Theft and other things...

My mind still cannot wrap itself around the fact that my laptop was stolen out of my dining room, while I was home with a large group of friends. Nothing else was taken, not a single other trinket, but the pc. My friend's purse was sitting in a chair maybe a foot away from it but that was left behind. My 3DS XL sat on the leather sectional, maybe three feet from the door, (certainly on the way in or out of the dining room and house) and it remains. And the thing that really blows my mind is that it was the most inexpensive device in our entire house. The phone in my pocket was more than that laptop, but it was that which the thief took.

The only solace I get from this situation is despite losing my laptop, containing my many manuscripts, short stories, and the like, I still have them in safe keeping. And to top it all off I don't think they could get to them anyway since my computer had a password protecting it. Although, my best companion and techy told me that was trivial.

When I was younger my parents, for whatever reason, thought it'd be cheaper if the husband of a woman my mother worked with built me a PC for Christmas. It may have been, for all I know, but it ended up where twice the hard drive crashed and refused to load. The first time he successfully fixed his folly, but the second... I was mortified because I had lost all of my work. All of my novels were wrapped up into that single device. I didn't know what to do. As a last resort I took it to best buy and the computer guys there (long before the geek squad) were able to retrieve them and put them on a disc.

Since then I have been relentless when it comes to saving and resaving. I have multiple thumb drives, my files are saved on multiple home computers, and now I have them in a dropbox. Dropbox is the most amazing thing to ever happen to me. I cannot stress that enough. I preach of it's wonders to any and all I come across because it truly is a miracle product. That is where my stories are even now. All the ideas I haven't locked in permanent memory are there. My many incarnations of my current novel. All of it. And if they're not in there they're on the thumb drive I have ringed with my house and car keys.

Like I said... I'm a relentless saver.

As to the computer... My boyfriend gave me the computer he just recently bought for his company to me. It's nice... But I liked my other one, despite being so low-tech. It did what I wanted. It was my friend, my companion, my secret lover. And like any lost love I will truly miss it. But in the end it was just an object. Easily replaceable, as I have found, since I already have another one. It all boils down to the point: who the hell did this?

No matter how many times I run it through my mind it just doesn't make any sense. None. Why take that but nothing else? I've looked. I keep hoping that this is some elaborate joke against me plotted out by one of my "friends." But I knew at the moment I saw it gone, that many in my life refuse to believe, that it is just gone. Gone gone gone gone gone gone. Gone. And I have to live with that.

But, silver lining time folks, I have all of my work. All of my stories, novels, ideas. All of it is safe within my reach and that is truly a miracle and brings me momentary peace. In fact, I worked on a project this evening just to get acquainted with my new friend. I've decided to call him obsidian, but that is irrelevant.

Shirking

So, here's the truth, I have shirked my July-July project because a friend of mine offered an article to me. I know that's ridiculous and just shows how stubborn I am for any kind of offered help. In all honesty she meant nothing by it and to be fair in one of my posts I more or less asked for help. My response was being petty. I wanted to feel like I was above the help and that I was doing this on my own. Ridiculous, right? Correct.

I had planned to do a WriMo in August but instead I will be plotting and planning my novel and finishing my 31 prompts. I promised 31 I will deliver that number.

Prompt 18 of 31

I am torn. I am enjoying this prompt a night exercise for the month of July but at the same time I would rather just get to work on my novel. What I just, at this moment, realized was prior to this marathon of art and creative writing was that I had languished in my other attempts to edit and get my book together. Now I'm at the point where I would rather be doing that than anything else. Strange... Maybe this little project is helping after all. It just feels exhausting. I'm flexing the creative part of my brain but starting so many stories, without actually finishing-finishing them is heart breaking. Every story I begin to write is like a child and I feel compelled to bring that child to a toddler, then to a teen, and off into adulthood. Leaving it on the wayside of this journey makes me feel pathetic. I suppose that should force me to actually treat each of these prompts like a novel and spend a month working on them.

I bought this book "how to write a book in a month." I've already done it, in my first NaNoWriMo. It's the novel I've been working on for the past three years. (Eesh, that's a long time.) And although I have written it I don't know the editing process. So when I first received the book in the mail I went directly to the "what now..." section, but since I started reading the author refers back to other practices he has explained earlier in the piece. And they are things I am intrigued to understand. So now I want to read the whole thing and see how he breaks down the NoWriMo process.

Either way, I had planned to write a whole new novel next month but I think, instead I will work on editing my finished manuscript.

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 154 "Hello? Hello? I think the phone just went dead..."

Start time: 9:51

"Hello? Hello? I think the phone just went dead..." said the terrified heroine from the television screen.

Seated before the glowing box were Tim and Alice, her head resting on his shoulder with his arm around her neck.

"Of course it is," Alice said. She pulled herself out of his arms and turned to him.

"Why are you subjecting me to this madness. The women in these movies are always so ridiculously cliché." She turned toward the screen.

Her auburn eyes watched the young, terrified, heroine run panicked through the house, looking through all the windows.

"Watch, now she's going to go upstairs," she said, before the girl did precisely described.

Tim laughed. He studied her with his blue eyes, a look of enchantment upon his face.

"Yeah," she said, throwing herself back against the sofa. The springs squeaked even under her thin frame.

"Women are always painted as complete idiots in terror situations. And then the boyfriend is going to come in and save the day." She groaned. "Where is the chick that can take care of her own, huh? The one that just doesn't go upstairs to hide, but in fact goes to her gun closet stocked with every weapon imagineable." She paused, glaring at the screen. "You know that's how it would happen in the south."

Tim laughed. He ran his fingers through his sandy colored hair and paused the film. The girl on the screen frozen in time with the killer placed before her, his knife raised above his head. Her face etched with a look of pure terror.

"You're putting too much weight on it. You know, as well as I, that these are date films. A young lady, such as yourself, wants to know that if she were to be in such a situation that she would have that strapping boyfriend to come to her aid. And only a few minutes ago, you were in my arms, snuggled close. That is until you brought logic into a fictional scenario."

Alice barked a laugh. She spun herself around on the sofa to face Tim.

"There has to be some modicum of logic, Timothy," she said, "Actually more so in such situations. We," she gestured between the two of them, "are human beings that act irrationally. It makes sense for us to just up and decide 'i'm going to take up the cello.'" She smiled peevishly. "But those characters," she pointed at the television, "They have to have more common sense or else we won't believe their struggle."

"Okay," he said, nodding, "I see what you're saying."

"Thank you."

"What you mean to tell me is that I can do this," he grabbed her by the neck and threw her to the couch and plants himself at her waist, pinning her down. Using his other hand he wrapped his long fingers around her wrists and held her there. "This doesn't make sense because there was no set up for the situation."

He releases her hands and Alice uses them to remove the hand gripped gently around her throat.

"You just wanted to get on top of me."

Tim held up his hands.

"Guilty as charged."

The two look into the other's eyes.

"So did I have to have the reason to do that?"

"You had one," she said, "It was to get on top of me."

The two laughed and interlaced their fingers.

"So, when does that horror movie you're in start filming," Tim said.

Alice thought for a moment.

"Two weeks."

Tim looked at the television screen.

"Are you properly prepared yet?"

Alice propped herself up onto her elbows and follow Tim's line of sight.

"As much as I'll ever be."

As Tim got off of her waist, and sat on the sofa, he said, "Have you read the script?"

"Yep," she said, "I'm one of these bitches. I'm going to see if I can convince the director to go a different route. Because think about it, what if she could take care of herself."

"There wouldn't be a movie."

"No, there would still be a movie, it'd just be an action movie. We'd move away from the genre altogether. And that's where I want to be." She paused. "I'm hoping this will maybe get me there." She took a deep breath. "It's sill but I have this feeling this will be my break. This is my leg up."

Tim put a hand on her shoulder.

"And then by your strength maybe you can pull me into the," Tim held up air quotes,"Biz."

Alice groaned and pulled herself up off of the couch.

"Don't say that. It sounds so schmarmy. Do you know how many people I hear that from all day everyday? It sounds so plastic."

"You just described about ninety percent of the people in the industry. If you want real go into theatre."

"Yeah, but they just want to get into film. Somehow that will make your life better."

"Isn't that what you think? Didn't you say almost exactly that."

Alice hid behind her hand.

"You caught me," she said dropping her mask, "I drank the Kool-Aid."

The two laughed.

Tim stood from the sofa and wrapped Alice in his arms.

"I have absolute faith in you."

"Do you?"

"Mhm."

Alice rolled her eyes.

Then there was an awkward pause.

"Do you want to say a little something?"

Tim raised his eyebrows and slowly nodded his head.

"Oh," Alice said, stepping away, "Yes. And I have faith you in Mr. Writer. Mr. Musician. Mr. Actor."

Tim laughed and wrapped her once again in his arms.

"Just Mr. Writer will do." He pecked her on the lips. "Mr. Awesome Writer."

Prompt 17 of 31

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 138 "I know it sounds corny, but this is really going to be the trip of a lifetime."

Start time: 10:49

"I know it sounds corny," Michael said, he looked to the young woman standing next to him before the time vortex, "but this is really going to be the trip of a lifetime."

Tabitha rolled her eyes and smiled.

"Pun intended?" she said.

"Of course," he replied.

The two faced forward and clasped their hands together.

The swirling bright cloud before them, containing the tear in the fabric of time, beckoned them forward. All of the voices and sounds of the past echoed from it.

"How does it work," Tabitha said.

Michael laughed and shrugged.

"Hell if I know."

"Okay."

Tabitha bit her bottom lip and bowed her head.

"Do you think we'll ever come back?"

Michael's expression went from happy to blank. For a moment his eyes searched the air before him before he turned toward his time traveling companion.

"I don't know," he said.

The two pairs of eyes met.

"I don't think so."

Tabitha ripped her hand from Michael's and stepped away. Her hands were held at her chest and she fidgeted with her fingers nervously. It was then that she shook her head.

"I can't do this."

"What?" Michael said. "All the talk. The preparation. You said you would go with me."

Tabitha lifted her hands to her ears and she closed her eyes.

"I know what I said Michael, but I thought all of this was unachievable. Who ever thinks that their boyfriend will actually rip a whole in space and time so that they can travel to any period." she paused for an answer. "No one!"

Michael moved toward her but with every step she moved away until her back met the wall.

"Why didn't you believe me?"

"Seriously?"

A scream echoed from the tear and Michael turned toward it.

Tabitha took that moment to slide along the wall and away from him.

When he turned back around his expression was surprise.

"Love, it doesn't matter," he said, "regardless if you thought I could do it or not I have. We have the greatest opportunity before us. Many in the world would give up everything just for the chance."

"You don't know where we'll end up. That is a crap chute, Michael."

Michael laughed.

"Does it even matter?"

"Yes!" She said.

Tabitha began gathering up her things quickly.

"We could end up in a time where we could be slaves. Or we could end up where there is no running water or food. We could end up where there is no one around and it's just us." She paused. "Are you prepared for that type of situation?"

Tabitha started for the door.

"Where are you going?" Michael said.

He threw himself against the door, blocking her only route out.

"I can't believe I even entertained this idea. This is ridiculous and I would like to leave. Please, let me go."

Michael crossed his arms over his chest and slid halfway down the door, so that he was eye level with Tabitha.

"You'd really let me go on my own?"

Tabitha looked back at the rift for a moment.

"You would really go?"

"We were just about to go a few moments ago!" He said, gesturing towards the portal. "Why all of a sudden the change of heart."

Tabitha opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.

It was at that moment that Michael grabbed her arms and began pulling her toward the tear in time.

"What're you doing, Michael?" she said.

Tabitha began to fight against him but he was just too strong for her to battle with.

"Whatever we encounter we will do it together. I will take care of you."

"I told you I don't want to go!"

Tabitha fought harder as Michael stood within inches from the tear.

A grin spread across his face as he stuck a foot into another time and place.

Tabitha lifted her leg and collided with the apex of Michael's legs. His arms retracted toward the pain and it was in that moment that Tabitha shoved him into the tear and it swallowed him whole. With a bolt of lightning it vanished and she stood alone in the garage.

Prompt 16 of 31

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 224 "My God, this is like that old Abbott and Costello routine, 'Who's on First?'"

Start time: 9:26

"My God, this is like that old Abbott and Costello routine, 'Who's on First?'" Garith shouted at his sister and vampire friend.

The two turned to him.

"How is this even remotely like that?" Derrick said.

Garith looked side to side.

"It doesn't," he said. He looked down at the ground. "I just wanted to be a part of the conversation."

Derrick gave a half smile showing his canine that had become longer from yesterday.

end time: 10:29

Okay... It is rather obvious that I was not feeling that one at all. It was a dud, dud, dud, dud. I tried to make it work but I really had nothing come to mind. Instead I got lost in a tumblr vortex of doom. Anyway, I'm just going to go ahead and choose another one because that was rather shameful.

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 69 "I'm here to answer the ad in the paper."

Start time: 10:44

The door to Lynette's house cracked open and a single green eye looked through to the outside world. As the door open further a head sprouted from head with dark black hair and milky white skin around a plump face. If you watch closely she moves out further and inspects her surroundings. They are foreign to her, but she is calm.

A car passes by and she is frightened. The elusive Lynette scurries back into the house and watches through the peephole until all has gotten quiet again. She sighs to herself and laughs. One can only imagine what is going through her very fragile mind at this point. It has been sometimes since the subject has been outside of her house. If it hadn't been the pressure of her online support group she would not have even decided to broach the subject now.

"You can do this," she says to herself.

The lynette tries again. At first her actions are slow going but eventually she winds up outside in a very normal suburban neighborhood. The sky is cloudless and the sun in shining. She looks around at the world's beauty. Her expression is unsure but she stands firm as another car goes by.

Once the vehicle has gone quickly around the corner she shuffles to the car and climbs into her old volkswagon bug. For a moment we see her fumble around through the purse she had packed haphazardly this morning. It has been some time since she's needed the assistance of one.

Like any red blooded woman she finds her keys at the bottom of her purse. She sticks it in the ignition and attempts to start the vehicle.

What she has neglected to think of, as any other red blooded American would, is that since her car has spent many years in the driveway without a start it does not. She tries again and again with the same success rate.

Frustrated she bangs furiously on the steering wheel and rushes back inside the house.

There she rushes about furiously trying to find her house phone. She has an appointment to make and already she will be late. Lynette must see this and has become frantic.

"Hello," she says into the phone, clutching at it with both hands. "I need a taxi. Could you send one right away?"

The voice on the other line says a few unintelligible words and she hangs up.

For the next ten minutes Lynette wanders aimlessly around the house. She checks her appearance in the mirror many times. Sighing to herself she shakes her head. Earlier we heard her feelings about her apprehension to answering the personal ad she had found in the paper.

The leader of the group seemed excited at her approach to moving outside of her confined living. She beamed back at her patient and told her to keep trying.

The driver arrives with a knock and Lynette rushes outside. She hops in the car, looking about nervously. The cabby in the driver seat furrows his thick brow and looks at her with unsure eyes.

"Where to?" He says, in an accent.

"The coffee shop on," Lynette says, she rolls her hand in a circle. It seems she has forgotten the name of the establishment she is meant to meet her date. "Harrowley?" She looks at the cabby's reflection for approval.

"Sure," he says and begins to drive.

Lynette sits back and bites at her thumbnail. She clutches her hefty purse to her stomach and taps her foot wildly.

It was explained that her decision to answer an ad was from a dream she had had a few months back. She shared in the group that it was also the wording of the man's post that had her intrigued.

"It was so," she had said. A few moments pass that elude to her not being able to find the right word. Finally she settles on, "Nice."

The others in the group had asked her to read it but for whatever reason she had refused. She blushed at the mention of it and every group since had inquired.

Lynette finally arrives at the agreed upon location. She pays the cabby who seems relieved to be rid of her and doesn't tip him. Although it is acceptable seeing as how she hasn't been accustomed to the real world for some time. He on other hand drives off in a hurry.

The young girl walks in and finds the man seated in the far corner. On the table before him is a single white daisy, per her request. She stops in her tracks and waits. For a moment it looks as though she might turn and run but the gentlemen sees her and stands, smiling.

"Lila!" He says to her waving her over.

She puts her hand to her mouth and shuffles around to tables to get to him. She immediately gives him her hand and they exchange pleasantries. The young man has tight blonde curls, bright blue eyes, and a beautiful smile.

"I have a quick confession to make," Lynette says.

The young man leans forward and steeples his arms on the table.

"Go ahead," he says.

"My name is actually Lynette. I told you that name because I wasn't sure if I was actually going got make it."

The man raises his eyebrows and he sits back in his chair. His face looks uncertain of what to make of the situation.

"Alright," he says, nodding, "Well my name is still Greg."

The two laugh.

"Good," she says.

Prompt 15 of 31

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 181 "Two old friends reconnect via e-mail four years after one of them married and moved away."

Start time: 12:25

Chris got his e-mail from a friend of a friend of a friend. It didn't matter whom it had been all that he cared about was that it was actually his.

He sat down at his computer, pulled the slip of yellow paper (with the blue stripes) with the e-mail address scrawled across it and opened his mailbox. He sat for a moment staring at the screen. His inbox was quite full of his correspondence with MAILERDEAMON. The two had become quite close the past few weeks as he had been trying to reconnect with Anthony. The rumor was that he had moved back into town and try as he may to run into him it just wasn't happening.

Chris opened a new letter and typed in the address. Already his palms went sweaty and his finger tips cold. He quickly wiped his palms on his pants before continuing.

"Pull it together," he said.

He began to type.

Hey man

Jesus, he's going to think I'm a bro, he thought.

I heard a rumor you are back in town. Thought I'd drop you a line and say hi. Haven't seen you since the party at Falecia's parents right after graduation. Just wanted to see if you wanted to get some coffee and shoot the breeze.

Chris sat back and read the e-mail over and over again until it was just a droning sound in his brain. Nothing about it pleased him. It was too forward in one sense and then the other it just sounded so vague. Then he began to think of all the things Henry would think after reading this.

"Fuck it," he said.

Chris sent it before he could think of any other excuse. At this point it was all up to the internet gods.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

An instant message popped up at the bottom right of his screen.

jedimaster09548: chris?

Chris's body went cold and he froze in place.

Who the hell still uses instant messenger? he thought. Of course, the guy that doesn't even have a facebook and only an e-mail.

end time: 12:47

I'm just not feeling this one.

Prompt 14 of 31

Tonight I will be pulling double duty to make up for yesterday's missed prompt. It's funny how life just gets in the way. Ha, what am I talking about, life. I saw the conjuring yesterday. Fantastic movie. During the course of the movie I realized why I don't see horror movies in the theatre. (I tend to only watch them at home.) I tend to scream and convulse like a spaz. It's really comical for others, not so much for me. Either way, it was fun. I'll do anything for a laugh. Well, as long as it's on my terms.

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. "A man learns that what he thought was chronic heartburn is really terminal cancer."

Start time: 11:17

Shella Fidgeted with her cell phone while she sat in the waiting room of the doctor's office. Her husband rick was seated beside her; hunched over, his elbows on his knees, and his hands clasped together in a single fist. Her sapphire eyes looked at him and then she frowned. Her manicured hand went to his back and rubbed tiny circles. At time she lifted her palm from his back and it was just her nails. He chuckled and turned to her with a sad smile.

"I had completely forgotten," she said.

She did it again and he jerked away.

"So I heard from my mother today," she said matter of fact. She pocketed her cellphone and then turned towards him.

"What'd she have to say," he said, peering at her over his shoulder.

Shella shrugged a shoulder and looked at her nails.

"I guess my brother is back in rehab. My dad caught him trying to steal my mother's jewelry. He broke down crying right then and there and confessed the whole thing."

She paused and looked at him with imploring eyes. She hoped this different change of topic would get his mind off of the whole situation.

When he sat back and sighed she knew it had worked. She kept the smile that wanted to play on her lips safely tucked away. Rick rested his head against the wall and left his hands, fingers sprawled, on his knees.

"Poor Jackson," he said.

His mahogany eyes searched the air before him.

Shella's brow furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"I can't imagine what that would be like. You know how my dad was an alcoholic. I say that my mother made excuses for him when I was a kid but she believed he could change. She wanted to know that he would start being the man she had met. I just don't see how your father can deal with that. If Jeremy ever becomes an addict I don't know what I would do. It'd break my heart."

"What about my brother?"

Rick looked at her, pressed his lips together, and shrugged.

"We are the master's of our own destiny."

Hot anger climbed up her face and turned her cheeks a rosy red.

"You're one to talk. This heart burn of yours is all your doing. If you didn't eat all those fatty foods on your lunch it wouldn't happen."

Rick leaned forward again and regained his previous pose.

Shella hid her eyes behind her hand. She felt like such an idiot.

Well, that was pointless, she thought.

She dropped her hand into her lap and leaned to his shoulder.

"Honey, I'm sure it's nothing. We're just getting a second opinion per doctor laurel's request. Okay?"

She kissed his shoulder.

"The antacids, the meds, do not work, Shell."

"Sometimes things can be so severe that you need to see a specialist. That's why we're here."

Rick rolled his eyes.

Shella sat back and studied him. Her mind knew what was wrong already. Her heart refused to believe. She kept telling herself the same lies she told about her brother. Except he could help his problem.

She smiled weakly to herself and then looked down at her thumbs. She couldn't believe she was wishing that he was just an addict. Of all the things that could happen to him it had to be this.

"Rick Torrent," The nurse said, her arm wrapped around the clip board.

The two got up and headed to the exam room for another agonizing wait.

Rick stayed silent the whole time. He just stared at his feet, bouncing the toe of his boots on foot at a time.

She had seen him do that many times before, like when they were waiting to see if they were in fact having a boy. Or there was the time that his mother had been found beaten, almost to a pulp, and they were waiting in the lobby of the ER. That had been back when they were still in high school.

Her heart began to ache from the thoughts of their love's life time and she focused again on his feet. She picked apart his shoes, his gestures, everything to keep herself from thinking that which she already knew.

The doctor swooped in and immediately headed to the sink and washed his hands.

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Torrent."

"How're you today?"

Shella always wondered why a doctor asked a patient that. It seemed like such a silly question. Well obviously we're terrible. We're here to see you, She thought.

"Just waiting on those results." Rick said. He sighed and looked at the doctor. "Doctor Laurel couldn't make heads or tails of it so it's prolonged this for far too long."

The doctor produced a pair of spectacles and put them on.

"I certainly can understand that."

Then get on with it!

The doctor pulled up the rolling stool and sat down. He pulled out a pen, clicked it and began writing notes. All of his actions seemed as thought they were half speed.

Shella fidgeted nervously in place.

"I'm afraid that it's not acid reflux."

Shella's breath caught in her chest.

"You have cancer on the lining of your asophogaus. It's caused by HPV. Most men don't ever show symptoms. They just carry the disease."

Shella's brow furrowed.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"It's alright. It's not life threatening. We will need to perform surgery quickly though."

Shella forced a smile.

"I see."

Shella stood, clutching her purse at her waist.

"Will you please excuse me. I'll just let you two gentlemen talk this out."

Shella rushed through the doctor's office, out the main corridor and down a flight of stairs faster than she could have ever thought possible. Before she knew it she stood at their lifted black truck. She stopped and studied it for a moment. Her eyes peering at every detail.

She flew to the driver's side door and wrenched it open. It didn't matter that the corner of the door cracked the window of the vehicle next to hers. She was on a mission. She tore through the center console, ripping out everything she got her well manicured hands on. When that didn't present any results she moved to the glove box, then under the seats. She was about to start ripping up the carpet floor when Rick came outside.

"What are you doing?" he said.

Shella looked at him. Her sapphire eyes were a hurricane and it was headed right for him.

"How the hell do you have HPV, Richard Torrent?"

"From you, I imagine," he said.

Shella smiled, her tounge prodding her left canine.

"Is that so," she said. "Well I know I haven't had anything to report and do you know how I know? I get this," she gestured at the apex of her legs, "I get this checked by a physician every goddamn month. If I were to have anything she would notice!"

Shella's voice had grown steadily louder as she spoke. The passersby all slowed their journey to where they were going and watched the spectacle. Rick looked around nervously.

"Honey-"

"Don't you honey me, Richard. Or should I say Dick!"

Shella hopped down from the truck and then slammed the door. Straightening her short denim skirt she walked away as fast as her legs would carry her. Although much to her delight Rick followed right behind.

"Honey, I haven't cheated on you." he said to her back.

She pretended to ignore him.

"Who would want to even try? All the women in the office know that you have a mean streak a mile long. You have weapons on your finger tips!"

Shella cracked a smile and all it did was enfuriate her more. She balled her fists, stopped abruptly, and spun to meet him face to face.

"Then tell me something I don't know."

Rick opened his mouth to speak but couldn't seem to find the words. He hung his head and shook it back and forth.

"Do you remember when we were in high school-"

"It was only six years ago, Rick, I'm sure I can remember that far-"

Rick put a hand over her mouth.

"Just listen for a second. I haven't cheated on you while we've been married. There was this one time in tenth grade when we broke up and I saw Susie Lee. We went on a couple of dates but I just wanted you."

Slutty Susie Lee she thought.

"That was the only time I've been with any other woman."

Relief washed over her shoulders and the fire receded quickly back into her chest. She relaxed for only a moment until she thought what this meant. But then her curiosity got the better of her.

"So, if you have it, why don't I?"

The corner of Rick's mouth tried to touch his ear, as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Well," he said, "Honey, I've never... Done anything with my mouth."

Shella looked around nervously. HIs voice was already low but it wasn't low enough. If someone should hear she would be mortified.

"Yeah, because it's disgusting. And thank god I feel that way or I'd have it. Stupid, slutty, Susie Lee."