I tried to get comfortable, pulling my covers tighter around me. I tossed and I turned. I tried sleeping on my stomach. I tried sleeping on my side. I tried sleeping with my hands clasped on my chest. I tried counting sheep. I tried counting backwards from 10,000. I tried and tried to fall asleep, letting my eyes stare unseeingly up at my ceiling. Squeezing them shut to force drowsiness. Nothing worked. I knew after my 104 song sleep playlist finished its loop that it was hopeless. I just was not going to sleep tonight. I threw the blankets off of me and strode into the kitchen to heat up tea. It was 3 in the morning. I had been trying to sleep for 2 ½ hours.

As the water in the electric tea kettle boiled and churned, issuing steam into the dark kitchen, my thoughts ran a mile a minute. I forced myself to think of other things, like what my dorm was going to look like, and what I was going to wear tomorrow, and what color I could paint my room next week, and how the exchange rate would work out if I went to Russia, and what I was going to get my mom for her birthday, and what my high school GPA could have been if I hadn't taken AP statistics, and how much money I had in the bank, and what my yearly interest was, and what I should make for breakfast, and how I could get a job, and what was my favorite animal, and what was the exact difference between a cappuccino and a latté, and what were the seven horcruxes in Harry Potter—oh shit. Harry Potter…

Ok, what was the perfect way to make a soufflé, and what was my most favorite scent on Earth, and what part of the United States had the least amount of sun—oh shit, Twilight.

Alright, who could drink the most out of anyone I know—oh shit, Natasha.

The more and more I tried to fill my head with random thoughts that couldn't pertain to Rob, the more and more they seemed to pertain to Rob. Everything I thought about i could link back to him. Every single little thought had a little thread that wove through the cluttered recesses of my mind and found its way to him. It was maddening, try as I might; I just couldn't ignore the giant bomb Natasha had dropped on me.

I mean, so what Rob talked to her. Right? It's not like he cant talk to other girls, it's not like I'm some possessive over-protective girlfriend, I'm hardly his girlfriend. Like what have I actually got to worry about? Nothing! Sure, they're just friends who like to fuck, but they haven't done that recently…just talked. On the phone. Not even in person. I rationalized and justified and did my very best to be mature about this. I told myself as I poured a massive mug of tea that if I was going to think about it, I was going to think about it calmly. I was going to stay calm. And calmly reason to myself. Staying calm. Calm. I was not going to start hating Natasha all over again for a new reason. I was not going to let the bitter jealousy absorb me. I was not going to jump to conclusions. And who's to say they even hang out all that often? From what it sounded it like, it seems like Rob calls her when he's bored. And very intermittently. Each visit few and far in between. She was definitely exaggerating. Definitely. Well, who wouldn't? I would. Yeah, Natasha was completely exaggerating because she didn't want to sound like a loser. OF COURSE. My pseudo-calm started to actually settle into a half-pseudo calm. And as I nibbled on the third oatmeal cookie—after rapaciously gobbling the first two during my nice and calm rationalization session—my mind gradually wandered to other topics about Rob not involving Natasha. Each sip of Trader Joe's finest blueberry green tea took me farther and farther away from the nervous tizzy I had sent myself into, my brain's hyperactivity ebbing.

I sat in the dark, breathing deeply, training my thoughts on Rob. Just Rob. Rob sitting awkwardly in my living room with my parents. Rob staring at me so affectionately as I had walked into the room. Rob snatching my hand as we ambled down the boardwalk. Rob squinting in the white bright fog, smiling slightly as I looked at him. Rob wrapping me up in his giant black jacket on the sand dunes. Rob reading the little information card about the new architecture of the De Young museum. Rob following me through the green foliage of Golden Gate Park's secret paths. Rob carrying over two foaming mugs of coffee, the hot brown liquid spilling over the side, slightly scorching his hand. Rob perched on the stool, his voice filling up the coffee shop as he strummed away on his guitar. Rob tugging me on to his lap and nervously telling me he wrote me a song. Rob blushing as I waited too long to tell him I loved him, too. Rob heavy lidded eyes, bugging with excitement as he talked. Rob's dark eyebrows, furrowing as I teased him. Rob's coppery hair sticking in all crazy directions. Rob's lips parting and breathing on to mine as we leaned in to each other. Rob. Rob. Rob. Rob.

My hands cupped the tea mug as I stared dreamily at the unlit wall light. I could feel the clutches of exhaustion finally getting ahold of me, finally pleading me to go to sleep. I stumbled dazedly back to my room, falling into bed as I kept flashing on pretty much every moment I'd spent with him. Every single second I'd been with him was etched into my memory, in perfect clarity and detail. Every touch, every whisper, every smile—all of it so genuine and true. There was absolutely nothing to be worried about. Absolutely nothing to fret over. Absolutely nothing. Natasha? It's whatevaa.

The grey morning light dingily illuminated the kitchen I had sat in just hours before. Despite finally falling asleep at four in the morning, I somehow managed to spring out of bed at 8 am. I was showered and dressed by 8:30. Caffeinated and fed by 8:45. Aimlessly sitting and waiting at my kitchen table by 8:50. My family wasn't even awake; my dad's snores still rumbled down the stairwell, my sister's room so dead-silent you could almost hear the dust settling on her bookshelves. My dog wasn't even up, still lounging lazily on her bed in the hallway.

It was Sunday. And Sunday, in my house, is the day of rest. Of course to my mom, this meant sleeping in until an astonishingly late 9:30! To my dad it meant blaring the obnoxious CarTalk Radio show he incomprehensibly loved. To my sister it meant a day of no make-up, no shower, and no social interaction. To me it meant being stuck in my house for quality family time.

But not this Sunday. Oh no, this Sunday…I will most definitely not stay in my house. My foot tapped against the chair leg, my fingers tinkered an unknown tune on table-top, my eyes darted from the news to the comics to the placid pot of coffee on the counter. I stared the clock down, waiting for it to finally tick to a time the wouldn't be so offensively early for a lazy Sunday morning. For a time suitable to nip over to the Seal Rock Inn and wake up a certain someone.

8:51…I looked over this week's Bizarro. Ugh, not funny.

8:51:30…I glanced at the new Sherman's Lagoon. Eh, not that bad.

8:55…I finished the article in the New York Times about the disappearance of fine restaurants in urban cities. Uhh, not true-what a waste of ink.

8:56…I checked my nails for any breaks. None.

I couldn't take it anymore. I scribbled a small nonsense note about going jogging and left it on top of the coffee pot so someone would be sure to see it before grabbing my keys and dashing out of my house. The fog swirled around me as I stalked over to the touristy motel around the corner.

I sauntered into the musty lobby of the Seal Rock Inn, walking straight up to the nearly empty dining room to find Andrew. Andrew was the manager of the hotel. Him and I were buds. Well, actually, him and my dad were buds. But because my dad had brought me there on Wednesday afternoons in the summertime for the French onion soup special ever since I was able to eat, Andrew and I were basically buds, too. I scanned the room, smiling quickly at the aged waitresses who worked there every single day without fail. i was fairly certain those women actually lived at the restaurant.

Finally, I saw Andrew bustle out of the kitchen with two plates of omelettes.

"Audrey! How are you? I'll be right back!" He called at me, hurrying to a table to deliver the breakfasts.

"Hey Andrew. Ummm….so I was wondering if you could do me a favor." I hugged him, waiting for his response before launching into my one hundred percent true but nine hundred percent unbelievable story. "…So basically, can I have his room number?"

Andrew stared at me in disbelief, his bushy grey eyebrows knit together as he tried to figure me out.

"Are you pulling my leg, Aud?"

"Nope. Seriously, I'm not even joking. So please please pleaseee can I have his room number?! I just want to surprise him!"

"I don't know, it's really techinically illegal. And he is a big movie star…we never get guys like him, here." He fretted, trying to convince me to go back home and make my family breakfast by offering me a bag of croissants.

"No, TRUST ME, he wont complain! I promise! Andrew, pleeasee?" I wheedled, pushing the paper sack of pastries back into Andrew's hands.

His shoulders sagged as he thew his hands in the air and shook his head before turning around to the concierge desk. I skipped and clapped as he ran his stubby finger down a list.

"205. Now don't tell ANYONE I told you. This is like, the cardinal sin of inn keeping by the way, my dear! And it's the second door on your right on the second floor." He hissed at me, handing me the spare key to the room as I flashed him a grin and flounced out of the lobby to the elevators.

I expelled every thought I had agonized over the night before, shoving all my insecurities and worries about Natasha and Rob under a rug in my mind. The elevator clanged my arrival at the second floor, the narrow hallway spanned before. I strode the second door on the right, not even glancing at the number as I fitted the key in and swung open the door,

The room had a window facing the ocean, but it was covered in thick heavy drapes, obscuring the morning haze and darkening the room. I could see a lump in one of the beds, blankets and covers heaped on top of an unrecognizable figure. I crept up to the bed, fixing one hand on the lamp shade as I prepared myself to leap onto the bed. Count backwards from five…5…4…3…2…

"AARRGHH!!" the light flickered on before I oven touched it, brightening the room in a blinding yellow, neon spots cluttered my sight. But as my vision cleared, I found myself face-to-face with snarling middle aged woman. Her ruddy cheeks were apples of rage, her beady eyes narrowed in an incredulous glare, her thin lips pulled back over crooked teeth in a sneer. She stared at me in contempt, her face lividly evaluating mine.

"OH!! I'm SOO sorry! I think I have the wrong room…" I cried, pulling away from the purpley blotchiness.

"Who the FUCK are you!? GET OUT!" She bellowed at me in a Brooklyn accent, her eye mask pushed up on her forehead.

I nodded and backed out of the room as radpidly as I could, smiling politely as I wrenched the dooor shut. I looked at the number, 203. Of course.

I stood somewhat apprehensively outside the white-painted 205 door. The gold appliquéd numbers were peeling, air bubbles and cracks finding their way to the surface as well.

Eventually, I summoned the courage to head into the room...

a/n: ok so this is it. honestly, i dont have the time nor motivation to finish this story. sorry. it's really shady of me because i haven't even finished THIS chapter and it took me like two weeks to even get this far. but i really don't have time to be writing this right now, nor do i really want to. my twilight/rob obsessioon kinda ebbed once i remembered i need to get into college and do my college apps and get good grades. plus i'm ungrounded now so i'm actually going out on the weekends. WHOOHOO!

ok so apologies. but really, no more of this. the story's finished. i guess i could post a summary of the rest of the plot but i dont think anyone even reads this anymore. so let me know if you want it because i'll put it up. i'm not going to actually write anymore chapters, its not like im a good writer anyway but i dont have the patience to type out like five or six more chapters so i'd basically put up a bullet point plot line. hahah i'm so lazy

SORRY! LOVE YOU!

Ava

oh. p.s. how much do i hate RUSSELL BRAND for stealing Rob's limelight at the VMA's. i had no idea twilight was coming and then i got really pumped when they annoounced they were next and then i sat through awkward kristin, pre-pubescent sharkboy and sexyyyyyy volchek and but as soon as Rob started talking Russel interrupted him! alkdsjflsdjfl ughhhhhh