Hello all! I know it has been a VERY long time since I have posted and I am so sorry for that. I have had a very difficult few months personally and have not had the time nor the inclination to write anything. It has sucked because writing has been my safe place, my refuge. Thank you to everyone who has sent me messages, I just read them tonight, I haven't been on FF in months and hope to reply to you all this week. Thank you for the amazing support.

I hope to post on Sundays again. It's the goal. I'm not sure why I have been so unsure in my writing lately, everything feels like crap even what I am posting tonight but I made a promise on tumblr to a reader and a deal is a deal. Fifty ways will be the next story to update. I don't want to make any promises though because I hate to disappoint you. I also got some mean messages too about not posting and those really hurt my feelings. But it's the nature if this I think, so I am rolling with it.

Also, it was brought to my attention that Grey Streets has not had an update for 6 months and for that I am very very sorry. That story is very close to me and it takes me awhile to get it on the page. I will try to post that one soon too.

So here is a chapter for EOTH from Ana's POV. I hope you all enjoy it. It's a little different and you get to see where her head was at.

Also, I am thinking about self publishing my work, most of my FF stories are originals that I have tweaked for FF. I have a blog in tumblr, where I would like to post my work, including stories here if FF going forward. The FF formats is very hard to use on my iPhone and it makes it hard for me To interact with my readers. Tumblr is much easier. So I would really appreciate if you would go over and follow me on tumblr and like and reblog this chapter that I am posting here but also on the Edge of the Night fan page. Perhapsperhapsperhaps50 is my tumblr name.

I am trying to gauge a few things. 1. If I could get my readers to follow me when self publish and 2. If you guys still have interest in reading year stories at all. So any help you guy could give me would be so appreciated! I'm trying to figure out what I should be doing with my writing. Thank you guys! Xoxo. PPP

When a was a little girl, around ten or so I was hit by a car while riding my bike. It was early summer, we had just moved to the Pacific Northwest and I was riding around getting a look see at me new neighborhood. The streets were long and studded with perfect looking houses and lawns like freshly laid carpet. We were of course on the dodgey end of town where the rents were cheaper and the houses smaller but truth be told it was one of the nicest places we have ever lived.

Mom had found a good job, she was a nurse in a hospital and was single for the first time I could remember. She had just divorced husband number two after she found him in bed with another woman. She got a small divorce settlement and it allowed us to start fresh.

I rode my bike and for the first time I understood what freedom was and what it could be. Being out of the city, away from traffic and cars I could really ride, push myself and see how fast I could go. I had been out for hours, my legs tired from hills and my butt sore from bumpy roads when it started to drizzle. Then in a matter of moments the sky opened up and it started to pour. A hot summer rain soaked me the bone, but I didn't mind.

I was two blocks from home when it happened. It was a blur and yet it happened so slowly. I could see the car speed thorough the stop sign and I as pumped on the breaks of my bike I felt myself skid on the wet pavement. There was nothing for me to do but slide, the price for freedom sadly is the possibility of losing control at any moment.

I slid knowing I was going to get hit, knowing full well it was going to hurt.

It was the same feeling when he walked into my bar that night. Exactly the same feeling. The freedom, the rush, the shift that happens when you know something it going to change and then the knowing that something bad is about to happen, the skid and then the impact. Only this time the skid never stopped, it kept on going. Skid and impact. Skid and impact over an over again until it became my normal.

I broke my arm as a child but Christian broke my heart and I in turn broke my life. Some things never heal.

I was so young then, even younger than my actual age. I lived in my head and in my worn and well read novels. I went to school, worked hard, had a few close friends. I dated but only when pushed by Kate to get out there and live life. But the truth of the matter was I preferred safety to freedom. I liked my quiet controlled life full of plans and time lines. I learned early that being out of control with your mind and body only gave you a life of worry and struggle. It was the most important lesson my mother had ever taught me. I watched her for years search for love and happiness only to come up empty. She gave her heart to men who didn't want it and her body to men to didn't respect it. She was searching for contentment, love, acceptance and all she found was failure. Though husband number three seems to be keeping her happy and for that I am grateful. But the damage was done and a lesson learned can never be unlearned.

It was strange to me, the concept of love or even longing. I never really felt drawn to another person before. I dated randomly, I had crushes and a few guys interested me over the years but actual attraction, not so much. My mother was a revolving door of attraction, and I knew that I never wanted to be like her. Maybe that's why I never really felt attracted to anyone. Or maybe ambivalent is a better word. I was totally ambivalent to love and romance and even flirting. I had no clue how to flirt or if someone was even flirting with me. It all seemed to frivolous. I had goal to reach and a timeline to keep. I had no time to waste on pointless kisses and eventual heartbreak. And so I didn't.

But then the door opened and a cold wind blew in and life as I knew it was over. It wasn't so much how he looked, though he was stunning. Not a word typically used to describe a man I know but when I think back to that night - and I think about it often - stunning is the word that comes to mind. Tall and graceful, masculine and dominating, piercing grey eyes and and mess if unruly hair. A deep slow voice, each word carefully chosen and placed. Every movement wether it was a finger tap against his glass or a straightening of his shoulders seemed aimed and deliberate and yet effortless at the same time. I remember wondering how that was possible. I was the totally opposite. Everything I did was so awkward and lacking grace but it was all thought out. I was always so self aware. So conscious of my every step and movement. It was no wonder I fell over so often with such little regard for my own safety. I was too busy thinking about the moments to actually be in the moment.

But that night I couldn't help but be in the moment. I couldn't help but give into to it, maybe because he wanted it so much, because he wanted me so much. But really it was because I wanted him equally and that was a first. I was drawn to him for the first moment my eyes fixed on him and I knew that some how, someway he was going to be important in my life. I just knew the shift had happened and all the plans and timelines and goals were gone.

And then he was gone...

We had our moments, bodies press together on dirty old table. Moments that I never would quite understand. The insanity of them would play on a never ending loop in my head. His breath on my neck and the smell of the Pine-sol in the air. The music would always haunt me. His hands on my waist, his lips on my lips, my throat, my breast and then his lips trailing down my belly to a place I had kept hidden. They way he touched me with his fingers and mouth and lips and tongue, like he knew me already. And how I came for him so readily, so loudly. No one had ever made me cum before. Though one or two had tried I would never allow myself to let go. But he knew where to touch and how, he left me no choice.

And then we made my son - our son and he was gone...

I told him to leave, I know that I did. My voice was shrill, my words were harsh but I was over whelmed and scared. I felt my control slipping away and all I wanted was to have it back. I couldn't trust myself with out it. Look what happened! I let it go for a few minutes and I allowed a stranger to fuck me in a bar. It was something my mother would have allowed, to be used in such a manner and in the moment that followed I was so horrified all I wanted was for him to disappear like he never existed. And then he was gone... And all I wanted was for him to come back.

The days and weeks that followed were long days spent somewhere between broken and numb. My classes seemed never ending, professors droning on, papers and tests that seems so unnecessary. I would count the minutes and seconds until I could be back in the bar waiting for him to come back through that door.

It became an obsession, waiting for him, hoping that today would be the day. Thinking about him and if he was thinking about me, watching the door open and close night after night and he was never there. My longing for him quickly turned into resentment. How could he not even try to see me again, he knew where I was and where I would be. Once a week our songs would come up on the juke box, sometimes it was my quarter, mostly it was a customer. I had this stupid idea that if the song was playing it would lure him back to me like a sirens song. I was a silly idealist, living in a book and not the reality of life and love. His utter silence proved every fear and lesson that my mother had taught me and I hated myself for allowing it to happen. I swore that I would never think of him again, that I would never allow myself to wonder and hope for him to find me. And then I realized that I was pregnant.

That was the final straw for my resolve. I could stand it no more and I allowed myself to break. Every day a little bit more. Every bit if the lie I concocted to hide the details of my mistake. Every person I lied to. My father, my mother, Kate, Jose, my doctors, my professors, the Dean. Every lie broke me a little more until getting out of bed impossible. Once I dropped out of school and moved back home with my dad there was no reason to leave bed other than go to work. I would Spend long days curled up in the corner of my childhood bed, arms wrapped around a pillow lost in my never ending tears and day dreams of a man I barely knew but fully created. His voice and smell a fading memory. I imagined him everywhere. His voice and words and movements as planned and placed as if they were his own. In my mind I could make him any thing I wanted. He was kind and patient, loving and supportive. As the baby grew and I got bigger and bigger we would talk about names and life plans for our child. He would rub my back and feet. Wipe away my tears. It was my sanity and my insanity all at the same time.

I had never been so lost or so found before. I had isolated myself from everyone, only Kate and Jose were able to keep a foothold. Even my father was lost to me, we lived together but I could see is sadness and disappointment and I chose to look away and ignore him. I because a ghost shuffling around in his hallways and kitchen.

Everything stopped for me, every plan and hope just stopped and I became a victim to my own sadness because I knew that for the rest I my life I would have to lie. That I created a story of a man, a man that I said I dated in secret and broke my heart. Kate and Jose assumed it was a professor. I did nothing to dissuade that thought. I look in my fathers eyes and told him that this man wouldn't be part of my child's life and watched his rage build when I refused to give his name.

I knew that one day my child would ask about his father and I would have to lie once more. And that because of these lies no one would every truly know me. Even if I met another man and loved him the secrets and lies would always be between us. The secrets and lies would always be the wall between me and everyone and everything and that was the root of my sadness.

Knowing that I had only had myself to blame.

When Leo was born everything shifted yet again, I had a new purpose. They laid him in my arms, I was exhausted but excited. I knew that his name would be Leo, it seems so fitting and the only truthful thing about his birth. And he was a little lion, a spitting image if his father. It made me sad to think he would never know how much if his father was in him. It made me sad to know that I would lie to him a million times before he turned eighteen. But I also knew that Leo was meant to come I to my life, and that was enough to make all the pain worth it. He looked up at me and I knew that my only goal in life was to keep him safe and happy. I would have to build a life for myself now an a place for my son to grow. I couldn't be passive and selfish anymore. I had to grow up and quickly. I would have to put the day dreams if Christian away and build my life on things that were real. My father, Kate, Jose... They were real and there for me, all I had to do was open myself up to them again. I was smart and learned quickly. I could earn a good living even though I hadn't finished college. I could still make something of myself. In those days following his brith I formed a new plan, a new timeline and I worked hard to get there.

Years passed and as Leo grew would often find myself wondering about Christian. If he was married now and if he had children of his own. I wonder if he thought about me the way I thought about him. I wondered if he knew the role he played in my life and I wondered if I played any role in his. I always came to the conclusion I did not. If I mattered to him even a little bit, even enough to see if I was okay he could have found his way to me. I didn't even know his last name, the city he lived in. I knew nothing if his really, only the taste of whiskey on his lips and the how his son smiled just the same way he did, slowly with the corners if his mouth lifting ever so slightly and then the explosion of a huge toothy grin.

Leo is everything good and bright and shiny, he took the worst part of my life and made it all worth while. He gave me purpose and a place in my life. He made it all make sense. Over time Christian mattered less and less. He no longer dominated my thoughts and wishes and dreams. He receded to the dark corners of my mind and he was safe there. I would pull him out on occasion and dust him off, he never aged or changed, he was as perfect as the day I met him and perfect he would always be.

And then there he was standing I front of me, my son close by and I felt the skid begin once again.