Edward Masen thinks he's got everything figured out. He's got the money, the looks, the girls and the intelligence. He's a typical rich kid—he goes to the parties, he drinks the drinks and does the drugs. He's just like everyone else. Until he meets a girl with a mysterious voice.

Enter Bella Swan, Edward's polar opposite. A poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks, she struggles not to fit in and is willing to go to any lengths to be different. She's an enigma to everyone, including Edward, and while he's busy trying to figure her out, she teaches him a little about himself—and love.


Twilight and all its characters belong to the lovely Stephenie Meyer. I just like to play with them.


Ayo! Thank you for choosing to read this story. A quick note before we start:

I've been really obsessed with movies this summer... more so than usual. So I want to give you all a point of reference for this Edward and Bella, seeing as a lot of what I've been watching recently has filtered into my imagination for this story.

Edward: a combination of Ryan Phillipe in Cruel Intentions (not as much a douche, but with the same impatience and disdain for those who get in the way of what he wants), Hayden Christensen in Factory Girl (for his down-to-Earth, laid back disposition), our fave Rob Pattinson in Remember Me (for making having Daddy issues sexy) and Shiloh Fernandez, who plays Peter in Red Riding Hood (for all the dark brooding and aggressiveness). They all seem kinda random, but if you mesh them together—and add a little extra—you'll get our Edward.

Bella: even more wacky than Edward's combo.. we have Sienna Miller in Factory Girl (for her 1960's sex-appeal, fashion sense and strangely chic smoking habit), Mila Kunis in Black Swan (not for the lesbianism, but for her confidence and carefree and daring attitude), Vanessa Ann Hudgens in Beastly (I am not a huge fan of hers, but I like how mature and insightful her character is and how she sees through all the bullshit) and she's got the spirit of Florence Welch of Florence + the Machine (haven't actually met her, though I'd love to. Her music speaks for her).

Alright, so there's enough of that. Hopefully you get a good idea.

Musical inspiration for this chapter:
Forever – Drake, Kanye West, Lil Wayne and Eminem
Stadium Love – Metric
On Fire – Eminem
Fade Away – Breaking Benjamin

Alright, that's a long one. Now that I've set the stage a little (a lot)... here we go!

Chapter One: First Sight

What do you think about love at first sight? You think you can love somebody just by looking at them?
-Blue Valentine

Goddamn horny nerds. Who the fuck would have thought that I would find myself in a room with a bunch of horny nerds on a Friday night?

Not me, that's for damn sure.

I mean, I go to Harvard. You would think that I would be surrounded by pretentious prick-heads who got one question wrong on their SATs; ones that thought they were all going to find the cure for AIDS or defend the next OJ Simpson; ones who spent all their time studying so that they could graduate top of their class and inherit Daddy's company; ones that messed with nuclear chain reactors in their spare time and built hydrogen bombs over the summer.

Boy, if you thought that, you are fucking wrong.

My fellow Crimson Fuckheads are some of the biggest party-goers in the world. Most of them have the means to throw the biggest parties Cambridge has ever seen, so why the fuck not? It's the Friday before we all leave to go home for Christmas, we've all taken our midterms and packed up our shit. Basically, we're all ready to blow the fuck out of here. So why not throw a party, right?


Tonight I found myself at the penthouse apartment of Benjamin Cheney, heir to the Cheney Corporation millions and Playboy extraordinaire—and by Playboy extraordinaire, I mean that he's thrown parties in which actual, real-live, asses-hanging-out-and-titties-bouncing-in-your-face Playboy Bunnies were in attendance.

Oh yeah, I definitely went to that one.

Booze is flowing from anything that has a nozzle, music is pumping through his several-thousand dollar sound system, girls are dancing and taking their tops off and making out with each other. Most people are holding the standard plastic red cup, but a select few—mainly the girls that thought they were too sophisticated and classy to drink what everyone else was drinking, namely Lauren Mallory—came with their own bottles of vintage something-or-other.

As I pushed through the crowd, I saw a group of kids from my Organic Chemistry lab clustering around a low coffee table. As the room swayed, they broke apart a little and revealed what was on it.

Six long, straight rows of cocaine.

My mouth watered.

I watched as my lab partner Eric Yorkie leaned over the table and snorted about a quarter of a line through what I presumed to be a tightly rolled hundred dollar bill before leaning over and shoving his tongue down Jessica Stanley's throat.

Getting the idea about how much Harvard people party yet?

I ignored the temptation to join them. In about two hours I would have to catch a plane home to my lovely parents back in bum-fuck-nowhere Washington and my mother hated it when I showed up to dinner high. Not to mention the fact that my father would not appreciate my zoning out while he grilled me about my activities this past semester.

All the more reason to head back over to that table...

I continued to push my way through the hordes of people. I made my way past the crowd around the beer kegs and instead headed to the liquor cabinet that I knew was fully stocked in Ben's study—yes, arrogant assholes have studies. I doubted he would notice that anything was missing, but I knew that if he did he wouldn't really care. Odds were, he would be wasted for days and by time he came off his buzz he would hardly know what the fuck he had in the first place.

As if to prove my point, when I pushed the door open, I found him sitting in his plush leather desk chair, head thrown back shamelessly, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut. His hands were somewhere down near his groin, and I could see the top of a head of brown hair. Upon my entry, he raised his head and opened his eyes, and when he saw who I was, he grinned wickedly.

"Edward! My man!" he slurred.

"How's it going, Ben?" I asked, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling safe and spinning the dial effortlessly. A heavy beat thrummed through the open door from the party outside and I found myself nodding my head as I spun in the code. Grinning in satisfaction at the loud click, I opened the safe and scanned its contents.

"Ben," I called over my shoulder.

"What up?"

"Any preference as to something you want to keep?"

"Bro," he drawled. "I don't even know what's in there. What's mine is yours, man. Take whatever."

Case and fucking point.

I pulled a flask from the inside pocket of my black Armani trench coat—yes, I can be one of those pretentious prick-heads too—and popped open the top. Unscrewing the cap of a decent looking cognac from the sixties, I poured remaining liquid in the bottle into the flask and then pocketed it. Tossing the bottle in the trash on my way out, I turned back to Ben one last time.

"That Angela?" I asked, nodding at the girl that was giving him head under the desk.

"Sure is," he replied. "Angie, say hi to Edward."

A fairly pretty head popped up, smiling at me. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and then proceeded to wave at me with the same hand. "Hey Edward," she said brightly. Ben's hand came forward and began stroking her hair.

"What's up, Angela? How were your midterms?"

She shrugged, adjusting her glasses. "They went well. My Shakespeare professor is a bit of a dick, so that one was a little difficult, but other than that I think I managed to pass."

"That's always a good thing," I murmured, fingering the flask inside my pocket.

"What about you?" she asked.

"Baby," Ben murmured, stroking the back of her neck. "Edward doesn't really wanna talk about his exams right now, do you bud?" he asked, looking at me with a pointed look. What he meant was that he didn't want to talk about exams. He wanted Angela to suck his dick. And he wanted me to leave.

"They went fine," I responded with a grin. I gestured to the hallway with my head. "I'm going to head back out. Have fun, you two."

She had already turned around, her head commencing its tell-tale bobbing. Ben's head lolled and I took that as my cue to leave. Chuckling, I turned on my heel and pulled the door open, grinning again as Ben let out a loud moan before I closed the door.

Good for him.

Despite what I had just seen, I had nothing but respect for Angela Webber. She had been in a few of my classes over the last two and a half years, and for all two of those years she had been the very exclusive girlfriend of the boy whose cock her mouth was wrapped around. A boy who had been, despite all of his wild gallivanting and drunken escapades, completely faithful to her.

They were going to get fucking married one day, so if they had no problem acting out in public, then I wasn't going to pass judgment.

I wasn't looking forward to pushing through mass of drunken frat boys and strung out party girls again, so I took a swig from my flask, enjoying the sharp burn that scorched its way down my throat. I sighed, looking around for some alternative route. I looked to the left, toward the doors that led to Ben's bedroom. Some girl was getting fucked against the door, so that way was not an option. I looked to the right, the front door that led to the hallway, but it was packed so tightly that it would have taken me two hours to get through.

The back wall of the room held two sets of French doors that led out to a little veranda. Perfect. Taking a huge breath, I steeled myself. Then, in a ballsy move, I pushed myself right in the middle of the throbbing mass.

Bodies pressed up against me from every direction, sticky and hot. I allowed myself to pause for a moment, gyrating and grinding against whoever's ass was pressed against my dick. The music seemed to thrum through my veins, that's how fucking intense the beat was. It rocked my body and soul in ways that made my teeth clench and sweat form on my brow. Reaching forward, I clenched the girl's hips, pulling her back against me forcefully, almost as if I were going to fuck her through her clothes.

Lights pulsed. My body rocked. Hers pressed. The music pounded.

Breathing in. Breathing out.

So fucking fast.

Almost as soon as the ferocity hit, it was gone and I was moving through the crowd again, being carried out by the tide. I pressed through the crowd, desperate for a smoke. I could never be in these situations for long without feeling the anxiety that wracked my nerves, and now they were being wracked to the point that my hands were trembling. I needed to be away from everything fast and heavy.

The music.

The dancing.


I pushed through the French doors on the other side of the room, gasping in the crisp Massachusetts winter air with relief. I leaned against the railing of the balcony, bracing myself on my widespread hands, panting heavily as my head dropped. After I seemed to regain my breath, I reached into my pocket to pull out my flask.

Nothing like a little liquid courage.

It was as I was reaching for it that I happened to glance over and see the glowing butt of a cigarette on the other end of the veranda. A cigarette that was hanging from the mouth of a body. A very small, very dark body. Petite, compact, round...

"It's nice out here, isn't it?" the voice drawled.

The fuck? I was stopped cold by that voice. It was soft but clear, low and seductive. Femininely husky.

"Uh, yeah," I panted. "Yeah, it is."

I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but God, keep talking. Your voice is like a fucking harp.

She hmmed, deep in the back of her throat. That's not the only thing she'll be doing in the back of her throat, I thought to myself. Completely random and I haven't even seen the girl's face, but whatever. A fuck is a fuck is a duck is a fuck.

"But I doubt you came here so you could look at the stars," she murmured, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"Well what did you come here for?" I asked, standing up a little straighter. Keep her talking.

She chuckled. "I didn't come willingly," she purred softly. No, but you will be in about five seconds, princess. Just let me stick my hand down your panties. "My roommate dragged me down here. Said I needed to get out of the dorm for a little bit." She scoffed. "Had I known that this was what I was coming to, I would have chained myself to my bed."

Oh my fucking God...

Instead I said nothing, fumbling around in my pockets for my cigarettes. They should have been easy to find; small silver case, my initials engraved on the top. But for some reason, my fingers were not finding purchase on anything but lint and gum wrappers.


A cigarette materialized in front of me, held in a clasp of dainty pale fingers. Taking it gratefully, I nodded in thanks and stuck it between my lips. I pulled the vintage 1912 cigarette lighter I'd swiped from my father's desk drawer out of my pocket, flipped the lid and lit the cigarette, taking a long, appreciative drag.

This girl knows what she's doing. She's not smoking the cheap stuff.

"So," she said, taking another drag. "What's your story?"

I inhaled, held the smoke in my lungs, letting it burn. I blew it out, slowly. "I don't have one," I replied, pocketing the lighter. "I'm just a typical rich kid doing what typical rich kids do."

She pulled on the cigarette again before speaking. "No," she said after a moment of thought. "I don't think that's true." Exhale. She pointed at me with her cigarette, explaining. "I saw that shirt in a window display at Salvation Army." Another drag. "So you're either not typical, or not rich." She exhaled, slowly, letting the smoke linger. "Which is it?"

I don't know what it is about the way she said it, but something in my chest expanded and I just looked at her—or her silhouette—in awe and shock. I could feel the cigarette burning in my fingertips but for about five seconds, I could not bring myself to move.

Pull yourself together, you pussy.

Tossing it to the ground, I stubbed it out with the toe of my Armani loafers and turned around to head back inside. I needed to get away from her and her fucking glorious voice. Now.

I didn't like how she was making me feel; like the past two and a half years were just a big joke. Parties and classes and parties and drinking and parties and fucking and parties. Like she could see straight through it.

It made me uncomfortable.

I fucking didn't like it.

Her voice stopped me.

"For what it's worth," she called softly. "I think you're plenty rich, Edward Masen. I just don't think you're typical."

Ignoring the strange feeling that blossomed in my belly with her statement, I pulled open the door and headed back into the party. My nerves were abated for the moment, and I needed to get away from this girl. She knew me but I had no fucking clue who she was, which put me even more on edge. Plus, I wanted to go find Emmett before I headed to the airport to go back to Forks. I needed to tell him that if he was staying at the apartment over break, he needed to stay the fuck away from my porn.

And my Twizzlers, because yes, those two are on the same level in my book.

He wasn't hard to spot—nearly two hundred and ninety pounds of pure muscle and grit made him easily visible from nearly a mile away, and the platinum blonde that was permanently attached to his hip didn't make it any more difficult. She wasn't unattractive by any stretch of the imagination, but she certainly wasn't my type. While porn-star-looking girls were fun in bed when they were fulfilling a fantasy, they were not someone I actually wanted to converse with.

Emmett and Rose didn't converse. They fucked.

A lot.

They were perfect for each other.

I approached him quickly, nodding at Rose in greeting. She returned my gesture, rubbing Emmett's back to get his attention. He turned to look at me.

"Edward!" he called loudly.

"Hey," I responded. "I'm not going to stay here much longer, I have a flight to catch in about two hours. I just wanted to make sure we were clear on a few things before I left."

"Sure thing man," he murmured, not looking at me. I assumed he was checking out the ass of some girl walking behind me, and I could only guess that I was correct when Rosalie swatted him on the back of the head. "Ow," he growled at her, winking. I gagged. "What's up?" he asked me.

I got straight to the point. "Stay away from my Twizzlers," I said shortly. "And my porn. And don't have sex on my bed. Or any other flat surface that isn't in your room. You know how much I hate that shit."

Rosalie rolled her eyes. Emmett smirked.

"Dude, you're good with the Twizzlers, I hate those things." Yes, that's why when I came back from Cabo last Spring Break three whole packages were gone. "As for your porn, I won't have time to hack into your computer. I'll be busy breaking into Fort Knox this week."

I laughed at his joke. He was right though, the security on my laptop was tighter than my father's asshole—not a pretty mental picture, but the analogy is pretty fucking accurate. I had made sure to install extra security and hide the videos in at least five different folders after the last time Emmett had hacked in and I found him whacking off on the living room couch.

The living room couch that I sat on.

Unsanitary pig, Emmett is.

"No go on the sex though," he continued. "You've got the comfiest mattress in the whole damn building and there's no way in hell I'm not taking advantage of your two-week absence."

I felt my nostrils flare. "And you would know how comfortable it is because..." I didn't wait for an answer. My blood boiled. "I'm burning that fucking thing when I get back. And all the sheets I own because I can't be sure which ones you fucked on."

He laughed. "You could just give it to me."


"Aw come on."


He sighed. "Well, Rosie, I tried."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm going to head out. Get a good fuck in on my bed because it won't be here after I get back. And I'm not kidding, stay the fuck away from my Twizzlers." I grabbed Rose's hand and brought it to my lips. "Rosalie, it was a pleasure." I reached over and shook Emmett's hand.

"I'm not kidding," I warned.

He just laughed.

I turned and pushed my way through crowd again, finally making it to the front door after what seemed like an hour. Turns out it was only fifteen minutes, but that was fifteen minutes I really didn't have. I was running behind schedule, and if I didn't make it to the airport soon, I'd miss my flight.

My father hated tardiness.

Like I fucking care.

Jenks was waiting outside the apartment building in the Towncar, and when I emerged he flashed his lights to alert me of his presence before climbing out, walking around and opening the back door. "Good evening, sir," he said quietly. "Your bags are already in the trunk and if the traffic is right, we should be at the airport in about twenty minutes."

I held up my wrist, checking my Rolex. "Cutting it a little close," I mumbled before stepping into the car. He tensed, as if expecting to be reprimanded. "Not your fault, though," I added, pulling my iPhone from my pocket.

"Yes sir," he replied before shutting the door.

I scrolled through the various menus, trying to settle on a movie to rent for the flight. That was difficult to do considering there was fucking nothing good out at the moment, but I ended up with The Adjustment Bureau and settled for that. Letting it load, I switched the phone off and looked out the window of the car, watching the streetlights whiz by.

I couldn't get my mind off that fucking voice. It was a shame that I hadn't seen her face, because someone with a voice like that had to have the face of an angel. Or Carmen Electra, at the very least. Contemplating all possibilities, I drew a picture of her in my head. She'd have blond hair, because a voice like that only belonged to porn stars, and the only porn stars that were appealing to me were blonds—brunettes just looked old. She probably had blue eyes, though green were acceptable too. Huge tits that I couldn't even fit in my hands. A pussy that was completely bare...

I huffed in irritation, palming my erection lightly before adjusting uncomfortably in my seat. I couldn't get her out of my fucking head, and that bothered me. I didn't know who the hell she was or what she looked like, yet she knew exactly who I was. She'd seen right through me in the two minutes that I was out on the balcony and as much as I wanted to know who she was, that concept scared the shit out of me.

The car glided through the snowy night without a glitch and I arrived at the airport right on time. Jenks helped carry my bags to check-in and took care of the luggage search. When it was loaded and I was ready to head to the terminal, I thanked him for his services, tipping him with a one hundred dollar bill. He seemed surprised by this, but I merely waved him off and wished him a Merry Christmas. I watched him walk away until he was out of my line of vision and then went to board the plane.

As I settled into my seat in first class, my mind went back to the girl with the cigarette. I cursed under my breath. She was going to plague me until I figured out who she was, haunting me until I was able to put a face and a name to the voice. Rubbing my temples roughly, I leaned back in my seat and put my headphones in, hoping that maybe I could drown her out.

Her voice only got louder, and the flight back to Forks was a bumpy one.

Not because of the turbulence.

I took a deep breath when the Jaguar pulled up to my parents' house. The door was opened for me by a driver I didn't recognize and bags materialized next to my feet. I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I mentally prepared myself for the grueling dinner I was about to face. It was eight o'clock here in Washington, and I rubbed my eyes. It was eleven back in Cambridge, and given the fact that I had pulled an all-nighter the night before to prepare for my Calculus exam, I wasn't in the brightest of spirits.

Meaning I was fucking tired.

I grabbed the handle of one of my bags, brushing the driver off, and headed for the massive oak front door. My father was one for the grandiose, and if his house was not a symbol for it then there was nothing in the world that would do better. The door was huge, the windows colossal. The walls towered over me, looming ominously in a way that would have frightened me had I not lived there half my life. The exterior of the house was not inviting; it looked like it belonged to an evil villain in a Disney movie.

Fucking Beauty and the Beast or something.

I rang the doorbell, pinching the bridge of my nose as I waited for my mother's butler-of-the-month to open it. It was cold as hell and the longer I stood on the front stoop, the more cranky I got. Back in Massachusetts I was working on a good buzz, but of course that got interrupted by my parents—even from three fucking thousand miles away. I had to endure a long ass plane ride, including a layover in Chicago, next to a woman and her baby, who vomited all over me. Then another long ass ride back to Forks with a driver I didn't know who was insistent upon playing Otis Redding all the way from Seattle. And now I was standing on my mother's very cold front stoop, waiting for a butler to answer the door. Not my mother, but a butler.

Needless to say, my mood was not the greatest.

Fucking come ON.

Finally the door was opened by an older, grandfatherly-looking gentleman, complete with gray hair and a mustache. He reminded me of John Clease. He bowed to me slightly, already apologizing profusely. "Mr. Masen, I'm so sorry, sir. There was a problem in the kitchen that needed my attention.

"Don't worry about it," I murmured, handing him my bag. "Just take these up to my room. I won't tell Mrs. Masen."

He looked at me blankly.

"Upstairs, third door on the right," I informed him. He looked fairly new, his movements still a little unsure and nervous. I felt a little bad for him. I handed him a twenty dollar bill, and then murmured, "If you hurry, you'll get out of sight long enough to avoid her."

Unfortunately, he was too late. Esmonster walked around the corner, all long talons and fire-breathing bitchiness. She looked the same as ever, her hair coiled back tightly and her feet crammed into black designer something-or-other heels. She seemed to smell the butler's unease for she walked right up to him and asked, "Is there a problem, William?"

He shook his head. "No, ma'am. I was just about to take Mr. Masen's bags to his room."

"You may as well get yours while you're there," she said, an eyebrow arching hostilely over her cold green eye.

I was still standing on the front stoop, of course. My balls were probably going to fall off any second.


"You're fired, William," she said coolly. Just like that.

"Mrs. Masen," he sputtered, "please..."

"Tell your wife I said to get well soon," Mother said dismissively. She turned on her heel. "I expect you out of my house within ten minutes."

And with that she exited the room.

William's head hung low and I could hear sniffles. I hated these scenes my mother loved to produce. They made me feel like shit. And shit was not something I wanted to feel like right now. Hence the desperate attempt at getting drunk in Massachusetts. I cleared my throat and he seemed to get his bearings, moving away from the door. I stepped in and closed the door behind me.

William grabbed my bag without a word and headed for the staircase. I made to follow him but heard my mother's voice call out coldly, "Edward. Dinner is on the table, don't make your father wait."

"Fuck him," I murmured under my breath. "I'll be right there," I called. "I need to make sure he doesn't steal anything!"

I saw William stiffen in front of me and immediately felt awful. But I said nothing. Just followed him up the stairs like a puppy.

Down the hall.

Past Guest Bedroom Number One.

Past Guest Bedroom Number Two.

My room.

He pushed open the door softly before depositing my bags against the wall. He turned to leave, but I took a deep breath and called, "Wait."

He turned to me and I had to steel myself against the agony and despair in his eyes. They were red from unshed tears. His hands were trembling. I had seen a number of butlers get fired from my mother's hire, as well as maids, cooks and drivers. Several of whom I had grown very close to... Carlisle being one in particular... and I had never seen them react this way. Well, Carlisle had come very close to punching my father in the face when he was let go, but other than that they had all traipsed out the door as obediently as saints marching in.

"What she said? About your wife?" He nodded gruffly. "What did she mean?"

He sighed and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "My Stephenie's sick," he said harshly. "Stage five breast cancer. She's in her second round of chemotherapy. I... we exhausted our savings on her medical expenses. We have nothing left. I was... well I..."

He shook his head and turned to leave again. I stopped him.


He turned to me. I motioned him to wait with a finger and turned into my room, rifling through my bag until I found my checkbook and Mount Blanc fountain pen. Resting them against the desk against the inside wall of my room, I quickly scribbled the first amount that came to mind and scribbled my name. Turning back to him, I held it out soundlessly.

"I'm sure this isn't enough," I murmured. "But I hope it helps."

He choked. "Sir, I can't take this. It's... it's too much."

"Please," I whispered. "Take it."

Again, he shook his head. My eyes turned hard.

"Take the money or I will tell my mother you stole my family crest. That bracelet is worth more than this check threefold and she'll have your ass in jail so quickly you won't even be able to think about your wife."

He spluttered but reached out and took the check. "Mr. Masen—"

"William, call me Edward. I'm giving you a hundred thousand dollars, the least you can do is be on a first-name basis with me."

"Edward... this is too much. I... I don't know how I can pay you back..."

"Just get out of here before my mother realizes how long we've been up here. Please. I can't deal with her theatrics tonight. You can consider us even after that."

Because believe me, I would pay one hundred times that check to get her to shut the fuck up for one night.

He nodded quickly and turned to go. I called after him one more time.


He turned.

"I'm sorry."

I hoped he knew that I wasn't just sorry about my mother's behavior, but about his wife also. He just nodded, seeming to understand, and I watched as his back retreated down the stairs. I fell back against the wall, exhausted.

I already want to go back to fucking school. How fucked up is that?

...Fuck I'm tired. I just want to go to bed.

God, or Buddha, or Ghandi or whoever the fuck is living up there right now, please don't make me go down there. I will give everything I own if I don't have to go down there...


Ungh. Goddamn you.


Okay, so I'm invoking creative license here. I don't go to Harvard, I haven't gone to Harvard, I'd give my right tit to go to Harvard. So I obviously have no idea what kinds of shenanigans go on there. But I'm going to make up a bunch of stuff and hope you all go with it, yeah?

So... Esme and Carlisle aren't together. Thoughts? Predictions? Comments?

You've probably guessed our mystery woman is Bella. Snaps and gropes all around. Hopefully I'll introduce her a little later. Just hang on to your knickers, girls.

I'm also going to introduce a new little custom with this story. There's going to be lots of drama (not necessarily the emotional kind of drama), but lots of involvement in theatre and such. So I'm going to recommend a movie at the end of every chapter. If you have a favorite move that you want me to watch or have seen something awesome, or you just know a really fucking fantastic movie quote, PLEASE let me know. Movies are my favorite things and I will love you forever if you feed my addiction.

Okay, so this chapter the MOVIE REC is:

*Blue Valentine*starring Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams: Not because I want to hop into bed with Ryan Gosling, but because I know a few of my readers like the angst. Well, ladies—and gents?—this movie has a fuck-ton of it. And lots of graphic sex scenes, but you can't all be appalled at that because you spend so much time reading smut on here. So... nuff said.

Alright, I've spent way too much time on my soap box. Please review and feed another one of my addictions. I can't set an update schedule because I'm lazy and have a lot of other stuff going on at the moment, but I will do my best to get this one out there. It's gonna be a good one. And I can't promise to get back to every review, but I'm going to try my damnedest.