Well, I'm back in my door. This is the first time I've tried to prolong it. I dunno. I actually enjoyed my time with my parents this semester. Usually upon the day of the move-in I'm stressed, moody, and we're so busy moving my shit in that by the end of it we're exhausted, have time to eat and then we part ways.

Well, I got in yesterday and took up most of the light and easy stuff first, while mom and dad we're still on their way in the rv, so today all we had to get in the room was my suitcases and tv. So we were finished after the first trip. We went to breakfast, did a little walking, then we drove to the store and mom and dad bought me some groceries. We stopped at the rv, mom and dad got the wine bottles they were goanna return to the winery and we hit that place, then BACK to the rv where we had lunch and relaxed for a few hours.

In the evening we grabbed dinner. It was so relaxing. Really nice. I had to drop the parents off at the rv and I was half tempted to try and stay the night or something. I dunno. Just didn't feel like really going back to school. But I am back now.

I have two new suitemates this semester, both freshmen. I introduced myself, told them I wanted one sink for myself since I'm a senior and have dishes and therefore that way I can leave my dirty dishes in the sink and not have to give a damn if so-and-so needs to brush their teeth or whatever. I also told them that around 10 pm and after I'd like it quiet and I asked them for no parties. I think I said it all nicely, but considering it was the first piece of conversation I was a little worried I sounded like a bitch, and probably did. But then I remembered it's my last semester, I only have 3 fucking months left, why the fuck should I care if two freshmen like me or not? If they try to get loud and be difficult I can always get an RA and tell the RA I've fucking got homework and classes and I can't have all that noise. Done.

So, meh. Honestly, this semester I am just in no mood whatsoever to be meek and mild and shy and afraid of people's opinions.

I don't know why I try. These relationship things never work out for me. I just feel like I total dumbass in the end. I can't even get out of the gate when I meet a guy I really really like. Most of the time I attract total losers and when it's a guy I think there's even a possibility for he's either already taken (and sometimes decides not to tell me, so I spend all my time flirting only to find out afterwards, then I just feel used and stupid) or even gets a girl not long after me hinting my interest.

Is it so wrong for me to want at least ONE real boyfriend before I turn 30? I mean, ONE boyfriend. I think I'm entitled to just ONE. When there are girls that have been through at least fifty guys by the time they're my age and I can't even wrangle one?

Not fair.

So I'm thinking my guardian angel has either half a wing or a broken wing. I've noticed whenever I get something with angel, one of the wings almost always end up breaking off at the halfway point. I've noticed it happens in jewelry, little statuettes, and mom just got me a little guardian angel plaque, and the wing breaks off on the halfway point. Kinda cool. My guardian angel's distinguished =3

On the other hand, I had a wicked dream a few nights ago that I'm thinking of either writing a short story or a poem about. It was basically where I was with this guy (not goanna say who, it'll make me blush) but he was different in the dream, he suffered from paranoid schizophrenia, and we were *trying* to work through a relationship together. As long as he took his medicine, we were cool, but he had the problem where he got better while ON his medication and then since he was better, he'd go off it.

So he and I are living in this really trashy poor part of town, but we do love each other, so whatever. Love each other though we may, because he goes off his medication so much, he gets a little abusive at times, but I stick through it because I care about him in the long run. So it's this wicked love/hate thing.

So one week he's off his pills and the 'voices' come back and tell him to burn down our crummy house and he does so, but gets caught inside and dies in the fire and destroys everything. And I'm PISSED logically and so mad at him and I'm just fucking GLAD he's dead, because he can stop being abuse, stop going off his medicine and stop ruining my life. And like, about a year passes of me just being furious with him, before I go back to what was ONCE our house but some old ladies have bought the remains of it, rebuilt it and refurbished it and it looks great now. So I ask them if I can come in and just see the changes and they let me and this one's taking me up these stairs and the place is so beautiful and suddenly just all these feelings I had for this man I loved and hated come pouring out and I realize how much I suffered with him but how much I miss him and how I can't believe he's gone and I'm mad and him and I'm mad at myself for hating him and being glad he was dead.

So I just break down on the stairs and start sobbing in my dream and it becomes so heavy and intense that I wake up to myself crying.

*sigh* wicked dream.

So I finally saw Paranormal Activity. Right now, in the daylight, not really scary, but I'm sure when I try to go to sleep tonight I'll be scared out of my wits (I'm such a baby). I don't know. I think the only thing that made it seems a little 'myeh' in the horror department to me was the fact that the demon wasn't really bugging Katie until Micah started antagonizing it.

Personally, I think the demon just liked Katie and was jealous of her lame-ass 'I'm in control! I'll fix this problem!' idiot boyfriend.

Really don't want to go back to working at Publix. I'm glad my parents are happy at least.

So for the past...I dunno, almost half a year or more now, my sex drive has just been dead. I really just haven't been in the mood and I was getting maybe a little worried, because I was starting to think 'gawd, who's going to want to be with a chick that's never in the mood for sex, not really.' I mean, I'd get warm and yummy now and then, but it was very occasional.

THEN! This past month I went off my birth control because I really just didn't have time to go to the store and get some and I'm not sexually active anyway, it was just something my parents suggested I get into the habit of taking.

Well...lo and behold, suddenly out of nowhere I'm REALLY in the mood for stuff again. I've been in the mood for the past few days now and it's been so sosososososo much fun.

It's a fucking Christmas miracle. =3

Ash's dad just had to throw one into all of my plans. Her dad just re-started up his laser tag business over a beach store, and it's going rather well considering it's a slow season and they have absolutely NO advertising except a small little sigh on the door saying: laser tag upstairs.

So I went to visit Ash there yesterday and her father asks me if I want a job and I'm kinda like 'naaah' figuring he probably couldn't pay me what Publix (hopefully) will. He says: "Eh, I dunno about that..."

Ash goes on a lunch break and we go find some cheap food to eat and we get to talking and she mentions just how much her dad is making and how very well the business is doing. And then she talks about all the awesome things he's planning to set up for her during slow hours. Like, an office so she can work on artwork and animation for our comic that we're trying to make into a series. And I'm thinking 'damn, that's awesome.' So they had a large party coming in that night from 9 to 1 and I asked if they wanted any help and her dad said definitely. So I come in that night and it was awesome.

We had slow and busy periods, like when we're suiting people up, and it's supposed to be even busier in the summer because her dad's planning to open up a snack bar too. And in between people playing laser tag we're allowed to shoot pool and just chill. It was so nice. And I had so much fun working with the customers and just being around Ash. And then I got paid that night for just having a good time. Not a LOT, but I don't officially work there either.

So *sigh* I don't know. It sounds like such a good job and it's doing so damn well... But I already told my manager I'd gladly work in the bakery again over the summer, but they can't keep me in the winter because business and therefore hours drop, so I gotta go. What's infuriating is that they're keeping women who have been there longer but always do a good job and frequently mess up cakes, and who are above doing key lime pies. And I told my boss I have no desire to be the key lime pie girl again. If I'm hired as a decorator I'd like to fucking decorate cakes, not just damn key lime pies. Worse is the decorators aren't even nice about it. They don't say 'please' or 'thank you' about 95% of the times. And one of them is just infuriatingly smug and teasing about it.

So my boss, I hope, knows that I'd like to be something other than a key lime pie girl. And I figured if I'm NOT, I could quit and work for Ash's dad, since he wants me to help and he seems cool about hiring me.

BUT, if the laser tag business doesn't go well, I've just quit a job at Publix, pissed off my managers, and now I'm without a job.

And I gotta make sure that in the end my bills are getting paid. So if Ash's dad isn't paying me enough then...

Ugh, I dunno. I can only stay in the bakery until the end of summer, then they plan to move me, probably as a cashier. I do not want to be a cashier anymore, I'm sick of it. At least the laser tag place I'm with my best friend, having a good time, and possibly getting paid just as well.

I figure nearer to summer I'll sit down with her dad and talk about it. We'll see what happens.

I just can't get into the Christmas spirit. This year has been a mondo drag. Between worry about funds and sissy not being here to me having this fucking cough that wont go away and brings me to my knees (get your mind out of the gutter) I just feel lousy. And poor dad keeps trying so hard to cheer me up and it's just working. Like, we'll be riding in the car and I'll be listening to some metal or something on my ipod and dad will be listening to country Christmas music and he'll something and try to say something that's uber Christmasy.

Like he heard a song about a child's smile during Christmas morning and he turns to me and is like "That's exactly what Christmas is about, the smile on a kid's face" and he'll just be smiling himself and all I can do is just grin lamely.

I haven't even baked cookies yet, that's how un-Christmasy I feel this year. Usually those bitches are already done in time for me to bake more.

Epic fail.

The epic conclusion! Please let me know what ya'll think =) And thanks sissy for the advertisement!

~~~~~~~

It was the smell that woke her up, the putrid curling in her nostrils once more, as bitter and sharp as the memory of the tree and peach. It was sweet rot, decay. Harper felt acid in her throat as her stomach gave a painful lurch and quickly she tore from the bed, rushing across her bedroom for the door, but her supper that night was in her mouth and she stopped at her wastebasket, heaving her stomach into it instead, clutching the cool metal tightly with one hand, her other holding her dreadlocks back from her face best she could. The room was stifling hot and her nightshirt was sticking to her body, drenched with cold sweat. Her thighs and panties felt uncomfortably warm and wet and Harper glanced down, worried perhaps she’d pissed herself in the middle of the night, but the idea was too surreal, too foreign. She hadn’t done that since she was little and afraid of boogeymen.

With her stomach emptied and throat raw, she slowly reached up and wiped at her chin, looking through glazed eyes around the room, chest heaving. Her clock read 3:06 a.m., the light a sickly bright and sore shade of green in the shadows and she crept into a stand, moving deep into the humid room again. The air conditioning was probably broken. It did that now and then. It was a shitty apartment to begin with.

Harper reached out for the clock, intending to just turn the annoying thing off, she didn’t need to be up at a particular time in the morning anyway, but her hand met it sooner than expected, slapping against it stupidly and knocking it off of the stand. It fell with a loud clatter onto the floor and gave a loud shrieking buzz, the numbers flashing garishly. Harper’s hands snapped for her ears against the high noise, her stomach twisting again and the stench in the room seemed only to get bolder as the clock became louder. She took a deep breath, vision swimming before her and she pushed back onto her bed again, curling up into a ball, tightly clutching her head.

“Kalmaro, kalmaro.”

Harper saw the shadows out of the corner of her eyes, on the floor. She tilted her head to look directly at them, spotting the hint of a figure, her imagination maybe, whatever it was. It was blurred and faded, except the hands. Those were as visible as moonlight. They were smooth and a cool shade of alabaster, unusually long fingered. One hand was settled on what might’ve been a knee, the other hanging off of her dresser.

It was lounging.

Harper stared blankly at the blur, the void, her heart pounding faster. She felt sick to her stomach again, felt it trembling and teasing right in her throat, but she swallowed, tongue thick and unwieldy in her mouth.

Little by little she reached out and grabbed the blanket off her bed and dragged it over her head, closing her eyes tightly. The scent had soaked itself into her sheets and blankets. Her bed stank of the peach and of the rot. It was so heavy she could feel it in the fabrics and on her, the slick oiliness, the juices. The alarm clock still screamed and she listened to a gentle shuffling in the room, felt the heat of a body to the right of her as it moved. There was more rustling and the alarm clock was silenced and there was a tiny clunk as it was returned to her wooden nightstand. There was a tightening in her throat, the budding of a scream, when a weight settled at the end of the bed. She was choking, unaware she was crying until cold tears dripped from her chin and against her neck, and with a trembling hand she wiped sloppily against her face, inching away from the weight, trying desperately to stay under the covers. That was the unspoken rule, wasn’t it? As long as she was under the covers, whatever it was couldn’t get her.

Whatever it was.

She didn’t know what it was. It was a nightmare. It was her imagination run wild.

It was whatever the hell had been in the shot. Behind the glare, the hand reaching for the peach.

Harper wiped at her nose and eyes, slowly lowering the blanket from over her head and peeking out to the end of the bed. She could still see the hands, laced together on top of a dark knee, prim as a businessman, mocking. Her heart raced faster, screaming and shrieking in her chest, each thud to her ribcage a plea to hide once more, get back under the covers before whatever it was got her. She leaned forward slowly, her hand creeping out and she shuddered and froze when the hands moved, one turning palm up and opening slowly, inviting.

Harper let out a wrenching sob and reached forward to touch.

One more section from the end ya'll!

~~~~~~~~~~

A week later Miguel was playing back silent footage on the computer screen in one of the few computer rooms at Golgothas, making notes as he went of what he did and didn’t intend to keep for the documentary. Harper stood behind him, her hand resting on the back of his chair as she leaned her full weight into it. She was glad to be back in the States, but America seemed newly foreign to her. When they’d gotten off the plane one of the first things she’d seen was a girl walking around in just a bikini top, and the wrongness of the image was strange to Harper, when originally she wouldn’t have spared the woman a second glance. She was glad to be in a warm, soft bed again though, no longer having to rough it out on cold stone floors in a sleeping bag, or on the dirt ground under nothing more than the faulty shelter of a tent, if they were lucky enough to get a tent.

Miguel paused at one spot and tilted his head curiously, his dark brows knitting together and he tapped the eraser of his pencil against his lower lip. She followed the motion with her eyes. She’d been trying to keep what had transpired between them during their last night in Kypseli out of her mind, but it was hard. Not simply because of how warm Miguel’s touches had been or because of how soothing he’d been, but because of how very un-soothing the entire thing had ended up being. Thinking back, she was certain Miguel hadn’t been whispering to her in Greek, and the idea was none too pleasant to consider.

“What’s this?” he asked, pointing at the screen. Harper pulled herself from her thoughts and leaned forward curiously to look. It was hard to tell. The glare of the sun was bright and uncomfortable to look at on the screen, but just barely she could make out the trunk of a tree or two and she could vaguely see a bush to the left of the shot. Just beneath the glare, a sunburst, she could see legs and over it a hand reaching toward some fruit, peaches. She opened her mouth, and then shut it, frowning.

“Where’s it from?” she asked.

“When we were in Kypseli.”

“Huh…” she mused, tone thoughtful, and Miguel turned in his chair to look at her.

“Huh…” he mimicked her curious little noise, putting on a feminine falsetto as he did. Harper blinked at him and then rolled her eyes, resisting a smirk. “Well, what is it camera woman?”

“Well, it looks like the footage I took when the Greek villagers were all staring at those trees and bushes, when they were spooked, but see here,” she reached forward and pointed at the screen where there was a hint of a body. “You see legs, a hand. There wasn’t anything out there, certainly not another person.”

“I don’t see it,” Miguel tilted his head and leaned closer to the screen. “Like…is the glare making it look like that?”

“No, it’s all black. Look, right here.” She pointed more firmly at the spot, adjusting so her finger couldn’t possibly be in the way. “It’s a little blurry, but it’s right there.”

“I’m not seeing anything,” Miguel murmured. Harper stared at him, studying his face for any sign of humor, but his hooded gaze was serious. She shot him a small glare, pointing firmly at the screen. He was playing with her. It wasn’t funny.

“It’s right there!”

“Harper I don’t fucking see anything!” he snapped, glaring at her in return and she flushed. She felt her stomach knot up, her fingertips tingling when the realization hit her firmly that Miguel was serious, not an ounce of humor in his dark eyes. She looked fitfully to the screen, and then grinned down at him, forcing a laugh that was louder than necessary. He leaned back from her, his brow creasing and lips pulling tight.

“Just joking!” she said, punching his arm playfully. “Just, you know, delete that footage. It was a waste of film.”

“Harper…”

“Anyway, I gotta be going,” she stated. Her throat felt unusually tight and she rubbed at it, brow creased. He couldn’t see it? How the hell couldn’t he see it? She was certain it was there. Maybe she was just seeing things then. That was probably it. She was still tired from the trip, hadn’t necessarily slept great last night, despite whatever she might have thought earlier. Really, she just needed a good meal and a good night’s sleep. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Catch you later,” Miguel mumbled behind her, his voice brushing on warm concern.