I seem to say this alot, but I have no idea where this came from. I was just in the mood to write a really angst one-shot and this is what happened. Written over a week or two in between my classes during school, and sometimes during the classes. Really, when am I ever going to need Pre-Calc or Latin in real life? I also believe this is the longest one-shot I've ever written. And I typed it all out . . . in one sitting. My hands kinda want to fall off, but whetever! Review please!
Warning: Contains self-harm.
All he could see was Red. Oozing from the wound. Sliding down his leg. Dropping in sickening globs on the white tile floor, staining the innocent material, leaving a mark he would desperately try to cover up later.
Bleach was his best friend nowadays.
But at the moment, clean-up was the last thing on his mind. All he could think about was the pressure.
He could never control it. It would appear at random times and refuse to go away until it was dealt with. It was crushing, refusing to be ignored. The carefully hidden tools mocking him from under his bed. They seemed to rattle, calling him to taint his pale skin red and feel the warmth of it flow from his veins. It made him feel powerful. Made him feel reckless, but most importantly, it made him feel alive. And that was so hard to do lately. He was just grateful that this time no one was home when the urge presented itself.
There had been some close calls. A time when Logan had been seconds away from finding him with blood running down his side, box cutters in hand. Another time when Kate, of all people, had almost seen the blood soaked towel he had used to wipe the sink clean. Maybe it was a sign that he should stop. That he should give up his destructive habit.
He told himself countless times that he would stop. His mom and sister didn't deserve this, neither did his three best friends. They were the greatest people in the history of the world, but this wasn't about them. This was nothing but him.
Everyone always looked to him for guidance, for the answers. They followed him like he was the leader and Kendall had unwittingly fallen into that role, even convincing himself it was were he was supposed to be, but the truth was still there, away from prying eyes.
The truth was that he didn't know what the fuck he was doing.
The fact that his friends followed him devoutly, with little to no question of his decisions, scared him. He had to much swat over them, too much power. . . and he didn't want to turn into his father.
Because his dad had to much of a hold over them. He could get them to do anything he wanted or keep any secret. He had the power to break them, and break them he did. Kendall didn't want that much power.
He didn't want to disappoint people, didn't want his decisions to effect anyone but himself, but it seemed he didn't have a choice in the matter. The universe wanted him to lead. It didn't understand that the pressure was getting to him more than he would ever let on, didn't realize that he was cracking and breaking.
He was out of control, spiraling down and way too stubborn to admit he needed help. Nothing was controllable in LA. He couldn't keep the ones he loved safe, not with all the free radicals, causing havoc and breaking bonds.
Or maybe part of the problem was that it was creating them, because unknown to everyone, Kendall liked Logan way more than he should. And it only added to the turmoil he was trying to fight. He was fucked up in so many ways that he wanted to do inappropriate things to his best friend, which definitely wasn't acceptable. And it definitely didn't help anything. Nothing did lately.
Everything was out of his hands, and Kendall didn't like that he couldn't protect himself, that he couldn't keep the depression at bay. He felt weak. He felt sick with himself . . . and it only added to the overwhelming pressure.
The damn pressure. It was the cause of all of this. It was why he sat, back against the wall, fresh cuts running down the top of his thighs and hip, low enough that no one would ever see, even with swim trunks on.
It was the only thing that helped. God knows Kendall had tried other methods, healthier ones. But no matter what he did or tried, the pressure wouldn't fucking leave. No matter how many songs he tried to write, or hell, no matter how much alcohol he downed it wouldn't leave him alone.
He tried anything he could, healthy or not. He drank. He tried painting. He sang his heart out. He slept with random girls he met at clubs, even a few guys. He went through a brief period where coke was a nightly experience. But, for reasons unknown to him, none helped. All they did was add to the disgusting feeling settling in his stomach.
He couldn't stand himself. Every action he did only stemmed to fuel his self-hate, and the cutting was no different.
But it actually worked. Sure, after he was done he felt like he might throw up from the overwhelming sensation of just how wrong it was, but the pressure would be gone . . . at least for a little while.
It would be back, sometimes in a few days, other times a few hours, but he did get small portions of relief, and he could live with that. It could be enough.
Suicide wasn't an option. He didn't want to die. His family didn't deserve that, neither did his friends. He loved them, and he would never think of ending his life for such selfish reasons.
Regardless of the fact that cutting was the most selfish thing Kendall had ever done in his entire life. He didn't even want to think what would happen if his mom found out. She would feel horrible, and probably blame herself, even though none of this was her fault. How would he explain it to Katie? She was only ten, but she acted like she was thirty. Katie looked up to him. She looked to him ever since their dad had left. He couldn't let her know what her big brother did late at night, in the confines of the bathroom. He was being selfish, so he would keep it to himself. Suffering in silence. Thinking that he's strong enough to carry the burden alone.
It's what drove the blade into his flesh for another time, sinking it into the soft skin, dragging it acrossed. Balls of the sickening red erupted liquid from the thin line. Kendall's head lolled back to rest on the wall. The pressure draining from his body. The feeling of being alive taking over as his teeth sunk into his bottom lip, the pain cooling his blood as the cut bled openly.
He could live like this. No one had to know. It was his dirty little secret. And it was going to stay that way.
The small room smelled heavily of bleach. The stench succeeded in stinging his nose, as well has peaking his interest.
It was a common occurrence that always made Logan curious. The first time it happened he had asked Mama Knight if she had cleaned the small bathroom attached to Logan and Kendall's room, but her answer had been no, and ever since, Logan couldn't help but wonder why Kendall would pour bleach over everything.
It had to be Kendall. They were the only two who used the bathroom, and since Logan wasn't doing it, it had to be the blonde boy. Logan had asked Kendall about it, but their leader had said that he didn't know what Logan was talking about, but his shocked expression he quickly tried to hide was still seen by the smart boy. Ever since, he had been keeping a close eye on Kendall.
Logan was worried about him. Kendall, despite his best efforts to look like everything was fine and well, had slowly been drawing away from everyone over the last few months. So slowly that no one else was even realizing it was happening, but Logan was always very attuned to the blonde boy.
He didn't like to think about it often, but if Logan was being completely honest with himself, he had to admit that he had a small crush on Kendall. Not that he would ever tell him that, Logan valued their friendship too much and didn't know what he would do if he lost his best friend.
The sink stood innocently as Logan inspected it carefully, looking for anything that Kendall could be trying to hide. But the pristine white surface just stared back up at him. There was nothing there. Logan was worried he'd never find out what Kendall was hiding. He just hoped it wasn't bad.
He sighed, scanning the room one last time before turning around. But right as he was moving out the door, a spot of color caught his eye.
It was a small drop, so small that he didn't know hoe his eye had been drawn to it. But the contrasting colors seemed to scream to him, begging to be seen, calling out for help.
He stopped in his tracks, slowly turning on the spot and stepping over to the drop. It was laying on the floor, almost hidden behind the shower curtain hanging from the ceiling. Logan felt himself swallow hard, unexplained dread pooling in his stomach.
Dropping to one knee, Logan brought himself closer to the offending color, gazing at it with curiosity. What is it? He thought, stretching his finger forward, the liquid collecting on the pad.
Why was there blood on the floor? Did Kendall get hurt? Did something happen to him?
Without thinking, Logan made his way into his and Kendall's bedroom. There, Kendall was on his bed, laying on his back, staring at the ceiling and looking completely out of it. "Hey Kendall," he said, gaining the blonde's attention. "Are you ok? I found blood on the floor of the bathroom."
Instantly Kendall's face paled and his eyes went wide. He sat up suddenly and fumbled out a response. "W-Why would you find blood? I'm fine. Maybe you should go ask James and Carlos." He tried to keep the panic under control, but hi voice was about an octave higher than normal, and his hand came up to brush against the cuts hidden beneath his clothes absentmindedly.
"Are you sure you're ok?" Logan hadn't missed the high voice, or the way Kendall's hand jumped to his side. "You've been acting off lately."
"I'm fine Logan, don't worry about me."
Logan sighed, walking over and sitting next to the blonde, who leaned ever so slightly away from him, an action that made Logan frown. "You know that you can tell me anything right? That you don't have to hide things from me?"
Kendall felt guilt cloud his mind as Logan looked at him with those big innocent brown eyes, wanting to know so bad if he could do anything to help. And that's all he wanted to do. He wanted to help him.
But Kendall was too far gone now, and maybe, part of him didn't even want to be saved. Because that would mean admitting his problem to the world.
"Yeah Logie," He said, running a shaking hand through his hair as the guilt and self-hate brought the horrible pressure back. "I know. . ."
Kendall was avoiding him. It was so obvious that even James and Carlos were asking Logan if they had gotten into a fight, but the smart boy was just as perplexed with Kendall's behavior as they were. Kendall hadn't even looked him in the eye all week. Ever since Logan had found the blood on the floor.
He knew he should tell someone. The sneaking suspicion about the origin of the blood wouldn't leave his mind, but he dared not speak it out loud unless he was totally out of his mind. Logan buried it in the recess of his mind and scolded himself whenever it floated to the surface. The act was to un-Kendall-like to even consider plausible. And he didn't want Kendall avoiding him more than he already was.
The cold shoulder hurt, and Logan had half a mind to tell Kendall exactly what it was doing to him, but, he didn't want to cause drama. He would just let it work itself out, and in no time Kendall would be back to his usual self.
Or so he hoped.
He was getting sloppy. Ven leaving that little drop of blood was unacceptable. Logan had almost found out everything, and that was something he couldn't afford, couldn't even fathom letting happen. He would just have to more careful form now on. Double checking every move, every drop of blood, and every swipe of his blade.
But the frequency of the act was increasing. At first it happened every week or two. The old cuts have scabbed and faded by the time he drove the blade into his skin again. But then it was happening twice a week, up to the point now, where he was destroying himself almost every night.
The pressure was getting worse. He was worried what would happen if he accidentally went to far. . .
So he kept himself under control. Choosing times when he knew no one would be bothering him and meticulously cleaning the bathroom to ensure there would not be the slightest evidence of his self-destruction.
This was his battle. His fight. And he wouldn't drag anyone else down with him.
Life went on as usual, and Kendall had to wonder how fucked up he was that constantly hurting himself became normal activity. He never lat himself be caught again, never let even a peep get out. His closely guarded secret was staying that way. No matter how guilty he felt every time Logan looked at him with concern shining from his eyes. No matter that he was now avoiding his best friend because he was getting way to close to breaking his walls. No matter that the cutting was becoming less effective.
He was getting desperate. It was killing him that the mystical power that somehow lifted his pressure was disappearing, causing him to cut deeper and deeper, intensifying the pain anyway he could. Call it pain tolerance or a major sign that he needed to stop. He was desperate enough that one night he smeared Icy-Hot into his open cuts.
That had hurt like hell. He hadn't even had to hut himself he next day.
He was overcoming it. He was coping. He would be ok.
Or so he hoped.
Hospital waiting rooms were horrible. Even worse was the ER waiting room. People bustling in and out. Broken bones, car accidents, concussions . . . suicide attempts.
They had been waiting for exactly fifty-six minutes. Logan watched each tick of the second hand, and each tick pulsed, like blood pounding behind a bruise. Torturing him from the inside out.
He didn't think he'd ever be able to get the image of Kendall, lying on the bathroom floor, in a pool of his own blood out of his mind. Every time he shut his eyes, even just for a second, the mental picture came swimming back to the surface. He knew it would probably be months, maybe even years, before he stopped having nightmares about it.
Looking down, Logan clothes were still covered in blood. He had refused to change when they arrived at the hospital, solely focused on what was happening to Kendall. The only thing they could get him to do was wash the red liquid off his arms.
And as he watched the water run red, all he could think of was that it was Kendall's blood. Kendall needed this blood and he was washing it away. Why couldn't he help Kendall? Why couldn't he do something? What did he fail him?
Everything was moving in slow motion. Minutes seemed to take hours as the three boys sat and waited for news on their fallen friend.
Mama Knight and Katie had been in Minnesota visiting family until James had frantically called them with the news. They were taking the first flight back to California, but it wasn't even leaving for another three hours. Mama Knight told them to call immediately if anything changed or happened.
When James had hung up the phone that was all he would tell them, but still, they had heard some of her broken sobs through the phone. They could only imagine how Katie was holding up.
Kelly had met them at the hospital, per Mrs. Knight's request (even in hysteria she was still the loving protective women she always was), but she was of little consolation to them. All driven to tears and trying to figure out how everything had gone so wrong so fast, the only thing hat would comfort them was the knowledge that Kendall was alive. That he got through this.
After one hundred and seven minutes of terrified waiting, all of them teetering on the edge of a complete mental breakdown, a doctor approached them, his face impassive, hardened by years of delivering bad news.
"Kendall Knight?" He asked, scanning their group with little interest.
They immediately stood up, the tears stopping for a moment so it wouldn't obstruct absorbing every detail. "Are you his family?" He asked.
"No." Kelly said, taking charge. "They had to fly here." She then handed him a paper, no doubt telling him that he was allowed to reveal Kendall's medical condition to them. That women was a goddess.
The doctor scanned the paper briefly before nodding and putting it under his clip board. "Alright then. . . I can't tell you much, but I can tell you that he's stable at the moment. It appears he cut through a major artery in his leg. It's good you found him when you did. If he had been there much longer, it's doubtful he would be alive now."
"Can we see him?" Carlos asked, looking hopeful. James and Logan quickly nodded in agreement.
"I suppose." They followed him down a corridor, Kelly staying in the lobby, saying she would get a hold of Mrs. Knight for them. Like the waiting, the walk seemed to last forever. Logan's feet were heavy and dragging. It seemed like he was going backwards instead of towards his best friend, towards the boy that meant absolutely everything to him.
After an eternity of walking, they were standing outside a door. The doctor gestured at them to go in, and without waiting for more of an invitation, they pushed it open, all stopping dead in their tracks when they saw Kendall lying on the bed.
He was pale. Too pale. So pale that he looked like he could be dead. The bags under his eyes were prominent, making them wonder how they had never noticed it before. A heart monitor was steadily beeping in the corner and an IV was stuck into his arm. It didn't look like Kendall at all. He was lacking life, and that usual confidence Kendall always carried with him. But, then again, maybe it had been gone for awhile now.
It broke Logan. He thought he had been in hell before, but now the memories of Kendall's blood soaked body was cutting into the scene before him. There was just something about seeing Kendall looking so small, so weak, so fucking broken, that completely destroyed him.
What he wouldn't give to banish the images from his head. To ensure that they never entered his thoughts again. That they would never haunt him whenever he blinked. The hope was undoubtedly in vain.
Without talking, the three of them sat in the chairs next to Kendall's bed, all eyes trained on the blonde's face. Waiting for him to wake up. Waiting, again, for answers.
The only part of his body that felt warm was his left hand. Everything else was ice cold. He repressed a shiver and tried to reach and pull the blankets up. Except for the fact that he couldn't move his arms.
With a lot more strength that should be necessary, Kendall opened his eyes, immediately recognizing the white room that surrounded him. And immediately reliving that act that brought him to it.
Looking to his left, he saw the reason his hand was warm. Logan was sitting there, hand tightly clasped around his, shoulders hunched, head down, and the most horrible sobs ripping themselves out of his chest. Kendall felt his heart break at the sight and squeezed Logan's hand lightly, not having the energy to apply the appropriate pressure.
The smart boys' head immediately shut up, his tear stained face looking to Kendall with disbelief. For a moment they simply stared at each other before Logan came to his senses. In an instant he was on Kendall, being gentle in mind of his injuries, but savoring the contact he was having with the taller boy, gasping for breath, crying even harder that before, grasping the front of Kendall's hospital gown, never wanting to let go.
Kendall returned the contact with as much energy as he could muster, clinging to Logan like he was a life line, burying his head in the crook of his neck.
"Why?" Logan finally chocked out, sounding like he hadn't used his voice in days. 'Why did you do it Kendall? Why would you do that to us?"
Kendall couldn't even speak. It had been over six years since he had last cried and it was like his body was trying to make up for it now. He could hardly breath as he shook in Logan's arms, the weight of all his terrible decisions crashing on him, suffocating him. The horrible guilt was worse than ever as he felt Logan sobbing too. He had done this. He had never wanted to die, not until he saw the look on Logan's face. Now he thought he might deserve it.
"I didn't mean to." He sobbed, his tears falling on Logan's skin. "I wasn't trying to kill myself. I just went too far this time. . . "
"How can you not mean to attempt suicide?" Logan pulled away to look at him, but Kendall couldn't bring himself to look in the smart boy's eyes. He was too ashamed.
"It got to deep. Too fat and. . . and by the time I realized what I'd done . . .
He broke into sobs again, barely able to get the words out. "It was too late."
"This is all my fault." Logan dead panned, keeping his emotions in, trying to be strong for Kendall.
"Logan, it's not-"
"Don't you dare tell me it's not Kendall! I knew something was wrong with you, but I still said nothing. I didn't do anything to help you ! And then. . . when I found that blood on the floor and I thought that-" He sniffled and bit his quivering lower lip, "I thought that you might be. . . hurting yourself. But I thought I was just being paranoid, because you're Kendall, and I never thought. . ."
"Don't." Kendall whispered, grabbing Logan's shoulders. "You did ask me. You asked about everything and I could tell you were worried about me, but I'm the one that brushed you off. I'm the one who never wanted to talk about anything. I'm the one who didn't want help. It was never you Logan, so please don't think that."
"Why didn't you want to talk about it?"
Kendall swallowed hard, looking down in shame. "I thought I could handle it. I didn't want to admit I was hurting. I guess I didn't want to admit I needed help. And I didn't want you guys to feel guilty for letting this happen. It's no one's fault but mine."
"No one's fault for what?" Logan asked, feeling stupid for asking so many questions, but they were never ending.
Kendall sat up slightly, trying to get more comfortable, wincing when his right side was jostled. Heavy bandages constricted his movements, and Logan sprung to his feet, and moving toward the call button. "Don't" Kendall said, settling back down into the pillows. "I just moved wrong." Logan nodded slowly, still scanning him for any signs of discomfort. He sat back down on the bed, which made Kendall smile slightly, afraid that Logan would return to his chair and not opt for being closer to him.
Logan was, however, still looking at Kendall expectantly, waiting for an answer. Kendall couldn't hold it in and before he could even think about stopping himself, he was telling Logan everything. Everything about his dad leaving and how it still hurts to think about him. About how LA was such a wild card. How he never wanted to lead anybody. And all about that fucking pressure that never seemed to leave him no matter how hard he tried. He told him about the alcohol, and the drugs, even the sex. Everything was out in the open, and they were both in tears again by the end.
"Oh my god." was all Logan could say when Kendall had finished. He dragged his palm over his cheeks, collecting the tears that had fallen.
"Please don't hate me." Kendall squeaked, voice small and feeble, the most lost and pitiful look on his face.
"Why in the world would I hate you?" Logan said. Shocked by Kendall's exclamation.
"Because I'm such a fuck up. Look at all the stuff I've done."
"It doesn't matter what you've done Kendall!" Logan reached out and grabbed the blonde boy's hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze. "Just please, don't do it anymore. We can go back to Minnesota. We can forget this whole boy band thing ever existed. I don't fucking care what we do as long as you're happy and safe."
"I wouldn't do that to you guys. . ."
"Like hell you wouldn't Kendall!" Logan was getting frustrated. "The only thing any of us care about is you! James, Carlos, and I, would give up all of this in a second to never have to go through anything like this again. You don't know what it's like to walk in to a bathroom and see your best friend covered in blood, thinking that he's dead already! You almost were Kendall! You almost died! So screw being famous and singing if it means we lose you forever. You're the only thing that matters to us. You're the only thing that matters to me. . ."
Logan really couldn't care less if Kendall found out about his crush at this point. It just didn't matter, the only thing that did was keeping Kendall safe and unharmed. Except he wasn't trying to save Kendall from an idea or a bully. He was trying to save him from himself. And somehow, that made it ten times harder. "I don't care what I have to do." Logan continued, shaking his head slightly. "I'll force you into rehab. I'll do it all by myself if I have to. I'll do anything in the fucking world just please don't leave me!"
"Logan. . . " Kendall felt horrible. The whole reason he hid was because he didn't want to see the people he loved suffering and in pain because of him. Logan looked like he could throw up at any moment. His skin was pale and it looked like he hadn't slept in weeks.
"I'm not giving you a choice on whether you want help or not." Logan stated getting that determination he picked up from Kendall over the years. "You're getting it, and I know your mom will agree with me."
His mom. His sister. Until this moment Kendall had been solely focused on the boy in front of him, but now the entire picture came to the forefront of his mind, bringing with them even more disgust in himself. 'Where are they?"
Logan didn't need to ask to know what Kendall was talking about. "On their way." He looked over at the clock hanging on the wall. "Their flight gets in in about an hour. Kelly is going to pick them up."
"James and Carlos?"
"Food court. I told them to take a break for awhile. None of us have slept all night"
Kendall nodded, looking around the room curiously. How long had he been here? Seeming to read his mind, Logan continued talking. "You were out for about eight hours. After they stitched you up and gave you quite a few blood transfusions. They said you'll make a full recovery." He paused, sadness in his eyes. "That is if you let yourself."
And there they were, back on the subject. Kendall was hoping to avoid the deeper talk for awhile. He's pretty sure he had used his emotional quota for the year already today. He had cried more than he ever had in his life, well, maybe the same as when his dad left. But apparently, Logan wasn't going to drop it. "Do we have to talk about this right now?"
"Ok, when do you want to talk about it Kendall? When you're dead on a slab in the morgue instead of laying on a hospital bed? When you're high or drunk and can't even string words together? When would be a good time for you?" Kendall just looked down, avoiding Logan's eye. "That's what I thought." He saw a tear fall into Kendall's lap and had to fight the pain in his chest.
"Look," Logan said, taking both of Kendall's hands in his own. "I used to be scared of what you'd do if you found out about this, but now I just don't care. Because when I walked into that bathroom and saw you lying there. . . I couldn't fucking breath! And I was so worried that I'd never get to tell you how I feel because you were so unhappy that you tried to kill yourself, and I'd just stood by and let it happen. That I had just sat in the living room and watched a movie with James and Carlos while you were taking your own life away. It's killing me Kendall! And I don't even care what you'll think anymore, because I fucking like you! As in way more than I should! And you can hate me and call me disgusting all you want, but please, just know that I care about what happens to you. And I will do everything in my power to make sure you never make another mark on yourself again. I can't lose you Kendall! I just can't!"
When asked later, Kendall would simply say there was nothing else he could have done. He detached Logan's hands from his own and the smart boy's face dropped for a fraction of a second before Kendall replaced his hands on Logan's cheeks, bringing him down into a searing kiss.
It was desperate. Their mouths fitting together like they were looking for an answer, searching each others souls, trying to find something neither of them was sure existed.
But underneath the harsh edge, there was a softness. It penetrated through the desperation, a sweetness enveloping them that couldn't be replaced. An excess of amazing feeling they never wanted to let go of.
And, most importantly for Kendall, the moment Logan's lips made contact with his, the horrible pressure that had been filling his body since he woke up was completely obliterated. It was better than anything he had ever tried. Better than drugs. Better than alcohol. Way better than the cutting. And instead of filling the hollow space in his chest with uneasiness and self-hate, a wonderful bliss was moving into his chest, making him feel lighter than he had in ages. Making him feel good, Making him feel free, Making him feel alive.
It wasn't just a kiss. It was a promise. A promise that Logan would do anything and everything to help the blonde boy. A promise that Kendall would tell Logan from now on when something was bothering him. A promise that they would get through this together. A promise that they would never leave.
They broke apart slowly, their lips lingering together for a long moment. They were holding onto that first kiss together. Logan rested his forehead against Kendall's, both of them gasping for breath.
"Tell me you mean this . . . " Kendall said, clutching Logan's dark hair between his fingers. "Tell me this is real."
"It's real." Logan replied, pulling Kendall to his chest, rubbing circles into his back as Kendall went to gripping his waist. "It's definitely real." He kissed the messy blonde hair he loved do much as they both just sat, each others presence the only thing they needed to feel content.
This was the breaking point. Kendall was finally tipping the scales in the right direction, turning his life around of the better. No longer would he draw blood out of his body. No more would he stain the bathroom floor red. And no more would he let the pressure rule his life.
Logan was the only outlet he need, the only one he ever wanted. The day wasn't over and he had a lot of explaining to do. The pressure would build up again, but he had discovered a new way of coping, a new method of relief.
The color red could mean a lot of different things. It could mean disaster, bloodshed, and by that extension, death. But it could also mean warmth, friendship, and love. It was the color of the heart. And the heart was what allows us to feel. Kendall had always seen red as an evil color, the color of his down fall, and the color that haunted his nightmares. Now a whole different connotation was opening up in front of his eyes as Logan continued to hold him.
It meant everything he wanted, everything he thought he would never had . . . and everything he almost lost.
Yeah. . . I don't really know if I like it or not. Tell me please? I might come back in a few days and get rid of the many typos this probably has. I'm sure they are plentiful, but I'm lazy right now. Please tell me what you think, cause I'm actually pretty nervous about this one. I don't know why, but I am. I've got some more stuff that's really close to being ready for posting. Very exciting! =) Thanks for reading!