I'm not crazy. I'm not.

[αℓℓı]

Somehow blockade your backspace key. Look at the time, wait for the next minute. Then, write for five straight minutes, at LEAST, WITHOUT stopping, without backspacing or deleting ANYTHING--don't even correct spelling mistakes. Don't fix anything afterwords, either--post it just like that.

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Start: 12:12am
End: 12:17am

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I'm crazy. I'm fucking insane. No. No, I'm not. I'm worthless, it's good though because that's my upurose. I aan't write for my life, even if, yet, people tell me so. I can't do anything right because no one ever compliments my efforts. I'm sixteen, wasted my entire life believing I'd die before I reached being old enough to even go to college. And yet I'm still here, right? It's not like I don't dislike my life. Not like I do. I can't afford to say such things as "I'm gonna go kill myself alright kthnxbai" aloud. I have goals, as trivial as they may seem. I want to write, I really do. I want to sit infront of a computer every hour of the day that I'm awake and do nothing but write and write and never stop writing. It's all I'm fgood for, even though I'm not actually good for it. Fuck, this thing has a lot of typos, I keep trying to hit backspace. Oh well. Right, bck on track. I'm the kind of person wh can't help but hate herself. What is so special about ME? What am I, of all people in this world, good for, if not to pelase others? That's all that any single person should be good for; and yet, some have such huge aspirations that they become renown throughout the world. Bill Gates. American Presidents. Radicals and deviants. People whom make peace in little settings are not known. People who follow the rules, like they tell us all to, are not the ones whom make history. Those whom break the rules, the revlutionaries, they are the ones. THEY make history, they are the ones with their names in textbooks that stupid kids like me in stupid schools have to read about and complain about or say, "Hey, that person was kinda fucking cool." Like Alexander the Great. Napolean. Amazing, so fucking amazing. I remember watching smoe show about Alexander the Great when I was a kid, an anime. It was really weird. But this isn't anything. We are all pawns, here on the face of this vast world, which in itself is nothing more than, at most, a rook on the chessboard that is the entire surrounding enbvironment. The galaxy. We're all pawns, under the control of the rook. And yet we're destroying her, this poor, pitiful planet, in our own senseless, greedy ways. We can't help but take everything that we desire, to do anything that we desire, because we all just do what we want. I know I do. And yet, I feel that we have very little free will. Few acts can be defined as more than reactions to social cues. You're reading this because you're on this page, but why? It is because you feel like it. Or do you feel oblidged?

[αℓℓı]

Write a sex scene in 100 words or less.

Obviously, this is gonna have sex in it.
And you know me well enough, hopefully, to know it'll be male x male.
It won't be graphic at all though. Well... Just read it, haha.
Oh, and because it's how I wrote it naturally, this is from the first-person perspective of some 26-year-old man.
-/no excuses- This is weird. x]
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We slip out of the club. No one notices as we literally fall into my car; I hardly remember to lock it--he's already pulling off our clothes.

It's so quick, I don't even realize it happened. In. Out. Dripping. Hot breath mingling. He relaxes in the back, tired, as I slip into the driver's seat.

"Can I take you home?" I'm not a pedo. I'm not.

"No." he breathes, pretty blue eyes dazzling even in the dim light of the early-AM.

But I do anyway. I rev the engine, buckle up, and pull onto the highway.

What will my wife say?

[αℓℓı]

Not a prompt. Just something I felt like writing really quick. I dunno.
From Dakota's perspective.
And by the way, this is a sex scene between him and Noah (feel free to shoot me Near luffely), so there will be blatant, delicious gay sex.
You've been warned. <3
This story is done on the 18th, but I won't post it until Near writes a response to the Yule Thread.

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Heat. It's hot; so hot, I don't think I can breathe. And yet, here I am, still alive, breathing anyway, sweat rolling down my back in tiny little rivulets. The hot air is getting to me, filling my head, burning my brain cells; I can't think and all I know is that I cannot see. I cannot see the bedroom around me, the ceiling, nor can I even see the body pressed up against my own. But then I realize that it is simply because my eyes are closed, shielding my pupils against the outside world; I don't want to see this. I'm afraid to see this. What if I don't like what I see?

But when I open my eyes--taking in a breath as I do, for my lungs feel like they're ready to burst--my own vision meets gold. Liquid gold. So hot, it melts my pupils, it melts my soul, boring holes in my being. I'm so sure he can see right through me, see past my face, past the oceans and through the mud--that mud which coats my body, a dirt I cannot be rid of. I'm absolutely certain he can see into my mind, into my past, and that he's judging every little thing I do.

And yet, he smiles. It's nothing more than a smalls mile, so little it's hardly there; it even shows his canine teeth, tucked safely behind his bottom lip but still more pointed than my own. Like a vampire, I can't help but think; and vampires can see right through you, they can smell your fear. And they drink your lifeblood right out of you.

His hands are rubbing along one of my hip piercings, toying with it, testing it; he wants to see my reactions, I decide, but I also decide to not give him any. And yet, despite my own desires, my lips part slightly, throat vibrating out a little moan, my hips pressing up against his hand, his body. I'm overwhelmed by this need, this desire, and my thoughts trace back to his fangs. He's touching this filthy body of mine--and he simply must know how dirty it is--and yet, he flashed me that smile? Perhaps he did it to show me his fangs; after all, he does know. Was it a threat? It had to have been. He's going to kill me from the inside out, destroy my body and then my soul; he'll lap up my blood, my essence, then I'll be gone, completely and entirely owned by him.

I want him to, I realize, leaning back my head. Bleached, pure-white hair falls over my shoulders, sending a shiver down my spine as the tickling sensation shoots through my arm. He's my vampire, my owner, and I'm simply letting him take what I believe he wants, because I want him to own me entirely. I want to give him all I am, even if it is tainted; even if it is filthy. Even if he doesn't want it, it is his, because I decided to give it to him long ago.

His head dips down, lips pressing against the flesh of my neck. I can feel him searching for my jugular, as if he can read my mind; but he does not pierce it. His nose and lips run so faintly against my skin that I feel like I'll go insane, but then I melt at the sudden, comforting wetness of his tongue trailing along my skin. I shudder, my body pressing up against his; he's holding me there, trapping me against my own bed, one hand holding down my shoulder, the other teasing at my hips. But that hand soon bores of the silver jewelry adorning my flesh and lowers, pointed fingernails trailing down my waist and to my pubic area, where hair would greet him had it not been waxed off merely a day before. I hear him hiss a 'Tch' under his breath as his fingers play along the smooth flesh, ever so slightly slick from sweat. I wince, and I'm sure he notices; what's with that? I wonder for a moment if it displeases him, but I can't help but chide myself. That's always how it's been; I've always waxed hair from my body as soon as it starts growing back. Or at least, I have for many years. But I can't help but wonder if he is growing tired of it, and it forces me into a state of self-consciousness, turning my head away from him as his lips enclose on a small, sensitive spot of my neck, sucking on it. I feel his teeth nibble against it and wish he would simply sink his fangs into it, draw out my blood, draw out my life and leave me to die so that I could cease existing. I don't want to exist in this shame; but again, he seems to read my mind, and I don't even realize it until the hot air feels cold against the wet section of skin--and before I can even register why it feels like such, his hand removes itself from my shoulder and he pushes my head back to the side, liquid gold churning, as if eager to enter me, take me, devour me whole. Again he allows his head to sink, to become partial to gravity, and his lips meet mine, though mine open easily.

I want him. I need him. I need this. And yet all I can do is give a pathetic whimper as his tongue invades my mouth, sending my heart aflutter so easily that it skips a beat and my belly fills with lust, my body trembling under the weight of his own. But the kiss is short lived and his lips return to that ever-sensitive spot on my neck, nibbling at it. One of my arms is curled around the middle of his back, fingers riding up and down the ridges of his spine. My other slips up, fingers loosing themselves in his jungle of purple hair, not at all intimidated by it's unbridled pride. My fingers press against his scalp, urging his head down further against my neck, as if I were a ghost and he could simply pass right through me. But he knows he can't, and I know it too; and he catches the hint. I swear I can hear him laughing at this, my masochism, so unreal in that it does hurt. He presses a sharpened tooth to my flesh, teasing me. Perhaps he is not, but I feel like he is, and I shudder, hand putting more pressure against his scalp, forcing the tooth into my skin, past a layer or two, easily drawing a trickle of blood. I must be a masochist to want him to do this to me; but it is not the pain I enjoy. Rather, it is something I dislike quite a bit. It is, in fact, the pain slowly fading into a numbing feeling that turns me on, further and further into this spiral of red, of pink, of purple and white and hot, blissful passion.

He pulls his head away, despite my arm's resistance, and lowers then lowers it again, this time down further, sticking out his tongue and pressing it to my collar bone, teasing the skin where I'm extremely sensitive. As if only to make me desire him more he quickly abandons the spot, his tongue moving down just as his hand has done; while the wet muscle traces circles around my left nipple, his hand is stroking along the base of my cock, pinky finger rubbing against it's side as he presses it between my balls, as if to reach for the piercing not far beyond. His index finger runs up along the side, his hand following slowly while his teeth sink into the hard little pink nub above. I'm sitting up, now, though at a weird, slightly uncomfortable angle, with my shoulders and neck supporting my weight against the cold wall. My hands move to loose themselves in his hair, unable to reach far enough forward to pleasure him at the same time.

It doesn't take his fingers long to slide up the length of the shaft; his thumb and index finger pinch the ball at the top of my apadravya piercing; his pinkie wraps around and rubs against the ball at the other end of the diagonal glan piercing, but soon his palm is rubbing over the head and he's working his fingers, stroking up and down, occasionally playing with my balls while his tongue continues to tease at my nipple. My body is completely weak and I've almost given in to him entirely, but even in my slavery I still want. I still desire, I still need. I still thirst, I still hungry. I am only human, and my desires cannot be suppressed. I whimper his name, but I am not entirely sure he hears me. Nevertheless, my fingers move down, cupping over his ears and forcing his head up. I want him to look at me with those eyes of his, those eyes that have melted through every single one of my facades; I want him to see through me as if I were glass. But he takes it as something else and moves his free arm up, wrapping around my neck, and while his hand still works along my throbbing cock, one finger tapping at the little hole, rubbing my precum in little circles, his head has moved forward and his lips have captured mine once again.

I'm his. I'm entirely his. A slave. Nothing more. He owns everything that is me; my body, my soul, my heart. My thoughts are clear to him because I know that he can see right through my mind and into even the darkest corners and while I am afraid of what he can see there, I embrace him, my arms tight about his neck. This time my tongue fights back, our hot breaths mingling; I'm sure mine tastes of peppermint for, before the room was darkened, I was pleasantly sucking on such candies. His tastes of poison, an addictive poison that reminds me briefly of alcohol, but the flavor is something of which I cannot quite place. Even so, I savor the flavor, enjoying it thoroughly.

Without knowing it, I had somehow given myself entirely to him. I cannot remember when. All I know is that he owns me. He owns me entirely, and I am his; and he is free to give me away if he ever so wishes, but I will still cling to him, like a pathetic little child. Isn't that what I'm doing now, anyway?

I decide that I don't want to act like some simple preteen. I'm seventeen, now; my birthday wasn't long ago. Seventeen, for some reason, feels so much older than sixteen; I feel less like a child and more grown up, so close to that golden, legal age, so close that it no longer even matters. So what if I'm not quite eighteen? So what if this man is years older than me? What should that matter? Love cannot be measured in years. It is measured in the moments of memory and heart.

There's a pause in our tongues' battle; he's taking in a deep breath, the hand around my shaft slowed for a moment. I take this as an opportunity and raise his head further, one hand pushing him back and forcing him up on his knees, raising him and holding the lowest edges of his ass while I follow, moving to tuck my legs under me, knees boring into the bed while I wrap an arm around the small of his back.

Is it enough for me to love him with every bit of my entirety? Is it enough for him? I can't help but wonder; it is enough, for me, that he even bothers to spare a glance in my direction, for he is so wonderful and so amazing. I realize that, without this man, I would surely die. I could not bear being apart from him. I learned long ago to not give all of my love to one person, for if they were to leave me, there would be none left to give myself. But I so easily surrendered to Noah, so easily ripped out that pulsating muscle and urged him to take it. It doesn't matter if he takes it with him when he goes. It doesn't even matter to me if he does go, even if eventually; because, instead of thinking of that, for now I have settled my thoughts upon this--that he is here, sharing his passion with me, his heat with me, giving me his love and affections. I don't even want to waste the mental energies of thinking about the 'what ifs'.

His hands are doing something that my own did earlier; loosing themselves in my hair. I imagine some are grasping the pure-white hairs, perhaps shivering as if in the wake of a cold snow. Others, I figure, are running along the various pink streaks, perhaps racing each other, though his hands are hardly moving. I sink down further, tongue stuck out and leaving wet trails along his skin as I go, before I'm finally sucking at the flesh just beside where his tangle of public hair starts. I don't mind the hair at all; I think it's delectable, honestly. And yet, I'm so against having my own pubic hair stay on my body and grow out. I'm opposed to hair anywhere on my body, really--besides my head, of course. I wonder if he cares, and I believe that he must. I rub my nose against the brilliant purple hairs, tongue rolling through them and down to his own cock, licking at it as I trail down, my head turning ever so slightly so I can easily suck on it as I descend, though I feel it stiffening and rising ever so slightly as my mouth works against the meat. It is hardly another second before my lips enclose around the head, toying with the edge of the sensitive frenum, rolling along the edge of his circumcision. It's not something new to me; my parents had me circumcised at birth, and I've never even been with an uncircumcised man before. I used to--and still wonder--what it'd be like, but my curiosity isn't great enough to make me go out and try for myself.

My tongue toys with that sensitive piece of skin for a moment before I decide to press the tip against the little opening, playing with it before I suck on it, tongue rolling circles around the circumference of the head. I feel him shudder up against me, arching his hips forward with desire. I wonder just how great his desire is; does it match my own? Does he crave this as much as I do? I can't read his mind. I'm only human. But I know he can read mine, because he's so much more than I am; he's perfect, he's everything. Sometimes, I swear, I believe he's a god in human guise.

He hisses my voice as I nibble against the edge of his glands before finally taking him into my mouth, cheeks hallowing in as I suck hungrily, a little saliva rolling down the corner of my cheek. I can taste his own precum dribbling along my throat, slowly making way down as if to burn my insides slowly, so slowly. I want it, too; I want to devour his juices, swallow them up, allow them to burn me completely so that he knows how much of me belongs to him--everything.

I don't have a gag reflex and, for some reason, I feel as if it surprises him every time I manage to take his entirety into my mouth and down my throat. Even so I still feel like I'm choking, like I'm drowning on his precum, and I love that sensation, the sensation of near-death that grasps at me. The metal of his own piercing is cold against my throat, but I somehow ignore it. Eventually I must breathe, however, and I allow the hardened muscle to slip from my lips, though I still press them against the leaking head, tasting the flavor. It's delicious; he's delicious. Delectable. And aroused, I can tell, for, without my realizing it, his cock engorged while reaching into my throat, bouncing a bit as it left my mouth's hold, sticking up eagerly, wet and slippery with my saliva.

I think I hear him whisper something but I'm not entirely sure; I look up, tongue lapping at the clear, white-tinged cum. His hands are running down my neck and pressing down on my shoulders; before I realize it, he's back on top of me, our tongues raging war in an attemp to dominate each others' mouths, feverish in our lust.

I moan through the kisses, deprived of his dick in my mouth but satisfied just the same by his tongue. I feel his hands pulling at my legs and realize that he's between them, his cock rubbing against my own. I feel the bottom of his Prince Albert touching my flesh, sending a shock of cold through the heated muscle. One of his hands has stretched and enclosed around the two shafts; ours are roughly the same size, though I'm positive his is one or two inches longer than my own, though I know his is thicker, for sure. That would bother, or even insult, some people, but I don't at all care; I prefer it that way, in fact.

It's not long before his mouth is back at my neck, attacking my collar bone and biting against it, now not even hesitating to gnaw sharply into the flesh, to draw blood and lap it up, leaving bruises and love marks all along my throat flesh. One of his hands are dancing up and down my body, toying with anything that seems to make me moan; his other has lowered, playing for a moment with my cock before slipping downward, rubbing against that guiche piercing of mine, playing with it. I wonder if he enjoys knowing that it hurts every single time he enters me--and I'm certain that he can't wait to tease it with pain. I'm certain he can't wait to enter me, and my thoughts are soon proven as one finger pressed against and into the awaiting pucker, another finger following it soon. I'm positive that he's laughing to himself at how my hips seem to follow his fingers, craving and hungering, needing.

I absolutely must have this man. I must have him in every possible way.

It doesn't take him long to realize this, though I'm sure he already knew. It doesn't take him long to comply with it, either, as I feel his fingers slip out of me; soon, the damp head is rubbing against it in ways that I'm sure his fingers must be controlling; drawing circles around the rim, teasing and tantalizing me as he rubs it against my entrance but refuses to enter.

He turns my head with his free hand, eyes pouring into mine expectantly. But my own roll back and I raise my head, one hand rolling down my chest and belly and cautiously touching along my own cock. The other moves sideways, and I'm groping for the bedside lamp table, grasping the little handle of the top drawer and pulling it out as far as possible, knowing it would fall to the floor if I removed it any further. It's difficult to rummage through the mess filling the drawer but I wind up taking very little time in finding a pink, squishy, hourglass-shaped tube. I can't tell but I think I slam the drawer closed after I've removed the tube, practically shoving it at his chest. He's impatient tonight, not even haven wanted to allow me to wet him properly. I imagine hopefully that it is as simple as assuming he is as horny as I am, and I believe that must be the case when he swiftly sits up, pushing up the cap and squeezing a dapple of the liquid directly on my entrance, not even bothering to warm it in his hands. I shudder sharply, visibly, the sudden cold filling me with an unpleasant sensation that is quickly overrun when he rubs the head of his cock against my opening, getting just enough of the lube on the tip to press into me. In my mind I'm trying to imagine just what it looks like, the pink-tinted lube smeared along my reddened flesh, his cock in my ass, pressing deeper and deeper. He's in a lustful rush and I'm glad, because I am, as well, and I'm not sure how much longer I can last.

My arms are suddenly around his neck, though I'm not sure when I put them there. He's set the lube aside, going so far as to put it on the table properly. I'm pulling him toward me, back arching and pressing my body against his as his arms lean into the bed, head pressed against mine. His eyes are closed and the lusting look on his face is so beautiful that I decide I am not worthy to gaze upon it, and close my eyes as well, hips arching further up against his as I feel his pubic hair tickling me before he pulls out a bit. But he retracts only for a second before returning into me, his pace slowed at first before his lust forces him to quicken.

In and out, in and out; repeat, repeat, repeat. Don't stop. Never stop. I don't want him to stop, I don't want this red-hot pain to stop, because it feels so good, it feels so amazing, and I need it so much. But it doesn't last, and that's okay, because the end is so amazing, and I already know that.

My body shudders as I orgasm, the climax obvious by my hand squeezing at my own cock, fingers shivering as they rub up against the flesh, urging out the cum that doesn't need orders. My eyes have opened a tad and as my finger slowly slips down, resting against the base, completely deprived of energy, I notice that most of it wound up on Noah, though a good bit was dripping back onto my own stomach, a little bit rolling into my naval. I feel him still pushing into me but suddenly pressing as hard as possible, as if trying to get more of himself inside me, though he knows he can only go up to his own skin, and I feel his body shudder against my own as he unloads himself inside me, though I know it's not his choice. It's his choice to do this, but the reaction was one his body simply could not help. For a moment he leans against me, my body supporting his entire weight, while he catches his breath. He needs my support, he needs me to hold him up; but he only needs me for a second before he allows himself to sink beside me, onto the bed. He slips out of me with a soft, wet popping sound, and I feel some of his cum dripping from my stinging entrance, but I don't notice the pain. The only thing I can feel is the pleasure rampaging through me, an overload of endorphins and I swear I'm dead; I swear I've perished and gone on to Heaven, though I personally don't believe it to exist.

I allow my body to relax, finally falling properly beside him. I stare up at the ceiling, panting, just as he does beside me. But then I realize he's moving, dipping down so his head is against my stomach. His tongue laps at my naval, licking up the cum that's spilled there. He follows the trail up to my ribcage and I grab his head, urging him up to me; he obeys obediently, as if he were mine and not the other way around. I lock my lips against his, forcing my tongue into his mouth, tasting my own juices on his teeth, against his cheeks, along his tongue. But I also taste his essence, that permanent poison that's like a drug to me, because I need it so much and I cannot refuse it in my system. He leans against me, arms on either side of my head, body pressing against mine once again. My fingers touch his face, one upon either cheek, and I gently push him up at the same time as his own hand brushes aside pink- and white-colored hair from my face. The liquid gold of his eyes looks hardened; he's given me all his heat, so it can no longer melt. It can no longer melt me, it cannot dive into my soul. But it already has, so there is no reason for it to do so further. He knows everything about me, I know, and I don't care at all, because I want him to have everything that is me, I must have him know everything. What kind of boyfriend would I be otherwise?

He smiles faintly, showing me those fangs of his. I can't help but to see them, and need them; he's a vampire, and he's going to drain my lifeblood.

But not again. At least, not again for tonight. My body is tired and even if I nap for a few moments, I realize that I would not be up for yet another go. My arms move to wrap around his neck and I push him off me, though I follow him, a puppy, completely loyal. My face buries against his throat and I lean my body against his side, legs coiling around his, hips pressed up against the side of his own. One of his strong arms wrap around my head, holding my face to him, and I smell the scent of his sweat and it's so amazing, so arousing, but my body is far too weak to pass those signals through my nervous system.

He pulls a sheet over our bodies, the thin white exposing us regardless but enough to keep the air from feeling too cold as our bodies cool down from the throws of passion. My eyes are closed but for a moment I open them, realizing that our hair has mixed upon the dark pillow; white strands dance. Pink meets purple, a mix of our essences. He is purple, entirely purple; the color of royalty, the color of kings. The color of gods. I must be pink, for I am a servant, entirely submissive to his every whim, even with independence in my spirit. I close my eyes, feeling his chest rise and fall so calmly, and I imagine he is already asleep. I do not notice as I fall down after him, not bothering to take the staircase.

I sleep, and I dream. And in my dream, I'm melting.

I'm melting in an ocean of liquid gold.

[αℓℓı]

Something I felt like writing. Again.
First-person perspective in present-tense. From Atticus' mind.
This is hardly even a glimpse into how weird he really is, uh. It's actually a lot worse than this, I forgot to include a lot and this is only water. Buuut. Whatever, you can sort of see how his mind works here.

Also, I found out, while writing this, that I don't know how in the world to write Kahale. D:> Sorry if I completely butcher him Jazz baby. ;-;


EDIT: This has become "Part One" of a four-part... anthology? I dunno what to call it. x] [/edit]

---

A dark cloud has settled upon the city. The sky is gray, and I can smell rain on the air.

How? How can I smell rain approaching?

I wonder over this for awhile, eyes focused on the overcast, legs kicking back and forth, calves thumping against the wood of the boardwalk once in awhile. The cool water splashes occasionally, chilling my ankles. I don't at all mind; it feels good against my skin. It's such a hot day, after all; so hot that I'm in black shorts and a white tshirt.

Even so, I haven't jumped in the water. I'm too afraid.

Kahale got in awhile ago, though; he's still there, catching waves as they roll in. He's amazing; I don't get how he can balance on that board so easily.

As soon as I think that, though, I see him being thrown from his surf board, a huge wave crashing over him.

What was that? I'm confused. And as I stand, I realize that I'm also afraid. I'm so scared that he's disappeared beneath the waves permanently, that those black waters have swallowed my light for eternity, and that they'll never give him back.

Before I notice that I'm even moving, I've run down the pier and onto the shore, feet stomping impressions into the sand. I feel the need to run right into the ocean to search for him. But I stop as water nearly hits my knees and back up, though as I do I hear a light laugh and peer through my bangs.

"You alright?" he asks, and I swear he's smirking as he stands up only a few feet from me, holding the edge of his surf board and grinning.

"I'm fine," I mutter, tilting my head down, though I flinch upon seeing the blackened waters beneath me; ghostly bodies float by, eyes wide open and staring right at me as they pass. I bite my lip and flinch when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I peer up, curling my toes into the mid-like sand, feeling like Kahale's looking me over. If he was, he didn't say anything. He merely smiles.

"Why not swim?" he asks, setting his board on the surface of the water and sitting on it, gently urging me to sit beside him. Which I do, because I'm an obedient pup.

"You know I don't want to."

"Why not?"

I bite into my lip and chew on a piece of ripping skin. I try not to focus on the hands rising from the water, grabbing at us, trying to pull the surf board down beneath the waves right along with the two of us. They never do--they can't--but they continue to try, anyway. They never stop. This is how it's always been, too; even since I was young, they've always been there, in the water, trying to take me in and drown me. I can't remember a time when they weren't there and I wonder why they're always the same, but as I think that I come to the realization that they are not the same. They simply all appear to be the same because humans are more similar than not, and after death we must all revert to some form of likeness. I wonder if these are dead people, but I figure that Kahale would have said something by now if they were.

But he hasn't, because they're not really there.

"Atti--"

"I--" I wince at how suddenly I seem to want to tell him my secret. I hesitate and he arches a brow. "I... You did teach me how to swim before, but..."

"Scared?" He gives me a kind smile and sets a hand on my shoulder. "I'm right here, so you're alright."

I can't help but to stare up and him and smile--even though I'm not convinced. Even if Kahale is here, with me in the water, they'd be able to grab me, draw me in, separate me from my only source of light.

I turn towards the shore, only now noticing how far from the knee-deep shallows we'd drifted.

"Maybe I am..." I shrug, leaning sideways and resting my weight against his shoulder, closing my eyes. I hope that they'll be gone soon.

I don't know how much time passes before I feel an arm drape over my shoulders. I guess it couldn't have been that long.

I try to imagine what the water looks like. Is it a bright, clear blue, like ice? Or more green, like algae or moss? Or is it a dark, muddy brown? Are there small Pokémon swimming in it--Magikarp or Horsea or Mantyke? In my mind I can imagine watching a baby Remoraid dart through shallow, cerulean water.

I open my eyes, staring straight down into the depths; through it, first, then upon it. It is not a blue nor clear, nor a green. It is not even brown. Instead, it is a strange sort of fiery color, devoid of bodies now; the sun is falling for the night, but in it's last stand it is shooting out bright oranges, yellows, reds, coppers, pinks, and golds, which reflect from the clouds down into the liquid that I'm currently so at the mercy of. It is a strange sort of purple-red right now, where I'm staring, but I soon move my gaze to gaze at the clouds. Today's sunset is beautiful and I'm awed into silence.

"Pretty, isn't it?"

I peer up at Kahale. I'm sure I'm smiling. Can he see through me? I wonder if he can read my mind. Even if he can't, he's still amazing. He's shining as bright as ever, a light of beautiful gold and white and rainbow-lining. Though I am fine for now, my mind settling in relaxation, he is typically the only light in my black world; all I can do is follow him, let him guide me, and hope he does not betray my trust and let me loose myself.

I simply nod in agreement. It is pretty. But not as pretty as the light he shines.

"I'll teach you to surf one of these days," he promises, rubbing my shoulder and gazing up to those beautiful clouds above. A few moments pass before I speak up.

"Kahale?" I call his name, but I'm looking down into the water, past it, watching as a Magikarp swims up to my foot, rubs against it, then darts away.

"Yeah?"

"Do you believe in God? Or a God? Any kind?"

He gives me a curious stare before shrugging, looking back up to the sky, as if the answer was written across it's expanse.

"I... I think there might be." I stutter, fiddling my thumbs together nervously. "I mean... After Tammy took me to that other region, and we ran into each other again... That was enough to make me wonder. Tammy would always preach about God to me but I never paid attention, but... I mean. But then we wound up back in this region, and it's really weird. It's kind of amazing, though."

"Fate," he says, and I stare over at him curiously.

"What's that?"

"Fate is... Well, it's like a force that guides us all through life and determines what happens to us."

I twirl my thumbs together, still, watching as a leaf floats by on the water's surface, trying to understand the concept. If there was some outside force that controlled what happened to us all, did it control nature and Pokémon as well? Was that single leaf's fate to die, to float upon the ocean until it rots away, perhaps to never even stop--maybe even crossing oceans and touching the perimeters of far-off lands? Was fate really so cruel? And if there was a God, did He control fate?

While I'm pondering over these complexities, I absentmindedly slip my arms around Kahale's waist, leaning further against him. I must have closed my eyes and have dozed off, because the next thing I know, I feel my body being hoisted.

When I open my eyes, I realize that I'm being laid on my towel, which keeps me from getting too sandy--though, by now, sand has been kicked or blown onto it, but not much. I imagine Kahale's gone back to the water but soon returns with his board, shoving one end of it down into the sand and sitting beside me. As I sit up I rub my head, noticing that he's watching me.

"Did I fall asleep?"

"Yeah," He smiles, but he's not the only light in my world right now; the sun is still setting, casting light upon the world--if only for another hour or so.

"Sorry..." I mutter and stare around nervously. There are two other people still on the beach. One's a girl and one's a guy, and they're together, the girl in the guy's lap, and they're kissing. I bite the tip of my tongue to keep from saying anything to Kahale that might ruin our friendship.

"Don't be," he says, and I realize I was hardly paying attention to him as he spoke.

"I don't like being such a bother to you, though..." I know I'm whining now, but I can't help it. I am a bother to him. I'm always around him, making demands of attention and being so needy.

"You're not,"

I stare over at him curiously, tilting my head.

"How could I not be?"

He gives me a look but I have no clue what it means. I'm not too good with figuring out peoples' moods. I wonder what that face means.

"How could you be?" he finally asks, smiling. I love his smile, and I always enjoy seeing it, but I don't know why.

"I'm always just... hanging around. And bothering you with my problems."

"You're not a bother. And you never even tell me what's wrong. I can't help you if you don't tell me, you know."

I can't breathe. Why? Why can't I breathe? Am I afraid? I don't want Kahale to know my secret. I am afraid. I'm afraid of what he may think of me when he founds out. And yet, now, moreso than ever before, I want to tell him. I want to let him know because it's hit me, just now, that he wouldn't want to know if he didn't care at all.

He's staring at me and I'm staring back. There must be something unsettling about my face because he looks away after a few seconds. I see his vision settle upon the still-kissing couple. I wonder why his face seems darker all of a sudden and I reach up, brushing the back of my hand against his cheek. He jumps, then laughs, and I give a curious frown.

"Are you sick? Your face is so warm." I move to me knees and straddle his nearest leg, cupping his face in my hand. "Maybe you spent too much time in the sun today."

He shrugs. I can't tell what his expression means.

"Maybe I'm just happy." he suggests, and I'm completely lost. I look over again to the couple; they're laying on the sand and the girl's arms are wrapped around her boyfriend's neck.

Then I wonder over the word boyfriend for awhile. A friend that is a boy. Kahale and I are both boys, and we're both friends--at least, so I prefer to think. So does that mean we're boyfriends? I want to ask but, isntead, I just ask him, "Why?"

"Because I got to spend the day with you,"

I bite my lip, head tilting down but eyes still fixed upon him. My chest feels suddenly tight, I suppose because of what he said, but I'm not quire sure what emotion I'm experiencing. Whatever it is, though, it's pleasant, and I realize that I want to experience more of it.

"Are we boyfriends?" I decide to ask. Kahale's face suddenly becomes dark again, and I notice the subtle increase in heat--my hands are still on his cheeks, so it's easy to feel. The look on his face completely baffles me and I feel a bit of regret for asking, yet I'm not entirely sure why.

"I--we... I mean..." He's stumbling over his words. It's something I do constantly, but I can't remember a time in the past where he has, and I feel responsible. A nagging sensation in my gut tells me I shouldn't have asked. "That's... entirely up to you... D-do... Do... you... want to... be...?" He's pausing and stuttering so much as he speaks that I can only barely manage to piece together what he's saying. Yet it makes me think. If I want to be? Do I want to be? Does that mean we aren't really friends?

"I kind of thought we already were," I say, pouting. But as soon as I say this I regret it, again, for Kahale's face has somehow become darker and hotter.

"O-oh... Uh..."

He must be at a loss for words; he doesn't speak for another few moments. I release his head and sit in his lap, leaning my side against him and tucking my head against his neck. I can feel his pulse and hear his heartbeat; I become a little worried over how fast it's going, but then I forget because I've dozed off again.

I wake up to the sound of running water. I feel a bit too warm and kick the thin sheet off me, but the sun's warming my skin and I only manage to get away by promptly falling off the bed. As I sit up and rub my aching head I see Kahale slip out of the bathroom, looking at me, a toothbrush stuck between his teeth. He gives me a sweet smile and I smile back, and he disappears into the bathroom again.

I crawl back onto the bed and try to fall back asleep, but now I'm wide awake. Even if I was tired, the dull pain in my head would probably keep me from sleeping. So I just sit up and lean back against the post, watching the bathroom door until Kahale emerges again, still shirtless and wearing just swimming trunks. Still shining bright rays of gold.

"Good morning," he says, moving over to the curtains and drawing them completely open. I wince and shield my eyes, but he doesn't notice.

"Your skin looks darker again," I comment, and he's grabbing a towel and tucking his surf board under his arm.

"Yeah, that's just a tan. You don't tan, though."

"No," I say, and for a minute I wonder why. "My skin's already dark, though. I don't want it to match trees, you know." He chuckles and I smile. My mind's still a bit hazy, and I'm glad, because my world is well-lit this morning.

"Well, I'm gonna go down while it's still early. Come down when you're ready, kay?" I nod, and he grabs one of the card keys off the table. "Don't forget to eat something." I simply nod once more, and he smiles and gives me a little wave as he slips his feet into a pair of sandals, finally leaving.

I probably spend half an hour just sitting there, watching the door, as if he were going to suddenly come back. Then I slip outside, onto the balcony which overlooks the sea, and am greeted by darkness. In that darkness I can see my light, perfectly amazing and riding a wave of black. I blink slowly, and my eyes sting as they fill with light, and it's hard to find Kahale amongst the waves. I probably spend an hour just watching him, going between blackness and painful light, before I slip back inside and change--a black tank top and black shorts. Not the same ones as yesterday, though. Green sandals, though I can't really place the exact shade, but they remind me of grass. I grab my towel and the card key, briefly staring over at the basket with various fruits and berries stuffed in it.

Oh, that's right. Kahale told me to eat something, didn't he? I manage to grab one of the berries, though I don't pay much attention as to which. Some people don't like berries; some people think they're only fit for Pokémon to eat. I, myself, don't see any reason to eat much else. Well, aside from the salty stuff Kahale carries around in such excess quantity. Beef jerky, I believe. I wonder if there's any hidden somewhere but decide against searching and eat the fruit quickly, finishing it in three bites. It's not that big. I decide to grab the small cooler and stuff it with a few drinks before slipping out of the hotel room. I'm paranoid; I know the doors lock automatically, but I check it anyway.

Once at the shore I lay out my blanket besides where Kahale's is and set the cooler on the edges of both, then kick my shoes off. It's hot today and I'm glad I wore a sleeveless. I watch Kahale for a few minutes, glad my world seems to be bright this morning, if only until the clouds come back, and eventually I make my way into the shallows. There's a bucket half-burried in the soaked sand and there isn't anyone around to claim it, so I take it for myself and sit in the four-inch water, holding the bright orange thing between my legs and digging through the sand, trying to find pretty rocks or seashells.

Eventually Kahale comes and fetches me. We drink some of whatever I shoved in the cooler, which is where I hide the small bucket with the seashells in it. He surfs a bit more and I just watch. Once I go out to the pier because I see a Skurskit and want to try catching it by hand, but it keeps just out of arm reach, purposely teasing me. Eventually it dances away and I return to the towels. Not much later Kahale takes me to get lunch at one of the stands on the boardwalk. He eats some kind of sandwich and I just nibble at some pastry filled with cream, which I hardly manage to finish even though it's barely the side of my fists if I were to hold them together. We spend the rest of the day on the beach, again, just like yesterday. But nothing interesting happens. I nearly fall asleep while we're walking back to the hotel room in the settling dusk.

Today was a day of light, and I'm glad. Tomorrow, I don't know. Hopefully it will be of light so I can enjoy myself. I wonder what the next few days will be like. It's a vacation, and I'm really enjoying myself. I know that in a few days we'll be returning to what we were doing before but I don't much care, though I wish we could spend all of our days like this. I love the beach, as much as it scares me. The water always feels nice. I wonder what it's like in winter, and think of icy sand as I fall asleep. I wake up holding onto Kahale's arm, and he's fast asleep, and I realize it's still dark out. I can see the moon well so I know it's not just me, and for awhile I just watch Kahale sleep. Eventually I fall back asleep myself, though, curled up against his arm. It's hot out and we're not even under sheets. He even radiates warmth. If it was anything else, I would have shoved it away. But this warmth is okay, because it's warmth that shines with a golden-rainbow light.

As I fall asleep, I decide that, if tomorrow is a light day, I'll let him teach me to surf.

[αℓℓı]

UHM. I HAVE NO EXCUSE.
Since writing the last one, I've really been itching to write Atticus and Kahale. Srslybad.

SO. UHM. I DON'T FUCKING KNOW.
This whole thing was a result of just wanting to write that first scene with the jeans. Uh. Seriously. That's all I could think of, the rest is vomited-up random shit.

Shopping part one [because I already know what I'm gonna write next].

EDIT: This has become "Part Two" of my four-part KahaleAtticus anthology, "Beach Vacation".[/edit]

---

There's a faint humming in the background, though I'm not quite sure what it is. Perhaps it's the crowd of other people talking, the conversations melding so easily into each other. I'm paying attention to only one voice, excluding my own--though it's almost a chore to ignore the other ones ringing in my ears, the ones that I know are only in my mind. They're always talking to me, always saying things to me. I don't want to hear what they have to say, but I can't ignore them as well as I can other people.

"They're too big," I say casually, though I notice there's a bit of a whine to my voice. For some reason, it makes me feel bad.

"What do you mean, they're too big?" Kahale asks, poking his head into the changing stall between the curtain and the wall.

"I mean," I say, slowly, and release my hold on the near-black jeans I'm attempting to try on; they fall to the ground despite being zippered and buttoned up, showing my bare legs and black boxers instead. "They're too big."

Kahale's face looks shocked for a second, but then I notice it's become something I can't quite place. I see that expression a lot nowadays, but I'm not entirely sure why. I still wish I could understand it.

"What? What's with that face?" I finally ask, frowning. I notice that his cheeks look darker than usual and he just shakes his head and pulls his head out. "I did warn you... I'm not good at clothes shopping. Maybe I should try girls' jeans, they have thin legs."

"They are girls sizes," I hear him groan. "And no, you have thin legs. Those are a size zero. Do they even make size-negative jeans?"

I kick the jeans aside and slip out of the curtain, peering over at him. Some people probably wouldn't expose themselves in just their underwear, but I really don't care. They're like shorts, anyway. "I don't know. This is why I don't wear jeans." I just smile and slip back into the stall, grab my jacket, shorts, and the jeans, and slip back out. By the time I sit down beside Kahale I've pulled my shorts back on--today they're a khaki color, but they have dark brown lines on them at random parts, which I think is weird.

"I don't need pants, you know."

"Then what do you wear when it gets cold?"

"Belts. I have some jeans already, anyway. They're big on me, though."

He rolls his eyes and I frown, but we soon leave. In the end I only buy a few cool shirts. For some reason it seemed surprising to Kahale that I paid for them myself, and I realize that he has no clue that I have my own money. I don't even really remember where I got it, though.

We slip out of the store, and my eyes settle on a person standing near the door. It's a woman, I can tell--she has a baby pressed up against her chest, and I imagine she's feeding it. But all I see in her face are two empty eye sockets with bugs crawling out of them. I'm sure she's actually fine, and I simply turn my head. Even so, I can't help but shudder.

It's raining today. Kahale and I are still on our vacation but, due to the rain--which I don't at all mind--we didn't stay on the beach. So we're on the boardwalk. There are a lot of cool stores here.

"Wanna get some lunch?"

"Sure," I mutter, and toss him a smile. I'm not hungry--I never am, I only ever eat when Kahale tells me to--but he seems to know that; he wouldn't say anything if he wasn't hungry, so of course I'm not going to say no. Besides, food tastes good. Usually.

So we go to some cozy place with black and white checkered walls. I comment that I like the design and Kahale reminds me that one of my new shirts has checkers on it. I've forgotten, so I'm amused for a few minutes while looking at the shirts again while we wait for our order--Kahale got a burger, I think. I got some sort of thing with cheese. A quesadilla, I think, but I'm not sure. When our food comes I only manage to eat two slices of the thing before I'm full, so Kahale eats the last three slices for me in between bites of his burger. I keep my eyes downcast the whole time, though, because I don't want to look around and see everyone. They're all looking at me, I know it. But I try to pretend that I don't.

Today's a light-day for me, though not really. There are dark days, where everything is black and all I can see is Kahale shining gold and rainbows and white. There are light days, when everything's normal--when things are like what I recall them being like when I wasn't out of medication. Then there are days like these; I can see fine, but... But everything's so wrong. I almost prefer dark days because then I don't have to see people. I don't have to see eyeballs hanging out of sockets or half-bodied children. It's disturbing. You can't possibly imagine.

I know I'm not right.

Kahal doesn't. I haven't told him yet. I don't want to ever have to tell him because I don't want him to leave me.

I do have to look up eventually, though, because we're leaving. I gather my shirts back into the bag and quietly follow Kahale out of the building. It's still raining; the water occasionally splashes off something or other and sprays my face, but I don't mind because it's refreshing.

"Let's go to the arcade," I suggest. We've been just walking along the boardwalk for a few moments and it's getting boring. I grab his arm, wrapping my own arms around his strong muscles, and smile as I pull him towards a nearby building flashing with neon lights. "I bet I can beat you at air hockey."

Of course, it turns out that I can't beat him at air hocket. He wins twice in a row. Then again. So I give up and decide to try out one of those coin-drop games. I don't really get what it's all about but Kahale explains it to me while I'm dropping in a coin. You have to put in a coin and try to time it right. When it retracts, the back pushes against your coin and, hopefully, coins in the very front will fall off the edge and into the pot below, and you get tickets. The more coins you drop into the pot, the more tickets you get.

Kahale wanders off to play some kind of hoop game. I don't pay much attention to what it is, because I'm dropping in a couple coins at a time into the machine. I manage to get five sliding down in at once, sort of. When the back pushes them all forward, so many coins in the front start dropping that I get the attention of a few people around me. They're watching me--and I know, at least for a few minutes, that I'm not imagining it. Some are eying the tickets spewing out from the little slot, but no one pays attention for long.

I fold up the tickets and shove them into my pocket. The machine I'm at doesn't look like I can get many more to drop so I go to another machine. I figure that my other tactic worked well enough, so I repeat the same five-coin-drop process here. A lot of coins fall. A lot of tickets come out. By the time I've repeated this process at all the machines, I've had to grab a large cup to keep all the tickets in, and even still it barely holds them all, even neatly folded up.

I lean up against the front counter and push the cup of tickets--and many extras--towards one of the workers, who pours them out into some kind of machine that counts them. At least, that's what it seems like. I try not to pay attention to the man himself, though.

While the machine's counting my tickets, Kahale comes over. He smiles at me, and I can't help but smile back. He's got such a cool smile. Cool doesn't seem like the right word, though. What would be the right word? I'm not sure.

The man behind the counter captures my attention again and hands me a slip of paper.

"Seven thousand four-hundred and fifty-five tickets." he says. I just nod, looking over the paper for a moment before turning to Kahale and smiling.

"What should I get?" I ask, leaning against him. I guess seven thousand four-hundred and fifty-five tickets is a lot, because he looks stunned. So I turn back to look at the shelves lined with toys and gadgets. Most of them are cheap, but some of them are quite expensive. I bet a lot of people waste a lot of money only to get prizes that are worth less than half of what they actually spent for tokens.

There are lots of plushies here. There are Pikachu, Pachirisu, Pidgey. Mostly those. There are a couple others, though, most of which I can't quite tell what they are. But there is one that catches my eye; its a Politoad. I remember that there was a magician who visited us in the ward a few times, and he had a Politoad, except his was pink and blue. For a moment I only remember the ward, however, and I just stare at it forlornly; then I remember how much fun it was when they visited. I think I'll get that.

"I want that one," I say, pointing to the life-sized Pokémon plush. He grabs it and hands it to me, then takes my paper and writes something down.

"You have four thousand four-hundred and fifty-five tickets left."

That's a lot. I frown for a second, but smile brightly as the man pulls the plush from the shelf and hands it to me.

"Do you want anything? I don't know what to get." I offer, leaning sideways against Kahale and staring up at him. He shakes his head with a smile. "Oh. Okay." So I right myself and look down into the glass counter. There's a lot of little stuff in there. Some bigger things. Some different types of TMs and pokeballs. There's some sort of electronic thing that costs four-thousand tickets. It looks pretty cool, so I tell him I want that. He pulls out one of the boxes and hands it over to me. I pick out some sort of four-hundred ticket spinning toy that I plan to give my Pok?mon, and as many of the five-ticket peppermints that I can get. I've used up every single ticket and I'm quite happy.

"Can you hold this for me for a second?" I ask, pouting up at Kahale. I know I don't have to add that pout, and for a second I feel bad for doing so. But he smiles and holds the Politoad plush under one of those big, strong arms of his. It takes a lot of effort for me to hold it with both of my arms, and he so easily just holds it with one. He's so strong.

I turn back to the man pushing the peppermint candies towards me and shove them all in a side pocket in my shorts, which zips closed sideways. The spinning toy is in a box and the man gives me a small bag to keep it in, which I manage to fit the electronic thing in as well. No, I'm not really sure what the thing is, but it looks cool. And it cost a lot of tickets. So, hopefully, it's worth it.

As we walk outside of the arcade I notice that it's somehow gotten darker. The rain's falling heavier and the clouds are such a dark gray that for a moment I wonder if it's my imagination. But I hear someone commenting to someone else how dark the sky is today and decide that this must be natural.

For a moment I lean against Kahale and look around, holding the bag to my chest. Almost straight across the street from where I'm standing is some old couple selling berries and fruits. Some I recognize, some I don't; I see some exotic-looking pink and yellow one.

"Let's head back before it gets much worse," Kahale says, turning away from me, in the direction of the hotel we're staying at.

"You go ahead. I wanna see what that cool-looking berry tastes like," I tell him, pointing over at the old couple's stall. They seem to be closing for the day, but I figure they won't mind another customer. He smiles and nods and holds the two bags I hand to him, though I don't hear him walking away as I slip out from under the cover of the boardwalk's overhead and simply walk over to the stall. Not run. I dislike having to run, it makes me really tired and hurts my chest. "Uh, hi." I try to smile at them, but their mouths are hanging open and bleeding. The lady's hair almost looks like it's on fire, and I can't tell if that's her natural hair color or if it's just me. I keep my eyes down, trying hard to not think of their faces. Of any faces. "I'd like to try this one," I pluck up one of the pink-and-yellow fruits and pay for it--it's expensive, for fruit. But when I bite into it I don't at all care, because it's absolutely delicious. So I buy the last few they have--as well as a few other berries and fruit. I try not to touch the old man's hand as I pay, but I still feel cold, wet skin touching my own, and it sends goosebumps riding along my flesh. It feels slimey.

I give a little bow and pretend to smile as I turn and half-skip back through the rain to the other side where Kahale is still waiting for me. I'm soaked now, but I don't care. It feels really nice.

"Ready?" he asks, but he knows I am. I just nod and continue nibbling at the fruit.

"Taste this," I practically demand, ripping off a piece of the fruit and holding it up to him. "It's amazing."

He looks over at me and takes it, though he seems a bit... What? I don't really know. Maybe hesitant. But he grins when he tastes it and nods.

"You're right, that's really good. It's sweet."

We're mostly quiet as we walk the rest of the way back to the hotel. Kahale only gets a bit damp so he doesn't need to change, but I'm soaked so I put the fruit on the counter in the kitchen-like area of the room and strip, carelessly tossing the wet clothes onto the tile. They practically stick to each other almost as much as they were stickign to my skin.

Even though he didn't need to, Kahale changes anyway. He was wearing jeans but now he's just wearing some sweat pants. By the time he comes back I've already changed and am drying my hair with a towel I found in the bathroom. I'm on the patio with the door wide open, just standing there barefoot while I furiously rub at my hair.

"The storm's getting pretty bad," I comment when I hear him walking around behind me. "Oh! Did you see that? Lightning." I grin, curling my toes against the cold cement. But it's getting a bit too chilly for me so I close the door and slip back inside, fall onto the bed, and toss the towel aside. My Politoad plush is there, as well as the bag with the toy and the electronic thing. I set them on the nearby lamp table and just hug the stuffed toy, watching Kahale turn on the TV and change to the weather station. He sits on the edge of the bed and I can tell that he's completely concentrating on watching the large dark-green blob rolling over our area of the map. It's large and covering a good portion of the shown map, but the way it's traveling shows that it won't last as ont on our part of the region.

"For those vacationing along the beach, you'll see some pretty nasty weather for the rest of the evening through the night. The rain will let up sometime in the early-AM, around 2 or 3 in the morning, and will probably cover the area in a dense fog that will dissipate by sunrise. Expect heavy rains until. These red parts show where thunderstorms will probably show up."

I listened to the weather man as he spoke but when he started talking about the city neighboring the one we were in, I divided my attention back to Kahale.

"At least it'll clear up by tomorrow," I mutter, sitting up and leaning my head against the back of his neck.

"Yeah, but it probably won't be safe to surf or swim until later in the evening at the least." He turns the TV on mute and hands me the controller, which I just set on the lamp table. I gently move aside my new stuffed Pokémon and pull him backwards onto the bed. He gives me an odd stare for a moment, even as I hug his arm against my chest and nose into his shoulder. But then he smiles and I smile back before I close my eyes. I'm really tired.

I don't fall asleep right away despite how tired I am. For awhile I listen to the rain and the thunder. Eventually I realize that I'm dreaming, but it's nothing new. Bugs. Chanting. It's the same as every night, because I'm always haunted in my dreams. It's normal for me, though, so they don't bother me as much as they used to.

But even as I sleep, I'm drowning in the scent of rainwater and Kahale.

[αℓℓı]

Okay. UHM.
I know I just posted the other one like. A couple hours ago.
But I wrote another one. D:> I should be gunned down.

And I decided that all the other two, as well as another one, are going to now be called the "Beach Vacation" KahaleAtticus anthology. XD'

This is Part Three out of four and I already know how it's going to end.
I just... have to wake up for school in about 3 hours and don't want to spend another 2 hours on the last part and be tired when I wake up for another half-day of school.

SO. PART THREE.
Part four will be written in school tomorrow and posted when I get home, I'm sure. xD

PS `jαzz : I'm sorry for being so mean to Kahale in this one. ;o; I felt bad for him. </3

---

Blacks melt into grays as reds drip down, sliding eternally, never stopping. Blood, it's blood; so bloody that I think I'm inside my own heart, but I know I'm not because I'm standing on top of a building. There's a breeze this winter, pulling in hot air and starving the tides. It's cold, so cold that I'm sweating.

I wake up sweating to a loud roar of thunder. My eyes see nothing but darkness, at fist; darkness and a mist of faces, some with arms extending towards me. So I squeeze my lids shut then snap them back open, and I'm met with the sight of the hotel room's kitchen. I realize that I'm not breathing only when my vision starts to go fuzzy and I'm practically drowned in air when I open my lips. I pant for a few minutes, sitting up slowly, rubbing the side of my face as I try to catch my breath. Then I'm rubbing my head, looking around--first to the empty other half of the bed, then to the patio. Then to the kitchen. Then to the door.

Where's Kahale?

The TV's still on, and it's still muted. The Politoad plush is not on the bed anymore, but it is set on the chair nearby where the bed is. The rain's still coming down, and I can tell that it's a real storm out there by the fact that I can hardly hear the rain at all, even; rather, it's the dull background noise of rain that I hear, not the rain itself. Raikou barks and thunder splits my head open; it's so sudden and so loud that I have to shove my hands over my ears. Even then they're ringing. It's hardly a second later that white flashes outside, so white that for a moment I think I've passed out. But it's gone as soon as it came and I have to chide myself; I don't pass out anymore. I used to do so all the time, but I eat a lot better now and I haven't actually blacked out for well over a year. But that's because of who I've been traveling with.

But where is he? Where's Kahale?

I can't breathe for a moment and I realize that I'm panicking. There's no bright gold in my vision right now; no rainbows; no white. No dazzling, blinding white. And I'm terrified, because I've never woken up to him not being there before. Never.

There's a sudden brightness in the hotel room, though, and for a moment I think it's him, I feel completely relieved; but then it's gone. No sooner than it is, however, it's replaced by a faint aura of gold and I breathe a sigh of relief. He was just in the bathroom. I suppose I simply couldn't make out the sound of the sink with the storm outside.

"You alright?" he asks, suddenly, frowning over at me. I don't think I'm smiling, but maybe I am. Either way, I just nod, leaning forward and grabbing my toes. I'm still a bit sweaty even though I'm not even under the sheet. He nods faintly and slips back into bed, sitting down beside me and watching me for a moment. I look over at him and arch a brow, wondering why he's staring at me like that. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asks, frowning deeply.

"I'm fine," I say, quite simply. I don't get why he thinks something's wrong. "Why?"

"You look kind of shaken, is all." He smiles and wraps his arm around my shoulders--a faint hug, sort of. I know that he probably won't try much harder so I slip my arms around his neck and hug him, pulling myself into his lap. I don't really understand why people hug each other, but I figure that if they hug me, they're the ones whom want to hug. I guess it's probably impolite to not hug them back. At least, that's what it seems to be.

We stay like that for a few moments before I slip off him to the side and lay down. When he lays down beside me, I curl up against his side, my knees wrapped around his thigh. I rub a thumb along his chest, tracing the lines of a muscle of some sort. I don't know which, but I really don't know what any of them are. It doesn't matter.

Kahale's so strong. For a few moments I wonder how he got to be so fit, so powerful; so very opposite of how I am. I used to think that people that are strong had rough lives--that they needed to defend themselves or something. But Kahale's so nice, and he seems too perfect to have had a rough history. It was awhile ago that I suspended my prior belief.

I suppose I fell asleep because I realize I'm having a nightmare. I don't realize, however, that in reality I'm curling around Kahale's leg, shoving my face against his hip bone, and squeezing onto him as tight as possible because I'm so afraid--at least, not until I wake up. There's a stifled gasp and I can hear heavy breathing, and it's that along with the thunder that awakens me.

I'm shuddering. I wake up panting and can practically feel my fingers digging into skin beneath Kahale's close. I don't know where I'm touching, only that my knuckles hurt so I slowly release my gasp. I keep my eyes closed for a moment as I try to sit up, rubbing as hard as I can against my eyes. It hurts a bit but I finally open them; the left one, which I was rubbing, takes quite awhile to adjust because of the pressure I was putting against it. I can feel my back pressing against Kahale's arm and realize that I turned around while sitting up, somehow.

I swear I feel him shivering behind me and peer over. He's turning away from me, though, and his face looks really dark and yet really pale at the same time. I don't get how in the world that's possible and realize that half of that's probably just my imagination. But when I lean up and press the back of my hand against his cheek he winces, and I can feel the heat practically radiating off his face.

"Are you sick?" I ask, frowning, having completely forgotten about my nightmare. Having completely forgotten about how I was digging my fingers into his body earlier. "You feel like you have a really bad fever."

"I... I'm fine!" he snaps, and I wince--so does he, but he turns away.

It hurts.

It hurts that he did that.

Why'd he turn away like that?

I bit my lip and look away to the side. He's twitching a bit, and for a moment it's quiet. Thunder breaks the silence, and a moment later I hear him muttering something.

"I'm fine," he whispers, leaning back ever-so-slowly against the bed post. "Sorry. Sorry, yeah. I'm fine."

But I'm not convinced because he doesn't look like he is. He's breathing heavily and his eyes are closed, and while he's leaning back he's still sitting up and he looks like he's forcing himself to keep his arms crossed against his chest.

I move and straddle his waist, half sitting on his stomach and half sitting on his hip bones. He flinches as I do and I wonder if I've hurt him, but he seemed more shocked than in pain. Though I don't think I've ever actually seen him in pain before. Then again, have I ever really seen him shocked? He really almost does look like he's in pain, but I really tell.

"If you've got a fever then you need to take medicine..." I mutter, pressing my hands against his collar bone. I'm trying to get him to look at me but he won't turn his head in my direction; he just concentrates on the falling rain outside, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. I try to turn his head but he just looks the other way, now facing towards the door. And he won't look at me and it's starting to make my chest hurt, but I don't know why.

"What did I do?" I finally ask, able to sense the pathetic tone in my own voice. I feel defeated and I'm ready to give up because I'm sure I did something wrong, I'm sure I annoyed him somehow. Why else would he be acting this way?

He stares over at me, suddenly, and this weird look crosses his face. I don't think I've seen it before, but it looks sad and surprised at the same time, but there's just so much more to it and I'm completely lost as to what it could possibly mean. I'm so bad at deciphering his expressions. I've really never seen this one before.

"N... nothing... You didn't do anything, alright?" he whispers, raising his hands and cupping my face. I'm looking down now, at my waist, but I peer up through my bangs when he talks to me. I'm not convinced. "Alright?"

Now I'm the one who won't meet his gaze. I just look to the side and sigh heavily, before I just close my eyes and lean forward, pressing my forehead against his shoulder. I want to just melt into him so I can read his mind. I just want to know what he's thinking. But I slowly turn around so my back is against his chest and I look up at him and smile. I can't read his mind, so I'll just be happy. Maybe that'll help.

"I'm going back to sleep," I murmur, tugging on his arm and leaning sideways so that when I fall and lay on my side, his arm is draped over my shoulder and his chest is still to my back. It's warm, and despite that I'm still hot, it's okay, because this warmth is nice. This warmth is pleasant. I feel him nod against the top of my head as I close my eyes.

I yawn, and I'm already half asleep, so I don't even think about it when I say, "You shouldn't sleep with stuff in your pocket, Kahale, you could hurt yourself or break whatever it is." Not even a second later I've forgotten I'd even said anything because I'm so tired, but I feel like his body has somehow gotten warmer.

I fall asleep pretty easily.

During the night, I think I wake up a couple of times. Once, I swear, I felt a rubbing against the bag of my thigh, but I'm not sure. Another time, what felt like only moments after the rubbing sensation, I think I hear heavy breathing--but I figure it's just my dream. I am, however, positive that I woke up a third time and heard Kahale moving around, getting off the bed. But he replaces himself a moment later with his arm back over my shoulder and I think he kisses my neck, right under my ear, but that may have been my imagination, too.

I don't dream at all that night. We both slept almost all afternoon and night--or at least, I did. I wake up feeling quite well, not tired but a little stiff because of sleeping in the same position for many hours. I sit up and stretch, rubbing the side of my head, the spot that always hurts when I wake up in the morning no matter how many times I rub it, peering around. Kahale's in the kitchen area, watching the weather channel which is on, but the volume's turned down a bit. He smiles at me when he realizes I'm awake and turns the TV's sound up so he can hear it better. He's eating one of those fruits I bought yesterday, and I'm craving one, too, so I drag myself over to the counter and practically fall off the bar chair that I try to sit in. Somehow I manage to succeed and grab one of the yummy fruits, though I miss my mouth trying to take a bite. Kahale didn't notice, though, because he was paying attention to the weatherman.

"Today's looking really nice for those at the beach! The rain's all gone and it's cooled down the ocean temperature. It's going to be really hot today so enjoy the fresh, cool water while it lasts! Just be mindful of coves where the tides might still be pulling out into the ocean. Now back to Storm Watch as we continue to track the--" Kahale's turned off the TV and is opening the curtains. I have to shield my eyes because it's so bright. Even so, Kahale is more radiant, and I see him before I do the rest of the room.

He goes to get changed and before I know it, he's leaving, telling me to come down when I'm ready; to make sure to eat, even though he can see I'm eating as he says that; and to not forget the card key. I just smile as he leaves and fail once more at trying to take a bite of my breakfast.

[αℓℓı]

Beach Vacation - Part Four
This is the last part, I swear. P: At least, for the 'Beach Vacation' anthology. XD'
Obviously, Kahale and Atticus. Still from Atti's perspective in 1st-person present-tense (though I feel it's off a bit; it doesn't feel like how I did Dakota's, but whatever).

Hope you enjoyed it. :D

---

I wake up to screaming.

I sit up quickly, holding my breath and staring around. I'm terrified.

I think, as I see how normal the world is, that it was my imagination. Then I hear another scream and snap my head in the direction of the sudden noise. It's only then that I notice the TV is on; there's some old-looking movie. It looks like a bad horror film.

Rubbing the aching point on my forehead, I look towards the kitchen where Kahale is cutting up some fruit into a large, white bowl.

"Good morning," he says, smiling over at me. "Want some breakfast?"

"Sure," I mutter, still trying to adjust my eyes to the brightness of the room. "What time is it?"

"About nine."

I watch him as he dishes some of the colorful fruit into a bowl and sets a spoon in the dish. As I pull myself out of bed and shuffle over to the counter, he pushes the bowl towards me. For a moment I just balance in my seat; then, finally, I spoon some of the mixed bits of fruit into my mouth. It's really sweet and I can even specifically taste that new pink-and-yellow fruit mixed in it.

"Today's the last day that we're gonna be here. Anything specific you'd like to do before we leave?"

I peer over at him through my bangs and shake my head as I swallow my mouthful.

"Nothing I can really think of."

He nods, leaning on the counter as he chews on some of the fruit himself.

"You?" I ask, offering up a smile. He shakes his head and shrugs, picking up the remote and turning the TV off.

"I'll probably just surf."

I nod, smiling and gyrating in my chair before I take another bite of my food. It's quiet for a few minutes and we just eat, and I'm full by the time I finish what little bit he gave me.

Eventually I'm in what I wore a couple days ago--a black sleeveless shirt and black shorts--and Kahale's in his swimming trunks. We grab our towels and I shove a couple of the flavored waters into the cooler, noticing that the bucket with shells in it is still there. Once we make sure we have the card keys we leave and head down to the shore.

Kahale goes out further than usual; the waves are pretty large today, though that might just be my imagination. At the least, he looks like he's enjoying himself. The air is really hot and sticky and I almost feel like it's choking me. But the water feels absolutely amazing; it doesn't even sting my eyes when it splashes in my face.

For awhile I just dig through the sand and collect more seashells. Then, when I bore of that, I go out on the pier and walk all the way down to the edge; it's really wobbly and I feel like I'll fall off but I sit on the edge anyway. It dips down a bit into the water as I do and I figure a normal person of a healthy weight would cause it to go completely under; I know that I'm not that kind of person, though. I know I should gain weight, and I do like eating. I just forget all the time. Besides, I can't eat much. I get sick if I eat more even if I'm full.

For a few moments I sit there, kicking my legs back and forth. The water's pretty clear but, even so, I can't judge how deep the water is below the pier. There are a couple small boats tied to metal posts so I figure it has to be pretty deep. Even so, Kahale's still out further than I am. Out further but to my left is an anchored-down deck just out in the middle of the water. I wonder if I can swim over to it. It's a nice day out today, completely light, I can't even see bodies floating by in the water, so I'm not really scared. Even so, I decide against trying to swim out there and spend a few more moments on the pier before I decide to go back to the shore.

I relax for awhile, laying down on the towel and sipping at some weird-tasting water. Kahale comes over soon and we go get lunch and hang out on the boardwalk for a few minutes, just on the edge of the beach where we can still even see our stuff. I got some really yummy egg roll and a dumpling; Kahale thought of getting a sandwich but settled for some sort of piece of meat on a pointy stick.

We just sit there and watch people for probably half an hour before we return to the beach. Kahale spends an hour trying to teach me how to surf but I can't even balance on that board of his so I give up and go back to collecting shells while he swims a bit then goes back to surfing as some tall waves start rolling in.

It's getting late and I've stopped collecting shells. I'm just sitting in the shallows, feeling the water splash against my back while I watch the people on the beach. When I bore of that I turn around to enjoy the water against my face and watch those whom are swimming--but, specifically, I'm watching Kahale surf.

He's so cool.

For a moment I peer over to my left. The couple from the other day is here again; they're standing in water about to the girl's thighs and he's got his arm around her waist. They're talking, but I can't hear them because they're a bit far off. I see him lean down and kiss her briefly but then they're making out so I turn away.

I'm probably watching him for an hour as the sun begins to set when he rolls over into the shallows and slides off his board. He sticks it in the mud-like sand below and sits beside me, giving me a smile as he does.

"About ready to leave? You look bored."

"I'm not." I assure him. I smile and turn to face him. "The sunset's pretty tonight."

He nods, but then gives me a curious look.

"What?" I demand, pouting.

He laughs and shakes his head and I wonder what he found so funny, but then I forget because I'm staring at the clouds. My back's to the shore--though Kahale's facing me, meaning he's facing the shore. After a moment I slide sideways so I'm in front of him and move to sit on my knees, running my fingers through the soaked sand below.

"We should come here again," I say, though I'm really asking. I smile and crawl up against him. I feel my calf touching his toes and for a split second it amuses me, but then I've forgotten because I'm pressing my hands into his leg to lean closer to him. "It's so nice here. I wonder what it's like to live here all year long."

"Winters are probably cold," he reasons, sliding his hand along the outside of my thigh--though the motion seems a bit hesitant, and while I'm not sure why I don't ask. "Probably doesn't freeze through enough to ice skate."

"Does sand freeze over?"

He shakes his head and for a moment I watch him, then I shrug and stare out past him towards the ocean. His hand's slowly sliding up my arm--the arm which is connected to the hand that I'm pressing against his leg with. It seems like inertia is working on him even against gravity because he keeps moving his hand up; when I feel him running a finger along my jawline, I can't help but look up at him curiously.

I notice then that our faces seem a lot closer than they did before. I haven't moved so I asume that he did. He looks dark up close, but perhaps that's just a tan. I smile for a second--his hand's still moving but stops when his palm is cupping my cheek.

"Atticus..." he mumbles--I can barely hear him--and I just give him a curious look. He stares down and towards the side a bit. I wonder why our faces are so close and it reminds me of that one couple that I've seen a few times on this vacation. They're always kissing, and even when they're not their faces are close to each other's. Close like this. I'd noticed before that if they weren't kissing but they were this close they were talking.

Well, Kahale and I aren't talking. At least, I don't think we are. Nor are we kissing. So why are our faces so close? He's still staring away and hasn't said anything since speaking my name, so it doesn't seem like he wants to talk. When I feel one of his fingers tap my lower lip--why's he trembling?--I wonder if he has something to say or not; and if it's the latter, then it must be the other option of the two.

Right?

I figure it should be. I don't see why he staring away though. What's the big deal, anyway? People do it all the time out in public.

So I figure that must be it. I reach up and cup his cheeks in my hands--they're really, really warm, and it baffles me why they would be, but I don't ask--and lean up and press my lips against his. I notice that I've closed my eyes and while I'm not sure why, I feel like it'd be weird to have my eyes open, though I'm completely confused as to why I think so. I feel Kahale flinch; he's still trembling and his face is somehow even hotter. After a quick second I start to pull away but right as I do he leans against me, pressing our lips together once more. His hand that was touching my cheek is curled around my shoulders; his other hand is holding my waist and I can feel his fingers digging into my skin, though I hardly notice it; it doesn't hurt and I barely register the sensation.

He finally pulls his face back a couple inches from mine. I open my eyes to see him looking at me, though he looks... I don't know, but the word 'scared' comes to mind, and it almost creeps me out. But not quite. I bat my eyelashes for a second before I smile, moving my hands to rest against his shoulders; I feel my palms pressing into his collar bone. I slip into his lap and wrap my arms around his neck; I'm really tired, and he's such a great pillow. As I curl up against him I can feel his heartbeat, and it's really fast. I wonder why, but I don't think about it too long because I eventually realize that I've fallen asleep.

I'm not sure how much time passes but I wake up to a gentle rocking sensation. I briefly remember waking up to walk somewhere, then somewhere else, but I can't really remember it in enough detail to be sure that I wasn't dreaming it all up.

I'm on the train, I realize. It's dark outside, blues melting with a tint of purple in the air and upon the sky. Peering around I notice Kahale seated in the seat opposite me; then I notice we're in a small private compartment. My head's in my Politoad plush's lap; Kahale's surf board is leaned up between the edge of his seat and the side of the train; our bags are in a neat pile on the floor, which looks oddly clean for a train. I shift and notice there's a blanket around me. I then realize that I'm laying down, which explains why everything's sideways.

I sit up, rubbing that ever-annoying spot behind my right temple. Kahale peers over at me and smiles.

"Must be tired," he says softly. I shrug and kick the blanket off me--it's too hot under there. Then I pull myself out of the seat and stumble over to him and curl up in the seat next to his; I wrap my arms around his thigh and lay my head down upon it. I'm still tired. "Atticus?"

"Hmn?" Even through his pants I can feel his heart beat. I can feel his golden warmth radiating off him and right through me, right into the pit of darkness that just must be my soul, because I don't really think I have one. How could I?

"Do... do you... Uh..." He pauses for a moment. I swear I feel his heartbeat skip. "Do you, uh. You know, er... Want... to be... uh... er... b-bo... partners?" He stutters the whole way through and yet spits out the last word.

"Partners?" I ask, yawning; I feel him wince. I don't understand what he means by partners and I'm assuming he realizes that.

"Boyfriends," he says--and he says it so suddenly and swiftly that I hardly manage to catch what he even said.

"I thought I told you that we already are," I mutter, nosing my face against his thigh as if I could sink into it further. It's not a real pillow, so I can't, but it feels comforting to do it anyway.

He's quiet--his mouth is, anyway. His heartbeat's completely aflutter and I'm afraid for a minute that I'll hear it explode, but I never do. I don't fall asleep for awhile even though I'm tired; I concentrate on the sounds outside--of the train, of distant voices, of Pokémon out in the night; and of Kahale's heartbeat. I concentrate on the warmth he secretes every so faintly. He doesn't even know he does, I imagine.

Sometime during the night I notice a hand on my head, stroking my hair. Tammy used to do that sometimes, when I was trying to sleep. But I hated her touching me.

This is different.

This is comforting. This is nice.

This, I realize, I never want to loose.

[αℓℓı]

Nothing to Loose

An angst-ridden, first-person-perspective, present-tense trilogy revolving around Dakota and a particular event occurring that is going to majorly effect his personality from thusforth.

If you don't read it, you won't know why I'm RPing Dakota different from now on.

Mind that it's unedited and probably riddled with typos, but that's fine, I'll correct them when I get to it.

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PART ONE - I don't pay attention to numbers.
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Sweat drips down my arms, my forehead, my back, my legs; I'm sweating everywhere, really. I'm exhausted. I feel like I'm going to die, but I don't. I'm still here, still alive. I wonder for how much longer.

Guzzling a bottle of water in less than thirty seconds, I toss it into my mesh bag. There are twenty five empty bottles exactly, I know, because I've drunk all of them in the past five hours. There aren't any more empty ones. I pull up the bag and walk the five feet over to a nearby water fountain and refill them all then return to the bench, guzzle down a bottle, toss it in the bag and zip it up. I stretch my arms over my head, then turn and start jogging once again.

I love running. I always have. I used to run every morning for a mile, no matter how long it took me. But I wouldn't run if it was snowing or raining or excessively windy--or any sort of unfavorable weather.

Now, I run every morning for five hours. No matter the weather.

It's a recent change and at first I would pass out when I got home. I don't anymore. Rather, it's different. Instead, I just wander around my home and work on various things. I'm always dizzy but it's become normal so I hardly notice anymore. I don't pass out, but my mind's so obscured and fogged over that I seldom know what I'm doing. I can't think anymore.

One more time around--one more mile. When I'm done, I stand beside the bench, rubbing my forehead with a small towel, trying to get the sweat off me. I guzzle three bottles of water within two minutes. Then another, then another.

It's been five hours now. I've run 35 miles. I'm a bit angry at myself. When I first started this, I could run a six-minute mile; that's ten miles to an hour, thus fifty miles in five hours. But after the first couple of days, I started slowing down. 35 miles is my new lowest. But I can't bring myself to care because I don't have the energy to.

I zip up my bag and pull it over my shoulder. It's a half-mile walk back to my house--but that's nothing. I get there in fifteen minutes and throw my bag of water bottles on tile flooring besides my door--which I don't lock behind me. I walk up to my kitchen counter where my cell phone is charging and notice I have two missed calls--both from Nema, both within the past fifteen minutes. So I call him back and move over to my refrigerator and grab a Focus VitaminWater--Kiwi-strawberry flavor; they call it focus, because it's supposed to help you concentrate, and it's actually helped me clear my mind just a bit after these runs.

Nema answers with a Korean greeting and for a moment I just listen to his voice echo in my mind, then I shake my head. For a moment, I forgot such a basic word. I forgot, even, that I knew it in the first place.

"Anneyeonghaseyo." Just a greeting.

"Ne, mwol dowadrilkkayo?" I hear Artimis' voice in the background and wonder what he wants with me right now.

"Urihago sinaee gasillaeyo?" I pause, trying to remember what the words mean, but then it comes to me and I rub my head. Do I want to go into town with them? Who?

"Nugu?"

I hear him shuffling around for a moment before he replies. "Artie and I."

I shake my head as if he can see me and decline, telling him I've got to send in some sketches for the new outfits to my manager. He just says alright and we hang up and I go down to my basement where I have all of my sewing supplies. One of my mannequins are pressed up against my desk with a piece of purple cloth dotted with gold looped around it's neck, pinned into place. For a moment I just stare at it, as if it's alive and staring back at me, then I move over to my drafting table and inspect the sketches I've done this week. There's only one completed but I've started three others. The one I've completed has a purple scarf around it's neck and I realize that the last time I was in here, earlier in the morning around 2am, I was trying to construct it. I remember waking up on my couch down here and figure that that was how I fell asleep.

I spend about an hour trying to sketch out some ideas. These are due today, by three, but in reality they're actually already two days late. Because I'd done a bunch ahead of time I gave him concept sketches a couple of days ago but he told me to finish up the final copies by today. But I can't seem to figure out what I need to change on the blue and tan outfit; something's not right with it. So I get up and collect some of the pieces I've sewn so far--a muffin hat with a strap around the base, the buckle just off to the right side of the center; a tan shirt with blue splatter designs spraying from a heart on the chest; black pants with blue stitching that holds together the front and back halves; and a dark blue jacket with white and tan grunge design. I toss the purple to-be scarf onto my scrap table--which is where it came from anyway--and pull the clothes onto the mannequin then take a few steps back, staring at it. Trying to figure out what's wrong with it.

Normally, I know, I'd have been able to see it just from my concept sketches. Normally I'd be able to just fix it up and put it on a final sketch. Only in my early days of design did I ever have to actually see it to figure something out, and I'd always been good at noticing such things and even if I did have to see it on the mannequin, I'd only take a moment to understand what I had to do.

I look at the clock and realize I've been staring at it for fifteen minutes.

"Maybe more accessories..." I mumble to myself, moving over to my multi-drawer box that I dump all my extra jewelry in. I pull out a couple of necklaces--one with a black cord and a pendant with a sapphire inlaid upon a silver flower; a black choker--and go back to the mannequin, gently setting the jewelry in place. But it still doesn't look quite right. So I go through my accessories bin and pull out a tan belt with dark brown spots and set it about the mannequin's waist; it looks alright, but now the brown is by itself, and that's a definite no. So I rummage through my accessories until I find a necklace with multi-hued brown beads and lay that around the mannequin's throat. But then I realize I hate the belt and toss both of them aside and I'm almost back to where I started.

After a few more moments of contemplation I put the belt back around my subject's waist and shove a brown purse over it's shoulder. I am, after all, designing clothes meant for females. At least, most of them are. Their sizes are.

I can fit into all of them, though.

I figure that it's good enough and quickly sketch a concept for it and a final copy before I move on to the second of the unfinished concepts. Gold and red, but it looks fine; I copy it down and throw in a few more pieces of gold jewelry and even color in some red eyeshadow and give the subject a gold ring with a large red stone on it before moving on. The last one's got about five colors on it and I realize that these are supposed to be upcoming spring designs. I decide that I need to change the black pants on the earlier design to a black shorts (though also pen in that there will be black skirt options). Then I go back to the last one.

This outfit employs a white shirt with pale pink, green, blue, orange, and purple; the buttons are all multi-colored, the scarf's a mix of green and blue. The skirt's pink with an orange belt and I've given the subject a couple pieces of silver jewelry, some with stones, some without. I realize that I absolutely hate the design but remember my manager complimenting me on it, so I decide to keep it and not change anything. She's a woman, after all, and really picky, so if she'd buy it--which she said she actually planned on doing--then I realize I should probably keep it.

I'm gathering up my papers and carefully putting them in the folder when I hear my dorbell ringing. I realize it's already two in the afternoon and I figure that it's probably my manager coming over to yell at me. I quickly set all my papers in the folder and secure it in a thin binder--which, inside, I've provided a few pieces of jewelry as examples of what I mean with accessories, mostly in bags zip-locked and stapled to the folder itself. I quickly try to make my way up my stairs--though I know I'm not being quick, I'm actually moving quite slowly--and to my door. Or at least, that's what I mean to do, but right as I slip out of my basement I realize that I'm on the floor and that my head hurts. A lot. And that I can hear footsteps, and that I can't even see anything despite knowing my eyes are open.

"Hey, Dakota, don't leave your front door unlocked." I hear a voice telling me, and I realize it's Nema's. "Dakot--Dakota!" Why's he screaming? But then I realize that I can't hear anything else he's saying.

I slowly rouse as I feel a cool wetness on my face. When I open my eyes I see Artemis above me, holding a cloth to my forehead and looking worried. I can see Nema past him talking to someone on the phone--he's saying something about some sketches in a black binder but that if she wants them, she'll have to come pick them up herself, and I assume he absolutely must be talking to my manager.

I slowly sit up, pushing Artemis away from me and grunting. Nema peers over to me and says something to her, but I don't know what he says. He hangs up and sets my phone down and walks over.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, frowning deeply. "You passed out."

"I'm fine," I hiss at him, rubbing my head. "What time is it?"

"Almost five. You really blacked out. Did you hit your head?" He presses a hand to my head as if to see but I bat him away and slowly stand. Somehow I manage to not fall right back down. "People don't black out for no reason."

"Maybe my blood sugar's really low today," I comment and he shrugs. "Thanks, but I have work to do. Is my manager coming over?"

"She said that you can just drop them off in the morning, that she has an important dinner meeting tonight."

I just shrug and move over towards the kitchen and pull out a bottle of water from the fridge. I can feel their eyes on me as I open it and sip from it.

"Dakota, you shouldn't drink so much water in a day," he says, pointing over towards the bag nearby my door with tons of water bottles in it. Because I've ripped the labels off all of them it can only be assumed that they've all been used quite a lot. "It could be why you passed out."

"I'm not drinking too much water," I tell him, then nod towards the door. "I'm going to work more, so please excuse yourselves."

It was rude to say, but I don't feel like being nice right now. I'm a bit angry and I'm not really sure why. Perhaps because I didn't meet my deadline. Perhaps because my head hurts really bad. Perhaps because I have to piss and it's killing me. But the two just exchange a glance and leave quietly. I lock the door behind them and grab the bag with the water bottles in it and drag it down with me back to my workroom.

For a couple hours I work on some concept sketches. I guzzle water as I do, and by eight I've finished off the entire bag that had previously been filled with almost twenty full bottles of water. I toss a few empty bottles into the bag, ones that had been littering the room before I did so. I drag myself upstairs to refill them all and bring one down with me so I can turn off all the lights.

I managed to get another sketch done. It's white with a good amount of pale blue, but there is some dark blue in it. I've even dressed my mannequin up with the new idea; it's a sleeveless blue shirt that folds along the front of the neck and pulls down just a bit, enough to expose a bit of cleavage on most women. There's a collarbone-length silver necklace with little blue plastic beads hanging around the mannequin's neck. I stuck these cute bubble earings to the mannequin's head, just under the newsboy cap--which, itself, was white with blue. I gave the outfit a pair of white shorts and these blue sandals with little white flowers decorating them. I clipped a couple hair pins to the head--some white, some blue, some both. A blue purse that I clipped little blue cut-out flowers to--which I'd sew on later--was hung over her shoulder. I know I overuse purses but the majority of women carry a purse, I think, so I don't really care.

I practically trip while I'm going back downstairs and carefully put all my sketches in a folder that I set aside into an organizer. By the time I've put everything away neatly and turned off the lights I've finished my water.

It's hard pulling myself up the stairs, but I manage somehow. It's nearing eight. I refill the waterbottle I'm holding, toss it in the bag, hang the bag over my shoulder and leave my house. In twenty minutes I'm back at the park. I set my bag down on the bench and rub my neck, trying to stare towards the swingset where a little girl is going back and forth. She's gotten pretty high. I stretch my hands over my head, turn in the direction the track leads, and begin jogging, which turns into a run about a quarter ways through, just like every other mile I've run in the past week.

One mile. Three miles. Five miles. Ten miles.

I come to a stop at the end of my sixteenth mile and lean over, panting, digging through the empty water bottles. There's only one more filled and I down that so fast that I feel like I'm going to throw up.

Not that I didn't already feel like that.

Not that there's anything in my stomach to throw up, anway.

I drag the bottles over to the water fountain and fill them. While I'm there I guzzle down two, refill those again, and set the bag back on the bench. I start jogging again.

Five more miles. Ten more miles.

As I come to a stop at the end of my twenty-eight mile I look over at the clock on the nearby tower. It's illumanted by a few lights and shows me that it's almost eleven and I decide that's enough for tonight and head home. By the time I get there it's just about midnight.

I set my alarm to seven in the morning, take a quick hot shower, down about five bottles of water as I lock up my house for the night and turn off every light, and slip into bed.

I wake up feeling my hand pressing down furiously on a button. Yet my alarm doesn't stop blaring. I pull myself from bed and stare over at the device and realize I'm hitting the wrong button. I pick it up, thump my forehead against it, and practically slam it back onto my lamp table. Somehow I pull myself out of bed and shuffle over to my bathroom. I glare at myself in the mirror; white, pink-streaked hair. Completely disheveled. Bi-colored eyes; I don't have either contact in, the two bi-colored ones I use to get my eyes to match sometimes. I'm in just my boxers, I'm sweating. I stare at a large bruise on my protruding rib cages. For a moment I wonder where I got it then remember my fall yesterday. I suppose I hit something.

I turn the hot water on in my shower and step inside. The sensation burns my skin, so I turn the cold water on, and I'm frozen solid. I turn the cold water all off, and then I'm burning again. I can't choose but I figure I'll be more thirsty if I'm hot, so I leave it on and spend about fifteen minutes washing my hair. Five minutes washing my body. Another ten minutes spent conditioning my hair. Another five spent washing my face. And yet another five just standing there feeling the burning liquid wash over me. I get out and spend a total of twenty minutes drying myself and apathetically picking out an outfit that I change into. White sleelveless shirt; black shorts. Black sneakers with pink streaks.

I look at my schedule for today and realize I didn't write anything down. I briefly remember that I need to stop by my manager's office around nine or ten to drop off my final sketches and write that down; then I go get the binder with them in it, set it on the counter along with my cellphone. Check that. One missed call, from Noah. A voicemail.

"It's me. Artimis told me that he and Nema found you passed out. What's up with that?" A beep. That's it. I delete the message, hook my phone back up to the charger, grab my bag and leave. It takes me half an hour to get to the park and I realize I can't run for five hours this morning because I need to see my manager, but I get in an hour's worth. Only four miles. Then I leave, and by the time I get home it's nine. Three missed calls. One from Nema, two from my manager, whom I call. She asks me when I'm stopping by and I tell her that I'm leaving now. Hurry up. Hang up. Shove my phone in my pocket, refill my waterbottles, carefully set them all in the fridge. I grab a large bottle of VitaminWater as I leave. Keys. Wallet. Phone. Drink. Binder. Lock the doors and walk away.

I get there within an hour's time. It's not that far from here, about half a mile. My vision is really fuzzy so I accidentally take a wrong turn but it still takes me there, though it would have taken me a few minutes less had I taken the correct route. As I walk in I notice my manager looks up and fumes; she's ready to kill me.

"It's not my fault," I say, trying to defend myself. She just barks at me to sit down and give her my sketches, muttering that it's my fault that I didn't get them in on time in the first place a few days ago. I just comply.

She looks carefully over the sketches and nods at each in turn, and by the end she's grinning widely.

"These look magnificent. I adore this last one." She smiles brightly over at me and I shrug, staring over towards her window. I hear her going through the jewelry and I'm sure she's trying them on for herself. "Yeah, this looks good. Oh, but I don't like this one." I turn and look over at her as she inspects a gold band with a large red stone in it. "It's a bit gaudy. How about a band with small ones inlaid all around?"

"I think I have something like that at home." I comment, and she just nods.

"Bring that to me later. Oh, I know! I'm having lunch with someone pretty high up in the office that's debuting your spring line-up. He's been dying to meet you. We're going to be eating at Gonza and Pierce's--you know the place, right? Right," she says as I nod. "You absolutely must come. Just bring the ring with you. We'll be there around one,"

"Alright," I say, standing. She smiles and stands, as well, walking around the desk and giving me a light hug. But then she pulls away, grabbing my shoulders lightly and holding me at arm's distance, eyes scanning me up and down.

"Dakota, darling. You look like you've been loosing weight. Have you been eating right?"

I hate when people ask me that.

"Yeah," I lie, and she doesn't know me well enough yet to be able to tell. "I'm fine. I'll see you later," I say and pry myself from her grip. I leave. It takes me an hour and a half to get home, and when I do I go downstairs to try and work. But I find myself waking up with my head in my fabrics. I stare over at my clock to see it's about a quarter past twelve. I remember I'm supposed to meet my manager and some guy for lunch at Gonza and Pierce's.

I shut off my desk light and pull myself up my stairs. Grab a VitaminWater. Leave.

It's pleasant outside today. A bit hot for the season but there's a pleasant breeze that makes it feel like an average spring day, even though it's not even spring yet. I spend an hour walking to the cafe and see my manager sitting and talking with some guy on one of the tables outside. I walk over and pull up a chair to the small circular table; as I do my manager is asking why I took so long and I tell her I fell asleep. She doesn't seem to mind so much because she's introducing me.

"This is Dakota--you know, the designer for the line I presented to you."

"Oh? A pleasure," he says with a warm smile and an easiness that makes me uncomfortable. I shake his hand and nod, faking a smile, before I return to finishing my bottle of VitaminWater. That smile reminds me of my cousin's--always friendly, always easy, always confident; but Nema's just like that. I know Nema. I don't know this man. "I'm Jeffery Farrah, CEO of Borgoa's."

I perk up and stare over at him curiously. It's only then that I notice he has soft blonde hair that reaches his shoulders. It's combed well and his bangs frame his face. He's handsome with gray eyes tinted with brown. Tanned. Looks athletic. Attractive. Not too tall, but still taller than me. Wearing casual clothes; he doesn't look like a CEO because he's not wearing a suit. He's wearing these kahki shorts and a sleeveless black shirt with a hood, but it's not up. A watch that, though I can't tell the brand name, I know is extremely expensive. A wedding ring. I look away and shrug.

"Still tired?" my manager asks, trying to cover for my apathy. I just nod, my eyes lazily following the blurs of slow-moving people. "You must have been up all night finishing these. It's always been your dream to showcase in Borgoa's, right?"

"Since I started taking fashion design seriously, yeah," I say, finally trying to show some energy. But I don't have any energy to show and I think it's obvious to him.

He nods, taking a sip of his drink. They haven't been served yet but they probably already ordered.

"Why don't you order something?" he offers, eyes following a waitress. I shake my head to keep him from calling her over.

"No thanks, I'm not hungry."

"Did you eat before you came here?" he asks, smiling; I'm a bit comforted that he doesn't seem insulted. Most people would be.

"No."

He arches a brow, looking a bit surprised; my manager's glaring at me, but she quickly smiles over at the CEO as he addresses her. I don't pay attention as they start discussing business, but as they start talking about money my manager draws my attention.

"What were you hoping to sell these pieces for?" she asks, moving my binder--which I never realized was in front of her--towards me, pointing at the blue and tan outfit that pissed me off so much last night.

"Don't know," I shrug.

"Well, what do you want to sell them for?"

"Don't care,"

She shoots me a glare but the CEO saves me.

"Well, let's set the shirt to forty, the skirt and shorts to thirty, the hat at twenty-eight, and the other accessories between five and eighteen each. We can offer the purse for fifty if I can get one of my acquaintances to produce it, since he runs a high name. Otherwise we'll probably mark it at twenty six or so. But we can offer the set as a whole at a ten percent total discount. Most people don't buy full sets, but the statistics I've collected recently show that sixty percent more people will buy a full set when it's total is lower than each piece individually together than when it's not."

"Sounds good to me. What do you think, Dakota?"

"I don't pay attention to numbers," I say, yawning, then shrug with an apologetic smile. "I just put the stuff together and make the originals."

"Sometime, we should auction off all your originals. You still have them, right?"

"Every last one,"

"I agree," the CEO says, smiling at the waitress as she puts a plate in front of him and my manager. She asks me if she can get me anything but I decline. "We're hosting a large gallery showcase and sale in the summer. I think we should sell your original pieces."

"Alright. Uhm, excuse me, I'm going to go home now." I stand up, rubbing my head and pushing the seat in. "My apologies for leaving so soon. I have something important to do, so please excuse me."

My manager glares but the CEO shakes my hand and expresses his extreme gratitude for meeting me. He says he hopes that we will be seeing more of each other and that we will become well acquainted. I smile back, though I don't feel like I'm smiling. I nod towards my manager as I leave. I turn a corner and stop at a convenience store. I buy two bottles of VitaminWater, six fashion magazines, a pack of Stride sweet peppermint gum, a thick sketchbook, two nice-looking drafting pencils with replaceable, turning erasers, and a handful of little bags of colorful, decorative gems in different shapes, each coming with a small little squeeze-tube of glue. I hang the bag over my shoulder while sipping on VitaminWater as I begin walking home.

I never get there.

I'm almost there when I feel my blood rushing to my head. Then I feel myself loose my footing. Fall. I feel a sudden rush of pain on my head, above my eye, but within a second I'm not even conscious enough to register it.

[αℓℓı]

Nothing to Loose

-------------------------------------------------------------
PART TWO - It's over between us.
-------------------------------------------------------------

I find myself waking up a faint beeping sound. At first I don't realize what it is; it's just one of many hazy realizations. But then my senses return to me, all at once, and I'm suddenly overcome; I hear the beeping sound. I smell medicine and bleach--too sterile. I feel a sheet draping over my body. I open my eyes and wince, hand immediately slapping over my face; but then I wince, pain shooting through my forehead. I tap a finger against what feels like it's origins and feel little bumps. It's a bit damp, and I squint my eyes as I raise my hand and notice my fingertip has a spot of red on it.

Blood?

I press my finger tenderly against it once more and try to realize what the little bumps are.

Then I look around; at the same second I realize they must be stitches, I realize I'm in the hospital.

I try to sit up and my whole body hurts at the attempt--I hardly manage to raise my head, but after a second I just let myself relax and my skull to fall back onto the soft bedding beneath me. I realize there's something connected to my left wrist and when I look at it, I see an IV there. I look around me; there are various machines. A drip. A door to my left, a window to my left. I want to see what's outside of it. I try to sit up again, this time managing to raise my head and shoulders before falling back down.

Then I realize that I can hear voices nearby. Just outside the door, it seems. Then there's a gentle knock on the door; it opens, and Nema pokes his head in. He sees that I'm staring at him, that I'm awake, and smiles. His head disappears for a moment and he says something to someone--I hear someone's voice say 'one at a time, please', and figure it must be a nurse. Nema comes back, this time actually coming into my room. He closes the door behind him and walks up to my bed.

"Hey," he says, smiling. But it's not his usual easy smile. It looks forced. It doesn't look good on him.

"Why am I in a hospital?" I demand, glaring at him. He frowns deeply.

"Someone reported seeing someone passed out nearby a main road. They thought you got hit by a car. Luckily that's not what happened. Er, right?"

"I've never been hit by a car before," I remind him, trying to glare harder. "So I passed out?" He shrugs and mumbles something that sounds like 'Probably'. "So what? That doesn't credit a hospital visit."

"They just wanted to be sure you were alright. They called your manager. She called me. I told them you passed out yesterday, too. They said they wanted to check your blood sugar levels, but... Dakota..." He pulls up a swivel chair from behind a curtain nearby and sits on it backwards, legs under the back and arms crossed atop the backrest. "You haven't been eating, have you?" I just shrug. "When's the last time you ate?"

I know when the last time I ate was, and being reminded of it brings back the unpleasant memory. I was just sitting there, watching TV, spooning some ice cream into my mouth. I was at Noah's house but the ice cream was something I'd went out to buy because I was really craving it. I wasn't in a good mood, and I was trying to watch something funny to cheer myself up. Noah came in and told me to share and tried to steal the small tub of ice cream away from me, but when I said no and snatched it back he got really pissed off. Stormed off. Called me a fatass under his breath. I heard him.

I can't remember what day it was but I figure that that was about a week ago.

"I don't remember," I lie, but he's not my manager; he knows when I'm lying, and I know he knows by the look he gives me. I just shrug and look towards the window, still wondering what it overlooked. He sighs heavily. He's frustrated. Pissed. Extremely pissed. I can tell.

"You weigh seventy-nine pounds." he says, and I peer over at him. He's glaring at me. He looks like he's about to kill me. I swear he's going to strangle me. "Most people would fucking die at that weight, you know!" He's yelling. I see hear the door creak open and the nurse look in. I glare at her and she slips back outside.

"Well my body's probably eating fat stores. There must be a lot of them," I mutter, glaring down at my stomach. The shirt I'm wearing is loose on me, though. A week ago it was form-fitting and tight. I remember liking what I looked like in it.

"Ugh. Dakota, you... Ugh." He let out an extremely irritated, heavy sigh. Stands. Walks over to the door, about to leave. Comes back. Glares down at me. Opens his mouth to say something. Decides against it and walks back to the door. Stops. "They're not going to release you until you weigh at least ninety pounds. I'm guessing you stopped eating once you started running more than usual, right?" I say yeah, and he seems to relax. I know better. "Your body'll probably reject food, and it's going to take a long fucking time to gain weight on drip infusion, you know." He looks back to me. He doesn't look angry anymore, but the expression of annoyance and apathy he's giving me really hurts. "You need to stop being so self-conscious, Dakota. You're thin. You didn't look like a skeleton before. Skeletons aren't attractive at all." He leaves. Slams the door.

I sink into the bed and stare at my feet. I pull the sheet off to see that I'm still wearing my clothes. I'm glad for that, at least. I look around, noticing a table nearby with my socks and sneakers neatly set on it. My bag from the convenience store is beside it, with my half-empty bottle of VitaminWater beside it. I reach over and guzzle it down, but when I shove the bottle back onto the table I feel like I'm going to throw up. I taste it, but I manage to swallow it back down and lean back into my bed miserably. A moment later I hear the door opening again.

Noah walks in.

Slams the door behind him.

Walks over to me looking so cool that I know I'm going to be skinned alive.

"So this is why you've been avoiding me lately," he spits, glaring down at me. I wince. Look away. I wish I could move. I'd walk away from him. I'd go see what's outside the window. But he's right; ever since he said that to me I've been trying my hardest to keep away from him. In fact, I'd only seen him once since then, and that was when he stopped by my house a couple days ago, asking me if I wanted to with him to see some movie. Thinking back, I had really wanted to see it, and that was probably the last day it was out in theaters. But I declined, said I was busy with work. Closed the door in his face. Locked it. Refused to answer it again even when he yelled at me to and kicked it.

I... don't feel bad for it.

"You're so fucking stupid, Dakota. Starving yourself like this." He doesn't hesitate to insult me.

I realize something. He's never hesitated to insult me before. He drops them as if it were a greeting. He never apologizes, either.

Does he even love me?

He says something about how I should eat like a pig to gain weight fast and get out. I flinch and I know he must see it, but he continues anyway.

"Actually, no. If you ate like a pig then you'd get fat, wouldn't you? Tch. Fucking as if."

He turns to leave. Stops, as if he's thinking. Then keeps walking. I'm watching his back and tears are stinging my eyes. I want him to look back and see how upset I am. I want him to hold me. I want to be in his arms. I don't even want him to say sorry or feel bad for anything. I just want him to look at me. But he slams the door behind him without even looking back at me.

My chest feels so extraordinarily tight that I can't breath. So I don't. I swear a minute passes before I finally gasp in some air and choke on a sob. I pull the sheet up to my face and bury myself in it. I don't want to exist.

I suppose I fell asleep crying. A nurse comes in and wakes me up. She asks me if I'd like to try eating--she's very kind and gentle. Soft spoken. Suggests that if I do want to try that I start with something very light--a slice of fruit or a couple spoonfulls of soup. Perhaps something to drink, at least? But I say no to everything and she asks if there's anything she can get me, and I tell her she can get me a gun. She flinches and I think the seriousness of my face is what makes her leave without a word. I'm awake now, though, so I can't fall back asleep. It's about eight; it's morning, I can tell, by the pale purple-blues of the sky outside.

It's awhile before I hear another knocking at the door. Artemis peeks in. I stare at him for a second, quietly, then turn away. I'm sure he frowns, but even if I've made him uncomfortable he walks over at me. He's quiet, save for the soft tapping noise of his talons against the floor. I feel bad for him.

"Hey," he finally says softly, smiling. I look back over to him. I'm not smiling, though I wish I could return it because he's trying his hardest, it seems, to give me a smile. "Noah says--"

"Is he here?" I interrupt, biting down the corner of my lip.

"Uh, yeah... He wants to see you, but I wanted to see you first."

He looks a bit worried so I hold my tongue. "Oh? You're too nice." I smile. He gives this little happy grin but I'm not sure how he can smile like that so easily. He's a nervous kid but he seems to be glowing with confidence as of late. It's probably Nema's influence.

"So how are you feeling? Have you tried eating?"

I shrug. Shake my head. No, I haven't, but I don't want to tell him that. But I definitely don't want to lie, so I just say I felt like I'd be sick if I eat, and he frowns. Of course, he says. Of course. I don't get why he says that. Why does he say that? What kind of assumptions has he developed towards me?

I realize that I'm overanalyzing this. Since when have I analyzed things at all--much less over-analyzed?

He turns and heads over to the door quietly, hands a bit hesitant against the door.

"I'll see you soon, okay? You should come over when they let you out." He smiles. Leaves. The door never closes because Noah's pushing his way in.

I glare at him. He's glaring at me.

"Did you eat breakfast?" he immediately asks. I'm suddenly extremely pissed that that's the first thing he says to me. Asks. Whatever. I don't answer, I just look away, and he takes that as a no. "What the fuck, Dakota? Why didn't you eat?" I can tell that he's annoyed at me. Whatever. I don't answer. "Tch. Fuck, Dakota. I'm getting sick of this. I'm getting sick of you being like this."

"Fuck it, then," I hiss, glaring over at him suddenly. I can sense that I'm casting him an accusing look, as if this were all his fault.

It is.

"Fuck it all! Fuck this. Fuck you, and fuck us. If you're just going to be this much of a fucking asshole, I want you out of my room. I don't have to deal with you and your insults. I don't want to deal with you. I hate you! Get the fuck out of my room! Whatever we pretended to had... It's over between us! Get the fuck out!"

I'm screaming. I'm crying. I can feel my cheeks staining with hot tears and I figure I'm probably red. But it doesn't matter, I don't care, because I hate him so much and I never want to see him again. Ever. Ever in my entire life.

He glares at me. He's about to kill me. There's a doctor in my room with a nurse behind him. A security officer beside him, grabbing at Noah's shoulders because he's advancing on me. He doesn't fight back; he just lets himself be removed from the room.

[/blockquote]

[αℓℓı]

--
A piece that will have either 3 or 4 parts, probably. It revolves around Nema, and a girl named Marley. I'm changing his past a bit because of this, but the 'Charles' that he mentions in this part (and will appear in later parts) and the basis of this girl were actually already formed in his history (first boyfriend, first boyfriend's sick sister that Nema went out with; those were the original pieces of thought, and I churned them into this.
--

Her Name was Marley...

---> PART ONE : The Surprise

---

A knock. Another, then another. Finally the door opened and round, bright green eyes greeted the sleepy Korean.

"Nema!" she cheered, jumping up and hugging him tightly, legs winding around his waist.

"Hey, Marley," He smiled, arms under her to keep her from falling. As she slipped down he hugged her tightly. "Come in."

"Nema..." she muttered, suddenly quieter. "We have a problem."

Leading her to the living room, Nema sat, crossing his arms over his knees.

"Are you alright? Did something happen?"

"I'm pregnant."

Nema swallowed, rubbing his chin, exhaling a heavy breath.

"I... I want to keep it."

Nodding, Nema moved over and crouched in front of her. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He nodded again and smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Wow..." Licking his lips, Nema gently touched her stomach. "So... We're... really gonna have a kid, huh?" He smiled.

She laughed, touching his cheek. "You look so happy."

"I didn't want to seen too excited, in case you didn't want to keep it."

"Well, I do."

"So do I." he said immediately, looking up into her eyes. "I really do." Leaning up, he gently kissed her cheek. "Arceus, I love you so much."

"I love you, too. I can't wait. I've always wanted to be a mother. Uhm. Nema... When do you want to tell your parents?"

He froze. Slowly stared up at her. Looked to the side. Pulled himself up to sit next to her. Pulled out his cellphone, dialing a number.

"Hello?"

"It's Nema."

There was an awkward silence.

"Mwol dowajulgayo?" [What can I do for you?] the man said, but his voice was a hiss.

"Sonja." [Grandchild (male).]

"Muot!?"

"You heard me." He hung up. Dialed another number.

"Hello?"

"Omoni." [Mother.]

"Nema!" she exclaimed, smiling brightly. "Manaseo ban-gawoyo?" [How do you do?]

"Geunyang jinaeyo. You met Marley, right?" [Not bad.]

"The one from Floroma?"

"Sonja."

"... Muot... Mwoyeoyo? Dasi malsseumhae juseyo?" [... What... What? Could you repeat that, please?]

"Sonja," he said, slowly. "Marley is pregnant."

A silence. Nema swallowed nervously.

"Have you told Aaron?"

"Ne." [Yes.]

"What did he say?"

"I didn't give him the chance to say anything."

On the other end of the phone, her face broke into a smile. "I'm going to be a grandmother, huh? Wow. How fast time goes."

"Don't call yourself old. You're too pretty. Still young. Anyway, Marley just told me, so it will still be awhile."

"I can't wait, my dear."

"We'll come visit you soon. Jal jinaeseyo." [All the best.]

"Haeng-uneul bireoyo." [Good luck.]

Looking over at Marley, Nema smiled.

"Mother is excited."

Wrapping her arms around Nema, Marley snuggled against her boyfriend.

"This is just so... amazing. I never figured I'd be a father. Especially not at seventeen."

Marley gave a little giggle. "Well I'm also only seventeen, and I'm the mother."

"Are you going to tell Charles?"

"Brother already knows. I was really scared, you know. That you wouldn't want me to have it. I asked him what I should do. He said you used to talk about having a kid, adopting one, when you two were together. Said that you'd never make me abort it, but that you'd let me if I didn't want to have it."

"It's your body."

Marley just smiled up at him. She reached up a small hand, touching his cheek. "Until I have him, it's also the baby's body."

"So sure it'll be a boy?"

"Your father would love it."

Nema winced.

"Baby, he'd be so happy to have a grandson. He's like that, he prefers sons. Maybe you two will get along better."

Glaring up at her, Nema scoffed.

"I'm just being hopeful." Setting her head on his shoulder, she sighed contentedly. A short silence passed before Nema shifted slightly.

"I need to buy a house for us. Where do you want to live?"

"Well... I've really always wanted to live in Ecruteak."

"So have I."

Another silence passed by. But it was not awkward, not in the least.

"So... what colors should I buy the baby stuff in?"

Nema stared down at her oddly. A second later they were both laughing. Two seventeen-year-old wanna-be parents, one baby on the way, and neither could wait for it to come.