Thank you to all that reviewed last chapter! Your responses were great. To answer a few questions:

I don't quite have a posting schedule.. everything is a bit touch and go at this point, but I will be updating as much and as fast as possible.

Riley gave Edward a bong.. it's not very relevant to the story since Edward does a fuckton of drugs anyway.. but I forgot to mention it and some of you were curious.

Chapter written to:

The Ballad of Mona Lisa—Panic! at the Disco
Believe Me, I'm Lying—Forever the Sickest Kids
The Motto—Drake
Someday You Will Be Loved—Death Cab for Cutie

I'm gonna keep sitting here with my Snickers and Fanta and I'll see you at the bottom. Enjoy :)


Chapter Four: Atypical Disciple

"Fuck faith! You've got to earn it!"
-The Grey

"Ow, fuck Mom. Stop it."

"Watch your mouth Edward Masen."

I merely rolled my eyes and reached my hands up to bat her fingers away. We'd been at the cat and mouse game for about twenty minutes now. She'd shaken me awake after I passed out and had had her fingers pressed in the open cut on my forehead for about fifteen minutes, claiming she was 'trying to fix it.' Yeah, okay. Whatever. I knew as well as anyone that it was an excuse to inflict even more pain on me.

I winced as she pulled back and grabbed another cotton swab. Saturating it with antiseptic, she stuck it back to my forehead.

"Motherfuck!" I shouted as stinging pain shot through my head.

"Edward stop being dramatic," she snapped, scraping along the cut like she was trying to take off a layer of skin. "You didn't want to go get stitches, but you don't want a scar either. You're going to have to deal with a little bit of pain if you want this to heal as cleanly as possible."

I sighed, sitting back on the toilet seat and closing my eyes. We'd been having this argument for a while and it was easier to give in to her than to keep fighting—for one, when I fought against her she only pressed harder, and two, sometimes her fingers would stray further up my forehead and into my hair and she'd lightly rub my scalp to help ease the headache I'd developed when I'd woken up. Besides the fact that it felt fucking phenomenal it was one of the few motherly things she did anymore, and I took what I could when the opportunity arose.

"Where'd Dad?"

She sighed, focusing on my forehead and not meeting my eyes. "I don't know, Edward."

"Story of my fucking life," I mumbled.

She sighed again. After a moment of tense silence, she said, "You shouldn't have taken his car."

"He shouldn't have acted like a prick," I retorted petulantly. I rolled my eyes as she reached into her First Aid kit and pulled out antibiotic cream. "Mom," I whined. "I'm a boy. Aren't I supposed to rub dirt in my injuries?"

"You're a Masen," she said coolly. "Normal rules don't apply."

Again, story of my fucking life.

I huffed as she pressed a large bandage to my forehead and then stepped back to assess her handiwork.

"Do I suffice?" I asked. "Is the torture over with?"

She rolled her eyes. "I was a nurse for nearly ten years, Edward. I would hardly call it torture."

I stood up from the toilet. "Yeah, well you've been a mother for nearly twenty years and we're still working on that one."

She had the decency to wince.

I brushed past her out into the hallway, making my way toward my bedroom. My head was beginning to throb and I wanted to overdose on painkillers before passing out for the remainder of my stay at home. But as luck would have it, Esme decided to follow me all the way to my room and when I got there, she stood in the doorway and watched as I went through my bags to find the bottle of OxyContin I'd swiped while still at school. I popped the top, watching her tensely out of the corner of my eye as I tipped it up toward my lips.

I wasn't entirely surprised when the bottle disappeared from my hands. She slipped another pill bottle into my hand and when I looked down at it, I scoffed.

"Tylenol? Really?"

She rolled her eyes and went into the bathroom off the side of my room. I heard the sound of pills falling into the toilet, followed by flushing. I grimaced.

"You can't be fucking serious," I said under my breath.

"Yes I can," she responded, tossing the bottle in a trashcan and coming back into my room. "You didn't just have major surgery, Edward. You have a cut on your forehead. You don't need narcotics, you need a mild painkiller and some rest. Take a Tylenol, maybe two—"

"Or eight."

"—get some rest, and we'll see you downstairs for dinner in two hours."

"I'm not coming to dinner."

"Oh, don't give me that Edward," she said, grabbing a shirt up off the floor and neatly folding it. She placed it on the bed, smoothing it out and pulling on the corners of the fold until it was perfectly smooth with no wrinkles. She looked up at me, carefully tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "You're coming to dinner. It's Christmas. If there's one meal out of the whole year you should sit at, it's tonight's."

"If there's one day out of the whole year my father shouldn't punch me in the face, it's tonight." I grabbed the shirt and put it into the shirt drawer of the bureau, patting it down and running my hands down the edge of the stack to ensure that it was evenly aligned. I turned around. "And for the record, I'm still completely shitfaced from an afternoon at a bar. A place I shouldn't be on this one day out of the whole year. Don't you think it's a bit irresponsible of you, as a nurse and a mother, to give me acetaminophen after I've been drinking all day?"

She cocked the bitch brow at me, something she had mastered after twenty years. "It's a bit more responsible than allowing you to take oxy's and after a day of drinking, huh?"

I sniffed, crossing my arms over my chest. I chose not to respond.

"Edward, I know you don't really believe it, but he loves you."

I scoffed. "Right. A busted face says it all, right?"

Her eyes softened at that. I didn't really want to hear what she had to say.

"I'm tired. I'm gonna lie down."

She nodded, laying two Tylenol on my bedside table. "Come to dinner. We're having goose with apple and potato stuffing. And Siobhan has been working on the plum pudding for two weeks."

She said nothing else as she left, turning out the lights and closing the door softly between me. I popped the Tylenol, swallowing them without water, hoping that they would ease the burn in my forehead and the ache behind my eyes. I lay my face into the pillow, cursing my mother. She had the chef prepare a traditional Irish Christmas dinner—something she knew I had a hard time resisting. Reminders of our old home were few and far between now, since I was gone at school most of the time and Edward hated reminders of his time there.

He was traditionally from New York, and on summer vacation from Harvard had gone to Broadway to see a rendition of The Phantom of the Opera in which my mother played Meg Giry. She'd come from Ireland to study drama at Juilliard on a full scholarship—her parents were poor and would not have been able to afford it otherwise—and had gotten the part shortly after graduation. I knew little of their romantic history, but apparently he sought her out backstage after the show and the rest is history. Somehow, she convinced him to return to Ireland with her, where I was conceived and they decided to stay for ten years.

And then, abruptly, we left.

I wasn't sure if I fell asleep, or if I just lay there blankly for a really long time, but it seemed like two minutes later when there was a soft knock on my door. A woman I didn't recognize stuck her head through the door, and said softly in broken a Asian accent, "Excuse me, Mr. Edward. Your mother sent me to wake you. It's time for your dinner."

"Tell her I'm not coming," I said, rolling over.

I was expecting to hear the door click closed and the light from the hallway to go away, but this didn't happen. I was about to roll back over and snap the bitch's head off when she said softly, "Please don't make me say that, sir. She and Mr. Cullen had a really bad fight, one we could hear even in the kitchen. Both of them are in really, really angry moods. I… I'm frightened of your father, sir. Please, come to dinner."

I stood and walked over to her, looking down at her thoughtfully. She didn't look to be older than eighteen. "How old are you?" I asked.

"Seventeen, Mr. Edward," she said. She looked uncomfortable at my closeness and stepped back slightly. "Please, don't make them angry at me. Mrs. Cullen say that if you don't come to dinner that she will fire me. And I really need this job, Mr. Edward sir. I need this job very much."

"Why?" I asked her.

"Mrs. Cullen say that as long as I work for her, my family won't be deported back to North Korea. She say my sister and I will get a good education and she will find my parents work in the city. But if I don't do as she say—"

I held up a hand to silence her. She didn't need to finish. I already knew what my mother would do if this girl didn't follow her rules and do as she said. Sighing, I nodded to her. "Alright, I'll come down. Give me a minute?"

She smiled broadly, bowing slightly. "Thank you, Mr. Edward sir. Thank you so much."

I held up a hang again. "Just call me Edward." Not that it matters, since we both know you won't be here the next time I come home. "Tell Mrs. Cullen that I will be down in a moment, I just need to change my clothes and freshen up."

She bowed again and I had to try very hard not to roll my eyes at her. Closing the door, I crossed the room to my dresser and pulled open the drawer, grabbed a t-shirt and jeans and quickly changed. I went into the bathroom and splashed water on my face. My face was pale, my eyes bloodshot and glazed over. I looked more high than hungover. The large white bandage on my forehead did nothing for my appearance, causing my left eye to swell shut just a little. I sighed and shook my head, steeling myself for the family dinner awaiting me downstairs.

I cursed my mother on my way down the stairs. She was smart and manipulative and I didn't like it. She knew that by sending up her maid with a sob story it would make me come down to dinner. She was taking advantage of my weaker, softer side and that pissed me off. As I descended the stairs lower, my anger grew more and more. The only consolation I had was a soft, sexy voice in the back of my head saying "I just don't think you're typical."

You're not typical. You're not typical. You're not typical.

You're special. Goddammit, you pussy. Suck it up.

I entered the dining room/ torture chamber with a straight face, not acknowledging either parent. I sat down in my usual seat, three chairs to my left and three chairs to my right, separating myself from both my mother and my father. I had no desire to be near either of them, but if I moved further away from my father that would place me closer to my mother, and I did NOT fucking want that. But if I moved farther away from my mother, I would be closer to my father. And obviously I didn't want that either.

I looked at the wall. As I always did. At every meal.

Mother prattled on about the décor.

My father read his newspaper.

On the inside, I screamed.


I didn't speak to my father for my remaining time in Forks. I barely spoke to my mother. I spent most of my time wrapped in a drunken stupor, intermingled with drugs and mindless fucking with girls from the community college in Port Angeles. I saw Jasper twice more, each time experimenting with some new drug cocktail he'd read about in his isolation—he'd gotten arrested for some drug-induced brawl in Seattle, landing him under house arrest and forcing his mother and step-father number seven to come home from their honeymoon early.

Basically, they were pissed.

Leaving for SeaTac was awkward, plain and simple. My father didn't emerge from his office to say good-bye—not that I was surprised and nor did I care—but my mother was overly grabby and emotional. That was something I was not used to. I was expecting my bags to be loaded into the car and that I would leave without a word, but she met me at the door with a weepy look in her eyes that confused the hell out of me.

I had to shrug her off of me in order to get into the car. She held the door open as I sat in the seat and continued to hold the door open, even as I tried to pull it closed. She looked like she was going to say something overly mushy and sentimental, but the look I gave her must have made her feel like a pariah, for her eyes closed and her face crumpled. She let go of the door and I pulled it closed with overly-excessive force. As I ordered the driver to drive off, I turned around and saw my mother's shrinking form standing in the driveway. Her head was in her hands and her shoulders looked like they were shaking.

She was… crying.

"Dude, can you go a bit faster?"

The driver looked at me in the mirror. "Sir, I'm already going fifteen over the speed limit."

I bit my thumbnail and glanced out the window before looking back at him. "Go twenty-five then."

The flight back was uneventful, for which I was glad. The person with the seat next to me never showed and I was allowed the entire flight in peace. Jenks was waiting for me when I arrived at the airport, and thirty minutes, three scones and a venti caramel macchiato later we were driving back to my apartment. The closer we got the more I was able to relax and breathe, and by the time Jenks slid up to the front door I had nearly gotten rid of all the angst and tension I had been holding in my chest.

I strode through the front doors, nodding at the doorman as he held them open for me. I saluted to the man behind the front desk and grabbed my bags from Jenks as I entered the elevator. I nodded at him, telling him to enjoy his night, and pressed the button for the penthouse apartment that I shared with Emmett.

And Rose.

The elevator doors slid open and I let myself into the apartment, surprised that it was completely silent. Emmett was a fan of loud, thumping rap music that was fairly tolerable when I was completely hammered. It was tolerable when I wasn't drunk if it was covering up their sex fests, which occurred frequently. I was pleasantly surprised to find that this was not occurring at that moment.

I kicked the door shut loudly, waiting for someone to come out and greet me. Nothing happened. Dropping my bags by the door, I made my way through the living room and back toward the bedrooms. I could hear the sounds of crowds cheering, and when I pushed open the door I found Emmett sitting on the floor with his back pressed up against the foot of his bed. He had in one hand a controller for the Xbox and in the other a tightly rolled blunt.

"Dude, it smells rank in here."

He looked up in greeting and nodded at me. "I know," he responded.

"I said rank, not dank."

He shrugged. "I don't give a fuck, man. Weed is weed."

His response caught me off guard. "Did something happen while I was gone?"

He shrugged again. "Rose dumped me."

I felt my eyebrows rise. "No shit, man. Really?"

He nodded.

"Do you wanna… I don't know. Talk about it or something?"

He shrugged yet again. I had never seen him this way, so sullen and melancholy. When he failed his humanities midterm, he just laughed it off. When he lost to Yale last year for the District championships he merely shrugged and said it was an excuse to get three times as drunk that night and that there was always next year.

I stood there awkwardly, unsure how to react to him. "Well… why?"

He inhaled deeply on the joint. "She said something about needing to get serious now. That being together was good while it lasted and she would always remember me and all that bullshit, but she had to buckle down on her pre-law degree and shit. That she was sick of the partying and drinking and smoking and that she wanted to start thinking about her future."

"Fuck, dude."

"Yeah man, tell me about it." He paused his game and passed the joint to me. I inhaled deeply. "I mean," he continued, taking it back from me, "I can be serious when I need to be. It's just… we're in college. We're supposed to go out and have fun sometimes. And that's what I was doing. I mean, yeah I can get a bit carried away, but I can be straight when I need to. You remember when I had that paper due at nine in the morning and I still hadn't started it at five?"

Oh, I remembered. It had been his and Rose's anniversary and they'd been up all night long.

"Yeah, well I let her sleep so I could go work on it. And fuck it if I didn't get it done and get a B on it. So I don't know what the fuck she's talking about when she says I'm not serious."

"Well, I mean, maybe there's something else. Did your dick get soft while you were fucking or something?"

He looked at me like I'd grown balls on my chin.

"No, you twat. I'm hung like a fucking horse and hard like a goddamn cement pole. My cock is not the problem."

It was silent for a moment.

"Maybe she's into chicks," he said after a moment. "Though I don't know why that's a problem. It's hot."

"Maybe that's what she means about serious, Emmett."

"Huh?"

"Maybe it's not that you can't be serious. Maybe it's just that you don't take things seriously."

"What the fuck is the difference?"

I shook my head. "Hell if I know, bro. I don't pretend to understand chicks."

"Whatever, man. Fuck her. I can get pussy whenever I want to. Shit doesn't faze me."

But I knew it did. He got a faraway look in his eyes that said the exact opposite. He was hurting bad and had no clue how to cope with it. I couldn't say that I did either, so the best thing to do for him was to leave him alone, let him smoke his shitty weed and hopefully he'd either bounce back in a couple of days or would convince Rose to get back with him and would go back to being his jovial self.

I stood from the floor and made my way toward the door. On a second thought, I turned back to him.

"Did you two fuck on my bed?"

He had gone back to playing his game but at my question he looked up. He grinned. "Oh, you know it bro."

My jaw clenched and without another word I walked toward my room. He followed me, calling out to me as I stormed across the apartment.

"Dude, Rose changed the sheets for you. Chill out."

I turned. "What did she do with my old ones?"

"Donated them to that stupid charity place you're so fond of."

For real?

"Huh." I pushed open the door of my room. "What did she replace my sheets with?"

"I don't know bro, she said something about Egyptian cotton. My knowledge stops there."

I ran my hand over the sheets, testing them out. "She did a good job. Shame you let her go, man."

"It's not like I actually had a choice," he said.

"You mean you didn't fight for her? Don't chicks dig it when you do that?"

He shrugged. "She threw her glass at my head. I don't think she wanted me to fight for her."

"Yikes."

He nodded. "I'll try to talk to her again in a few days. Right now, I'm a little afraid for my balls so I'm going to give her some space."

"Anything else happen while I was gone?"

"Other than the fact that I thought I was going to get a foursome with three really hot chicks before one of them broke up with me, no, not really."

I laughed at him. "How were you going to swing that?"

"Well Rose took a philosophy class with these two really girls that she got along with and kinda liked. They both decided to stay here because they couldn't afford the flight home or didn't want to go home or something like that, so she invited them to come stay here—"

"Rosalie invited people to come stay at my apartment? While I wasn't even here?"

"My apartment too, douche. I pay half the rent."

I rolled my eyes. He only paid half the rent when he felt like it. I let him continue.

"Anyway, these girls didn't wanna go home so she let them stay here for a few weeks. I didn't know this of course until I returned from Cali to find all three of them cuddled up on the floor in their pajamas watching some rom com on the TV."

My eyebrows rose. "Pajamas?"

"Fucking sleep pants and t-shirts, dude. I was so fucking bummed."

I chuckled.

"Anyway, they were pretty hot broads. I thought I was gonna get them all to come sleep in my bed, but Rose got all she-wolf on me and dragged me to my room the second I walked in the door. When I got up the next morning the girls were gone, as was their stuff. The dorms opened back up and I haven't seen them since."

"Did you get their names? Maybe now that you and Rose have called it quits you can hook up with one of them?"

"Yeah, I think one was named Alicia… or Alice I think. And the other one was Bella. She was a sweetheart, I really liked her."

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "I'da totally boned her if Rose and I weren't together. She just seemed so chill, you know? Complete opposite of Tasmanian she-devil that the other girl was. I mean, dude the girl was fucking perfect. She offered to put on a football game and she'd put the movie on her computer."

"Where'd they sleep?" I asked.

"They both slept in your bed."

"Together?"

He nodded, his eyebrows waggling. "Sucks we changed your sheets, huh?"

"You're crude."

He threw back his head and laughed. "They were cool, though. Didn't make any noise, perfectly nice… just cool girls."

"Guess I'll have to meet them one day."

"That'd be cool if Rose wasn't being a total bitch and would just admit that she still loves me and wants my Johnson."

"And on that note…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Listen man, couple guys from the team and I are going out to a bar tomorrow night to grab some drinks and play darts. Sort of a little reunion/ shit-talking before the bowl games kinda thing. You in?"

I hated those nights; the testosterone, alcohol and sports filled nights that often left me alone to my thoughts while they all talked about things that I either didn't care about or didn't find interesting at all. But I found myself agreeing against my better judgment, nodding to him as I pulled the blankets back on my bed. "Yeah, alright. Sure."

"Sweet," he responded, and with that he nodded at me and returned to his room.

I stripped quickly and climbed into bed, happy to be back in my real room; the room that I was comfortable in with its mossy green walls, shelves full of books, knick-knacks, movie posters and clutter-free desk. As I burrowed down into the covers, the soft scent of flowers and something summery met my nose, and as I slowly drifted out of consciousness, I began to notice things that were out of the ordinary.

The small replica of the Cathedral of Volterra Duomo that I'd purchased when we visited the historic, small town in the Tuscany region of Italy had been rotated and moved slightly to the left, as if someone had picked it up, looked at it, and then put it back down.

One of my high school baseball trophies had been moved as well.

When I glanced down at the floor, my battered copy of Wuthering Heights lay open on the carpet. Through a sleepy hazy I leaned down and picked it up, turning it over to its open pages. When I read the page, I was slightly stunned to land on one of my favorite quotations.

If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.

Troubled, I closed the book and placed it back on the floor, rolling over and burying my face in my pillow. This time, I smelled something fruity… strawberries maybe.

I wouldn't find the note that had fallen from the book until the following morning.


Edward— the note read,

I realize this note will probably fall on confused eyes, but I'd just like to thank you for letting Alice and I stay in your room. Again, I realize this was probably not your decision and is probably something you didn't know about until now, and you probably have no clue who I am, but I couldn't leave without at least informing you that we were here. Hopefully, we didn't leave too much a mess.

In gratitude,

Bella Swan.

I rolled my eyes and tossed the note on my desk. As if I fucking cared. I'd put the book back on the desk the following morning and straightened out my trophy and statue. As she'd said, I had no clue who she was. Therefore, I didn't really care what she'd done. She didn't leave her dirty underwear anywhere—that I'd seen—so I wasn't entirely bothered.

I had unpacked my suitcase, gone to the gym and caught up on some reading. We were studying Kafka's The Metamorphosis and I wanted to get a head start so no one would have the chance to show me up. The problem now was that it was only two in the afternoon and I had no clue what to do with myself. It was too early to go out drinking and there was no way in hell that I was smoking Emmett's weed. Tanya had texted me to inform me that she was back and we should get together for lunch, but she and I both knew that lunch entailed an eight-ball of cocaine and fucking eight ways to Sunday.

I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to go that route since my father had fucked her mother and his advice about Tanya liking it from behind was unfortunately accurate.

Pulling on my coat I decided to take a walk. Where I was going, I had no clue. I just knew that I couldn't sit around the apartment with Mopey Dopey and his melancholic ass any longer or I was going to go crazy and shoot myself.

I let my feet take me where they wanted and I found myself quickly approaching Cambridge Common, a quaint park in between Cambridge and Garden Street. It was eerily empty for two o'clock in the somewhat decent afternoon on a Sunday. Normally I saw runners jogging along the sidewalk and children playing in the snow and old couples walking their dogs. Today, however, the place was completely empty, with the exception of a girl sitting on the grass a few yards ahead on my left.

She had long brown hair that blew around her face in the wind and some of the palest skin I had ever seen—not that I could see much of it, but her fingers looked white against the book she was reading. She was wrapped in a black leather coat and a navy blue blanket, cuddled up and huddled against the wind.

I didn't catch much of her face, but she looked attractive from where I was walking… I mean, she wasn't ugly or anything. Her nose was proportionate to the rest of her head and she didn't have a five head or anything. I couldn't see the color of her eyes, but they looked dark despite being covered by her lashes.

Listen to me, I sound like I total freak, I thought to myself. Like I'm one of those fucking makeover shows or something.

I put my head down toward my feet and didn't look up again, even as I passed her. I sensed her looking at me, watching me as I walked by, but I made no move to acknowledge her presence. It was a prick thing to do; I probably could have said hello, asked her what book she was reading and been in her panties within an hour. Maybe without even moving from that spot.

Why wouldn't I do it?

You're not typical.

No.

Because I was being exactly typical.

Because I didn't want to talk to her or get to know her. I didn't even want to ask her name. If I wasn't going to get to fuck her, I simply did not care.


Classes started back up. I got back into the groove of things. I went to the finance class that my father had forced me to sign up for from ten to one on Mondays. I went to a class that had to do with economic bullshit that I really didn't care about; stock analysis or some shit like that, on Wednesdays. I sat through other bullshit on Thursdays.

The only class I seemed to enjoy in the slightest was my World Lit class. When I read over the syllabus and got a sample of the eclectic selection of works we would be covering—like The Metamorphosis by Kafka, Macbeth by Shakespeare, and The Grape of Wrath by Steinbeck—I'd decided that my father could go to hell because I was taking the damn class.

The first few classes were boring. Not everyone had read the books before class, so hardly anyone knew what the professor was talking about when he opened the floor for discussion on an interpretation of Gregor Samsa's metamorphosis and comments on the strong undertone of communism throughout the novella—even I struggled a bit with that one. Those of us that had read it bantered back and forth on the obvious themes of isolation and abandonment, ostracism and alienation and the fickle nature of the human race. But the professor—Professor Varner—quickly grew bored with all of us, then got angry that we weren't seeing the deeper meaning, and stormed off through the back exit into his office leaving his poor TA to finish up the class discussion.

We'd moved on to a discussion of Grete's character and her development in the final chapter of the novella—something I'd been dreading, because it seemed like I'd signed up for this class along with every feminist dyke on campus. The story had literally nothing to do with sex or femininity at all, and yet at every single lecture one of them was bringing it up. Angela, who had signed up for the class with me, chuckled and rolled her eyes at me, doodling offensive notes in the margins of the notebook that I always brought along with my laptop.

Sometimes I preferred to write things down. Sue me for being old-fashioned.

We were in the middle of discussing the significance of Grete's standing up and stretching in the very last sentence of the novella. My eyes were drooping out of sheer boredom and Angela was stealthily texting Ben, using the back of the student in front of her as cover. Some tree-hugging hippy chick had raised her hand and was talking about the sheer sexual nature of the stretch, how "raising her hands above her head in such a nature"—which I would like to point out that the book said nothing about her raising her hands above her head, but if I said that she would have chopped my balls off with the spikes sticking out of her ears—"thrust her breasts out," clearly demonstrating the embracing of her sexuality and "coming into her femininity."

I snorted at the note Angela had written in my notebook. "Sounds more like she's writing some erotic porn novel."

Still chuckling, I had my pen poised above the page, ready to write, when I was interrupted by a soft voice behind me.

"Actually," it said. I froze, my fingers locking in shock while the pen fell from my hands. Angela looked over at me in question, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the head in front of me. I was frozen solid in shock, my blood running cold in my veins.

"I don't think that's what it means at all."


Alright, there you have it. Definitely more next chapter. Comments? Questions?

The MOVIE REC this go around is The Grey, starring Liam Neeson. Just came out recently, and if it's playing in a theatre near you I recommend that you go see it immediately. If it's not playing near you, go online and watch it when it comes out, or rent it… just get your hands on it somehow. I don't want to reveal too much about it, but it's an awesome story about a man's survival in arctic Alaska after a plane crash leaves him and a few survivors stranded with little means to make it back to civilization. I can't recommend it highly enough.. it's full or terrific acting, inappropriate humor and lots of powerful lines that had a strong emotional impact.

If you wanna talk about the story, or even about the movie, leave a review and let me know what you think!