Smile On His Lips and Cuts On His Hips (10/?)
Title: Smile On His Lips and Cuts On His Hips (10/?)
Author: Rose Rose682
Rating: nc-17
Pairing: Jack Barakat/Alex Gaskarth
Summary: I’d lost count of how many had gaped at my arm with shocked expressions and open mouths, curious people unsure of whether or not they wanted to know the answer asking, “Did you cut your arm?”
Disclaimer: I own neither ATL or any other real person mentioned in this fic, though I wish for it constantly.
Author's Note: At the bottom.
Masterpost.
“Jack, are you going to do anything?” Rian teased, repositioning the camera from where it was mounted on a tripod. Brendon and Jon were fiddling with our set, adjusting the print out of Starry Night and trying to hide the white edges from the camera’s view.
We were doing claymation in art, assignment commanding the class to bring a famous painting to life while demonstrating a color scheme. My group was having analogous men grow out of Da Vinci’s picture and interact with each other - or something along those lines. I hadn’t really been paying attention during the story board.
“I am totally being helpful!” I protested, indignantly holding up the ball of clay that I had been mixing for the past tweny minutes. It had assumed the consistency of Play-Doh and perfect shade of purple that I had been searching for, simultaneously staining my hands so that it appeared that I’d been mashing blueberries instead of art mediums.
“That does not count! Do we even need purple?” Rian retorted, smirking when Brendon tore his eyes away from the cardboard box he was trying to position to shake his head. Fuck. “See? That color is not even in this picture.”
“Fuck off Rian, you’ve known me long enough to know I’m not helpful,” I sighed, rolling the soft clay with the heels of my hands, watching as it stretched into a snake. The coil came up specked with black when I peeled it away from the table, my distasteful glare ignored by the project partners. Apparently, I was only one that cared that our table was contaminating my material.
“Ugh, this isn’t working! Damn it, I’m just gonna jump off a cliff,” Jon whined, trying to lower the camera and running into obvious problems as the tripod legs contracted to their minimum length. My eyes fell to my hands, mindlessly rolling the clay back into a ball as I scowled, stifling a sigh as Brendon’s voice piped up with a chuckle.
He grinned, leaning over to press his elbows onto the table and eye the set up in search of fixing the filming problems amounting, saying, “I thought that was supposed to be Jack.”
I laughed along, regrettably encouraging, “Yeah, I’m totally looking for a cliff to walk off in land locked Baltimore.”
“You could take a dive off the docks,” Jon suggested with a giggle in his voice, seemingly giving up on trying to mangle the tripod into submission and going to peer at the camera over Rian’s shoulder. The buzz cut boy was ignoring us, focusing on the settings instead. He’d probably piss himself if we got any grade below and A.
“Been there, done that,” I dismissed with a casual wave of the hand, slamming my palm down to flatten the purple clay as my two friends laughed.
Due to my frequent sarcasm and lack of ability to take anything seriously, my peers had eventually caught on, and the cuts on my arm became a joke. We chuckled about how I was an ‘emo cutter’ and poked fun at the least humorous maters. The cut on my thumb had been laughed off with Josh’s so called funny proclamation that my razor had slipped while slitting my wrists in Math earlier, dots of scabs on my arm going unnoticed, hidden under fabric. I knew the fake coincidences could only pile up so much before everyone realized I was full of shit.
I realized that it was completely despicable and horrifying, that suicide and self harm were not laughing matters, that I was quickly becoming a disturbingly terrible person. But, to be honest, I’d rather save my ass than my virtue. I wondered, though, what would happen if my classmates knew how accurate some of their jokes were.
The bell rang just as purple was squishing through my fingers, me jumping off my stool and snatching the permission slip for an upcoming art field trip to the local museum off the table as my group scrambled to clean up. I cast the messy table a glance, deciding to leave the other boys to it and run off to the other side of the school so I wasn’t late for gym.
I spotted Alex across the room as I reached the door, the brunette smiling with a wave as he hurriedly skipped to my side, calling, “Jack! Walk with me?”
Nodding with a grin, I pushed the door open, leaning against it to hold it open until he caught up, the pair of us falling into step and starting off towards PE. For some reason, I was positive that Alex would rather bathe in crap than join in on mocking cutting.
___
“Suit ‘em up, suit ‘em out!” DeGirinimo called, tucking his clipboard under his arm and retreating back to his office. We probably wouldn’t see the teacher for another twenty minutes.
Alex and I fell into step next to each other, walking to the locker rooms to change for swimming. I’d already missed a full week of the sport, causing my grade to drop dramatically. I really did not care at all, and, honestly, was becoming concerned with the amount of things I couldn’t give two shits about. There was very little that sparked emotion in me anymore.
But today, I had actually managed to remember my boring black swim shorts in the morning, and it wouldn’t even cause too many issues, considering that school ended right after PE that day. Tuesday’s finished off with fifth period.
“Why does he always say that? Technically, doesn’t that mean we should change into our gym clothes, and then back into normal clothes?” I inquired, swinging my shorts over my shoulder and wondering if the towels everybody left draped over the tennis nets in the middle of our basketball courts would remain untouched while we changed. Probably, unless some freshman - who I was pretty sure were in the middle of their football unit, and would be back out five times as fast as us - decided to fuck with them. Everybody hated freshman, though, and I seriously doubted they’d risk getting their heads chopped off by the upper classes.
“I don’t know, because he’s stupid?” Alex replied, grinning at me and running a hand through his hair as we walked. Our roll call spots were, conveniently, the farthest away from the boy’s locker rooms.
“Probably,” I agreed, stopping in front of the ramp leading to the doorway as we reached it. Grabbing one of the dull turquoise railings and stepping onto the concrete ledge, I swung a leg over it, other following as I half tripped through the door. Alex giggled from where he had gone over the obstacle far more gracefully next to me, smiling under the glare I cast him.
We walked past the four rows of lockers next to the showers in silence, both turning down the same isle. I went straight through it, making my way to the wall on the other side of the room as Alex stopped in front of his locker, hitting it to make it pop open. There was something wrong with the boy’s lock, so he just closed it halfway everyday and punched it open in order to make changing quicker.
After falsely putting in my hall locker combination, and then my gym numbers wrong twice, my lock finally jumped open, causing me to sigh in relief that I wouldn’t have to ask somebody for help as I pulled the metal open. Josh was, somehow, the only other person in the same row of lockers of me, and had raised an eyebrow at me since he was already fully dressed. I just shrugged, pulling my shoes off and tossing them partially on top of the shirt thrown carelessly at the bottom of my locker.
Kellin appeared out of nowhere, grabbing Josh’s arm and pulling him with a skip towards the door. I paced to my left, noticing Alex still just unbuttoning his jeans in the aisle I could barely see down from my spot. Pulling off my shirt, I swapped it for the one proudly displaying our high school’s name.
A moment later, my jeans were off, hands turning the legs right side out as I glanced around the empty space before me. No one there, no one looking.
I hung my pants on a hook, eyes darting across the bare or blocked from sight room once more before I turned to the corner, tugging off my boxers. I had my swim shorts on in another split second, exhaling in relief quietly as I slammed my locker closed.
Tugging the dark fabric up further on my hips, I wondered if exposing fresh, yet to heal closed cuts to chlorine would hurt. Maybe. Probably. I’d find out soon enough.
After a weekend full of homework, chores, and extreme loneliness spiked with self hatred deriving from the sudden grasping that I was a completely pathetic person who spent my only real time off from school at home alone, the cuts on my right hip had doubled. Well, plus one. Sunday had been bad. Really bad.
I was just so sad all the time. What the psychological pain was inspired by, I had no idea. At least I could control the intentional physical torture.
My parents weren’t abusive, I didn’t get bullied, I wasn’t failing out of school, I didn’t spend lunch immersed in a book alone - well, I didn’t really eat lunch at all lately, but still - I had a warm home and abundant food to return to at the end of the day. So why did I constantly feel like shit?
I’d guessed that it wasn’t that everything was aggressively lousy, just that nothing was good. Everything in my world was failing; I was just so painfully average in every way, and it was driving me insane. I wanted to do something special, be someone, yet I was shit at everything and losing all motivation to even strive for success.
I wouldn’t say that I was depressed. But by that wonderful point in Junior year, I certainly was not happy.
I stepped up onto the bench in-between lockers, standing over Alex’s shirt that had been thrown on the damp wood as he strung up his jeans. Turning around, the brunette smirked up at me, unsurprised as I blatantly scanned his bare chest.
Slamming the locker shut and tugging his shirt on, Alex asked, “No shoes?”
I shrugged, walking along the bench next to him before hoping off the end. “DeGirinimo hasn’t made us run before swimming yet, so why bother?”
“What about Thursday?” he responded, stepping over the railing once more as I glanced around the full courts before us, realizing we were the last ones out of the lockers rooms. Even after the girls, really? Fuck.
Alex was referring to when we ran the mile last week, prompting every female in our class to whine about swimsuits riding up their asses. I guessed I could see how that would be irritating, but, hey, perks of being a guy; not my problem.
“We always do runs on Thursdays. Today’s not Thursday, shouldn’t be a problem.” I retorted, hand scraping against the chain link fence next to me as we approached our class. DeGirinimo just glanced at us, shaking his head and apparently marking us present. I was number three in the roll call organized by last names, and he’d surely already gone over my spot by the time we arrived.
Alex just nodded to my logic and sauntered to his number beside the hoop, arriving just as our teacher finished taking roll.
Five minutes later, everybody was sticking towels into the protruding wires in the fence and stripping down to get in the pool. We all sat down on the edge, ankles slipping through the surface of the water they heated just enough to not allow us to freeze to death as our PE teacher stood comfortably at the side. No one made him swim, damn it.
I was sandwiched between Alex and Josh, who were having an animated conversation about chocolate right through me. Apparently, Francheschi was one of those downright insane people who didn’t like the sweet. I would probably have murdered someone by then without my daily dose of the sugary drug, and couldn’t even fucking imagine not enjoying it.
Alex was energetically arguing for the candy, sounding completely astounded at Josh’s dislike of it. I had to side with him on that one.
“Alright, everybody in, two warm up laps of your choice!” DeGirinimo called, causing everybody to flop into the pool and eliciting several swears of disproval from his students, which he, thankfully, ignored.
The water was fucking cold, I was about as good at swimming as cat with no arms or legs, and my shorts were irritating my cuts. I cursed the existence of gym as I ducked under the water, shaking then wet hair out of my eyes and kicking off the wall as the exercises began. Bound to be a fun hour ahead.
___
Half an hour, twelve laps of the pool and a very half hearted game of water polo later, I was toweling my head off in the locker rooms. Most of our class was showering, but I just wanted to get changed and home as soon as possible, deciding to scrub the chlorine out of my hair in a couple hours. Deep conditioning would definitely be in order for that nights shower, but whatever. It would probably work out fine. Hopefully.
Rubbing the towel over my chest with one hand, I scrapped my hand through my hair with the other, plastering my fringe back against my scalp. It felt dry and generally gross, and I probably looked like a retarded Muppet by that point. Too bad, I didn’t care anymore.
Wrapping my towel partly around my waist and holding it in place with one hand, I tugged off my swim shorts, kicking them onto the grubby floor. I pulled my boxers over my ankles, dropping the towel in favor of yanking up my underwear in record time.
After slipping back into my t-shirt and grey hoodie, almost falling on my face while hopping and wiggling into my skinny jeans, I was sitting on my damp towel on the floor to tie my shoes. Alex appeared from around the corner, brushing his fingers through his fringe that managed to look perfect even after being soaked in chemicals for an hour, striding over to me.
“Jack!” he exclaimed, grinning and grabbing the hand that I offered, pulling me up, “I need your number; there’s something I have to ask you.”
That caused my thoughts to spin into their usual hectic action, trying to decode what the fuck that sentence meant. But I had always been one to try and just go with it; figure out the consequences of my actions later, so I only quirked an eyebrow at the boy before me while I shoved my still wet towel into my locker. It would probably smell like crap by Thursday, when I had PE again, but I couldn’t be bothered to take it home.
Alex pulled out his phone, giving me an expectant look as I shoved my lock closed for the last time that day. I decided that nothing bad could possibly come from it, agreeing and relaying my digits to the boy.
“I’ll text you later!” Alex gushed once he was done tapping, flashing me a grin and trotting out of the room. I shook my head to myself, tugging on the edges of my hoodie and turning to leave. I was confused about what he wanted, and that boy was downright weird, but I figured I’d see what he wanted eventually.
Anyways, I was distracted by happyily staring at his ass as he left.
____________________
No, Alex is not going to ask Jack out, though what he does have to say is very, very, very important. You'll see what it is next chapter. Thank you for the comments, please comment again!-Rose
Author: Rose Rose682
Rating: nc-17
Pairing: Jack Barakat/Alex Gaskarth
Summary: I’d lost count of how many had gaped at my arm with shocked expressions and open mouths, curious people unsure of whether or not they wanted to know the answer asking, “Did you cut your arm?”
Disclaimer: I own neither ATL or any other real person mentioned in this fic, though I wish for it constantly.
Author's Note: At the bottom.
Masterpost.
“Jack, are you going to do anything?” Rian teased, repositioning the camera from where it was mounted on a tripod. Brendon and Jon were fiddling with our set, adjusting the print out of Starry Night and trying to hide the white edges from the camera’s view.
We were doing claymation in art, assignment commanding the class to bring a famous painting to life while demonstrating a color scheme. My group was having analogous men grow out of Da Vinci’s picture and interact with each other - or something along those lines. I hadn’t really been paying attention during the story board.
“I am totally being helpful!” I protested, indignantly holding up the ball of clay that I had been mixing for the past tweny minutes. It had assumed the consistency of Play-Doh and perfect shade of purple that I had been searching for, simultaneously staining my hands so that it appeared that I’d been mashing blueberries instead of art mediums.
“That does not count! Do we even need purple?” Rian retorted, smirking when Brendon tore his eyes away from the cardboard box he was trying to position to shake his head. Fuck. “See? That color is not even in this picture.”
“Fuck off Rian, you’ve known me long enough to know I’m not helpful,” I sighed, rolling the soft clay with the heels of my hands, watching as it stretched into a snake. The coil came up specked with black when I peeled it away from the table, my distasteful glare ignored by the project partners. Apparently, I was only one that cared that our table was contaminating my material.
“Ugh, this isn’t working! Damn it, I’m just gonna jump off a cliff,” Jon whined, trying to lower the camera and running into obvious problems as the tripod legs contracted to their minimum length. My eyes fell to my hands, mindlessly rolling the clay back into a ball as I scowled, stifling a sigh as Brendon’s voice piped up with a chuckle.
He grinned, leaning over to press his elbows onto the table and eye the set up in search of fixing the filming problems amounting, saying, “I thought that was supposed to be Jack.”
I laughed along, regrettably encouraging, “Yeah, I’m totally looking for a cliff to walk off in land locked Baltimore.”
“You could take a dive off the docks,” Jon suggested with a giggle in his voice, seemingly giving up on trying to mangle the tripod into submission and going to peer at the camera over Rian’s shoulder. The buzz cut boy was ignoring us, focusing on the settings instead. He’d probably piss himself if we got any grade below and A.
“Been there, done that,” I dismissed with a casual wave of the hand, slamming my palm down to flatten the purple clay as my two friends laughed.
Due to my frequent sarcasm and lack of ability to take anything seriously, my peers had eventually caught on, and the cuts on my arm became a joke. We chuckled about how I was an ‘emo cutter’ and poked fun at the least humorous maters. The cut on my thumb had been laughed off with Josh’s so called funny proclamation that my razor had slipped while slitting my wrists in Math earlier, dots of scabs on my arm going unnoticed, hidden under fabric. I knew the fake coincidences could only pile up so much before everyone realized I was full of shit.
I realized that it was completely despicable and horrifying, that suicide and self harm were not laughing matters, that I was quickly becoming a disturbingly terrible person. But, to be honest, I’d rather save my ass than my virtue. I wondered, though, what would happen if my classmates knew how accurate some of their jokes were.
The bell rang just as purple was squishing through my fingers, me jumping off my stool and snatching the permission slip for an upcoming art field trip to the local museum off the table as my group scrambled to clean up. I cast the messy table a glance, deciding to leave the other boys to it and run off to the other side of the school so I wasn’t late for gym.
I spotted Alex across the room as I reached the door, the brunette smiling with a wave as he hurriedly skipped to my side, calling, “Jack! Walk with me?”
Nodding with a grin, I pushed the door open, leaning against it to hold it open until he caught up, the pair of us falling into step and starting off towards PE. For some reason, I was positive that Alex would rather bathe in crap than join in on mocking cutting.
___
“Suit ‘em up, suit ‘em out!” DeGirinimo called, tucking his clipboard under his arm and retreating back to his office. We probably wouldn’t see the teacher for another twenty minutes.
Alex and I fell into step next to each other, walking to the locker rooms to change for swimming. I’d already missed a full week of the sport, causing my grade to drop dramatically. I really did not care at all, and, honestly, was becoming concerned with the amount of things I couldn’t give two shits about. There was very little that sparked emotion in me anymore.
But today, I had actually managed to remember my boring black swim shorts in the morning, and it wouldn’t even cause too many issues, considering that school ended right after PE that day. Tuesday’s finished off with fifth period.
“Why does he always say that? Technically, doesn’t that mean we should change into our gym clothes, and then back into normal clothes?” I inquired, swinging my shorts over my shoulder and wondering if the towels everybody left draped over the tennis nets in the middle of our basketball courts would remain untouched while we changed. Probably, unless some freshman - who I was pretty sure were in the middle of their football unit, and would be back out five times as fast as us - decided to fuck with them. Everybody hated freshman, though, and I seriously doubted they’d risk getting their heads chopped off by the upper classes.
“I don’t know, because he’s stupid?” Alex replied, grinning at me and running a hand through his hair as we walked. Our roll call spots were, conveniently, the farthest away from the boy’s locker rooms.
“Probably,” I agreed, stopping in front of the ramp leading to the doorway as we reached it. Grabbing one of the dull turquoise railings and stepping onto the concrete ledge, I swung a leg over it, other following as I half tripped through the door. Alex giggled from where he had gone over the obstacle far more gracefully next to me, smiling under the glare I cast him.
We walked past the four rows of lockers next to the showers in silence, both turning down the same isle. I went straight through it, making my way to the wall on the other side of the room as Alex stopped in front of his locker, hitting it to make it pop open. There was something wrong with the boy’s lock, so he just closed it halfway everyday and punched it open in order to make changing quicker.
After falsely putting in my hall locker combination, and then my gym numbers wrong twice, my lock finally jumped open, causing me to sigh in relief that I wouldn’t have to ask somebody for help as I pulled the metal open. Josh was, somehow, the only other person in the same row of lockers of me, and had raised an eyebrow at me since he was already fully dressed. I just shrugged, pulling my shoes off and tossing them partially on top of the shirt thrown carelessly at the bottom of my locker.
Kellin appeared out of nowhere, grabbing Josh’s arm and pulling him with a skip towards the door. I paced to my left, noticing Alex still just unbuttoning his jeans in the aisle I could barely see down from my spot. Pulling off my shirt, I swapped it for the one proudly displaying our high school’s name.
A moment later, my jeans were off, hands turning the legs right side out as I glanced around the empty space before me. No one there, no one looking.
I hung my pants on a hook, eyes darting across the bare or blocked from sight room once more before I turned to the corner, tugging off my boxers. I had my swim shorts on in another split second, exhaling in relief quietly as I slammed my locker closed.
Tugging the dark fabric up further on my hips, I wondered if exposing fresh, yet to heal closed cuts to chlorine would hurt. Maybe. Probably. I’d find out soon enough.
After a weekend full of homework, chores, and extreme loneliness spiked with self hatred deriving from the sudden grasping that I was a completely pathetic person who spent my only real time off from school at home alone, the cuts on my right hip had doubled. Well, plus one. Sunday had been bad. Really bad.
I was just so sad all the time. What the psychological pain was inspired by, I had no idea. At least I could control the intentional physical torture.
My parents weren’t abusive, I didn’t get bullied, I wasn’t failing out of school, I didn’t spend lunch immersed in a book alone - well, I didn’t really eat lunch at all lately, but still - I had a warm home and abundant food to return to at the end of the day. So why did I constantly feel like shit?
I’d guessed that it wasn’t that everything was aggressively lousy, just that nothing was good. Everything in my world was failing; I was just so painfully average in every way, and it was driving me insane. I wanted to do something special, be someone, yet I was shit at everything and losing all motivation to even strive for success.
I wouldn’t say that I was depressed. But by that wonderful point in Junior year, I certainly was not happy.
I stepped up onto the bench in-between lockers, standing over Alex’s shirt that had been thrown on the damp wood as he strung up his jeans. Turning around, the brunette smirked up at me, unsurprised as I blatantly scanned his bare chest.
Slamming the locker shut and tugging his shirt on, Alex asked, “No shoes?”
I shrugged, walking along the bench next to him before hoping off the end. “DeGirinimo hasn’t made us run before swimming yet, so why bother?”
“What about Thursday?” he responded, stepping over the railing once more as I glanced around the full courts before us, realizing we were the last ones out of the lockers rooms. Even after the girls, really? Fuck.
Alex was referring to when we ran the mile last week, prompting every female in our class to whine about swimsuits riding up their asses. I guessed I could see how that would be irritating, but, hey, perks of being a guy; not my problem.
“We always do runs on Thursdays. Today’s not Thursday, shouldn’t be a problem.” I retorted, hand scraping against the chain link fence next to me as we approached our class. DeGirinimo just glanced at us, shaking his head and apparently marking us present. I was number three in the roll call organized by last names, and he’d surely already gone over my spot by the time we arrived.
Alex just nodded to my logic and sauntered to his number beside the hoop, arriving just as our teacher finished taking roll.
Five minutes later, everybody was sticking towels into the protruding wires in the fence and stripping down to get in the pool. We all sat down on the edge, ankles slipping through the surface of the water they heated just enough to not allow us to freeze to death as our PE teacher stood comfortably at the side. No one made him swim, damn it.
I was sandwiched between Alex and Josh, who were having an animated conversation about chocolate right through me. Apparently, Francheschi was one of those downright insane people who didn’t like the sweet. I would probably have murdered someone by then without my daily dose of the sugary drug, and couldn’t even fucking imagine not enjoying it.
Alex was energetically arguing for the candy, sounding completely astounded at Josh’s dislike of it. I had to side with him on that one.
“Alright, everybody in, two warm up laps of your choice!” DeGirinimo called, causing everybody to flop into the pool and eliciting several swears of disproval from his students, which he, thankfully, ignored.
The water was fucking cold, I was about as good at swimming as cat with no arms or legs, and my shorts were irritating my cuts. I cursed the existence of gym as I ducked under the water, shaking then wet hair out of my eyes and kicking off the wall as the exercises began. Bound to be a fun hour ahead.
___
Half an hour, twelve laps of the pool and a very half hearted game of water polo later, I was toweling my head off in the locker rooms. Most of our class was showering, but I just wanted to get changed and home as soon as possible, deciding to scrub the chlorine out of my hair in a couple hours. Deep conditioning would definitely be in order for that nights shower, but whatever. It would probably work out fine. Hopefully.
Rubbing the towel over my chest with one hand, I scrapped my hand through my hair with the other, plastering my fringe back against my scalp. It felt dry and generally gross, and I probably looked like a retarded Muppet by that point. Too bad, I didn’t care anymore.
Wrapping my towel partly around my waist and holding it in place with one hand, I tugged off my swim shorts, kicking them onto the grubby floor. I pulled my boxers over my ankles, dropping the towel in favor of yanking up my underwear in record time.
After slipping back into my t-shirt and grey hoodie, almost falling on my face while hopping and wiggling into my skinny jeans, I was sitting on my damp towel on the floor to tie my shoes. Alex appeared from around the corner, brushing his fingers through his fringe that managed to look perfect even after being soaked in chemicals for an hour, striding over to me.
“Jack!” he exclaimed, grinning and grabbing the hand that I offered, pulling me up, “I need your number; there’s something I have to ask you.”
That caused my thoughts to spin into their usual hectic action, trying to decode what the fuck that sentence meant. But I had always been one to try and just go with it; figure out the consequences of my actions later, so I only quirked an eyebrow at the boy before me while I shoved my still wet towel into my locker. It would probably smell like crap by Thursday, when I had PE again, but I couldn’t be bothered to take it home.
Alex pulled out his phone, giving me an expectant look as I shoved my lock closed for the last time that day. I decided that nothing bad could possibly come from it, agreeing and relaying my digits to the boy.
“I’ll text you later!” Alex gushed once he was done tapping, flashing me a grin and trotting out of the room. I shook my head to myself, tugging on the edges of my hoodie and turning to leave. I was confused about what he wanted, and that boy was downright weird, but I figured I’d see what he wanted eventually.
Anyways, I was distracted by happyily staring at his ass as he left.
____________________
No, Alex is not going to ask Jack out, though what he does have to say is very, very, very important. You'll see what it is next chapter. Thank you for the comments, please comment again!-Rose