[Original Fic] Threnody

[sydneyalexis]

Threnody
Sydney Alexis

I recall that the first time I saw him I didn't think highly of him. We were assigned to sit at the information table for a vocal music conference. He was tall, thin, had long, blond hair that he let hang down around his shoulders, and a goatee. In fact, I can recall thinking that he was jailbait for America's Most Wanted. With that passing thought, I turned my attention to the paperwork on the table before me not even looking twice at him when he grabbed his bag and mumbled something about being right back.



Sighing, I sat down at the table. I hadn't been looking forward to my assigned task, but I was the most dependable out of all my peers in chorus. Smoothing out my long black skirt, I turned my attention to the group coming through the door. I registered them as being present and directed them towards the warm-up room.

My company for the day reappeared from the long hallway that held both the men's and ladies rooms. Dressed in a tuxedo, his hair was pulled back into a ponytail. In his hands, the now partially emptied garment bag . He smiled as he approached.

"You clean up well."

"Thanks," he said, returning to sit beside me again. Slipping the bag onto the ground at his side, he took his jacket off and placed it on the back of his chair.

"Steven...Steven O'Grady, but my friends call me Steve."

"What?" I asked, startled that he had actually shook my hand.

"I figured since we were going to spend the next two days sitting together at this table it might be nice to know your name."

I blushed realizing that I had been staring. His eyes were a piercing shade of blue I never recall seeing. I started to lower my gaze and my head in an attempt to hide the red flush of my cheeks. He caught my chin with his hand and slowly raised it.

"Hey...I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"I'm not. I...It's just hot in here."

I had been sizing the man up like a piece of meat in the grocery store, and, suddenly, I felt like a heel. He'd done absolutely nothing to me but be a total gentlemen, and I had cast my impressions upon him not once but twice. He had the good grace just to let it go with a small smile. Speaking quickly, he changed the topic to neutral ground again.

"So...we just have the directors sign in here, take the copies of their music, and direct them towards the warm-up room?" He asked, leaning back in his seat. I closed my eyes and nodded, silently thanking him for saving what little dignity I had left.

A minute or two later, my choral director came rushing in from judging booth. She had always been a little bit of a fruitbat, but I loved her dearly as a friend. Short, with 'blonde' hair, and brown eyes, Mrs. Guillory looked like she enjoyed her meals a little too much, but I couldn't fault her for it. The South had a tendency to put a few extra pounds on everyone that lived there for any length of time.

"Syd, where are the judges' sheets? The first one doesn't have any," she said, frantically looking through the boxes on the table.

"They should be in the festival office to the left of the trophies."

"Thanks," she said, racing off.

I sighed, leaning back into my seat. Mrs. Gulliory's panicked presence usually meant catastrophe that I would have to have a quick solution for. Yet another reason I was stuck working the front table, I guess. Every choral festival was like this one though... well... almost. In retrospect, this one changed by life forever, but I didn't know it at the time.

"Syd...," I heard Steven repeat.

"Yeah. Short for Sydney," I said, tucking disobedient strands of hair behind my ears.

"Your mom have a thing for foreign countries?"

"No, just unusual names I guess."

We spent the next two days playing a cat and mouse game. Steve would catch me staring at him or vice versa. We would pretend not to notice. In between we had long conversations on just about every imaginable topic. He loved to travel, was a wonderful pianist, percussionist, and a true tenor. He loved art, classical music, snowboarding, and surfing. Curious by nature, he'd been a handful for his mother.

By the second day, we were moved to another work station. We had been talking too much to notice lost choir members. Busted down to errand detail, we found ourselves out on the town to get supplies more often than not. It was in those car rides that we truly got to know each other. He spoke of his brother, Doug, the overachiever that was a little off somehow, and of his parents high expectations, his first love, and his search for what he called 'the missing part of my soul.' At first glance, he was a silver-tongued man, but, to me, he was the saving grace from what could have been a boring couple of days.

The last day of the festival, he was placed on a different job. Though we were supposed to meet for lunch, he was sent on an errand to another city to pick up a stranded accompanist. I didn't see him again for a year.

The first day of my junior year in high school I bumped into him again. Steve came up behind me and kissed my on the top of my head. I flinched and gasped. He was sweet enough not to laugh.

"Hey, gorgeous, long time no see."

He had cut his hair and spiked it out. The goatee was still there but better groomed. He also had side burns. The change was enough to give me pause and figure out who the hell had just kissed me. When his identity dawned on me, I suddenly felt like to dullest pencil in the box.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm part of the local chamber orchestra. The band director here was looking for a percussion instructor for his kids, call came through the conductor to me. It was a paying gig, and I was hoping to run into you."

He sat down across from me, and told me about his year - graduating from high school, entering college, his brother's drug addiction, his parents separation. I listened while playing with my lunch. I couldn't bring myself to look at him.

"What about you? Anything interesting to report?"

"Well...I seem to have at least one friend in this building."

"That bad, huh? You know, life always seems to be a crisis when you're in school. People are just so immature sometimes. Maybe that's why you draw the attention of older men- you've got an old spirit, Syd. Calming, truthful, and outwardly you're depressing as hell..."

I shot him a look of false indignation. Steven just laughed and continued his thought.

"But when you open up to people you really are beautiful."

Within a few weeks we were inseparable friends. Steven took me to movies, parties, orchestral and choral productions, and even to the opera on a few occasions. Then came the Junior Ring Ceremony Party. It was a rite of passage of sorts. With the seniors graduating, we had become the new big man on campus. To celebrate, we all gathered at a classmate's home in the country. Beer and everything else was readily available. Not a big drinker, I sipped on some concoction a friend had brought me. Seated in a corner by myself, I was, in essence, a wallflower.

Unfortunately, Steven had gotten a job in California a few weeks before. It was only for a few months, but I still hated having him so far away. Part of me hated to admit it, but I sort of liked having him around. If I was going to be really honest, I would say that I cared for him a great deal. Now, sitting here all alone, I wished more than ever he was here to rescue me from this crowd and take me someplace less...noisy and crowded.

The house, itself, had all the lights out. Four dozen people or so were milling around, and music was playing loudly from the front yard. Fortunately, the party host lived so far out in the country that not even the cows in the neighboring field could hear all the noise.

Just outside the door, several large kegs had freely flowing beer in them. A small bar within the house had the hard stuff. Of course, most people stuck to the drinks outside. Those inside were raiding the fridge, dancing, or finding a small corner to engage in questionable public displays.

A few minutes after I had been left at the aforementioned bar by the friend that had brought me, I was approached by one of the high school football team members. His nickname was Detroit as he was originally from that city. Tall but muscular, he was the poster boy for body building. Being one of the stars of the team, he had a mind to get things his way. Of course, his new prey for the month just happened to be me. I had told him a few times that week that I wasn't interested, but he wouldn't listen.

"Hey, Syd. Never thought that I would see you at a party like this. Must be tough to rub noses with us commoners. What's a matter? That fairy boyfriend of yours not here to hold your hand?"

I rolled my eyes, slipped from my stool, and tried to get away. Detriot clamped on to my wrist and met my eyes evenly. There was a flash of something dangerous in his stare, but he quickly squashed it.

"I'm sorry. I'm just not having a good night."

"Oh? Are all the kegs empty already?" I asked not even trying to hide my annoyance.

"Very funny," he said, rolling his eyes. "Who did you come here with?"

"I should be asking you the same question."

"Just my buddy Jim here. Your turn."

"Jennifer. She dragged me here saying that I needed to get out more."

"I see. I suppose she also talked you into drinking that," he said, pointing towards the glass in my hand.

"When in Rome," I mumbled.

"Do you always do everything that you're supposed to do?" He asked, staring at me in a way that made me uncomfortable.

"Not always. It just so happens that what I'm supposed to do is what is right. I have a conscious."

"And I don't?" He asked evenly.

"I don't know you well enough to say either way," I said, meeting his gaze. Damn if my head wasn't pounding as if I'd drank four times what I had.

"I'm not a bad person, Syd, there are just a lot of times in my life that I want what I can't have, and right now, you're it."

His words were beginning to jumble as my vision blurred. I heard a distant voice say through the fog, "You don't looks so good. Little green around the edges. Would you like a ride home?"

For the first time, I decided not to ingore my instincts. Slowly, I rose from the bar stool I was on, watching the world spin briefly. With a firm grip on the counter, I steadied myself and located the door with my eyes. A tentative step forward confirmed my suspicions- my equilibrium was very off. I searched for answers on what could have caused it. I'd only drank half of my daiquiri and yet I was already starting to feel the effects?

The world started to alternate between color and blackness. It was during a rather long spell of dark that I felt someone lifting me from the floor.

"Time to get you home, princess," I heard him mumble.

I awoke in a place I didn't recognize. Only vaguely aware of my surroundings and with a slightly fuzzy head, I slowly became aware of the bindings on my wrists and ankles. A single sheet, filthy and stained, covered my naked form. The mattress to my right dipped slightly, then I heard a familiar voice hiss.

"Good Morning, Princess."

"Where am I?" My voice sounded foreign even to my own ears. I tried to turn my head, but an unrelenting pounding started in my left temple. God the lights in here were bright!

"I told you I always get what I want, Princess," I heard him whisper into my ear. The voice was unmistakable now as was the smell of whiskey on his breath.

"Please, take me home, Detroit," I said with some authority.

"I will, but not until I've had some fun."

The next few hours are a blur. My mind shut down in the ultimate act of kindness. Only snatches of those scenes are burned into my memory. I recall the steel of his hunting knife slicing through my flesh as he carved his initals. The sticky wetness of my own blood flowed down from those letters and a dozen other wounds he left. I also recall screaming 'no' until my throat was raw while, in my mind, I said prayers this would all end..that it wouldn't happen.

After marring my flesh with his blade, he returned it to its sheath on his belt. His fists came next. They rained down on my body, but I felt no pain. I was beyond it. Lost in a fog of the only thing that had come to save me- the music that I had adored for so long. It filled my ears, and, as I focused on the melancholy strains, everything else faded to nothingness. That is until he at last had his way... My innocence in more than one means was lost that evening.

I awoke to find myself in the food trough on the agricultural farm on my high school campus. Bloodied, bruised, naked, and freezing, I barely batted an eyelash when I saw my English teacher, Mrs. Fox, standing a few feet away.

Mrs. Fox was shorter than I, which is hard to accomplish. Four feet and seven inches of pure confidence. She knew more than any woman I had ever known, and she scared the hell out of me, or, she used to. That morning, I would grow to see her in a different light- compassionate, kind hearted, but still a lion underneath.

The poor woman had come for early rounds of the campus when she found me. From a distance, I must have appeared as a blackened object, moving slightly in the dim light just before the sunrise was complete. Mrs. Fox must have assumed that the boys taking Ag were playing another joke on her. She stepped with purpose and due caution, expecting one of the boys to jump out and try to scare the hell out of her.

I squinted against the sunlight in the one eye that wasn't swollen shut. From her height, I knew who she was, and I silently cursed under my breath. The adage that she had taught me not more than a week before rattled through my head: 'three can keep a secret...' Still, I said nothing to stop her advance.

When she finally reached me, she gasped. I'm not sure if it was because of my nudity or the injuries that littered my body.

"Sydney?" She breathed.

"Hey, Mrs. Fox," I said, trying to smile. "Guess I won't be in class today."

"What happened?"

"Really big armadillos driving a beer truck."

Covering me with her coat, she helped me to my feet. I bit back a scream of pain as the souls of the made contact with the dirt covering the animal stalls. Apparently, he had taken the time to make his mark there as well.

"Think you can make it into the building?"

I shook my head slowly, trying not to register the pain shooting down my legs. My back, my feet, legs, arms...it was easier to make a list of things that didn't ache. Thankfully, the girl's gym was only a few hundred feet from the Ag farm. The door was already unlocked- it was the only way to get into the main building without setting the alarm off.

Limping, I slipped down onto the bench in the dressing room which, to my good fortune, was right beside the entrance.

"I'm going to go in and call the police. We'll get you to the hospital."

"No," I said, reaching out and grabbing her arm. The last bit of energy streaming from my body. "Just call Steven. His number is in the band office. Don't tell..."

Nodding her head, she left me there. I gathered what was left of my pride and drug my complaining body a few more feet to the showers nearby. For once, the faucet obliged me with hot water. I sat down in it's scorching path, not noticing that it was scalding hot. My gaze was caught by the drain nearby as pinkish colored water swirled in circles before exiting down the perforated stainless steel.

I stayed there until my Mrs. Fox returned.

"Sydney, what do you think you're doing? The evidence..."

"Doesn't matter," I retorted. "Just call Steven." I added the latter in a softer tone. How was she to know? Detroit was the son of the local sheriff who also happened to be the only law for nearly twenty miles. The neighboring villages had their own, but, as expected, they were all the greatest of friends. These were the same men that helped sweep his son's car accident under the rug. If I came forward, I, like the evidence of the car accident, would probably disappear.

She reached behind my head, careful not to burn her own skin, and turned the water off. Grabbing a large towel, she helped me up and wrapped it around me carefully.

"Who did this to you?" she finally got enough will to ask.

"Doesn't matter. I'm going to need some time away from school. Could you tell everyone that I'm on a singing trip- I just need a few days."

She nodded tensely and helped me back to the bench.

"You and Steven are good friends, are you?"

Neutral territory. I recognized the attempt and favored her with a reply. "He's the only friend I have anymore. Only one that counts anyway."

"He...he's on his way. He's going to get the first flight out from California, but the first period student's will be coming in here in a few minutes. Is there someone else I can call?"

I nodded my head. No one else could know. My parents would insist on going to the sheriff as would my sister. Steven was my only hope, but he was out of state. "Steven's apartment. It's..uh...it's a few minutes from here. Can you take me there?"

"I don't know, Syd, legally I'm suppose to call the police," she said, evenly.

"Please, Mrs. Fox, please..."

"Sydney, you should go to the police. He might do this again..."

I sighed and met her gaze evenly. "Even if I did, he would get away with it because of who he is," I said, cryptically. "Please. I'm begging you."

She relented nodding slowly, and I stood. My mind was still slightly fuzzy either from whatever that ass had given me or from the dizzying pain that I was in. Mrs. Fox unclasped her hands from behind her back, producing my small, black purse.

"This was in the bushes near the track. I found it before I found you. Is it yours?"

"Yeah," I said, reaching out for it. I unzipped the top, peering in to check the contents. Everything was there including Steven's house key.

Mrs. Fox wrapped her coat around me once again, covering the flimsy, white towel I was wrapped in. She lead me out into the faculty parking lot and opened the door to her car for me.

"He lives on Cyprus Street, right?"

I nodded, searching my mind for something to say that would put her at ease. "I bet they didn't cover this in college, did they?"

She laughed honestly and turned to look at me for the first time. I lowered my head, feeling self conscious. It wouldn't be the last time I couldn't look people in their eyes.

"I knew you would find a way out of that test on Julius Caesar," she said, smiling.

I thought to myself about the irony of the comment. Caesar was betrayed by his friends and died as a consequence just as I had trusted Jennifer and she had left me to die...in the figurative sense. She'd been trying to talk me into going out with Detroit all along. She might have even been in on it.

"Admit it. You won't miss me questioning everything or talking to the people near me..."

"Or passing notes, and yes, I will."

"You make it sound as though I'm not coming back."

"We'll see, sweetheart. We'll see," she said more to herself than me.

In the distance, I saw the first bus pulling up the road. Panic was setting in; I didn't want them to see me like this. Mrs. Fox reached out and touched the back of my hand, ignoring the fact that I jumped a few inches.

"It's okay. The windows are tinted, remember?"

A good ten minutes of strained conversation continued as I held firmly to the towel wrapped around me. She tired her best to keep me from thinking by discussing anything and everything with me. Eventually, she would go for the obvious- classical music. Finally, we pulled up into the driveway of his apartment complex.

"I'll...uh...I'll get this coat back to you as soon as I can," I said, fishing out the keys from my purse. She nodded, putting the car into park.

"Take care of yourself, okay?"

I nodded and climbed out of the car. The pain just from sitting for any length of time was incredible. My back felt like pins were being driven into my spine and the pain shot down my leg. In an attempt to grip Steven's house key in my left hand, I found that my hands were shaking. Ignoring it, I turned the key in the deadbolt then the main lock. Pushing the heavy, storm door behind me, I turned and fastened the two locks behind me. I drug the small table in the foyer in front of it.

Truly alone for the first time in days, I moved like an automaton into his bedroom and climbed beneath the comforter of his bed.

He told me later that he'd tried to call several times during the flight, but I didn't hear. Mrs. Fox told me later that she'd tried to call during her breaks, but I didn't hear. I bid my time staring at the picture of Steven and I from that choral festival years before and sleeping.

Hours later, I heard the sound of the table legs scraping across the floor with the door opening, and I started to tremble--too paralized to move.

"Sydney?"

A voice called into an empty cavern. Still I did not move.

"Sydney? Are you here?"

He came into his bedroom then, not turning the lights on. I heard his bag drop to the ground, felt him throw the comforter back, but didn't. He stood above me, looking down. I saw a flash of Detroit's face, and I threw my badly bruised arms up, waiting for a blow that never came. I vaguely remember saying no and sobbing.

"Sydney," the voice said gently. I felt the mattress dip and Steven's hand come in contact with my dark brunette hair. With a tentative hand he began to stroke it.

"What happened?" he whispered.

"Sydney?" he said into my ear. I blinked at him, numb. His eyes searched mine. Later, he would tell me that they looked dead. There was nothing behind them but a blank stare and that those moments were burned into his memory as long as he would live.

"Think you can stand? I need to clean some of those wounds up before infection sets in."

I nodded. Steven's father was a doctor. Steven, himself, had gone to medical school for a few years before dropping out. In that regard, I had lucked out.

I got to my feet with his help. This time, I screamed in pain. I looked down at them, saw the small, bloody imprints they had left on his wood flooring, then gazed across the room to see I had made tracks.

"No wonder you knew where I was..." I said, laughing bitterly.

Steven just nodded. The light was so dim he didn't fully see what had happened, and Mrs. Fox swore that she didn't tell him. He came towards me then and picked me up into his arms. I filched but didn't protest. The pain was intense no matter how I got to the bathroom. This would just give him less to clean up.

He set me down on the long, marble countertop then turned to flick the light switch. When he saw me...truly saw me, a thousand different expressions crossed his face. Dismay, confusions, pain, anger, but he stopped them all quickly. Always blunt, he said exactly what I expected him to, "God, Syd, you look like hell."

With trembling hands, I clasped the towel around me. Steven closed the distance, wrapping his arms around me. A yelp of pain escaped my lips as he drew back. With unspoken words, he learned what had happened.

"Who did this? So help me. I'll tear his throat out."

I licked my dry, cracked lips and looked at him, pleading with my eyes. "No one can know," I said simply.

"But Syd, this guy..."

I put my hand up to stop him. I couldn't bare to hear the word rape. "Please, Steven."

He nodded, turning his attention to the soles of my feet.

Over the next few months, I began to heal. Steven never left my side as I returned to school. He'd walk me to every class, out to my car every afternoon, and, on most days, take me home. (including late night choir rehearsals)

Months of nightmares followed. Every time I closed my eyes, Detroit would be there, over me. His breath stinking and his body like a dead weight thrusting into me. I drank to forget, and covered my tracks fairly well for the first few months. I was caught at school one day when the drug dogs made their biannual sweep. Thankfully, Mrs. Fox was in charge of discipline that year. She called Steven in from the band room rather than my parents. They decided to organized an intervention. AA meetings, counseling...I told them what they wanted to hear and stopped for his sake.

Two years had passed since the incident. I had graduated from high school and started college. The monster was up in the northern states on a football scholarship, and I was slowly learning how to live my life again. Steven and I were working on degrees at the same time. His a master's in music performance and mine in vocal education.

One afternoon, he took me to lunch. Nothing fancy but not McDonalds. While we ate, he told me, in no uncertain terms, that he cared for me as more than just a friend. I told him that I wasn't ready for that type of relationship. Truth be told, he was the only man I would even be alone with in the same room let alone touch me.

Like the free spirit he was, Steven left for a job in California. For a little over half a year, he was to play in a major orchestra there. I kissed him goodbye in the airport, pretending to be happy for him. I've grown quite good at that- pretending. People don't want to see the pain you carry because there's is always bigger, stronger, and more profound. Only Steven knew how much I ached, but, this time, I wouldn't keep him from this opportunity with hysterics. Besides, it was only half a year.

During those six months or so, I poured myself in writing. A flurry of works trickled out through the keyboard, but, in all that time, I never found happiness. I met a few 'men' during that time frame. The eldest was seven years my senior, I pretended to love him long enough that I started to believe it. He, like all the others, hurt me. Within four months of meeting me, he told me that he loved me. By the end of six, he was gone. I had invested too much into the relationship because I opened myself up. He'd told me that he would never hurt me. He lied. I drank to forget the pain.

Steven's six month trip to California turned into nine. I watched my grades decline. I was listless, and felt empty. I finally recognized that I needed him with me to feel complete. It sounds cliché, but it's true. He kept me sane...kept me going.

By the end of sophomore year in college I hit total rock bottom. I'd been dumped by my latest boyfriend (via email I might add), and I missed Steven. He, on the other hand, had started dating the first violinist. I'll admit I was jealous as hell. Add to that the fact that my grandfather was in and out of the hospital, and, no matter what I did, I couldn't avoid near daily fights with my father. He yelled at me for not making a perfect report card. In his book, straight A's aren't an accomplishment- they are a must. No corporation is going to hire a failure.

With all the stress, the nightmares started, and those broke way to real memories of that night with him. Keeping it all to myself so that Steven wouldn't feel obligated to come and hold my hand, I fell into a familiar spiral.

The Fall term of that year the choral department in conjunction with the performing arts department as well as the university's chamber orchestra combined to produce a two hour Broadway show. I was forced to be involved with it. Three solid weeks of rehearsals from 6 pm until... (usually 2 am) loomed over me like a great weight. I lived a little over an hour from campus so going home between my last class (which ended at 3) and rehearsal start was ridiculous. With Steven still in California, I decided to make his apartment useful. I pretty much lived there for those three weeks because driving home to arrive a little past four then having to wake up at 6 am was out of the question.

It was during that time that the final straw fell. I'd returned late one afternoon to find a message on my answering service from Steven. He said it was imperative that I call him as soon as I got the message. I dialed the number to his apartment in California and a woman answered.

"May I speak to Steven please?"

"Just a sec. He's climbing out of the shower now."

My blood started to boil, but I kept my voice calm. I am, after all, a master of hiding emotion.

"Hello?" The easily recognizable voice said into the phone.

"You told me to call?" I said in a voice that was a little too terse.

"Hey, Syd. I was hoping you could do me a favor."

"Name it," I said, smiling into the phone. I was just so happy to hear his voice again.

"I'm bringing Vallery to meet my family. Think you could stop by my place and make sure it's within acceptable condition?"

My eyes darted around the room. I'd never been that much of a clean freak. This place needed dusting and vacuuming.

"Trying to send me a hint?" I said, laughing.

"Well...I figured you might stop by to feed the fish every now and again."

He sounded strained like she was listening on the other end or nearby. He was never this formal with me. I paused to reflect on his words. 'Meet the family...' Steven's parents had been dead for a few years. That left Doug, but he was such a fruitbat that I wouldn't introduce him to her until...

"Want me to book her a room at The Towers?" I asked, fishing for an answer that I really didn't want. The Towers was the premier hotel in the area. Perfect place to set up a girlfriend.

"No...it's okay, Syd. She's going to be staying at my place. Just make sure everything is presentable...okay?"

My heart dropped. "I...uh...sure," I said weakly. "When are you coming?"

"Tomorrow morning. 10 am. Oh...think you could swing by and pick us up at the airport? I left my car in the garage there. Should have some gas in the tank."

"Yeah. See you there," I said, hanging up the phone before he could ask any more of me. I was already sick to my stomach as it was.

I spent the afternoon packing up everything that was mine that I'd left there for the sake of ease, and carted them out in my car. I took down all the pictures of Steven and I that he had around the place, packed them into boxes, and slid them into the closet. Finally, I scrubbed every inch of the place half out of cleaning and half to do something other than think about that conversation. I knew what was coming. He'd asked the woman to marry him. It was the only thing that my overly jealous mind could think. I felt irrationaly angry and betrayed. I knew I shouldn't begrudge him his happiness, but I suppose large part of me always assumed that he would be the man I ended up with. I was just so afraid of pushing him away and, in all my stupidity, I'd lost him to a violinist. What was she doing at his place while he was taking a shower anyway?

I got down on my hands and knees and scrubbed the damned floor with a scrubbing brush. It was typical of me to clean when I was in a foul mood. My mind was harping on the phone call. I began to wonder what would happen to our friendship now that Vallery was involved. After all, you are, technically, suppose to be best friends with your significant other rather than some other woman. I knew that he would probably move to San Fransisco to be closer to her work. I also knew that, if that happened, I would rarely see him.

By the next morning, my anger was qualled. I had on the mask of neutrality and false happiness. I cleaned the sheets I'd slept on, made the bed with new ones, cleaned up the mess I'd made from breakfast, and silently said good bye to my best friend as I locked his apartment door for what I assumed was the last time.

I drove the four miles to the airport on the outskirts of town, parked his car, and waited near the terminal for the plane. After a twenty minute delay, Steven and Vallery came towards me. He was smiling. She was not.

"Hey, Syd," he said from a formal distance. After almost ten months without seeing him, this was far from the greeting I would have expected. A hug at the very least. "Syd, I want you to meet Vallery Davis. Vallery, this is my friend, Sydney Alexis."

I hated her instantly. She didn't even have to speak, and I knew I hated her. She was roughly six feet tall and towered over me. Long, sleek, black hair and piercing green eyes, olive skin, a perfect complex, and legs that resembled a giraffe. I suppose they were graceful, but the correlation that my mind made between her and a big, yellow beast nearly made me laugh out loud.

"Nice to meet you," I said, shaking her hand. After all, my mother taught me some manners. "Let me get that for you," I said, taking her bag and leading them out the airport. "The car is in parking lot D. I'll bring it around."

"You don't have to, Syd," Steven said, suddenly. "We can walk."

"Are you kidding? Do you feel that humidity? It's like this weight on my chest. My asthma...I shouldn't walk in this heat."

I smiled at Steven as I grabbed his bag as well and walked the quarter mile to the car wondering why airports--especially one this small--insist on making you park so far from the terminal.

I threw their bags in the trunk and started the car. When had I gone from best friend to chauffeur anyway?

I drove back to Steven's apartment listening to her complain about the heat and talk about herself. It was mostly an extended version of her life as a first violinist. I'm surprised her ego even fit in the damned car. I finally caught Steven's eye in the rear view mirror and silently begged him to change the subject. He inquired about school- the least neutral and yet most acceptable of all topics. I gave a very brief outline of the Broadway production.

"What are you majoring in, anyway, Syd?" the woman said, having the audacity to use the nickname that only my friends dared call me.

"Vocal music education," I replied.

"I never really thought of vocalists as musicians. It's such an easy thing to do-- sing that is. Seems to me that instrumentalists are the real workers. Vocalists just get more stage time is all."

I gripped the steering wheel to keep from slapping her. For Steven's sake, I said nothing. She lapsed into talking about herself again, and I reached forward and turned on his CD player. I had an opera disk loaded. No one spoke for the remainder of the car ride.

When we arrived, I carried their bags into his apartment while he helped her out of the car. I used my own key to get in- a fact that she did not fail to notice so he told me later when he politely all but asked me for his key back. He said it would make her feel better. I said nothing.

Vallery left the two of use alone on the lanai to go 'freshen up'. I turned towards Steven and saw a totally different man than the one that had left nearly a year before.

"You're going to ask her to marry you, aren't you?"

"Might. Haven't made up my mind."

"Do you love her?"

He gave a very long pause. Not the type that you would expect from a man that was supposedly in love with a woman enough to ask her to marry him. I sat silently, staring out at the garden in front of us.

"I don't know," he said, finally.

"Then why...," I started to say.

He shrugged his shoulders. "She loves me. She's a sweet girl. Smart, funny, intelligent, likes a lot of the same things I do."

"But..."

Steven shrugged again. "It's not important," he said, taking a sip of the tea I'd brought him. I heard her footfalls approaching from behind. I knew I didn't have much time before she returned so I spoke simply and pointedly.

"Marrying someone you don't love will hurt more than just her. If you feel anything for her, you'll be honest with her. You can't marry someone you don't have respect for, don't love, and aren't friends with."

I stood, kissed Steven on the cheek, grabbed my cup, and left his apartment. The next time I would see him would be at the performance two weeks later. It was right before the concert and I only spoke to him for a moment. He told me he missed hearing me sing, but his eyes...his eyes told me so much more. There were hollow and rimmed with black blotches. He wasn't sleeping well or wasn't feeling well. I couldn't tell which. He told me that he and Vallery were to me married in four months. He also told me that she had forbidden him from inviting me to the wedding saying that I gave her the creeps. He lied to me and said that everything was all right. That he was happy. I didn't push him on the matter. I wouldn't see him again until two weeks later.

I reached for an escape from the pain. I went to one of the local night clubs. Affectionately called The Keg, it was located on the top floor of The Towers Resort. The bartender, Andrea, and I were on a first name basis. I handed over larger than necessary times and she'd call me a cab to get home when I'd had too much. I should have known that she'd betray me too.

The day that Steven and Vallery's engagement announcement appeared in the local paper, I went and got spectacularly wasted. Ten stories above the ground, drunk, stoned, angry, and alone, I walked out onto the balcony. My vision started to blur even worse. My mind wouldn't focus, but I didn't care. I climbed up onto the three inch wide railing and sat down.

The Vermillion River stretched out beneath me hundreds of miles down. Black water, cyprus trees, and the carefully manicured lawn of the golf resort on the other side. From the effects of the alcohol and E it looked like a glowing impressionist painting--splotchy but beautiful.

I quietly sat on the ledge and finally took count of all the things I had survived in my life. Sometime during the long laundry list of events, I realized I had had enough. Things were too much to remember- including my own cowardice. I stood, feeling the wind blowing past me a great deal harder than when I was sitting. I began to lean forward, full well preparing to jump when a soft tenor voice called out from behind me.

"Syd, you don't want to do this."

I closed my eyes shut. Was I hallucinating? I began to wonder if the stuff I had bought was laced with something else.

"Why ever not?"

"Look, I don't know what happened between you and Peter, but he isn't worth it."

"You think this is about him? He's just the iceburg, Steven. What about Vallery? Or Junior year of high school ring a bell? How about all those ridiculous AA meetings you dragged me to...against my will I might add. For what? No one gives a damned if I live or die. That is unless it affects their normal routine. 'Wait...I need something. Let me ask Ms. Dependable. You know you can count on her.' I'm sick of it. I'm tired of trusting people and them just stepping all over me."

"You've trusted me."

"And you ran off to God knows where when I needed you."

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind," I said, leaning forward. I felt guilty, suddenly. He was building a life for himself, and here I came to tear down the shakey foundation.

"Yes, I left. I took that job in California, but it wasn't because I wanted to hurt you. It was because I...I couldn't stand the thought of you with anyone else. I know it's crazy and sounds like a line from some B movie, but it's true. I fell in love with you back at that festival, but I was too smart not to get involved."

"What do you mean?"

"I thought...here is this perfect girl. Don't blow your chances by making the move on her and pushing her away. It wasn't until both of us were much older...until you started dating this..person.. that I realized how much you really mean to me."

I sat on the edge and looked down. "You're just saying that so I'll come down."

"You're right. I am. I'm selfish. I want you to come down because I can't imagine my life without you."

He stepped beside me, placing his hand against the cold flesh of my arm.

"If you jump, you'll be killing me too. I love you, Sydney. Please come down."

"You don't love me. You never did," I said, kicking my shoes off and watching them fall into the creek beneath The Towers. I sat mesmerized for a moment, then leaned forward. In actions more fluid and faster than I could think, Steven reached out, grabbed me, and pulled me down onto the main balcony.

"I hate you," I lied, spitting the words out to hurt him. He drug me from The Keg, and threw me into his car. No one at the club seemed to care that another belligerent drunk was being drug off by her 'boyfriend' in the dead of night. They just seemed disappointed that he had spoiled the floor show.

I awoke to find myself in his apartment, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Steven was over me with a washcloth.

"How did I get here?"

"I brought you here after I got you off that balcony."

I saw him flush as he said it.

"The balcony," I repeated.

"Listen...about what I said and did...it wasn't fair of me to..."

I put my hand up and stopped him. "Listen. You spoke from your heart. If you hadn't stopped me, I probably wouldn't be here right now. "

He nodded at me and smiled.

I spent the next few days detoxing on all the crap I had pumped into my system. Fever, vomiting, hallucinations, screaming out from nightmares I wouldn't acknowledge were there. The nightmares in my life really never stopped, but, when this latest breakup, they resurfaced again. Steven spent most nights in my room. Some nights he held me- those that I recognized it was him. Others I was too terrified or far gone to know it was him and not Detroit. Scratches and bruises the next day were proof of those encounters. The dark circles under his eyes were the evidence of a poor night's sleep on my part and none on his.

The first few days, he would sit in the recliner on the bedroom, listening to my favored rantings. Half seen, frightening images that would, for lack of better term, scare the hell out of me. In some, I was late at the music building at my university (not an uncommon occurrence given my major). A shadowy figure would dart out and grab me from behind. Other familiar places would filter through as the backdrop, but the end results were usually the same. Then came nightmares about The Keg, itself. In most of them, I was successful in my attempt. Feeling the wind whipping past my face, my body felt totally free. Sometimes I would take Steven with me. I never told him about these, but I suspect he knew.

Eventually, he joined me in the bed at nights. It was totally platonic at first anyway. He needed sleep and I needed reassurance that there was someone else that cared about me near me. The familiar warmth and the soft sounds of him snoring behind me were the best medicine I could be given. For the first time in nearly four years, I felt safe.

I returned to college after my two weeks on a 'singing tour.' Everything was as I left it. The self-absorbed noticed my absence only in that the soprano section wasn't as loud in choir or that there was no one to copy off of in the music theory test. Closer acquaintances asked after me. A flurry of questions regarding the trip's nature came from both. Steven and I kept things vague. Of course, rumors started to circulate that we had run off on a romantic tryst. This was further complicated by his very public break up with Vallery. She yelled at him loud enough for the neighbors to call the police to report a domestic violence report. Guess everything always went perfectly in her little world.

The rumors continued for weeks. He didn't care, but I did. Steven has always been above that sort of thing, and the idea that he and I were seen as being as virtueless as the rest of them angered me. I said nothing, however. Flying under the radar is what kept them from verbally bashing me, and it let me melt into the scenery of the building.

It was during those weeks that followed that I realized that Steven was, in fact, the only friend that I had ever had. He was and still is the one person you can count on regardless of the time of day. He'd drive in a rainstorm to get to me, and he'd will never betray my trust by telling any of my secrets.

Those weeks well and truly tested Steven. From the start, the rumor mill demanded to be fed. They wanted concrete evidence that the two of us had, as they called it, 'hooked up.' I refused to cheapen the relationship that I had with him because I respected him and loved him in a way that they could never understand. What they had with their respective mate was nothing more than lust disguised as love so as not to upset there so highly conceptualized version of their Sunday school teachings.

Eventually, they got to me. The lot of them, so ravenous for stories to tell, tried cornering me after all attempts to get to Steven failed. We were waiting for class to begin because the professor was running late. That was when they put their plan into action.

"So what's the deal with you and Steven?" Denise asked, turning only briefly away from her boyfriend, Mark.

I ignored her statement as I continued reading through the chapter.

"I heard they were caught in the practice room," Teresa snickered from behind.

"Adolescents," I murmured under my breath.

"Looks like Her Royal Highness is too good to do like the common people do. Come on, Princess, don't you do as the others do?"

Thankfully, the professor came in and started class. The snickering continued, but it gave me the time to quell my anger. After class, they were in such a hurry to get to marching band they didn't have time to pressure me for answers.

I stopped upstairs, dropped my books in my locker, and then walked the seven blocks to Taco Bell. Not the most romantic place to have lunch, but when you are poor (which is synonymous with being a college student and a musician), it was all I could afford.

Steven, of course, was waiting for me there. Tray in hand, I threw my booksack (book bag for you Yankees) unceremoniously on the table beside him, sat down, and started eating.

"Hey, gorgeous, how's your day going?" he asked, and was rewarded with a glare.

"That bad, huh?" he started laughing.

"I'm about ready to climb a clock tower with a high powered rifle," I said, reaching for a napkin. "I swear! Those people are really testing my patience."

"What did they do this time? Wait....let me guess...Denise and Mark started making out in class again...or Teresa whipped out the baby pictures for the five billionth time," he said, smiling. Something in my expression must have belied my true feelings; I was hurt, confused, and incensed all at the same time. Much as I hated their little remarks, they started me down a line of thought that I wasn't ready to acknowledge. I hate changed. I hate taking life altering changes, and I hate introspection.

Poor Steven sat there, watching this play of emotions over my face, trying to figure out if he should comfort me or make me laugh. Finally, when I was near tears, he reached across the table and covered my hand with his.

"Hey...it's okay. Tell me what happened, Syd."

Of course, I felt ridiculous. I was making things out to be more than they should be, but, ever since that night, I reached highs, lows, or felt nothing at all. That moment, with the semester almost over, finals nipping at my heals, failing aural skills (when failure is unexcusable in my father's eyes), and with all of those stupid little bimbos intentionally trying to push my buttons, I had had enough. Being this incredibly strong person every hour of every day had taken a lot out of me, and I, frankly, had broken. Steven just had the poor fortune to be there when it happened.

I wiped the tears from my eyes and laughed at my own weakness with disdain. The whole idea of it was laughable; I had turned something insignificant into a crisis, and, in doing so, let them win.

"The Group (as we called them) were pressuring me for details about our illicit affair. Seems we spent last week in some cheap motel room rattling the windows not to mention all the times in the practice rooms," I said, laughing at the mental image.

"The poor janitors having to clean up after us."

"It was Earth shattering, really," I saw, laughing honestly for the first time in days.

Steven sobered and looked at me seriously for a moment. "Are they really getting to you, Syd? Because a little white lie wouldn't bother me."

"It would bother me," I said flatly. "I won't have your good name trashed because a bunch of cackling girls don't have enough excitement in their lives that they have to chase after me."

"My good name?" he repeated. "Syd, yours never has."

I rolled my eyes. "Besides, I find it kind of flattering."

"How's that," I asked.

"I'm a marked man. My forehead says 'property of Sydney Alexis. Do not touch.'"

"I'm needy and high maintenance."

"And I wouldn't have it any other way."

He nodded slowly. "Why don't I walk you back?" he asked after throwing our trash away. I nodded my head, gathering my things without thinking. He stood by the door, holding it open for me until I passed through. Once outside, he offered me his arm. I laughed at his chivalry.

"Are you trying to give them something to talk about?"

"No. I'm just treating you like you ought to be treated- like a lady."

I raised an incredulous eyebrow at him, but said nothing to his reply.

"So, what is on the calendar for tonight?" he asked.

"Tonight is that piano concert that Dr. Niigata is making me go to. I thought I would stick around the music building- practice a little, maybe puzzle my way through those function problems. I only have about a hundred of them left to do."

He laughed. "Nothing like procrastinating, huh, Syd?"

"Well...you know how I just love math."

"Why don't I stick around with you and help with the work?"

"I thought that you had a concert to play at in Houston tomorrow?"

He shrugged. "I'll get someone to cover. Not a big deal."

"Don't worry about me. The parking lot is right behind the building. There will be tons of people there..."

He stopped me in the middle of the sidewalk and turned me to face him. "None of which give a damn about you."

"I'm not a child- most of the time. Besides, they wouldn't let anything happen to me; someone has to feed the gossip mill," I said flippantly.

Reaching out, he lifted my chin until my eyes were even with his. "Don't say stuff like that. I don't want anything to happen to you, Syd. I care a lot about you. There will always be a dozen more concerts to play at, but you're one of a kind."

I smiled at him. "You've been watching too many old movies, Steven."

"Living vicariously, I guess."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

This conversation was starting to be filled with landmines. I began to wish that the easy going, all smiles, man would reappear. I needed a court jester not someone saying things I wasn't ready to hear, but he continued anyway.

"I...nothing," he said, finally, looking down at the sidewalk strewn with oak leaves. I sighed. This conversation was long overdue, but I wasn't prepared for it. I certainly didn't want to have it in such a public spot either. Grabbing his arm, I led him to a nearby bench. He sat down in silence, but still didn't look at me.

I recognized that look in his eyes. He'd only held it only twice. The first was the night he told me how his parents were killed, and the second was the story of his brother's addiction. I could only describe it as forlorn, faraway, and utterly lost.

"What is it you aren't saying, Steven? Does it have something to do with the late night concert? The gossip mill? What?"

He shook his head slowly. I reached out to touch him but he pulled away like my skin burned his flesh. I cleared my throat more to force back the tears than anything else.

"You can't protect me from all the evils in the world, Steven. There will be a hundred others like The Group. I just have to learn to deal with it in my own way because I won't always have you there to hold my hand," I said smiling. It was meant to tell him that I needed to be less dependent on him, but that wasn't the way it went over. His gaze rose slowly from the acorn littered grass to my face as the words sunk in.

"You're right. I can't. If I had, nothing would have hurt you to begin with. Now you're..."

"What? Damaged goods?"

We'd never discussed the party or him picking me up in that towel. Never talked about the nightmares were I would scream and beat my fists against him while he tried to hold me still so I wouldn't hurt myself. Or the half dozen times I'd chased pills with alcohol. Snatches of conversation about AA, the counsellor that I stopped seeing, or all the times I had broken down. No. He was never brave enough to broach those subjects with me, and I refused to bring them up. I wasn't stupid; I knew that he blamed himself for what happened. I told him as much, but he never listened.

I knew the moment I said those words the reaction I would get, and I was right. He flinched as surely as if I had punched him.

"Not damaged," he said, finally. "Just changed. As stupid as this sounds, you had a light in you. This great will to grab hold of the world and make it your own. You had a passion for music, telling tall tales, dancing, doing anything spontaneous and not giving a damn what other people thought..."

"And now what? I'm cautious? Paranoid? Delusional? I'm all those things, yes. I don't like drawing attention to myself anymore."

"But why?"

"Because the person that was died. Because the person that felt anything for anyone including herself died that night."

"Damn you, Sydney, you know that's a lie!"

"Is it? Maybe it's just easier to accept things that way. The second you start to care about anyone, you are opening yourself up for a fall."

"I'm not Peter. I'm not going to dump you after a few months through an email, and I sure as hell wouldn't use you just for your body."

"Why not, Steven? Take a number! Apparently the line starts at the vocal department's practice room."

"Stop it," he said, grabbing my shoulders. By then, I was already crying, and he was near it. I meet his gaze evenly, inclining my chin slightly.

"Why? Are you going to join the scores that claim to love me? Come on, it's easy. Lie through your teeth, bed me, and then run out on me like every other 'friend' I've had over the years. I'll find someone else to pick me up off the floor," I spat out, standing.

I was mad as hell, but it was an irrational anger. I was irate, but not at Steven. I was furious with a laundry list of people, events, and circumstances that all piled on top of each other until I snapped. Looking down at him, I saw so much pain in his eyes. Heartache that I had caused in someone that had selflessly given of himself more times than I could count. In that moment, a thought passed through my mind that was so simple yet so frighting- he lived this hell...my hell because he loved me. All the secrets, the pain that I had felt, he felt with me, but he had no one to talk to.

My hands covered my mouth as disbelief at what I had just said flew into my mind. I had hurt the only friend I had ever had.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, looking down at the ground. I suddenly felt dirty.

I heard him clear his throat, and stand. "It's okay, Syd," he said after a very long pause. "Let me get you back to the building. You have class in a few minutes."

I was trembling by this point. Steven was shrinking away from me; I could hear it in his voice. Like every other injury I'd cause him, figurative and literal, he brushed it off. This time, I wouldn't let him or myself get away with it. I knew I would never have the courage to approach this topic again. So, without giving myself time to lose my nerve, I stepped within inches of him, searching his face for the answer I knew was already there.

"Why?"

"Why what, Syd? Why walk you back the building? I already promised you that I would. Despite your fiery temper, I worry about you."

"Why put up with my 'fiery temper'? Why do you worry about me?"

His brow nit in confusion. "Because you're my friend," he said, simply. His features were so well schooled that I almost didn't catch the flash in his eyes. I'd seen it once or twice before, but also chose to ignore it.

"The truth, Steven," I said, evenly.

He sighed in false exasperation and sat back down on the bench. "Did anyone ever tell you that you're a great drama queen, Syd?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "Humor me," I said.

"I already told you; you're my friend."

I slipped onto the bench beside him. The fact that his arm went up behind me didn't go unnoticed, as I turned my head toward him. "The balcony," I said, simply.

He exhaled a deep breath. "You said you weren't ready. You were right," he said. Steven's right hand, that had been resting on the bench came up to cup my face. It had been meant as a platonic gesture of friendship, but, God help me, I turned into his touch. When I opened my eyes, his own belied his true emotion. It was one that I had never truly seen before in man's eyes, and, when my mind finally identified it, I allowed myself to cry. The scalding tears did not go unchecked. He wiped them away just as he had for so many years.

"The truth, Steven," I said, repeating myself. It was a rhetorical question, I knew, but I wanted to hear the words. There was a long pause, I felt myself shaking. Had I crossed that line? Was he willing to cross it with me. Finally, he favored me with a smile.

"I love you, Syd," he said, simply.

I started to cry harder. In my peripheral vision, I saw dozens of students pass by giving me odd looks, but I didn't care. I moved into his embrace, weeping like a small child. I felt him shudder against me.

"You crushing me," I whispered. I felt rather than heard the reverberations of laughter in his chest. He pulled back and looked at me with a new light in his eyes- unguarded tenderness.

I wiped away the remnants of tears, seeing my fingertips blackened with mascara. "I must be a mess," I said laughing, and, for the first time, not caring.

"No you not. You're beautiful."

"Flatterer."

He stood and helped me up. "I've got exactly four minutes to get you to class. Come on."

"Steven?"

"Hmmm..." he said, picking up my booksack and handing me my purse. (Brave man to carry a bright purple pack I might add)

"I...um...I.."

He raised his hand to stop me. "You don't have to say anything, Syd. It's enough to just say it out loud."

A month passed from that date before anything more came of it. Steven, in what he perceived to be his infinite wisdom, told me to take a few weeks to think about things. He was under the impression that, if dating didn't work, I couldn't stay his friend. True, I had a very bad track record with all the men before him, but they were like the seasons- good for the first few weeks, but, after the newness wore off, I would see all the flaws. I generally fell for the wrong type: much older, no interest in music (or the wrong types), liked to drink (not a a great type to be around when you are trying to stay clean), or those relationships where we spent more time horizontal than anything else. None of those men respected me. None of them really loved me. They just screamed it out when they got what they wanted, and I was deluded enough, desperate enough, or self-loathing enough to believe it.

Steven isn't without his faults: he snores (though not loudly), he is married to the practice room come performance time, he loves horrible types of food, and he is impulsive at times. However, he can also be selfless, giving, gallant, sweet, funny, and he loves me to distraction. The look he gave me that first day... I knew that I would fall for him. I tried to stop myself, but I fell in to the deep end and never resurfaced.

One month, two days from that hour we spent on the campus bench, he was waiting for me outside of my eleven o'clock class. I smiled at him sweetly.

"Hey."

"Hungry?" he asked. Poor man. He had no idea what he was in for. Standing on my tip toes, I kissed him on the cheek.

The Group was just filing out of class as was the professor. Dr. Niigata looked at his both, rolled his eyes, and started down the hall before yelling back, "Will you two please get a room?"

Steven tried not to notice my blatent move to flame the rumor mill. "Yeah, I'm hungry, but I to talk to you first."

"Sure," he said, motioning towards the end of the hall. We walked out to the park across the street form the building and onto the old, cyprus bridge covering the small pond there. It was green and gray from exposure, but the boards were still smooth beneath my fingertips. The pond below was filled with lilypads, cattails, and a handful of ducks. As I looked down into the murky water, I saw my reflection in it. For the first time in years, there was brilliance to my face that had been lacking.

It was then that I saw the much taller figure standing next to me. Our difference in height had been a long held joke. My mother, equally as short as I am, always told me to marry a tall man so my kids would have half a chance. The thought was almost laughable...almost. The thought that followed it wasn't; we fit together. We were fated since that day back in high school.

He stepped closer to me. Ever protective, even subconsciously, he placed one hand on the railing in front of him and the other around me. I smiled at the reflections in the water.

"What is it you want to talk about?"

I stepped closer to him, then closer still until I was touching his side. I turned my body towards his then, and smiled as I looked up at him.

"What is it, Syd?" he asked, cupping my face with his hands. A momentary look of panic crossed his face as I felt my eyes start to well up. Reaching up, I wrapped my arms around his neck, and pulled him down into a chaste kiss. It deepened in ferocity and was met with equally passion from him. His hands wrapped themselves in my long, brunette hair, and, in that moment, I felt beloved.

He pulled back, eyes burning with hunger. Steven's right hand caressed the soft, ivory flesh of my cheek for long moments then the pads of his fingers roamed downward until only his thumb traced the outline of my lips.

"Please tell me you meant it. I don't know if I could go back to the way things were before today."

My heart dropped. I shook my head. Words failed me. I pulled him into another kiss more searing than the last. Cherished...I felt cherished. I was falling...falling...falling.

"No...no going back," I said melting into him. I didn't care who saw us. I didn't care who found out. I was ready to yell it from the rooftops... then, another moment of clarity hit me. Stronger than the one that came on that bench a month ago. Before I could second guess myself. Before I could bury the thought away to dissect later, I whispered to him the words he deserved to hear.

"I love you, Steven."