tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72943720295905504342024-03-12T21:50:34.550-04:00Murphy's Law"Anything that can go wrong will go wrong."Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-56494878582138761012014-12-22T10:46:00.003-05:002014-12-22T10:46:57.567-05:00Possible return?<span style="font-size: large;"> I have no interest in rebooting Murphy's Law. However, I attempted to play a legacy by the rules with no intention of it ever becoming a story. Then, Generation 2 was born. And I fell in love with Amelia Abbott. So maybe it's time to return to writing, with a new story and a new family. </span>Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-5182007742471548332013-04-18T22:51:00.000-04:002013-04-18T22:51:45.036-04:00Chapter 3.15 The Dance<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUYU-5TjimmWGyOWKyiCkP-ceCk5JPZTe-8LAMketg4352c6I0RZufrYVzYHvWxF_HMChN3xXUuNxisX8eFpLCRnC7ZG72k52kzmdVEofRddKAYbL0Byasc8dyAlbg6hYT4GAch-N9o9N2/s1600/Fifteen6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><em><strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUYU-5TjimmWGyOWKyiCkP-ceCk5JPZTe-8LAMketg4352c6I0RZufrYVzYHvWxF_HMChN3xXUuNxisX8eFpLCRnC7ZG72k52kzmdVEofRddKAYbL0Byasc8dyAlbg6hYT4GAch-N9o9N2/s640/Fifteen6.png" width="632" /></span></strong></em></a></div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Looking back on the memory of</span></strong></em></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOiDaFKZLiySvyZIxeEoO_JAV8Hii6XwMWWMEHADELlBw2zUFbxpShI5B00UhyphenhyphenOmL94fdA9WrjYKbvVtvE8FdhtyuONxwAq3YHSqeNXvwINGAxL63bru5MGpt_wa11d7dH-6xwEFUFcy6U/s1600/Fifteen7.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><em><strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOiDaFKZLiySvyZIxeEoO_JAV8Hii6XwMWWMEHADELlBw2zUFbxpShI5B00UhyphenhyphenOmL94fdA9WrjYKbvVtvE8FdhtyuONxwAq3YHSqeNXvwINGAxL63bru5MGpt_wa11d7dH-6xwEFUFcy6U/s640/Fifteen7.png" width="640" /></span></strong></em></a></div>
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<span class="line line-s" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><em><strong>The dance we shared 'neath the stars above</strong></em></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTkqXLabjn52VzqQIncVHI3Z53FdOD4fxUiH7ihWXNq37T0x_L7lZj6FSM_sHZha3jAlu4Nuu_b4NwgqZ0sniSn1GX7_HvyJ78T6htx0zYh1chLBEXMzfQO-pQcewUrtHuD93CUJB_hZR_/s1600/Fifteen8.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><em><strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="616" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTkqXLabjn52VzqQIncVHI3Z53FdOD4fxUiH7ihWXNq37T0x_L7lZj6FSM_sHZha3jAlu4Nuu_b4NwgqZ0sniSn1GX7_HvyJ78T6htx0zYh1chLBEXMzfQO-pQcewUrtHuD93CUJB_hZR_/s640/Fifteen8.png" width="640" /></span></strong></em></a></div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><em><strong>For a moment all the world was right</strong></em></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8W0f4eCeMXmasyAoOYncbnW9XxkmHzJFVjsumqzTziRKFrtlZu6ZPspw_aeBvX7N8f2q80NXcKB1K1NPtT6CP3reEld9afiACbJ7OquFfQp18Lzy62RiTctxBrBfW5C7fVPzIHsnIjIb1/s1600/Fifteen9.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><em><strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8W0f4eCeMXmasyAoOYncbnW9XxkmHzJFVjsumqzTziRKFrtlZu6ZPspw_aeBvX7N8f2q80NXcKB1K1NPtT6CP3reEld9afiACbJ7OquFfQp18Lzy62RiTctxBrBfW5C7fVPzIHsnIjIb1/s640/Fifteen9.png" width="640" /></span></strong></em></a></div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_4" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><em><strong>How could I have known that you'd ever say goodbye?</strong></em></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9j01gmvtGQj2fOigAkVk0_98jS9d8awc82eJeaGVa5I-UknYYpfO9iy_OslO-R5ZuHXuMkvRp7kdWAS69xdbxZx2JlkZxI3PF3pXCmubsC5xUtZCY5xjl5A-E7Jha0jCMBlxgJXWLuv2o/s1600/Fifteen10.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><em><strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9j01gmvtGQj2fOigAkVk0_98jS9d8awc82eJeaGVa5I-UknYYpfO9iy_OslO-R5ZuHXuMkvRp7kdWAS69xdbxZx2JlkZxI3PF3pXCmubsC5xUtZCY5xjl5A-E7Jha0jCMBlxgJXWLuv2o/s640/Fifteen10.png" width="636" /></span></strong></em></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I looked around the small house, feeling as if I was but a witness, as if this was happening to someone else. We had arrived at St. Claire early that morning and with a stroke of luck, had stumbled upon the modest rental property. With its sparse furnishings and remote location, it made a perfect short-term hideout. At least, I hoped it was short-term. When we left Hidden Springs, I wasn't sure if I'd ever see my childhood home ever again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When Tuck had stumbled in the door earlier at 3 am, I knew that our lives were forever changed. Covered in blood, he was shaking so badly it was an hour before he was able to speak. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Ramona, we have to leave. We don't have much time. We need to pack only the essentials and get out of town immediately."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Tuck, you're scaring me," I cried. "What happened?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He shook his head. "They-they shot him. Rusty. He's dead and it's my fault. But there's nothing we can do. Our only chance is to leave."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So we filled suitcases, gathered valuables and bundled up Conner and Josie. Tuck was sure they'd never look for us in St. Claire. But once we arrived, the question on both of our minds was: now what?</span></div>
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">* * * * * * *</span></em></strong></div>
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<span class="line line-s" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><em><strong>And now I'm glad I didn't know</strong></em></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtOJN30KZ2w1e3IiA8u8FgDHTAnNLYox2iIKgIj8I1-ZfCQd8NJUZkDWk4A5JEHcSQBpgNh8SLKDyPbHG5usZxjMZ7eqMzL0fbW5V-WS2v_ufv1FcS5CdQYed7RrArDWAbB4VqgcL_PyBn/s1600/Fifteen11.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><em><strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtOJN30KZ2w1e3IiA8u8FgDHTAnNLYox2iIKgIj8I1-ZfCQd8NJUZkDWk4A5JEHcSQBpgNh8SLKDyPbHG5usZxjMZ7eqMzL0fbW5V-WS2v_ufv1FcS5CdQYed7RrArDWAbB4VqgcL_PyBn/s640/Fifteen11.png" width="640" /></span></strong></em></a></div>
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<span class="line line-s" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><em><strong>The way it all would end, the way it all would go</strong></em></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_28hj_ShYIAzCyjdF1xPqhmDJWZVz5ocRilf96Dd4TWaPAxL8DmwT-xPZ2qrbm5nzNdGZWxiFAVigj0_UG-ru10YnyRHd4KMaoo_K2PBpx1ybaNYnODPsntt2OxkrdrO5zLm4zITV9nf6/s1600/Fifteen17.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><em><strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_28hj_ShYIAzCyjdF1xPqhmDJWZVz5ocRilf96Dd4TWaPAxL8DmwT-xPZ2qrbm5nzNdGZWxiFAVigj0_UG-ru10YnyRHd4KMaoo_K2PBpx1ybaNYnODPsntt2OxkrdrO5zLm4zITV9nf6/s640/Fifteen17.png" width="538" /></span></strong></em></a></div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_7" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><em><strong>Our lives are better left to chance</strong></em></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHljUL1zMfUjWMKp9Laughps39_4sII3mUsYUu5z0sOE-Ka3E7SXBdraersRdo46jdppAcIGouN1i4TBglgyKayEfAWf2JOEDuEJjzHmSi8GNQTQOrf_lUX7-8pkTsf2rXhdLLmZjs2Hiz/s1600/Fifteen12.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><em><strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHljUL1zMfUjWMKp9Laughps39_4sII3mUsYUu5z0sOE-Ka3E7SXBdraersRdo46jdppAcIGouN1i4TBglgyKayEfAWf2JOEDuEJjzHmSi8GNQTQOrf_lUX7-8pkTsf2rXhdLLmZjs2Hiz/s640/Fifteen12.png" width="640" /></span></strong></em></a></div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_8" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><em><strong>I could have missed the pain, but I'd have had to miss the dance</strong></em></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwocnTJVwNeCYV99G3bO8TrLzNosAie0nt0qInklESBGhWsPPvF6ucBGyLwak6crm6tY-Fzcz3ACw8xMfuDyyRgLuOHInqQzlpY_ytLprVbFh0_AL2Szdopz5VjXiTQy5iArqLYRjQnFDZ/s1600/Fifteen13.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><em><strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwocnTJVwNeCYV99G3bO8TrLzNosAie0nt0qInklESBGhWsPPvF6ucBGyLwak6crm6tY-Fzcz3ACw8xMfuDyyRgLuOHInqQzlpY_ytLprVbFh0_AL2Szdopz5VjXiTQy5iArqLYRjQnFDZ/s640/Fifteen13.png" width="564" /></span></strong></em></a></div>
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<span class="line line-s" style="line-height: 15px;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em> </em><strong><em>* * * * * * *</em></strong></span></strong></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0oCAskfWWwpMM71q6xBPbpqLIDMH3c1j_04Tl0lAxiQLLMN60Tj_aHwYq0mqUNHl4IGl88TRcTKD3aotcepA9LT6DGh68uX3I38aDgjM_MfHv3xeFo98hNGCRL2S_NyU8wjvYM1vWnDid/s1600/Fifteen4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><em><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0oCAskfWWwpMM71q6xBPbpqLIDMH3c1j_04Tl0lAxiQLLMN60Tj_aHwYq0mqUNHl4IGl88TRcTKD3aotcepA9LT6DGh68uX3I38aDgjM_MfHv3xeFo98hNGCRL2S_NyU8wjvYM1vWnDid/s640/Fifteen4.png" width="638" /></span></em></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I managed to get a job at a small 50's diner in town. The pay was dismal, but every cent mattered now that we were living on the run. I had no skills worth speaking of and never had finished college. I couldn't bring myself to admit this to Tuck, but working gave me a purpose, gave me something to do rather than sit at home and wait for Dante and his goons to track us down. But if I was completely honest, I missed the carefree days. Funny how things change so drastically in a matter of months.</span><br />
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<span class="line line-s" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><em><strong>Holding you, I held everything</strong></em></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbtd8cTFfNPdc58AcGhLldVF-uPfQ5_1FAXxjNLAE30eyTQgWNxdAKNDp-dzz-07UCd6i4PapN3MM84SlFvk0EpUfmNngrR5Png1Ag_FYrDMcnd1C8jAxLgyuwLv-mw5obg3h_vDbhYuKd/s1600/Fifteen15.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbtd8cTFfNPdc58AcGhLldVF-uPfQ5_1FAXxjNLAE30eyTQgWNxdAKNDp-dzz-07UCd6i4PapN3MM84SlFvk0EpUfmNngrR5Png1Ag_FYrDMcnd1C8jAxLgyuwLv-mw5obg3h_vDbhYuKd/s640/Fifteen15.png" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_10" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><em><strong>For a moment, wasn't I a king?</strong></em></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnAPoIGmBHoPA5EYIXvFTdghKbqTOuzDkVZFiK4JF0L8w8pLKJ3lIEUZaeN0-VMCYqn-pnS19tPEsbBwCeuspNj_c2Ome82UmOFsW57ifYtBuZlfPrKoDvLHnQqpb_AaSN9Mq0_xyhTQqc/s1600/Fifteen14.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><em><strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="534" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnAPoIGmBHoPA5EYIXvFTdghKbqTOuzDkVZFiK4JF0L8w8pLKJ3lIEUZaeN0-VMCYqn-pnS19tPEsbBwCeuspNj_c2Ome82UmOFsW57ifYtBuZlfPrKoDvLHnQqpb_AaSN9Mq0_xyhTQqc/s640/Fifteen14.png" width="640" /></span></strong></em></a></div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_11" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><em><strong>But if I'd only known how the king would fall</strong></em></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTRWLCpCHo7dzKuZtTqM0qbloY0ABEX8CoQVi2J7aqKyZr6oSmW42M2jvaka_9k54RYW27C26ElOBh5Sr4KgZLticITbCioWtnVs5Y-vmJaLs3gkcxmma0f7B71cO8QCYDnwJkkJ3YNroR/s1600/fifteen23.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTRWLCpCHo7dzKuZtTqM0qbloY0ABEX8CoQVi2J7aqKyZr6oSmW42M2jvaka_9k54RYW27C26ElOBh5Sr4KgZLticITbCioWtnVs5Y-vmJaLs3gkcxmma0f7B71cO8QCYDnwJkkJ3YNroR/s640/fifteen23.png" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_12" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><em><strong>Hey, who's to say? You know I might have changed it all</strong></em></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha5p63kvhPOLvyk0G-LIlYi5UYn6dYUSc8j-OXb-icYuKvT71HxGSnct3AmjK37DvqCBBgmWPvRI8YggYJhyphenhyphenZeAXlbC-oD_B7BNBptNKh3iVfaqR0jxhc76wpCTsGhzx4BxYxR6ekVonK8/s1600/fifteen24.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha5p63kvhPOLvyk0G-LIlYi5UYn6dYUSc8j-OXb-icYuKvT71HxGSnct3AmjK37DvqCBBgmWPvRI8YggYJhyphenhyphenZeAXlbC-oD_B7BNBptNKh3iVfaqR0jxhc76wpCTsGhzx4BxYxR6ekVonK8/s640/fifteen24.png" width="616" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I awoke to a loud noise. Still half-asleep, my hand shot out, reaching for my cell phone on the bedside table. "Hello?" I mumbled.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Bright Eyes." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Baby, where are you?" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I'm umm...I'm in jail."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I gasped. "What?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Look, I don't have much time. Visiting hours tomorrow start at eleven. I'll explain everything then."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A tear pooled in my eye. I blinked rapidly, letting it roll down my cheek. "Oh Tuck," I moaned.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He smiled. Even over the phone, I could feel it. "Ramona, try not to worry. I have everything under control."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Long after he hung up, I sat there, feeling utterly helpless. He said not to worry but how could I not? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next morning, I drove over to the county jail, expecting the worst. I was brought to a cell and instructed to wait. There, stood my husband..</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Ramona," he breathed, his grin stretching from cheek to cheek. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgibZm77ruY3XJrtRJ7BGeNz4UX-PIfbNHG94rIiXShlCzqrGf_wHPmP1yLGUwOxPiDNLSbE0cBqMlEGqEnNPTSTWpIV-RRe9VJEcCDk2RN6LSV2KLKDV5AzpVclmX8h1s9mezcOF-s2kg7/s1600/Fifteen2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="582" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgibZm77ruY3XJrtRJ7BGeNz4UX-PIfbNHG94rIiXShlCzqrGf_wHPmP1yLGUwOxPiDNLSbE0cBqMlEGqEnNPTSTWpIV-RRe9VJEcCDk2RN6LSV2KLKDV5AzpVclmX8h1s9mezcOF-s2kg7/s640/Fifteen2.png" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<em></em><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on?" I demanded. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At my tone, he sighed and his expression grew noticeably more somber. "We're at the end of the road, Bright Eyes. Game over."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My eyes welled up with tears. "We could have kept going, Tuck. We could have kept running."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"We're cooped up in that shack like cows waiting for the slaughter. That's no way to live, Ramona. That's no way to raise a family. No," he continued, shaking his head. "The only option was to turn myself in. In exchange for information about Savaglio, I'll receive a reduced sentence, and with any luck, Dante and his associates will be off the streets." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"But what about you?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Half a lifetime ago, there was this kid. He was a piece of shit, dealing drugs and skipping school. But one day, he met this beautiful girl. She had emerald eyes and she saw something in him that no one else had ever seen. She believed in him. When they grew up, they got married and had a little boy and girl. This kid, who was born for nothing, suddenly had everything in the entire world that anyone could want. But he threw it all away." Tuck's voice thickened with emotion. "I wasn't a good husband or a good father. You guys were counting on me and I messed up. I messed up so bad. But at least this way, I can make sure that you, Conner and Josie can live without constantly checking over your shoulders. I-I want you to believe in me again."</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSn6z3YfLaNlOkft5Q7IDItlmlqdixCDgju9GfvZmmSIpvzksYDtbZGkD_WLiUiZpmXhOavCBjVqgQq_iLNQ11a0zig6ZYXH_YnzVYBvxd8vY0jOlktcjkPOeON2Jwu8HkCNkreexTKWA2/s1600/Fifteen3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSn6z3YfLaNlOkft5Q7IDItlmlqdixCDgju9GfvZmmSIpvzksYDtbZGkD_WLiUiZpmXhOavCBjVqgQq_iLNQ11a0zig6ZYXH_YnzVYBvxd8vY0jOlktcjkPOeON2Jwu8HkCNkreexTKWA2/s640/Fifteen3.png" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_9" style="line-height: 15px;"></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Tuck, I--I love you," I choked out. "And I'll be waiting for you when you get out."</span></div>
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<span class="line line-s" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><em><strong>And now I'm glad I didn't know</strong></em></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsx9PEb_HLB0xpj9PLoowfQs4eURiSZkZACFGbrjvONR5z4IseGpRrbyZzoNnI42urbu15o0NT9IT6J0jk22Z__PZMZEbT4SFUPF0hRSu1qB6wSkyhHRIqPxWtXg4rUxCBglFUCzz3-UU6/s1600/fifteen22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsx9PEb_HLB0xpj9PLoowfQs4eURiSZkZACFGbrjvONR5z4IseGpRrbyZzoNnI42urbu15o0NT9IT6J0jk22Z__PZMZEbT4SFUPF0hRSu1qB6wSkyhHRIqPxWtXg4rUxCBglFUCzz3-UU6/s640/fifteen22.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="line line-s" id="line_14" style="line-height: 15px;"><em><strong>The way it all would end, the way </strong></em></span><span class="line line-s" style="line-height: 15px;"><em><strong>it all would go</strong></em></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjODal3qeIyqmF1zHh9IF7YNZ9EZTa5NGNqYI9T-0-KDQsiVTq6wQeGfqOYoFIozuC0nbMP3sxhwgoFNEgyMTY7Zh6Jerkthd4TOjh8trMraZhTZNfJ99wVZXjK05XHjS03UT2uKIgi-hoX/s1600/Fifteen21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjODal3qeIyqmF1zHh9IF7YNZ9EZTa5NGNqYI9T-0-KDQsiVTq6wQeGfqOYoFIozuC0nbMP3sxhwgoFNEgyMTY7Zh6Jerkthd4TOjh8trMraZhTZNfJ99wVZXjK05XHjS03UT2uKIgi-hoX/s640/Fifteen21.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">* * * * * * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Savaglios had been in power for half a century and having an informant gave the police enough evidence to bring them to trial once and for all. The warehouse, the guns, Rusty's murder and my husband would all ensure that Dante, Jay and Andrey would be locked up for a long time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We sold the house in Hidden Springs and I used the money to post bail for Tuck. He came home for two weeks, until his hearing. With any luck, he would be out in a few years. Two weeks with the man I loved until he was dragged back to prison. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One warm evening, we had taken a walk to the park. Both of us were deep in thought, the impending trial weighing heavily on our minds. However, there was something else that had been troubling me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"What do you think, Bright Eyes? I know it's not Noble Tome Library but I'm hoping this park can be our new spot." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The sun had begun to set and the air smelled of sweet flowers and fresh, spring air. The moment was ours, for just a little bit. I looked deep into my husband's eyes and knew I could keep the truth no longer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I'm pregnant."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">His brow furrowed. "That's impossible. We haven't-I haven't...it's been months since we've even slept together."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My eyes filled with tears and I lowered my head, ashamed. "Tuck, the night Rusty died...I visited Jay earlier. I begged him to leave us alone. I..." my voice broke. "I offered myself to him."</span></div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_15" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"You did that for us?" Tuck said quietly. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I nodded, sniffling. "He-he promised. And then Rusty happened, and then the move and your arrest...I meant to tell you, it was just never the right time. Please forgive me."</span></div>
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He took me by the waist, no reprimand in his eyes, just love. "Ramona, no one has ever done something like that for me before. I promise, once I get out, to love this baby as if it's my own."</div>
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"Even if it's Jay's?"</div>
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He brushed a stray lock of hair from my forehead. "Even if. Because it's not Jay's. It's a testament of your love for me." He embraced me, as my sobs eventually subsided. "Now there's something I want to give you."</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8BJYIOC9VelutafiJRrOwVvD9xdJjur7lphzHSruIuf0v4OytWTuQeNvRIDaO9rO8xx65fpIutJu_pmgQw5Sy-TRLMmRkNbYWDj4bRpFaIfve44nRQwFip-QDGy-fHz4Ls9rgqx-8LMqU/s1600/Fifteen19.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8BJYIOC9VelutafiJRrOwVvD9xdJjur7lphzHSruIuf0v4OytWTuQeNvRIDaO9rO8xx65fpIutJu_pmgQw5Sy-TRLMmRkNbYWDj4bRpFaIfve44nRQwFip-QDGy-fHz4Ls9rgqx-8LMqU/s640/Fifteen19.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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When Tuck brought out the small box, my heart stopped. Lifting off the lid, nestled on a bed of cotton, was the one possession that meant more to me than anything else in the world.</div>
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"My necklace," I breathed. "But how did you...?"</div>
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He shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he told me, fastening the necklace around my neck.</div>
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I swallowed. "Tuck, I just want you to know, if I had the choice, even after everything...I wouldn't have chosen differently. I would have picked you every single time. I've always loved you and I always will." </div>
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"And I love you," he whispered fiercely. </div>
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Then he took me in his arms, and there in the small park in St. Claire, we began to dance. Closing our eyes, we were transported back to the night of the Homecoming Dance, where we had begun. And after everything we had been through, I just knew we could handle whatever was to come.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2LpPrG9eHeIPxiUM96vNFrsSfs422dNAT_4LEYFFAOu9pO3Bq4fWc6v5o6QR04smYIMl3v2CiPIrjUWv_QlXhbygWq7zjhvBdtExwz7irG95pLsF6P4heXZbKDsNSlcDLVfAveKt6Ebpv/s1600/Fifteen18.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><em><strong><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2LpPrG9eHeIPxiUM96vNFrsSfs422dNAT_4LEYFFAOu9pO3Bq4fWc6v5o6QR04smYIMl3v2CiPIrjUWv_QlXhbygWq7zjhvBdtExwz7irG95pLsF6P4heXZbKDsNSlcDLVfAveKt6Ebpv/s640/Fifteen18.png" width="574" /></strong></em></a></div>
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<span class="line line-s" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><em><strong>Our lives are better left to chance</strong></em></span></div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_16" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><em><strong>I could have missed the pain, but I'd have had to miss the dance</strong></em></span></div>
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<span class="line line-s hover" id="line_17" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><em><strong>Yes my life is better left to chance</strong></em></span></div>
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<span class="line line-s hover" id="line_18" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><em><strong>I could have missed the pain, but I'd have had to miss the dance</strong></em></span></div>
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Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-66696600961204215082013-04-18T22:49:00.001-04:002013-04-18T22:52:18.547-04:00Chapter 3.14 How I Could Just Kill a ManNow, it must be confessed that after the night at Excalibur, Tuck found himself sampling his own wares more than once. Between working for Dante, keeping Ramona happy and caring for his children, he felt over-extended. Being high helped with that. So when Rusty told him that Dante would front a ball or so, the two couldn't resist partaking. <br />
<br />
What followed was a night of pure fun. First the karaoke bar...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG7QVVQs4_QQQtuQ4NXn6TF6Yenf84ve5NZszPCiNo_CV0_CXjxUPy6EgrCL8p-PmhNNVT7aY0CQuAI3L6Vme_XZIJdAn-eyuUGi8sBSBJ2O6mZ7p3wYhMM3WuQFhQ-UmW3SCAU51hi9Gd/s1600/Fourteen21.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG7QVVQs4_QQQtuQ4NXn6TF6Yenf84ve5NZszPCiNo_CV0_CXjxUPy6EgrCL8p-PmhNNVT7aY0CQuAI3L6Vme_XZIJdAn-eyuUGi8sBSBJ2O6mZ7p3wYhMM3WuQFhQ-UmW3SCAU51hi9Gd/s640/Fourteen21.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNieALUXEwaZatzCF8cUYvEnDQ5iT5oh2j2P8d9dY-w5KxgLxSkgHxYx_CxuhaYgNa0KSBUs341HEAtigQI8d6uRiqLuONjSXOMJPitbixzoOIvouszismAFANYan-OZBTaZ2QPnaynHuE/s1600/Fourteen22.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNieALUXEwaZatzCF8cUYvEnDQ5iT5oh2j2P8d9dY-w5KxgLxSkgHxYx_CxuhaYgNa0KSBUs341HEAtigQI8d6uRiqLuONjSXOMJPitbixzoOIvouszismAFANYan-OZBTaZ2QPnaynHuE/s640/Fourteen22.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
...then at some crazy, underground night club where Rusty DJ-ed part time. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt0iAJFQrpC4ZdQvAVBaYq8DDTBlLatndUyDe_L5Ax8NRJ462vhX-c9oDLLcmKVrz1T1MCIlZBy8d7kunRV5mcrvjDbJ1S9q4SlkhMXkl-2u9MOkoarLBKd3fvGzVMUztgIMQ51vql-cXk/s1600/Fourteen23.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt0iAJFQrpC4ZdQvAVBaYq8DDTBlLatndUyDe_L5Ax8NRJ462vhX-c9oDLLcmKVrz1T1MCIlZBy8d7kunRV5mcrvjDbJ1S9q4SlkhMXkl-2u9MOkoarLBKd3fvGzVMUztgIMQ51vql-cXk/s640/Fourteen23.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Their bromance was one of epic proportions. Rusty was really the first friend Tuck had since Zane.<br />
<br />
They finally crashed at the amphitheater, faces aglow from the evening's hijinks.<br />
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"Man, I forgot how good this feels," Tuck laughed. "You have a family, Rusty?"<br />
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"Nah, just me."<br />
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"You're lucky," he told his buddy wistfully. "I love Ramona and the kids but to be on your own with nothing but the wind on your back...I feel like I can do anything."<br />
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Rusty snorted. "That's probably just the coke talking."<br />
<br />
"Maybe you're right. But I feel like...I feel like this is the first time in my life where I don't have to worry, where I can laugh and do anything I want. I've never felt like this. I know why---" he faltered.<br />
<br />
"Why what?"<br />
<br />
Tuck sighed, thinking of his mother. "Never mind." <br />
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They both must have drifted off to sleep then because the next thing Tuck knew, was he was back in the house he grew up in. It was daytime but the living room was dark and the curtains were drawn. He was once again a small boy and his mother lay napping on the couch.</div>
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"Just a few more minutes, Tucker," she sighed, rolling over on her side. "Mommy isn't feeling so well today."</div>
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The eight-year-old version of himself kicked the carpet angrily. When did she ever feel well? Remembering how all of the times she disappointed him stirred up old feelings of resentment. </div>
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He probably would have hated her had there not been a few, brief moments where she had bestowed upon him an ounce of motherly affection. Recalling those rare occasions made him cry out. But instead of his mother, Tuck woke up to find Rusty staring at him curiously.<br />
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"Dude, we gotta get you home before Ramona wakes up."<br />
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Tuck yawned, not quite himself. "Okay, man, ready whenever you are."<br />
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* * * * * * *</div>
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After that night, the two friends developed a fool-proof plan to supply their increasing drug habit. After all, Dante never touched money or merchandise, so that he would be free of any incriminating evidence. Tuck was the Holder of the money and Rusty was a Worker. They would get fronted an ounce, take a ball, skim off a small amount, cut the rest with baking soda and separate it into 6 grams then sell each gram for a third of the price for a ball. It was a "free" habit. The trouble was, as time went on, their cut grew bigger and bigger, and they couldn't peddle baking soda without Dante hearing about it. </div>
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"Don't worry about it," Tuck assured Rusty. "I got this."</div>
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But Tuck had no idea just how deep he was in and even worse, how much further he was about to fall.</div>
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<br />
"Have you seen my necklace?" <br />
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Tuck walked over to Ramona's vanity, scratching his head. "What necklace are you talking about?"<br />
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She frowned. "You know, the one my grandmother gave me. I wanted to wear it but it's not in the drawer."<br />
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He shrugged his shoulders. "Don't worry, Ram. I'm sure it will turn up soon."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM3cTesI3dQp1mP1LIa-w37vaXSXBr906ihNERK8qn4vW7mkecal8VO2gBdgxmmFcZRnI24rmiwtb0S8hp_l4TVLmwLeLhsLzswTMJufJpdVgrGz8sXUfmb1mkVkQ57EUu9px6B2LkcWO3/s1600/Fourteen14.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="624" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM3cTesI3dQp1mP1LIa-w37vaXSXBr906ihNERK8qn4vW7mkecal8VO2gBdgxmmFcZRnI24rmiwtb0S8hp_l4TVLmwLeLhsLzswTMJufJpdVgrGz8sXUfmb1mkVkQ57EUu9px6B2LkcWO3/s640/Fourteen14.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
She smiled. "I'm sure you're right, Darling."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * *</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Six months in and Tuck and Rusty owed $6,000 to Dante. They had no idea how the amount had accumulated so rapidly, but the truth was, they weren't even selling these days. Every bit of product was going up their noses. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVSllKAYpQb9M-d22MFJzA02K9aVAH91WfCH2TPuKcjncjFNZA68T2P7cRejqyOoDksAH97cPYo_MsJdqgyHo6H8d9o5UHIJSYjDWaD_BFsSG_a9j_fcyKm_VomScgCUJy5jhb5DLLT8ae/s1600/fourteen25.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="558" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVSllKAYpQb9M-d22MFJzA02K9aVAH91WfCH2TPuKcjncjFNZA68T2P7cRejqyOoDksAH97cPYo_MsJdqgyHo6H8d9o5UHIJSYjDWaD_BFsSG_a9j_fcyKm_VomScgCUJy5jhb5DLLT8ae/s640/fourteen25.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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</div>
"I don't understand. Where the fuck does $6,000 disappear to?" Jay demanded.<br />
<br />
Tuck's eyes widened, hoping he didn't have any telltale white residue in his nostrils. "Umm...Rusty says his customers are good for it and will pay some time this week."<br />
<br />
"Why do yous trust these shitheads? Dante wants his fucking money." <br />
<br />
"Relax," Tuck told him. "Everything will be fine."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMj00E0URQ2n_9NRfskFQh1HaWfpLNztRDpunF2Q8gJuF2WcNAXgg9FtaORMVcyhRyUe9NOxDJYgixUsoOVOy6FbEpm5HAA3P06RV_BzmQW-43smTQAm1UzBR8BF3-J7OoXCd60n69B9Ps/s1600/fourteen26.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="524" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMj00E0URQ2n_9NRfskFQh1HaWfpLNztRDpunF2Q8gJuF2WcNAXgg9FtaORMVcyhRyUe9NOxDJYgixUsoOVOy6FbEpm5HAA3P06RV_BzmQW-43smTQAm1UzBR8BF3-J7OoXCd60n69B9Ps/s640/fourteen26.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
"You sure as shit better hope so. Yous don't want to get on his bad side."<br />
<br />
Tuck grinned. "Just leave everything to me."<br />
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * *</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"I'm so glad you made it, Rosalind," Ramona hugged her friend. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibx2KwKI24aIEijkYu0taSXDqePfbjUI9FLTqBlFFVjvtf72gjo_NGawWYdZMq4nk5T96vzrYVtbAzBC4L9S4y0nS27HVOroLVKXPvz67962YZOMhIvN0luy4LVEYNtjbYM6YCQ2SdaKcv/s1600/Fourteen32.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibx2KwKI24aIEijkYu0taSXDqePfbjUI9FLTqBlFFVjvtf72gjo_NGawWYdZMq4nk5T96vzrYVtbAzBC4L9S4y0nS27HVOroLVKXPvz67962YZOMhIvN0luy4LVEYNtjbYM6YCQ2SdaKcv/s640/Fourteen32.png" width="483" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
"Of course, Darling. How in the world have you been? How is your vacation going so far?"<br />
<br />
They got their drinks and sat down at a small table. Ramona pursed her lips. This wasn't going to be easy. For the past month, their home had been receiving crank calls and threatening letters in the mailbox. She was scared, even though Tuck had told her there was no reason to be. Going with her gut instinct, she had invited Rosalind Savaglio out under the pretense of "vacationing" in Lucky Palms for a weekend.<br />
<br />
"So why is my family being threatened?" Ramona blurted out.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8KGbPH5OW-vtiBOEMHurWW5ohfK7YHw9ToNJNAVosXPKJZgdT1qX1x44pMoUWdPTl11E7MkFyTHrZhwnKFBetitNqEVyDWqlmdsrgBkyWqoTzIAtw3kiRVFtBMhBH4AzLhF17HKBEVNng/s1600/Fourteen31.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8KGbPH5OW-vtiBOEMHurWW5ohfK7YHw9ToNJNAVosXPKJZgdT1qX1x44pMoUWdPTl11E7MkFyTHrZhwnKFBetitNqEVyDWqlmdsrgBkyWqoTzIAtw3kiRVFtBMhBH4AzLhF17HKBEVNng/s640/Fourteen31.png" width="494" /></a></div>
<br />
"What?" The blonde lady feigned surprise. "What ever are you going on about?"<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgslv58bw9nAosgCIF2dg4KYadw2KxuPfIeOyJlcwbyXofLDqeBPXXaRKV5AgRl60S-VFJDmUXoME7BGKaqRFeqjteAYcDiLvrIR6kbVJOlDW6lpARVhn1e8D7zQdRbj3Ng_X7bpSTeZ1Db/s1600/Fourteen29.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgslv58bw9nAosgCIF2dg4KYadw2KxuPfIeOyJlcwbyXofLDqeBPXXaRKV5AgRl60S-VFJDmUXoME7BGKaqRFeqjteAYcDiLvrIR6kbVJOlDW6lpARVhn1e8D7zQdRbj3Ng_X7bpSTeZ1Db/s640/Fourteen29.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
"Oh don't play dumb with me, Rosie. Not when my family's safety is at stake. Spill everything you know."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi19jjJRui1_nfm-nf3WFQzPY4yS3SLbYaDdMgWomDP6h_hEEBINvipNuuTIKszNlTODjH7qjjN8vWsNbidLmwzA7C0PPwS3P49NTSeo3PBm3aV0yjp_76ZTfkG1XIZ6OWvtuaLdSJFTpk1/s1600/Fourteen30.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi19jjJRui1_nfm-nf3WFQzPY4yS3SLbYaDdMgWomDP6h_hEEBINvipNuuTIKszNlTODjH7qjjN8vWsNbidLmwzA7C0PPwS3P49NTSeo3PBm3aV0yjp_76ZTfkG1XIZ6OWvtuaLdSJFTpk1/s640/Fourteen30.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="center">
* * * * * * *</div>
<div align="center">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, thousands of dollars were missing and Savaglio was convinced that Tuck and Rusty were responsible. Rosalind seemed quite confident that her husband would not hesitate to kill the two men if he did not receive his money. However, driving around Lucky Palms after her meeting with Rosalind, Ramona realized she had one more ace up her sleeve.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic1XKrHR7sdj5q78oWNf__jp8M8NeLKsCc-cQ6oA3DhmfLrDXcUMNqw_SqJrIA9LHg0MSeEIAhKSdLsLGzbNI_S_XRn60TbJ0bRHwXUMPBkb5hsnBAs5Eh0VqpbeJaY6JIkLgMZqKE6Pua/s1600/fourteen8.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic1XKrHR7sdj5q78oWNf__jp8M8NeLKsCc-cQ6oA3DhmfLrDXcUMNqw_SqJrIA9LHg0MSeEIAhKSdLsLGzbNI_S_XRn60TbJ0bRHwXUMPBkb5hsnBAs5Eh0VqpbeJaY6JIkLgMZqKE6Pua/s640/fourteen8.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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</div>
<br />
"Why, Ramona Whitney, I must say this is a pleasant surprise," Jay Caldwell drawled. "What are yous doing in my neck of the woods?"<br />
<br />
"Jay, I know that Tuck really fucked up and your men are out for his blood and I promise I can fix it but I need some time. Could you please give us a few weeks to sort things out?"<br />
<br />
He scratched his head. "What do yous take me for, the Red Cross? This ain't no charity. Your husband fucked up and will have to pay one way or another."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWTRZksoKAylP57o2fZ0mM3Fuqb8VnAcoqns7w63gk-vtDsy7Bh6IJzbL8WQFJjPtOVQvOTtuInDfCRMHpATTV79y_egW2eMj3ZwE9MgvOeiF53KU75aNqQoBNBEO432391TMMKB5uI9hW/s1600/fourteen9.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="618" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWTRZksoKAylP57o2fZ0mM3Fuqb8VnAcoqns7w63gk-vtDsy7Bh6IJzbL8WQFJjPtOVQvOTtuInDfCRMHpATTV79y_egW2eMj3ZwE9MgvOeiF53KU75aNqQoBNBEO432391TMMKB5uI9hW/s640/fourteen9.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ramona gulped. Okay, time to switch up strategies. "Jay," she smiled flirtatiously, "maybe we can work out a solution of our own? I know that there must be <em>something</em> I can offer you." She worked at the collar of her trench coat, allowing him a brief glimpse of what lay underneath.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He narrowed his eyes. "You'll let me fuck you in return for Tuck's safety?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"I know you've been wanting me for a long time now, and I'm prepared to do whatever it takes to ensure my family's safety."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"You'd really do that for that shithead."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
She nodded. "I really would."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
However, all of her bravado failed once he had led her into his bedroom. Standing before him in nothing but a lacy bra and panties, Ramona felt quite exposed.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixZdxv_ziYoHf5FTr4uz6WXNoePfTVbd9zAWLYFRI_Lo_fzGupsb78hWUpJ1GbVQ2gjmQb-vWt1mLYp-6dlKF5XQCtoypwWxcABAvbVsmVNlDEXptipufKLMpfX6gCZC4yMEsdaim-Oa0f/s1600/fourteen10.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixZdxv_ziYoHf5FTr4uz6WXNoePfTVbd9zAWLYFRI_Lo_fzGupsb78hWUpJ1GbVQ2gjmQb-vWt1mLYp-6dlKF5XQCtoypwWxcABAvbVsmVNlDEXptipufKLMpfX6gCZC4yMEsdaim-Oa0f/s640/fourteen10.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Grabbing her and throwing her roughly on the bed, Jay climbed on top, straddling her. "This isn't going to be quick and you're not going to enjoy it. You're asking for a big fucking favor and I plan on milking this for all it's worth.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm0hJTqrh-Pm7ivezd5hURuYnPNxh97pr199LsC97D8FOi1nqeMv38PL7VnRnvsP5pM727mbPc0MARrOP518HzTaedG0oJLoetefHt6k_6hIrY-ClOkPkwrhyI0IV0fxBHsHuzOkgjaBD7/s1600/fourteen12.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm0hJTqrh-Pm7ivezd5hURuYnPNxh97pr199LsC97D8FOi1nqeMv38PL7VnRnvsP5pM727mbPc0MARrOP518HzTaedG0oJLoetefHt6k_6hIrY-ClOkPkwrhyI0IV0fxBHsHuzOkgjaBD7/s640/fourteen12.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
Closing her eyes, Ramona thought of her husband and prayed for it to be over soon.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * * *</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"What do you suppose they want?" Rusty asked Tuck as they walked over to the warehouse in Lucky Palms.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Tuck shrugged. Jay had simply said on the phone that he was up for negotiations. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Evening, gentlemen," Andrey sneered at them. "We're here tonight to relay a message from Dante. He wants his fucking money."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Rusty had a bad feeling about all of this.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjzoWCv53yEJxxFPJ0K70HwoJuRB6p0erbu0Kpx6nive-AyOHHmQ_u1JdpP5jzYybFPxRzlUbqdi3JMuXjaeMFHEzGUZUiSQdX20TLkeRyzjFLbU4AOuHXPO8cRuxgXL_zINN0iidTPKGm/s1600/fourteen1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="572" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjzoWCv53yEJxxFPJ0K70HwoJuRB6p0erbu0Kpx6nive-AyOHHmQ_u1JdpP5jzYybFPxRzlUbqdi3JMuXjaeMFHEzGUZUiSQdX20TLkeRyzjFLbU4AOuHXPO8cRuxgXL_zINN0iidTPKGm/s640/fourteen1.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
"Just get it over with," Tuck demanded.<br />
<br />
"As you wish," the Russian snarled. <br />
<br />
Lightning quick, the gun was whipped out of Andrey's jacket and aimed straight at Rusty's chest. For one moment, he glanced helplessly at Tuck and before he could be saved, the trigger was pulled.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXR16fRtTzlb_S5IsnegD-m1mzOxuGKakonsfZNH9s3L0f1TJJkAeqzibB71euUMRycm507imXd7KYPs4Ao1kFsIrzCwD2G5Cc8rfpXVNsHkFiWfNGBZtpSJB45Fud8WyQOJW35mGRxorA/s1600/fourteen2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXR16fRtTzlb_S5IsnegD-m1mzOxuGKakonsfZNH9s3L0f1TJJkAeqzibB71euUMRycm507imXd7KYPs4Ao1kFsIrzCwD2G5Cc8rfpXVNsHkFiWfNGBZtpSJB45Fud8WyQOJW35mGRxorA/s640/fourteen2.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Tuck gasped. "Weren't we supposed to be negotiating?"<br />
<br />
Jay cackled. "You said to get it over with. He dies and you live. You have one week to get the money."<br />
<br />
Andrey smirked. "Pleasure doing business with you."<br />
<br />
Andrey and Jay slinked into the shadows, leaving Tuck with the dying man.<br />
<br />
Tuck held his only friend as the life quietly faded from him.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTZcmvGSz3Wb5BH3F7Teb3wyCuvWnRqff_gSfYrnvfRCBHd_L_W_BHRaWzgFwCL34GEGGI_NiuerBR9aBhW0dNpStvVWbnN0LBrZgXrdkC41Lj3NjwOTbzuBQQCfp_336QD30dF0yeD2Qv/s1600/fourteen3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTZcmvGSz3Wb5BH3F7Teb3wyCuvWnRqff_gSfYrnvfRCBHd_L_W_BHRaWzgFwCL34GEGGI_NiuerBR9aBhW0dNpStvVWbnN0LBrZgXrdkC41Lj3NjwOTbzuBQQCfp_336QD30dF0yeD2Qv/s640/fourteen3.png" width="608" /></a></div>
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<div align="center">
</div>
Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-18498157034170505912013-03-29T18:37:00.003-04:002013-04-01T12:09:13.529-04:00Chapter 3.12 I Got 5 On It<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The
next evening, as the cab pulled up to The Stardust, Ramona's stomach
took an unexpected lurch. She turned to her husband, suddenly
apprehensive. “Tuck, tell me why we have to be here again?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He
took her hand in his, giving it a small squeeze. “We're just
meeting some friends of Jay's. It'll be fun. Besides,” he
grinned, “we're in Lucky Palms so why not?” And with that last
remark, he strode confidently toward the double doors.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She
shook her head. Tuck's smooth talking ways may have gotten him out
of all sorts of scrapes in his past but it was his overconfidence and
bravado that had landed him there in the first place. Becoming a
husband and even a father had done little to change that. Still,
Ramona followed him, ever the dutiful wife.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Inside,
Jay was the one who greeted them. “Evening, Mr. and Mrs. Whitney,”
he crowed, obviously pleased to see them. “Tuck, Dante is
waiting for you, in that office down the hall and to the right.
Ramona, if you'll come with me, I'll give you the grand tour.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I'm
to go with you?” she sniffed. “Well, I can see how this
evening's going to go.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“It'll
just be for a little, Bright Eyes,” Tuck reassured her, giving her
a quick peck on the cheek. “Why don't you go try your hand at some
Blackjack.” He grinned at Jay. “Knowing my wife, we'll have to
drag her out of this place.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">With
a resigned sigh, she followed her tour guide for the evening up the
stairs, somehow feeling more like a prisoner than a guest. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“So
you're Tucker Whitney.” Dante Savaglio was waiting for him when he
walked into the ornately decorated office.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Savaglio was a handsome, Italian man, dressed to the nines with the bling to match. Tuck suspected his demeanor was as slick as the immaculately groomed hair on his head.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Guilty as charged."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">His host grinned, revealing two rows of pearl-white teeth. "Please...have a seat."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dante sat down in a buttery, leather chair that probably cost a day's work at Tuck's garage. He leaned forward, deep in thought. "I suppose you know why I called you here?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"I'm not exactly sure," Tuck had to confess. "But I'm guessing it has something to do with Jay and our...business?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"I'm a powerful man, Mr. Whitney. I own three casinos and millions of dollars worth of commercial and residential property. I'm more well connected than the pope." Savaglio paused. "However, even a well-oiled machine must depend on every screw, nut, bolt, and cog. Even the smallest part is imperative to its operation. And that, is where you come in. Now I'm not here to blow smoke up your ass, but I'm told you are /very/ good at what you do."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"I've been working for Jay since I was a teen. I just do my job," said Tuck, attempting to be humble. He knew he was good. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"My associates and I have recently acquired a large supply of cocaine. It's premium and straight from Colombia. However, the Grecos, my family's sworn enemy, have started to intrude on our turf here in Lucky Palms. What I need is a new face, someone unrecognizable, to move some of these bricks, someone the Grecos don't know. I'll see to it that you receive a higher cut than you're accustomed to. You'll most likely be making more here than Pertha Hills, Yume no Shima and Hidden Springs combined. I would advise you to think very carefully before accepting."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Tuck paused. He wasn't in Kansas anymore, that was for certain. These men were ruthless, cutthroat and were very, very serious about what they were doing. Was a pay increase worth putting himself, not to mention his family, in danger? However, one territory meant that he would no longer have to run back and forth between towns and it meant that Conner and Josie would have secure futures.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"I'll do it."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">He was in it for his family. Dante could see that, practically bet on it when Jay had first recommended Tuck. Jay had insisted that they had the perfect man for the job. Tuck Whitney was a straight shooter, a devoted husband and father who had come from practically nothing and would do everything to protect what he worked all his life to achieve.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Excellent. Jay will call you later this week with the details," said Dante. "Rusty?" he called. "You may come in now."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">A man of slight build and copper hair ambled into the room. He was quirky looking, a little awkward and had a crooked smile. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"This," gestured Dante, "is your associate. Rusty will be your wheel man, runner, errand boy, messenger, whatever you need."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Pleasure to meet you," said Tuck, shaking the man's hand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Rusty smiled crookedly. "The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Whitney."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dante was confident in the recent additions to his team. The Grecos would be forced to take their baking powder shit elsewhere. He would dream of dollar signs tonight.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ramona was by the Blackjack table when she felt something touch her ass.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">She whirled around, furious. "Jay? What the fuck?" she demanded. Before she knew what she was doing, she slapped him hard across his face. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was a stupid move. Jay had killed people for less and for a moment, Ramona was afraid he might retaliate. He scowled, touching a hand to his cheek. "What's the big deal?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">She stood there glaring at him. "I could ask you the same. I am a <em>married </em>woman, Jay Caldwell."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">He held out his hands. "I'm sorry. Jesus! My hand slipped," he smirked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">She laughed humorlessly. "I'm sure it did. Your hand just managed to find its way to my ass and cop a feel. Like that's the first time I've heard that."</span><br />
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"Enough!" a voice cried out. "Jason Caldwell, is that any way to treat our guest?"<br />
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Ramona turned around. A very pretty blonde had materialized out of nowhere and was now standing between them.<br />
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"Sorry," grumbled Jay.</div>
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"I should say!" the lady told him. "I'm sure Dante wouldn't be happy to hear about this at all." Turning to Ramona, she extended her hand. "I am Rosalind Savaglio, Dante's wife and on behalf of the Stardust, I extend my apologies for the behavior of our <em>staff."</em></div>
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Ramona offered a hand gratefully. "Thank you for rescuing me."</div>
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Rosalind chortled. "Oh it's just Jay. He's just a man at the end of the day. They all are. They see a pretty lady and all the blood stops flowing to the brain and heads south." She rolled her eyes. "But enough of that, what do you say we go somewhere and have a drink?"</div>
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"I would love to."</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The two ladies settled themselves into an intimate lounge with glasses of wine. Ramona found Rosalind's company to be pleasant, especially after the evening's events and Rosalind was happy to have a female presence in the casino for a change.</span></div>
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"You have no idea how nice it is to have you here. The other wives are <em>dreadful </em>cunts and besides, I rarely see them anyway. I hope we'll be able to hang out more often once your husband starts working here."</div>
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"Tuck already has a job. He's a mechanic," she told Rosalind proudly. </div>
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"Oh?" Rosalind raised an eyebrow. "But I thought that was why Dante invited you here tonight. I'm probably saying too much, but Jay has been trying to get your husband into our business for awhile now." </div>
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"And what, exactly, is your business?"</div>
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Rosalind looked down into her glass. "Oh dear, I have made quite a mess of things. You see, Tuck's been doing it for so long, I was sure you already knew."</div>
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"Rosalind, just tell me. Please!" she implored the woman, standing up, her heart sinking to the floor.</div>
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Tuck was up $1,000 when he heard his wife behind him.</div>
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"A coke dealer?" she screeched, loudly. "You've been a fucking coke dealer since you were sixteen and this is the first time I've ever heard of such a thing?"<br />
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"Ramona, please," begged Tuck, neither confirming nor denying. "Can we talk about this back in our hotel?"<br />
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"No, we will fucking not. We're going to talk about this right the fucking now. We've been married for four years. We have two children, Tuck!" she cried. "We have a life together. Had, at least, until I found out that I don't know you at all. I've been married to a stranger."<br />
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Her eyes welled up with tears and he could see the pain thinly veiled under all of her fury. He was on the verge of losing everything. And this was one time he couldn't talk his way out.</div>
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"What are you going to do?" his voice cracked.</div>
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<em>"I'm</em> going home," she hissed. "One of us has to be a parent. One of us has to care about our family. I don't even want to look at you right now. We'll figure things out once you finish your <em>business </em>up here in Lucky Palms."</div>
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With that, his wife spun on one stiletto-clad foot and tramped out of the room, out of his life. </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He couldn't take it if he lost her forever.</span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Downstairs, Dante and the strange Russian man conspired.</span></div>
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Who is the Russian man?</div>
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Will Ramona ever forgive Tuck?</div>
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Is Tuck in over his head? </div>
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Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-57474192519782790932013-02-26T03:34:00.001-05:002013-02-26T03:34:23.902-05:00Spoiler Alert!For those who don't follow the Facebook page, here is a spoiler pic:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZN2jKCrCF0SJgx7OOYVANc2d08uAWK-RNf6nxhYRCcryMxT05OC084KJFndB1U4hgQWvcUAwKUOzk9NQOlCQ093SwZaW4PiiM6Umrdwjg70UwSETU0qdinCgClaBpmaM0rOtd8dM3Q2Ja/s1600/Screenshot.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZN2jKCrCF0SJgx7OOYVANc2d08uAWK-RNf6nxhYRCcryMxT05OC084KJFndB1U4hgQWvcUAwKUOzk9NQOlCQ093SwZaW4PiiM6Umrdwjg70UwSETU0qdinCgClaBpmaM0rOtd8dM3Q2Ja/s640/Screenshot.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-90319026255526205102013-02-08T19:02:00.002-05:002013-02-08T19:02:27.572-05:00Still Internet-lessBetween my work schedule, still settling into my new apartment and not having Internet, I have not been able to release a new chapter. However, once money starts getting better, I won't have to work as much so hopefully, by then, I'll have the rest of Generation 3 completed and I'll just have to post it! I miss my story and my readers and I hope you won't forget me.<br />
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Love, <br />
LaurenLaurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-62278919812323455492012-11-01T13:02:00.000-04:002013-04-18T21:37:34.985-04:00Chapter 3.13 Nuthin' But a 'G' Thang<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<em>"When will the blood begin to race</em></div>
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<em>the sleeping bud burst into bloom?</em></div>
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<em>When will the flames, at last, consume us . . .?" - PotO</em></div>
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People who get "high" are often at the lowest point in their life. Some are lucky enough to avoid addiction and illegal drugs are nothing but a fleeting fancy. Others are not so fortunate and continue to use until they cease to be themselves and instead become identified by their addiction.<br />
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He was so good with Conner and Josie. Whether it was because he wanted to give them the childhood he never had or because he wasn't much more than a child himself, Tuck was a natural father.</div>
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Ramona had come home to Hidden Springs, emotionally and physically drained. However, life did not cease to go on for a mere broken heart. She still had a house to clean, bills to pay and babies to pacify. At night, when Conner and Josie were in their cribs asleep, she reasoned that even if Tuck never came home, she could do this. She could raise them all by herself.</div>
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But that didn't make it easier. All she could do was hope that he would return soon.</div>
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"Gentlemen, I want you to meet my associate, Andrey Igalov," Dante announced. "Andrey and I have been friends for years. Tonight was actually his idea."</div>
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It was Guys' Night Out in Lucky Palms. Dante had opened a bottle of top-shelf tequila and moods were running high. </div>
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Andrey, the physically imposing Russian, smiled at them. His light blue eyes glittered like ice chips. "I promise, gentlemen, this will be a night you will not soon forget."</div>
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Dante grinned. "We better get started then, if we're going to make it to St. Claire by midnight." </div>
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He led his guests into his study. "The tequila was just the beginning. This is where the real fun begins." Dante gestured to the small white pile on his desk. "This is from my own personal stash and there's plenty more if need be. After we powder our noses, we'll be on our way."</div>
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Tuck glanced over at Rusty nervously. No one present knew about his mother the addict and how susceptible he was to the drug. However, Dante had a most domineering presence and there was something menacing in Andrey's smile. He gulped. Well, he had already fucked things up with Ramona and one little bender wouldn't hurt, would it?</div>
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An hour later, Tuck's mouth had gone completely numb, his nostrils tingled and his heart felt like it was going to at any moment, beat out of his chest. However, he didn't care. He could visualize his heart, marching out of his body and down the street, leading its very own vital organ parade. The thought made him giggle. When Dante had presented the private jet to the men, Rusty and Tuck's glassy eyes had gone wide. Tuck already felt like he was on his very own roller coaster. His thoughts were flowing fast and freely, his mind filled with optimism. Life was grand.</div>
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They had finally reached their destination. Tuck had never been to St. Claire, which to a Pertha Hills boy, was "the big city". He was enraptured by the bright lights, twisting around in his seat and ogling the sights as a small child might. "Where are we going?" Tuck shouted enthusiastically, although Dante was only two seats away in the luxurious stretch limo.</div>
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His host chuckled. "I have taken the liberty of renting an entire nightclub out. It's a club for gentlemen. A gentlemen's club, if you will."</div>
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Moments later, as the limo pulled up to the club, Rusty pressed his face to the window. "Excalibur," he breathed. </div>
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The four friends strode past the metal detectors and bouncers. Dante looked like a king in his castle. There were two girls working, a blonde bombshell and a raven-haired beauty. Tuck couldn't help but notice the way the blond's eyes followed him around the room.</div>
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While Rusty was getting drinks, Dante, Tuck and Andrey made their way to the center stage, where luxurious armchairs were waiting.</div>
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The girl with dark hair was on stage, sliding, twirling and spinning. Between her moves and the bright lights, Tuck felt like he was in another dimension and barely noticed when the blonde suddenly materialized in front of him.</div>
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"Hi," she purred lasciviously. "What's your name?"</div>
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"Tuck," he managed to say. </div>
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"I'm Daisy," she giggled, bending down slightly so he could have a full view of her ample cleavage.</div>
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"How is your night going?" </div>
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"It's been a little lonely so far. At least," Daisy batted her eyelashes, "until you got here." She absent-mindedly traced the inside of her thigh with a manicured forefinger. "I've been <em>aching</em> for someone to keep me company," she pouted. </div>
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Tuck's gaze couldn't help but follow her finger up and down her thigh. Daisy was well-versed in the art of seduction, from the way she pursed her lip-glossed lips to the way she leaned back and slowly, luxuriously rubbed her neck, then her shoulders, breasts and midriff. To anyone who was watching her, they'd have to be blind to not be thinking about how they wished the hands on her body were instead theirs. Blind...or an idiot.</div>
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"I-I can do that," Tuck blurted out. </div>
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"Oh? Well, why don't we go some place more private?" She lent him a hand and he took it nervously. </div>
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As she started to lead him to the lap dance room, his senses kicked back in and he stopped, suddenly aware and apprehensive. "Can we...can we sit and talk for a moment?"</div>
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By that time, he was starting to come down and was feeling more like himself. His head hurt and he kind of wanted to go to sleep but didn't think he'd be able to yet. The bright lights were hurting his head and the pretty girl in front of him wasn't doing much for his junk, which was a side effect of the coke. However, he listened to her hustle, letting her do her job. Daisy was very attractive, but it made him wonder how a girl ended up in a job like this. He was zoning out when something she said caught his attention.</div>
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"...if you want, we can go in the back and do a little extra, if you know what I mean," she winked. "And I think you do."</div>
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"Extra?" he blinked.</div>
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"You gotta pay to play, big boy. So what do you say. How bout you have your way with me. I can make all your fantasies come true," she cooed, placing her hand on his crotch.</div>
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"Absolutely not."</div>
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"Huh?" Not used to being rebuffed, she could only stare at him.</div>
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"Daisy, I have to confess I was less than sober when I walked in here but during the time that I've known you, I've found that you're pretty and charming. What are you doing in a place like this? Why do you make yourself so...cheap?"</div>
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She cried out, as if struck. "Cheap?"</div>
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"Honestly, I'd rather give you money to sit here and talk to me but you don't have to do anything else. And you shouldn't. You're better than that." By that time, Tuck's head was throbbing and he could only think about Ramona. "And so am I," he said, looking around. "I don't even know why I'm here when I should be home with my wife. We had a fight," he confessed. </div>
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He gave Daisy a hug and she surprised him with a quick kiss. He doubted his little speech would change her life or make her quit her job. However, even drug dealers have morals and Tuck missed his wife.</div>
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He slipped $100 in Daisy's hand. "Your wife is lucky to have you," she whispered, before walking away.</div>
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The next afternoon, after the inevitable crash and burn, Tuck dragged himself out of his hotel room's California King-sized bed to let Dante know he would be returning to Hidden Springs.</div>
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When he walked in the door, he was met with a glare from his wife. "Upstairs <em>now</em>," she whispered furiously.</div>
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"Where are Conner and Josie?"</div>
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"They're napping. Which means you have exactly half an hour to miraculously make me forgive you or you can get the hell out of our lives."</div>
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He grimaced. After last night, he was hardly in the condition to be dealing with this.</div>
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"What can I say to you that I haven't already tried saying, Ramona? I'm sorry and I love you. I can make all the excuses in the world but those are the only two things that are true."</div>
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"Arrrgh!" she yelled in frustration. "I have been waiting for this moment for the past few days but now that it's here, I can't even come up with anything. And as pissed off as I am at you, I'm even more mad at myself."</div>
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That got his attention. "Why?"</div>
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"Because," she rolled her eyes, "because my father was an alcoholic and my mother was a cheater and they loved each other but gave up completely. I grew up without either one of them and I would never want that for Conner and Josie. Even if...even if..."</div>
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"Even if their father is a drug dealer?" he asked softly.</div>
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"Yes!" she cried. "And I don't know if that makes me a romantic or stupid or pathetic, but even if my father never had another sober day in his entire life, the fact that he would be a part of my life would have been better than nothing. It would have been better than losing him."</div>
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At this, she collapsed into his arms, violently sobbing. "You made me love you, Tuck. You made me fall so deeply and helplessly in love with you that I don't know how to not love you. I don't know how to not be with you."</div>
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He swallowed. "So you don't want to leave me?"</div>
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"No!" she cried. "And it just makes me so mad, that I'm even telling you this and you get to do whatever you want because I'll never leave you." Ramona sniffed. "Now you'll just do whatever you want and I'll yell and then we'll make up and have hot makeup sex and then two days later, you'll just fuck it up all over again and..."</div>
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"Did I hear 'makeup sex'?" Tuck interrupted. </div>
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She rolled her eyes. "It figures that is the one thing you heard in that entire speech. I swear..."</div>
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"Ramona!" he cut her off.</div>
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"What?"</div>
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"Shut up and kiss me already."</div>
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And she did. </div>
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That evening, as Ramona and Tuck put their babies to bed, Ramona couldn't help but think that despite the past week's events, everything she loved and held dear in the world was currently in that one room.</div>
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Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-42033417738229872602012-10-20T17:20:00.000-04:002012-10-20T17:20:08.444-04:00Chapter 3.11 Live in the Sky<br />
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“This is nice.” We had left
Hidden Springs three hours earlier and my comment had finally broken the
unspoken silence that had been hanging in the car like a dense fog.
Tuck had insisted on driving, his hands grabbing the wheel tightly,
arms straight out, eyes focused on the road, and expression strained.
It boggled my mind how the person you knew better than anyone else
could become a complete stranger in a matter of years. I thought
that was something that happened to other couples. But not us. We
were solid. Weren't we?</div>
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<br /></div>
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He finally rewarded me with a small
smile. “Yeah.”</div>
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I'm not sure when exactly it had
happened, but we had drifted apart. Somewhere between Conner being
born and now, we had somehow ceased to become lovers and transformed
into roommates. Many nights, I would wake up to comfort a crying
baby and my husband's side of the bed would be empty. Was he having
an affair? I would hold him, as if willing him to come back to me,
but he stood in my arms, with a rigidity that was completely devoid
of any emotion or affection.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Maybe the stress of another child was
putting more pressure on him to work more. I was overjoyed
when I found out I was pregnant with Josie and had planned on going
back to college when she was old enough for preschool. Tuck soon
began working longer hours, coming home later and later. A small
kernel of suspicion had begun to fester in my mind. The garage
closed at seven o' clock on the weekdays. When I asked him, he told
me he had started making house calls for the extra money. But surely
people do not need their oil changed at two in the morning.
</div>
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<br /></div>
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His refusal to account for his
whereabouts began to drive me mad. I searched his pockets, hoping to
find hotel receipts, condoms. I started smelling his clothes,
desperate for a whiff of perfume, but could only detect deodorant and
a faint hint of motor oil. I'm not proud to admit this, but when
those trails turned cold, I placed a few calls to Yume No Shima, to
see if Kimmie or Zane would divulge anything. I'm sure I must have
sounded like a raving lunatic, but they both reassured me that Tuck
loved me and that everything would be okay. No, everything was not
okay. I wanted my husband back.</div>
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<br /></div>
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When Tuck had first suggested the trip
to Lucky Palms, I had flat out refused. First of all, who would take
care of our babies? That had bought me a little time, until he came
home one day and announced that our regular babysitter, Megan could
watch Conner and Josie the following week. I had fretted that such
an extravagant trip would cost too much but those fears were also
soon quieted. Tuck had accumulated quite a bit of vacation time in
the past few years and he apparently had been saving a decent amount
of money between overtime in the shop and the house calls. I finally
broke a week ago, when he had grabbed me by the shoulders and looked
deep into my eyes.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“C'mon, Ramona. I know things
between us haven't been good for a minute, but I miss you. And I
know you miss me, too.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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At this, I had finally caved, and with
that, packed my bags and prepared for a week in Lucky Palms.</div>
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* * * * * * * *</div>
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"What do you think?" Tuck gestured to the tiny room that would be our home for the next few days. We were staying at the Salty Springs Resort. It wasn't a five-star hotel by any means, but it was clean and we were together.</div>
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"It's perfect," I said, staring up at him. And it was. I had my husband for the next seven days. We could have been staying in a cardboard box for all I cared. </div>
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"Damn straight it is," he whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from my eyes.</div>
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And then he kissed me, and it was like we were teenagers all over again, with the entire world before us.</div>
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After we had broken the bed in properly and gotten cleaned up, we set out for some sightseeing. There was a SimFest at Performance Park...</div>
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then we got massages at Silver Swallow Day Spa...</div>
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and ended the day at Diamondback's.</div>
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* * * * * * * *</div>
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Tuck and I wandered the city hand-in-hand, taking everything in. Every morning we made love and then set out, something different to do every day. We had been in Lucky Palms for almost three days when suddenly, our paradise was turned completely upside down. </div>
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"Baby," Tuck said, "I think someone's at the door."</div>
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"I'm closest," I told him, standing up. "I'll get it." </div>
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But the face on the other side of the door belonged to the last person I would expect.</div>
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"Good evening, MRS. Whitney," Jay Caldwell smirked. "I'm here to see Tucker."</div>
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"Of-of course," I stammered, stepping back so Jay could come in. "He's just relaxing."</div>
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He sneered at that. "I'm sure he's been doing a lot of that lately."</div>
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Tuck had stood up as soon as he heard Jay's voice. He walked over to them, acknowledging Jay with a slight head nod. "If you excuse us Ramona, I believe we have a few things to discuss." And with that, he walked out of the bungalow, with Jay close on his heels.</div>
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* * * * * * * *</div>
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They walked to the recreation room in silence. Tuck hadn't been a bit surprised to see his boss. But stopping in like that just would not do. What was Ramona thinking? Did she suspect anything?</div>
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The two men sat down and stared at each other. Jay was the first to speak. "I'm willing to bet you's can't smoke in here, yeah?"</div>
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Tuck shook his head. </div>
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"Cuz I got one hell of a migraine," Jay grumbled. </div>
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"So what do you want?" demanded Tuck. "What was so fucking important that you had to show up to the resort and disturb my wife?"</div>
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"Ooh, flex like that again," snickered Jay. "Have you's been working out? You're looking pretty jacked."</div>
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Tuck ground his teeth. "Just get to the fucking point, Jay. Ramona's got to be wondering what's going on."</div>
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"You're so busy playing house, you forget the real reason you're here. Don't you's remember, TUCK? Dante Savaglio, that name ring a bell? What the fuck, man?!" exploded Jay.</div>
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"I'm sorry! We just had another kid, work's been keeping me late and then I have to go run your shit. I got Ramona out here and it's been so long since we could talk without biting each other's heads off. It just felt so good to be with her."</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrFyzA1RNsINJk9AmLgyIWGVnwtrm4MgdzWciN1vHdzFgpPohzh7uRMD4T6P8BccJVnwdBteKX_XfJkMeY0N6pQAaJ6kK5QM7ee7pjzMBOIxRgUiVNhQIlCXKpLNhh04Ty0xTmqEEvaffo/s1600/j6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrFyzA1RNsINJk9AmLgyIWGVnwtrm4MgdzWciN1vHdzFgpPohzh7uRMD4T6P8BccJVnwdBteKX_XfJkMeY0N6pQAaJ6kK5QM7ee7pjzMBOIxRgUiVNhQIlCXKpLNhh04Ty0xTmqEEvaffo/s640/j6.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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"I always knew that bitch would get in the way," complained Jay. "Okay, straight up, you's gotta meet him. Tomorrow night. Lucky Palms Casino. You's can bring Ramona. She can entertain Savaglio's broad."</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdj6o73jNtXDlBiV_rINy2CDFzE9hOi4YR3di1EbPFn1v3PvinzWqE27cSB2tZ9BQxHNU3DoIG0Pe-sxJljD2TB-8sMYU0jQHcF9UKpUBK1dO8Ug0rGpA4XegH7dnxFecWyVaPWm_c28Hl/s1600/j4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdj6o73jNtXDlBiV_rINy2CDFzE9hOi4YR3di1EbPFn1v3PvinzWqE27cSB2tZ9BQxHNU3DoIG0Pe-sxJljD2TB-8sMYU0jQHcF9UKpUBK1dO8Ug0rGpA4XegH7dnxFecWyVaPWm_c28Hl/s640/j4.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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"So everything depends on tomorrow night."</div>
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"Yeah, so don't be fucking it up. We're about to hit it big."</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7uEN-WgO8Oj67CrJhxs1K9WeJ5yqsenWNbuciND3MMWAq4mr44cCEQW5RmVRBj3cd5oOEsf6Dw-vNzqoco1eSx4AhfQZuZ7rGPBcI81H7sL-LLxm6EAkixBehvyfz71Y-7UjyjZj4UHGY/s1600/j10.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7uEN-WgO8Oj67CrJhxs1K9WeJ5yqsenWNbuciND3MMWAq4mr44cCEQW5RmVRBj3cd5oOEsf6Dw-vNzqoco1eSx4AhfQZuZ7rGPBcI81H7sL-LLxm6EAkixBehvyfz71Y-7UjyjZj4UHGY/s640/j10.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Tuck sighed. "Fine. We'll be there."</div>
Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-90985688442499056192012-10-15T03:28:00.002-04:002012-10-15T03:29:04.190-04:00Chapter 3.10 The Girl<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 15.800000190734863px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">***Sorry that it took so long to update! This is a filler chapter, just to show the updated Whitney family as we prepare for the last five chapters of Ramona's generation.*** </span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 15.800000190734863px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">* * * * * * *</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 15.800000190734863px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 15.800000190734863px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I wish I could do better by you,</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyViWSmdUtnlTP1ZOzMZx1AozU_jx5VeD2Rlcob-npl5XbJzej9v3RxrFfhBXQAI6M4A8r87QQt5X5E-_AYl9Zkbx76ID73V3ib3B-KAQdVrUEcSzOGFMgJ3dkYiTu7pUxpoBO9qedOqg/s1600/Screenshot-3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="403" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyViWSmdUtnlTP1ZOzMZx1AozU_jx5VeD2Rlcob-npl5XbJzej9v3RxrFfhBXQAI6M4A8r87QQt5X5E-_AYl9Zkbx76ID73V3ib3B-KAQdVrUEcSzOGFMgJ3dkYiTu7pUxpoBO9qedOqg/s640/Screenshot-3.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 15.800000190734863px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Cuz that's what you deserve.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCmNc1MBnTUvmKQ9phVd29OCRbv7x76xIE2oG1NrxLDJ267AEIdVBbzm1rIAUI8XMLpWB2cU5RdKJHOgjoCb_PoDyE3J6ECqLt74-3ScbralcE0oW4nZ0LP3YzEEX3Ap-5axIBDxYH8pg/s1600/Screenshot-6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCmNc1MBnTUvmKQ9phVd29OCRbv7x76xIE2oG1NrxLDJ267AEIdVBbzm1rIAUI8XMLpWB2cU5RdKJHOgjoCb_PoDyE3J6ECqLt74-3ScbralcE0oW4nZ0LP3YzEEX3Ap-5axIBDxYH8pg/s640/Screenshot-6.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="line-height: 15.800000190734863px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">You sacrifice so much of your life</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiePGueb2oIrEKiXxvZDdI0q_G9DOal4mU1Z0sebHVJVSnFVM-07YuoMhNk8smg1lW50O_jMQncRJI0nlHmHpCFqniDrh7bE7AKT7-CUpkheQw5ApdzZ8DUTr8OvJMlqPhHbK2oUUY-hI0/s1600/Screenshot-5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiePGueb2oIrEKiXxvZDdI0q_G9DOal4mU1Z0sebHVJVSnFVM-07YuoMhNk8smg1lW50O_jMQncRJI0nlHmHpCFqniDrh7bE7AKT7-CUpkheQw5ApdzZ8DUTr8OvJMlqPhHbK2oUUY-hI0/s640/Screenshot-5.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">In order for this to work.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimTGmyl9zDUXvgSkb2hMNo2YvAWB6WVBj5kLAxu8HqdQ_eS4uHCiiV3Xn53tIgfgKdQTWx9zUXtXPjfkWyaNQBEwerbj0IGO-7Dxvfofe6Fz4FQsnZlSwSXVdRuyDfPReZcWsIxaTxI88/s1600/Screenshot-4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimTGmyl9zDUXvgSkb2hMNo2YvAWB6WVBj5kLAxu8HqdQ_eS4uHCiiV3Xn53tIgfgKdQTWx9zUXtXPjfkWyaNQBEwerbj0IGO-7Dxvfofe6Fz4FQsnZlSwSXVdRuyDfPReZcWsIxaTxI88/s640/Screenshot-4.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">While I'm off chasing my own dreams,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">Sailing around the world,</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi96I4ZkCz1qjPTvSo9ElROUbnGbVbeJ5tZ_Rcj_6rKsojCXCKWVo2QcZc66HBzoBCHqbi9f1P8U-dX5PxhhyphenhyphenysKwth4pgGLb6dwlKIj6IEOWeWPozgWoBWWN51fFI6XTW7VeJR71dKPAE/s1600/Screenshot-12.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi96I4ZkCz1qjPTvSo9ElROUbnGbVbeJ5tZ_Rcj_6rKsojCXCKWVo2QcZc66HBzoBCHqbi9f1P8U-dX5PxhhyphenhyphenysKwth4pgGLb6dwlKIj6IEOWeWPozgWoBWWN51fFI6XTW7VeJR71dKPAE/s640/Screenshot-12.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="line-height: 15.800000190734863px;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Please know that I'm yours to keep,</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWKvxqk29ekET3RJvLFxzB4ZULNu_-38S9BWZs93T1HyPbB1qWEX3Gu-PvlGfvEVaXwCUlJkNrLvamWNepNdfudFQt9PN0E-uSY1WuWxpdmMejBbcFmzRMil6Jazps0542NB_zEBYSho4/s1600/Screenshot-14.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWKvxqk29ekET3RJvLFxzB4ZULNu_-38S9BWZs93T1HyPbB1qWEX3Gu-PvlGfvEVaXwCUlJkNrLvamWNepNdfudFQt9PN0E-uSY1WuWxpdmMejBbcFmzRMil6Jazps0542NB_zEBYSho4/s640/Screenshot-14.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My beautiful girl.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfhQZtPgyOAohIxtmA2f6R6-aWpCz7RTV3acOkbAaYKY_utTrCu3-scpimt69ojo9iYa76_RSkTnlO73fZFB43iVbS2UjJ58CEdGhDuHUEmYTwA1KwiIpAu5y8aCXWNqFwrCwiCfAsiSU/s1600/Screenshot-15.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfhQZtPgyOAohIxtmA2f6R6-aWpCz7RTV3acOkbAaYKY_utTrCu3-scpimt69ojo9iYa76_RSkTnlO73fZFB43iVbS2UjJ58CEdGhDuHUEmYTwA1KwiIpAu5y8aCXWNqFwrCwiCfAsiSU/s640/Screenshot-15.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 15.800000190734863px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">And when you cry a piece of my heart dies,</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiROKutxdTENgHwMuHWud_ji4V5kx4qw7Sq8diy8xLVMyW3Z4WEDD0gAhgCih6JasDQ3yHKr-6Ix2OZdK7oZ_j6eCRGn5z3aO8G7curQ6DiljP9GoLjB2ZFQUZl0LxKkvHWak7ZAXrenA4/s1600/Screenshot-16.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiROKutxdTENgHwMuHWud_ji4V5kx4qw7Sq8diy8xLVMyW3Z4WEDD0gAhgCih6JasDQ3yHKr-6Ix2OZdK7oZ_j6eCRGn5z3aO8G7curQ6DiljP9GoLjB2ZFQUZl0LxKkvHWak7ZAXrenA4/s640/Screenshot-16.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 15.800000190734863px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">Knowing that I may have been the cause,</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJl4bIGfQeCoHGnE8C_Aun7wkNmEqeGDdGW-IA85340tTqnuIB1wTfR0aWFSKKDVG8n12qgv-Fm4CjUoDmrlDh5ty6Lanp1GwkSEJk7k87p_CqVz-i5XxegMJajEHNc7RZ3WQojjNHDNM/s1600/Screenshot-17.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJl4bIGfQeCoHGnE8C_Aun7wkNmEqeGDdGW-IA85340tTqnuIB1wTfR0aWFSKKDVG8n12qgv-Fm4CjUoDmrlDh5ty6Lanp1GwkSEJk7k87p_CqVz-i5XxegMJajEHNc7RZ3WQojjNHDNM/s640/Screenshot-17.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 15.800000190734863px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">If you were to leave, fulfill someone else's dreams,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">I think I might totally be lost.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEswLV4lxYhtzEhyphenhyphenCHlg-CahVX_pX4ldaUq9Pd6nxcPv5KnBpd6YYl4aobCA2LyripkZtn51_9QV4QYkDKUkCBQEwtxJN7cREPALGXaTcfj7fIbOtv3pm7i4b66R88dA-bj8kAsGQ5aAI/s1600/Screenshot-19.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEswLV4lxYhtzEhyphenhyphenCHlg-CahVX_pX4ldaUq9Pd6nxcPv5KnBpd6YYl4aobCA2LyripkZtn51_9QV4QYkDKUkCBQEwtxJN7cREPALGXaTcfj7fIbOtv3pm7i4b66R88dA-bj8kAsGQ5aAI/s640/Screenshot-19.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">But you don't ask for no diamond rings,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">No delicate string of pearls,</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Qk3V4cPrGWRCbrE_hITJkBbmm0f7xFFQz8w0mpCuiH_G43it8n0IvZzm989ii0PvE4xxBTzZf0DJjWNbSspPJc2q55cqiO1w6BAi9acV96kJjmsREXMoFNvlI14Se8x5u7upGA-fSfo/s1600/Screenshot-39.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Qk3V4cPrGWRCbrE_hITJkBbmm0f7xFFQz8w0mpCuiH_G43it8n0IvZzm989ii0PvE4xxBTzZf0DJjWNbSspPJc2q55cqiO1w6BAi9acV96kJjmsREXMoFNvlI14Se8x5u7upGA-fSfo/s640/Screenshot-39.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">That's why I wrote this song to sing,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">My beautiful girl</span></span></div>
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<br />Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-46220305349437483342012-09-30T20:15:00.000-04:002012-09-30T20:16:14.389-04:00My newest projectI've been promising a new chapter for a long time. Honestly, my time management skills suck - work and school and heartbreak PLUS midterms are coming up. I did manage to do a small project, involving my ex and I's Sim selves. I'm kind of proud of it! What would you guys think about a teaser trailer for the last few chapters of Ramona's generation? Let me know!<br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2iT4N1PyM1w">Tighter - Fitz and the Tantrums</a><br />
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<br />Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-72528801068208882262012-08-19T16:36:00.000-04:002012-08-19T16:36:34.530-04:00After a long break...Yeah so my RL is kind of insane at the moment. And I lost ALL of my Sims. So, while I can try to re-create them, they may not look exactly the same. <br />
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Things are about to get better though. I have <this> to come home to now... ^.^<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHhBm_0QS4W8JUgodHxuznNXuDs2a2wUJeDpd48A75aXEdNLIA-RnjuXZdcxmaU_6YybgRzQXgR_sZIIbD4lJMqRQCalSYj5uzMPjuV5YS2kAgr0oSrS9l9_nE2Jb6gIdhb1STII7GL0U/s1600/Tron.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHhBm_0QS4W8JUgodHxuznNXuDs2a2wUJeDpd48A75aXEdNLIA-RnjuXZdcxmaU_6YybgRzQXgR_sZIIbD4lJMqRQCalSYj5uzMPjuV5YS2kAgr0oSrS9l9_nE2Jb6gIdhb1STII7GL0U/s640/Tron.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-12010272408091414722012-04-14T16:18:00.000-04:002012-04-14T16:18:58.674-04:00Chapter 3.9 You Had Me At Hello<div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Cynics of love are actually the greatest believers in it. How do you think they got so bitter? They experienced it for themselves: love, not lust, saw it in all its ugliness and were burned badly. Passion isn't for someone who doubts nor is it for the infatuated. It's for someone who knows, who hurts and is still pissed off enough to have an opinion. Cynics are the ones who know love AND loss, the best.</span> </span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQVJ6fl9HmERuI3PsNRZullSmF5achZ_gem2wCAmIP0BIFXbnP_6XAk1Ju54lvqLWXM9ModL_lpPkpYtWOlY1_t_0CPKSiIafkI8018N2jGWbRoDsqYG0JsvmbdUt7m8CsrtRVTyCjL0/s1600/Screenshot-10.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQVJ6fl9HmERuI3PsNRZullSmF5achZ_gem2wCAmIP0BIFXbnP_6XAk1Ju54lvqLWXM9ModL_lpPkpYtWOlY1_t_0CPKSiIafkI8018N2jGWbRoDsqYG0JsvmbdUt7m8CsrtRVTyCjL0/s640/Screenshot-10.png" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Tuck knew this more than anyone. After all, nothing is stronger than the bond between a child and its mother. Even after years of watching his mother stumble out of her bedroom with random men night after night. Her eyes would be glassy and her nostrils would always have a white film under them that she'd try to sniffle back up as discreetly as possible. She'd sleep during the days and the house was always dark, the blinds drawn. The utilities were constantly getting shut off as she wasn't able to hold a job. He cooked dinner for the both of them even when he was still in grade school. Sometimes, her dealer wasn't able to come through. </span>She'd bite her nails and pace. She'd yell and scream obscenities, holding her head in her hands. <span style="font-family: inherit;">But in spite of everything, he loved her. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It isn't people's actions that make them become unlovable. It wasn't just that his mother was a coke addict or would never be a good parent or an upstanding member of society. That's the only way he had ever known her. But the night she took the pills, as he begged her through tear-filled eyes to put them down, changed everything. His mother's life was bad enough that she was ready to end it all and not even her child could dissuade her. Love didn't conquer all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">He had tried so hard to shut the entire world out. It worked for awhile. And then he met Ramona. </span>It hadn't been easy, but she had never given up on him. And even as he tried desperately to spare her the pain he would surely cause her, an equally desperate part of him knew he needed her. It scared the shit out of him, but the thing you are most afraid of is always the thing you want the most. And what he wanted, more than anything, was to be loved.<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkBXvUkleEgZ3wGNHC0I-fIOBKYfpcJS78EfNK1hdEuCybAuf3rEmqYuLlxbs6d11GdOLBxSZkC10RFecf09DRVHTq4oGxgnl8DLk0R8GyptY97dsuRXOTC3POUT1aKKAbwkDBiQRe3tU/s1600/Screenshot-18.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkBXvUkleEgZ3wGNHC0I-fIOBKYfpcJS78EfNK1hdEuCybAuf3rEmqYuLlxbs6d11GdOLBxSZkC10RFecf09DRVHTq4oGxgnl8DLk0R8GyptY97dsuRXOTC3POUT1aKKAbwkDBiQRe3tU/s640/Screenshot-18.png" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">* * * * * * *</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;">He had done it. Tuck had found a legitimate job, serving as a grease monkey at a small garage. He learned several tasks, such as adjusting brake valves, changing oil and working on rear differentials. He was always </span><span style="text-align: justify;">filthy</span><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"> by the time he went home, but in that dirty garage, his face streaked with sweat and his hands calloused, he had found a small sense of accomplishment. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnZBY4bzoiOFebEo3tc3zm7C_3561N8S1DJr6Fxv2JLrEpU6hXMCN7XyqdHEWLnwvTiyjY1cwKwS8GZJ7T3UouYVwnLQU6hITM-OWWVGgnMUrsvtqh1i9gnCBuUs_Kk_V-WE8gfMiLpR4/s1600/Screenshot-3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnZBY4bzoiOFebEo3tc3zm7C_3561N8S1DJr6Fxv2JLrEpU6hXMCN7XyqdHEWLnwvTiyjY1cwKwS8GZJ7T3UouYVwnLQU6hITM-OWWVGgnMUrsvtqh1i9gnCBuUs_Kk_V-WE8gfMiLpR4/s640/Screenshot-3.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ramona was completing her Associate's degree at Hidden Springs Community College. She hoped to use the credits she had earned to transfer to a University, earning her Bachelor of Science, majoring in Biology. More than anything, she wished to become an oncologist some day, to be able to help people like her grandmother. A diagnosis didn't always mean a death sentence and new discoveries were being made every day.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji6cFdltgQ6sAOmRJlvhf4lj0Xtm76BxD3FAJ2PPfBhwzNyu_j_Lx27L4gNaHYgmTHTW2eqzDtWMrBpJvXQuzUZfdf4rtwTDonqnj3FUmmYitbmeO0eU0WZdbI4FzhC1gQ1Rq4ltND0aA/s1600/Screenshot-13.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji6cFdltgQ6sAOmRJlvhf4lj0Xtm76BxD3FAJ2PPfBhwzNyu_j_Lx27L4gNaHYgmTHTW2eqzDtWMrBpJvXQuzUZfdf4rtwTDonqnj3FUmmYitbmeO0eU0WZdbI4FzhC1gQ1Rq4ltND0aA/s640/Screenshot-13.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">* * * * * * *</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;">It had been one of those days for Tuck. He had been under a Jeep trying to loosen a bolt when it had broken off, getting rust in his eye. Always the rebel, he had never been one for protective eyewear. You would have thought he would have learned his lesson after all this time but he was tired. He had flushed radiators, installed new brake pumps, even tinkered with an ignition switch or two. All he wanted was to drive home, take a hot shower and fall into bed. He wanted to pretend that this was all a bad dream, but he couldn't. This was his life now. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As he was dragging himself to his locker to get his things, his phone rang.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"What's up, Jay?"</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">* * * * * * *</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"So, what did you want to talk to me about?" </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRV2YIBX5TNSO243F_iFohf-4uwoQ5NTODDNXG4fI9vVU6c7JZ2gHPEuKyP0yRgYBztCFV87AVrpIicCb6TF9s07N2HvKyfyjBnMVag6m4NL_i37lwdkmhnb-nJOhInQpRjJSRWeC7Dd0/s1600/Screenshot-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRV2YIBX5TNSO243F_iFohf-4uwoQ5NTODDNXG4fI9vVU6c7JZ2gHPEuKyP0yRgYBztCFV87AVrpIicCb6TF9s07N2HvKyfyjBnMVag6m4NL_i37lwdkmhnb-nJOhInQpRjJSRWeC7Dd0/s640/Screenshot-1.png" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was standing in front of the man I loved, in the place where we had begun, about to deliver news that would surely end it all. We had made a nice life for ourselves. Sure, we weren't eating iced lobster and caviar every night for dinner and it would be a long time before we could afford a vacation home in the Hamptons, but the bills were getting paid. In eight or so years, after I graduated from medical school and became a full-fledged doctor, everything would be perfect. There was only one problem... </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglgcaB3nm40Xan-3LC83j9ciUdu65TA-h9V2Kt3QzUqxqMqD1yQPRso_PcuoWDtM_JtRFfs_h4yUgazLGt3a7CoERBO_lWFF7D2g39AG456Liugdkzux5jGo_kMgSdMND-xPWXV941A3E/s1600/Screenshot-28.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglgcaB3nm40Xan-3LC83j9ciUdu65TA-h9V2Kt3QzUqxqMqD1yQPRso_PcuoWDtM_JtRFfs_h4yUgazLGt3a7CoERBO_lWFF7D2g39AG456Liugdkzux5jGo_kMgSdMND-xPWXV941A3E/s640/Screenshot-28.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">At first, I thought it was a stomach virus, something I ate. But every morning, for the past two weeks, my breakfast had made a miraculous reappearance and I was forced to my knees to make penance to the porcelain god. While waiting on the results of the pregnancy test, I felt like I didn't even need to wait for the two little lines to appear that would seal our fates. I somehow knew. We were having a baby. And knowing how Tuck felt about family, how hard it was to make him love me, I feared the worst. He'd leave me, run back to Yume no Shima. I'll admit, termination crossed my mind for the past month or so since I had found out. But at fourteen weeks along, I was set in the decision to have this child, with or without him.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My pulse racing, I tried desperately to swallow the Titanic-sized lump in my throat. Well this was it. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivIQPCKDKrgDhu2nTsBELDv98BXNzhNAd1CiFyCQpm1Zl1Gy2WxuwaSRTt0pFS48NsxMZJ4gTH2ic85G9BLYt6ioTkFSnIRIrf6w2TRZylaXXVxJqTfCqq9naNd6ZxUVjPkkHzRQ_7bFk/s1600/Screenshot-2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivIQPCKDKrgDhu2nTsBELDv98BXNzhNAd1CiFyCQpm1Zl1Gy2WxuwaSRTt0pFS48NsxMZJ4gTH2ic85G9BLYt6ioTkFSnIRIrf6w2TRZylaXXVxJqTfCqq9naNd6ZxUVjPkkHzRQ_7bFk/s640/Screenshot-2.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"I-I...", I stammered, searching for the right words. He was looking up at me expectantly. Patiently. Lovingly. I wanted to remember his face at the moment for the rest of my life. I wanted to remember what it felt like to be loved by him. There was only way to tell him. Some news can only be told by ripping the Band-Aid off. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"I'm pregnant, Tuck."</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bracing for his reaction, I was quite surprised when he picked me up, twirling me around.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqI7me2HH8C14wEs8x08NpfOsIuMeMBvkkhevxQcHF00u0iqxSSzVVIzdWQReTuOYiTiAjHkZsESm47O5zia_rhMl14CNAfjmMn4ccrAiXjEySoC73iXs1azpqeVeF4hKST3T4EXrwLKg/s1600/Screenshot-5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqI7me2HH8C14wEs8x08NpfOsIuMeMBvkkhevxQcHF00u0iqxSSzVVIzdWQReTuOYiTiAjHkZsESm47O5zia_rhMl14CNAfjmMn4ccrAiXjEySoC73iXs1azpqeVeF4hKST3T4EXrwLKg/s640/Screenshot-5.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"That's incredible!" he shouted. "Fan-freaking-tastic! Imagine Ramona, we're going to have a little us running around! How far are you along? How are you feeling? How did this even happen?" </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I burst into giggles, almost insane from the relief that I was feeling. This had hardly been the reaction I had anticipated. "I'm a couple of months along and I feel great. As far as how it happened, I'll assume the usual way."</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He set me down, staring at me thoughtfully. His expression was one I had never seen before. It had a kind of softness and vulnerability with it. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"You know," he said quietly. "I was born trash. The town I lived in, my family, my friends...I was raised to believe I would never have anything better, could never expect to be anything better than what was in front of me. I was this little punk ass, poor in every sense of the word. Like a beggar child, I'd watch as everyone around me got things that they wanted...attention, affection, love. So I told myself that it was just easier to pretend like I didn't want them."</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Tuck paused, blinking rapidly. His voice had gotten husky and if I didn't know better, I would have thought he was choking up. "When I met you, I felt like everything I had ever wanted, had ever spent lying awake at night thinking about, were yours to give. Imagine a street rat, looking in the window of a bakery. And in that bakery, were rolls, doughnuts, cakes. All I had to do was come in from the cold. But I was stubborn. I hurt you, shut you out. But you never gave up, did you? You never closed your bakery. You kept the doors open, knowing that some day, I would walk through them and I would be yours forever."</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">His eyes now shone with an unmistakable wetness, but he was no longer trying to hide it. His gaze was steady and determined, not wavering for a second, not even when he slowly, deliberately, sunk to one knee. "I loved you, even when I thought I no longer knew what love was. I didn't want to, but I couldn't help it. I've always loved you and I know I always will. I don't have a ring at the moment, but I just want to do this, right here, right now." </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Tuck cleared his throat. "Ramona Morgan Bergdorf, will you marry me?"</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLYtnfYAj3MxlBQF9QHAlthPaIpAIFSfChDZ_2AVlmPC2QXdJ68HGhKSfEN8sNh5auopHWPRlVxmi1DJkWLXL_IMgcYmx4PswlReL_MABtJJElTxAQUfOGJd7L90Y5hQHWb-MX0kaOUQE/s1600/Screenshot-7.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLYtnfYAj3MxlBQF9QHAlthPaIpAIFSfChDZ_2AVlmPC2QXdJ68HGhKSfEN8sNh5auopHWPRlVxmi1DJkWLXL_IMgcYmx4PswlReL_MABtJJElTxAQUfOGJd7L90Y5hQHWb-MX0kaOUQE/s640/Screenshot-7.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It took me a second for my mind to process everything he had said. I had never heard him talk like that before. Sure, he was smooth, but this speech had truly come from the heart. It was genuine, heartfelt, with no trace of con. I could only gape at him.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Then Tuck grinned, looking more like his normal self. "C'mon, Bright Eyes, let me make an honest woman out of you."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I took a deep breath. "Yes. Yes, Tucker Whitney, I will marry you."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He smirked. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEAf-7Z4ekNFw4SXscPqTQ66sAm5vXUNnlpaT7IsIWoZtSTJulchWTlhaP6mtrbZsKdMOiyBzNYjv3P22en4oSFkuFZaQv-f0Z0ZvdPEQ9G6qMrhLT_Je79qUZPwScUzVEqxzGkjj_JdI/s1600/Screenshot-4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEAf-7Z4ekNFw4SXscPqTQ66sAm5vXUNnlpaT7IsIWoZtSTJulchWTlhaP6mtrbZsKdMOiyBzNYjv3P22en4oSFkuFZaQv-f0Z0ZvdPEQ9G6qMrhLT_Je79qUZPwScUzVEqxzGkjj_JdI/s640/Screenshot-4.png" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We walked home, like lovers out of a storybook. There had never been a more perfect day... </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">* * * * * * *</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Three weeks later, I nervously climbed the steps to City Hall, wondering what was waiting for me at the top. Tuck had told me to meet him here and to wear my best dress. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg428z_n9veRgHB0njcwQedr6C456b7dicw0L4GpyYqqXg1bbKjWuaQEdJeGi0NboHWeEAEgcT8R61PN4n0gKpwODJzaODLTuFaG40ek2TwH5dkB2yeA8M0t0DN4Tm3yOzaYUaqLxp2iFk/s1600/Screenshot-27.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg428z_n9veRgHB0njcwQedr6C456b7dicw0L4GpyYqqXg1bbKjWuaQEdJeGi0NboHWeEAEgcT8R61PN4n0gKpwODJzaODLTuFaG40ek2TwH5dkB2yeA8M0t0DN4Tm3yOzaYUaqLxp2iFk/s640/Screenshot-27.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I was feeling especially good that day. Barely showing, pregnancy seemed to suit me well. Classes were almost over for the semester and I had signed the paperwork to take a leave from the college for at least the next year.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Honestly, I was thinking more about my studies than my fiance's ominous request. But as I reached the last step, I suddenly lost the ability to breathe.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU29Thep6kJOaLQ18Pn4uI3q_3JeHdKBNoyQ4dCZThxJxdviEWyNiMKudNru_Csd4I3EZBCGyD41J14PppUGJIQZBCjdr55DMXIgf-_BmgQjRNGlLd92MMeQncbO6kbtOVjsJ5Ue5BVJs/s1600/Screenshot-25.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU29Thep6kJOaLQ18Pn4uI3q_3JeHdKBNoyQ4dCZThxJxdviEWyNiMKudNru_Csd4I3EZBCGyD41J14PppUGJIQZBCjdr55DMXIgf-_BmgQjRNGlLd92MMeQncbO6kbtOVjsJ5Ue5BVJs/s640/Screenshot-25.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Tuck was standing there, looking more handsome than I had ever seen him. He was smiling.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"What are you doing?" I asked, a confused look on my face.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Well hello to you, too," he said cheekily.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Seriously," I stared at him curiously. "What's with the cryptic note I found on the refrigerator this morning?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Tuck beamed. "Last night I thought, I can't possibly wait another day. I HAVE to make her mine. And today, you will be. Ramona, when we leave today, you will be my wife and I will be the happiest man in the world. I apologize for the lack of fanfare, but I'm hoping the romanticism of the situation makes up for it?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I chortled. "So it does. Well, we're engaged already...so why not? Let's go get married!"<br />
<br />
He offered me his arm and I took it happily. This was it. Before we walked through the door, I cast a sideways glance at him. "I hope you haven't been waiting very long?" </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Tuck gave me a funny look. "More than you'll ever know."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ZxIlPbDt0XyIshNQenwEpngzosUhayS7Jl-sj5iI3ER5SDDXzYzXzRzrN3RK4qCrQKUl6kKCP_wsZSYSeAsqocDROxhKbeX-BbxMJGmIGLf-rry6ruUNvBPlSqL-ImO0tSDFxuZWAGU/s1600/Screenshot-26.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ZxIlPbDt0XyIshNQenwEpngzosUhayS7Jl-sj5iI3ER5SDDXzYzXzRzrN3RK4qCrQKUl6kKCP_wsZSYSeAsqocDROxhKbeX-BbxMJGmIGLf-rry6ruUNvBPlSqL-ImO0tSDFxuZWAGU/s640/Screenshot-26.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">When we emerged some time later as Mr. and Mrs. Whitney, I knew that all concepts of previous perfect days had been wrong. Because this, this was the greatest feeling I had ever known and nothing could possibly be better. I had finally found someone who wouldn't leave me or die. I had found my other half. I was loved. And there is nothing that could ever compare to that. Nothing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixXo6c2YuwxeVajOVz5Ro9FZbQGKhYv1CJIPQJSzqiIjIYAr75tdPTf7s_LX4mxoNVwArhUcOYNWgwP7wzRK8vkAX_ArHtT0k4ZBRis2qhedySTM2IlDnVTcgPf3AV_4NCLlUfkMpI1G8/s1600/Screenshot-24.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixXo6c2YuwxeVajOVz5Ro9FZbQGKhYv1CJIPQJSzqiIjIYAr75tdPTf7s_LX4mxoNVwArhUcOYNWgwP7wzRK8vkAX_ArHtT0k4ZBRis2qhedySTM2IlDnVTcgPf3AV_4NCLlUfkMpI1G8/s640/Screenshot-24.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i style="text-align: center;">"</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;">A man reserves his true and deepest love not for the species of woman in whose company he finds himself electrified and enkindled, but for that one in whose company he may feel tenderly drowsy." - George Jean Nathan</span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
* * * * * * *<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Those good days...the best days, even. As the months flew by and my tummy grew, my heart swelled to match as my love for Tuck soon included our unborn baby.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMJdXlh9U44dB27rJ4tS6KbFiWbZnGK9Jbo6FD2L5Zrznhj6WfHm3ck87YDWyasjMsNeKCMKrvfrbPvIG39Z4zcJjqV0PnnTMu1_ZpiC-SlMt5VkXITo9y3WHwHZLjsPImGNmCDeGfvyM/s1600/Screenshot-30.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMJdXlh9U44dB27rJ4tS6KbFiWbZnGK9Jbo6FD2L5Zrznhj6WfHm3ck87YDWyasjMsNeKCMKrvfrbPvIG39Z4zcJjqV0PnnTMu1_ZpiC-SlMt5VkXITo9y3WHwHZLjsPImGNmCDeGfvyM/s640/Screenshot-30.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;">In no time at all it seemed, our child decided to make his or her entrance into the world. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVL4b4XoleQfqa25q3Hv2wSfo56jny6UzgMfsRMfFIny9BbOaJH8GBxi8pUGT_zSHkCdhWzsCGKu8S6Qpb-6sf34bU8zY2FePTyD1fEjpWNZvg3A3uTQwPAuXjedFmqGUMgtlGivyLc6A/s1600/Screenshot-48.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVL4b4XoleQfqa25q3Hv2wSfo56jny6UzgMfsRMfFIny9BbOaJH8GBxi8pUGT_zSHkCdhWzsCGKu8S6Qpb-6sf34bU8zY2FePTyD1fEjpWNZvg3A3uTQwPAuXjedFmqGUMgtlGivyLc6A/s640/Screenshot-48.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And we were ready. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"What's wrong with him? What's wrong with our baby?"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGk3xfJox5pg6iQlF1vCgFmamjNztkJuh1FKXe3P_dyeXfW67ssuj-KEwZ3kEprdKuXRF_cK08b_trNUba4G60caVIufl_8wgrzTgBwypzgJU-vqORac2cWtSQzyegGxwe-YapPbRJEhY/s1600/Screenshot-54.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGk3xfJox5pg6iQlF1vCgFmamjNztkJuh1FKXe3P_dyeXfW67ssuj-KEwZ3kEprdKuXRF_cK08b_trNUba4G60caVIufl_8wgrzTgBwypzgJU-vqORac2cWtSQzyegGxwe-YapPbRJEhY/s640/Screenshot-54.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Dr. Laura, the family's obstetrician, smiled kindly at Tuck, the kind of smile that could never be taught in medical school, but the one that was learned over time and honed from years of dealing with distraught family members, soothing their fears, quieting their worries. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Baby Whitney is experiencing what is known as meconium aspiration so we will be keeping him on for a couple of days for observation."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Meaning?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"He wasn't getting enough oxygen while he was still in the uterus and some of the meconium (feces) got into his lungs. His lungs were swollen and his Agpar score was low. We have placed him on a breathing machine and will continue to monitor him in NICU until we are sure that all traces of meconium have been removed from his system and he can breathe on his own," explained Dr. Laura.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd7Z0_dOQAPmzOwXZ74TOayOL6IKxHtPV4-GWxytusbUw3FoZhtld6hnPGzp-G_PgI6IIlzQsUDdv1wSi8Bx_EOjpSPc5ubTamQIWYJxFMbPopo9cNlFRfPKWWpzP4EOn4YOZtq5dfXVY/s1600/Screenshot53.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd7Z0_dOQAPmzOwXZ74TOayOL6IKxHtPV4-GWxytusbUw3FoZhtld6hnPGzp-G_PgI6IIlzQsUDdv1wSi8Bx_EOjpSPc5ubTamQIWYJxFMbPopo9cNlFRfPKWWpzP4EOn4YOZtq5dfXVY/s640/Screenshot53.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">He exhaled sharply. "So he's going to be alright?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Dr. Laura nodded. "Congratulations, Tucker, on your beautiful baby boy. Hopefully you and Ramona will be able to take him home soon."</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiv744DUDamSN7geSKSyTc3Helu2C24KXcniwnl34QRCNbKDe9ACW5elOsjNjvhsl3-_0XHHH6tlvhp131-C7j969VDw7XDHktAgRq8SbGlWAbrOk4GdH4j2a8kQIWxV9bi74uuGmuVP0/s1600/Screenshot-52.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiv744DUDamSN7geSKSyTc3Helu2C24KXcniwnl34QRCNbKDe9ACW5elOsjNjvhsl3-_0XHHH6tlvhp131-C7j969VDw7XDHktAgRq8SbGlWAbrOk4GdH4j2a8kQIWxV9bi74uuGmuVP0/s640/Screenshot-52.png" width="640" /></a></div><br />
"He's going to be alright," Tuck told his wife, weak from relief. "Our baby is going to be fine." The stress of his job, the hospital bills and the new baby had been weighing on him greatly. Health complications would only have put further burden on their already fragile financial obligations.<br />
<br />
Ramona had been there for the past hour, just staring at their baby. "I want to name him Conner."<br />
<br />
"Why Conner?"<br />
<br />
"He just looks like one," she said with a shy smile. <br />
<br />
"Okay," he conceded. "Conner Whitney. I like it." They stood there for awhile, watching Dr. Laura tend to him. While she was caught up in the euphoria of new motherhood, he could only continue to stress. Even though Conner was okay, the monetary strains were worrisome. After all, Ramona would want to go back to school eventually and then there would be daycare to worry about. The funds Marilyn had left for college would only go so far. How would he support them on the small salary he made as a mechanic?<br />
<br />
There was only one solution. And as much as he hated it, he told himself it was for the good of his family. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06p3hyauwquuP1lTZUZohedaEQFk3-x6oi0g5EltblwujAccn4F6Y02vamtHO7f70GGi3Q4vwByEm0mGbt8F-zZnNBzXtGXPicof_YdVxPyxKuGCYz1nWAkSk9qxB3ReAHadldcObHNw/s1600/Screenshot-55.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06p3hyauwquuP1lTZUZohedaEQFk3-x6oi0g5EltblwujAccn4F6Y02vamtHO7f70GGi3Q4vwByEm0mGbt8F-zZnNBzXtGXPicof_YdVxPyxKuGCYz1nWAkSk9qxB3ReAHadldcObHNw/s640/Screenshot-55.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Good to see you, Tuck. I knew you'd be back."</span></div></div></div>Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-28607906008134467842012-03-23T08:27:00.000-04:002012-03-23T08:27:48.510-04:00The Bergdorf Estate got a makeover...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE2ULGbe44E3NMw0_OEtgEDDfbuqSiug8q6KeIlwMSAo4Bdqfq5Dx1BYLaA-e64id6vPBpkeLe6Gvl-UmT2Xon5LxEIDFPJU7v4FRDGqnbBPpUtzptIj8lSQHo5Haq3uKPDTZVfMn0Kh4/s1600/Screenshot-15.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE2ULGbe44E3NMw0_OEtgEDDfbuqSiug8q6KeIlwMSAo4Bdqfq5Dx1BYLaA-e64id6vPBpkeLe6Gvl-UmT2Xon5LxEIDFPJU7v4FRDGqnbBPpUtzptIj8lSQHo5Haq3uKPDTZVfMn0Kh4/s640/Screenshot-15.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDVlurICdMVnnKN2i1JeaDR080zbWB2ZkXNbnbIsgZZTIWsn5-ZmdXXbCHsr3tZNGursS_tw52OH0NDLk9VRYerCDvqpq3aJFkFIrWEzuHrciVPlZWOCmpebgLkGRdSBdvKD9ATh8MpN4/s1600/Screenshot-16.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDVlurICdMVnnKN2i1JeaDR080zbWB2ZkXNbnbIsgZZTIWsn5-ZmdXXbCHsr3tZNGursS_tw52OH0NDLk9VRYerCDvqpq3aJFkFIrWEzuHrciVPlZWOCmpebgLkGRdSBdvKD9ATh8MpN4/s640/Screenshot-16.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh287oV5-9z-fNsc6w53mr847mtQCVoYBMGfbsJr6TroZLvJpkrj5GRo0-PaCZQYFX8pPqE7EFEG9RlhaOIa2g3-MZLgIFn9bYREpLmP9DIbWABdt9Asg93fQ1eWJvB6BXVLZAg3cnzJ0E/s1600/Screenshot-19.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh287oV5-9z-fNsc6w53mr847mtQCVoYBMGfbsJr6TroZLvJpkrj5GRo0-PaCZQYFX8pPqE7EFEG9RlhaOIa2g3-MZLgIFn9bYREpLmP9DIbWABdt9Asg93fQ1eWJvB6BXVLZAg3cnzJ0E/s640/Screenshot-19.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiWNkOn7F3MKC3qLtXDf_kpOBMBfSVViTNhhR562RtPTjgsB0LV2BZeq_7qWevfbD3AUMIH1rEr5yS99zhd2Ejno_iwSYKWkZTSeSZD9WATBYC9qEcg_R1AWfsPcPNRnW1AC2E0Srlt70/s1600/Screenshot-20.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiWNkOn7F3MKC3qLtXDf_kpOBMBfSVViTNhhR562RtPTjgsB0LV2BZeq_7qWevfbD3AUMIH1rEr5yS99zhd2Ejno_iwSYKWkZTSeSZD9WATBYC9qEcg_R1AWfsPcPNRnW1AC2E0Srlt70/s640/Screenshot-20.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQyTFHq5sYEAxw45eS6eea8lvWKzTSUIzQKxcCtFWE4lxsAOXQOZI77gOJPyVaVcPly_fadRpgLZazug9x-xJgisnEX13zTTTGBmu_2d_cZOIIk1KSBkcyOImGYGvWomVg3Q7oLYGypCc/s1600/Screenshot-21.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQyTFHq5sYEAxw45eS6eea8lvWKzTSUIzQKxcCtFWE4lxsAOXQOZI77gOJPyVaVcPly_fadRpgLZazug9x-xJgisnEX13zTTTGBmu_2d_cZOIIk1KSBkcyOImGYGvWomVg3Q7oLYGypCc/s640/Screenshot-21.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmdG18kvtGhhDGxoh1GGqWo2Pk7dCvBZIy3k7dq7uz3mjFrSyIuP9ixkPhRe5sWNGgYXYwA-jOhTsw2Lf377zGcWKzBnFiS4bLUiN-Kl2pKhfwAMhbj9iGDu30unjy7DMDnOEDEcAk1kY/s1600/Screenshot-17.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmdG18kvtGhhDGxoh1GGqWo2Pk7dCvBZIy3k7dq7uz3mjFrSyIuP9ixkPhRe5sWNGgYXYwA-jOhTsw2Lf377zGcWKzBnFiS4bLUiN-Kl2pKhfwAMhbj9iGDu30unjy7DMDnOEDEcAk1kY/s640/Screenshot-17.png" width="640" /></a></div>Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-10356337051534232432012-03-13T21:06:00.002-04:002012-03-24T01:43:01.154-04:00Chapter 3.8 Always on My Mind<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJzrUnk4pgidw5_5G-SesnPyGK4Ua_mudP4A6_gWMFE-V7HYRx8AVHSEJjMXfy0x3xZ2OGGxBLa_sWdY4_D2-5Q5FQQwlgx4_HvsZq0x-JYbqe1FyWSXlIR4zNegiYoFGzO8LaDyfS2yw/s1600/Screenshot-38.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJzrUnk4pgidw5_5G-SesnPyGK4Ua_mudP4A6_gWMFE-V7HYRx8AVHSEJjMXfy0x3xZ2OGGxBLa_sWdY4_D2-5Q5FQQwlgx4_HvsZq0x-JYbqe1FyWSXlIR4zNegiYoFGzO8LaDyfS2yw/s640/Screenshot-38.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Maybe I didn't love you</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Quite as often as I could have</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Maybe I didn't treat you</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Quite as good as I should have</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtZ0YDaN8hEixj5KsPN1LSsi06YqI6-Ur72SBWB4cADdYBnVBblhMxGRR2iXMH-YNF-MqK2qVubqJI6YBt4wv8SoI-vYOb-mUYrdOzsKHUAUFxX7zGGAFuHLlZJWl4BFRnSz3jNS1E-wA/s1600/Screenshot-37.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtZ0YDaN8hEixj5KsPN1LSsi06YqI6-Ur72SBWB4cADdYBnVBblhMxGRR2iXMH-YNF-MqK2qVubqJI6YBt4wv8SoI-vYOb-mUYrdOzsKHUAUFxX7zGGAFuHLlZJWl4BFRnSz3jNS1E-wA/s640/Screenshot-37.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Little things I should have said and done</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I just never took the time</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">You were always on my mind</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">You were always on my mind</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">* * * * * * * </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSiVKabdmwag4jW9MR3MvOCaNuhGDzT1R30feuAcJsbig-UWpUlkV8wtI4hP-UzYckHk_pYwOjXswvPgkLGXdc93RwVK8NyYJBhjcXQSucH29QJHmm3VsUyE4CF-MyAwqyb_6NXM7ojdk/s1600/Screenshot-5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSiVKabdmwag4jW9MR3MvOCaNuhGDzT1R30feuAcJsbig-UWpUlkV8wtI4hP-UzYckHk_pYwOjXswvPgkLGXdc93RwVK8NyYJBhjcXQSucH29QJHmm3VsUyE4CF-MyAwqyb_6NXM7ojdk/s640/Screenshot-5.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">One night, I heard the doorbell and I dragged myself downstairs, expecting to see my aunt or Bettina. Instead, I found my mother. With her husband and daughter. With overnight bags at her feet. She hadn't been on the porch since more than a decade ago, when she had run off into the night, turning her back on us completely. And here she was...flawless makeup, expensive sweater dress, as stunning as the day she left. What a bitch. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifN14jAtm_JrJV50M3uPzt_c3psyOVqjnp_sJnHzOldgip7BcDaeUA5B-LALc64nDGc_8upCZUOAE91I7TEYK4oC9UCmHjcdAgYmoIhAe9GERYoIkm1Wy97b780p9q44gJb6E_ourbeXw/s1600/Screenshot-7.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifN14jAtm_JrJV50M3uPzt_c3psyOVqjnp_sJnHzOldgip7BcDaeUA5B-LALc64nDGc_8upCZUOAE91I7TEYK4oC9UCmHjcdAgYmoIhAe9GERYoIkm1Wy97b780p9q44gJb6E_ourbeXw/s640/Screenshot-7.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;">I invited them in and Farryn immediately made a beeline for Grandmother's room, promising to "catch up" later. Her boy-toy, Jamie then carried the bags to my parents' old bedroom, leaving me with the half-sister I had never met.</span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6vQBaaTAaeNryLa-8mmr9pQs2uoIFTDUc2D4x9Yg2sF54UX4lu_rzuH2-FbE3WBjvlbDBxu0FQuT7qK-CP04plL7Ygr41kXHcTGYyqQLWm4l7t4vh1pnYah_2xoi01fvVOoeK7JxXXKQ/s1600/Screenshot-8.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6vQBaaTAaeNryLa-8mmr9pQs2uoIFTDUc2D4x9Yg2sF54UX4lu_rzuH2-FbE3WBjvlbDBxu0FQuT7qK-CP04plL7Ygr41kXHcTGYyqQLWm4l7t4vh1pnYah_2xoi01fvVOoeK7JxXXKQ/s640/Screenshot-8.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">"Hi Zooey, I'm your sister, Ramona." I bent down to give her a hug.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">She smiled shyly. "I know. Mommy already told me."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Hearing the little girl call Farryn "Mommy" stung, but I didn't let it show. Instead, I showed her to my room where we settled her in. It was after she was asleep before the events of the evening could completely sink in. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I stared at my half-sister, snuggled down into the sleeping bag. She was around the same age I had been the last time I had seen my mother. I thought about what it would be like to have her life. Jamie was probably one of those dumb dads who when she was a baby, tossed her up in the air until she puked. He probably helped her with her homework and tucked her in at night. Farryn probably set her on the bed, brushed her hair, clipped tiny barrettes in her braids. I wondered if the lullaby Zooey had fallen asleep to when she was little was the same one that Farryn used to hum to me. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSIl_dU1tuylGW7u9k1764HybLL-NsKprdW_oTnt8KCx9-gz6nGgrbiF1AQI6aSr4hI-jRkOIfAHZr12CxLnbEtcgard8SfWgTmjlv6A3L6e41UjSeuJUF14Z8xS29aBQKlbMuDYOY_eQ/s1600/Screenshot-9.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSIl_dU1tuylGW7u9k1764HybLL-NsKprdW_oTnt8KCx9-gz6nGgrbiF1AQI6aSr4hI-jRkOIfAHZr12CxLnbEtcgard8SfWgTmjlv6A3L6e41UjSeuJUF14Z8xS29aBQKlbMuDYOY_eQ/s640/Screenshot-9.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Unable to choke back my sobs, I fled the bedroom and didn't stop until I was out on the back deck. It was a peaceful night and quiet enough to hear the water lapping against the pool. The tile was cool under my bare feet yet it was warm enough to only feel a slight chill in my pajamas. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivsVj-FtT_NtQIlS-IPqIisDTeI8MzZSiZDLndYl4sxellhiMwVLE4sGheZwUbVt3xsMWmpRhm9AID7Bd72eOwtWQAS4cJb06M4cKqzWZ6SS3m_59S2JyngHZUHmhlDR5JzGnGdrsARlY/s1600/Screenshot-12.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivsVj-FtT_NtQIlS-IPqIisDTeI8MzZSiZDLndYl4sxellhiMwVLE4sGheZwUbVt3xsMWmpRhm9AID7Bd72eOwtWQAS4cJb06M4cKqzWZ6SS3m_59S2JyngHZUHmhlDR5JzGnGdrsARlY/s640/Screenshot-12.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Earlier, Farryn had made dinner. I wanted to hurt her, tell her I was old enough to make my own meals. Why even pretend to be related? My mother had clearly fought until she had her happy ending, putting herself before everyone else involved. Weren't we supposed to have a say, too? Guess not. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIuSXbLQ6LvgVYWt10ZhrOknT2O27OSxNK60Vc29zjVM_vl4jI2g6g4rTPQdAVKE5GrmNqJCGvvSiujtwBLojg5HGsqFEmyMO1xW5qcpIbHmIQJYX0RkyZ7iv5he0BoPwBrcLWN80pzNg/s1600/Screenshot-10.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIuSXbLQ6LvgVYWt10ZhrOknT2O27OSxNK60Vc29zjVM_vl4jI2g6g4rTPQdAVKE5GrmNqJCGvvSiujtwBLojg5HGsqFEmyMO1xW5qcpIbHmIQJYX0RkyZ7iv5he0BoPwBrcLWN80pzNg/s640/Screenshot-10.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I felt angry. Why did I have no say in anything that happened in MY life? I felt sad. Was I destined to a lifetime of loss? I felt robbed. How unfortunate that out of all of them, only one never left. And now she was being taken.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5aj8yynnErL9hQ9ocswT0MKk8s4Vuv4pcnOQQbGBpexL4t8jATbceC6YGBUnwvLVJ7QN3wKDNur3aNQGmh4KMcDPFGKLYbq3vCfEfFjGGuFvGCUm86d8js4FC68untWnmx969EKhCNzM/s1600/Screenshot-11.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5aj8yynnErL9hQ9ocswT0MKk8s4Vuv4pcnOQQbGBpexL4t8jATbceC6YGBUnwvLVJ7QN3wKDNur3aNQGmh4KMcDPFGKLYbq3vCfEfFjGGuFvGCUm86d8js4FC68untWnmx969EKhCNzM/s640/Screenshot-11.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">And strangely, I was also feeling acceptance. The thing about Jamie was, I couldn't hate him. He had been my mother's first love, the one who had captured her heart years before she had ever met my father. I had spent my entire life in what I thought was justifiable outrage, feeling like a shoe that didn't fit properly and had to be exchanged. A phone that wasn't technologically advanced enough and needed to be upgraded. But I saw the way she looked at Jamie and I finally understood.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Farryn loved him, felt things for him that she had never felt for my father. At 18, I could see that, could even understand why she had made the decisions that she had, but as her daughter, would never forgive her. Before Tuck, I had thought that my mother had been too lazy to sort things out, to make it work. Before Tuck, I had thought my parents had just given up. But then I met someone, who was also hurt, who had also been through so much in his own life, that I could love completely. There is something deliciously human about another person's brokenness. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">And I knew then, that I would always love him, even if he never wanted to be with me. Even if someone else came along and made me forget, for just a second, the love I felt for Tucker Whitney. Even if the ache could be replaced and stop hurting for only a moment, would I not waiver. That made me better than her.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh15QyPGs4albI76B6x0xBDC_DybOzKBSBtWX8ApjDbMVAI9aov3KPaxi9X_izhYIK9j3lr3XEdkBNCyr1-C8F9BgqYdLcsMSVO82OzIWu-vdfIfgqr2lxayOtvp7IskQ9xRS7uObDxqio/s1600/Screenshot-13.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh15QyPGs4albI76B6x0xBDC_DybOzKBSBtWX8ApjDbMVAI9aov3KPaxi9X_izhYIK9j3lr3XEdkBNCyr1-C8F9BgqYdLcsMSVO82OzIWu-vdfIfgqr2lxayOtvp7IskQ9xRS7uObDxqio/s640/Screenshot-13.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">A small "meow" interrupted my thoughts. I bent down to find a gray-striped tabby looking up at me. "Why, hello there, little girl. Aren't you a cutie?" I could hear her soft purrs as she allowed me to scratch her head. "You look hungry. Let me find you something to eat."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I studied the cat while she ate, practically devouring the lunch meat I had set before her, feeling slightly warmed. She had no collar and could possibly be a stray. I had never had a pet myself, but something in me yearned for this connection to another living creature. I watched her scamper off into the night and hoped she would come back soon, maybe even become mine some day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Tuck stood outside of the warehouse, waiting on his next package to get dropped off. Although it had been months since he had last spoken to her, Ramona still haunted him. It wasn't right. But he couldn't be what she needed. He was no knight in shining armor. It was abundantly clear to him that the only thing he had to offer her was heartache. As if she needed any more. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNKUXQXaYLBMXG2LzOpNfmU00rD33GRaAjJ-x4JZ5pNbQG7O73bKbPqOLWB2ifO58xVjfv2sSbkmNefx0nuCd26MKt6LZHjKUQBjpA5dRwNKuQ9XvlyMws3AB74DoRBrPVkmI2YvXWKFU/s1600/Screenshot-75.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNKUXQXaYLBMXG2LzOpNfmU00rD33GRaAjJ-x4JZ5pNbQG7O73bKbPqOLWB2ifO58xVjfv2sSbkmNefx0nuCd26MKt6LZHjKUQBjpA5dRwNKuQ9XvlyMws3AB74DoRBrPVkmI2YvXWKFU/s640/Screenshot-75.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">He couldn't remember even being that innocent. His past and the choices he had made to deal with it would always separate them. The way she looked at him made him wish that he could be everything she thought he was, because if she really knew him, she'd want nothing to do with him. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Ramona had been cast a rough lot, but his trials were completely self-inflicted. He was a foster kid, dealing drugs in front of warehouses. She was a Bergdorf, proverbial silver spoon and all. Her breeding alone should have been enough to keep them apart, but for some reason, fate had brought them together. If Tuck were a GOOD man, he would stay far away. Then again, he WAS a drug dealer.</span></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">* * * * * * *</span></div><span style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="text-align: justify;">Marilyn knew she had precious little time left. She did not fear what lay ahead, eagerly anticipating the reunion with Nate, Gabe, and Olivia Grace. She did not dwell on the past, content with a long life, full of all of the love she could have ever hoped for. No, she had accepted her illness and planned to go with Grim peacefully. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;">The only thing that bothered her about dying wasn't death itself. It was Ramona. Ramona, not quite eighteen, was always the one saying goodbye, always the one left behind. Marilyn was the only stability her granddaughter had ever known and now she was leaving as well. She had tried to hang on for as long as possible but the tumor had different ideas. It would only be a matter of days now. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMKx6Pn_LBolHO8czxAl-8t0RcgA7KXvA0IyHUgwrgvEut3hodtMcHfLpA4a-c08I76a6Dl4TogsXftVEEtpY_ZFBfgRp0TrEX62d8tKjXuzn-Q1aTcULJr7WY-eiwMj9AhpZ7Rd9HbDA/s1600/Screenshot-2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMKx6Pn_LBolHO8czxAl-8t0RcgA7KXvA0IyHUgwrgvEut3hodtMcHfLpA4a-c08I76a6Dl4TogsXftVEEtpY_ZFBfgRp0TrEX62d8tKjXuzn-Q1aTcULJr7WY-eiwMj9AhpZ7Rd9HbDA/s640/Screenshot-2.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</span></div><span style="text-align: justify;">"Grandmother?" Ramona called quietly. "Felicia said you were awake." The girl softly crept over to the bed where the older lady was resting. </span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Good afternoon, darling," Marilyn smiled weakly. The disease had taken its toll on her - her clothes hung off her fragile frame and her weary eyes held the look of one who had fought many wars. There were lines on her time-worn face that had not been there just four months ago. Yes, cancer had ravaged her body but yet Marilyn Astor Bergdorf was still as lovely as ever. The woman was timeless and her inner glow was the one thing the disease could never take. Despite her yellowed pallor, she still managed a smile for her only grandchild. "I am so glad you came to see me. You must update me on everything that has been going on."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Y-xs9yrp4Yz1F4dstDkFTUZa2kEItFkkUJ0bESMGMZ-RTyFKAFBNx1DfCK5NOGg1FpcjpeMQnc1v-zHVM-afBJtNPccdr-etqXksWyIvzEAl2i_B6LELvU6HZ3i9A1U079dlZzGwvsk/s1600/Screenshot-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Y-xs9yrp4Yz1F4dstDkFTUZa2kEItFkkUJ0bESMGMZ-RTyFKAFBNx1DfCK5NOGg1FpcjpeMQnc1v-zHVM-afBJtNPccdr-etqXksWyIvzEAl2i_B6LELvU6HZ3i9A1U079dlZzGwvsk/s640/Screenshot-1.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><br />
"Not much, Grandmother."<br />
<br />
"Studies going well?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah, well enough." What I neglected to tell her was that I had been slacking off in my studies lately and probably had lost all chances of getting into a good school. In fact, I was pretty sure community college was my only option at this point.<br />
<br />
She smiled. "That's good. I want you to promise me that no matter what, you will graduate and go on to higher learning. I have enough money set aside that you should be quite comfortable until you earn your degree."<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"I...", my voice faltered a bit. "I promise, Grandmother." She had always been proud of me, confident that I could do anything. I had always wanted to make her proud. But what was the point of any of it, when she wouldn't be around?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">There was a brief silence.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"Grandmother?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"Yes, darling?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"Why..." I scrunched up my face, struggling to find the right words. "Why didn't you let the doctors help you? You could have done chemo, you could have tried the diets. Why did you just accept it?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"Well," she sighed. "I think you and I both know that the disease is too far along, that chemo would've hurt more than it could have helped. And even if the diets could have bought me a little more time, I just don't think I could endure it. You see Ramona, I am very old and I have been through so much. But I'm ready to be reunited with my Nathaniel, with my son and granddaughter."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"But what about me?" I asked, my eyes welling up. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"I've lived my life and now you must live yours. It gives me comfort to know that you've turned into such a remarkable young lady." Her eyes grew moist. "It's what makes all of this bearable. Ramona, you will fall in love, have children of your own and be the woman I have always loved since you were a baby in my arms. You will carry on the legacy that my Nathaniel and I started."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">"I love you, Grandmother."</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">"I love you, Ramona."</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Blinded by my tears, I somehow managed to make it upstairs to my room. There was only one person I could talk to.</span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">* * * * * * *</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">He was one sick bastard. Why couldn't he just let her go, give her a real chance at finding love? But no, when his phone rang, he answered it. Ramona was on the other end, her voice thick.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"Tuck...I <i>need</i> you." She was crying.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Just the sound of her voice was enough to erase any ounce of decency he might still possess. He felt his resolve weakening. "Fine," he sighed. "I'm already in Hidden Springs. I'll be there in ten."</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">It took some coaxing on his part, but he managed to persuade her to change into a dress.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">"Where are we going?" asked Ramona suspiciously, once they were in the car.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">"You'll see."</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">"P.U.R.E.?" she exclaimed.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">"You know, if you're uncomfortable or something, we can go somewhere else," he offered.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">She pursed her lips. "I'm serious, Tuck. This is...great."</span> <br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">"Take this," he said, slipping her a fake ID. "Normally, they don't card when they're not busy, but you might need it."</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVXxYvmJ5LpeAnXg9DJdrtTYjJZH4dg9ytD7zPofjfeFL_qt6-mr3i388JbW-R7iN2QyKBOQ7NQXtF4od3WTUyla912QhRqsnnp1reyAdKIO7svuXGvX6X2WX-duUIzaye_LBZojgFEzg/s1600/Screenshot-14.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVXxYvmJ5LpeAnXg9DJdrtTYjJZH4dg9ytD7zPofjfeFL_qt6-mr3i388JbW-R7iN2QyKBOQ7NQXtF4od3WTUyla912QhRqsnnp1reyAdKIO7svuXGvX6X2WX-duUIzaye_LBZojgFEzg/s640/Screenshot-14.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">As soon as they were inside, Ramona made a beeline for the bar. "I'll have two Purple Hooters, please."</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">They each took one and before she had even finished her first, she was already contemplating her next drink.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzeRqil9c05mD6qnI05sNsLqw_sqYaHMsOFJROcv4qH0ggOu-buaxqAvatnXGrhYX84PUcKOdhSJe2AftqT2wjx7rZa73j3tBdlvhI6HxCcnkLyLuk1XFyZ0cma5dJHNPpPaynfmpm-wg/s1600/Screenshot-16.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzeRqil9c05mD6qnI05sNsLqw_sqYaHMsOFJROcv4qH0ggOu-buaxqAvatnXGrhYX84PUcKOdhSJe2AftqT2wjx7rZa73j3tBdlvhI6HxCcnkLyLuk1XFyZ0cma5dJHNPpPaynfmpm-wg/s640/Screenshot-16.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"Whoa, slow down, the bar's not running out of liquor anytime soon." </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Ramona tossed her head back and laughed, enjoying the way that she was feeling. Her head was light, her face was flushed and for one evening, she could be a normal girl who just so happened to be on a date with the hottest guy in town. Hell, she was drunk. Make that the hottest guy in the universe!</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">"Dance with me Tuck," she murmured, shimmying.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyMIbABeNIu8a2fzx8OpH4zj0_h4B_9003fJE4K-7LKXlTSzXOqn8NTZzLbM3nPlLr70p2WXX3Nqp_gGlrH6NRBnjbuVcX11SZSyRCvZje1Rem4ZtRFuRngKPXFogZNFUXYv_Z8SdltkA/s1600/Screenshot-17.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyMIbABeNIu8a2fzx8OpH4zj0_h4B_9003fJE4K-7LKXlTSzXOqn8NTZzLbM3nPlLr70p2WXX3Nqp_gGlrH6NRBnjbuVcX11SZSyRCvZje1Rem4ZtRFuRngKPXFogZNFUXYv_Z8SdltkA/s640/Screenshot-17.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">He swallowed. "Bright Eyes."</span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPIMke4SP9pgx-DWCvyq0RGJ_i4z50c8ldY7q1DCq2kYosjNgJ7rmjk2VLdxCjWBRiER1SNbxkWilIFknl79RvBZHCzx3iobTD8toCMJtg51hgxz0CO1V9UVDKvII4c8nasj4NKF2X-Io/s1600/Screenshot-18.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPIMke4SP9pgx-DWCvyq0RGJ_i4z50c8ldY7q1DCq2kYosjNgJ7rmjk2VLdxCjWBRiER1SNbxkWilIFknl79RvBZHCzx3iobTD8toCMJtg51hgxz0CO1V9UVDKvII4c8nasj4NKF2X-Io/s640/Screenshot-18.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"Don't look at me like that", she giggled. "I can take care of myself. After all, I learned from the best. Gotta love alcoholic fathers..."</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"Bu-", he protested.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"Stop! Look, you brought me here to have a good time so let's have a good time."</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">* * * * * * *</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">A couple of hours and many Purple Hooters later, Ramona dragged him to the hot tub. Why the owners of the club thought it was a good idea to mix alcohol and swimming, Tuck would never understand. But tonight was about her and he was just along for the ride.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">"Ram? Are you...naked?"</span></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">She shrugged, joining him. "It's not like anything you haven't seen before."</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTm6pckBOcejsDFfHaBggoKwEbrQYy0dYOt_SJmywrP-ocfRittpRfz0inljLDhesECTdJKNzFI1N0FshVaVUL0XzYovfP9Ep00TUHYZPNrkyTjMvUvL3zJ9Uug5LQYSnLGrt5aOlF7_Y/s1600/Screenshot-19.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTm6pckBOcejsDFfHaBggoKwEbrQYy0dYOt_SJmywrP-ocfRittpRfz0inljLDhesECTdJKNzFI1N0FshVaVUL0XzYovfP9Ep00TUHYZPNrkyTjMvUvL3zJ9Uug5LQYSnLGrt5aOlF7_Y/s640/Screenshot-19.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">They sat there together, feeling the high-pressured jets on the smalls of their backs. And when she kissed him, he kissed back, even as every fiber in his being was telling him not to. </span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIGPR9iGsxrmj4wuU-OjgAa2ouWQsLqeyYEABREa9-wiGzs9VQA0LpFy73dP3vrIdSzPv4xI2eqZFDX5_gDuxRiR6i7eIh5sYz7QmYkJiLSxUJMzcDP_pz_HEPn99OdQz7o8DHiK6XS2o/s1600/Screenshot-20.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIGPR9iGsxrmj4wuU-OjgAa2ouWQsLqeyYEABREa9-wiGzs9VQA0LpFy73dP3vrIdSzPv4xI2eqZFDX5_gDuxRiR6i7eIh5sYz7QmYkJiLSxUJMzcDP_pz_HEPn99OdQz7o8DHiK6XS2o/s640/Screenshot-20.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"Fuck me,"she whispered. "It doesn't have to mean anything. I...I need you." </span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">He pulled away. "What?" Tuck wasn't sure if he heard her right. "Fuck you? I can't do that. You're drunk."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">She laughed harshly. "Like that has ever stopped anyone before. I'm telling you that I want you and I don't care what happens tomorrow, just be with me tonight."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"I can't," Tuck frowned. "And I won't."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Ramona snorted. "Is this because I'm a virgin? Because I'm telling you. It doesn't mean a goddamn thing to me." </span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqBv3BWT575X4dpxIq1JmaXbCOz2DTxRTJLcd4eKWd9Nph7tsFhSL97vaoeHL8wwplU58H_ydLLybVNkdY1xgBzbotEkWRzI6uquq-ZAgM4g3pIjcNNfFiyO-7jmo_91UFtm1ShIX4r-M/s1600/Screenshot-21.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqBv3BWT575X4dpxIq1JmaXbCOz2DTxRTJLcd4eKWd9Nph7tsFhSL97vaoeHL8wwplU58H_ydLLybVNkdY1xgBzbotEkWRzI6uquq-ZAgM4g3pIjcNNfFiyO-7jmo_91UFtm1ShIX4r-M/s640/Screenshot-21.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"I should probably take you home now," Tuck said, his eyes apologetic. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">* * * * * * *</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBKf-9XsXMfaAyPje_SCjraAEGdxQsulwvoFhb1t8kmowLy3KxwkOuzAS4u1BD0Lw91S-15wclwsZi1QmfMYN5kiDczbCuQ0ZTsQrq7o1EwbETer4_Mv-5v90UJQCd6yXaabBnfoSiRCI/s1600/Screenshot-39.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBKf-9XsXMfaAyPje_SCjraAEGdxQsulwvoFhb1t8kmowLy3KxwkOuzAS4u1BD0Lw91S-15wclwsZi1QmfMYN5kiDczbCuQ0ZTsQrq7o1EwbETer4_Mv-5v90UJQCd6yXaabBnfoSiRCI/s640/Screenshot-39.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">When I got home, my thoughts were a little clearer and I had sobered up a bit. Before driving away, Tuck had promised to call me the next day, but I knew that I had blown everything. Staggering onto the deck, hoping to sneak in, I saw the gray cat again.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">As soon as I walked through the back door, I was greeted by my mother.</span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKQRUnfkptGJdBqoTHcW0x0PY96IC_TaX1l_mf5awVOG15jvONCT4I4M6rUxsvS7vfChnu8alnsf7WsJ8J0s3GR1klMl5_F04BZeoqkYpeByJlYSDvEt0PCWTr-z6YB-7dEyNvtac3tzU/s1600/Screenshot-23.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKQRUnfkptGJdBqoTHcW0x0PY96IC_TaX1l_mf5awVOG15jvONCT4I4M6rUxsvS7vfChnu8alnsf7WsJ8J0s3GR1klMl5_F04BZeoqkYpeByJlYSDvEt0PCWTr-z6YB-7dEyNvtac3tzU/s640/Screenshot-23.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"Where have you been? We've been worried sick!" she screamed, her emerald eyes ablaze.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"Nice that you wait until I'm eighteen to start caring about what I'm doing," I shot back.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"Ramona, I'm serious. You've been at God-knows-where with God-knows-who without so much as a phone call while your grandmother lies in the next room dying. That's it. After the funeral, you are coming back with us to Twinbrook."</span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEPNBB92Ck5CnJBDiD2ZaaF8fs3HH5izBTqcN-F2m3pQuCxOsjIg2F-k4hcW4KQL7ddTMIbFZcXWbQHfvtE7uKdYE0IoMBXo22zQqKJdwg5Z1nhDjLjeDo_McNlRsYqUCvWrlEKxXUerE/s1600/Screenshot-24a.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEPNBB92Ck5CnJBDiD2ZaaF8fs3HH5izBTqcN-F2m3pQuCxOsjIg2F-k4hcW4KQL7ddTMIbFZcXWbQHfvtE7uKdYE0IoMBXo22zQqKJdwg5Z1nhDjLjeDo_McNlRsYqUCvWrlEKxXUerE/s640/Screenshot-24a.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">I glared at her. "Don't pretend like that hasn't been your intention all along. You think that you can just waltz back into my life after everything that has happened and we'll immediately become a family? You have the man you love and a replacement daughter. You don't need me. You just feel guilty because my father's blood is on your hands!"</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdhHv8WgUZZ0ogcyIC-Yn4tJKSLRtupFzYxEc6He8wvJMgmKqwcP3mTqn_u1AAnhaFPzy9ZSGDKcjyhltfFKVFyjSP_qqewVeSPJBLsMkLeuc5A6Ay7s8C_QQTds9MZ6pK78aCJBBIvTU/s1600/Screenshot-25.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdhHv8WgUZZ0ogcyIC-Yn4tJKSLRtupFzYxEc6He8wvJMgmKqwcP3mTqn_u1AAnhaFPzy9ZSGDKcjyhltfFKVFyjSP_qqewVeSPJBLsMkLeuc5A6Ay7s8C_QQTds9MZ6pK78aCJBBIvTU/s640/Screenshot-25.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">I narrowed my eyes. "I'm going to bed now. Fuck off and goodnight."</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">I left her staring after me with a heartbroken expression on her face.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">* * * * * * *</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: justify;">The next morning, she was gone.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpVSOx6vap50xHKbXblLN_idzypgZwB4RW4vRb0Mmn1BtSr6B1VGLy-cZK7gGMgEVdo5Egjcc3m73SfzXYEPeggBIBuXV4njfJl4VuhkwrovjKmUMdwtlgnFr-EpGER52qQwfUGRI2uh4/s1600/Screenshot-3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpVSOx6vap50xHKbXblLN_idzypgZwB4RW4vRb0Mmn1BtSr6B1VGLy-cZK7gGMgEVdo5Egjcc3m73SfzXYEPeggBIBuXV4njfJl4VuhkwrovjKmUMdwtlgnFr-EpGER52qQwfUGRI2uh4/s640/Screenshot-3.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">With tears streaming down my cheeks, I kissed my beloved Grandmother goodbye.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">* * * * * * *</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">"So you're out?" Jay grinned, revealing yellow, rotting teeth. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqThBSfpEWSzTGn8DP9QU426ze4SWO5vmUzFe97ZL3lEtCe3ijJHlm5KatZPvDeoJDh3jvuWCGNrIKDy1r5dTei61Y81NYPijRaLqBgEBxQKKj_pCfF-9GVTDBySx4VbboMpn_QkyIRno/s1600/Screenshot-64.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqThBSfpEWSzTGn8DP9QU426ze4SWO5vmUzFe97ZL3lEtCe3ijJHlm5KatZPvDeoJDh3jvuWCGNrIKDy1r5dTei61Y81NYPijRaLqBgEBxQKKj_pCfF-9GVTDBySx4VbboMpn_QkyIRno/s640/Screenshot-64.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Tuck looked down, unable to answer. Jay and the crew had been family when his own had failed. They had taken him under their wing and taught him the ways of the world. Thanks to them, he had learned how to do whatever it took to survive. That included hustling the poison he could never bring himself to ingest, thanks to his substance-abusing mother. The fact that he would never touch cocaine for that very reason had made him an ideal candidate for the position. And now he was taking himself out of the game, throwing everything they had done for him back in their faces.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">"It's the girl, huh?" Jay wouldn't even let Tuck respond this time. He just grinned. "You don't have to say a thing. It's always about a girl. Pains in the ass, they tend to be." </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">"Yeah...I guess," mumbled Tuck dejectedly. "I just feel like if there is any chance at all for us to be together, it starts with this."</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969);"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">"I'm <i>dying</i> to know how you're planning on making money. Where are you going to work? In a <i>restaurant</i>, washing <i>dishes</i>? You really think you'll be happy earning minimum wage?" Jay couldn't help but snicker.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij2yO15dh07ehojj5ZIjPH3VGtiSb4N6Wh_naIEMRttCqS-ypK23kxXFrozqc_p7aR7QeRGIgrr7j799lSmT17JjAlI_R-NZrY_FRdKiP7EBDtyGLH75X-4ZwJ5ltN0CK0rOreiSLJduQ/s1600/Screenshot-66.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij2yO15dh07ehojj5ZIjPH3VGtiSb4N6Wh_naIEMRttCqS-ypK23kxXFrozqc_p7aR7QeRGIgrr7j799lSmT17JjAlI_R-NZrY_FRdKiP7EBDtyGLH75X-4ZwJ5ltN0CK0rOreiSLJduQ/s640/Screenshot-66.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: justify;">Tuck shrugged. "Whatever it takes, bro."</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: justify;">"Fuck that. You'll be back in no time. With your tail between your legs. And your job will be here when you do." Jay finished the last of his drink in one big swig.</span> </div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: justify;">"Well, I guess I'll talk to you later then. I'm gonna go see her. You cool?"</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: justify;">" I might stick around for a bit...think I'll get another one of these first," Jay said, gesturing to his now empty martini glass. He was typically a beer man, but it was Happy Hour and he wasn't choosy. Besides, he'd never had a Budweiser that came with a cute little star swizzle stick.</span> </div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: justify;">* * * * * * *</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">To my surprise, he came over that evening. </span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"What are you doing here?" </span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Tuck looked concerned. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Things got a little crazy last night."</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"What's the point?" I asked bitterly. "You're just going to leave again."</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"Ramona," he murmured. ""Let me be here for you. We can figure out our stuff later. Now what happened?"</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">"She's dead, Tuck!" I cried. My voice broke. "</span><i style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">She's dead</i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">."</span> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD81ni7hdeyP_Ggw3eABKfMXjqo_FvMjAkVi2ZES9t9uvefv9la8J2fyHnILYBsbnvSQi35J157KRZ3sJv2WSc-WevVF5v2NrLd4F_IWKumwfIT0mJA_B5_4XxDcQJwOd10X2sSOKvs-Y/s1600/Screenshot-54.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD81ni7hdeyP_Ggw3eABKfMXjqo_FvMjAkVi2ZES9t9uvefv9la8J2fyHnILYBsbnvSQi35J157KRZ3sJv2WSc-WevVF5v2NrLd4F_IWKumwfIT0mJA_B5_4XxDcQJwOd10X2sSOKvs-Y/s640/Screenshot-54.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">"I'm sorry." His voice cracked a bit, like he meant it.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZIKffS_H-J6gE-Teq1JKxWeMadmLYvadYuxm972ID4ikI3570rgzOgWBMKFBV7uKzoFkd2ZYLuQwrrXMcu72A5N8IgjO-tMUKwipSRxga94AEA20F8Fv8vnxl-I4rRmsNPxWx6H8ahjI/s1600/Screenshot-55.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZIKffS_H-J6gE-Teq1JKxWeMadmLYvadYuxm972ID4ikI3570rgzOgWBMKFBV7uKzoFkd2ZYLuQwrrXMcu72A5N8IgjO-tMUKwipSRxga94AEA20F8Fv8vnxl-I4rRmsNPxWx6H8ahjI/s640/Screenshot-55.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">"I mean, I'm not surprised. We've been expecting it. But it didn't really hit me until I saw her this morning that I'm alone. I'm really alone."</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">"You're not alone," he said softly.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">We sat down in the cool grass together in silence. Was he telling the truth or would he just run away again? Even though the wound that was my Grandmother's death was still fresh, I knew she would rest peacefully knowing that I had found love.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCrion-rATrjCYDDf96scgDV7CKFF8bN-0XOZtWN1xFV2JbM3HQ9WSMth1VMSqbb13Nv1E2d2TyJMbZFaZFTQJDjC77JHa5W_Dxb4HGPe8xw3AkkBdJ_D6DmvPklxrClPEjcAqt8CiVhk/s1600/Screenshot-53.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCrion-rATrjCYDDf96scgDV7CKFF8bN-0XOZtWN1xFV2JbM3HQ9WSMth1VMSqbb13Nv1E2d2TyJMbZFaZFTQJDjC77JHa5W_Dxb4HGPe8xw3AkkBdJ_D6DmvPklxrClPEjcAqt8CiVhk/s640/Screenshot-53.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">* * * * * * *</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlLUPZfTuj0g3Bih3rA2_GJv8PlR9asjFrr7GtKA06mCizmr4CrPBWDR6VQN2ng8EjnczsCYFN1eEEYSVL2_k9aZMdlOZqQvqQy4EufqDOGvONVqHKCTM-JdmK2c2_lTqSZnoTZL11v9o/s1600/Screenshot-41.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlLUPZfTuj0g3Bih3rA2_GJv8PlR9asjFrr7GtKA06mCizmr4CrPBWDR6VQN2ng8EjnczsCYFN1eEEYSVL2_k9aZMdlOZqQvqQy4EufqDOGvONVqHKCTM-JdmK2c2_lTqSZnoTZL11v9o/s640/Screenshot-41.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">I had been to funerals before, but I knew Grandmother's would be the hardest. How do you say goodbye to the one person who always believed in you and the only person who had ever made you feel loved? You would think that I would have mastered the art of saying goodbye, but it never gets easier, does it? </span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWtIoLi2kKWZzxTZ1Au_8rrfUKix_KTkoCaHbJRzzkzyrklaFaCM1gRpjdhBauPH98jyDY-QX_JaKPb-aQelnhbwGjTeoJOtrKk3rWEMm-hsWPSaBvtUAKxrmQHj438yI49ohIKbD-1vI/s1600/Screenshot-43.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWtIoLi2kKWZzxTZ1Au_8rrfUKix_KTkoCaHbJRzzkzyrklaFaCM1gRpjdhBauPH98jyDY-QX_JaKPb-aQelnhbwGjTeoJOtrKk3rWEMm-hsWPSaBvtUAKxrmQHj438yI49ohIKbD-1vI/s640/Screenshot-43.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Loss is a personal thing, felt most by those closest to the departed. The last moments I had with my Grandmother were spent watching one of the most sickening and twisted displays of false emotion I had ever witnessed. She was the greatest woman I had ever had the pleasure of knowing, and I was robbed of the opportunity to grieve by those who had never made either one of us a priority.</div><div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt8Ozjg1tyGtppnYhNepdNOsxY-2947U6Y9gSoV-pXYevF5lr5nhCqxVaS4NHK7VEOEZaYAHjZIR0pZvGJJPneNW5Pk1F9QskDAeZc5tPvoPxdL717dTgj2j9_RCNW9CSUoxs1h6ewT8Y/s1600/Screenshot-47.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt8Ozjg1tyGtppnYhNepdNOsxY-2947U6Y9gSoV-pXYevF5lr5nhCqxVaS4NHK7VEOEZaYAHjZIR0pZvGJJPneNW5Pk1F9QskDAeZc5tPvoPxdL717dTgj2j9_RCNW9CSUoxs1h6ewT8Y/s640/Screenshot-47.png" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div>Uncle Asher was holding Aunt Lilly as she stared through tear-filled eyes at the portraits of Grandmother on the table. Their children, Charles and Bettina, were comforting each other as they went to go sit down. Farryn, Jamie and Zooey were standing off to the side, trying to stay out of the way.</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2XdQEaOGPUa-d7DZSEAl5IyXZUV9K0PzMfSAha5yPM6QsmdWnw1C-dtIqScRucF7n83YTwLVNfeB_qN0toEOvqRwjpCUK3lkD-wPsc7kut0Ez-N9yBsTraoNtYyafGl98r7cpMgP2jFQ/s1600/Screenshot-46.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2XdQEaOGPUa-d7DZSEAl5IyXZUV9K0PzMfSAha5yPM6QsmdWnw1C-dtIqScRucF7n83YTwLVNfeB_qN0toEOvqRwjpCUK3lkD-wPsc7kut0Ez-N9yBsTraoNtYyafGl98r7cpMgP2jFQ/s640/Screenshot-46.png" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div>It was disgusting. I couldn't recall the last time Aunt Lilly or Uncle Asher had come to the house for a visit. I only saw Charles during the holidays and Bettina on the weekends. My own father had never been close to his sister, especially her husband, but in the face of a tragedy, they decided to suddenly give a fuck?</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBlQAy1Iq1fLdyzFybAcUtNOhiOtOuT6LC14eZR3J3hyT3e8WIXas3Gp9Fg-jZ7qvOgQKDOf9hDAjozMkhMAG-WjdvHOVZn6Mr1ZnSgn0bE670qb1U-gIXDmx-Kzmd2yfWNLDJqNFavjg/s1600/Screenshot-44.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBlQAy1Iq1fLdyzFybAcUtNOhiOtOuT6LC14eZR3J3hyT3e8WIXas3Gp9Fg-jZ7qvOgQKDOf9hDAjozMkhMAG-WjdvHOVZn6Mr1ZnSgn0bE670qb1U-gIXDmx-Kzmd2yfWNLDJqNFavjg/s640/Screenshot-44.png" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div>Don't even get me started on my mother. I'm glad that after she had dropped Dad and I, she could run into the arms of her other lover and have this perfect little family. They were patting each other's shoulders and shedding fake tears, really pulling out all of the stops. I didn't even know why they had come. </div></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjujndXCePaZAfWuGXGj5s8kKUHzC3KDe2A6_JYyy4xvj2lWamxQRGsImvN7y5lp-Of7d6Yecv-6CTvh-DmZ3wmbuzh4SM7N-J5TwGQZjczjkte5gZ8INfBa8Mp3nGSDG5XyNugvHbzZl4/s1600/Screenshot-45.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjujndXCePaZAfWuGXGj5s8kKUHzC3KDe2A6_JYyy4xvj2lWamxQRGsImvN7y5lp-Of7d6Yecv-6CTvh-DmZ3wmbuzh4SM7N-J5TwGQZjczjkte5gZ8INfBa8Mp3nGSDG5XyNugvHbzZl4/s640/Screenshot-45.png" width="640" /></a></div><br />
I hid in the foyer, unable to take any more of it. Grandmother had been the one to comfort me during my father's service. I had been very young and didn't understand all of the commotion at the time. All of the people weeping and hugging me. It was Grandmother who had made it possible to endure the masses. Her soft hand on mine had let me know that we would weather the storm together. <br />
<br />
Even then, I couldn't associate the coffin with my father. To me, the big wooden box was just that. A box. It wasn't until I was much older that I realized the coffin had been closed because Dad was too badly damaged for public viewing. A bullet to the head will do that, leave a body barely human, unrecognizable, no traces of the life they once lived. Grandmother was long gone and in her place, in that big, heavy, exquisite death vessel, lying on a bed of satin and silk, was a shell of the woman I had loved. Still loved.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0JrhGyEPyU532GW7MjEHCGTw1_dzLeSlr2D-bgXqs4rNtj8l7JDT7wdlV35g1Hh7jvAdxkZkBbo-G5XYqJ3-_EH-bw-DvYJf4rnchyphenhyphenUdFSv8wfdDuj39bLWNrwedztyWJRAgT5XNB5mA/s1600/Screenshot-49.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0JrhGyEPyU532GW7MjEHCGTw1_dzLeSlr2D-bgXqs4rNtj8l7JDT7wdlV35g1Hh7jvAdxkZkBbo-G5XYqJ3-_EH-bw-DvYJf4rnchyphenhyphenUdFSv8wfdDuj39bLWNrwedztyWJRAgT5XNB5mA/s640/Screenshot-49.png" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Is this the culmination of a person's life? No matter what your accomplishments or achievements, it all ends in a box, where people cry over your corpse and tell you things they never had the chance to while you were alive, then put you in the ground to become worm food. Is that the only reward we have to look forward to? It seems like the best thing you can hope to become is a memory. Graveyards, with their wilting bouquets, dusty picture frames and weed-infested flowerbeds are evidence of that. After all, once the candles are blown out and people go home, back to their everyday lives, you are thought of less and less until gradually, are forgotten entirely. So it seems like if you are remembered at all, you're one of the fortunate ones. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJqgy1jifh3RbuyHmSsvryHkrVUoxsDv-gRPBkiETjsyonZEto7bHNzScVH5BXwH2KcoaIrChsZY2-sEcY_E1T2j7hcnmwD4CaIFmVf0jA6Pq752Y_5y4-uECo2-qq5wuBIzfstebuj8g/s1600/Screenshot-48.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJqgy1jifh3RbuyHmSsvryHkrVUoxsDv-gRPBkiETjsyonZEto7bHNzScVH5BXwH2KcoaIrChsZY2-sEcY_E1T2j7hcnmwD4CaIFmVf0jA6Pq752Y_5y4-uECo2-qq5wuBIzfstebuj8g/s640/Screenshot-48.png" width="640" /></a></div><br />
It was only after everyone else had left that I finally made my way up to the front. I stood over Grandmother, wanting to believe she was merely resting and that she'd open her eyes any second and we would go have some tea in the kitchen. My lip trembled, remembering all of the moments that I had never appreciated, the lessons I had rolled my eyes at. It's funny how easy it is to take the little things for granted until it's all over and you would kill for one more day of getting nagged, one more comforting smile, one last loving embrace. <br />
<br />
My eyes were filled with tears and I was too caught up in my thoughts to notice when he walked in. He didn't speak or touch me. He just stood there, with his head bowed respectfully as he let me weep. For the first time I was finally allowed to mourn. Although I had been surrounded all evening by loved ones, Tuck said more to me with his silence than they ever could. <br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjF78MkEj7qkkGHFxPeQIPGxBREn1cX_omwYVM7fSV-MMrKK9DB6v9kjOi0Ved9c144IHMaJdkLSMcREON3URhgXqSkQhbJcqywjUItP-LOOIO-RtYxUUkxiuuO_jZCuGWzh9kq-8qZb8/s1600/Screenshot-50.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjF78MkEj7qkkGHFxPeQIPGxBREn1cX_omwYVM7fSV-MMrKK9DB6v9kjOi0Ved9c144IHMaJdkLSMcREON3URhgXqSkQhbJcqywjUItP-LOOIO-RtYxUUkxiuuO_jZCuGWzh9kq-8qZb8/s640/Screenshot-50.png" width="640" /></a></div><br />
After awhile, he took me by the arm and gently led me out of the chapel. When I looked up at him to ask him where we were going, he simply said "home". And somehow in that one syllable, the entire meaning of the word had been irrevocably altered.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Some things changed after the funeral...<br />
<br />
One, I adopted the stray tabby, whom I named Mouse. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4zGQqsS5Z2af4-BrX6trbTXlCGAQ-yKjLdwTleR4lex6Uaby5IpqCs8t8LTEFRbKZBZw8n8gWdGa2NX_aGEAxVPNfkYtqni1_UK87h8i2ihl_xnKHlaKiHCLbmqTknum2a6hqWto5PI/s1600/Screenshot-59.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4zGQqsS5Z2af4-BrX6trbTXlCGAQ-yKjLdwTleR4lex6Uaby5IpqCs8t8LTEFRbKZBZw8n8gWdGa2NX_aGEAxVPNfkYtqni1_UK87h8i2ihl_xnKHlaKiHCLbmqTknum2a6hqWto5PI/s640/Screenshot-59.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Second, I put my foot down and told my mother I would NOT be moving to Twinbrook. Before her death, Grandmother had met with her solicitor. The house and all of the family's liquid assets were left to me, as well as a small savings account for college. A good deal of our money had gone to hospital bills, Felicia's services as care-taker and the funeral but if I was careful, like Grandmother said, I would be okay until at least graduation.</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizZSidrhukYsmGa2VitUSpZZKSYBfoV3dLp6MSL2Zt7zJKQ1cH0JK0vx-WbJzTZI4fsAyzzDBU7RvoJ2Ip3a4FfljeyW1ig3dxA84cb66Kkpa1I-BW6YECOvDMZCR04SR3QkoywHefFEM/s1600/Screenshot-71.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizZSidrhukYsmGa2VitUSpZZKSYBfoV3dLp6MSL2Zt7zJKQ1cH0JK0vx-WbJzTZI4fsAyzzDBU7RvoJ2Ip3a4FfljeyW1ig3dxA84cb66Kkpa1I-BW6YECOvDMZCR04SR3QkoywHefFEM/s640/Screenshot-71.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">"So how are you going to manage this big old house by yourself, Ramona? Who's going to help you maintain things and pay the utility bills?" Farryn demanded.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Mom, I know you've never met him before, and probably won't until the next time you decide to pop into my life, but the person who is coming to live with me is named Tucker Whitney. I love him. And he loves me, too."</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS7JC4ob4cWnJkXRln8clpv5TLHvhZuYQpJkfmQtUSG1S4z3NjwMKQY1MqQqNaOZKQRX2T7LRA8gZ547yqaMfFvTVwUw5sSOKFlkSwWQQcg-WjFynu305tYExzy03479RfEhtuxRBxmhs/s1600/Screenshot-74.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS7JC4ob4cWnJkXRln8clpv5TLHvhZuYQpJkfmQtUSG1S4z3NjwMKQY1MqQqNaOZKQRX2T7LRA8gZ547yqaMfFvTVwUw5sSOKFlkSwWQQcg-WjFynu305tYExzy03479RfEhtuxRBxmhs/s640/Screenshot-74.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">I never asked Tuck what had changed his mind, what made him realize that he wanted to be with me. Did it matter? Not really. I would never be like my mother. Even if he left, I couldn't see myself meeting someone else and having a family with them. Although I was young, I knew I would only love one man for the rest of my life. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcRyE6ldTjb0Vnl4hYNCG3CSfwdSMZWhSH1sefShA3LmnI5u9PdqV6NLd3iQKjSMFWtGAQ5Aml_Va86Q8kWCXhiC2NViB_PXuBchnGGhhEB9xlJKmZWGb8oQG2K22M3WfA5wJytu3we-M/s1600/Screenshot-40.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcRyE6ldTjb0Vnl4hYNCG3CSfwdSMZWhSH1sefShA3LmnI5u9PdqV6NLd3iQKjSMFWtGAQ5Aml_Va86Q8kWCXhiC2NViB_PXuBchnGGhhEB9xlJKmZWGb8oQG2K22M3WfA5wJytu3we-M/s640/Screenshot-40.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">R.I.P. Marilyn Astor Bergdorf<br />
Wife, Mother, Grandmother, Friend<br />
You were one in a million.</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-36745988386167680392012-02-23T17:55:00.004-05:002012-11-01T22:46:47.356-04:00Chapter 3.7 To Ramona<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"></span></div>
<div style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Ramona, come closer</span></div>
<div style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Shut softly your watery eyes</span></div>
<div style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">The pangs of your sadness</span></div>
<div style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Will pass as your senses will rise</span></div>
<div style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">The flowers of the city </span></div>
<div style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Though breathlike, get deathlike at times</span></div>
<div style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">And there's no use in tryin'</span></div>
<div style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">To deal with the dyin'</span></div>
<div style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Though I cannot explain that in lines.</span></div>
<div style="font-size: small; font-style: italic; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="font-size: small; font-style: italic; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">* * * * * * *</span></div>
<div style="font-size: small; font-style: italic;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">It had been a week since the party and I still had yet to hear from Tuck.</span></div>
<div style="font-size: small; font-style: italic; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: small; font-style: italic; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilxaIm-GZDbGiiDZqYiVXv-NqRN-h7C6AH3U5EvWm7wqRGVekjwrkMxsQxvF46H5zHuj8zi3-6Ux6nUL3SBloSnLEegjapDHTNCOXPV8iutQW2lAjX3SfmibHHUwETF-usnUgL2AjPd64/s1600/Screenshot-2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="538" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilxaIm-GZDbGiiDZqYiVXv-NqRN-h7C6AH3U5EvWm7wqRGVekjwrkMxsQxvF46H5zHuj8zi3-6Ux6nUL3SBloSnLEegjapDHTNCOXPV8iutQW2lAjX3SfmibHHUwETF-usnUgL2AjPd64/s640/Screenshot-2.png" width="640" /></a></span></div>
<div style="font-size: small; font-style: italic;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br />
</span></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">I mean, it's not like we were dating, but I'm pretty sure making out in your underwear is a sign that a guy likes you. In fact, I had spent the last week re-playing the party in my head, re-living every kiss, touch and spoken whisper. I had felt something that night and thought he had too. My mind had reeled with possibilities, that he and I could become...an us. And now I was faced with the reality that I might never get to see my dreams come to fruition. After all, one steamy hookup session is not a guarantee that you will get a second.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">About that steamy hookup session...I was in denial for the first couple of days, but it was unavoidable that I should consider the obvious. That night, in Jenna's bedroom, two teenagers were engaged in activities and every sign was pointing straight to sex. All systems should have been a go but no. I was the one who stopped it. I was the one who wasn't ready. I desperately hoped that he wasn't like that, that he wasn't just another horny, hormone-afflicted adolescent, because I wanted to believe in the way he looked at me. Then I recalled how cunning he could be, how easy it was for him to wiggle his way out of any situation. I wondered if he had any feelings for me at all, or if I was just the Master Bullshitt</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">er's latest victim.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">* * * * * * *</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Everyone is dying, some faster than others.</span> </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Marilyn didn't have much time left. These days, her beautiful creamy complexion had taken on a yellowish hue, thanks to jaundice, and she slept most of the day due to the pain. When awake, she had no appetite and barely enough strength to make it to the bathroom, even when accompanied, which recently had become all of the time. The aide, Felicia was sent from the local hospice. Apparently, she had an extensive history of taking care of patients in their final stages of cancer. This wasn't her first rodeo.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">She let me know straight away who wore the pants in the household and that I had to play by her rules now. Apparently, I was a mere child to her. The fact was, Grandmother wasn't guaranteed a month, a week or even the next day, and I desperately needed the woman who raised me. Felicia stayed firm and explained that Grandmother had just been given her morning dosage and might be up for a visit later that afternoon. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">So what was a girl to do? Head to Perth Hills, of course.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">* * * * * * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Tuck wasn't the only one who could spin a tall tale. All it took was a quick phone call to Lisa Caldwell to get his foster parents' address. The poor lady hadn't seen either one of us since the night I had run out of Support Group and it was all too easy to convince her that we were accountability partners who leaned on each other from time to time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">"Lisa, I'm worried," I told her. "He's been doing some pretty self-destructive things lately and insists that everything is fine, but...", I paused for effect before lowering my voice to a whisper. "<i>I think he's in denial.</i>"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">"No problem dear," she had said. "Tucker is a troubled boy. If you think he's a danger to himself, then maybe you can be the one to reach out to him."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">I arrived in Pertha a half an hour later. The GPS brought me to a modest ranch house in the suburbs. I slowly walked to the door, still sad about my grandmother, excited to see him, and scared of what he might say. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">But Tuck didn't answer the door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">"Hello Ramona," sneered Alexis.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">I took a deep breath. "Is Tuck home?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">She smiled cruelly. "He is, but he's currently indisposed. Can I take a message?"</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">"I'd rather talk to him myself."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Alexis snickered. "I'm afraid that's not possible. You see, he had a <i>long, rough </i>night last night. Poor baby's exhausted," she explained, gesturing to her thrift-store, low-quality corset and </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">cheaply made, lacy, dime-bin panties. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Fucking whore. It took everything in me to not grab her hair and drag her into the street for a good, old-fashioned curb stomp, but </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">one</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"> of us was raised better. With all the composure that I could muster, I managed to smile and request that he call me when he woke up. Holding my head high, I swiveled on my heel and strode away, the picture of dignity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">The tears began as soon as the front door had shut. They didn't stop for hours.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">* * * * * * *</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; text-align: justify;">He had thought after IT happened, he would never feel anything again. To everyone who came in contact with him, Tuck was still the charming, silver-tongued, misunderstood youth who was slicker than an oil spill and could sell you your own shirt off your back. His insides were different.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">What kind of mother doesn't want their child? What kind of mother tries to end her own life? His, obviously. She had never been the best parent, raising him by herself. She was always out partying with her friends, leaving him to his own devices. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">When the social workers had found his mom's attempted suicide during their little investigation, they decided that he would be better off in a new home. Tuck had gone along obediently, not even bothering to tell Alexis or his friends. He adapted easily in Pertha Hills, listening to Steve and Dana well enough and attending his support group that was court mandated. He felt nothing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Nothing, that is, until he met Ramona Bergdorf.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">* * * * * * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">"Why did you ask me to come here?" Ramona scowled at him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Truthfully he was surprised she showed up. He had asked her to meet him at what was becoming "their" spot. She had certainly looked better though. Her face was flushed, her eyes were puffy and her clothes looked like they had been just thrown on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">"I thought you deserved an explanation," he said quietly, quite unlike himself. She was beautiful, despite her unkempt appearance and it killed him to know he was the reason for her pain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">"It-it's okay," she whispered, her voice weak. "I get it. I wouldn't sleep with you."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">He stared at her, his mouth falling open. "That's what you think? That this is about the other night?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">"Why wouldn't I think that? What girl wouldn't think that, Tuck?" she cried. "You haven't called me since you dropped me off a week ago. I tried to tell myself it wasn't because I didn't put out. But guess who I saw when I went to your house? Alexis, in her fucking underwear! So <i>please</i> let me know if I'm being unreasonable."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Tuck sighed. "You're right," he said lamely. The Master Bullshitter for once, was at a loss for words. He had nothing to say.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Ramona shook her head. "I mean, I know we weren't dating, but I liked you. And I thought you liked me too." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">She managed a small smile. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">"I was excited for that <i>chance</i>, to see what could happen," she said, her voice soft. "I thought that we could really be something great." And then she frowned. "I never even <i>had</i> a chance, did I?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">He patted her head awkwardly, taking her hand in his. "I <i>did</i> like you. I <i>do</i> like you."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; text-align: justify;">"Nothing says 'I like you' like screwing your ex. You did sleep with her, right?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Tuck nodded, mutely. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Her lip trembled. "I was hoping that maybe you didn't, that maybe we'd be like one of those teenager movies. Two people who like each other keep having obstacles standing in the way, then there's a secret that tears them apart and in the end, it was all just a big misunderstanding and the two people kiss and make up."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">She paused. "I guess life isn't a movie." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">"Bright Eyes..."</span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">"Don't call me that!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Tuck exhaled. "Ramona...please...just sit with me?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">He took a deep breath. This was going to be hard. "Alexis was my first girlfriend, but we fought a lot. When I left Yume no Shima, we didn't even stay in touch. We really only started hanging out because both of our families were super fucked up. She kind of...understands where I'm from."</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">She sat there quietly, just listening.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">"The last time I can remember telling anyone 'I love you', was the night my mother tried to kill herself."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Ramona gasped. "Tuck..."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">He held up a hand. "They pumped her stomach, but right before she took the pills, she told me she wished that I had never been born."</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">"I am so sorry...is that why you told me that it's better when they die?"</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">He nodded. "After that night, I realized that when you love someone, you let them in and give them the power to hurt you. It's not worth it."</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">"So better to fuck everyone else over first?"</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">"Basically."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">"You're an amazing girl, Ramona. I care about you, but you deserve someone who can eventually <i>love</i> you."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">* * * * * * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">And so, they were over. Ramona had wanted to find her great love, like her parents. Unlike her parents, she was going to see hers until the end. How are you supposed to go to bat for someone who won't even let you in the dugout? And why did she miss something that she never truly had in the first place?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"> I've heard you say many times</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">That you're better 'n no one</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">And no one is better 'n you</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">If you really believe that</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">You know you have </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Nothing to win and nothing to lose</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">From fixtures and forces and friends</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Your sorrow does stem</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">That hype you and type you</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Making you feel</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">That you gotta be just like them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">- Bob Dylan, "To Ramona"</span></div>
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Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-70342650651186876672012-02-15T17:21:00.238-05:002012-11-01T22:45:21.757-04:00Chapter 3.6 Ride Wit Me<div style="text-align: justify;">
Tuck was taking Ramona back to his old stomping grounds. He had been quiet for most of the drive to Yume no Shima, his thoughts a million miles away. His friends were throwing a party tonight and Ramona really needed out of the house more often. He would bring her into his world, against his better judgment. What was happening to him? He used to know better. </div>
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Sensing his mood, she had been more than content to stare out the window. Escaping for the weekend had been easy; the new aide was moving in and would be busy getting settled. Ramona felt slightly remorseful, as she should be spending whatever time she had left with her grandmother, but those twinges of guilt were eclipsed by the realization that she would be graduating high school in a matter of months and had yet to do one fun thing for herself. She snuggled down into the plush seats of his Hyundai coupe, even as she was wondering what strange life had commandeered her mind, compelling her body do unspeakable acts of teenage rebellion.</div>
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Ramona broke the silence with a small gasp. "Tuck! It's beautiful!" she exclaimed.</div>
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Her innocence had always amused him to no degree. How little the things that amazed her were. Perhaps it was because he had grown up, surrounded by the beauty that was Yume no Shima or that aesthetics held no appeal for him, but in either case, he envied her of her tendency to wear her heart on her sleeve and open-eyed wonder at the world that had never brought him anything but pain.</div>
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The walked to the shore, their feet inches away from the crystal ocean. Childish laughter and squeals of unadultered delight seemed to echo from the rocks. The waves, seductive sirens straight out of mythology, seemed to beckon to him, lulling him back in. He forgot how much he missed this place, but it was different now. He was different. The ghosts of summers past only reminded him how everything used to be...before. Before IT.</div>
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"So," Ramona glanced over at him nervously, "I guess I'm meeting your friends tonight?"</div>
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"Yup," he replied cheekily, "and if they don't like you, I already showed you where we dump the bodies."</div>
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She lightly punched him in the arm. "Oh, you."</div>
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You wouldn't know it from their playful repartee, but Tuck's insides were actually reeling at this point. There was no doubt his friends would love Ramona; that wasn't the problem. His biggest concern was whether <em>she</em> would be there.</div>
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* * * * * * *</div>
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Her name was Alexis and he had known her since his childhood. Unlike Ramona, Alexis came from a family almost as poor as his own. She had practically raised herself and her three young siblings and skipped school with him regularly to hang out at the Arcade. Unfortunately, their school had long given up on making truancy calls to their homes, and even if they did, there would be no parent at either house to care. Those were wild times.</div>
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Alexis wasn't a Barbie doll by any means. She preferred brass knuckles and beer and had her first cigarette at age eleven. By fourteen, she was already dragging Tuck to parties and bars, even before they met Jay and his crew. And by fifteen, weed was child's play. Alexis preferred much harder stuff.</div>
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Their fights were of epic proportions and he could remember being called every name in the book. She laced her words with venom and wasn't above a blow beneath-the-belt. In bad ways AND in good ways.</div>
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But still...she was his first love. And even with his fast-paced lifestyle, Tuck childishly thought that they would last forever. </div>
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But nothing ever does, does it? After the tenth time he had been picked up for breaking curfew, inquiries were made about his home life and IT was soon discovered. </div>
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Before he knew it, he was in a car with a social worker where he would be given a slightly nicer home with a slightly less dysfunctional family in slightly less poorer Pertha Hills. His foster parents, Steve and Dana, with two kids of their own to care for, didn't have much attention or affection to spare, and by that point, he was too messed up anyway. Unlike Yume no Shima, Pertha Hills High took truancy more seriously apparently. Soon he was sent to Support Group, where he would eventually meet Ramona. </div>
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Of course, he had been back since then, but only to see Jay, and even their time together had been brief. Tonight, the entire crew would be reunited. He tried to push the negative thoughts from his memory and concentrate on having a good night. After all, he was returning with a beautiful girl. Even so, he wondered if Ramona was the only thing different nowadays. </div>
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Yume no Shima was a world away from Hidden Springs. Ramona marveled at the streets bedazzled with palm trees, quite unlike the forest and mountains she was accustomed to seeing. But even the lush scenery whizzing past did little to quiet the tiny, nagging doubt she had been harboring since they had left her house that afternoon. How exactly did a Pertha Hills boy afford a car like this?</div>
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Once inside the elevator of the apartment building, Ramona's doubts subsided as her insecurities began to take over. She had yet to uncover the mystery that was Tuck yet here she was, out of town with a boy, going to a party that would be serving alcoholic beverages. If her grandmother knew, cancer would no longer be a threat. She'd drop dead on the spot.</div>
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Both of them were nervous for different reasons but they were here now, so they might as well make the best of it.</div>
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Upstairs in the luxurious two-bedroom flat, it was like no time had passed at all. Zane was furiously mashing the buttons on his gaming controller while Katie and Ty were deep in conversation.<br />
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Jenna, the hostess for the evening was busy making drinks while Kimmie looked on. </div>
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And Jay? He was observing it all, taking everything in like always.</div>
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Not much happened that Jay didn't know about. He observed the gang like a lion might keep watch over his pride. He was masculine to the core, with a fierce loyalty to those he cared about. Those who opposed or betrayed him already knew the repercussions, except for the few foolish ones who refused to listen to the stories. Jay would have made a fantastic televangelist. Let's just say he had the power to make believers over night. </div>
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Tuck had barely knocked before Zane had sprung from his seat and made it to the door in one bound. <br />
<br />
"What's good, brah?!" he gleefully shouted.</div>
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Ramona let the two guys get caught up, hanging back apprehensively. Everyone seemed much older than the two of them. Suddenly, she questioned coming here after all.<br />
<br />
"Hi, Ramona!" chirped a girly voice. <br />
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Kimmie Chen immediately put her at ease and made her feel welcome. Ramona wondered if Tuck had told them about her before their arrival. Kimmie took her around the room, introducing her to everyone, although Ramona was certain if she had seen any of these people around town, she would have gone out of her way to avoid them at all costs. <br />
<br />
As the night progressed, she began to let her guard down, with the exception of just a few uncomfortable moments. <br />
<br />
The first was when Ty asked Tuck if she was his girlfriend.<br />
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Of course, Ramona had blushed and secretly hoped that Tuck would say "yes" although he had yet to ask her and their first kiss had been two weeks ago, the night of the Homecoming Dance. He skillfully dodged the bullet, making question evasion seem like an art form in itself.<br />
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The next incident occurred when Zane offered Ramona a drink.<br />
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<br />
Ramona didn't even have time to cringe before Tuck once again swooped in and fielded the blow for her. <br />
<br />
"She can't. She's gotta be sober in case we go home tonight," he answered smoothly.<br />
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Zane scratched his head. "Brah, when did not having a designated driver ever stop you before?"<br />
<br />
"Since my last meeting with my probation officer," murmured Tuck <i>sotto voce</i>, pretending that he didn't want Ramona to find out, even though they both knew what was up.<br />
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"I feel you," Zane nodded. "So how is that going?"<br />
<br />
"I'll tell you later," said Tuck with a slight flick of his head, indicating his date.<br />
<br />
Then, while Kimmie and Ramona were chatting, Tuck stepped in. "Excuse me, Ram, but I have to talk to Jay for a moment. You'll be alright, though?"<br />
<br />
"Sure," she smiled at him. Kimmie was turning out to be quite lovely company.<br />
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* * * * * * *</div>
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In the spare bedroom, Jay grinned at Tuck. "It's been awhile since our last meeting, Tucker. S'tell me, how's business?"<br />
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Back in the living room, Ramona was once again left alone when Ty asked Kimmie to dance. It was almost two am, and she guessed that both of them were feeling their liquor.</div>
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Jenna and Zane were deep in conversation on the couch and Katie was leaving.</div>
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She stood around for a moment, feeling out of place. <br />
<br />
"Good evening, Ramona. I've heard SO much about you." The voice was low and contained just a hint of menace. </div>
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Ramona turned around to face the only person at the party that she hadn't met yet. <br />
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Tuck beamed. "It's never been better, Jay. I've been in and out of Hidden Springs as well so ya know, between that and what we already set up in Pertha, I'm gravy."</div>
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Jay looked amused. "Hidden Springs, huh? Damn, Money, so's that where you picked up the broad?"</div>
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"Aww, Ramona's a nice girl."</div>
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"Don't tell me you's gone soft!" </div>
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Tuck shook his head. "Naw, you don't gotta worry about me. My shit's straight."</div>
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Jay's eyes narrowed. "Good to hear. Keep it that way."</div>
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* * * * * * *<br />
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"Jenna said we can stay in her room. She's going back to Zane's."</div>
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Ramona bit her lip. "So I met your ex-girlfriend."</div>
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"Oh", he laughed. "Well that is a bit awkward."</div>
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There was a moment of silence. Ramona looked down at her feet. Tonight had gone better than she had expected. Kimmie had been more than friendly, most of his friends had in fact. And it wasn't like Alexis was this beauty queen that she could never replace. But Alexis fit in his world. It was clear she did not.</div>
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"Bright Eyes," he said softly, grabbing her wrists and pulling her closely to him. "I haven't talked to her in years."</div>
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"I know," she whispered, managing a small smile. "I'm just being silly." </div>
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She wondered if she was just another fool, just another idiot that he had pacified. God, the boy was slick. He was the Master Bullshitter, and even as that registered, she couldn't pull away from him. Maybe it went along with the theme of the reckless evening or it was the threat of an old flame that was just on the other side of the door, but when he kissed her, she responded passionately. </div>
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Soon, both of them were in their underwear and she wanted him. Oh God, how she wanted him. She had never had these kind of thoughts before, not even when she was with Andrew. Ramona wanted him to pin her up against the wall and leave a trail of kisses up and down her body. She wanted him to throw her down and take her, ravish her body right there on the hardwood floor. She felt like a weary traveler who had just discovered an Oasis and nothing he could ever do would be enough to quench her thirst. </div>
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For the first time in her life, she understood the sensation of running your hands all over a guy's smooth, toned back. Her face cupped in his hands, was tilted just-so, just like in her favorite movies. She wanted the moment to last forever. When they stopped, she was disappointed, until she realized he was leading her to the bed.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecr4iILKHTGoqfcOUvvI2k6iBAIkMMSAQpSiYT2H-D9ixrTTFBJZhnfUNQ6LNZ756yZntfF1C9A6wgu1Axt7r1oJ2Tz3mev5DV4oAOFLRHErXmwGRYh396yiQRpzQLeHXiuoW93K8NU8/s1600/27.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecr4iILKHTGoqfcOUvvI2k6iBAIkMMSAQpSiYT2H-D9ixrTTFBJZhnfUNQ6LNZ756yZntfF1C9A6wgu1Axt7r1oJ2Tz3mev5DV4oAOFLRHErXmwGRYh396yiQRpzQLeHXiuoW93K8NU8/s640/27.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Tuck hovered her, a confused look on his face. "What's wrong?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Nothing, don't worry about it." </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Bright Eyes..."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
She stared up at him, tracing his profile with her fingertips. "You should probably kiss me some more."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Ramona, you don't have to do anything you don't want to."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"I-I know. And it's...it's not that I don't want to...as much as..."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"As much as what?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"As much as I might not be ready," she confessed finally.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He rolled off of her onto his back and let out a sigh.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2dXm7cBQHmfTKfncIzVzWBkoig3xx_3ILI9q0AiQ-nftkXvNx19KGOeffrV5Bqfh-rdP_ETV0T-BmGqIVrMkeaUDhTmAn9lqjox5u-gbI4LqUc7WhTFjiiEoUx7bAst0Eo2CjT-9iOaY/s1600/28.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2dXm7cBQHmfTKfncIzVzWBkoig3xx_3ILI9q0AiQ-nftkXvNx19KGOeffrV5Bqfh-rdP_ETV0T-BmGqIVrMkeaUDhTmAn9lqjox5u-gbI4LqUc7WhTFjiiEoUx7bAst0Eo2CjT-9iOaY/s640/28.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Pin-up Girl posters throwing you off, too?" he smirked.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Not funny," she chided, even with the hint of a smile beginning to form at the corner of her lips.</div>
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<br /></div>
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They lay there for some time, chatting, snuggling and kissing before passing out some time around dawn. They'd head home later, back to Hidden Springs, where Ramona would meet the new aide and Tuck would return to the grind. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was only when she was on her porch and was watching him pull out of her driveway that she realized that while there some things she knew about Tucker Whitney, there were a dozen more things that she might never find out. </div>
</div>
</div>
Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-66056673998768376612012-01-17T22:42:00.001-05:002012-01-17T22:43:39.007-05:00Sorry for the delay...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLA3zQiufC4y-uU4A8XUJzLVG8f7QLBgdG87FLvkXsXabNMlJZihg8O_ZCjAFtwAqZjF4h03xLL2NwBoFKDxKSn-KKQ28nkbKv7x3u8YSDBIIF_0imXBPiTQ-8ngWClrT1KiWvm4qNSVA/s1600/Screenshot-74.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLA3zQiufC4y-uU4A8XUJzLVG8f7QLBgdG87FLvkXsXabNMlJZihg8O_ZCjAFtwAqZjF4h03xLL2NwBoFKDxKSn-KKQ28nkbKv7x3u8YSDBIIF_0imXBPiTQ-8ngWClrT1KiWvm4qNSVA/s640/Screenshot-74.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>I have been busy with college - it has been two years since I have attended so it's taking some time to get into a routine. I know it's been two weeks and I HATE that. I just finished a massive photoshoot for my Facebook friends and hope to start working on the next chapter tomorrow; hopefully one will get done a week.<br />
<br />
If anyone still checks this...I'm sorry. :/Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-57787804989378709412012-01-04T17:03:00.000-05:002012-01-04T17:03:57.882-05:00Some Stories that come highly recommended......but maybe I'm biased.<br />
<br />
Jessica's <a href="http://nbscratchingthesurface.blogspot.com/">Scratching the Surface</a><br />
Kaytja's <a href="http://kaytja.blogspot.com/">The World Doesn't Deserve You</a><br />
Cristobal's <a href="http://cristobaldinosaurio.blogspot.com/">Last Sim Standing</a><br />
Tommiegirl_ca's <a href="http://memoirsofacitygirlsims3.blogspot.com/">Memoirs of a City Girl</a><br />
Kate's <a href="http://jemstonlegacy.wordpress.com/">Jemston Legacy</a><br />
Seaweedy's <a href="http://hbhonda1989.wordpress.com/">Notorious</a><br />
<br />
And also by Seaweedy, a blog of some really amazing stories and legacies. Thank you for featuring me - I consider it an honor since you follow some of the best stories and legacies for Sims. XD<br />
<a href="http://todayintheworldofsimsstories.wordpress.com/">http://todayintheworldofsimsstories.wordpress.com/</a>Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-47351505937599693262011-12-31T19:24:00.001-05:002011-12-31T19:34:18.469-05:00Chapter 3.5 Be Like That - Part Two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I answered the phone on the third ring. "Hello?" I wasn't in the mood for small talk. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Ramona?" It was my mother.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Yes, Farryn?" I replied coolly. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"I heard about your grandmother. Pancreatic cancer?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Mmmhmm." </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Her voice faltered. "I'm so sorry."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">While I seriously doubted that, I was in no mood to argue. Tuesday's visit with Dr. Edwards had proven to be less than encouraging. He estimated that Grandmother had maybe six months left at least, if she was lucky. They had caught her cancer during its last stages, common for the type she had. She would be in a lot of pain and would need someone to care for her. The kind doctor recommended putting her in a hospice. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9rp7ME6q268/Tv7TIgNs13I/AAAAAAAABmg/h2Mky1j8cH4/s1600/Screenshot-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="396" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9rp7ME6q268/Tv7TIgNs13I/AAAAAAAABmg/h2Mky1j8cH4/s640/Screenshot-7.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">I couldn't imagine my loving grandmother confined to a room where she just waited to die. She deserved better, but unfortunately, I was still in high school. The only other option we had, was hiring someone to come live in our home. It wasn't ideal, but it sure beat the alternative. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DiHlBxyThko/Tv7TPuZjNJI/AAAAAAAABms/z9kk04vFVFs/s1600/Screenshot-15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="404" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DiHlBxyThko/Tv7TPuZjNJI/AAAAAAAABms/z9kk04vFVFs/s640/Screenshot-15.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">There were experimental diets that had been reported to extend the life expectancy of pancreatic cancer patients but my grandmother would have none of that. How could she stay so calm, so accepting? It wasn't happening to me, yet as always, I would have to live with the consequences. Hadn't our family been through enough? What would happen to me once she was gone?</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-61ZwKMoUVaU/Tv7TWtCON_I/AAAAAAAABm4/U_vsaVGSVhE/s1600/Screenshot-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-61ZwKMoUVaU/Tv7TWtCON_I/AAAAAAAABm4/U_vsaVGSVhE/s640/Screenshot-8.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
'Look," I said, my tone acerbic, "I don't know how many times I have to tell you this but quit trying to be a part of our lives." Without waiting for her to protest, I continued on heartlessly. "You walked out on <i>us. </i>So do what you do best, and leave us alone."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;">"Where are we?"</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LbRkeaJYoks/Tv7TmONLIKI/AAAAAAAABnE/KGQ8PXWi2WU/s1600/Screenshot-58.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="500" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LbRkeaJYoks/Tv7TmONLIKI/AAAAAAAABnE/KGQ8PXWi2WU/s640/Screenshot-58.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Grandmother smiled. She had taken me out of school for the day for an "important talk". Standing on an old wooden bridge, smelling the wildflowers and listening to the birds chirp, I felt completely at peace. It's hard to believe that so much was going on inside me as long as I was surrounded by nature in all its aesthetic glory.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2nhunNCb0Vc/Tv7T1ve2vxI/AAAAAAAABnQ/Zv6CgzpeDhE/s1600/Screenshot-48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2nhunNCb0Vc/Tv7T1ve2vxI/AAAAAAAABnQ/Zv6CgzpeDhE/s640/Screenshot-48.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
"This bridge was...special to your grandfather and I. I suppose you could say that it was a big part of our love story. I never got to take your father here and I wanted to share it with you before..." A shadow crossed over her face but quickly vanished. "Well, this bridge has played an important role in our family's history and I hope it becomes as special to you as it has to me."<br />
<br />
"Thank you, Grandmother," I murmured, feeling like this outing was one of the last we would share together. I tried to be strong for her sake. "We'll have to get the old fishing poles out of storage and make a day of it sometime."<br />
<br />
She laughed, patting me on the shoulder. "Oh Ramona, I haven't been fishing in years!"<br />
<br />
I looked at her closely. "Are you feeling alright?"<br />
<br />
"Oh, it's nothing, darling, really. Just a little winded from the walk."<br />
<br />
"Okay, but let's sit down anyway." Concerned, I took her by the hand and led her to a park bench where we could rest in the cool shade and find relief from the midday rays.<br />
<br />
"So, Homecoming is tomorrow. Are you excited?" Grandmother turned to me with a mischievous sparkle in her eye.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-seEP3KRE5_0/Tv7T9EOvS8I/AAAAAAAABnc/FdmpKecRcmQ/s1600/Screenshot-69.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="430" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-seEP3KRE5_0/Tv7T9EOvS8I/AAAAAAAABnc/FdmpKecRcmQ/s640/Screenshot-69.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
I took a deep breath. "I feel like I<i> should</i> be. I've been dating Andrew for awhile now and it's our senior year. I'm lucky to have met someone who treats me so well."<br />
<br />
She nodded. "Yes, Andrew is a very nice young man. Your father had a crush on his mother, Penelope for the longest time. The Satterfields are good people."<br />
<br />
"Grandmother," I said slowly, "what was it like, being with Grandfather?"<br />
<br />
"More than anything I could have ever hoped for. He was my rock, my soul mate, my sweetheart. We argued just like any other couple, but he was my best friend and made everything worth it."<br />
<br />
I furrowed my brow. "Did you feel a connection with him right away and just know that you guys were meant for each other?"<br />
<br />
Grandmother paused to think. "Yes, I think I did. It's like I was searching for something and didn't know what and then he happened and everything finally made sense."<br />
<br />
"Oh," I said dejectedly. "I don't think I've ever felt that way."<br />
<br />
<br />
"Ramona, not every relationship is the same. Whether it's with Andrew or someone else, I know that you'll find someone one day who loves you as much as I do and a million times more. You are such a sweet girl and I am so proud of the woman you're becoming."<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4R7YhzTRIrc/Tv7UEbXBOLI/AAAAAAAABno/wFyY6S_YidI/s1600/Screenshot-77.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="406" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4R7YhzTRIrc/Tv7UEbXBOLI/AAAAAAAABno/wFyY6S_YidI/s640/Screenshot-77.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
"Am I sweet? All I seem to care about is how I look or my silly little high school relationship. Being in this support group has really opened my eyes about the way other people have grown up. Even after everything with my dad, I still feel grateful for what I have. I feel like my problems are so small in the grand scheme of things."<br />
<br />
"It's not about what lot you're cast, it's about what you do with the tools you are given," she replied "You have this enormous capacity for love, a genuine empathy for others and most importantly, the means to make a difference. I know you will do great things."<br />
<br />
Maybe it was the magic of the Gardens, but her words seemed to reassure me after all and suddenly, an idea came to me. "I guess I know what I need to do then."<br />
<br />
"What is that dear?" she inquired. "What are you going to do?"<br />
<br />
"Make a difference."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"You want us to do what?" asked Joelle the next day in school. I had blurted out my plan in one giant breath and the two of them were staring at me, completely confused.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GewrUJMYXWs/Tv7ULUtq1gI/AAAAAAAABn0/uYrZVKk7zlI/s1600/Screenshot-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GewrUJMYXWs/Tv7ULUtq1gI/AAAAAAAABn0/uYrZVKk7zlI/s640/Screenshot-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
I laughed. "I want you both to come to my house tonight around six. Andrew and his football buddies have rented a limousine. We're having dinner at the Bistro and then heading to the dance. I think it's going to be a lot of fun and I'd love for you guys to join us."<br />
<br />
After a couple of more minutes of convincing the most I could get was a skeptical "maybe" from Melissa and a noncommittal "we'll see" from Joelle.<br />
<br />
It wasn't quite the reaction I was hoping for, but it was a start.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Bettina had come over that afternoon so we could get ready together. My room was filled with half a department store's worth of cosmetics and beauty products. If I was going to have to endure an evening of heels and hair extensions, it had better be worth it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Is tonight the night?" she asked me with an impish grin. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Betsy," I chided, "you know that Andrew and I are waiting for the right moment to do that."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"You guys <i>have</i> been dating for a year now," she reminded me. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"I know," I sighed, irritated. "But it has to be special." I was one of the only girls in our circle of friends who was still a virgin and the subject never failed to make me blush hotly.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k_ZkDQnb4go/Tv7UP98flqI/AAAAAAAABoA/rwszHTGfS_8/s1600/Screenshot-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k_ZkDQnb4go/Tv7UP98flqI/AAAAAAAABoA/rwszHTGfS_8/s640/Screenshot-3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
"Okay," she conceded. "So maybe not tonight." My cousin had apparently made quite the name for herself at Smugglesworth Prep, living up to the Horowitz name. She had a different guy every week.<br />
<br />
"Thank you." <br />
<br />
Betsy giggled. "Prom then?"<br />
<br />
I could only groan in response.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We both heard the doorbell ring, my grandmother greeting Andrew and inviting him inside. After a quick last-minute look in the mirror, Bettina and I headed downstairs.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-H20phc_EwqQ/Tv7UWVz0zUI/AAAAAAAABoM/3-fLQUKgVlQ/s1600/Screenshot-16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="494" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-H20phc_EwqQ/Tv7UWVz0zUI/AAAAAAAABoM/3-fLQUKgVlQ/s640/Screenshot-16.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fQae6WJ6Hoc/Tv7UbH7aV7I/AAAAAAAABoY/RM8MdlQf8iI/s1600/Screenshot-21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fQae6WJ6Hoc/Tv7UbH7aV7I/AAAAAAAABoY/RM8MdlQf8iI/s640/Screenshot-21.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Andrew whistled appreciatively. "Wow Ram, you look amazing."<br />
<br />
Grandmother fussed over the three of us, demanding that we get some pictures. Andrew and I stood beside each other, his hands on my hips. "So, is tonight the night?" he whispered.<br />
<br />
I could only stare in bewilderment. "What?"<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5S9jgUZYEVg/Tv7UlNlfJaI/AAAAAAAABow/tKI-kAxwl-c/s1600/Screenshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="464" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5S9jgUZYEVg/Tv7UlNlfJaI/AAAAAAAABow/tKI-kAxwl-c/s640/Screenshot.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
"Aww don't be like that. I love you, Ramona," he pulled me close, his voice thick with emotion, "and I'm willing to wait until you're ready."<br />
<br />
I allowed him to kiss me passionately, my mind being pulled in a million directions. I loved this boy, right? So what was stopping me?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hil3H4ZtFM8/Tv7adSJdcBI/AAAAAAAABo8/pVcOwFzFJUo/s1600/Screenshot-23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="494" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hil3H4ZtFM8/Tv7adSJdcBI/AAAAAAAABo8/pVcOwFzFJUo/s640/Screenshot-23.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
We were interrupted by Joelle and Melissa's arrival. They had taken obvious pains in their appearance tonight and it showed.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fqZ8-I8CP3A/Tv7ajfcfzEI/AAAAAAAABpI/tNBdliE-sd8/s1600/Screenshot-27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fqZ8-I8CP3A/Tv7ajfcfzEI/AAAAAAAABpI/tNBdliE-sd8/s640/Screenshot-27.jpg" width="636" /></a></div><br />
"You made it!" I cried. "I'm so happy you decided to come!"<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ew95SdbTSO4/Tv7asorCoCI/AAAAAAAABpU/jzOW_mWL_SQ/s1600/Screenshot-54.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="458" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ew95SdbTSO4/Tv7asorCoCI/AAAAAAAABpU/jzOW_mWL_SQ/s640/Screenshot-54.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
"What are you taking about, Ramona?" Andrew asked me quietly. "What are those girls doing here?"<br />
<br />
"I thought your friends still needed dates," I breathed to him, "so I invited Joelle and Melissa."<br />
<br />
"Why didn't you invite Blair or Caroline then? Why <i>them</i>?" he gestured to the girls.<br />
<br />
"They're my friends, Andrew!" I hissed. At this point, it was useless to whisper. There was an awkward silence in the room and everyone knew what we were arguing about. I was embarrassed for both of our sakes.<br />
<br />
"They go to your support group. That doesn't make them friends. They're not like us," said Andrew matter-of-factly.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fgcBbop5eIc/Tv7bCoo02rI/AAAAAAAABps/YjV6G1ndnsY/s1600/Screenshot-30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="372" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fgcBbop5eIc/Tv7bCoo02rI/AAAAAAAABps/YjV6G1ndnsY/s640/Screenshot-30.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>I glared at him. "Not like us?" I repeated. We were oblivious to the other people in the room, wrapped up in our own world.<br />
<br />
"Yeah," he shrugged. "I don't want to show up at the dance with a fat chick and ole' Witch Nose over there. Do you honestly think Troy and Chad will be happy that we brought them two busted chicks? C'mon, Ram, this is our Senior Year. We're supposed to have fun tonight, not do some community service project."<br />
<br />
"These girls have more in common with me than you will ever have. They're human, they have hearts." I frowned. "They have feelings." <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RIt-2Vdgnzg/Tv7bdTbmRKI/AAAAAAAABqQ/YT6zE3XAVDU/s1600/Screenshot-40.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="368" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RIt-2Vdgnzg/Tv7bdTbmRKI/AAAAAAAABqQ/YT6zE3XAVDU/s640/Screenshot-40.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
"I never said they didn't," he objected. "But that doesn't mean I want to hang out with them."<br />
<br />
I laughed bitterly. "You don't want to hang out with anyone who is unlike you. Newsflash, this world is ugly. And just because you're handsome on the outside, doesn't mean you can't be disgusting on the inside. You're so wrapped up in yourself that I couldn't even tell you that my grandmother just got diagnosed with cancer. She's got months left to live."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hJmxLcqZT4U/Tv7cw6qFtwI/AAAAAAAABqo/tIJ5GJ0P36Q/s1600/Screenshot-59.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="404" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hJmxLcqZT4U/Tv7cw6qFtwI/AAAAAAAABqo/tIJ5GJ0P36Q/s640/Screenshot-59.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
"Ramona," he sputtered. "I had no idea. I'm so sorry."<br />
<br />
I shook my head. "There's a lot you don't know. Funny, how I had to go to a support group filled with strangers to find someone who would even listen to me. Funny how a group of people who are nothing like me turned out to understand me better than you'll ever attempt to, who know more about me, than you'll ever ask." <br />
<br />
"I'm sorry," he put his hands up, as if afraid that my words would again rain down upon him in a verbal torrential downpour.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8-EZLjfE624/Tv7bmbLY7EI/AAAAAAAABqc/EfI0zLRSY80/s1600/Screenshot-68.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8-EZLjfE624/Tv7bmbLY7EI/AAAAAAAABqc/EfI0zLRSY80/s640/Screenshot-68.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
I stared at him sadly, realizing for the first time, that while our backgrounds were the same, Andrew couldn't be any more different than myself. And I pitied him. The kids in my group had been made too hard, too young. It wasn't his fault. It didn't make him a bad person for never having had anything bad happen to him. But I couldn't be with him anymore.<br />
<br />
By that time, the spell had evaporated and we were once again aware of the others in the room. Joelle and Melissa had already snuck out and I dreaded facing them on Monday. Grandmother had gone to bed, her heart surely hurting for the both of us. <br />
<br />
After seeing Bettina and Andrew take off in the limo with the rest of our friends, I started walking, not knowing where I was headed.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Fancy meeting you here," a familiar voice rang out in the quiet stillness of the evening. Tucker Whitney smiled down at me.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K_spISxBKfk/Tv7mZRSiEXI/AAAAAAAABq0/AUQc0grRr6o/s1600/Screenshot-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="402" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K_spISxBKfk/Tv7mZRSiEXI/AAAAAAAABq0/AUQc0grRr6o/s640/Screenshot-4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
"What are you doing, stalking me?" I asked, but not rudely.<br />
<br />
"Don't I wish! No, I'm around the neighborhood. I had a few errands to attend to." Tuck sat down, his steady gaze making me suddenly uncomfortable. "What about you, Bright Eyes? What are you doing tonight?"<br />
<br />
I rolled my eyes. As if he didn't know. "Oh you know, just hanging out at the library. Nothing special."<br />
<br />
Tuck snickered. "Well, you look like shit."<br />
<br />
Despite myself, I cracked up too. I knew he was joking. His eyes, perpetually burning sapphires were sparkling and a grin was dancing across his lips.<br />
<br />
When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. "So, you wanna talk about it?"<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-scMMVhX3glY/Tv7zpNlcjBI/AAAAAAAABrA/4LLgFt1rlM8/s1600/Screenshot-24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="406" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-scMMVhX3glY/Tv7zpNlcjBI/AAAAAAAABrA/4LLgFt1rlM8/s640/Screenshot-24.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
The entire story came out and I was able to finish without shedding a tear. Tuck listened the entire time, nodding and inserting a comment where appropriate. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wqh4falcgvU/Tv7zty3kvyI/AAAAAAAABrM/DGsYkLpsGW8/s1600/Screenshot-25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wqh4falcgvU/Tv7zty3kvyI/AAAAAAAABrM/DGsYkLpsGW8/s640/Screenshot-25.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
I stood up. "I don't want to be in that world anymore." I ripped out my hair extensions and shook my mane loose, finally free from the glamorous restrictions. In a sense, I had also been stripped of the confines of my shallow existence. I felt like tonight, I could be anyone.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kQmXCbnPjVo/Tv7z1POkjWI/AAAAAAAABrY/7VtbvIOj9YI/s1600/Screenshot-31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kQmXCbnPjVo/Tv7z1POkjWI/AAAAAAAABrY/7VtbvIOj9YI/s640/Screenshot-31.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
He got up to stand in front of me. "Then don't."<br />
<br />
I stared at him, suddenly overwhelmed by the evening's events. "Now what do I do, Tuck?" I asked him helpelessly.<br />
<br />
"Dance with me," he breathed.<br />
<br />
So that was how Tucker Whitney, the mysterious Pertha Hills boy with sapphire eyes and I, Ramona Bergdorf, the Little Girl Lost who were at first seemingly worlds apart, came to find ourselves dancing outside of the public library, to no music, on the night of the Homecoming Dance.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zl7WodW8t-k/Tv7z5jFPRJI/AAAAAAAABrk/9HFvd_SGzNk/s1600/Screenshot-63.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="590" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zl7WodW8t-k/Tv7z5jFPRJI/AAAAAAAABrk/9HFvd_SGzNk/s640/Screenshot-63.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>"It's like I was searching for something and didn't know what and then he happened and everything finally made sense."</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-56678458932495440132011-12-15T10:37:00.002-05:002011-12-15T11:13:45.159-05:00Chapter 3.5 Be Like That - Part One<div style="text-align: center;">"...if we're all alone, then we're all together in that too." -<i> P.S. I Love You</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>* * * * * * *</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It had been a rough three days. My grandmother had scheduled an appointment with the oncologist, Dr. Edwards for this week and I was preparing myself for the worst. After I got her news I didn't talk to anyone for the rest of the weekend. When Monday came, I felt a sense of relief. I had a place to go where I could talk and be understood, not judged. I had a sanctuary. Even so, I stood by the door for a moment, very much like my first meeting had started out. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnEt0V6wwyZQhs8WRvMiIy-riffyvVIBu-Xzk95-Tc_TWyMGnJhagxIzGi-CLuzx_KlWofNmIzYy6BdV0WVGd9u3Ml0kwxoWuRw_BH2ChzH6x4LsZ-sgxVwiljm7ylbiKcAzzc6vBbuSQ/s1600/Screenshot-14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnEt0V6wwyZQhs8WRvMiIy-riffyvVIBu-Xzk95-Tc_TWyMGnJhagxIzGi-CLuzx_KlWofNmIzYy6BdV0WVGd9u3Ml0kwxoWuRw_BH2ChzH6x4LsZ-sgxVwiljm7ylbiKcAzzc6vBbuSQ/s640/Screenshot-14.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">I was wearing what I had worn to school earlier that day - grungy bib overalls and old Converse sneakers. Trivial things like fashion just didn't seem important anymore. Money certainly didn't ensure my grandmother's survival and the cancer was killing her as fast as it was killing someone who wasn't wealthy. I was desperate. If this truly was "therapy" then I was ready for them to help me. I was ready to speak, to tell them who I was, what I was about.</div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">When it was time for sharing, I silently walked to the middle of the circle. I looked around me, at the faces I had come to know in the past three weeks. They were all staring back, waiting for me to begin. Most of them had already shared their stories.</div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-align: justify;">There was Milton, who was bullied at school for his weight. He tried to hang himself and ended up breaking his closet rod, resulting in his parents sending him here.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8k3sB7P5yF0EFY9dXTaoJbmfZEjT8V-ojhqHyzTSD2nMQI-i5jSSwd1cMyq_2QfYd5_EJusYjjOkZ_57b4bHMqbCO70NuHV5RLhrSeJ3cTGoTTiQp1dVJVXVT87kTu-rkAjqAMzmc2Q8/s1600/Screenshot-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8k3sB7P5yF0EFY9dXTaoJbmfZEjT8V-ojhqHyzTSD2nMQI-i5jSSwd1cMyq_2QfYd5_EJusYjjOkZ_57b4bHMqbCO70NuHV5RLhrSeJ3cTGoTTiQp1dVJVXVT87kTu-rkAjqAMzmc2Q8/s640/Screenshot-8.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Wilbur, whose parents were in the middle of a nasty divorce, had brought a gun to school. They stopped screaming long enough to refer him to a psychiatrist, who referred him to Lisa.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO5PG2cmLEhsLeUZZ0rX5oLi_URHtkSyj_uCIu-bcUXhC2HKRlDllMvNs9E4erR8qm2ASIkpI7dLYZGER4oMGWU4JCz97Ojir7g-sKud3yypAHDN6EvnNXiCLt1geVi4o2Zp2vPDfcMlQ/s1600/Screenshot-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO5PG2cmLEhsLeUZZ0rX5oLi_URHtkSyj_uCIu-bcUXhC2HKRlDllMvNs9E4erR8qm2ASIkpI7dLYZGER4oMGWU4JCz97Ojir7g-sKud3yypAHDN6EvnNXiCLt1geVi4o2Zp2vPDfcMlQ/s640/Screenshot-4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-align: justify;">Venkat aka "Ven" was rebelling against his traditional Hindi parents, who wanted him to become a doctor. Instead, he had moved out of their house and was living with two other future actors, working and finishing high school. He might have been alright if there hadn't been a massive chlamydia outbreak at Pertha Hills High, all of them girls, all of them having been with Ven. Apparently, his undersexed guidance counselor had no clue how to deal with an Asian Persuasion's va-jay-jay addiction.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhixO1AwN_qUToiCT6b0-JZUy97dobRso8WA9QlwJf1yR0mcftCyz6fN1ARe2EK_YC5rc9qUDuC7QIphnskKthv0zmCynuIVjOxD3PRFrEZg78bNMGLNXoxfgA38-cJi-DUYcYa2Hfa6-c/s1600/Screenshot-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhixO1AwN_qUToiCT6b0-JZUy97dobRso8WA9QlwJf1yR0mcftCyz6fN1ARe2EK_YC5rc9qUDuC7QIphnskKthv0zmCynuIVjOxD3PRFrEZg78bNMGLNXoxfgA38-cJi-DUYcYa2Hfa6-c/s640/Screenshot-3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-align: justify;">Joelle's parents got a divorce when she was young and neither parent ever seemed to pay her any attention. She shoplifted to give herself the things that she was always denied. Eventually she got caught, and it was either this program or a juvenile rehabilitation program.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY8HJdExt-24pvmff_uWBIkAL8BH1xl9SatpLMSl8PiNkjlJIO6UdxZLkfotYyXCKOVHXhuB27DogN9XlzsoZbg2gYciyRQYKKb7Y0e9FLz7Y8NfeyammQLmyM79_nEy0t4Ooos6rnXV0/s1600/Screenshot-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY8HJdExt-24pvmff_uWBIkAL8BH1xl9SatpLMSl8PiNkjlJIO6UdxZLkfotYyXCKOVHXhuB27DogN9XlzsoZbg2gYciyRQYKKb7Y0e9FLz7Y8NfeyammQLmyM79_nEy0t4Ooos6rnXV0/s640/Screenshot-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">Melissa had grown up getting raped and beaten by her father. He had assured her mother that it was "his" job to tuck her in at night. Her mother, blinded by love or fear and maybe even afraid that her daughter wasn't lying, refused to believe her. So Melissa decided that if no one would listen to her, there was no point in telling the truth. Ever again. I still had yet to determine whether the story was even true because ask the girl what color the sky is and I swear she'll tell you it's green.</div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">When I walked in, she had managed a small smile that I assumed was intended for me. The two of us shared a bond. She had been seemingly unreachable in her own world and I was the only one who had ever spoke her native tongue: fists. That girl was a battleaxe.</div></div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhopChgd44k4LtL9vM1SZbPF3fOl8aYWghgFRp3JGyzHLqAnTC8QmXbRI82X6oW3xdvI8pD9j8IA8EKOIhHTDeqae6kBEfwfTp53s0Zek7VNELWqnoZtNISt5pFZUyv-S0wNGyMJvl25ek/s1600/Screenshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhopChgd44k4LtL9vM1SZbPF3fOl8aYWghgFRp3JGyzHLqAnTC8QmXbRI82X6oW3xdvI8pD9j8IA8EKOIhHTDeqae6kBEfwfTp53s0Zek7VNELWqnoZtNISt5pFZUyv-S0wNGyMJvl25ek/s640/Screenshot.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div> </div><div style="text-align: justify;">And finally, there was Tuck, another student at Pertha Hills High. The only morsels of information I had managed to glean from him is that he was angry and didn't know what to do. So he disguised the anger with humor and diffused awkward situations with jokes. Only I seemed to notice the way his eyes burned.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitkPh96M9mTNXRoasb7w8dICeunONfrfkuI53cfT8PzEDC_T3M4ErYT9bUwo5ZJ7CZkuYngstYColscMVLbO6nQFdsKBu9pU8w_8TkGS53o_vfa1_JkMKTxri5GDVdNhZ-Iad2VndXE8g/s1600/Screenshot-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitkPh96M9mTNXRoasb7w8dICeunONfrfkuI53cfT8PzEDC_T3M4ErYT9bUwo5ZJ7CZkuYngstYColscMVLbO6nQFdsKBu9pU8w_8TkGS53o_vfa1_JkMKTxri5GDVdNhZ-Iad2VndXE8g/s640/Screenshot-10.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Six kids, six backgrounds and stories. Six pairs of eyes (seven including Lisa) on me. I was about to become one of them, to be welcomed into the most fucked-up family in Hidden Springs, a group of people who weren't all beautiful, who weren't all rich. They were all people who had scars, who got beat up and beat down. Most importantly, they were people who got back up.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr9pt_JyEqXjfLpJTHljDjRfRUbJ_6jo2xRXA8_ITX0VJvxdGAXlPHBbYm17VVZDqcxShvZYeycWK-2dpr2ra7RjnTkhHmT8QZVU-D4fHt-Iy9OWSePj6317m0ciufWcYte5yFNnP7H94/s1600/Screenshot-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr9pt_JyEqXjfLpJTHljDjRfRUbJ_6jo2xRXA8_ITX0VJvxdGAXlPHBbYm17VVZDqcxShvZYeycWK-2dpr2ra7RjnTkhHmT8QZVU-D4fHt-Iy9OWSePj6317m0ciufWcYte5yFNnP7H94/s640/Screenshot-6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My voice started out small, my lip trembling and my breath short. I thought I might even throw up. But gradually it grew, getting louder, more confident as I went along. I told them everything, even the things that were before my time. It all came out - about my grandparents, their perfect marriage, how my father had grown up depressed, my parents' unorthodox relationship, Olivia Grace the still-born, Grandfather's car accident, my mother's cheating and leaving, the night my father shot himself, and finally, finding out about Grandmother's cancer. Not only did I tell them these things but for the first time, I described how they made me feel, how they had formed the person I was today. In ten minutes, I revealed more to this group of misfits than I had ever divulged to anyone. Including myself.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And when it was all over, rather than waiting for their scorn or worse, their sympathy, I did the thing that my feet had wanted to do since the meeting began: I ran.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">"Excuse me Miss, is this seat taken?"</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHxdqix1hy49PWIVpjYunrQCPKh1uSnvPfyxU2DLjRU9EUIsD136z6wgounowJEH3-N_LoWaSW77_BwneixAeK_8wW4JOlKS9HErr3lGuHh1n8fFgy_W9wQEx4RWLSraiHRd86YXFLYqo/s1600/Screenshot-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHxdqix1hy49PWIVpjYunrQCPKh1uSnvPfyxU2DLjRU9EUIsD136z6wgounowJEH3-N_LoWaSW77_BwneixAeK_8wW4JOlKS9HErr3lGuHh1n8fFgy_W9wQEx4RWLSraiHRd86YXFLYqo/s640/Screenshot-7.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">I had been sobbing in front of Noble Tome Library for about five minutes when Tuck's voice startled me out of my stupor. The bastard had actually followed me. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"No, it's a free country. Go ahead," I mumbled, unsure whether I was pleased or irritated.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Are you sure?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Yes, I'm sure." I frowned up at him. "It's not like it requires balls to sit here."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Well geez," Tuck rolled his eyes. "You don't have to beg me."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yep, definitely irritated.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"So, Bright Eyes," he turned to me, "what's wrong?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Were you not at the same meeting that I was just at? I mean, are you freaking kidding me?" I laughed humorlessly. "It turns out, I'm just as fucked-up as the rest of you. And quit calling me that!"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Tuck grinned. "It fits. You know," he said, changing the subject, "you haven't even asked me what I'm doing here."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Yeah, well, you're not exactly the most enlightening individual I have ever encountered," I muttered.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"What was that?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Nothing."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Where's your necklace?" he asked.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My hands immediately flew to my neck. "I uh, didn't wear it today."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Sure is a nice piece," he murmured appreciatively.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Thank you. My grandmother bought it for me after my father died."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjaPF24a2HfLturfjKSU7hlABFFim_vmcd_WQbY9hgttmBpixWNLzeDwTWLhSBR2RqyxeTgVNLi3MHmOox_dQDlOMJyihBOTNfqgOCWK2bvTdy8n8BSucMyLtLLwY4NW4DQtA5gMgwatA/s1600/Screenshot-15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjaPF24a2HfLturfjKSU7hlABFFim_vmcd_WQbY9hgttmBpixWNLzeDwTWLhSBR2RqyxeTgVNLi3MHmOox_dQDlOMJyihBOTNfqgOCWK2bvTdy8n8BSucMyLtLLwY4NW4DQtA5gMgwatA/s640/Screenshot-15.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Well, she's got exquisite taste." </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">There was a moment where I almost dropped the bitchy attitude. Tuck was looking at me and I felt like I was hearing everything he wasn't saying. His oceanic blue eyes were shining and I was drowning in their depths. I suddenly felt compelled to tell him everything. And then he had to go and ruin it. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaE4Ce8UXwIw1p3v_9xWvNGMXL7AQQfR9OW79f3m5D1Z-THg90nVdHntgD4IQrOMzujWrJXmBvKDaz_U0ONl19EwUA58neecEQ-CHGaGA7CnyhifR3TOREaAkLA5_hEZ2Sr8PkED91tz8/s1600/Screenshot-31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaE4Ce8UXwIw1p3v_9xWvNGMXL7AQQfR9OW79f3m5D1Z-THg90nVdHntgD4IQrOMzujWrJXmBvKDaz_U0ONl19EwUA58neecEQ-CHGaGA7CnyhifR3TOREaAkLA5_hEZ2Sr8PkED91tz8/s640/Screenshot-31.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;">In one smooth motion, his arm snaked around me, his hand gently brushing my shoulder where his fingertips lightly rested. Even through my T-shirt, I could feel his warmth. I found myself inching closer to him, wanting to fall into his arms and surrender my defenses to this mysterious guy. And then lightning quick, my senses returned and I was appropriately outraged.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"What do you think you're doing?" I cried. "I have a boyfriend! You heard me tell Ven that."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Hey, I'm just going along with the mood," he said, putting his hands up. "It felt right and I went for it."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Well, go with it with someone else! I have a boyfriend," I repeated, more for my own sake than this. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMbSq0r6UjDugWxn0MYhEy3TCVDtqdVOggtwXNO0Zau_V8ERQd3gWSFgiJYzQnYaxeWwU-jhtNiua357rffR2EkusckxvB06Y2gpY0Ij5CgqargCMXA8sGUS2uwOjCn-a7Vjh5YOOOxCs/s1600/Screenshot-35.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMbSq0r6UjDugWxn0MYhEy3TCVDtqdVOggtwXNO0Zau_V8ERQd3gWSFgiJYzQnYaxeWwU-jhtNiua357rffR2EkusckxvB06Y2gpY0Ij5CgqargCMXA8sGUS2uwOjCn-a7Vjh5YOOOxCs/s640/Screenshot-35.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Then why are you here with me and not him?" he asked. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I let forth a string of curses. Damn it, he was right. And I was an idiot. "I'll be going home now. Goodbye Tuck," I said, turning on my heel and marching off.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Bye, Bright Eyes," he whispered.</div></div>Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-31191085453137784402011-12-14T12:32:00.004-05:002011-12-14T12:50:22.605-05:00Chapter 3.4 How Do You Want It<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"You know the great thing, though, is that change can be so constant you don't even feel the difference until there is one. It can be so slow that you don't even notice that your life is better or worse, until it is. Or it can just blow you away, make you something different in an instant."</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEham5W8LCaiJwT2C0-E5Thbwuym9yzG0LzM_Psln9j-w8Zp9UXj0CVf3FIYTyDDifg0AXMekdEmt1ggazqrUNKe2G1bsOw085ZC9z27t6O122z6MQbSSDSbCuspV7FCDX7pCnqE77qNnAc/s1600/Screenshot-30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEham5W8LCaiJwT2C0-E5Thbwuym9yzG0LzM_Psln9j-w8Zp9UXj0CVf3FIYTyDDifg0AXMekdEmt1ggazqrUNKe2G1bsOw085ZC9z27t6O122z6MQbSSDSbCuspV7FCDX7pCnqE77qNnAc/s640/Screenshot-30.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><div style="text-align: justify;">When my grandmother asked me if I would like to go back to the group the following week, I surprised even myself by saying that I would. Aside from the culture shock, it's not like there had been any Earth-shattering revelations that had been made, but it was like I was noticing the world around me for the first time. There were all sorts of people that I had never met before even in my small town and they all had different stories, different heartaches and maybe they were more like me than I thought.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Andrew and I had finally made up after a not so insightful coffee date at Han's Tavern. All of our friends knew that it would happen eventually. After all, he was the Golden Boy and I was his number one girl. It seemed like all of my life I played a role. As a child, when my parents' relationship was crumbling, I had to be the obedient daughter and pretend that all was okay, even when everything around me was falling apart. As a teenager, I was compelled to be the dutiful granddaughter and make sure my grandmother was taken care of even as I wanted to leave home more than anything. And with Andrew, I felt an obligation to stay with him as his girlfriend, to take my place beside him as the reigning couple at Par Excellence.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div>Still, even as I felt myself changing, just a little bit, I had yet to make the same sort of impression on the other girls. They saw me as a rich snob and they weren't wrong. I had never noticed that Joelle and Melissa even went to the same high school. I had never seen them before. And how would I, when I was so wrapped up in my group of friends? <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilIVAYFLPeO6GnHpuRSYB_BAPF9ZBlU3lZyTomCQagsYVlidFp2PVTqZRmWDwkgQqZKciEo3oe36TfEEFVoEAVGodWmL3ossSxVZueqn8U8yo7yR6gHwoNONCDDXtqOS-3ksmc-MR4mdk/s1600/Screenshot-47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilIVAYFLPeO6GnHpuRSYB_BAPF9ZBlU3lZyTomCQagsYVlidFp2PVTqZRmWDwkgQqZKciEo3oe36TfEEFVoEAVGodWmL3ossSxVZueqn8U8yo7yR6gHwoNONCDDXtqOS-3ksmc-MR4mdk/s640/Screenshot-47.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">It wasn't my fault that the family that I had been born into was wealthy, any more than it was their fault that their families were poor. They made fun of the way I talked, how I sat and even the clothes that I wore. I made up my mind that we would exist in harmony. Somehow. The three of us might not be best friends forever, but I hoped that they would at least quit antagonizing me. </div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Senior year was going fast and Homecoming was already upon us. Andrew and I had both been nominated for Court. He had decided that if we didn't take the crowns this time, we'd definitely get it for Prom. Of course, I was still waiting for him to ask me but I knew that when he did, it would be something romantic. He was a good boyfriend and our relationship was of the stuff fairytales are made of.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiszzaoKuykU6f4sBwsC6XcPP7qG0GN44jOWHPnDUFlojMr0bw3sVW6fB0ImSB7Q5F_t3AVqfHXyqHyI6i90Yx1bRg3W3YAsm-V0I26z1bR8XEbhxHbiVvxCBf0dTTwvdxIjvQm9qq0v1A/s1600/Screenshot-32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiszzaoKuykU6f4sBwsC6XcPP7qG0GN44jOWHPnDUFlojMr0bw3sVW6fB0ImSB7Q5F_t3AVqfHXyqHyI6i90Yx1bRg3W3YAsm-V0I26z1bR8XEbhxHbiVvxCBf0dTTwvdxIjvQm9qq0v1A/s640/Screenshot-32.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * * </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">I had been going to group session for three weeks when I finally got a breakthrough with Melissa. It was a week exactly before Homecoming and Andrew still had yet to ask me. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4_0HoS_10HEcW6j9nQ6S0oNJ1-NLKp46v14O1n8e_u6vGrz738_Zq6U4DUy7PIFAa7wOQ3smpQrkqPteR_La49ILfabRnH9MyJrkWDrfbLfYqRKoRiwmbUVeXqz6Vb3t0qh3-E_gFlf4/s1600/Screenshot-11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4_0HoS_10HEcW6j9nQ6S0oNJ1-NLKp46v14O1n8e_u6vGrz738_Zq6U4DUy7PIFAa7wOQ3smpQrkqPteR_La49ILfabRnH9MyJrkWDrfbLfYqRKoRiwmbUVeXqz6Vb3t0qh3-E_gFlf4/s640/Screenshot-11.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">She had been standing behind me for a minute and I was too preoccupied with daydreams about sparkling tiaras and T-strap Mary Janes to notice her.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAMTYaJ75aq-V-OH03thi8ZovsqXYyGTCgB1CuMCAkp65GwWODv5mdIxMh_CwfyF_TXdOO7UlIgwWAS61cRm3Zt1Hdqcy7oZQRypz8eIT5_8yZiUh95Sg3Z6vzY96cQXqRbDSniQXM3Pc/s1600/Screenshot-13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAMTYaJ75aq-V-OH03thi8ZovsqXYyGTCgB1CuMCAkp65GwWODv5mdIxMh_CwfyF_TXdOO7UlIgwWAS61cRm3Zt1Hdqcy7oZQRypz8eIT5_8yZiUh95Sg3Z6vzY96cQXqRbDSniQXM3Pc/s640/Screenshot-13.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I had let them heckle me in the hallways. I had kept my mouth shut at meetings. I had even come to terms with the fact that they would never accept me. But I was tired of being made to feel bad for the person I was. Not thinking about expulsion or even worse, getting removed from Homecoming Court, I did the most ladylike thing I could think of. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I tackled the bitch.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9yE0CWsVGTvr1J30a30VwOcrDfa56Gaa0Gzh72PDVwPbfycpuyT0gB0GLmgbcGfCy_qYOaqbiK6atCRIqIejY-t5n38BJKYOl0_7jO9EjYLvTw_8cyQ8AJcXvJ85MGzzHuyTjs5KSjI8/s1600/Screenshot-14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9yE0CWsVGTvr1J30a30VwOcrDfa56Gaa0Gzh72PDVwPbfycpuyT0gB0GLmgbcGfCy_qYOaqbiK6atCRIqIejY-t5n38BJKYOl0_7jO9EjYLvTw_8cyQ8AJcXvJ85MGzzHuyTjs5KSjI8/s640/Screenshot-14.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;">True, I had no older brother to wrestle with growing up and I had never watched a fight, much less been in one. But all of my pent-up frustration unleashed an anger that must have come from the very deepest part of me. The part that was tired of acting, pretending and maintaining, of always saying the right thing, doing the right thing, acting like everything was fine. To tell the truth, I was finally fed up of it all. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9GV91gkmI-ot7G9tacql_yVXAiwuXtHPZKV3Y7kxEiU_GtWCLbO-XxGz0PrHuUIA1eW0KyFxbV9d8M1djUz5_MUT_LjsutzJN73CbgDkaSPiN_34T6gJE0-Xi-syshzYOpHY946WCkg0/s1600/Screenshot-17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9GV91gkmI-ot7G9tacql_yVXAiwuXtHPZKV3Y7kxEiU_GtWCLbO-XxGz0PrHuUIA1eW0KyFxbV9d8M1djUz5_MUT_LjsutzJN73CbgDkaSPiN_34T6gJE0-Xi-syshzYOpHY946WCkg0/s640/Screenshot-17.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Luckily there were no teachers around and the cafeteria was still fairly empty. We were able to fight without being pulled apart, never to know who the victory belonged to and Melissa knew now, that it belonged to me. And when it was over, I might not have gained a friend, but by finally standing up for myself, I had at least earned her respect. I had hoped that it would be achieved in an alternate manner but Melissa was rough-and-tumble. The girl had already had a hard life and I think fighting was the only thing she knew. To get through to her, I think I had to go to her level. And you know what they say: when in Rome, do as the Romans do. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">That evening, Andrew brought me to Beryl Lane Picnic Spot, where he had set up an intimate picnic dinner and arranged candles around the blanket. If this was just for Homecoming, I could expect him to go all out for when he asked me to Prom.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlbbgH6wcOkSZNkJeU2EYZQ3AUqwGatd4wIazk0ZQfZ6HRPk21kMYoh6e7su2qB4mTy6VF0iPWFtZ5V1CfKiry8BKNuhsUP1l7CpEJZ2tXC37U4HqZcmbvp3qa_X4QiR-xQIocMswo918/s1600/Screenshot-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlbbgH6wcOkSZNkJeU2EYZQ3AUqwGatd4wIazk0ZQfZ6HRPk21kMYoh6e7su2qB4mTy6VF0iPWFtZ5V1CfKiry8BKNuhsUP1l7CpEJZ2tXC37U4HqZcmbvp3qa_X4QiR-xQIocMswo918/s640/Screenshot-9.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">After we had eaten, he took me by the hand and we sat down in the grass. It had been a lovely evening and all of the day's events melted away as my first boyfriend stared at me lovingly in the moonlight. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Homecoming is in a week and I know it's last minute but I wanted to make sure that everything was perfect. Ramona, I'm sure you already know what I'm going to ask you."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I held my breath.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Will you be my date to the Homecoming Dance and possibly my Queen?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Of course, Andrew. I can't imagine going with anyone else!" I beamed at him. The rest of the night was spent coordinating our colors and making plans. Apparently, his friends had already pitched in for a limo and one of the linebackers had asked Bettina, all of this unbeknownst to me. It would truly be a special evening.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOUWG8MBvZI3Zl-5bfKzhqwG7KJmkhyphenhyphenxBs5_dAfMbMdbYoEZzbub7zY1qrq-lXn4xAdsZdNpCy4TQ42ETkdYSwFjdyvHmH1XuWopGMx76shbyKBDdmOQY94DMsMMgRumHsZRzA93AA6Ps/s1600/Screenshot-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOUWG8MBvZI3Zl-5bfKzhqwG7KJmkhyphenhyphenxBs5_dAfMbMdbYoEZzbub7zY1qrq-lXn4xAdsZdNpCy4TQ42ETkdYSwFjdyvHmH1XuWopGMx76shbyKBDdmOQY94DMsMMgRumHsZRzA93AA6Ps/s640/Screenshot-7.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">When he dropped me off, I was grinning from ear to ear. I skipped up my stairs and into the living room, where my grandmother was sitting. I was still euphoric from that night's date or I would have noticed that she had been crying.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Grandmother, you didn't have to wait up for me!" I laughed, walking over to her. "I told you I'd be home by ten."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Ramona darling, I'm afraid I have some bad news. I went to the doctor last week to find out the reason I've been feeling poorly lately."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I sat down beside her, preparing for the worst. "What's wrong?"<br />
<br />
Grandmother lowered her head sadly. "My tests have come back today. I don't know how to tell you this but...I have pancreatic cancer."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB_Wpwh6lBPjnZgs1Zb6MzhcZsXoFCgmDtJVwmSaPojALMH72Uo6XCfVbX-jOGHUSGlvf8DEa5FtWHjZXqe4tzb2S6hK-SDxF3_PkNL6jizEK4LkZOoxLkWPtES3LWCxRpDEWmUpf9h1M/s1600/Screenshot-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB_Wpwh6lBPjnZgs1Zb6MzhcZsXoFCgmDtJVwmSaPojALMH72Uo6XCfVbX-jOGHUSGlvf8DEa5FtWHjZXqe4tzb2S6hK-SDxF3_PkNL6jizEK4LkZOoxLkWPtES3LWCxRpDEWmUpf9h1M/s640/Screenshot-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-39225590455765502562011-12-13T18:53:00.001-05:002011-12-13T18:57:42.823-05:00Chapter 3.3 Uptown Girl<div style="text-align: justify;">Monday afternoon was my first time meeting with the support group. Because my grandmother hadn't felt well all weekend, I hadn't had a chance to make up with Andrew and our fight left a bitter taste in my mouth. I wasn't exactly in the mood to meet new people. After Grandmother dropped me off, I walked up the sidewalk and hesitated by the door, suddenly nervous. What if they were weirdos? What if they laughed at me and I started crying? I don't know why I was freaking out. There was nothing to be afraid of. If I absolutely hated it, Grandmother already said I didn't have to return.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I stood by the door for a moment to take in my surroundings. The walls, painted a cringe-worthy sky blue with yellow flowers, the bright posters, the foosball station and arcade games seemed to be waving "hello" at me. The room was intense and made me think of Camp Chippewa from <i>The Addams Family Values.</i> Seriously. I half expected everyone to be singing "Kumbayah" and roasting marshmallows.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidWMV1PQkVQsUs08v4sv2C3CQnoBu90Boq4NyehL_YcIza3C1p80sJW7NZK5YmN9cDht5HPCSEcxz8_gQ0l7vzbOelvnX0BfULpGw-C4sG4wEYwiBYvRCg9xG2mYzk6BoZLjryC8joWCA/s1600/Screenshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidWMV1PQkVQsUs08v4sv2C3CQnoBu90Boq4NyehL_YcIza3C1p80sJW7NZK5YmN9cDht5HPCSEcxz8_gQ0l7vzbOelvnX0BfULpGw-C4sG4wEYwiBYvRCg9xG2mYzk6BoZLjryC8joWCA/s640/Screenshot.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Oh great. I've just been granted a one-way ticket to Happy-land. I wondered if it was too late to leave and whether or not the doors had already locked behind me. Maybe I could escape through a bathroom window . Just looking at the wallpaper was enough to give me a cavity and I came to the conclusion that whoever had decorated the place must have been on acid. I was too busy making my escape plan to notice the other seven people in the room with me.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"You must be Ramona!" a nasal, sing-song voice called out to me. "Please have a seat. My name is Lisa Caldwell and we are so glad to have you here!"</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKIV46GlllvrMrm34_P0UKEMKbyZOtzxEl5IwILzrVYaG1HpzUMnD3ZLYw3EILKbF6BS44FHiUiG0iVbeIjT9w5g-wFIYBMgr9zR4XjQf83ry3Nyhz7KEScrJovbRgKz3AKqebYBvOVoY/s1600/Screenshot-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKIV46GlllvrMrm34_P0UKEMKbyZOtzxEl5IwILzrVYaG1HpzUMnD3ZLYw3EILKbF6BS44FHiUiG0iVbeIjT9w5g-wFIYBMgr9zR4XjQf83ry3Nyhz7KEScrJovbRgKz3AKqebYBvOVoY/s640/Screenshot-10.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">As I reluctantly walked over to the circle, I heard a girl whisper "rich bitch". I sat down, hovering on the edge of my seat, my back straight, as if at any moment, I would get up and run screaming out the door. I didn't recognize any of the kids but some of them probably went to Par Excellence with me. It felt like all eyes were on me, the new girl. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDG9MSEOuGyuJ7-kVxIDQf2mh3WG35bp_0TDz5-TYhPx4T1_df-M5PHuPuXrJs8XyO5XnAbNmTWyiTkaNPGSlMmbdo5X8KZb8qm9vdczTfngtfrWFX4jH7Az-H-ggbgBy1fLTyFdmPYXQ/s1600/Screenshot-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDG9MSEOuGyuJ7-kVxIDQf2mh3WG35bp_0TDz5-TYhPx4T1_df-M5PHuPuXrJs8XyO5XnAbNmTWyiTkaNPGSlMmbdo5X8KZb8qm9vdczTfngtfrWFX4jH7Az-H-ggbgBy1fLTyFdmPYXQ/s640/Screenshot-4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">"So, how was everyone's day?" Lisa asked, addressing the group.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Someone wrote my name on a bathroom stall again under the word 'Slut'", complained a girl. She had beautiful long, caramel hair and luscious, strawberry lips. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Umm, Joelle, you kind of are!" another girl with long brown hair laughed at her. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg953wvZ49pzhcXU0RkeiQCT_ivyh0D5fzkbYgYHyH1K2k7QkmfkqDGkDjBV4kBRJWXcXiv9lzi8F6Ki0vCFCls-tdwP0pTc8lWpzLsXsENpVY-SXmQFW0C6lvZaEfXSYUIrWWuWsJyKVE/s1600/Screenshot-15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg953wvZ49pzhcXU0RkeiQCT_ivyh0D5fzkbYgYHyH1K2k7QkmfkqDGkDjBV4kBRJWXcXiv9lzi8F6Ki0vCFCls-tdwP0pTc8lWpzLsXsENpVY-SXmQFW0C6lvZaEfXSYUIrWWuWsJyKVE/s640/Screenshot-15.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Joelle thought about that for a moment. "I guess you're right Melissa, but it still sucks seeing it every week," she sighed. "And you're not so innocent yourself!"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Melissa smirked. "True story."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It took me a moment to realize that Joelle and Melissa were friends. I sat there trying to imagine a type of friendship where it was okay to call your friend a slut, and failed miserably. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Okay," Lisa clapped her hands, "anyone else want to share? Ven? Wilbur?"</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisExV0PFwT-it_EGl0n2cbHfLxbILlBXIgiGqZ7or_istjUpcSNxVZZy96LNqfBk_bDz1y3RVR4BadbTCdV5nnTiMd1sM46IcGwJnYfE8WaOAtiWeMzeaXNEny-_wxn_PFbiSOGUfkFCk/s1600/Screenshot-11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisExV0PFwT-it_EGl0n2cbHfLxbILlBXIgiGqZ7or_istjUpcSNxVZZy96LNqfBk_bDz1y3RVR4BadbTCdV5nnTiMd1sM46IcGwJnYfE8WaOAtiWeMzeaXNEny-_wxn_PFbiSOGUfkFCk/s640/Screenshot-11.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Ven and Wilbur both shook their heads. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Okay, well what about you, Milton? Anything new with you?" she turned to the chubby boy beside me.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXxDQTNBkqiMVgl9ZkqYFVh2ewPugXv8QAh6_WCjFoz4z3u4PjnvvnHdECXWv6F4Ppk1CmcPzeBlWTxNtgtjloUcoflPaZSHVrEl7S9ryTPh82Y9vGHPjPCMS7xlN0r1gfo666Y8V3u28/s1600/Screenshot-13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXxDQTNBkqiMVgl9ZkqYFVh2ewPugXv8QAh6_WCjFoz4z3u4PjnvvnHdECXWv6F4Ppk1CmcPzeBlWTxNtgtjloUcoflPaZSHVrEl7S9ryTPh82Y9vGHPjPCMS7xlN0r1gfo666Y8V3u28/s640/Screenshot-13.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">He blushed. "N-n-no."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Lisa sighed. "Okay, well since this is Ramona's first night, we're going to take it easy. There are some snacks on the table back there if you're hungry. You guys know the drill. Hang out, mingle and show Ramona around. Make her feel welcome. And if you need to talk, I'll be here for awhile."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The Indian boy, Ven, made a beeline for me as the other kids headed to the buffet table. He was wearing a crisp button-down and khaki slacks. His face was smooth, his eyebrows waxed and he had not a hair out of place. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Hi, my name is Venkat, but they call me Ven. You," he said with a suggestive smile, "can call me the Asian Persuasion."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Umm, no thanks," I grimaced, taking a step away from him. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPTI8beprRLBc3104V1-Qzs0lso35LPG-e-YR0LYEqzv066EuCjEj-EzzECZ5Y6SiSXGhcEW4WoYYWnqXhUrqIW8TtLQqsHh9hkCHqmhq0K7dN3YvsdFj10TlvRiRBb4OR-LAazjp1QCU/s1600/Screenshot-29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPTI8beprRLBc3104V1-Qzs0lso35LPG-e-YR0LYEqzv066EuCjEj-EzzECZ5Y6SiSXGhcEW4WoYYWnqXhUrqIW8TtLQqsHh9hkCHqmhq0K7dN3YvsdFj10TlvRiRBb4OR-LAazjp1QCU/s640/Screenshot-29.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
"C'mon, Ramona," he said, smooth-as-velvet, "the ladies love me. In fact, once you've spent five minutes with me, I bet you'll find my charms absolutely irresistible."<br />
<br />
"I have a boyfriend. And the only thing I think I will find in five minutes is that I have lost my appetite. Now leave me alone, Pervert," I ordered.<br />
<br />
As Ven slunk away, I heard a guy laughing behind me. It was the only person who hadn't spoken tonight. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4VLhOSM8Zm0QiZWouJmYfP6J_43eKwgT2zqC2VZfMO9BYUiVAy0vMTnJHyWql3McBMaQnQA-KbOfwZBZ1GtGyQ3tY-En0nUeOl9I0atZfmr4E3Ro9V3ns0i7FsPlD0ytKvr3gM6K1rgI/s1600/Screenshot-30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4VLhOSM8Zm0QiZWouJmYfP6J_43eKwgT2zqC2VZfMO9BYUiVAy0vMTnJHyWql3McBMaQnQA-KbOfwZBZ1GtGyQ3tY-En0nUeOl9I0atZfmr4E3Ro9V3ns0i7FsPlD0ytKvr3gM6K1rgI/s640/Screenshot-30.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Already fired up from my encounter with the Asian Persuasion, I marched over to the guy and demanded to know what was so funny. Thanks to the circus I had allowed to be talked into, I had already been called a "rich bitch", been hit on by some underage Don Juan and laughed at by a boy who was wearing a belt that he probably bought at Hot Topic. I didn't know if this was supposed to be therapy or my induction into the Funny Farm.<br />
<br />
"You," he managed a wry smile. "You clearly don't belong here, do you?"<br />
<br />
"Well, my grandmother thought that this group would be good for me," I shrugged my shoulders. "And to be honest, I'm rather regretting it now."<br />
<br />
"Oh, I don't know about that," he smirked. "I think you should come back next week."<br />
<br />
"Really? Why?"<br />
<br />
"Take a look at Ven over there. You're the first girl in the group who has denied him," he snickered.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-K7vEhgY9tq_WRRMljRPKZo024ZOAT3NdibohcJnO7B8u1BtcVEJoK7jo60okJTPPq3j4Osy4NLs-KccOskF-rJgbY1DYJ2oPFHR0t7Eg3HpHTL3QcKZU8GkOvZ81twZfEIzbyxsvuHg/s1600/Screenshot-39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-K7vEhgY9tq_WRRMljRPKZo024ZOAT3NdibohcJnO7B8u1BtcVEJoK7jo60okJTPPq3j4Osy4NLs-KccOskF-rJgbY1DYJ2oPFHR0t7Eg3HpHTL3QcKZU8GkOvZ81twZfEIzbyxsvuHg/s640/Screenshot-39.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
It was true. Ven stood there looking like someone had run over his puppy dog. My eyes narrowed as the weight of the boy's words sunk in. "I'm the only girl in the group who has rejected him?" I asked, glancing meaningfully at Joelle and Melissa.<br />
<br />
"Oh yeah," he said. "The girls weren't kidding when they said they were sluts. Whores for sure, those two."<br />
<br />
"Have...you?" I wondered and then realized I was thinking out loud.<br />
<br />
"Have I?"<br />
<br />
I nodded.<br />
<br />
"Nah, I'd like to think my standards are a little higher," he said.<br />
<br />
I don't know why, but I felt like he was looking at me when he said that. I blushed. "My name's Ramona."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, I was there when Lisa introduced you."<br />
<br />
"Oh," I pursed my lips. "Sorry."<br />
<br />
We both laughed, and then he said, "I'm Tucker, but most everyone calls me Tuck."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRXG4qaYLosBL_tiFv8gy_yCrLffTZculz5u1TKsWu15ocSG1QlR7sgTEShVl-USSoeQSetatw7YsQU1R1V5PUeCCcswfZEXgFKzyN5tHxOEoMSQyP9bdRuezDwQbAr79EO-cDmF0tfQQ/s1600/Screenshot-26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRXG4qaYLosBL_tiFv8gy_yCrLffTZculz5u1TKsWu15ocSG1QlR7sgTEShVl-USSoeQSetatw7YsQU1R1V5PUeCCcswfZEXgFKzyN5tHxOEoMSQyP9bdRuezDwQbAr79EO-cDmF0tfQQ/s640/Screenshot-26.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
"Nice to meet you...Tuck." I blushed again and felt foolish. I had a boyfriend and here I was, falling to pieces like a little girl with her first crush.<br />
<br />
"So Ramona, what brings you to our humble home?" he asked, his baby blue eyes studying me intensely.<br />
<br />
Well, this was it. This was the moment I had been dreading. Might as well get it over now. "My father killed himself," I blurted out.<br />
<br />
"Oh is that all?" Tuck mused.<br />
<br />
I was about to protest, but he interrupted with, "trust me, Bright Eyes, sometimes it's better when they die."<br />
<br />
The statement shocked me and everything I was about to yell about suddenly was forgotten. "What do you mean?"<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY4DhFbP62syZzXSESkQuJovFi9-AeTtRDNoAXShV142yDBg67kcl5yvnc1DslECTRmkV_wVvX4O5Xs7AEmv4g_lbwpEwnAXyjhyphenhyphenj6HVlOObqPY5dL5rd1AYXy1UwbHAn66G3umhs7cxg/s1600/Screenshot-21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY4DhFbP62syZzXSESkQuJovFi9-AeTtRDNoAXShV142yDBg67kcl5yvnc1DslECTRmkV_wVvX4O5Xs7AEmv4g_lbwpEwnAXyjhyphenhyphenj6HVlOObqPY5dL5rd1AYXy1UwbHAn66G3umhs7cxg/s640/Screenshot-21.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Tuck just smiled. I realized that everyone was leaving and headed for the door. "Guess I'll see you next week, Bright Eyes?"<br />
<br />
"Guess so," I mumbled.Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-28333438178073044642011-12-13T00:35:00.009-05:002011-12-13T00:59:20.718-05:00Chapter 3.2 Almost Undamaged<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Every morning was the same. I would wake up, take a shower, get dressed and make my bed. Then I would eat a bowl of cereal and head to school, where my boyfriend would be waiting for me.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPXwHZ74r5sV1CB-LWzuuhZ0BNUED_hctSmqJeT4benwVybuGJL2DJkwBJPXlKuMElYOR2gRx3zV-amCcinkeRvFq46d6rliupD7KsZoukDDjQNiXW72ZHRH-YTFPfeF8IR3tX-_-s1ZE/s1600/Screenshot-110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPXwHZ74r5sV1CB-LWzuuhZ0BNUED_hctSmqJeT4benwVybuGJL2DJkwBJPXlKuMElYOR2gRx3zV-amCcinkeRvFq46d6rliupD7KsZoukDDjQNiXW72ZHRH-YTFPfeF8IR3tX-_-s1ZE/s640/Screenshot-110.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">His name was Andrew Satterfield and his family was well-respected in the community. Both of us were attending Par Excellence. He was on the varsity team as our starring quarterback and hoping to get a scholarship. I was a Berdorf and if my name wasn't enough, my cousins were Horowitzes. Enough said in Hidden Springs. My family tree's prestige carried enough weight in the town that doors were opened before I even chose to step through them. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw7OV9leLUMrn-YlFs6SqdUIu_Ilm_jm0BG8DXPC59dDvH36CbpXDTVHstC5bJbFlnieg4xAtQS21TeVzjWr7wULIRSv3m-ayN2NFkGd8n-1qjzwVa_v4dQRCa1tzmw1gygxNeHymoARs/s1600/Screenshot-114.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw7OV9leLUMrn-YlFs6SqdUIu_Ilm_jm0BG8DXPC59dDvH36CbpXDTVHstC5bJbFlnieg4xAtQS21TeVzjWr7wULIRSv3m-ayN2NFkGd8n-1qjzwVa_v4dQRCa1tzmw1gygxNeHymoARs/s640/Screenshot-114.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">We were the cute couple in high school. You know, the one that kissed every morning before homeroom and by each other's lockers. We'd hold court at our usual table in the cafeteria at lunchtime, flanked by his football goons and my giggling girlfriends. We were going to have the perfect Senior Year and were favored to win Prom King and Queen. To the casual outsider, my life was perfect.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Okay, so maybe Andrew was a little boring and being a jock, seemed to be confirm every stereotype I had ever heard about athletes. But he sent me good-night texts, walked me to class and took me out to dinner and the movies. A few girls had admitted that they would have killed to have such an attentive boyfriend and how they hated being single. We could go to college together, get married, live in a nice house with a white picket fence, raise a nice family and have a nice life. Even at seventeen, I could see how our lives would play out perfectly like a movie. And even if our conversations were less than stimulating, he still was someone, and better than dealing with everyone else.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJxvvUv_kBmIeyMgJWWIv50oM7edqijjynhKHvRJOBzsBptZWWzwum7wb-_gMhrCmrXYMMghEohFnGag1deeT1w7rhWM95o_iiJlw5v0GZjGQhu4WQK7Wz3n-Fq1U7hdEAV6kI-d3OFuI/s1600/Screenshot-104.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJxvvUv_kBmIeyMgJWWIv50oM7edqijjynhKHvRJOBzsBptZWWzwum7wb-_gMhrCmrXYMMghEohFnGag1deeT1w7rhWM95o_iiJlw5v0GZjGQhu4WQK7Wz3n-Fq1U7hdEAV6kI-d3OFuI/s640/Screenshot-104.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Teachers would fawn over my test scores and perfect attendance. Parents would encourage their students to be more like me. Girls wanted to be my friends. Guys wanted to date me. And as much as I "loved" being me, Ramona Bergdorf, Par Excellence's sweetheart, I knew that most of the adoration wasn't about how pretty I was, how well I treated others or even about being smart. Hidden Springs was a small town and even as prestigious as both of my grandparents had been or how talented an artist my father had been, the truth is, that didn't matter. None of it did. They felt sorry for me, because of all the events that led to my grandfather getting killed in a car accident, my mother cheating and leaving, and finally, my father shooting himself in the head. I could feel them watching me all the time, waiting for me to snap. Everyone seemed to be anticipating the moment where I would break down and they wanted to be there when it happened. I felt bad for disappointing them.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5ES2-tnfiLCbM5nCefHziz-01EiqehkO-vAySf7mJkvo4FSi73jkT_wjW7tQcXL3LNn6VdPjsYAxYs_rVjwYCxxjV4IYiYYwZh-J8B7O1vhgLASNw3DPXevhzOVDwDDsuG_vWgTDG1s/s1600/Screenshot-36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5ES2-tnfiLCbM5nCefHziz-01EiqehkO-vAySf7mJkvo4FSi73jkT_wjW7tQcXL3LNn6VdPjsYAxYs_rVjwYCxxjV4IYiYYwZh-J8B7O1vhgLASNw3DPXevhzOVDwDDsuG_vWgTDG1s/s640/Screenshot-36.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">On the weekends she came home from Smugglesworth Prep, my cousin Bettina would stay over. She was my best friend, even if she was a bit snobby, but I felt like she was the only other person who could empathize with what I had gone through. Of course, we never talked about it, but it was there and I appreciated her for what it was worth.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm3S5H6Qe_LkG0yAuS7Vl-lTAaCQJRI8tvTeysTNDVIBNqh7Kl04vwAZQ30s_IEtgMGkFh_4ogJl_X4OZKvC0vwnps_FbZ33KE-KhCFUzrF9rlOtwAWSaatUwiXcaAe1xPo9KxjcH5rXE/s1600/Screenshot-58.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm3S5H6Qe_LkG0yAuS7Vl-lTAaCQJRI8tvTeysTNDVIBNqh7Kl04vwAZQ30s_IEtgMGkFh_4ogJl_X4OZKvC0vwnps_FbZ33KE-KhCFUzrF9rlOtwAWSaatUwiXcaAe1xPo9KxjcH5rXE/s640/Screenshot-58.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">As per custom, we would watch a chick flick, have a pillow fight and then pass out. I'd always give her my bed and would instead choose a sleeping bag on the floor. She asked me the first time why I didn't sleep in my parents' bedroom. After his death, my grandmother had hired a crew of cleaners to come in and fix it up. They had scrubbed the floors and mopped the blood up but there was still a tiny nick in the wall from where the shell had gotten lodged there. Is it weird that I kept that shell, the one that had gone through my father's head, killing him? But I never told Bettina this. She wasn't the one that found him. Still, long after she had drifted off into a deep slumber, I would lie there in the dark, remembering.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5CLzfUZ61uCSNKCPDj4GnMbD_QPhwbn0nOL0htzhqAQ-bIYac36_yosKUrJs4krPslWhyKqMhmfQUZZeRDxizBgrC2MvGCVoXVSg2EEiTrfDuNlYqvH8M9FW_CXES6VG3o0wqUbUTmQA/s1600/Screenshot-85.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5CLzfUZ61uCSNKCPDj4GnMbD_QPhwbn0nOL0htzhqAQ-bIYac36_yosKUrJs4krPslWhyKqMhmfQUZZeRDxizBgrC2MvGCVoXVSg2EEiTrfDuNlYqvH8M9FW_CXES6VG3o0wqUbUTmQA/s640/Screenshot-85.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I was seventeen and as a child, I had already witnessed a man's death. I had seen my own father's brains splattered all over the wooden floors, his head a pile of blood and mush, his body growing cold and stiff as we waited for the ambulance to take his corpse away to the morgue. I had been the one to tell my grandmother about the suicide and was the one who had made the 9-1-1 call as she sat on his bed, not moving, aside from the shaking of her shoulders, as she sobbed for the son she never completely could get through to. I knew that I would never, could never, be just seventeen, my childhood gone in a moment, my future already tarnished. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"So, what did you think?" We had gone to see the latest drama that had just come out a couple of days ago. We had been let out of school early and Andrew had suggesting catching a flick before heading home to my place, where we did homework every afternoon.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgePtOOlF0GpEYPzFl2lc1U20gg4UpHVoNT6gPzW0RFD3tAs70oeZOuxI7nlpYjX0zPGsd4HQsQAKDeJd5q0KWEyO2FLbz9N7T9YgArUiJHXh5Y9w_u4eYXqPR4tJP0i4AOi6afcCZJiss/s1600/Screenshot-141.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgePtOOlF0GpEYPzFl2lc1U20gg4UpHVoNT6gPzW0RFD3tAs70oeZOuxI7nlpYjX0zPGsd4HQsQAKDeJd5q0KWEyO2FLbz9N7T9YgArUiJHXh5Y9w_u4eYXqPR4tJP0i4AOi6afcCZJiss/s640/Screenshot-141.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>"It was alright, I guess, maybe a little morbid," he chuckled like he always did when he didn't know the answer, which was often.<br />
<br />
"Morbid? It was a satire on how society gives young women distorted views of their bodies, making them think that they have to be a size two and blond to be beautiful."<br />
<br />
He chuckled again. Why did he always have to laugh when he felt awkward? It was an aggravating habit. "God, Ram, it's just a movie. Do you want to go get something to eat?"<br />
<br />
"Andrew, it's a problem that happens in real life! Eating disorders are happening to nine-year-olds who are convinced that they are fat because they don't look like Kate Moss."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0WyC-UCeGhv7V7waJ2qhSnigbWGaUiCbVd-8-gLKPzu_zDuw8h4ez_ekfgkhHcvR0ryjil3R7xM5w_ch6SiH4rm93TVZb7II1DT1XngwmrM5JQxrj0egkagGPJGrY_ZzhEUbFidvUjo/s1600/Screenshot-143.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0WyC-UCeGhv7V7waJ2qhSnigbWGaUiCbVd-8-gLKPzu_zDuw8h4ez_ekfgkhHcvR0ryjil3R7xM5w_ch6SiH4rm93TVZb7II1DT1XngwmrM5JQxrj0egkagGPJGrY_ZzhEUbFidvUjo/s640/Screenshot-143.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"But sweetheart," he said tenderly, "you're beautiful and never have to worry about something like that. Besides, don't you think they exaggerated it just a bit? I mean, a tenth grader killing herself because a boy called her Thunder Thighs? No wonder it's a satire. Suicide is so stupid. I mean, talk about an exaggeration."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"What?" I whispered.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Andrew realized his mistake and immediately started spewing apologies and excuses, knowing how close his comment had hit to home. "I mean...not everyone who kills themselves is stupid...your father...he was a good guy...there probably are good reasons...just I don't think being overweight...maybe young girls..."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxcrUL_rkG6Rtj0QITXCc_-Z7oLWArtEqWAtah954b1QOAC6C_lyctSw33nQt2OcoJM1lL0_fVL_2Ilr9eDmQToe6yiE6r1qsdk4mJ3NqNRw9ByZhQb4YWf9-wQNpM4j4uqywCIBCn4Jk/s1600/Screenshot-144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxcrUL_rkG6Rtj0QITXCc_-Z7oLWArtEqWAtah954b1QOAC6C_lyctSw33nQt2OcoJM1lL0_fVL_2Ilr9eDmQToe6yiE6r1qsdk4mJ3NqNRw9ByZhQb4YWf9-wQNpM4j4uqywCIBCn4Jk/s640/Screenshot-144.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"I understand how you feel, Andrew. About my father, my family, even about me. It's okay. I get it. Maybe to everyone else, suicide is some taboo topic, but ignorance only perpetuates more ignorance. Everyone thinks that the only people who kill themselves are crazy. Psycho, right? That one thing happens and they go off the deep end, but it's so much more," I shook my head, tears in my eyes. "You might be ignorant, but I think you're lucky. You're lucky you will never understand." I started to leave without him. "See you in school tomorrow?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Ramona, wait, let me explain," he called out, but I didn't stop and he didn't pursue me. I didn't know if I would have a boyfriend in the morning, and at the moment, I didn't care.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">When I got home, I started my nightly ritual early. I went up to my room and cried until I had no more tears to cry.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZwEeb50RnxgAiplO25gfe6XrNiWRsCgFPJ7e6gNTNCj_dE4EW-u7nDGrjxgTHtR4b024q5h2dwH-bqoG3pDqYGCZ0RESEA6ly28u7zkSe4VrsBlVH9r_AImJbcPEwLKpqjOyPlOuYGm8/s1600/Screenshot-168.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZwEeb50RnxgAiplO25gfe6XrNiWRsCgFPJ7e6gNTNCj_dE4EW-u7nDGrjxgTHtR4b024q5h2dwH-bqoG3pDqYGCZ0RESEA6ly28u7zkSe4VrsBlVH9r_AImJbcPEwLKpqjOyPlOuYGm8/s640/Screenshot-168.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The next morning, a bright and beautiful Saturday, I woke up feeling a little better and ready to apologize to Andrew. I was up and dressed by seven and coming downstairs, I heard my grandmother shouting in the kitchen. "Stupid dishwasher! You're not even two years old and falling apart!" There were some sniffles and then, "oh God, I wish my Nate was here. He would know what to do."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEL40BErBCAlzdZVq-P311OvciA6yU_hZ5gvUl3n0voLp3lluOgT_q96-AeNnPvPm8dzPtVVVmdsutBScfbNWu2d5e9lpp3KVTk1oYbIBWtvR2qjxN0_oLg5nhxywpI-zXyQtn3v6SXBo/s1600/Screenshot-44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEL40BErBCAlzdZVq-P311OvciA6yU_hZ5gvUl3n0voLp3lluOgT_q96-AeNnPvPm8dzPtVVVmdsutBScfbNWu2d5e9lpp3KVTk1oYbIBWtvR2qjxN0_oLg5nhxywpI-zXyQtn3v6SXBo/s640/Screenshot-44.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;">This is why I had never enrolled at Smugglesworth Prep to attend school with Bettina. My grandmother who was at least eighty years old, needed me too much for me to just leave her here to deal with the large house's upkeep and maintenance. We needed each other.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmTEa8jd-JMveo_RBQVZgtWKqfzkujnp5dic603W-LFQd6eH7jZczP8aFS5NoC3lY18NMh3RJyUIKBu_ImWDtFTeITJ-WbqO5GWRqKAX5sGdDryKQhOYTTFMEZ9aTrPfwT20oMRmm8akM/s1600/Screenshot-54.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmTEa8jd-JMveo_RBQVZgtWKqfzkujnp5dic603W-LFQd6eH7jZczP8aFS5NoC3lY18NMh3RJyUIKBu_ImWDtFTeITJ-WbqO5GWRqKAX5sGdDryKQhOYTTFMEZ9aTrPfwT20oMRmm8akM/s640/Screenshot-54.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Grandmother," I said gently, taking her by the arms, "why don't you go get cleaned up? I'll call the repairman and we'll get it fixed by this afternoon."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">She sniffed. "When your grandfather was alive, we never had to call a repairman. My Nate always took care of everything. And now he's gone and I don't know what to do. I've been so lost since he died. And then your father...I don't think I can do it, anymore, Ramona. It just hurts too much."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"I know Grandmother, I know. But you still have me. I'll take care of everything. Go wash your face and I'll make us some tea, okay?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Grandmother nodded, her cheeks still damp with tears. "Okay, darling, I will do that. I don't know what I would do without you."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNt5UHtfVS8AzNfG7qduH7hVE8Kckn95SnMrGuMF8D3PzLsCYcB_LQwy-0WObGKXp0v-eY_eHzs0xfxXao0L5ag4LYMeUy1ntaJAAUi-2ImvCR9VaEPRpapqdYXITtr023mChfdKW6fyo/s1600/Screenshot-63.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNt5UHtfVS8AzNfG7qduH7hVE8Kckn95SnMrGuMF8D3PzLsCYcB_LQwy-0WObGKXp0v-eY_eHzs0xfxXao0L5ag4LYMeUy1ntaJAAUi-2ImvCR9VaEPRpapqdYXITtr023mChfdKW6fyo/s640/Screenshot-63.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The repairman would be there in an hour, which gave me some time to do damage control. When Grandmother returned, our tea was ready for her in two white, steaming cups. We sat at the table and sipped our hot drinks slowly. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Ramona, I've been thinking. I know it's been a long time since it happened and you seem to be doing well, but maybe it would be a good idea to you know, talk to someone." </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"I'm fine Grandmother. Really!" I tried to smile at her convincingly.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">She gazed at me with wise, tired eyes. "I've heard you at night crying. I come upstairs and I hear you."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So my secret was out. "Yes," I admitted, "you're right. I feel like everyone treats me like kid gloves, just waiting for my fall. You're the one who shares this pain with me and you've got Grandfather, Olivia AND father to mourn as well as raising me. I can't burden you any further. So I think about him at night and cry. That's how I've learned how to deal with it. I don't think talking to a stranger would help anything."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV17ow0R21LyUudMRtDlBWEGLFTDIq_I6i7hRBFa6DbCs7feJRFcvW-OuJ91AUnaMiJa73-5P4_py4iyKZygXjUDdf5NQfV0TaWvaAUtKMDEBodS3dD_ppnYBSadxsTbtyAHxfKoRHr2M/s1600/Screenshot-198.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV17ow0R21LyUudMRtDlBWEGLFTDIq_I6i7hRBFa6DbCs7feJRFcvW-OuJ91AUnaMiJa73-5P4_py4iyKZygXjUDdf5NQfV0TaWvaAUtKMDEBodS3dD_ppnYBSadxsTbtyAHxfKoRHr2M/s640/Screenshot-198.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"I want you to be as happy and healthy as possible. Holding it in is only going to drive you crazy, darling. Believe me, I know. I've been researching support groups lately on the Internet. There's one in town for teenagers who have experienced trauma. They meet in the old Baptist church over by the garage. Would you agree to at least give it a chance for one night? If you don't like it, we can get you a therapist, but I really think it would be good for you, to have a chance to talk to others."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I thought about my tear-filled nights, my superficial cousin, my insensitive boyfriend and about what it meant to be Ramona Bergdorf. I thought about the strain of staying home instead of going away, in lieu of leaving Hidden Springs and all of its bad memories behind. I thought about my Grandmother, who I took care of, who I was responsible for and who loved me more than anything. And lastly, I thought about the empty bedroom, the one that bleach had purged clean of death. Unfortunately, there was no bleach for the brain. People who experienced tragedy could not simply be cleansed of the memories. We had to live with it forever and now I had a chance to meet people like myself, who might understand me and teach me how to live as a full person.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Okay Grandmother, I'll do it," I told her, putting my hand on hers.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Ramona, dear, when the repairman comes, will you let him in?" she asked, standing up slowly. "I'm not feeling very well."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Of course, are you okay?" I asked, getting up to help her.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">She waved me away. "Oh, just a cold, I'm sure. Sit back down and finish your tea. I'll be fine."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Grandmother walked to her room, also very slowly and shut the door. There she napped for the rest of the day.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2xQyvmqLwKXstb8H-ZEFjhEkV-4OAU4dQnv9eg-yHj7XEgYgalDysd9uUav3Bf6MCJ5g8iNn_nRHuQYKSXINUkwrH6LgqlO_KxuINc4KXRGElrLK-1sa5Jis4MeMggy5CI9lGqRqkrK8/s1600/Screenshot-60.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2xQyvmqLwKXstb8H-ZEFjhEkV-4OAU4dQnv9eg-yHj7XEgYgalDysd9uUav3Bf6MCJ5g8iNn_nRHuQYKSXINUkwrH6LgqlO_KxuINc4KXRGElrLK-1sa5Jis4MeMggy5CI9lGqRqkrK8/s640/Screenshot-60.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-3127586282049328002011-12-06T06:50:00.004-05:002011-12-06T06:56:58.733-05:00Chapter 3.1 Miss You Much<div style="text-align: justify;">I always knew my family was dysfunctional, even when I was too young to know what that word meant. I think it was something I felt more than understood. My dad would sleep all day and his breath would smell. Sometimes, he'd forget to shower or shave. My mom was constantly on the phone, whispering to some guy she called "baby". Grandmother would visit the graveyard every day. Sometimes she'd take me with her. She actually sat there and talked to my grandfather and baby sister, like they both were alive. I never knew either of them and it was years before I could comprehend the significance of their deaths.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">By the time I came along, my family had already been damaged for years. I have to give my parents credit though. At least they<i> tried </i>to give me a good childhood. The last memory I have of the three of us was a couple of weeks before my mother left. It was a warm Saturday morning and we had walked to the park. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT25ctFRG7eg-Hy4aTx-f7VuAen8h3EyCZm5Gfph_0qY4WZ0d2FCvRv4_vdidhBOakIXHP2FcW9L4Yoj3mtaCR5jFeBE3og07TCnXFbrAXEC9NApcP8w7nlNcCiFGhmrZL6xSgjg65-yk/s1600/Screenshot-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT25ctFRG7eg-Hy4aTx-f7VuAen8h3EyCZm5Gfph_0qY4WZ0d2FCvRv4_vdidhBOakIXHP2FcW9L4Yoj3mtaCR5jFeBE3og07TCnXFbrAXEC9NApcP8w7nlNcCiFGhmrZL6xSgjg65-yk/s640/Screenshot-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
My father, my best friend, had pushed me on the swings as we laughed and played together. I was blissfully unaware that only the two of us were enjoying ourselves.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwVhCFJuS_hozY_tPs1bD7l4NwXL51GpsZePIdGyAUZmLvqn5fMzJwPV937LJJ_gAWYZpwltIbLlLQDYlsRzpXSM44zaOAQFqLkRoTP8HVrVevVqYoYwYElo2z8MXcVkKZdf0X6K-rj4U/s1600/Screenshot-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwVhCFJuS_hozY_tPs1bD7l4NwXL51GpsZePIdGyAUZmLvqn5fMzJwPV937LJJ_gAWYZpwltIbLlLQDYlsRzpXSM44zaOAQFqLkRoTP8HVrVevVqYoYwYElo2z8MXcVkKZdf0X6K-rj4U/s640/Screenshot-4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">He was sober that day and smelled of soap and clean laundry. They had been fighting more lately and I guess that this particular outing was more for my sake than their own. Whatever it was that had first brought them together had been gone for years. I had appreciated the effort.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My mother wasn't even swinging. She sat next to us in silence as if she was completely oblivious to my squeals of delight, begging my dad to push me "faster, Daddy! I want to go faster! I'm going to touch the clouds!" She might as well have been in another world. For all I knew, she was.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR2fR6qDnWMGA18Nj3EavduyyIj2_XYjZKJhr7UlAmzYMU_SlhCJSJ5LtvyHg0f2THo3m3xpLRy-ByWhm5TzRE2m986CClCeoGNhzkyMVtmrFsaUaEYTlYLe5dF8WW7ZZe4k1zcUuNyIc/s1600/Screenshot-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR2fR6qDnWMGA18Nj3EavduyyIj2_XYjZKJhr7UlAmzYMU_SlhCJSJ5LtvyHg0f2THo3m3xpLRy-ByWhm5TzRE2m986CClCeoGNhzkyMVtmrFsaUaEYTlYLe5dF8WW7ZZe4k1zcUuNyIc/s640/Screenshot-5.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">There's only one way to get off a swing: jumping. I flew through the air and landed on my feet as solidly as a gymnast. My father cheered and then I ran to the jungle gym, by that time sensing that they might need a moment alone.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEwe_zw3w_SUvvM96KEmvjg3uwJ4J7CZB3u_76W6AD_7LuF7jENr_hx92Z52TPhvmYQYBak2GvW3Yg6nipH9OhKoP40PfHzZ-gwd30Q9WguoCmzHhN8MXrNpzcjasNBxQx5Aq_f_V0z2s/s1600/Screenshot-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEwe_zw3w_SUvvM96KEmvjg3uwJ4J7CZB3u_76W6AD_7LuF7jENr_hx92Z52TPhvmYQYBak2GvW3Yg6nipH9OhKoP40PfHzZ-gwd30Q9WguoCmzHhN8MXrNpzcjasNBxQx5Aq_f_V0z2s/s640/Screenshot-6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>"C'mon, Farryn, it's just one day! You can't even give her that?!" roared Dad.<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry, Go," she shook her head sadly. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKdR9KZZKY0iWxcsSbQHTtVZb5UgxWjT6Nxm5QfkpYpQ3VWKwfXHmHWxH-cO3z2wjKCZ6z5xQmgG2AHugEkXHwXUzYKRSL24yYYdh1mmxPjmdgc7IBOQKy-ws1ZfIjSi_WY2RzdU26H7Y/s1600/Screenshot-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKdR9KZZKY0iWxcsSbQHTtVZb5UgxWjT6Nxm5QfkpYpQ3VWKwfXHmHWxH-cO3z2wjKCZ6z5xQmgG2AHugEkXHwXUzYKRSL24yYYdh1mmxPjmdgc7IBOQKy-ws1ZfIjSi_WY2RzdU26H7Y/s640/Screenshot-8.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
From my vantage point, I saw everything. Their faces were full of anger and pain. To look at them, a stranger would never be able to tell that once they loved each other. But I knew better. When I came down, they had smoothed things over. At least by that time, <i>both</i> of them were pretending. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8iMVktA7ZH7f4TQdtILtiuNEeCAO5oRBjFEaQfbJlf-9LP2_H5r8k8weFzN7yvrcvlcSeJtP3pt2OD1oHk27lgZknbWOQrCEBY5qp3fNifdmTnxyrjFF3sWvnzUo5Fs77bgcWgOXQhDU/s1600/Screenshot-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8iMVktA7ZH7f4TQdtILtiuNEeCAO5oRBjFEaQfbJlf-9LP2_H5r8k8weFzN7yvrcvlcSeJtP3pt2OD1oHk27lgZknbWOQrCEBY5qp3fNifdmTnxyrjFF3sWvnzUo5Fs77bgcWgOXQhDU/s640/Screenshot-10.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
"Ramona," my father turned to me, "do you like ice cream?"<br />
<br />
"Yes!" I shouted in delight. I had wanted us to be a family so badly, I just played along. I knew my role and it wasn't recalcitrant child. <br />
<br />
"Ha," he laughed, " I was just asking."<br />
<br />
"Daddy!," I squealed. My role was to be the dutiful daughter in this charade, this play in which we were all actors, and if it made us a family, it was a part I would play to a tee.<br />
<br />
"Oh did you want some?" my mother turned, smiling wider than she had in months. "What do you say, Go? Want to stop by the ice cream shop on our way home?"<br />
<br />
Each day was a struggle and the facade was wearing thin on each of us. But still, we had made it one more day.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The night my mother left, I stood outside of their bedroom door like I always did when they were fighting. Something was different this time. For one, I didn't hear shouting. My father had gotten dressed up and cooked her dinner and she had just now gotten home. I had expected him to raise absolute hell, but there was no yelling that night. He was crying.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5uM5eAfk24McArFWQmRl16aTirAM3A7Fruk-dHvvPahPZghg8QKHQSSDWapceRwH5aayhzC7obvWj-mQhFdsOhH1RHIqVddaLOVO0N8sMT9amEVfFaoFO-EF6cb0MRqd10r1BnuDBT5A/s1600/Screenshot-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5uM5eAfk24McArFWQmRl16aTirAM3A7Fruk-dHvvPahPZghg8QKHQSSDWapceRwH5aayhzC7obvWj-mQhFdsOhH1RHIqVddaLOVO0N8sMT9amEVfFaoFO-EF6cb0MRqd10r1BnuDBT5A/s640/Screenshot-12.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>"Farryn, please don't leave. My mom and I had a talk and she made me realize some things. I haven't been a good boyfriend or a father...but I want to be! That's what tonight was for. I want to give you everything you deserve, to be better for you and Ramona."<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry baby, but I just don't think it's going to work," my mother said.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6f9vzbMGPehhWJVnDrp0byiCq4jGsGwd7tYpRw8VTchuFZJ4o5OScHDMbde5x5GPlRBVFkDEfduxTPGjwZA4akBYzRMwkIzyHqjVnAd3y85fmnN6Edbs6O-ymQqz9AVHd8A6nWwgSkE8/s1600/Screenshot-18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6f9vzbMGPehhWJVnDrp0byiCq4jGsGwd7tYpRw8VTchuFZJ4o5OScHDMbde5x5GPlRBVFkDEfduxTPGjwZA4akBYzRMwkIzyHqjVnAd3y85fmnN6Edbs6O-ymQqz9AVHd8A6nWwgSkE8/s640/Screenshot-18.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
"We haven't been a couple for years now. I kept waiting around, hoping that things would get better and they never did."<br />
<br />
"But," he protested, "I really think if you just give me one more chance, I can prove myself to you."<br />
<br />
"Baby," she said, her voice thick with emotion, "I love you so much, but I just...I just don't have anything left to give you. We used to have fun. This used to be fun...and then Olivia and your dad...I can't do it anymore."<br />
<br />
"So this is it?" he asked. "You're going to leave us for <i>him?" </i>I didn't know he knew about my mother's affair, but even in his inebriated state, he had somehow detected the other man in her life.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtoyE-LA-s_S-xA7loCFXoHFSqUekWUvoH4YvSbf71mk0GdgdW4V-7js0_bJfD30nX6z9JAm2Z3gGo7YQbUsjYuGtwm95kEIshIOvSJaCNafKlI7RyNZg6EkFkxqnvMp1ImpsiqPGl7j4/s1600/Screenshot-25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtoyE-LA-s_S-xA7loCFXoHFSqUekWUvoH4YvSbf71mk0GdgdW4V-7js0_bJfD30nX6z9JAm2Z3gGo7YQbUsjYuGtwm95kEIshIOvSJaCNafKlI7RyNZg6EkFkxqnvMp1ImpsiqPGl7j4/s640/Screenshot-25.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
She had nothing to say to that.<br />
<br />
"What about Ramona? What about our daughter?" he wanted to know.<br />
<br />
"You and I both know that neither one of us is really capable of being a good parent to her. She'll be better off staying here with your mother," she choked out. <br />
<br />
He thought for a moment. "Okay then," he said resignedly, "I know you're miserable and I'm miserable. One of us should have the chance to be happy and it won't be me. If you really want to go, I can't stand in your way."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAtltdxlyBvQecXEHTh_f4nCzPEobL41ojumv7_C00oz50XxJVdq9KW9YHJHjD6Fa74f5MOQe1LYnkBA1pZs8Temo7mTaasiYR1NyDHNBUD9nl6mrlPl9qiDZm0ujNZ4U20o9LSEcELr8/s1600/Screenshot-29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAtltdxlyBvQecXEHTh_f4nCzPEobL41ojumv7_C00oz50XxJVdq9KW9YHJHjD6Fa74f5MOQe1LYnkBA1pZs8Temo7mTaasiYR1NyDHNBUD9nl6mrlPl9qiDZm0ujNZ4U20o9LSEcELr8/s640/Screenshot-29.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
"I will always love you," she said softly. <br />
<br />
Mom picked up her bags and slowly carried them to her car. Then she came back inside, where I was waiting for her. <br />
<br />
"Ramona, Mommy is going to go away but I need you to be a big girl and look after Daddy and Grandma. Can you do that?"<br />
<br />
I nodded, staring up at her, wondering if this was the last time I would ever see my mother.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicBr5ASORfmblekZnZj1jf6kw9fGhI_SsKV2zg2rmklp7P8ROc0C6jqGsXpO6CcFED5b9vKJX4HXGjEzHdFxDzt2mQwl5mpZfRD4PeT2izyx5xRnWxGRQE9K6ywRpQqDNfxOhfizJIatQ/s1600/Screenshot-16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicBr5ASORfmblekZnZj1jf6kw9fGhI_SsKV2zg2rmklp7P8ROc0C6jqGsXpO6CcFED5b9vKJX4HXGjEzHdFxDzt2mQwl5mpZfRD4PeT2izyx5xRnWxGRQE9K6ywRpQqDNfxOhfizJIatQ/s640/Screenshot-16.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
"If you ever need anything, it doesn't matter what time, you call me, okay?" <br />
<br />
Another nod. I was still in shock, my mind being pulled in a million different directions. Was this really happening? Was she really leaving us to go live with that man? What about my father? What about me? What would we do without her? Was it my fault? Was I too much of a burden? Would she have stayed if I had been a better girl?<br />
<br />
She kissed my head. "I love you so much, Ramona."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC-44_sBPKe2wKh3ZB3EnTD9qrRyO-0l7UPUnBwAAA0wMn6bMAi8E-2uxZ894ouGNNdRtQLQWqlJg-Q0Om3Rq5gmVce0lMNxv6FB-khuUrOdgs6GUZSEngT35bhEU79o6pvMI2hNv6wDw/s1600/Screenshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC-44_sBPKe2wKh3ZB3EnTD9qrRyO-0l7UPUnBwAAA0wMn6bMAi8E-2uxZ894ouGNNdRtQLQWqlJg-Q0Om3Rq5gmVce0lMNxv6FB-khuUrOdgs6GUZSEngT35bhEU79o6pvMI2hNv6wDw/s640/Screenshot.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
I knew she loved me. But she also loved Daddy. And two people who loved each other belonged together. This wasn't a job! She couldn't just quit. Sure, they fought. But they always made up. Why couldn't she just go back upstairs like always and cry on my dad's shoulder and tell him "Baby, I don't want to fight anymore. Let's make up". If you messed up, you said you were sorry and the person forgave you. Apologizing always worked. Right? <br />
<br />
I watched her walk out of the door, down the sidewalk, and out to her car.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkIOyCFk8BXmZTw3HMAsKLMRkN9on-DJ-1qi7Ct0mSjFRwBdy07_oZTYwt2EIhwhJkEHHUBbAPqmmqaHfdkHCwtzG_JoCwb6jbrCuck77mlxtv-KMItjC8stb6UiovMAlZRR970cWw6dA/s1600/Screenshot-21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkIOyCFk8BXmZTw3HMAsKLMRkN9on-DJ-1qi7Ct0mSjFRwBdy07_oZTYwt2EIhwhJkEHHUBbAPqmmqaHfdkHCwtzG_JoCwb6jbrCuck77mlxtv-KMItjC8stb6UiovMAlZRR970cWw6dA/s640/Screenshot-21.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Once in her car, she sat there for five minutes, tears streaming down her face. But then determined, she put the key in the ignition and started the engine. Very slowly, she backed out of the driveway and eased her car on the street. I was still watching even when the car had disappeared from my sight, unable to believe that she never once looked back.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">After Go died, there was only Marilyn and Ramona left. Marilyn was worried that her granddaughter would be devastated with her mother leaving and her father committing suicide. After all, Ramona had been the one to find the body. But the little girl was an absolute doll. She set the table for dinner every night, helped with her chores on the weekend and completed her homework without being told to. Her teachers said that she was a model student in all of her classes and she had a sweet disposition that just made people want to be her friend. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"How is school, sweetheart?" asked Marilyn.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8zDoLofjWHRmmvN1mQPYyPh7JE4ivtx7zjpscw5u-FEGQzr6NYaePIkxvUTrJkI1RjhUwtnvmFwPqV8cLR1_stWDkMOc8uYCzi0e48KSLI26_0lvSqU76J798gexlMq93lexbvY_tsNI/s1600/Screenshot-19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8zDoLofjWHRmmvN1mQPYyPh7JE4ivtx7zjpscw5u-FEGQzr6NYaePIkxvUTrJkI1RjhUwtnvmFwPqV8cLR1_stWDkMOc8uYCzi0e48KSLI26_0lvSqU76J798gexlMq93lexbvY_tsNI/s640/Screenshot-19.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"I won first place in the spelling bee today," Ramona replied, finishing the last of her essay. "Tomorrow we're going on a field trip to Scrumptious Nibbles Cafe."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Oh?" said Marilyn <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">casually, sipping her bedtime tea, not wanting to sound concerned. "Well if you need any money for a souvenir, just let me know."</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Ramona always enunciated her words and spoke very clearly, like she had taken the etiquette classes that Marilyn had hated so much in her own childhood. "My homework is done. May I go to bed now?"</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZx7OwVl001kZ1M5gi5hC4ymDqGmWU1SOIP3PnoolZohxHzjBWyrDjp8iV-amjPlMPU7i3P05amtvwce4ast90mLD7wgMjdcg2vAHYpgFqNVQy5HwZZhAlXVC0uzGfKWSVezs_sMHZc-s/s1600/Screenshot-20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZx7OwVl001kZ1M5gi5hC4ymDqGmWU1SOIP3PnoolZohxHzjBWyrDjp8iV-amjPlMPU7i3P05amtvwce4ast90mLD7wgMjdcg2vAHYpgFqNVQy5HwZZhAlXVC0uzGfKWSVezs_sMHZc-s/s640/Screenshot-20.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div>"Of course darling, but first you must give your old granny a hug."<br />
<br />
She hugged Marilyn with the sweetness of a child, although she carried herself with the solemnity of one who had lived far longer than eleven years.<br />
<br />
"Ramona," Marilyn smiled indulgently at her oldest grandbaby, "would you like me to tuck you in?"<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD1wEZFDwbXpn7BoXtkwEdSF8_Q1hXKY67QrnA47j193Qa0sl1LdfWQj0IHbPWgU7nZ1KucVJ_yUowAUBpia2XureqMvCz2TT722SoZFdFusqlwiwu46EBBr4VBTNjQmdGph-gbySKZD0/s1600/Screenshot-24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD1wEZFDwbXpn7BoXtkwEdSF8_Q1hXKY67QrnA47j193Qa0sl1LdfWQj0IHbPWgU7nZ1KucVJ_yUowAUBpia2XureqMvCz2TT722SoZFdFusqlwiwu46EBBr4VBTNjQmdGph-gbySKZD0/s640/Screenshot-24.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
"No thank you, Grandmother," was the girl's prim response.<br />
<br />
"I love you sweetheart."<br />
<br />
"I love you too, Grandmother." And with that, Ramona headed to her room. When her father had been alive, he had tucked her in with a bedtime story, but since Go's death, she had insisted on putting herself to bed. Still, Marilyn asked her every night, hoping against hope that tonight would be different.<br />
<br />
The elderly lady frowned. Ramona had already been through too much. She had seen things that would scar most adults. Her granddaughter was an old woman in a little girl's body. She feared for Ramona's future.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj9p1U2JSClzmZGyNKBQ_op5yCfMePXZhAZVfJBaxFrIdv-F0nUksljxNaikoAzwsRu7ZhpXF8LORbPYZKI4XCLJra9xQtI9at5bBq_Erl-ZJ5ibsQZCzJlXKxDBysTc2J5xq0QpP4oTg/s1600/Screenshot-26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj9p1U2JSClzmZGyNKBQ_op5yCfMePXZhAZVfJBaxFrIdv-F0nUksljxNaikoAzwsRu7ZhpXF8LORbPYZKI4XCLJra9xQtI9at5bBq_Erl-ZJ5ibsQZCzJlXKxDBysTc2J5xq0QpP4oTg/s640/Screenshot-26.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7294372029590550434.post-64994564569093748102011-11-30T13:26:00.001-05:002011-11-30T15:10:03.230-05:00Chapter 2.15 So Sad the Song<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgasjEjfqERQ-6eu5gA61_6zctFBYJAB5cQYXUEdKxmvdVZaVL_LDy1oi7GEmtCvA6wCFybSrPtt0iQ-bPI0DgnefNOcGESUJNLHtja50WHy7A02KcwN54SfJ288xv5Si8o2bETvWl-giM/s1600/baaaby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgasjEjfqERQ-6eu5gA61_6zctFBYJAB5cQYXUEdKxmvdVZaVL_LDy1oi7GEmtCvA6wCFybSrPtt0iQ-bPI0DgnefNOcGESUJNLHtja50WHy7A02KcwN54SfJ288xv5Si8o2bETvWl-giM/s640/baaaby.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My Dearest Ramona,</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJPEi1ACTrqyVyQcHGA9DnBaMt0DivqlgrKTEVGO1oGRyhUJjKjwuJ9_W_Z5-sLDWtYNwsGSfnLDB9mJHP9kuNoPRUw4fCj_3xNC2w23mrTN9XXxtTx1QQ_6wrP6EhOc8uuPHkzSpDeWw/s1600/Screenshot-10+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJPEi1ACTrqyVyQcHGA9DnBaMt0DivqlgrKTEVGO1oGRyhUJjKjwuJ9_W_Z5-sLDWtYNwsGSfnLDB9mJHP9kuNoPRUw4fCj_3xNC2w23mrTN9XXxtTx1QQ_6wrP6EhOc8uuPHkzSpDeWw/s640/Screenshot-10+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I know that certain behaviors are so offensive it is impossible to ever be redeemed from them. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzn4cBY-xU36SsEMjXtbQI5MobtsKxJ-Qc2_DZjhMMAgY8bDsrscggEUJpr8Sbdt4Rf113U5qDqlqXdDfPBXrTQHLvTHEIbapaNr530GHBulAKvTbwOdId9A41LJCb__tU5P6s7tsi84Y/s1600/Screenshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzn4cBY-xU36SsEMjXtbQI5MobtsKxJ-Qc2_DZjhMMAgY8bDsrscggEUJpr8Sbdt4Rf113U5qDqlqXdDfPBXrTQHLvTHEIbapaNr530GHBulAKvTbwOdId9A41LJCb__tU5P6s7tsi84Y/s640/Screenshot.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And let it be so, for who am I, to even think that I deserve such empathy, such mercy? I was fully aware of the repercussions all along. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJdUIvJdG4nqqaugK04sPQAgp8xkFSdYb3hHNSQSInxRti3GuqyK-X_HjGsstdRv26dp0Fr8Dk8D-ZxTnbvs2lV7wezFh-8EpXAVSkNgfFmbynnH57dGfmUGY9ahkexGvnSwdRajkxM8I/s1600/nate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJdUIvJdG4nqqaugK04sPQAgp8xkFSdYb3hHNSQSInxRti3GuqyK-X_HjGsstdRv26dp0Fr8Dk8D-ZxTnbvs2lV7wezFh-8EpXAVSkNgfFmbynnH57dGfmUGY9ahkexGvnSwdRajkxM8I/s640/nate.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Why should I be given a second chance? I, no better than the rest, and worse than most. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzNgvYneKP9o4pWGYSvLGJMMMPU_2vz9cAWLfcCRlxe8E-ifS78dYKEhXScyqVyYzE1UKbdmTlAVGaq0ObSUfpjM3bSwdJHV6y0HeRZNBuORhsgNT-_xdC4D3AUdxPtzeQhB51NxL2qQM/s1600/Screenshot-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzNgvYneKP9o4pWGYSvLGJMMMPU_2vz9cAWLfcCRlxe8E-ifS78dYKEhXScyqVyYzE1UKbdmTlAVGaq0ObSUfpjM3bSwdJHV6y0HeRZNBuORhsgNT-_xdC4D3AUdxPtzeQhB51NxL2qQM/s640/Screenshot-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I am nothing but a coward, and have more than earned the right to hang my head, eyes fixed on moving feet, and wander my days in shame. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU-wJXePhfdW12W1ro4bpRzziAyI7PUWbT3tVAmv0ktHLAlgdcnUsaEiZi2xmK8scgpQM6yG3YqpwRp4rBkmfTW36UGLoBt04rbA89kxGZgPxwiojXmjg4D_SmL-QiIqozaJKtbQJ_Bkc/s1600/Screenshot-39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU-wJXePhfdW12W1ro4bpRzziAyI7PUWbT3tVAmv0ktHLAlgdcnUsaEiZi2xmK8scgpQM6yG3YqpwRp4rBkmfTW36UGLoBt04rbA89kxGZgPxwiojXmjg4D_SmL-QiIqozaJKtbQJ_Bkc/s640/Screenshot-39.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I am a lowly sinner, a scoundrel, and to be spit on is to be considered a warm embrace. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJq-O5L6Cs9sTdqaE_i6urCT-TD1-IEmCdCO-zsf7WmPNihvvD3peRYkrueGOC4HYVebqST-5mOJ8gXpcxhLXSTfJqBi1Fy1uoIKDAuwlokx8CoHOxoQQO8I5h9tVTt1CXRAYs74ZOY78/s1600/Screenshot-17+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJq-O5L6Cs9sTdqaE_i6urCT-TD1-IEmCdCO-zsf7WmPNihvvD3peRYkrueGOC4HYVebqST-5mOJ8gXpcxhLXSTfJqBi1Fy1uoIKDAuwlokx8CoHOxoQQO8I5h9tVTt1CXRAYs74ZOY78/s640/Screenshot-17+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">To never have known comfort or another's gentle touch, is not horrible. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw9ZEeXnnmBVfBovg7M3-8VSE_VgcLRieyBZp9iR7trDj8Qr4G0jYRK1MtCGYMPNJRqLxtMXt0YSaAT2S-_Z8gZNaMcgdpzzIvBd9jY8o13HVq_rwiB8LnmnhcD3GSrd0vqWsfPyi-rX8/s1600/Screenshot-26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw9ZEeXnnmBVfBovg7M3-8VSE_VgcLRieyBZp9iR7trDj8Qr4G0jYRK1MtCGYMPNJRqLxtMXt0YSaAT2S-_Z8gZNaMcgdpzzIvBd9jY8o13HVq_rwiB8LnmnhcD3GSrd0vqWsfPyi-rX8/s640/Screenshot-26.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But to be alienated where once welcomed, and cast out where I once was protected is unbearable. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1kL6Q2_SF8ujqlylbyMNodYPNOqp3siD30wguEITaIHxaoUjJyRuD9qWUSecmNGPBbTNjnSCkcDnvU9xDZDTmxptCaKu4XDmSk0OxgAs1hHadIXm3pUrfSFgq4CVL8E_haDGq4smxBBU/s1600/Screenshot-50.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1kL6Q2_SF8ujqlylbyMNodYPNOqp3siD30wguEITaIHxaoUjJyRuD9qWUSecmNGPBbTNjnSCkcDnvU9xDZDTmxptCaKu4XDmSk0OxgAs1hHadIXm3pUrfSFgq4CVL8E_haDGq4smxBBU/s640/Screenshot-50.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I would rather die and be finished with it all. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoGtZw3IygxGeuxsTATqLYx5Jb91dg7oEdZ-u6u9TuTQPXLqst2BGqcy__JRkHE4_0-2iYGD6mNBywdT7LJUo50X5flhxO0Kmla8YLBt3mfocB1AZsSCeJp9MasfmDAc-1zrw0PDfeeSg/s1600/Screenshot-65.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoGtZw3IygxGeuxsTATqLYx5Jb91dg7oEdZ-u6u9TuTQPXLqst2BGqcy__JRkHE4_0-2iYGD6mNBywdT7LJUo50X5flhxO0Kmla8YLBt3mfocB1AZsSCeJp9MasfmDAc-1zrw0PDfeeSg/s640/Screenshot-65.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Because as hard as I try to escape, I have finally succumbed to the madness and it is consuming me. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpspEuzend9U_8aExkEcOEJjrEQIXZgigLovLPOD7l4JKYD0YQoJ5xCkU31JP8715pwPRZ5WuHNIh6zkOfwIJBFT81FEQT67DjKw9AAJz6qJpwcDV8TNgUTswXJALfeERFbBCH1FXlKN0/s1600/Screenshot-32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpspEuzend9U_8aExkEcOEJjrEQIXZgigLovLPOD7l4JKYD0YQoJ5xCkU31JP8715pwPRZ5WuHNIh6zkOfwIJBFT81FEQT67DjKw9AAJz6qJpwcDV8TNgUTswXJALfeERFbBCH1FXlKN0/s640/Screenshot-32.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">For your sake, I tried to be better, but as with everything else, could not rise above my pending insanity.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVYR3x2mU-iI9IzPrrX5FmcYG4l4r8jA2GlhazHQEM2P0ZnzK3CMd1adeYYbsJ701kE_uwmLsp6QE9SsBIT6bBzfKqr8THrXPtxeU833UClYkcd-Wb7hwsFxLPiR_-cHc8zy2yhxxo764/s1600/Screenshot-4+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVYR3x2mU-iI9IzPrrX5FmcYG4l4r8jA2GlhazHQEM2P0ZnzK3CMd1adeYYbsJ701kE_uwmLsp6QE9SsBIT6bBzfKqr8THrXPtxeU833UClYkcd-Wb7hwsFxLPiR_-cHc8zy2yhxxo764/s640/Screenshot-4+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I feel every fiber of rationality slipping away from me even as I write this. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaBKpEdSKdW5YebDz6vBafxbm7K_jgF6g3gIVewYrzuuH96jLJgx2Z5pBKK5HLa9FgfL4a4skRb5Fky4q0q2TPGkqqJNH7lfuJlweGzqXhXOesH9t_Kzx1O_zQU0Gil7mNCaw_bqO5yBw/s1600/saaaaaaadgo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaBKpEdSKdW5YebDz6vBafxbm7K_jgF6g3gIVewYrzuuH96jLJgx2Z5pBKK5HLa9FgfL4a4skRb5Fky4q0q2TPGkqqJNH7lfuJlweGzqXhXOesH9t_Kzx1O_zQU0Gil7mNCaw_bqO5yBw/s640/saaaaaaadgo.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Growing up, I could not find where I belonged. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsLYMYX1zO8II28bW_v29TOBSoR98dHKLfvbj6hxSOX1-lSTVfQzqXvVjwhKTNQLSHzETm1I6qJ82fwfnnjsGShjEp2Qv-2pFjBgb138ULOX3QW_lIbZRUBLhBJ4mJ48NJPMQ1oUvmjhg/s1600/mad+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsLYMYX1zO8II28bW_v29TOBSoR98dHKLfvbj6hxSOX1-lSTVfQzqXvVjwhKTNQLSHzETm1I6qJ82fwfnnjsGShjEp2Qv-2pFjBgb138ULOX3QW_lIbZRUBLhBJ4mJ48NJPMQ1oUvmjhg/s640/mad+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgrkXKTnkMF7_A6LN_4iUlL604qdA-TSsVYW6I3lhu-iyAFnux3cL9uIdCtHRcPoxy0eLkd3XlI4XSua_CfbtpKA82Pn-wkbYoSHWwAy6LLLrubVvvHXiNYI5QL6fhgrQlZpTJ0EN_Y_M/s1600/loser.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgrkXKTnkMF7_A6LN_4iUlL604qdA-TSsVYW6I3lhu-iyAFnux3cL9uIdCtHRcPoxy0eLkd3XlI4XSua_CfbtpKA82Pn-wkbYoSHWwAy6LLLrubVvvHXiNYI5QL6fhgrQlZpTJ0EN_Y_M/s640/loser.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">There wasn't a time where I could be comfortable in my own skin and every choice I made left me feeling like it was the wrong one. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr0xPw5qx-RgVhb5NNz7wim8LhtIHilZkrLOCqYA5R_6c4FbH7YISMIAgJ_t_Y5We9Tf_EI4_pSE-GbEs6jHtNnrU1QV5EdFWCwOF-jOXvgOdcWskNRWWowwicSQdJSiPw59fUMrZ608g/s1600/teen+go.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr0xPw5qx-RgVhb5NNz7wim8LhtIHilZkrLOCqYA5R_6c4FbH7YISMIAgJ_t_Y5We9Tf_EI4_pSE-GbEs6jHtNnrU1QV5EdFWCwOF-jOXvgOdcWskNRWWowwicSQdJSiPw59fUMrZ608g/s640/teen+go.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I was born an artist and even my finest, most expensive paintings still left me numb. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifA4Q-Ih89E0I0fbYIySxawfWdNLMxcQaWHHdtz6_RJN5rXaPOZyagqU82Jvn5ms0zBLqgJM1v9lYzANyYtsU6qtUFDQ11dcmuf3MvOWGyct3Rcs4Q7PsBrZlxpzTRnCcvkvXdfWEplAk/s1600/successfulgo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifA4Q-Ih89E0I0fbYIySxawfWdNLMxcQaWHHdtz6_RJN5rXaPOZyagqU82Jvn5ms0zBLqgJM1v9lYzANyYtsU6qtUFDQ11dcmuf3MvOWGyct3Rcs4Q7PsBrZlxpzTRnCcvkvXdfWEplAk/s640/successfulgo.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then came you and you were more beautiful to me than all of the flowers in all of the valleys, all of the sunrises in all of my days, my greatest creation. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq9wM7DP0lyj69K-cPxX1BcU-uULEfzNDJJ5TyNM-D0O_vyb8k3PzyHxWOSvQwIHnNFsRLs_1s2vYEMk8qqUoVvMXVD8iVzeCqwGkXrO1UgAzNlRotenFuOPHFzyaMNR_hNVq-_PFV-6I/s1600/Screenshot-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq9wM7DP0lyj69K-cPxX1BcU-uULEfzNDJJ5TyNM-D0O_vyb8k3PzyHxWOSvQwIHnNFsRLs_1s2vYEMk8qqUoVvMXVD8iVzeCqwGkXrO1UgAzNlRotenFuOPHFzyaMNR_hNVq-_PFV-6I/s640/Screenshot-10.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I never wanted anything for you but the very best, and to you, I give you the hopes and dreams I've held in my heart since the day you were born. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkolBaJ25XwGwEipMwEfjWyBteCUEqB2b_Q-xAXr4qjUgoTZ3zGi8UO6ZCgrLR-MmRbMa0FYoSFz5D2GADJQhk10gi3RiPtX1QeIiG9Lgk4WtXMiuMMNk9jnAfTdmKYFOzCYo7gM3l9nk/s1600/Screenshot-13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkolBaJ25XwGwEipMwEfjWyBteCUEqB2b_Q-xAXr4qjUgoTZ3zGi8UO6ZCgrLR-MmRbMa0FYoSFz5D2GADJQhk10gi3RiPtX1QeIiG9Lgk4WtXMiuMMNk9jnAfTdmKYFOzCYo7gM3l9nk/s640/Screenshot-13.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">When you think of me, I hope you remember me as I was, talented and loving and not the shell I'm leaving behind. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPVfe2TDU7kUWgGRkg_uta5bQ5wwBVkDsJHgoCz8iXgfMhkca5eLYlE35cWtqTVozwVvUcaB9w9sB227G88d2hdz_9nrUlt5vmgJt-hpYJBQA4PpkzNC6sIIza6JxU9uql1UF2niV_aj8/s1600/Screenshot-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPVfe2TDU7kUWgGRkg_uta5bQ5wwBVkDsJHgoCz8iXgfMhkca5eLYlE35cWtqTVozwVvUcaB9w9sB227G88d2hdz_9nrUlt5vmgJt-hpYJBQA4PpkzNC6sIIza6JxU9uql1UF2niV_aj8/s640/Screenshot-9.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">However, I look back at the decisions I've made, the bridges I've burned and I fear it is entirely too much to grant my last request. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheUHde8C4t4erjrzRfKjTkZ2vxR5W_1o3KtLmPEWuc5wa2bXySngFVLgxgLNZkY22X5KT5pgX8vUqQ6VJrQohIZAr5Y6BDKpVRhhvsK2H2mWAaipqJX0lPqBob8NZvmTTJZmDYW8NmpWw/s1600/Screenshot-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheUHde8C4t4erjrzRfKjTkZ2vxR5W_1o3KtLmPEWuc5wa2bXySngFVLgxgLNZkY22X5KT5pgX8vUqQ6VJrQohIZAr5Y6BDKpVRhhvsK2H2mWAaipqJX0lPqBob8NZvmTTJZmDYW8NmpWw/s640/Screenshot-7.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I know better than to ask for pity and especially forgiveness. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrObVRYUC5XeFsdsnSrM_EUl9Qw1SFDx2Jx9ibLvOIHCkMO-JM9w2DiZEAqUxu8vtHHBOvW5nBxR9-ewE7ap563dEfRFR3oJ9Fg_lYp_FvzMpLxuQaa-vwB-zpcoCw_5-9sAcDTJei-ps/s1600/Screenshot-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrObVRYUC5XeFsdsnSrM_EUl9Qw1SFDx2Jx9ibLvOIHCkMO-JM9w2DiZEAqUxu8vtHHBOvW5nBxR9-ewE7ap563dEfRFR3oJ9Fg_lYp_FvzMpLxuQaa-vwB-zpcoCw_5-9sAcDTJei-ps/s640/Screenshot-6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So know, be it far too late, that I'm sorry, and I love you.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-JmCQie4EEJRe1DQD6HZDrBp3UwTj11K7cI3AjBLQHjyvNqxGCYTPkf16365Mvs9zMJ68AAo0emdbqDAysO8JiSwz73RR0Oy_tbg1CXNOoTer7tg6lSOfn6rtc9876rWAqRLKbRP0IEM/s1600/Screenshot-6+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-JmCQie4EEJRe1DQD6HZDrBp3UwTj11K7cI3AjBLQHjyvNqxGCYTPkf16365Mvs9zMJ68AAo0emdbqDAysO8JiSwz73RR0Oy_tbg1CXNOoTer7tg6lSOfn6rtc9876rWAqRLKbRP0IEM/s640/Screenshot-6+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Your father,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Gabriel Alexander Bergdorf</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDCBLgVNWNSFTsA0HdZDb_kw3L3XOUE7smHz_h57uhoNteIWvA14mS5B6IYzysM16LGatYP5WNV0i8CtPgpeMwxz4JzbAUVR0ojDyBTEbNs9RWhjLjdnGvY5IV73axFKqJXJQ54j6mqIc/s1600/Screenshot-2+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDCBLgVNWNSFTsA0HdZDb_kw3L3XOUE7smHz_h57uhoNteIWvA14mS5B6IYzysM16LGatYP5WNV0i8CtPgpeMwxz4JzbAUVR0ojDyBTEbNs9RWhjLjdnGvY5IV73axFKqJXJQ54j6mqIc/s640/Screenshot-2+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * *</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">And to Valpre, a new reader...I wanted to make sure you would see my reply and wasn't sure how to send you a message. Thanks for reading and the lovely, supportive comments!</div></div>Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18181944649843295347noreply@blogger.com5