Oh, ugh! I'm so sorry! I swore to myself that I'd never leave my readers hanging for a month, and here I've gone and done it! I really am sorry, and I'm absolutely furious with myself because I did all but two of these sixteen pages this afternoon. As in, since five o'clock. I'm a terrible person.

I do have a good excuse, though. My knee is getting better, thanks for asking, but with physical therapy and flute lessons and being confined to the couch for weeks on end and finally getting around to doing my work for AP Language and Comp for next year, I've had virtually no time to get on here. And then, of course, my school year starts August 19th, so I don't know how regular updates will be after that. I have a fairly intense schedule....

Anyhow, enough about me. This is what you've waited way too long for! (I hope, anyway)

Disclaimer: don't own. Never will. I do laugh my head off at the new anime episodes, though. No idea why.

WARNING: bromance ahead, peeps. And a little bit of a catfight, but that's not exactly really scary or anything....

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Thirteen

Envy

By the time Wrath recovers and the two of us make our way back inside—through the front door, this time—Italian Guy has left. I'm glad. This way we don't have to look at him again, and I'm fairly sure Wrath would lose it if we did.

Dante is sitting on the couch in the living room, her shirt back on straight, and she immediately gets up the moment we enter. I grasp Wrath's arm to be safe, so he doesn't launch himself at her. I don't blame him, but I need to get to the library.

"Boys," she begins, but Wrath cuts her off.

"Shut up! Just shut up! I don't want to hear it!" He takes a step forward, straining against my hand. His purple eyes are narrowed to violent slits. "You always do this! Why? What the hell is there to gain?"'

"Wrath," I attempt, pulling lightly on his arm, but he doesn't seem to hear me.

"You're just playing around, aren't you!" he practically screeches. "It doesn't matter to you what the rest of us feel, and then you just ditch those stupid men when you're done with them! God, what is your problem?"

"Wrath, silence!" Dante barks. I'm surprised that she let him go on as long as she did. Her face is white with fury. She hates it when people talk back to her. "How dare you speak to me that way!"

"Because you're a bitch!" Wrath yells back. "Was dad not good enough for you? Huh? Does he not matter at all? Was he just another tool?"

"Wrath," I say, raising my voice from last time. This time, it gets through to him, and he turns to look at me. "Come on." I tighten my grip on his arm and glare at our dear mother. "Let's go," I mutter resentfully, tugging him towards the stairs, pushing him up in front of me.

"Do not walk away from me!" Dante comes after us, marching up the stairs to snatch my wrist and tug me around. I use my other hand to push Wrath forward, forcing him to continue away from her. "You are embarrassment enough without defying me," she tells me, her voice quiet but deadly. "Don't you dare do this."

"Wrath, keep going," I call evenly. My eyes never leave Dante's—identical in their shape and color, the same eyes Lust and Greed have, as well as Wrath. Only Pride and Sloth got our dad's green orbs.

Her eyes widen in rage. "You little bitch," she whispers, and in a blur, her hand flies out and slaps me across the face.

It hurts. The sharp sting lances straight to my eyes, and I blink hard, raising one hand to touch my cheek. I don't like my mother, but all of those might-have-beens, the happy family we could have been, even seeing other content families, makes it hurt inside whenever she does something like this. I hate it, because it makes me vulnerable, and she always takes advantage of this.

"So you think you can stand up to me?" Dante demands, a sneer in her voice. "You, the girl in a boy's body? I doubt you could take on a ninth grader, let alone myself."

"You leave him alone!" Wrath shouts. He comes around me, puts his hand across my chest, and tries to push Dante away. Her fingers dig deep into the fabric of my sweater, narrowly missing my skin. I yelp in surprise when Wrath pulls me backward. My sleeve rips, and I'm free, and the next thing I know Wrath is pushing me up the stairs, the exact opposite of two minutes previously. "Stay back!" Wrath adds, glaring at her as he continues moving us both up the stairs.

Her face is white with rage. "You'll regret this, both of you!" she snarls. She doesn't have the strength to beat both of us—maybe me on my own, but never Wrath—so she has to step down as my little brother rushes me to the second floor and towards the next set of stairs.

By the time we reach the third level, there's about an equal amount of pushing ahead and pulling back between Wrath and I. Each of us keeps changing our mind whether or not we want to go back and confront Dante again. Eventually, though, Wrath drags me into his bedroom and shuts and locks the door after us, just in case.

Wrath's bedroom is a mess. Already worn clothes lay strewn all across the floor, and that coupled with his sheets and guitar songbooks means that the carpet is impossible to see—literally. About the only clean space is in the back left corner, where Wrath puts his electric guitar. He's lovingly arranged it on its stand, and there's a box full of old music next to it.

The pale beige color of his walls is also hard to see under the deluge of posters, most of which involve the heavy metal band Apocolyptica, which I know from the many times he's shouted it at me is made up of four Finnish cellists. Wrath's dream is to get a cello and play like they do, but Dante put her foot down at that and refused to give him the money to do so, so he's had to stay with his electric guitar instead.

His desk is yet another disaster zone. So much junk surrounds the computer and keyboard that I can't understand how he works at all. Sometimes, when I end up in Wrath's room, I have that whole OCD itch to throw three-quarters of Wrath's stuff away and tidy up the rest. I'm certain that he'd thank me—fifty years from now, kneeling in remorse in front of my grave just before the police finally arrest him for my murder. This would be the reason why I haven't gone ahead and done it.

I kick some clothes out of my way and go sit on the edge of his bed, inspecting the rip in my turtleneck. "Ah, damn her. She's ruined it."

"Our mom is having yet another affair and all you can think about is your clothes?" Wrath sounds incredulous.

"It's a distraction," I mumble, dropping onto my back and staring up at the ceiling. Before you ask, he's covered that with posters, too. "And besides, I'm gay, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." I'm not really all that surprised that Wrath forgot. He does things like that. He steps on all of his shirts on his way over to plop down next to me. "When are Greed and Lust getting back?"

I check his clock. "Fifteen minutes or so."

Wrath sighs and falls so he's on his back as well. He shoves his hair back away from his face. "I can't wait to get out of this house," he says quietly.

"Me neither." I roll onto my side so I'm facing him and prop my head up on my palm. "I think that's why Greed's leaving anyway, even though he isn't going off to school."

"That, and he and Lust always have to do the same thing," Wrath mutters. "I wish I had a twin. It'd be like having your best friend around all the time."

"Well, maybe not. Some twins aren't alike at all."

He scowls. "Stop clouding the issue with facts. I was enjoying the mental images, and then you had to go and ruin it! I thought they said gay guys are really nice!"

"Obviously, they've never met me," I chirp, and poke him hard in the side.

Wrath yelps and twists away, pulling himself up so he's sitting facing me. He scowls. "That was mean! You know I'm ticklish there!"

I smirk. "Precisely."

Within moments, though, our mirth has died down and we're silent once more, thoughts turning back to our mother and her near-constant infidelity. You'd think we'd be used to it by now….

"I hate her," I say suddenly. Wrath does nothing but nod in agreement, and we sit, completely silent, until we hear the roar of Lust's Ferrari coming up the driveway. I'll bet it matches the roar of her temper, and there'll probably be another shouting match before we see the twins. Sure enough, not even a minute later,

"WHERE IS SHE? I'M GOING TO KILL HER!"

We can vaguely hear Greed telling Lust to calm down, but I think we all know that it won't work, because a split second afterwards,

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT MURDER CHARGES, I'M STILL GOING TO KILL HER!"

"Who exactly are you talking about, young lady?" Dante barks, though she knows perfectly well who.

"YOU, YOU BITCH!" Lust screeches. I can almost hear Greed holding her back—her heels tend to squeal if you drag her back on hardwood. "DON'T YOU CARE AT ALL—"

"About your father?" Dante yells back. "In case you hadn't noticed, daughter dear, he's DEAD!"

"It doesn't MATTER!" Lust shrieks. "You acted like a slut THEN and you're still acting like one n—"

"DON'T YOU DARE SPEAK TO ME THAT WAY!"

Wrath groans and buries his head in his knees. "Why is it that when girls get in a fight they scream like that?"

I shrug. "Dunno."

"I'LL SPEAK HOWEVER I LIKE—"

"NOT WHILE YOU'RE IN THIS HOUSE, YOUNG LADY!"

"FINE!" Lust screams. "FINE! IT'S A GOOD THING I'M LEAVING, THEN!" Her heels scrape on the floor again. "Greed, let me go!"

I hear her stomp to the stairs, and then the carpet cuts off the sound of her shoes. Wrath and I don't move. She clicks her way across the floor on our level and rips open the door.

Lust's hair is in disarray, though her makeup is perfect. Her purple eyes are spitting sparks as she steps across the threshold and slams the door behind her.

She kicks viciously at a pile of Wrath's dirty clothes, sending them flying. "Urgh!" she practically shrieks, striding across the room to slam herself into Wrath's desk chair. "I hate her! I really, really hate her!"

"It's a unanimous vote," I say tonelessly. None of us are looking at each other.

The door opens again and Greed comes in. The ends of his sweater look strangely uneven; he tends to pull on the hems of his shirts when he doesn't want to start shouting. There's a semi-opaque plastic bag slung over his shoulder, and he tosses it at me.

"There," he mumbles. "I felt like an idiot carrying that around, but I didn't want Lust stabbing a mascara wand into someone's brain."

"You should've let me," Lust grumbles.

I don't bother sitting up, instead upending the bag onto the bed beside me. There is indeed not one but two little containers of mascara, one of eyeliner, and a tiny vial of black nail polish.

There's silence once more, though this one is notably less silent than the one shared between Wrath and I. The two of us are still quiet, as is Greed, but Lust is growling to herself under her breath.

"What happened to your shirt?" she asks abruptly, pointing to my sleeve. I hold my arm up and look at it without much interest. I can see my white skin through the rip.

"Dante got her fingers in it."

"I was getting her to let him go," Wrath explains quickly.

"It looks beyond repair," Lust says baldly. She props her elbow on Wrath's desk and her cheek on her fist. I can see that she's trying to distract herself, to escape from her anger and disappointment. Somehow, we all always expect more from our mother.

"Yeah, I know," I sigh. "I'll have to change…." I force myself into a sitting position and scoop up the nail polish. "Thanks for this, by the way."

"No problem." Greed goes to sit on the other edge of the bed. "You going to be all right in time to go to the library? No, scratch that," he amends instantly, "it's your Ed. You'd be ready for anyth—"

"Oh, shut up," I say, giving him a half-hearted shove. I get to my feet. "When do we have to leave?"

Greed checks his watch. "I'd say in twenty minutes. Be prepared, though, we're taking the motorcycle."

"I have been warned." I pick my way through Wrath's mess towards the door. "See you guys later."

The twins stay put, probably to talk to Wrath about what just happened. I shut the door as quietly as I can—no sense in letting Dante know one of us is going to be alone and vulnerable—and out of habit my eyes flick to the door across the hall.

The house is going to be so empty when Greed and Lust leave. Dante has her huge bedroom on the ground floor so she doesn't have to deal with stairs. The twins have claimed the second all to themselves. Wrath used to share the third with Gluttony, but he's been gone for a while. The fourth is completely devoid of life—Pride and Sloth had their rooms there. I'm used to being the only one on the fifth floor, but not hearing noise from the twins' floor in the morning… well, annoying as it can be sometimes, I'll miss it.

Back in the safety of my own (neat) room, I shed the ruined sweater and toss it into the wastebasket. A quick search of the drawers in my dresser yields a long-sleeved black shirt and my more usual grey-with-Japanese-symbol variety. After that, I sit at my desk and, for lack of anything better to do, use some of the black polish to paint my nails. That, luckily, takes up all the time I have left, and I head for the stairs. I have to find my notebook before we go.

Dante isn't in the kitchen or the sitting room when I arrive, and neither is Greed. I find my backpack where I'd dumped it in the mudroom and drag out my notes. I might as well have my own copy of what we're going to do. I'm just getting around to lacing up my sneakers when Greed comes down. The only thing that's changed about his appearance is that he's wearing his Biker Jacket. He got it at a Harley Davidson store in New York when his Economics class went there a few years back. It's leather, of course, and anyone from even a grade below Wrath will remember Greed and his Biker Jacket. That's another thing I already miss—I'm so used to having them just a year ahead of me that their being gone is a blow.

We make our way, without talking, to his section of the garage. There's only one helmet hanging on a hook in front of the bike. Greed never wears a helmet, because he says he looks cooler without one, and who gets girls wearing a helmet anyway? I wouldn't know, except that I made him buy one so that whenever the rest of us have to hitch a ride we won't have to fear for our lives one hundred percent of the time—it's down to only about eighty now.

Greed courteously waits for me to jam my notebook in the bags he has on the back and put on my helmet before he turns the motorbike on. There are people who think that because I ride horses that I love motorcycles, but the opposite is true. I'm pretty much terrified of shiny two-wheeled contraptions with engines, though most of this blame probably goes on Greed's shoulders.

He drives like a maniac. This time, like always, I close my eyes, hang on as tightly as I possibly can, and try to convince myself that it's nothing but a rollercoaster. This time, like always, I completely fail. It's been years since I've actually thrown up, and I want to keep it that way.

Luckily, we arrive at the library completely unscathed. Well, physically, anyway. My therapy sessions in the future will probably revolve prominently on Greed's driving skills.

I resist the urge to fall off the bike and kiss the ground, but it's a close thing. I practically rip the helmet off my head and run my fingers through my hair, shaking the knots out of the dissident strands. I stuff the thing into the same bag as my notebook, barely managing to extract that without pinching my fingers.

Ed's already here. I would've known anyway by his car—yes, I've memorized it and yes, I know I'm obsessed—but I can see him inside, sitting at one of the tables. Instantly, some of the tightness in my chest, which has been there ever since Wrath and I walked in on Dante and Mystery Man, disappears without a trace.

"I'll call you when we're done," I tell Greed, tucking my notebook under my arm. "You drive fast enough that it won't matter."

He sighs. "Maybe I shouldn't go."

I look at him in confusion. "Go where?"

"To Spain, of course. I can't just leave you and Wrath here alone to deal with Dante. She's insane, and from what Wrath said you'll probably be seeing more of that Italian guy." He takes a deep breath as I stare at him in shock. "I don't think you two can handle it."

"Oh." I blink. "Um. Okay. Seriously, Greed, that's nice and all, but Wrath and I aren't children. We'll be fine. You go off and have fun in Spain and send lots of pictures and make sure Lust doesn't get married without us knowing."

"What?"

"No, wait, scratch that last bit, she'll have to date him for five years and go on his yacht before she marries him," I mutter under my breath. His face is drawn when he looks at me—he's really stressed, something any of us rarely see. He probably thinks I'm insane. Not, I mean, that that's why he's so stressed, I just mean that it could be a contributing factor.

"Are you sure?" he asks. He really is seriously considering this. I'm surprised.

"Of course I'm sure. Wrath and I will be fine. If we kept you here you'd be miserable. Follow Lust and keep her out of trouble, gods know she needs it."

"But—"

"Go."

"But I can't just leave!"

I shake my head. "Get out of here, Greed." I turn and head for the front door of the library, waving one hand to emphasize my point. He revs the engine and, to my immense relief, roars away. Now all I have to do is try not to stutter or trip or do anything else stupid in front of Ed. Ah, well.

He's looking closely at me when I sit down, and I'm suddenly nervous. I'm not completely sure how observant he is, but he probably doesn't have to look closely to see that I—

"Hey, you okay?"

Damn it. He's more observant than Wrath, then.

"I'm fine." Look at him. Look at him, dammit! I obey my subconscious and look up into Ed's golden eyes.

Mistake.

I can't meet his eyes, apparently, without blushing. But he's looking at me! At me! I tear my gaze from his and fix it on the table. It's so much safer this way, even if I'm already craving another glimpse. I cast around for something to say.

"So, how are we going to do this?"

It comes out so much smoother than I could have hoped—usually I trip over at least one word…. And then I have it. I'm taking an acting class, aren't I? All I have to do is pretend everything is perfectly all right and my heart isn't doing jumping jacks every time I look at him and that I know what I'm talking about, thank you very much.

"I made a list of all the things we're sure of so far." He moves the small stack of papers in front of him so I can see. It is, indeed, a typed-up list of the topics we discussed, and, to my intense embarrassment (and a great deal of pleasure, I have to admit) some of the ideas I'd come up with over the weekend. He remembered! "It's so much easier looking for more specific topics in here than a general one," Ed explains. "I guess we'll just divvy it up and if something interesting crops up in one of the books, pursue it."

"Okay." Yes. I can do this. I can act. I get to my feet, and my memory flies all the way back to chemistry, and my conversation with Szeska. "I know where the reference section is."

Ed looks confused, his brow furrowing. "Er—so do—"

"They moved it," I say quickly. Well, it is true, and Szeska told me where they'd moved it. I'm just glad that my acting ability hasn't deserted me this time—if it had, I likely wouldn't be able to talk at all.

He seems willing enough to trust me, which makes my heart feel so much lighter. We leave—abandon is more like it—my poor innocent notebook to keep the table ourselves in the unlikely event anyone else should show up. Ed takes his notes with him and follows me to the back right corner of the building.

Szeska's information is accurate—I find the heavy tomes exactly where she said I would, to my immense relief. I'm starting to lose it. Ed is right there, almost beside me, so close that if I wanted to I could touch him, and I want to so badly but I don't have the courage. I grab the first encyclopedia I see and flip it open to a random page. I have to distract myself. My unruly hair slides in front of my face, distracting me from distracting myself. I shove it back, momentarily wishing for a pair of hedge trimmers.

"Nice nail polish."

Shock snaps though me like a lightning strike, and I can't help but jerk slightly. He doesn't sound patronizing—in fact, he sounds kind of admiring, which is completely bizarre. Somehow, I manage to connect my brain to my tongue again, and I say, "Oh. Thank you" in time for it not to be awkward. Thank god. I stare down at my fingers. Nobody's ever liked my nail polish before….

"I don't think we need that one," Ed tells me, jerking me from my thoughts, "there's nothing on here starting with the letter 'B'."

Oh. Duh. "I guess not," I manage, reaching up to put it back in place. Damn, now I don't have anything to divert my attention from Ed…. And would it hurt all that much if I just looked at him one more time? I can't resist. I can't stop myself, and I turn towards him, looking him full in the face. He's putting the list down, and his eyes pierce mine.

"You listened to my advice," he says cheerfully.

I'm instantly lost. What advice? But I can't remember anything, nothing at all—there's only his eyes, and his voice, and he's so close….

Ed waves a hand at my hair.

Oh. Right. That advice. He—he likes it down, and here it is, hair-band-free. He likes it. I can feel myself blushing, so much stronger than before, and I know he can see it. That only makes me blush harder. Can I never be composed around him? I drop my eyes to the floor and start tugging on the hem of my shirt, like Greed does when he's angry, only I do it when I'm extremely nervous.

"Yeah, well…. It's been a while since I wore—" his fingers are on my chin "—it down anyway—" he's tilting my head up so I have to look him in the eyes and I can't believe that I'm still talking coherently "—so… s-so…." Ed brushes aside my bangs, tucking them securely behind my ear and setting me on fire.

Instant thought implosion. I can't even breathe. All I know is that he's touching me, and he's looking at me with those eyes, and I am completely helpless.

"You really should look at people when they're talking to you," he tells me softly. I can only blink, and then his fingers have brought my head down; he kisses me, and I'm gone.

His arms come around me to hold me close, and without even really thinking about it I slide my hands across his perfect face and finally, finally slide them into his golden locks. His hair is so soft and thick. His fingers are moving across my back—jolts race up my spine and I can't help but sigh in contentment. He makes a soft sound deep in his throat—a groan, maybe?—and then his tongue skips over my lower lip and into my mouth.

Ohgodohgodohgod—I hold onto him with all the strength I can muster from my melting limbs. Somehow, I slip off the tie holding his hair back, letting it fall to the ground. I comb through his hair with my fingers. It's smooth, and flows through my fingers like water. I can't get enough. He tastes like joy, and I can't stop my fingers from sliding through his gold-spun hair. I don't want to stop. I don't want to stop, not in a million years.

He pulls me closer and his mouth moves harder against mine. I don't care. My back hits the bookshelf—thank heavens it doesn't fall over—and I can feel his heart beat against my ribs, fast and irregular.

His lips part from mine slowly, but I can still feel him, lingering close. I have my hands in his hair, his arms are still in the region of my waist, and all I can think is I love you.

It doesn't take much to cross the distance between us and kiss him instead of saying the words. I'm nowhere near brave enough to say them—not now, and maybe not ever—but I can touch my lips to his and try to convey that message without saying those three words.

I can almost feel him smile, and Ed strokes my cheek. My eyes flicker open; I look down at him in a daze.

"So what's wrong?" Ed asks innocently. Down I go again and his lips are on mine. A shiver wracks my body, my attempt at suppression failing miserably. I can't resist him, and I think he knows that.

I take a deep breath and struggle to hold on to my composure. I shrug. "Nothing much," I lie.

Ed hums just slightly—I don't think he realizes it. "Come on," he whispers against my throat. I'm almost panting as he kisses my neck, teasing the nerves. Electricity is going haywire throughout my body; my fingers tangle in his smooth hair. It takes everything I have not to moan. "It's obviously more than 'nothing much,' because even your brother was worried."

I'll have to tell Greed off when I get home, I think dazedly. Ed's waiting for an answer, though, and I can't dwell on my revenge.

"It's n-noth—" I can't talk, not when he's doing what he's doing to my throat. I try again. "It's just—" I exhale and fight to compose myself. I have the uncomfortable feeling that it's a losing battle.

Ed finally leaves my neck alone and looks up at me, his golden eyes serious. He's worried about me. Heat rises in my cheeks and once more my eyes find safety in the floor.

"My mother is having another affair."

The words come out as though someone else had spoken them—I'm standing there in disbelief that they emerged, because it isn't me. I haven't said the words since I told Greed, and they bring back a deluge of memories. I feel tears prick my eyes but I stubbornly fight them off.

"Oh." Ed sounds shocked. I know his family isn't perfect—his mom died and his dad left them shortly afterwards—but he has the composure of a well-cared-for child, the kind that I envy… no pun intended.

Somehow, a laugh forces itself out of my throat, but it doesn't really count as one; it's harsh and frigid, the kind of laugh that comes when people are hysterical with grief in the movies. "Yeah," I say. "She's done it before, of course, so maybe we shouldn't be so surprised. But I mean, you'd think that she'd know better by now. And it's just…." I let my head fall back against the bookcases. I'd really like to stop talking now, but my mouth is out of my control. "I really, really hate her for it. I mean, wasn't our father good enough?" A pang spears my heart, that place usually reserved for Ed, when I picture his laughing face, light brown hair tumbling over his forehead, green eyes shining. He died in a car crash when I was six, so the picture is blurred and faded with age. Sloth is the spitting image of our dad, especially when she laughs, which is why I think she spends so much time calm and indifferent to everything around her. "She fooled around even when he was alive, and it's like she's—" I have to force back the tears again, and I stumble "—it's like she's, I don't know, insulting his memory or something." I'm starting to lose it. I can't cry, not in front of Ed. He's so much stronger, so much braver than I am. He never cried in front of anyone else about his mother dying. I'm grinding my teeth without really realizing it, and take a deep breath to make myself stop. Against my will, I feel something wet slide from the corner of my eye. "Gods, we are so pathetic."

I try to pull my fingers free to get rid of these stupid tears, but I've somehow knotted myself all up in his hair, and I don't want to hurt him. Ed's hands gently wipe away the moisture, the one almost cradling my jaw when he's done. He seems so concerned. I don't know why. I'm taking deep breaths to calm down, but it isn't really working. I'm not worth his concern; he shouldn't waste it on me when he could worry about his brother or something—

"It's okay," he says, his voice low. He looks like he's frantically trying to come up with something to say. He's wasting all of this effort on me? "It sounds to me like your mom is a bitch." I'm mildly startled. Most people insist that my mom is not all that bad until they meet her. Ed looks horrified, like he's committed some kind of faux pas. "I mean, about your dad's memory and all," he adds hastily. "Do you think she'd listen to you if you talked to her?"

"Dante? No. No way." Oops, I did that laugh again….

"Well, if my dad was cheating on my mom's memory, I'd punch him, but I don't think that's a good solution here," Ed mumbles under his breath. I fight the bizarre urge to chuckle. He's so funny. "Maybe you could just sabotage it or something," he suggests, looking up at me hopefully.

Sabotage? "I never thought of that." It's a good idea….

"I'll bet Wrath would help," Ed tells me swiftly, his eyes lighting up. "It's not right that your mom should do this." He nods seriously. "She's not considering the, er, impact on the family."

The what? I want to laugh again, this time a real laugh. What on earth is he going on about? "You really are trying your best, aren't you?" I can't believe the words fell out, but there they are. And he really is wasting his effort, his care on me. I'm elated, though at the same time I can't believe what I'm hearing. It can't be true. This has to be a dream. Ed doesn't like me. He doesn't care about what's bothering me. He can't. I'm not sure what I would do if he did.

"That's what the psychiatrist said to Al and I after mom died. Something about how her not telling us how sick she was hurt the family or whatever." He shrugs sheepishly.

"Sounds like psychobabble to me." You never know what those psychiatrists will come up with next. Ed bounces up onto the balls of his feet and presses his lips forcefully against mine. I submit instantly and manage to slip one hand free of his golden hair to wind around his shoulders. I don't know where this is going and I don't know what he feels about it, but I can't bring myself to care. Right now, this instant, I'm in his arms, where I've dreamed of being for years, and I can't help but feel that faint, fluttering bird, Hope, stirring in my heart for the first time in a decade.

It's wrong to hope. If this all goes wrong, I'll be so much worse off than before. Hope can destroy me.

Even so—I hope.

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Ta-da! And there you have it! I'm sorry it didn't really get anywhere-- I meant for it to, but it just kept getting longer and longer and I wanted to give you faithful readers something, so I gave up on trying to make it move somewhere and settled for ending in the exact same place as last chapter. It ended up at sixteen pages, so that's something. Ah, well....

Anyway, thank you very much to everyone who reviewed and wished for my surgery to go well! I beg your pardon for taking so long. Thank you!