AN: This was the chapter I struggled with. I don't know how to incorporate the letters in the story beyond the mention of them.

It's just important to know that the letters are basically asks received at the blog, from mostly anonymous users, to Jack. He would answer them. Around the time this entry was originally published (April 1st 2012) most of them were asking Jack about Pearl.

She was furiously scribbling in a small leather notebook when I entered the room. When she saw me, she quickly snapped it shut and smiled at me.

"Enjoy your bath?" She asked. "You smell much better, I can tell already."

"What were you doing?"

"I write poetry sometimes." She said, standing up to face me. "Your hair is still wet. Do you need help drying it?" She reached up to touch my hair and I swatted her hand away.

"I can do it myself. Anyway, how come I didn't know this before?"

"I don't know. Maybe you just haven't been paying attention."

"I always pay attention." I insisted. "So, poetry, huh? Can I read some?"

"No." She crossed her arms. "That's why I kind of hid it from you before. I knew you would be nosy."

"I am not nosy. Besides, what's hidden in there that you don't want me to see?"

"I write about what I feel, stupid. So most of what I've been writing lately has been about you." Her face reddened as she said it. With anger or embarrassment, I'm not sure. "I don't know if I want you reading that yet."

Part of me was terrified, and the other part was suddenly extremely interested. I swallowed hard. "What if I want to know?"

"Well that would involve an exchange, Jack." She smiled sweetly. "You tell me what you say about me in your mysterious letters, and I'll read you the poems."

"No way." I said, shaking my head. "Hell no."

"That's just fine. I guess these poems will stay my secret. And don't get any funny ideas about reading it behind my back," She reached down into the front of her nightgown and tucked the small book away someplace unseen. "That is, unless you're willing to do anything to get it." And at that, she hopped into the bed and tucked herself in. There was no room for me to say anything.

So I dragged myself into the bed beside her after putting out the lamps that lit the room. I laid there, unable to sleep. I admit, I've always liked intelligent women, and Pearl was the most intelligent woman I've ever met. She manipulated her way into getting what she wanted, even with me. I found this both incredibly attractive and incredibly annoying. There was no getting past that girl. This book was just a new game for her.

I realized that she had probably planned that entire situation. She had known me a little more than a month and she already had me pretty much figured out. Knowing this, I was still eaten up with curiosity about that book, and she knew it. She wasn't sleeping either. She was waiting for me to say or do something. I could tell this by the way she wasn't hanging off of me, or begging me to kiss her, or pressing her face against my arm and sleeping contently.

I reached out and touched her back. I felt warmth radiate through the thin material of her nightgown and she shifted herself, turning to face me. I pulled my hand away and stared in her direction through the darkness.

"What if I told you just one thing?" I asked her, keeping my voice hushed for no real reason except to fit the darkness of the room. "What then?"

"I will give you one line from a poem." She whispered back. "Don't worry, it will be a heartfelt one."

I sighed. That was better than nothing. Perhaps it would be enough for me tonight. "I write that I care for you, and that I think you're beautiful." The words were much easier to say when writing them to complete strangers. Saying them to her was like pulling teeth. I suddenly wished it weren't so dark, so I could at least see her face.

She was quiet for a moment. "Thank you, Jack. I think the most accurate line to describe the way I've felt about you would be Pour lui, je me sens la douleur exquise."

"That's not fair, Pearl. You know I can't understand that."

"I didn't know how to describe it in English. It would've taken far too many words and wouldn't have had the same meaning."

"Try to translate it, then. As best as you can."

"For him, I feel… and la douleur exquise would take far too much to explain. One day, I'll try to explain."

"Why can't you explain now?" And then she kissed me. So I let her, and after a moment I pulled away. She didn't say anything, and simply turned away from me.

So I lay there again, unable to sleep, wondering what the things she said could possibly mean.