Date: Sun, 11 Feb 2001 03:49:46 -0500
From: Gabriella Morrison <sweetheart_stories@hotmail.com>
Subject: My Surprise Romance 51

Okay another few weeks pass, and another installment of MSR. This is
chapter 51 in the ongoing novella, as I like to call it. Let's see here...

Thank you to everyone who's sent me feedback about the previous
chapters. Makes my day. I love email and lately I've been really lazy at
answering it and I'm sorry. But you can still send it to me here:
sweetheart_stories@hotmail.com. I'm what they call a feedback whore
(wouldn't mommy be proud) so send me some. Or don't. But it would be nicer
if you did =)

Thanks to my support crew. Ethan, your drunken emails are great (and he
gave me a cool nickname--the Bad Ass Bass Bitch). David, you're just a
great person. Now get to work on Maze. Lulupower--thanks for caring about
me =) (go read No Strings Attached--it's JC and Lance!) Of course, thanks
to the special people, Killian and John across the Atlantic. Brian, I have
to add you here because I'm standing over your shoulder and your long
emails give me a reason to smile. =) Val? What else can I say but thank
you, thank you, thank you for all the support ::muah:: And Justin. You're
more special than the word special. Thanks for the chats, the mails and
everything. Bang, Bang!

Okay, last thing....go and visit the site. Shameless self-promotion at work
here kids. Sweetheart Stories...it's fun (I think) and it's pretty (I
think). Go. Now. http://www.freespeech.org/gabriella Tons of JC/Lance fics
and lots of inane ramblings. =)

Disclaimer: As fake as Lanshy's attempts to be straight. As fake as the
relationship between JC and Bobbee. Are you 18 or 21? Then you belong
here. If you're not, I don't want to know. And now, what you've all been
waiting for...

My Surprise Romance

People Change

Chapter 51

"Sometimes I Fall Apart"



I should have stayed in bed that morning.

To make a long story short, the whole day was...weird. Unexpected things
were happening in my life and I wasn't prepared for them.

The first thing that happened was the oversized stuffed teddy bear I found
sitting in front of my door as I left for school. I nearly tripped over the
damn thing, and almost fell flat on my ass. Upon closer examination, I saw
a small envelope, tied around the animals neck, Lance's name written on
it. Grumbling under my breath, I just took the stuffed animal inside and
threw it in the closet.

`Great,' I thought, a little agitated from the surprise that had greeted
me. But I tried to shake it off, and concentrate on the phone call that I
had received from Lance that morning. Now *that* was a welcome surprise...

My thoughts quickly shifted as I arrived at the University, and searched in
vain for a parking space. Yeah, right--finding a parking space was like
finding water in a desert--there wasn't a chance in hell I'd find one, so I
just parked across the street. When I got out of my car, I nearly had my
door ripped off by some speeding car that I hadn't seen.

"Jerk," I muttered under my breath as I ran across the street, desperately
trying not to get hit by the oncoming traffic that was heading towards me.
Luckily my legs were fast enough and I made it into the school, and to my
Government class on time. I really shouldn't have bothered going though--we
got our exams back. Remember the exam?  The one that I had rushed though so
I could get back home to where Lance waited for me? Well that was another
stupid mistake I had made.

"Oh shit," I muttered under my breath as I opened up the marked examination
booklet. I could only stare at the `72', which was scribbled in red ink at
the top of the page. I couldn't help but cringe. Now, I know that a 72
isn't that bad of a grade, but for me it is. I had always done moderately
well in college, and this...this just *sucked*. I had never done so badly
on a major exam before.

"So, Stephen--" Marianne's voice cut through my thoughts. "What did you
get?" Embarrassed by my crappy grade, I just shoved the examination booklet
into my bag, without uttering a word.

"Nothing," I mumbled under my breath as Professor Greene dismissed our
class with a wave of his hand. "Nothing at all..."

At the time, scribbling down any old answer just so I could go back to
Lance seemed like such a good idea. And now, as the 72 weighed heavily on
my shoulders, I wasn't so sure. Sure the sex we had indulged in had been
great (understatement of the year--it was better than great), but my grades
had taken a nosedive. And so had my whole attitude about school. I didn't
want to be there anymore, surrounded by people who I could have cared less
about. I wanted to go home, lay in my bed and stare at the ceiling for
hours on end. I wanted to lay in my bed, because, well...Lance and I had
laid there a few days ago, holding each other. I wanted to roll over on the
pillow that lay next to mine and inhale his scent buried in the cotton.

`Whoa, Stephen,' I said to myself as Marianne and I walked out the room
together. `Now you just sound obsessed with Lance. Your scaring yourself,
you know. There's more to life than your boyfriend.'

The words sounded good, but for some reason they didn't soothe my soul the
way I thought they would. My thoughts were empty and hollow and all I
wanted was someone to hold. I wanted Lance. I let out a sigh and this
didn't escape Marianne, who gave me a curious look as we walked side by
side, moving through the throng of students that were exiting their
classes. The hallway was packed, filled with wall to wall bodies, as
Marianne and I attempted to make our way to the staircase. Our science
class was on the third floor and we had roughly five minutes to make it
there.

I was tired and I felt like I had weights of lead for legs. I was crabby
and grumpy and I hated myself for acting this way. While Marianne and I
walked up the stairs, my mind traveled back to that morning. The ringing of
the telephone had waken me up about two hours before my alarm was set to go
off and let's just say I was *not* a happy camper about it. But when I
heard Lance's deep, beautiful voice travel though those phone lines, all
traces of my anger disappeared. He had just called to say good morning and
as Lance talked, I couldn't help but think that his deep voice sounded like
beautiful music to my ears.

"Stephen," Lance spoke softly, and I could tell by the way he pronounced
his words, that he was grinning from ear to ear. "I miss you. But, I got
you a present. I shipped it out this afternoon--express delivery, so you
should get it later today--your time."

"A present? Ooh, what?" I asked while trying to stifle a yawn. I was
ecstatic that Lance had called, but I was dead tired. I had been till three
a.m., working on a painting that was due tomorrow. I had to finish it, or
I'd be embarrassed beyond belief in front of everyone during one of our
hellish critiques.  I had gone through that humiliation the afternoon that
I had taken Lance to the airport and I didn't need it again. "Tell me,
Lance..."

"Uh-uh, I can't tell you," he laughed teasingly. "I want it to be a
surprise. But I can tell you one thing--you'll like it, I promise."

"Like? Not love?" I joked as I rested my head on the kitchen table and held
the phone to my ear. It suddenly dawned on me that I was sitting in pitch
black darkness, listening to my boyfriend's voice from millions of miles
away. There was something oddly romantic about this set up, but I couldn't
place my finger on it. Maybe it was because I missed him so much--maybe
that's why it seemed so romantic to me.

"Stephen..." Lance said, trying his best to sound impatient with me. But it
didn't work and before long, Lance had broken into a fit of
giggles. "You'll love the present. I promise you. Cross my heart and hope
to die." I sat up suddenly, jolted back to life by the word he had used.

"Don't say that," I chided him gently, only half-joking. I get creeped out
whenever people say that, since death and I aren't very good friends. "Just
cross your heart, okay? For me?"

"Okay," Lance agreed and by the tone of his voice, I could tell he had
caught on to what I had meant. Suddenly, I heard a voice bellowing my
boyfriend's name in the background. "Stephen...I gotta go," Lance sighed
sadly. "They're calling us to get ready for some kind of interview...for
America..."

"S'okay," I lied, trying to swallow back the truth. It wasn't okay. I
wanted to talk to Lance until I turned blue in the face. I just wanted to
sit there all day and listen to his voice travel over the wires that
connected us from miles and miles away. But I couldn't. And neither could
he. We both had our separate lives to go on to..."I'll talk to you later
and I'll watch you on tv before I go to school."

"Sure. Okay." Lance's voice wavered slightly. "We'll talk later tonight or
something...at least we'll be back in the states in what--three days, I
think?  Florida--at least we'll be in the same time zone, right?"

"Right."

"LANCE!!! Now!!! Off the phone!" I flinched at the person's voice and tried
to make out who was calling my boyfriend off. I think it was Chris, but I
wasn't too sure. I was so tired and my brain wasn't making good
judgments. "And tell Stephen that I said `hi'," the person suddenly added.

"Chris says `hi'," Lance repeated, trying to sound as upbeat as he
could. "He's yelling at me, but he still takes time out to say hi." A trace
of laughter creeped into Lance's voice and I closed my eyes, trying to
memorize that laugh.

"Tell him I said `hi' too." Pause. "Well..." I trailed my words off. I
didn't want to be the first to utter *those* words...

"Well..."

"LANCE!!!!!" Chris's voice shattered the quiet between us, causing both
Lance and I to laugh nervously.

"I gotta go, Stephen," Lance said softly, his words digging into my heart
like a scalpel. "I'll talk to you later tonight. I love you."

I swallowed back the tears that were burning a path down my throat. "Okay,
Lance...I love you too. Talk to you later." And with that, I hung the phone
up, rested my head in my hands and sighed. This separation was *killing*
me...

"Stephen?"

Marianne's voice interrupted my thoughts and it took me a few seconds to
realize that I had stopped dead in my tracks, right in the middle of the
hallway. A crush of students wove their way around me, some shooting
daggers in my direction for blocking the path. Others just ignored the fact
that I was standing there and paid more attention to their friends. When I
met Marianne's aqua eyes, I noticed that she was staring at me with a look
of disbelief.

"Stephen," Marianne said, agitation written all over her face as she
reached out for my hand. "What are you doing? We have to get to science..."

"I..I..." I stammered helplessly. What was happening to me? I could barely
function as a normal person anymore. One of Marianne's small hands clasped
around my wrist, giving my arm a swift, somewhat painful yank as she nearly
pulled it out of its socket.

"We have to get to class!" she exclaimed while dragging me down the
hallway. I noticed some of the students staring at us strangely, but in all
honesty, it didn't bother me. Nothing could bother me, anymore, since my
head was permanently stuck in the clouds.

`I might as well get used to this,' I thought with a mournful sigh. `Cause
I think I'm gonna be like this for the next three months...just lovely...'



When my Natural Science class finally ended, (Who the hell cared about the
algae resting in the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean? I didn't, that's for
sure. Unless it somehow affected Lance and I, but that was highly
doubtful.) Marianne asked me if I wanted to go work on our new paintings
for our Special Projects class. I noticed the hopeful look lurking in her
clear aqua eyes, before politely turning down Marianne's request.

"Nah," I brushed off, trying to sound disinterested. "I really have to get
home and...and..." `And what Stephen?' I asked myself. `And sit by the
phone and hope that Lance calls? You're turning into a pathetic caricature
of a lovesick idiot. You really are, you know...' And even though I was
mentally beating myself up, I *knew* that was exactly what I was going to
do, despite how embarrassing the truth was.

"Paint," I finally blurted out, realizing that the hopeful look in
Marianne's eyes had now turned to a look of disappointment. "I'm going home
to paint...I...uh...just like to paint at home."

"Oh yeah," Marianne nodded, biting her bottom lip. "You live in that
apartment now, ever since your..." Her words trailed off, unsure how to
finish the sentence with, `since your mother died.'

I had told Marianne about my mother a few weeks ago. We had been getting
something to eat at the diner across the street and Marianne asked how my
family was doing. And so I told her what had happened over the summer
(excluding a few choice details, of course) and she could only blush at my
revelation. It certainly wasn't what Marianne expected to hear, but I did
notice one good thing about our conversation. It was easier telling people
about my mother's death. It wasn't like pulling teeth anymore and part of
me felt good about that. I felt like I had finally grown up and come to
terms with everything. And I was proud of myself for that.

"Yeah." I finished up our awkward conversation by gathering up my books and
shoving them into my newspaper bag. As I slung it over my shoulder, I
noticed that Marianne was still staring at me. Her aqua eyes traveled up
and down the length of my body and I blushed under her scrutinizing gaze,
wondering if I had suddenly grown another head or something. And then it
hit me: Marianne was probably staring at me like that because I was dressed
up again. This time I wore another button down shirt that I bought over the
summer, and a pair of neatly pressed charcoal colored slacks. I never used
to dress this way. The paint splattered t-shirts and frayed hemmed jeans
that I used to wear, now served their purpose when I painted. I couldn't
help it. I had changed over the summer in more ways than one and the
wardrobe was just a fringe benefit of it all.

"Stephen," Marianne began suspiciously, as she stood up from her
seat. "Have you been feeling well lately?" Her question caught me off guard
for a brief second.

"Yeah, I'm fine--why?"

As she shrugged her narrow shoulders, I watched her purple ballet top shift
over her bones. Marianne was so damn skinny, the girl looked almost
anorexic at times. And here she was asking me if *I* was okay, when most of
the time I just wanted to force feed her a meal.

"I don't know," she digressed as we walked out the door. "It's just that
you seem so different...I mean, you miss classes to sleep in--"

That was true. I had missed a painting class the other day because, well
Lance had called me at four in the morning and by the time we had gotten
off the telephone, it was seven a.m. `Three hours', I thought when Lance
and I finally said our good-byes. Sure, we had done a little talking and
gotten down to doing a little...well...I don't want to get into details,
but *that* had only taken about a half-hour at the most. The rest of the
time, we had talked about what was going on in our lives--my school to his
touring. It balanced out--kind of. But that half-hour...that had been
incredible.

I felt my face grow warm at the thought. Just the mere thought of sex and
Lance sent me spinning off into orbit and put me onto another planet.

"--You space out for no reason. I'd say you were sniffing turpentine or
something--" Marianne continued as we walked onto the stairwell, and into a
crowd of students fighting their way either up or down the steps.

`Sniffing turpentine,' I thought with disdain. `I *wish* that's what I was
doing, because at least I'd be able to say this part of my life was just a
bad dream.'

"--and well, you've just been distant. To me. To everyone." We stopped at a
dead halt right in the middle of the stairs, causing the people behind us
to swear and complain as they dodged around us. I stared at Marianne and
she was clearly upset by my change of behavior. Her hands clenched into
tight fists next to her hips, causing her knuckles to turn white as she
continued to chew on her lower lip. We stared at each other, and I wasn't
sure what to say. I felt trapped by her accusations--I *knew* why I had
changed, but I wasn't going to come out and scream it.

"Stephen--what *happened* to you over the summer?" Marianne exclaimed,
concern tolling through her voice. "You've changed so much, *everyone* in
the class has noticed. It's like you're a completely different person..."

There was something about those words that bothered me--a lot. And it made
me angry. "What do you mean, *everyone's* noticed?" I shot back, anger
coursing through my veins. I hated what Marianne had just said: `Everyone's
noticed.' That meant that people were gossiping about me behind my
back--and that alone made my skin crawl. Didn't people have anything better
to do these days?  How boring were their lives if *I* had to be the topic
of their conversation, especially when I went out of my way not to bother
people.

"So basically you're saying people are talking about me behind my back?" I
asked Marianne, my steely gaze meeting her own. And what bothered me was
the fact that she didn't flinch. She didn't deny the words she had just
spoken. She just stood there, chewing nervously on her lower lip, allowing
the seconds to pass between us.

"Fine." And throwing my hands up into the air, this weird noise escaped my
lips. I had it. I not only missed Lance, but I was cranky, grumpy and the
onslaught of sexual frustration was beginning to settle in. And this new
information was the last thing I needed.

"Stephen..." Marianne trailed off as I turned my back on her and headed
downstairs. I never answered her. Instead, I just walked out of the
building and off to my car. I just wanted to go home.




About a half-hour later, I pulled back into the parking lot of my apartment
complex and let out a sigh of relief. Home. `I'm *finally* home', I thought
as I got out of the car and carefully ran up the steps that led to my
apartment. I had stopped at a fast-food restaurant on the way home to pick
up some lunch, and the smell of the food wafting from inside of the bag
made my stomach rumble. The defeat of the `72' had stung, as did Marianne's
news that I was the art department's latest gossip, but there was always
Lance's phone call later on to brighten my crappy day. I began to noisily
slurp on my cola, thirsty as hell, and as I walked down the hall, I noticed
something that made my heart stop.

My apartment door was opened a crack.

`Oh fuck,' I thought, a shiver of fear running through my body. It took me
a few seconds to realize that I was probably being robbed as I was standing
there. I was unable to move and just *stared* at my open door. `Why me?' I
thought pitifully. Wasn't my life already crappy enough without having this
added weight?

I had to do something to protect myself and my belongings. So slowly, I
stepped forward and pushed the door open, while its hinges creaked loudly
through the half-empty apartment. I stuck my head inside and peered around
cautiously. No one.

`Please, whoever you are, don't kill me,' I prayed silently, finally
gathering enough nerve to walk inside. Setting my food down on the table
next to the door, my first reaction was to locate the wooden baseball bat
that I kept hidden in the closet, specifically for situations like
this. Falling silent once more, I could clearly hear the presence of
someone moving around in my bedroom.

`Great,' I thought disgustedly. `My room. They go where all the good stuff
is, right?' Creeping towards my room, the rustling grew louder as I stepped
closer. The door was closed and from behind it, I could hear loud,
pulsating music waft into the air. Music? Why the hell would a robber put
on music for? To listen to the CD before they stole it? Make sure the songs
were good enough for their thieving hands? Or just to give them something
to listen to while stealing my possessions?

"What the fuck?" I muttered under my breath, suddenly confused by the sheer
oddness of the whole situation. I looked back down at the baseball bat in
my hands.

`Well,' I thought. `No time like the present...' And with that last
thought, I took a deep breath, kicked open the door and raised the baseball
bat over my head.

"Whatthefuckisgoingon!??!?" I screamed maniacally as I charged into the
room. The situation in front of me was blurry. I was keen on pummeling the
holy crap out of the person kneeling next to a stack of my CD's that sat on
the floor. Judging by the shoulder length, chestnut colored hair and
miniskirt, I assumed it was a girl and within milliseconds, the intruder
placed her arms protectively over her head. I guess she saw the baseball
bat and heard my screaming...

"Oh my God, Stevie, don't kill me!!!!" The girl shrieked as I was about to
bring the weapon down over her head, but then the words rang in my ears. I
froze in midair.

Wait. Stevie? There was only one person in the world who called me that.

"Cynthia?" I asked in disbelief as I stared at my cousin, taking in her
newly darkened hair. She had dyed it *again*. I dropped my hands to my
sides, allowing the baseball bat to fall to the floor with a loud
clatter. It rolled underneath the bed, but neither of us cared about
that. Cynthia had pulled her body into a ball, arms still shielding her
head and she was trembling with fear. I guess I had scared the crap out of
her.

"Stevie?" she squeaked out as she moved her shaking hands from her
face. "What the hell was *that*? Why did you almost kill me? What's going
on?"

I let out a sigh of relief, relieved that it was only my cousin and not
some random burglar. "Cynth...God, shit, Jesus...you fucking scared me," I
breathed as I fell to the floor next to her. "You left my front door
open.." And then I realized that in the haste of wanting to kick the
intruder's ass in, I had also left my front door wide open, welcoming any
stranger into my apartment. Leaving my bedroom and approaching my door, I
noticed an envelope lying in front of it.

"Lance Bass," I read out loud as I picked it up. His name was written in
one of those pink gelly pens and decorated with a string of small
hearts. Sighing to myself, Lance's words echoed through my ears; `Either
there'll be girls waiting for you or you're gonna get shitloads of mail and
presents for me.' Remembering the teddy bear I had rescued that morning, I
had a sneaking suspicion that Lance's prediction had been right on the
money.

I didn't do anything with the envelope and instead, I left it lying in the
hallway. I was not going to play mail collector. Instead, I locked up and
grabbed my bag of fast food off the table. Heading back into my bedroom, I
saw that Cynthia had taken a place on my bed, a look of relief appearing on
her face when she spotted the paper bag in my hands.

"Oh Stevie!" she exclaimed happily, clasping her hands in front of her
chest. "You brought me food!" Raising an eyebrow at my cousin, I just
flopped on the bed next to her and grinned.

"Cynthia," I began. "I didn't even *know* that you were coming over
here...but..." Poking around in the bag, I pulled out a cheeseburger and
waved it in front of her. "Luckily, I bought three of these. This one was
for my dinner tonight--but I guess you can have it..." Without a word
spoken, Cynthia grabbed the burger from my hands, tore the wrapper open and
bit into it hungrily, as though she hadn't eaten for days.

"Geez, Cynth - got quite an appetite there, huh?" I teased her, and in
return, I was rewarded with a dirty look. "What?" I asked defensively as I
removed one of the cheeseburgers from the bag. "And why are you here? *How*
did you get in here? Only one person has a key and sure isn't you."

Swallowing her food, Cynthia's expression went from evil to sweet in a
matter of seconds. She began to eye my soda, and before I knew it, swiped
it right out of my hands and took a long gulp of the liquid, before rolling
her eyes. "Let me guess? Lancey's got a key, right?" She waited for my nod
and then raced on. "I told your landlord downstairs that I was your
sister--I showed her my ID, our last names matched and--" She gestured
triumphantly with her hands. "Voila! I'm here! Anyways...I quit school,
went back home and then mom and dad kicked me out once they found out,"
Cynthia muttered under her breath and threw her sandwich down onto its
wrapper. She looked absolutely disgusted.

"What?!"

She rolled her eyes at me, a dejected look crossing her face. "What are you
deaf? I *said*, `I quit school--"

I cut her off with a wave of my hand. "I heard you the first time...I guess
I'm just in shock. Cynthia..." The idea that George and Florence would kick
her out seemed next to impossible. She was their princess, their pride and
joy and now *this*???

"Cynthia..." I managed to say through my shock as I moved next to her on my
bed. Wrapping a reassuring arm around her shoulders, I gently egged her
on. "What happened? Tell me."

Cynthia looked up at me and within seconds, my normally hyper, exuberant
cousin, had been reduced to a sobbing mess, crying and wailing as she fell
against my chest. She threw her thin arms around my neck, nearly breaking
it in the process, while her tears seeped onto my shirt.

She remained like that for a couple of seconds, and I just rubbed her back,
still unsure what to do. I wasn't used to seeing my cousin so...well,
depressed. I was about to say something when Cynthia looked up at me and
began to talk. I'll admit, her words were a bit garbled and rushed, but I
managed to get the main idea.

"I quit school," Cynthia began, reaching for a tissue to wipe her face. "I
quit college during the third week--I just couldn't get into the whole
routine of classes and authority and all that shit.  I missed most of my
classes and when I did go to them, I didn't even pay attention. I had other
things on my mind..." Cynthia's words trailed off and a embarrassed blush
swept across her cheeks. I knew Cynthia and I *knew* who she had been
thinking of...a certain boy-band member who's name began with a
`J'.. Before I could say anything, my cousin started her story up again.

"So I called Josh up. I told him I quit school and he was kinda mad, but
not as pissed as I expected him to be. I asked him if I could come on tour
with him and the rest of the guys after I got my life together and he said,
`yes. He sounded thrilled at the idea, since we'd been missing each other
so much," A elated grin lit up Cynthia's tear-streaked face as she
remembered the conversation she had with her boyfriend, but it didn't last
for long.

"So I went back home," Cynthia sighed, the smile disappearing rapidly. "You
know, since I couldn't live on campus anymore--and I told mom and dad that
I quit school." Cynthia buried her face in her hands and let out a weary
groan. "They were so mad at me. I never heard my father scream so loudly
*or* look so angry at me--" My cousin looked up then, a certain kind of
sick humor creeping into her eyes as she recalled what had happened. " "And
so they threw me out of the house..." The humor was gone as soon as it
came, and those luminous violet eyes filled with a fresh batch of
tears. "And so I came here, Stevie...I didn't have anywhere else to go...."

And before I could even say a word, her brave facade crumbled and Cynthia
collapsed in my arms again, crying as though her heart was breaking into
two. My first instinct was to assume that Cynthia was overreacting--she had
quit school and her mom and dad threw her out, end of story. But then, as
my cousin held on to me, sobbing, my heart suddenly went out to her. I
*knew* what she was going through because I was going through the exact
same thing. I missed Lance and I was miserable, but I hadn't quit
school. However, my cousin had pulled a true "Cynthia"--she had followed
her heart. She quit school because it was making her unhappy, and she had
no place in her life for unhappiness. Cynthia was a free spirit in
sorts. She lived for the moment and authority just wasn't her thing. And
she wanted to be with Josh--the one person who made her happy.

I knew what she was feeling. I just wish I had the balls to pull a
"Cynthia" of my own. I wouldn't of course, but the idea sure was nice...

I held onto my cousin for a few more minutes, trying to calm her down a
little, until Cynthia's tears finally began to subside. Looking up at me
after a few seconds had passed, she looked up at me and swallowed.

"Thanks," Cynthia whispered, trying to smile through her sadness. "Thanks
for not judging me or anything. Even though I do really stupid things..."

"You don't do stupid things," I reassured her gently, as she sat up on her
own, leaving my arms. "You just do what your heart tells you to do..." And
although I was trying my best to keep a brave face, I couldn't help but let
out a forlorn sigh of my own. I sounded so depressed and I hated myself for
that. I wished I could have followed my heart as well...

I suddenly wished I had taken a leave of absence from school this
semester. Instead of trying to attend classes and do homework, I wished I
had traveled around the world with my boyfriend. Life was too short to sit
in classrooms and turn in paintings for a grade. I wanted to live like I
had lived over the summer--free and unrestricted from any kind of
authority. I then realized that I missed Lance so much, I would have given
up everything for him and that kinda scared me.

Was I becoming dependent on Lance?

Dependency is *such* a dirty word.

I never wanted to be one of those whiny, dependent boyfriends, unable to
breathe, eat or sleep without their significant other. I didn't want to be
a tag-along, pain-in-the-ass. I wanted to be strong, able to stand on my
own two feet without Lance holding my hand.

Yet while these thoughts ran through my mind, I still missed Lance
terribly. No amount of self-therapy could take that feeling away. I wanted
everything--to quit school and be with my boyfriend and still have a
successful art career. Was that too much to ask?

My thoughts were cut off short as a noisy slurp jolted me out of my
daze. Looking up, I saw Cynthia polish off the last of my soda as she gave
me an apologetic grin.

"I'm thirsty, Stevie," she said as she flashed me a charming
grin. "Sorry..."

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, trying my best to be angry with her. But I just
couldn't muster up that energy to be mad. *That* was Cynthia and she did
crazy stuff like that. I knew it. Everyone knew it. Why even try to change
her?

And then she sighed. It was a loud, sad sigh that made me look at her with
curious brown eyes. Cynthia looked so *sad* and I wished that I could do
something to cheer her up. I was about to recommend something like going
out shoe shopping, my treat (that always brightened her day--*always*), but
I never even had a chance to offer, when she suddenly blurted out something
that surprised me.

"Stevie--I miss Josh so much." She looked down at the comforter underneath
her and blushed. "I don't know how you're doing without Lancey, but I miss
Josh like you wouldn't believe." She closed her eyes briefly and then
opened them back up, a look of amazement and wonder lurking in those violet
eyes. "He's just opened up my world and showed me how great it is to be in
love. Everytime he calls, I get so giddy and happy it's practically
sickening and you know what?"

"What?"

"I hate myself for it. I've never been dependent on another person, let
alone a *man*--" She gave me a teasing grin before settling back into her
pensive thoughts "--I thought I was stronger than that. You know--" She
looked up at me and rolled her eyes, the blush on her face growing darker
as she continued to talk. "--Cynthia Peterson--always the tough,
big-mouthed girl who's independent." Her face twisted into a
grimace. "Well, I don't want to be her at times, Stevie. I have feelings
and you know what? They're scaring the shit out of me." She looked at me
again and this time, her gaze met mine, pupil to pupil and I *knew* that
she was serious. Dead serious.

There was something about her truthful words that just touched me
inside. Here was my cousin, strong-willed Cynthia, who seemed to be able to
tackle everything and anything that came in her way, admitting that she
was...well, needy.

And you know what else freaked me out? The idea that Cynthia and I were
having thoughts that ran along similar lines. Granted, Cynthia had always
been somewhat of a tough cookie, while I had this wonderful tendency to
worry too much about anything and everything. We both had our flaws and yet
we had both snagged these wonderful boyfriends who now millions of miles
away. And now we were both worried that we had become too dependent...

"I miss Lance," I said, not knowing that I actually spoke those words out
loud. "I miss him so much, I wake up and I just wish he were here with
me..."

And then I sighed out loud. It was a sad sigh, the result of feeling so
overwhelmed by my thoughts, it was making me sick. And Cynthia heard my
sigh, met my gaze again and then....laughed. She laughed at me. It was a
full-on laugh, all teeth and crinkled up corners of eyes and she suddenly
looked so happy.

"Stevie..." she managed to gasp out while laughing. "Oh Stevie...you know
what I suddenly realized?" She paused for dramatic effect, holding her hand
to her chest. "We're nuts."

"What?" I questioned. "What are you talking about, Cynthia Marie Peterson?"

"We're....nuts..." She giggled like a maniac, collapsing on my bed and then
kicking her legs back up, pulling herself into a sitting position. "Look at
us...we're a *freaking* after school special on love or something...we're
pathetic, lovesick idiots..."

And then I realized something. She was right. Cynthia was absolutely
right. We were lovesick and to tell you the truth--it was kinda funny. I
began to snicker and pretty soon, I had caught a case of the full out
giggles myself. And there we were, Cynthia and I, sitting on my bed, tears
running down our faces...

Looking back, it didn't make much sense, but I realized how good it felt to
just let go like that. To laugh and not give a damn. And suddenly, I
thanked God my cousin had sneaked her way into my apartment. She made me
laugh. She gave me a new perspective on things and she always made me
smile. I was glad to have her there.

Only if the good times could last...




Later that afternoon, I worked on one of my past-due paintings for my
special projects painting class. I hated the idea that I had "past-due"
artworks--that was something I was unfamiliar with. But, oh well, no time
like the present to start getting caught up. Almost meticulously, I began
to spread out my art supplies on the metal table next to my easel, while
Cynthia lounged on the futon watching some trashy talk show. I heard her
huff, "What a load of shit this is," and then flip through the few channels
that I got.

"Stevie, you have got to get cable," Cynthia muttered restlessly as she
flipped back to the previous channel that she had been watching. "This
sucks, you know..."

I briefly closed my eyes, wondering if allowing Cynthia to stay with me for
the next few weeks was such a bright idea after all. I decided it had been
and went back to covering the stretched out canvas in front of me with a
layer of gesso.

"Cynthia," I began to explain. "I know the tv stations suck, but there's no
way I'm shelling out money for some stuff that i won't even watch half of
the time."

"Mmmm," Cynthia mused as she began to channel surf once more. "I guess I
can see your point...but you know, if you got MTV, we could see Josh and
Lance all the ti--" Her words were cut off by the rude buzz of my intercom,
signaling that someone was delivering something to me.

"Great," I muttered disgustedly as I placed my paintbrush down. "It's
probably a bunch of kids hoping that Lance is here..." I had already told
Cynthia about the three pizza delivery girls, showed her the teddy bear and
found that the one card outside my door had multiplied into a stack. All
she could do was laugh at my unfortunate situation. `Typical Cynthia' I
thought as I strode over to the intercom, and pressed the button that
allowed me to hear who was visiting.

"Hello?"

"Uh, hi...this is Federal Express. I have a package here for a Mr. Stephen
Peterson..." The male voice crackled through the intercom and I closed my
eyes, hoping--scratch that--praying--that this wasn't some kind of weird
prank. Part of me wanted to refuse it, but the other part of me was nosy to
see what the package was.

And then I remembered the earlier phone conversation between Lance and
I. Maybe it was that gift he was telling me about.

"Okay, bring it up." I clicked off the intercom and turned back around to
look at Cynthia, only to find her staring at me with a mischievous smile on
her lips.

"So, Stevie," she began slyly while polishing her nails on her
t-shirt. "You and Lancey ordering some--*ahem*--mail order fun?" Casually
blowing on her nails, she dared to meet my gaze, and found me standing
there with a blush. No we hadn't been ordering any `mail order fun', as she
so eloquently put it, but what if Lance got me something perverted as a
joke? There was no telling what that boy could have found in Japan, and
knowing Lance, he probably would send it to me as a joke. He didn't know
that Cynthia was living with me.

So in response (and partially out of nervousness), I reacted to her
wittiness by sticking out my tongue and popping her the bird. Cynthia just
rolled her eyes heavenwards and snorted. "Real original, Stevie..." Before
I could respond, there was a knock on my door and within seconds, I opened
it and found a real, genuine Federal Express man standing there, with a
real, genuine Fed Ex package propped on one hip.

"Stephen Peterson?"

"Yes?"

"This is for you--" He handed me the package and smiled. "--all the way
from Japan." Looking at the electronic clipboard in his hands, the delivery
man pressed a few buttons and handed it to me. "Just sign here, sir..."

Complying with his request, I signed the device with that neat, fake pen
thingy and handed the clipboard back to him. `Japan', I thought as I bided
him farewell and locked the door. `I wonder what Lance got me.' Gently, I
rattled the cardboard box and heard the object bumping around in there. `He
must have gotten me more than one thing', I thought excitedly, staring at
the box.

Taking a seat on the futon next to Cynthia, I examined the package
carefully. It was covered with beautiful Japanese stamps, and a smile
crossed my lips as I noticed Lance's handwriting scrawled across the
mailing label.

"So, are you gonna stare at that thing all day? Open it already, Stevie!"
Cynthia demanded. Getting up from her place on the futon, she swaggered
over to my work table and picked up an exacto knife.

"Here," she said, shoving the handle of the knife into my
hand. "Open. Now. Or I'll do it for you." Complying with her request, I
carefully sliced the box down the center of the tape and pulled the flaps
open. As I peered inside, I noticed that there were quite a few items in
there, each one individually wrapped up in white tissue paper. But first
and foremost, a light green envelope sat smack dab in the middle of it all.

I felt the smile on my face grow even wider as I saw Lance's handwriting on
the envelope. Lifting it out of the box, I ran my thumb under the flap and
pulled out two sheets of paper, folded together. When I unfolded them, I
noticed that both sheets had the logo of a hotel printed on the top, as
well as some Japanese writing on the bottom. I began to blink back some
stray tears as I realized the note was around two pages (front and back)
long. However, the tears quickly disappeared as I skimmed it over, and
noticed that the majority of my boyfriend's words could have been given a
NC-17 rating. There were things described in that letter that I had only
*dreamed* of. I don't know how Lance managed to do it, but he had turned me
on without even being there.

"Uh...um..." Words refused to leave my lips, and instead, they came out in
a stammer, as I refolded the letter and slipped it back in its envelope. "I
think I'll read this later..." Being the perceptive girl she was, Cynthia
automatically noticed my discomfort and grinned as though she was the cat
who had just polished off the canary.

"Ooh, a little bedtime reading, Stevie? Is pure, sweet innocent Lancey
tarnishing your eyes with porn?" Luckily, she had said this very
sarcastically, her voice as sugary as honey. I don't know why she got such
a kick out of teasing me about my sex life...really, she had one of her own
to be concerned with.

"Oh, shut up," I shot back, grinning to keep the edge off my words. "Let's
see what's in here, okay?" I began to paw through the box, noticing that
Lance had briefly jotted a quick note on some of the gifts. There were
three separate packages, each one numbered in (I guessed) the order I
should have opened them up in. I reached for the one marked #1, and
carefully read the message on it aloud:

"Stephen--I noticed how terrible yours looks and thought you'd like a new
set."

"A new set?" Cynthia asked, puzzled by the words Lance had used. Arching an
eyebrow at me, my cousin just smirked and settled back into her seat, while
I cautiously unwrapped the tissue paper from the object. And before I knew
it, I was staring at a brand new set of paintbrushes, every shape and size
imaginable. They were high quality, sturdy and clearly expensive.

Lance had placed a post it note on the case and I read it to myself: `I
know how much you need them. I passed an shop one day and these were
sitting in the window. Hope you like them.'

I was speechless, not by the gift itself, but by the thought that Lance had
put into it. Even million of miles and various time zones away, I was
constantly on Lance's mind. And then the distance gap suddenly bothered
me. It gnawed away at my heart, knowing that Lance wasn't next to me--to
watch my reaction as I opened the gift up. I couldn't kiss him or give him
a hug or even say `thank you' face to face. And that bothered me the most.

Noticing the sudden onset of sadness, Cynthia leaned forward and touched my
forearm.

"Stevie," she whispered, her voice low and the look in her eyes full of
understanding. "It's a wonderful gift...perfect for you..." She smiled and
I swear her eyes became glassy. "Lancey's a great guy."

I didn't want to speak, because I was afraid that my voice would come out
in this unpleasant crackle, so I just gave her a nod of my head. There was
no way that I could ever repay Lance for getting me such a thoughtful
gift. Never.

Placing the brushes gently on the floor, I couldn't wait to get to the next
gift, a longish, rectangular box. Unlike the brushes, there was no little
handwritten message on the tissue paper, just a number two. So I ripped off
the wrapping like a kid on Christmas morning, wanting to see what Lance had
gotten me.

In the box were three small jars filled with some kind of sticky looking
liquid. One was red, another was the color of caramel and the last one was
dark brown. At first, I thought they were ice cream toppings...but my mouth
dropped open as I examined the pictures on the box. The handwriting on the
box was in Japanese, but the photos told a different story. And then I read
Lance's post it, stuck to the box.

`Stephen--I saw these and I thought of you. Get *this*--flavored body
paints. I thought I could test out my artistic abilities on you the next
time we see each other...and if I'm not good, then I can just lick it
off. *smile*'

`Smile???' I thought in amazement, as I shifted in my seat, desperately
trying to hide the, uh, problem forming in my pants. `He wants me to smile?
Bastard...he's getting it the next time I see him...' And with that, my
mind began to drift off, thinking up the proper punishments for my
boyfriend.

"Stupid mind," I muttered under my breath. My thoughts weren't helping out
my situation much. And so I placed the body paints over my lap.

"What are those?" Cynthia asked, eying the box. I could tell that she
wanted to grab for them, but I stopped her just in time.

"Just some paints," I lied as I reached for the third and final gift. "More
boring art supplies." I'm a terrible liar, so trust Cynthia to pick up on
my shifty eyes and nervous demeanor.

"Sure it is, Stevie...sure it is. I know it's just more dirty stuff," she
sighed, blowing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. "I swear, you two
boys go at it more than any couple I know..." I ignored her dead on
comments and instead, pulled the final gift out of the box. Unlike the
other two, this one had a bright red bow that was placed smack dab in the
middle. The package was flat, and reminded me of a diploma. Turning the
gift over, I noticed Lance's familiar scribble written over one of the
flaps of tissue paper.

`A little housewarming gift for you.'

My curiosity piqued, I just ripped open that tissue paper (carefully
though--I didn't want to rip Lance's words) and flipped the gift over.

There, in my hands, was a picture frame. A wooden one, painted a nice light
blue color. And in the frame was one of the pictures from our little
dalliance back in the photo booth in Florida. It was the one where Lance
and I were just staring into the camera, happy, content smiles on both of
our faces. There was an unmistakable glimmer of exhilaration and amusement
in our eyes.

My heart stopped beating. Or at least I think it did.

"Stevie," Cynthia's voice pierced through my daze, as her hand reached out
and shook my arm. "Come on, let me see what Lancey put in the frame..."

I really didn't want to show it to her, since the moment we had shared in
the photo booth had been so private and sweet. But I was proud of that
picture as well. Lance and I looked good together and there was something
about the way we looked at that moment that made my heart swell. I blinked
the tears out of my eyes before meeting my cousin's curious gaze, where she
was staring at me with waiting expectancy. Hesitantly, I handed the frame
to her, waiting for the dirty photo booth jokes to start any second.

There was a moment of silence, and I didn't dare look at my cousin. I just
didn't want to see her laughing her ass off at something that meant so much
to me. A couple more seconds ticked by and I finally garnered enough
courage to lift my head and look at Cynthia. Much to my surprise, she was
staring at the picture, a look of astonishment written all over her pretty
face.

"Oh, Stevie," Cynthia breathed, shaking her head in
amazement. "Stevie...this is so sweet..." Running her fingertips lightly
over the glass, a brief glimmer of tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

"Really?" I asked tentatively, as she handed the picture back to me. "You
think so? I was expecting you to make fun of it."

Cynthia looked up at me with what can only be described as a look of
shock. "What? Make fun? Stevie, you've gotta be kidding me..." She gave
another firm shake of her head. "Lord, that has to be the sweetest gift
I've ever seen.You're so lucky to have him, you know." The tone of her
voice softened as Cynthia began to fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat. "In
fact, sometimes I wish Josh was a little more romantic at times...you know,
like what you and Lance have..." Giving me a shaky smile, Cynthia tucked
her legs underneath her body, still looking restless as she did so. "I
mean...I'm happy with what we have, but you and Lance...not only are you
two major horndogs--" She gave me a teasing smile as she said this. "But
you two are *so* in love...it's really sweet to see."

And as Cynthia said this, I looked down at the photograph in my hands. And
she was right. Lance and I *were* in love...I just wished I didn't miss him
so much.





Over the next few days, my life (much to my surprise) seemed to get
better. Maybe part of it had to do with the fact that Cynthia was living
with me, never allowing me to get into a "mood". Maybe it had to do with
the picture that Lance had sent me--I had placed that on my nightstand. It
was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes in the morning and the last
thing I saw before I went to bed. Sure, I had to look at my ugly mug, but
it was worth it to see Lance smiling at me. And one night, as I lay in bed
and stared at his face, I realized that it was a thousand times better than
any picture printed in a teeny magazine. The smile on his face was the
result of being with me, not because some photographer told him to smile
like that.

Marianne and I had made up as well. The next day in school, I apologized
for yelling at her on the staircase.

"Look, my life's been really stressful lately," I explained, over cups of
extra-strong, make-you-sick-to-your stomach University coffee. "I shouldn't
have snapped at you like that."

"I know, Stephen...I figured that with your mom and everything..." Marianne
said softly, before tipping the styrofoam cup to her lips. "And just to be
honest--you haven't been the topic of the art departments gossip
lately--someone just mentioned the way you've been acting in passing...So
I'm sorry to have brought that up, too.."

Smiling at the brunette, I couldn't help but feel a little relieved at her
words. So she had stretched the truth a little--didn't we all at times?
Maybe Marianne was just concerned about me. I mean, how often does a person
change so radically in a time span of three months? Especially if you've
known that person for roughly three years, and they've never showed one
iota of change?

My life seemed to be on a roll. I had made up with Marianne (in fact, I had
even promised to give her a ride to the Masse-Simon Art Gallery to see an
exhibit for out Art Seminar class tomorrow--she hates driving). I was
caught up on my past due paintings, and I had even talked to my History
Professor about writing an extra credit paper to boost my fledgling
grade. And to make things even better, Lance and the rest of the guys were
back in the states--finally...

"Stephen? Is that you, baby?"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the mock come-hither voice my boyfriend
had just used.

"Yes, it's me, silly..." I said, trying my best to swallow back a
chuckle. I know he wanted to sound sexy, but...it just wasn't working. "And
since when did you become Barry White?" Taking a seat at the kitchen table,
I looked around the room in amazement. Ever since Hurricane Cynthia had
moved in, my apartment looked more like the bargain basement at a thrift
store than an actual place of residence.

"Aww, I'm disappointed you didn't like my sexy voice," Lance pouted, as an
image of my boyfriend, with his lower lip stuck out in an exaggerated pout
filled my mind. For the millionth time since Lance and I had parted, I
wished that he wasn't so far away. Hearing his voice made me just want to
hop on the next flight out of Ridgemont and to wherever in the world he was

"So whatcha doing, Stephen? Homework?"

"Would you believe nothing?" I answered dryly as I pushed a stack of
fashion magazines to the opposite side of the table. "Just cleaning up
Cynthia's mess--"

"Oh shut up!" Cynthia shouted from her place on the futon. The disgusting,
nauseating scent of nail polish wafted through the air and looking over at
my cousin, I watched as she went through the motions of wedging cotton
balls between her toes.

"I can hear Cynthia in the background," Lance laughed. The sound of his
deep voice made me long for the actual person to be sitting with me, so I
could hear that laugh face to face. "So are you two acting like the Odd
Couple?"

"Eh, she's actually kinda fun to have around--that is, when she isn't
gagging me with her nail polish!" I said loudly enough so that Cynthia
would hear me. I was rewarded with her casual, yet effective, flip of the
bird. Laughing, I closed my eyes, trying to imagine how my boyfriend looked
at that moment. I wondered what he was wearing, what his hair looked like
and how he smelled. I wondered how his skin would feel against my lips if I
would have kissed him. I wondered what he smelled like...

"So you're back in Florida, right?" I suddenly asked, trying to switch the
subject. My mind was concentrating *way* too much on the physical aspects
of my boyfriend and maybe, just maybe if Cynthia weren't sitting ten feet
away, I would have let our phone conversation drift into more intimate
territory. But I couldn't do that.  "Yeah," Lance said, and even though
he had just spoken one word, I could tell by the tone of his voice that he
just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep. Lance sounded so tired. "We flew
all night and I'm completely jet-lagged, Stephen. My body feels like I'm
about to drop dead."

There was something about the way he said those words that made a shiver
run down my spine. But I just shook it off.

"Aww, poor baby," I whispered seductively, lowering my voice so that
Cynthia wouldn't hear. "If I were there, I'd give you a little
massage--maybe that would wake you up..."

"Mmmm," Lance murmured, his voice dropping a few notches. "I *like*...go
on..."

"I can't," I sighed as I picked up a ball point pen that sat next to
me. "Cynthia's in the other room and I don't want her to hear."

"Oh." Lance said shortly. "Shit."

"I know," I sighed, as I uncapped the pen and began to doodle my
boyfriend's name (just like a lovesick teenage girl would) all over a spare
paper napkin. "Maybe later...you have that welcome back concert tonight,
right Lance?"

"Yeah." Pause. "Welcome back to Florida--big freaking deal. I don't even
want to do this concert, Stephen." My eyebrows shot up into the air. I was
surprised at the bitterness that coursed through Lance's voice--usually he
was the one always so thrilled about going on stage and performing.

"Lance--"

"Stephen, I'm tired, okay?" Lance said bitterly. "You know at the time, a
second leg of this tour sounded like a good idea. Now? Now, I'm just
tired--we don't get any breaks. We just keep working and working and..."
His words trailed off for a moment.

"What?" I asked worriedly.

"I miss you," he said simply. "I miss you, Stephen. It's hard going from
seeing you everyday to waking up alone in strange hotel rooms, you know."
And then he yawned--a big, loud yawn that reverberated through the phone
wires and directly into my ear.

"Geez, I didn't realize how exciting it is talking to me," I teased him as
I placed the ballpoint pen back on the table. "Hope I'm not keeping you up,
Mr. Bass..."

I swear I could hear him smile. "Stephen, I'm sorry," Lance apologized, as
he attempted to fight back another yawn. "I'm just exhausted and I wish I
didn't have to do the show tonight, that's all. but what are they gonna do?
Cancel the show because I'm tired?"

"Yeah, I can see the headlines on the eleven o'clock news," I
joked. "*NSYNC cancels show because Lance Bass needs his beauty sleep." We
laughed at the thought. "Come on, you know Josh is the sleepy one in the
band. You can't suddenly become the sleepy one--you have a reputation to
uphold."

"Yeah, yeah..." Lance sighed. "I know--to be the business-orientated
one...thank God I have you to keep me in line, Stephen."

"Keep you in line?" I whispered devilishly, a smile spreading out on my
face. "Hmmm, you're right. I *do* know how to keep you in line--but only if
I have the handcuffs..."

Pause. And then, "Stephen...don't get me all worked up here--not if you
can't finish it..." His voice was begging, pleading...and as much as I
wanted to finish the naughty thoughts that were circling around in my mind,
I knew I couldn't. Lance and I had...done... *stuff* (that was really the
only word I wanted to use) more than one time and I had been the only one
in the apartment when we did it. My face turned hot at the memory. `Damn
Cynthia,' I thought to myself. `Would it be too obvious if I sent her
outside for a few seconds?'

"Stephen, I wish I were there with you....I wish I could kiss you..."

"Lance... stop it..."

"I wish I could touch you."

Whimper.

"I wish I could just take you and throw you on the bed and just...*fuck*
you, Stephen. All day. All night. That's all I want..."

"Lance...I..." I was at a loss for words, not to mention that I could
barely breathe. My chest was tightening as well as my pants. The image of
Lance and I stretched out on a bed, our bodies pressed together, like we
had been so many times before, filled my mind and I could barely think
straight. I forgot about Cynthia sitting on the futon and I just rested my
head on the table, overwhelmed by the feelings of both lust and love that
were raging through me.

"Stephen?"

"Yes?"

"I have to go now...rehearsal..."

"Auuugghhh," I groaned. "How can you do this to me, Lance? After you got me
all worked up here..."

"Easy," Lance laughed, sounding happier than before. "I just did, didn't I?
Now say good-bye to me, Stephen..."

"Do you think you deserve a good-bye?" I said teasingly. "After what you
did to me?"

"Like you didn't like it....Stephen?"

"Yes?"

"I love you. I love you more than anything in the world..."

My heart melted at the words that Lance had just spoken. Why the hell did
he have to go and say something mushy like that? It only made me want him
even more...

"I love you too, Lance...call me after the show?"

"Promise. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay...bye, Lance."

"Bye, Stephen."

Click.

And as I hung up the phone, I couldn't help but feel that Lance and I were
going to make it through this separation. It would just take time...



Later that night, I began to work on another painting. For some odd reason,
I was restless. I didn't know what to do with myself, and it seemed as
though I had tons of energy pent up inside of me. And what better way to
get rid of all that energy by working on a painting, right?

So I mixed the colors around on my palette, and began to apply the paint in
large, messy blotches to the canvas (I didn't dare touch the new brushes
Lance had sent me. I just couldn't. I was just waiting for the right
painting to use them on and this one was *definitely* not it). I didn't
know what I painting and I didn't care. I was just...restless...I spent a
few more minutes working on my makeshift painting, before dropping the
brush in disgust.

"Blech," I muttered under my breath. "This fucking sucks." As I stood there
and stared at the still-wet canvas, I could hear Cynthia's footsteps
approach my work space.

"Geez, Stevie--it looks like a mud splotch," my dear cousin cracked,
leaning in closer to examine my painting. She turned her head towards me
and raised her eyebrows. "Is that what you were going for? Mud? Cause
there's plenty outside I can get you..."

"No," I sneered as I took the painting and tossed it to the side. I didn't
care where the canvas landed and Cynthia and I watched, as it landed face
up on the wooden floor.

"Stevie, are you okay?" Cynthia asked seriously, as I crossed my arms over
my chest. "You look kinda flushed..." She lifted the back of her hand to my
forehead, feeling for my temperature. "Hmmm...you *are* kinda warm..maybe
you're coming down with something."

"Nah." I shrugged her words off and bent over to pick up the painting I had
just thrown. I really don't know what had gotten into me...and as I stood
up and straightened out my body, I shivered.

It was a small shiver, but Cynthia, with those hawk eyes she possessed (God
bless her), noticed how my body swayed slightly in the warm air of my
apartment.

"Stevie--you know the old saying--when you shiver like that, someone just
walked over your grave..."

"Stop that," I scolded her as I wiped my paint-splattered hands on an old
rag. "I hate that saying....it's just an old wives tale, you know..." I
continued my feeble attempts at cleaning my hands, but soon realized that
it was in vain. The paint had dried on my hands and was now impossible to
remove without soap and water.

"Stevie?" Cynthia called out my name once more, gently touching my shoulder
to gain my attention. "Sure you're alright? You just look really weird..."

"I'm fine," I answered sharply. "I think...I think it was just the Chinese
food or something. I'm just never ordering Szechwan again--too spicy." I
tried to make a joke as I wagged an index finger in Cynthia's (unconvinced)
face.

Taking a place on my futon, I propped my feet on the coffee table and
reached for the remote control. `Maybe I'm feeling weird because of the
Chinese food...that's *gotta* be it...the Chinese food. People always get
sick from Chinese food.' As I continued to think, Cynthia fell onto the
futon next to me, still staring at me with that concerned, overprotective
amethyst gaze.

"Stevie.." Cynthia said shakily, reaching out to wipe the trickle of sweat
that was running down the side of my face. "What is *wrong* with you...are
you gonna puke or something?"

"Nah," I said, my words betraying the queasiness I felt inside. What the
hell was happening to me? "Oh look...eleven o'clock," I said, quickly
changing the subject. "You know Cynth--you know what the beauty of living
in Ridgemont is?" And suddenly, I was calm again. Nausea gone. Shakiness
disappeared.

"What?" Cynthia asked suspiciously, squinting at my sudden calmness.

"You can get The Simpsons three times a day here--at five, six and eleven,"
I laughed uneasily as I hit the `power' button on the remote. "The perks of
living so close to Canada...."

"Yeah..." Cynthia trailed off as the television screen came to life. We
were both expecting to see America's favorite cartoon family.

We didn't see that.

Instead, Cynthia and I watched a scene of mass chaos unfold before our
eyes.  People were running around and yelling at the top of their
lungs. Most of them were teenage girls, crying hysterically and screaming
bloody murder.

"What the fuck?" Cynthia muttered as we continued to watch the television.

Suddenly, the scene of mass chaos was replaced by the face of a young girl,
her tear-streaked face taking up the entire screen. She was no more than
fourteen years old and a reporter had shoved a microphone into her face.

"Oh God," the girl cried. "I don't know...it was just horrible...I mean,
they were just singing and this guy just starts opening fire. Everyone just
started screaming...it's like something out of a nightmare..."

The distraught girl's face was suddenly replaced by the calm mug of an
anchor woman. She was wearing way too much makeup and in contrast to the
images that had preceded her, she was, in my opinion, a little too calm.

"Orlando police say that they have the suspect, a Marvin Johannson, in
custody. He is currently being held without bail at this time."

And then they flashed a picture of *NSYNC on the screen. It was a publicity
still of them--one of those lame, happy, let's-all-smile-for-the-camera
photos. At first it didn't register in my brain *why* they would show a
picture of Lance and the rest of his bandmates on the screen. To make the
sad teenagers happy again? It just didn't make sense...

I felt Cynthia take hold of my arm in a death grip, her freshly polished
fingernails digging into my skin as she did so. Her breathing had become
raspy and labored, and for the life of me, I couldn't understand *why* my
cousin was cutting off my circulation. Maybe she was feeling sick too...

And then the reporter spoke again: "One member of the popular boy-band was
rushed to the hospital with a gunshot wound....his name and condition is
being withheld at this time..." Suddenly, a scene of happy, smiling elderly
people at a retirement home replaced the picture of *NSYNC.

"In other news, Ridgemont's elderly are..."

And then it all clicked. Everything came together and the realization hit
me like a lead weight. There had been a shooting at an *NSYNC concert. One
of the guys had been shot.

I sat there, frozen in my seat, while my brain just repeated the
information it had gathered.

There had been a shooting at an *NSYNC concert. One of the guys had been
shot.

Oh. My. God.

"Stephen? Stephen?" I looked over at Cynthia, tears streaming down her
face. She was calling me by my full first name. She was crying.

I don't know why I had become so simple-minded then. I mean, there had been
news that someone in the band was shot. I had no idea who it was and I was
just sitting there, on my futon, my mouth hanging wide open as my mind
tried to process the information. It just wasn't clicking and making
sense. Lance? Josh? Justin? Chris? Joey? *Lance?* Shot? Never--things like
that didn't happen to the people I knew, especially when one of them was
someone I loved with my whole heart. Right? Bad things like that only
happened in the movies.

This wasn't a movie. This was my life.

"Stephen!" Cynthia leapt up from her place on the futon, and began pacing
back and forth like a caged animal. She ran her hands wildly through her
hair, unsure what to do with them. "What are we going to do? I don't know
who was shot....oh my *God*!!! You're just going to sit there...what if it
was Josh? *What if it was Josh???* Oh my God..." She had become hysterical
then, and so had I. Tears began to stream down my face, my emotions finally
clicking in.

Lance.

Suddenly, I *knew* why I had been acting so restless and
perturbed. Something in my body knew something had happened to Lance. It
was second nature to know when someone I loved was hurt. Just like all
those other times when something bad happened.

And the first thought that entered my mind was a completely selfish one:
"Why does this always happen to me?"

I was ashamed to even admit something like that, but it was true. That was
all I could think of. Why me? Why did everyone I loved have to be taken
away from me or hurt in some horrible way?

`Calm down,' I tried to soothe myself. `Lance might have not been the one
that was hurt. It might have been Joey or Chris or Justin or Josh.' I
looked over at Cynthia, who was now shaking uncontrollably, her body
wracking with sobs and I immediately took his name back.

Wordlessly, I headed over to the phone and immediately dialed Lance's cell
phone number. I got his answering message. Shit.

I called Cynthia over to the telephone and told her to try Josh's cell
phone. She got the same thing as I did--a lame recording. They must have
turned their phones off...that had to be it, I tried to rationalize. Why
else wouldn't either of them answer their cell phones? Normally those
things were superglued to their ears, unless..

`No, no, no, no....stop *thinking* that. Lance is okay. Lance is okay. So
is Josh...'

I couldn't take it anymore and neither could Cynthia. If we waited all
night for someone to call us, we probably would have both dropped dead from
the sheer worrying. No, sitting around and waiting for our boyfriends to
call wasn't even a possibility in our minds.  So Cynthia and I did the
only thing two panic-stricken people could have done in our situation: We
called the airport, booked two tickets to Orlando and got our asses on the
first flight out there. That was the only thing that made sense to us.



The next few hours that passed my life were nothing more than a blur in my
mind. As I sat in that airplane seat and bit my fingernails down, I
realized I didn't even remember how Cynthia got the tickets. I remembered
sitting on the couch, staring blankly into space and while Cynthia wrangled
over the phone for tickets. The next thing I remember was Cynthia running
out of my room, her duffel bag in hand, stuffed with various articles of
clothing. And then we left. We took a taxi down to the airport and now...

Now we were en route to Orlando to find out the condition of the people
that Cynthia and I loved. I barely remembered the flight down to Florida
and that was odd. I hated flying with a passion, and normally, I would have
been shaking and sweating out the entire trip. This time however, I could
have cared less that I was thousands of miles in the air, with nothing
below me but numerous, faceless towns and cities.

The two of us remained completely silent during the entire trip, but what
struck me as odd was Cynthia's reaction. My cousin just sat there, silent
tears streaming down her cheeks as she clutched onto a string of ancient
looking rosary beads. Straining my ears, I could make out the whispered
Hail Mary's that escaped her lips, over and over, as though Josh's life
depended on those prayers.

And that's when reality slapped me in the face.

I never realized how strong love between two people could be. I mean, I
knew that I loved Lance and that I would have done anything for him, but I
just never realized what love was until that moment. It was making yourself
sick with worry, hopping on a flight to where the other person was just to
make sure they were okay, so that you could be by their side. Love was one
of those things that could have been read in so many different ways--the
possibilities were overwhelming. Look at Cynthia--I had never seen my
cousin, in the twenty years I've known her, ever turn to religion
before. She used to skip Sunday School when she was younger and now she was
saying a rosary.

Love made you do weird things. And the last few months of my life, was the
result of love. And for some reason, it scared me that one emotion could
make a person change so much.

As my thoughts coasted on, I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into my
own world. The time seemed to creep by as slow as molasses and part of me
was ready to rush to the cockpit and take over that airplane's control
myself. The wait was just making me angrier and soon enough I found that my
worried thoughts quickly turned angry.

`Lance,' I thought bitterly, as I kneaded my fingers into my palms. `Why
did *I* have to meet you? Why did I have to fall in love with you, James
Lance Bass?  So when things like *this* happen, I think I've lost you?? So
someone can take it into their own hands to play God and shoot you for some
stupid reason that made perfect sense in their own twisted mind?'

I closed my eyes, hiding the tears that threatened to slip out of my
eyes. I didn't want to cry over him. For some reason, I didn't even want to
think of Lance anymore, but that was a pretty useless request, since Lance
was the person who filled my thoughts night and day. `I hate you, Lance. I
*hate* you for being in that stupid pop band, for all the traveling you do,
the trips around the world and the concerts you have to sing at....I hate
the fact that we're so many miles apart and that you could be hurt (dead)
and I don't even know it....'

The tears finally slipped from under my eyelids, and down my face, cooling
off my flushed cheeks. I felt like I was living in someone else's
nightmare. My temples throbbed like hell and I thought that I was going to
throw up any second.  A horrible image of Lance's body lying on a gurney,
bloodied, bandaged up and lifeless refused to leave my mind.

And that's when the announcement came over the airplane's PA system. "We're
about to land in Orlando...the time is 3:41 a.m....please fasten your
seatbelts..."

We were here. Finally. And neither Cynthia nor I could get to that hospital
fast enough.





Once we got off the plane, Cynthia and I aimed some questions at the
airport staff (of all the nights Cynthia forgets to recharge her cell
phone, she would choose this particular one wouldn't she?) and the two of
us found out that the wounded *NSYNC member had been taken to the Orlando
Medical Center.

After hailing a taxi, Cynthia and I had finally made it to the hospital. We
drove there in silence, the streetlights lighting up the half-empty streets
that we traveled down. Memories of the good times Lance and I had shared,
filled my mind, and without thinking, I touched my lower back. I ran my
fingertips over the tattoo I had gotten and I swallowed back the tears that
were forming in my throat. Crying wasn't going to help anymore. Tears
didn't heal anything--and the damage (to whoever had received it) had
already been done. The crying just was an aftereffect...

My thoughts came to a halt as the taxi began to do the same. Before the
vehicle braked, Cynthia swung open the taxi door and ran out of the
partially moving vehicle. No amount of speed would keep her from her man,
and the taxi driver and I watched as Cynthia ran though the doors of the
emergency entrance.

Since I was left behind, I paid the driver the fare and climbed out of the
taxi. My feet rested on the pavement and I began to run blindly towards the
peaceful glow of the emergency room. I was so close...

"Watch it you jerk!" I had never noticed the ambulance that whizzed through
the small lane and took a few, stumbling steps backwards while the driver
shouted the words out his open window. That didn't even faze me. Through
the doors, I could see Cynthia standing at the desk, adjusting the strap of
the duffel bag that lay over her shoulder. She looked angry and as I strode
into the building, I wondered what the problem was.

It never struck me that two crazed looking individuals, fresh from the
street, would have been denied admittance to see the guys. That just wasn't
a possibility in my mind. After all, Lance and I had been through so many
things, that it was natural I'd be allowed to see him. I'd be rushed in
like a member of his family, because I was his boyfriend, right? Everyone
knew that.

Correction. Everyone in the *NSYNC camp knew that. Outsiders didn't know
that, and it was that minor mistake that slipped my mind.

I watched as the elderly nurse on duty, whose silver nametag read,
`Sylvia', practically laughed in Cynthia's face.

"Sweetie, do you know how many of JC's Chasez's girlfriends' have come into
here and asked the same thing you have? Now, why don't you go on home and
find out about it like everyone else on the news..." Sylvia said, in an
annoyingly cool tone of voice. I watched as Cynthia's face went from
distraught to perturbed in a matter of seconds. I'm surprised she didn't
leap over the desk and strangle Sylvia. But Cynthia just straightened
herself up, cleared her throat and looked the nurse in the eyes.

"Please," Cynthia begged, giving Sylvia a sweet, innocent smile. "Please,
I'm begging you--I'm his girlfriend. His *real* girlfriend....Cynthia
Peterson. *Please*, just tell me if he's okay...I'm begging you.."

Sylvia just gave a firm shake of her head, and an almost mocking look
appeared in her hard brown eyes. "I'm sorry, miss. After the nature of the
situation, we're not allowed to release any kind of information to any
outsiders--"

`*Outsider?!?!* How *dare* you call me an outsider!" Cynthia began to
scream, pounding her fist on the desk. A vase of flowers jumped into the
air and then fell onto the floor, the glass shattering into a thousand
pieces, while the water splashed on Cynthia's bare ankles. But she didn't
even notice. She was too angry to care.

"I'm sorry, we have a list of family members *only*," Sylvia interrupted in
a hard voice. "There have been girls coming in and out of here all night
claiming to be a girlfriend or sister---we have a list of family members
there are *no* girlfriend's on it. Now, please go home before I have to
call security on you."

By that time, I had enough. I stepped forward, cutting in front of Cynthia
(who was clenching her fists, looking as though she was about to punch
Sylvia's lights out), an apologetic look on my face.

"Look," I said, aggravated by the whole absurdity of the situation we were
in. I couldn't believe this was happening--I just wanted to know who had
gotten hurt. Was I asking too much? "She's telling the truth. She *is*
Joshua Chasez's girlfriend--just tell us, who was hurt?" I said, my voice
taking on the same begging tone as Cynthia's. I was desperate. There was no
way they could tell us to go home--not after we flew here. And out of the
corner of my eye, I saw a large, beefy looking hospital guard approaching
us. "Please...was Joshua Chasez or Lance Bass hurt?"

The nurse looked at me with the same mocking expression, and I was about to
hope over that desk and beat Sylvia up myself. "Look, I'm giving both of
you one more chance--*go home* before I have to call--"

"Cynthia!!!!!"

Spinning around, Cynthia and I looked in the direction that the voice had
come from. And like the American Calvary riding over the hill, there, fast
approaching us, was Josh. He looked tired. There were dark circles under
his brilliant blue eyes, and his hair was sticking up in about a thousand
different directions. He looked like he was ready to drop--but the
ear-to-ear grin that spread over his face told a different story. Josh ran
to Cynthia, arms open, enveloping her once he drew close enough.

"Josh..." Cynthia's wail became lost as she buried her face in his
chest. "You're okay...you weren't hurt..." He didn't answer her, and
instead, Josh gently stroked her brown hair, placing a soft kiss on her
forehead. I saw a few tears forming in the corner of his eyes, but before
they could fall, he closed them and just held my cousin in his arms.

I felt a tired smile form on my lips, as I watched the two standing there,
and for a brief moment, I forgot about Lance. Can you believe that? All
thoughts of my boyfriend had flew out of my head as I watched Cynthia and
Josh reunite. There was something so wonderful about seeing two people so
in love...timeless, you know?

"Stephen?"

I closed my eyes upon hearing my name. I knew that voice. I would know it
even if I had amnesia.

And so I turned around, and standing in back of me was Lance.

I didn't say a word and to be honest, I *couldn't* speak even the most
simple word of English if you would have paid me to. Lance was standing
there, a can of cola and a bag of potato chips clutched in his hands, while
his mouth fell open in a shocked gape.

You would have thought that after all of those moments, all of those things
Lance and I had shared, our reunion would be easy. I almost felt like I
shouldn't have been seeing Lance standing there, because I had fully
expected him to be the one who had gotten shot. It was as though a miracle
had occurred...

We just stood there, staring at each other. His eyes, jade in color from
worry and exhaustion were fixated on my brown ones. I took in the sight of
his face, watching the way his lower lip trembled and how his eyes suddenly
took on a glassy look...

The can of cola and the chips dropped from his hand, landing on the floor
beneath him with a loud bang. Lance rushed over to me and wrapped his arms
tightly around my neck.

"Stephen..." Lance repeated my name, whispering it in my ear as though he
were taking his last breath. "Oh God, I've been calling your house all
night...and you never answered...I thought something happened to you..."

"You thought something happened to me?" I asked, somewhat jokingly. "Lance,
I..." And my words stopped as Lance pressed himself against me and I felt
another batch of tears fall from of my eyes, spilling onto my boyfriend's
soft, navy blue shirt. The warmth of Lance's body, next to my own, felt so
good....so reassuring because it meant he was alive. I felt his lips brush
against my earlobe, trying to turn the gentle touch into a kiss, when the
sound of someone clearing their throat snapped both of us back to life.

"Ahem."

Startled, Lance and I looked up at the tired, yet stern gaze that radiated
from Josh's face. He stiffly shook his head at us, darting his eyes to
where Sylvia and the bodyguard were staring at Lance and I as though we had
grown extra limbs. And then I realized that the middle of a public,
well-lit hospital was no place for Lance and I to have an affectionate
reunion.

A little embarrassed by our spontaneous actions, Lance and I quickly
dropped our embraces like we had been burned. Clearing his throat, Lance
looked down at the floor underneath him, two red spots appearing on his
cheeks, before looking back up at me. A small embarrassed grin appeared on
his lips as our eyes met. I'm sure I looked the same--happy, yet
embarrassed. I couldn't help it. Neither of us could keep our eyes off each
other, as Josh motioned to Sylvia.

"Hey--it's okay for these two to have access" Josh told the angered looking
nurse, as he wrapped a protective arm around Cynthia's narrow
waist. "Cynthia and Stephen Peterson--please add them to the list." And
with that, Josh smiled down at my cousin and led her away from the
desk. Wanting to get her revenge, I watched Cynthia turn her head and stick
her tongue out at Sylvia. Judging from the nurses' angry expression, she
had never been one-uppped before. And under different circumstances, I
would have disapproved of Cynthia's childish behavior. But not this
time. This time, I was thrilled that Cynthia could be so immature at times.

And shooting the nurse a gloating look of my own, I spun on my heel and
followed Lance off to where the rest of the band was resting.

Josh and Cynthia were halfway down the hall already, leaving Lance and I
behind them. My boyfriend was silent, walking down the hall, biting his
bottom lower lip with each step he took. And then it dawned on me...someone
had been hurt that night. Maybe it hadn't been Lance, but one of the guys
had been shot.

"Lance?" I whispered, reaching out to tug on his arm. "Who got hurt?" We
stopped dead in our tracks as Lance wearily rubbed his bloodshot eyes. He
looked incredibly exhausted as he met my worried gaze.

"Chris." He spoke his friend's name softly, as though it hurt to even utter
that name. "He was shot in the shoulder....the doctor said if he would have
moved his head a few more inches...he would have..." The words trailed off,
but I didn't need Lance to finish them. I knew how the sentence would have
ended. A look of pain flashed over my boyfriend's handsome face, as he
began to recount the past events of the night.

"We were in the middle of singing, `I Drive Myself Crazy' and it's so
noisy...so loud..." Lance closed his eyes and shook his head, as though he
was trying to rid his mind of the terrible images. "And then...I don't even
remember what happened. For some reason, I looked down.." Lance's voice
fell silent, and he swallowed nervously. "And there was this guy...he was
just grinning at us...and I don't know how he got so close to the stage,
past the guards...and he was holding this thing...and the next thing I
know..."

Lance grew silent as his eyes flew open. He stood in front of me, a pained
look in those beautiful eyes. Those eyes that I had lost myself in so many
times, whether we were just talking about life or making love or goofing
off with our friends...Those eyes were filled with so much anguish, that
for a brief moment, he didn't look like the James Lance Bass I knew and
loved. He had the eyes of stranger and that scared me more than anything in
the world.

"Stephen," Lance spoke softly, looking as though he were in a dream. "The
only thing I remember is hitting the floor and thinking...`I'm going to die
and I'm never going to see Stephen again.'" He lowered his eyes and took a
few steps closer to me, so that we were barely an inch apart. The next
words he spoke, came out so quietly, I had to strain to hear them.

"And I just kept praying...hoping that you'd make it through when you found
out that I was ki--"

I never let Lance finish his sentence and instead, I pulled him close to me
and kissed him. I didn't care who was lurking the halls, or who saw. I
needed to kiss him. I needed to feel his lips against my own, I needed the
reassurance that Lance was still here with me. I felt my lips part
willingly, and the feel of Lance's tongue slip between them. My hands
clutched at the thin material of his white undershirt and for some reason,
I looked down.

My fingers were brushing against a thin dark crimson stain, smeared
haphazardly across my boyfriend's chest. Blood. It had to be
Chris's. Soaked and dried into the cotton material.

And I think that's when the final, absolute shock of what had happened that
night finally sunk into my thick skull. Lance could have died. He would
have been gone from the Earth and I would have never had that final chance
to say goodbye to him.

I would have never gotten to tell Lance, `I love you' again.

And I don't know what made me suddenly realize that. It had been bothering
me during the flight, during the taxi ride, but the realization--the cold,
hard truth if you will--really hit me hard at that particular moment.

And I suddenly hurt like I had never hurt before.

I had my parents taken away from me, but this...Lance...he was so much
different. I loved him in a completely different way. It was a sexual,
physical--needy, if you must--sort of love. Something I had never had with
anyone else. But it was more that that. He was everything I had at that
moment. My one reason for living. And the idea that it could have all been
taken away from me in one brief second?

That was the hardest thing to comprehend.

I met Lance's eyes and suddenly, I saw all that love, all that support and
caring that we had given each other through the past few months, taken away
from me by the hand of some deranged individual. And if I thought I had
cried hard before, nothing matched the force of the tears that left my eyes
now.

"Oh God," I cried while wrapping my arms around Lance's neck, holding on
for dear life. "Oh, God, Lance...don't ever leave me...please..." With
those words, Lance broke down himself, sliding his arms around my waist as
he rested his head on my shoulder.

"Stephen, I'd never leave you," Lance whispered between his own sobs. "You
know I wouldn't. I'd be there with you always. I love you, Stephen." He
picked his head up from my shoulder, staring into my eyes as a smile
creeped over his face. "Even if I died, I'd still be with you, watching
over you--"

I placed a hand over his mouth, stopping the words that left his lips. The
smile disappeared and a serious look appeared again. Those weren't the
words I wanted to hear.

"No...don't leave me. I love you," I whispered frantically, pulling Lance's
body closer to mine. I desperately needed to feel his heartbeat against my
own. "Please, Lance, promise me..."

He met my eyes, and this time the sadness in those clear green eyes
suddenly disappeared and a look of exhilaration replaced it. Tightening his
hold around my waist, Lance placed another soft kiss on my lips, sending a
shiver throughout my body. I felt a gentle smile cross my lips as I waited
for his answer.

"I promise, Stephen..." Sealing his words with another, much more
passionate kiss, Lance locked his gaze with mine and curved his lips into a
beautiful smile. "I promise."




I'm not hurting Lanshy. I refuse to shoot him. Chapter 52? Who knows....I
have a big-ass design project coming up, but that's not to say I won't
slack off and write the continuing chapter of the novella.....remember,
mail me: sweetheart_stories@hotmail.com and visit me at
http://www.freespeech.org/gabriella. Please? Yes I like
self-promotion. It's fun. Hate me for it if you want =)

Love ya poodles and until the next time around...  Gabriella

(Queen of the Gutter/Lansh Porn Queen/Madame Gabriella of Lancedom/Bad Ass
Bass Bitch)