awful, but it's not typical."

"And what about us is typical?" she scoffs scornfully.

"We love Sage. I'd say that's really typical, real run of the mill parenting, and we can't just leave guns or knives lying around our apartments because we're scared of the boogie man."

Clove hoists herself out of passenger seat and throws the bagel at him.

"He chased me through Fabios with a fucking knife."

"I know that," Gale says earnestly.

"Then why are you treating this like I'm a paranoid schizophrenic? That was no boogie man," she asks, hotly.

Gale throws the bagel back at her and spitefully retorts, "Because if you really cared about safety, you wouldn't live in Autumn Hills."

"I am doing the best I fucking can," she snarls.

"You think you coming home from school and telling me your neighbor beats his wife and the guy six doors down is some racist skinhead is comforting? Our kid looks like she could be in a taco commercial!"

Clove's fist clenches, her knuckles whitening.

"I followed you here so you could have a normal life. I put off Virginia Tech so I could step up, and now because you made a few bad decisions, you get to retroactively decide that you want to keep a gun around?"

"DC is kind of expensive for the dump it is. My family always struggled to make end's meet, with six people, it's a lot, so no Disneyland for us, but Marvel loves animals, and during the season we'd go to Roosevelt Island and watch the birds."

"Lovingston is the bed and breakfast capital of the northeast. We didn't get out of town very often, and I used to thumb the page in every library book I could find. I wanted to see everything: Tokyo, France, Rome, Minnesota-"

"Minnesota?"

"Mall of America is there," Clove defended.

Then said, "Dad loved the Cavaliers. We came to Charlottesville for a home game in 97, before they sucked, and afterwards I climbed the stairs to the rotunda while he told me all about Thomas Jefferson, about how founded UVA, that he had a message about it engraved on his tombstone. And in his life he wrote 19,000 letters and owned nearly seven thousand books."

"You never had a chance," Cato smiled.

She's a half second from pouring the hot coffee on his lap to prevent him from ever having to 'put off' his education for any future kids, and nipping that one in the bud.

"Well, I wish it had been anyone but you!" she screams, instead.

That softens his features, and his forehead presses lightly against the steering wheel.

Clove only mutters belatedly, "I have to go," and closes the car door behind her.

Clove's tempted sporadically throughout the day to ask Brutus Clark if he'd teach her self-defense tactics. He's particularly jolly today.

Enobaria makes the drastic error of cycling through the same set of questions she asked him last visit. In true Brutus-fashion, he ends up citing the history of Columbus Day as a sly diversion. It'd be interesting, theoretically, if it wasn't punctuated by historical errors.

She imagines in another universe that he was a US history teacher and fights to keep a laugh from escaping her lips.

Brutus would probably be the coolest old man ever if he wasn't a bigoted redneck.

Enobaria's to the point where she gives him a look of resignment and bemoans her fate, but has lost a lot of her heat.

Shortly before five, Clove trails onto campus and camps out under a tree.

Titus catches her at the Lawn. His hair is scruffy per usual demand, and his black, thick-rimmed glasses are sliding down his nose as he plops down beside her, uninvited.

"You're still really into that whole death wish fetish thing, huh, Clove?"

She's itching away at her laptop, detailing this week's Rec Club agenda and decidedly uninterested in whatever lecture he's set on. "Nothing gets past you."

"We need to talk."

"Which almost always means, 'I'm about to ruin your day with bad news,'" Clove huffs. [1].

"I'm not here to yell at you," the twenty-three year old intercepts quickly. He shuffles a hefty pile of graded papers in his arms, piecing them together with binder clips to keep them from straying with the autumn winds. "Just checking in."

"That's good," Clove nods, tapping on the keys, "Because that would definitely end up on my timesheet." She doesn't look up.

"For the record, I'm glad you're not dead. Would have been a hell of a lot of paperwork."

She saves her word doc, "You think the local providers would think it's suspish' if I take out a few life insurance policies?"

Titus leans forward, "Only if they're on someone else."

"I guess this is as a good a time as any to ask how to spell your middle name."

"Wit fit for a queen, really," he says, "I know you think I'm a dick-"

"You are a dick, Ty. Doesn't negate having redeeming values. Just means you're a fucking pain in the ass."

Titus leans his head against the trunk of the tree. "If that's what you're into," he smirks, then adds hastily, "I say that as your friend not your boss."

"Friend-in-law," Clove chimes. Any friendship she has with him is a residual effect of his friendship with Gale.

"Tell CPD that we'll host a 10% fundraiser night. They got it put through with Flick, but at the point, he'd be in a bad place to say no."

"Speaking of CPD, I need you to teach me how to fight," she prompts, staring directly at him.

"I can teach you how to dial 911, since apparently somehow that wasn't your initial instinct."

Clove sends him a dirty look, "And how do you defend yourself in the meantime, asshole?"

"Oh, that's easy," he says breezily, "I'm in the habit of feasting on the hearts of my enemies."

Clove palms a hand through her hair, "So now you have a sense of humor."

Titus scrambles through his bag, and withdraws a folded flier. "Flick doesn't pay me to be funny. He pays me to keep people in line."

"Spoken like a true nark."

"Here," Titus says pointedly, "One of the other graduate assistants gave it to me. UVA Police Department teaches self-defense classes against sex assault. I mean, it might not be exactly what you're looking for, but-"

Her eyes skim the brochure, picking up key information on 'saferide,' a program that drives students who would otherwise be walking through campus late at night home, local resources, and then in the right hand corner is a small box detailing the Rape Aggression Defense classes, the times, dates, location, and how to register.

"If you were as a good boss as you are a TA, people'd probably like you better."

Reasonably speaking, she can afford the $25 suggested donation, and it's Wednesday morning, downtown; a lucky coincidence. The bold print notes the 1:2 male to female instructor ratio. Why that's important, she can't acquiesce.

Titus throws a pebble at her side and snippishly combats, "Darkness cannot drive out darkness, Lolo." [2]

"Ten-four, Buddha."

"Martin Luther King. For someone who reads a lot, you're not particularly well-read."

"Could you be any gayer?"

"I could be," Titus grins impishly, collecting his belongings and giving her a wink, "But, I don't think you really wanna know what Tax and I do in our spare time. Call the number. Be the exception, not the rule."

He's made it halfway across the lawn before Clove processes his confession, "Wait! What?"

There is a special a place in hell for people who squeeze in front of old ladies to steal the last seat on the city bus, but she feeds her kid pizza for breakfast, so she's already streamlined for that spot anyway.

The participants are older than she expects, most in their thirties, forties, and fifties.

It's almost as if someone rounded up prospects from the old country club. Though, the most easily recognized group among them are the stay-at-home moms fitted in complementary pastel racerbacks and black yoga pants.

A few of the stragglers are closer in age to her. One of them, an eccentric blonde Clove vaguely recognizes, rounds them up. "Good morning! I'm Glimmer. Welcome to City Space. RAD is about to begin any minute now, so put your cell phones on vibrate. If you need anything, let me know." [3]

She opens the door behind her, beaming at what Clove can only guess are supposed to be their instructors, but the first two, a man and woman about thirty, look more like underwear models and the last of them, a middle-aged woman, looks like she just ran a marathon and then some.

The younger of the women, the bombshell, is the first to approach, "On October 17th, 1999, a man tried to sexually assault me. I was fifteen. I didn't know what pressure points were, what tricks to use in a vulnerable situation. I'd been told if you didn't want it, you better fight back, and that if you didn't say no, then you might as well have said yes. These methodologies, these ways of thinking were extremely harmful to my self-worth."

The woman straps on a pair of red boxing gloves, fastening them into place, "My name is Cashmere. Welcome to Rape Aggression Defense class, sponsored by the Avon Foundation, UVA PD, the LGBTQ Resource Center, and the campus Women's Center."

The other two instructors wheel out defensive combat pads in shades of red and black, and resume their stoic regard.

Tension thickens the air, then Cashmere says grandly, "So, today, in addition to defensive techniques, we're going to talk awareness and prevention. RAD likes me to speak about risk reduction, but, you know what? I think that insinuates that a victim has any part to blame in their victimization, and I happen to disagree."

She goes on to explain the importance of self-awareness, tools one can utilize to keep themselves out of potentially unsafe situations, like Saferide.

The other female instructor has a city police badge fastened to her shirt. Finnick likely knows the woman, and if her phone wasn't at the bottom of her messenger bag, Clove would be playing twenty questions by now; 'Help, I think I walked into the auditions for America's Next Top Model?'

"Before we begin, I'd like to introduce your other instructors. To my right is Detective Lyme Alsworthy."

'She put the lime in the coconut,' her mind sing-songs unhelpfully.

"-she has worked tirelessly with survivors and patrons for fourteen years. She was a strong supporter of the RAD program and fought for it to come to Charlottesville."

The fair-haired man returns to Cashmere's side, squeezing her shoulder supportively.

"This one over here," she says slyly, pointing to her left, "is city prosecutor Gloss Weller. He's generously volunteered to be our test dummy. During the last hour, each of you will have the chance to participate in a live simulation to practice what you've learned. That's always the fun part. Alright, who's ready for their gloves?"

Glimmer begins distributing pairs to various women, the stay-at-home moms giggling as they slip them into place.

The old bats from the country club don't make any active motion to move, only ogling Gloss Weller with distinct, and yet somehow crass poise.

Clove cracks her back and stands on the balls of her feet anticipatorily, then stretches as Gloss hands her her pair of gloves. "Make sure the velcro's fastened."

She's heard all about this one, Marissa's boss. First day of her internship, Missy called from the dorms, and nearly broke into hysterics over her nerves.

They break into two groups - one led by Cashmere and one by Lyme. Each leader demonstrates the techniques, dictating with a "No!" and then the group repeats the technique back to them.

Lyme adorns a torso-long red pad, and Clove takes a breath, kneeing the officer in the pad. "No!" she repeats.

It's a myth, Detective Alsworthy tells them during a rest period, that complying with a potential rapist will deter them. Most of them, in fact, compliance makes it less work for them. They're shown how to use persuasive speech.

An hour and half in, Clove tries to suppress the budding respect. The old ladies from the country club have got it going on. Their kicks resonate more than any of the other contenders.

"Alright, round up!" Lyme finally calls, and then Gloss returns in 30 pounds of red padding. He's fattened up like the Michelin man.

Cashmere stands before him, wipes the glisten of sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, when Gloss says with a predatory, low, husky tone. "Hey sweetbottoms, where you going?"

She's silent.

"I'm just trying to have a friendly conversation. Women, they're so entitled these days."

"Leave me alone."

He narrows the space between them, "I bet I know exactly how to help you unwind."

Gloss catches her wrist in a vicegrip and then Cashmere goes for the goods. Three punches to the chest, a knee to the crotch, and then he dodges and throws his body weight into her.

Cashmere shifts, knock him to the ground, and keeps him there. He's down for a few seconds, catching his breath, and then Cashmere helps him up.

"So," she says with a thin smile, "Who wants to go first?"

One of the housewives' hands thrusts into the air.

Eventually the group of women unaccounted for dwindles, and it's her turn, and she is so NOT OKAY with this, because, hello, she does not respond well in stressful situations. She ran into a freezer for fucks sake.

The second half of the group is given an alternative scenario; the rules are clear, their eyes are to be kept closed, and they, themselves, unmoving until attacked.

She finds it hard to resist opening her eyes, to remain in place, and she hears faintly, vindictively, 'Like you give a fuck about the rules, lying cunt' in the caverns of her subconscious, before her posture locks up.

This scenario is a liable to give her PTSD, as Gloss calls her a myriad of epithets complementary to the burglar's, "You are pathetic!" he snarls. "Absolutely, despicable."

This is...

Clove waits for him to make a move, "And best of all, there's nothing you can do to stop me," and then he snatches her by the elbow.

She breaks free in less than second, and striking violently at his chest. Gloss goes for her arm and misses, and in a split second catches her from behind with exuberant force.

Clove hears him say, hears the junkie, 'I'll fucking find you, bitch!' and then she kicks Gloss from behind. He staggers behind her, but doesn't lose his footing.

While catching her breath, he throws himself at her and this time she leaps into him, takes him to the ground, and goes for another hit when she notices the blood from behind his helmet, his water-green eyes studying her, and peels away.

That wasn't part of deal, she wasn't- she wasn't supposed to actually hurt him. They got the best of her, got her down because she's weak. She hurt someone. If she can hurt a stranger, someone she hardly knows, what is to protect those whom she cares for, whom provoke her most?

She tears off the gloves and runs for it, for the hallway. This was a mistake. Titus was wrong.

"Anything I can do to help?" a familiar voice inquires. And that's where Clove remembers her from. Glimmer was her orientation leader two years back. She's was little more of a southern socialite back then, now she's beautiful in her understatement.

"I am a not a victim," Clove recites.

"No one can call you that," Glimmer agrees, extending her hand warmly.

"What I did was-"

"Gloss is pigheaded. He'll be fine."

"But that doesn't make it okay."

"Trust me, it's really nothing. Cashmere is my mentor for the College of Business, and Gloss is her incredibly sexy tagalong. He's dealt with plenty worse," Glimmer reassures.

Clove crosses her arms, "Another case of pretty people finding pretty people."

Glimmer's smirk surprises her, "In this case, it's more pretty people have pretty babies. Cash is 28, and he's a year younger. Gloss does this because he feels bad, feels that if he'd been around the night their step-dad tried to attack Cashmere, that none of this would have ever happened. So he volunteers to stand around as our incredibly grumpy, incredibly sexy test dummy."

"Are you scaring away the participants, Glimmer?" a voice scowls behind her.

Out of his padded suit, the guy is ripped, and it's distracting. "I was making a case for you," Glimmer simpers in return.

"Not interested, go tidy up. Pretty sure Cashmere is looking for her little minion."

Glimmer pouts, but rejoins the class.

Clove gives him a pointed look, "She really was making a case for you."

"Trust me, I'm not her type," Gloss says, "And she'd tell you that herself if she wasn't being so nosy."

"Right."

"You had a good shot," Gloss adds, the wound at the apex of his forehead. "You were doing great."

"I was more concerned about your gaping wound."

He smirks, irritatingly arrogant. "It'd take a lot more than one hit to take me down."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Thought about talking to Victim Services?" Gloss asks, quieter. "They're a part of my office. Can help you make a safety plan, or refer you to a therapist."

Finnick more or less gave the same advice, but saying 'I already have one' isn't likely to reflect anything positive on her in this context, so instead she replies, "I'll have to get back to you on that one."

And that's when he hands her a business card and heads back in.

The next morning, Gloss sorts through his mail, has an intern organize his casework for the following week, and works through his agenda, when there's a knock.

"I'm prepping for my morning, can it wait?" he asks, throwing a file into his drawer.

Marissa, his humble, but incredibly sharp intern (once in a while he gets a good one) announces, "Someone who says he's your brother is here to see you."

Gloss sighs, "Please inform my brother that speeding tickets are handled in city court and that I'm a criminal prosecutor."

He's almost certain Marissa is not willing to relay the message by the way she remains unwavering. Her hands are tucked into her mint cardigan as she stares him down.

"Do I really have to deal with this right now?" Gloss mutters, glaring murderously at his pinging phone.

"I could tell him you're in a meeting," Marissa offers.

"Or you could just tell me yourself," a voice supplies helpfully behind her.

The redhead nearly jumps out of her skin, startled, and snaps, "I asked you to sit and wait!" at the exact same time that Gloss tilts his head to the left to peek behind his intern, "Marvie?"

"Hi," Marvel grins, greeting him with a cheerful wave. "Long time, no see."

AN - Cato had to take a backseat for character development. Sorry, bro.

Annotations:

[1] - That is a quote from Alan Ritchson's (Gloss) twitter. He's hilarious. If you're over 16, go watch Blue Mountain State on Netflix. It's fantastic.
[2] - Lolo is a pun derived from 'cLOve' and is the Hawaiian word for crazy. I imagine Titus as Josh Brener.
[3] - Rape Aggression Defense is a series of classes between 12 to 15 hours. This was condensed for plot to four hours. If you're looking for a class like this, google your state and I'm sure your local police department, university, or center offers something akin to it.

In case the italics were confusing, the break in was on Thursday night, Cato and Clove met up to catch up on Sunday (Clove was at the hospital on Friday), and most of the chapter takes place the following Monday, with the RAD class on Wednesday morning.

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