DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING!

Henry Spivey woke to the jarring blare of his alarm clock. His head felt foggy, partly because of the early hour and partly because he had a feeling Edward had recently made an appearance. Henry's suspicions were confirmed when he looked down at his bare chest and noticed black ink upon it. The ink was in the shape of letters. Some people are born with the ability to read upside down, but Henry Spivey was not such an individual, so he crossed over to the mirror. "Angie (heart)'s The Hummingbird" was scrawled his pectoral muscles. He swore loudly at his reflection, thumping the dresser with his fist. This hurt more than he'd anticipated, so he hopped around on the spot, waving his hand and seething from pain.

"Henry, is everything all right?" he heard Angie shout from downstairs.

A few moments later, he heard footsteps on the stairs. His heart started to hammer. He couldn't let Angie catch him like this; she could be killed if she knew his secret! Henry thought quickly about what to do. He made a mad dash for the bathroom, slammed the door, locked it, and stepped into the shower. He'd just started to apply soap to his chest when he heard someone knocking on the door.

"Henry, are you in there?" Angie called.

"Yes, honey!" Henry yelled to make himself heard over the water.

"I heard a crash. What happened?" Angie sounded concerned.

"Everything's fine, baby!" Henry reassured her.

Water was now flooding his ears, so he was unable to hear most of his wife's reply. He did, however, catch the words "breakfast...kids...school...and soccer." Henry glanced at his chest and was frustrated to discover the writing was still there. He grabbed Angie's loofah and began to scrub. It felt like heavy sandpaper going across his skin and was doing nothing to erase the message. Henry knew he had to get to work soon, so he cut his shower short and dressed. He went to his and Angie's room to grab his laptop.

"Henry, breakfast is ready!" he heard her say.

"I'll be right there!" Henry called. "Just gotta e-mail a client."

He sat down on the bed and typed the following note: Dear Edward, I am tired of you writing messages on me with black Sharpie. It's like I'm sharing my body with an overgrown frat boy. You seem to like putting them on places that are hard to conceal. Not to mention how hard they are to wash off. I even tried using Angie's loofah. Do you have any idea what my chest felt like afterward? Besides, how am I supposed to explain if (God forbid) Angie ever sees one? From now on, if you have something to say, use the camcorder or email.
--Henry

Henry put his laptop in its carrying case and went downstairs to the kitchen. He quickly ate a lukewarm blueberry Pop-Tart before dashing out to his car. Once he arrived at A.J. Sun, Henry got his customary cup of coffee and booted up his computer. '1 New Email' flashed across the monitor. Henry opened his inbox, only to find Edward's e-mail address in the 'From' column. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure nobody was looking his way before opening the message.

Henry, Thanks. I was wondering where that painful rash came from. Almost beats the time you broke both our fingers. The next thing I wanna say is "GROW UP!" Sharpies never killed anyone (not that I know of, anyway). Hmm, you have one good point. The messages would look a little suspicious to Wifey. Okay, how about this? I'll quit writing on you if you promise to put some decent booze in the fridge. Maybe some Wild Turkey, single-malt Scotch, Russian vodka, or top-shelf tequila. No more wine coolers, for God's sake! If I didn't know you were married, I'd think you were gay.
--Edward
P.S. Say "hi" to Angie for me. I know how much she enjoyed last night.

Henry let out a stifled moan. This was not a good start to the day.