Three Men & A Witch

Author's Note - This story features: both heterosexual and homosexual romance, switching points of view (only two different ones), witches, magic, a werewolf, vampires, someone getting drunk, and so on. Also, LONG CHAPTERS. And I mean it this time. I hope you like it.

[Hannah]

Chapter One: He Tore My Feelings Like I Had None

As the wind whipped through the parking lot, it picked up a plastic bag. I watched the bag, illuminated by the street lights, swirl around in the air, around in circles, until the wind dropped it, and the bag fell to the ground, next to an abandoned cart. I pulled my jacket tighter around my body, but it did no difference. It was damned cold outside. My little Ford Focus did little to protect me from the elements, especially since I didn't have the car on.

I sighed and, for about the eighth time that day, tried to hold back the threatening tears. Everything I owned was in this little car. Scratch that. Everything that I could pack up in the fifteen minutes my dad had given me to leave before he called the cops was in the car. I'd had to leave some things behind. Like my book collection, the collectible Elvis lamp my aunt had given me for my sixteenth birthday. And my little brother, David. He was only twelve. I'd probably never see him again. That part was what made me cry, even more than the fact that I was virtually – no, literally – homeless right now.

I sobbed quietly, the wet tears dripping down my cheeks. I wiped them away with the sleeve of my jacket and glanced at my watch. I still had an hour left before I had to start working, but I didn't want to sit in the car any longer. Considering that I'd probably be sleeping in it come the end of my shift, I wanted to spend as much time away from it that I could manage. I grabbed my work shirt and slung my purse over my shoulder.

The car made a little chirping sound when I locked it. The sound seemed loud to the mostly-empty parking lot.

Inside, the store was dead. A lone cashier stood at her register, flipping through Vogue and looking extremely bored. I walked past her, down to the frozen food section. I wasn't hungry now, but I knew I would be later. Besides, pizza was my comfort food, and I sure as hell needed the comfort now.

When I returned to the register, the cashier was still looking bored, but instead of reading a magazine, she was examining her nails. She perked up slightly when she saw me. She wasn't one of the regular late cashiers, because I'd never seen her before, but her nametag said she was Amber.

"Slow night?" I asked, but it wasn't really a question, since I already knew the answer. She rung up my pizza and put it into a plastic bag.

"Oh my god, yes. I didn't realize being here late meant it would be so boring. I would have brought my I-pod or something." She shrugged, "Whatever, I guess. I mean, it's money, right?" She handed me the receipt and the bag. I thanked her and walked upstairs to the break room.

Shane was already there, sitting at the table in the middle, reading the comics and eating a Hot Pocket. Shane was one of the other people on the Night Crew with me, and I considered him a good friend. He was a big guy, tall and broad at the same time, built like a football player. He was six four and at least two hundred and fifty pounds, give or take, and when I'd first met him, I was a little scared of him, to be honest. His size, coupled with his shaggy brown hair and piercing blue eyes, he was certainly something. But he wasn't half as scary as he looked.

"Hey Shane," I said as I walked in, dropping my purse on the table. I opened the package and put the frozen pizza on a paper plate before sticking it in the microwave.

"You're here early." He didn't even look up when he said this. I sighed, pushing the buttons on the microwave to start cooking.

"Yeah, well, I had a big blow up with my dad at the house." I couldn't even say at home anymore because, well, it wasn't my home anymore, was it?

"Oh, jeez. What happened?" He looked up now, realizing that it was something serious. Shane knew that my dad and I didn't get along, and I'd talked to him before about the arguments we had. He was a good listener.

"He was hollering about something or other that I fucked up and he threw me out." I was glossing over certain parts, but there was something I wasn't quite ready to tell Shane yet, no matter how close we were.

"He threw you out? Like actually threw you out of the house?" His eyes were wide as I sat down at the table with my cooked pizza. I nodded.

"As in I don't have any place to go. I've got all my shit in the back of my car." I shrugged, pretending it wasn't as bad as it really was. "I mean, I know that I'm old enough to get my own place. I wanted to wait until I could find an apartment in the area so I could still see David and Mom. But now..." I shrugged again, "I don't think he's gonna ever let me in the house again."

"Oh, Jesus, Hannah. You can stay with us for a while!" he offered, "I mean, we don't have an extra room, but we have a couch, and a place to park your car."

"But what about Dylan and Andrew?" The two men were Shane's housemates. Andrew I knew, because he worked with us on the Night Crew. I'd only met Dylan once. He was built the same way as Shane, but wasn't quite as tall, and he had red-blonde hair. When I'd met him, he hadn't talked much, and he looked like he was annoyed with everyone. I didn't like him too much. Andrew, though... Andrew of the blond hair and freckles, the silly jokes and the aw-shucks grin. Also known as the boy (make that man) of my dreams. Andrew was perfect.

"Don't be silly. They would love to have you. Besides, I don't want you sleeping in your car in the cold. Emmalyn would kill me if she found out that I let you do that!" There was a moment when he looked at me and I looked at him. I knew I couldn't refuse such a kind offer.

"I don't know how I'd ever be able to repay you," I said finally. Shane just waved it off, standing up to throw away his paper plate.

"Don't even think about it." I couldn't help it, though. I stood up and met him with a hug, feeling close to tears again. I pressed my face against his chest as he hugged me back. And then I did start crying, the tears spilling onto his shirt.

"Aw, jeez." He patted my back, and I sniffed, backing up.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to get your shirt all wet." But even as I wiped my eyes, the tears kept coming. Shane grabbed a napkin from the counter and wiped the tears from my face for me. I smiled at him, grateful.

"I couldn't ask for a better friend than you," I said, realizing how sappy it sounded, but it was true.

"Okay, enough of this. Let's get to work, eh?" Shane rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little uncomfortable. I pulled on my work shirt over the one I was wearing, and we headed downstairs.

The place where Shane, Dylan, and Andrew lived was not an apartment. It was a full-sized house, with a combination kitchen and dining area, a big living room, complete with a widescreen television set and a video-game system (heck if I knew which one it was).

Shane gave me the basic tour, pointing out the living room and kitchen and the downstairs bathroom before we headed up the stairs.

"I know I said you'd sleep on the couch, but Andrew's going to be at his other job until tonight, and I know he won't mind if you borrow his bed. It's a lot more comfortable than the couch," Shane said, as we walked down the carpeted hallway. He pointed out his room, and then Dylan's, right across from his. There was another bathroom and a study across from that. Then, at the end of the hall, was Andrew's bedroom, which I recognized from the nameplate on the door with his name on it.

Shane pushed open the door and I glanced inside, feeling a bit like I was trespassing. What I saw surprised me a little. It reminded me very much of my bedroom at home (what used to be home, I reminded myself) – with the same The Goonies movie poster that I had, a Budweiser mirror hanging next to the mahogany dresser. The bed was pushed into a corner, covered in a matching blue and gray bed set.

"Feel free to make yourself comfortable," Shane said, "I'll see you at lunch or something." He shrugged. Seeing as it was going on five am, it would be at least lunch time when I woke up. He left me and I entered the room, tentatively. There was a wicker laundry basket in the corner, where Andrew had thrown his clothes. A pair of boxers hung over the side, and I blushed in spite of myself. I dropped my backpack on the floor near the door and closed the door behind me. Then I yawned, long and loud. I was definitely sleepy. After putting my pajamas on, I shoved my dirty clothes into my backpack and crossed the room to the bed. It looked so inviting and warm. I slid under the covers and found myself enveloped in the scent I'd come to associate with Andrew – Old Spice and sweat and a little bit of something else that was unique to him. I took my glasses off, folded them up, and set them on the side-table, right next to the lamp.

I closed my eyes and before I knew it, I was sleeping.

Ash to ash and dust to dust

life to water to fire and earth and air

I raise my hands up, up to the heavens, offering my sweat blood tears for the gift of life the gift of life the gift of life.

I say the right words and squeeze my fingertip over the pot of soil, until a drop of blood lands in it. Out of the earth comes life, a stem, a leaf, a rose.

Thank you for this gift of life that has been given to me. But before I can finish, the door is opened and in comes that man, the one with the angry eyes and the cold heart. He stares at me, blood dripping from my fingers and the flower wilting before his very eyes and he starts growling.

Get the fuck out of my house, you freak. You Satanist. You devil-worshipper. You you witch. He can't even say my name. The name that he gave me, which he sat down with his eight-month pregnant wife and chose. Let's call her Hannah after my mother. Please can we call her Hannah. As long as I get to pick the next one.

I was his favorite once upon a time and now I'm reduced to an insult. Not even a name. He throws the pot to the floor and starts picking up books and other things and tossing them around the room and then he stomps out of the room, his footsteps loud and heavy and it takes me a minute to realize the footsteps are not in my dream.

I opened my eyes, disoriented as I realized I was not in my bedroom at my former home, but in Andrew's bedroom. And someone was standing beside the bed. Sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the figure. Even without my glasses on, I could tell it was Andrew, from his shape, his blond hair, and his scent, which followed him everywhere. He stood there, looking down at me.

"Hello." He didn't even ask why I was in his bed or in his house or anything like that. I sat up, rubbing my eyes and glancing at the clock on the other side of the room. It was almost five pm. Had I slept that long? Andrew sat on the bed and looked at me. I picked my glasses up and slipped them on. Everything was clearer now, and I saw Andrew in sharp focus. He was wearing a pair of khaki pants and a dark blue polo shirt – the uniform from his second job, I guessed.

"Shane said it was all right if I used your bed." I didn't know what else to say. I wasn't sure if he'd talked to Shane yet, if Shane had told him what was going on. He just nodded and kept looking at me.

"We're having Chinese for supper. I wasn't sure if you were hungry or not," he said finally.

"Not really," I said, which was a lie. My stomach betrayed me a moment later, growling loudly in the quiet room. Andrew smiled.

"Let's go." He got up from the bed and offered a hand to me. I took it and climbed out of the bed as well, realizing that my pajamas were anything like what he'd seen me wear before. The pants were long enough, for sure, but the tank top was a little low cut, and I wasn't wearing a bra (not that my breasts were all that big to begin with). He didn't comment on it, though, not that I had expected him to. He let go of my hand as we left the room and I followed him down the stairs.

He led the way into the combination kitchen-dining room area, which I had a better opportunity to get a good look at, now that I wasn't dead on my feet asleep. Again I was surprised at how nice everything was. The counter tops were smooth, mahogany-colored wood, the cabinets black with gold handles. There was a big window in front of the sink, which let in the light from the setting sun, washing the entire room in an orange glow.

The table in the center of the room was large enough to seat eight people comfortably, but right now, only Shane was there, pulling take-out boxes of Chinese food from a paper bag.

"Sleep well?" he asked when he saw me enter. I nodded, pushing my hair back from my face. I realized how messy it probably was, but I didn't think either Shane or Andrew would really care.

"Help yourself," Shane said, and pushed a pile of paper plates across the table. Andrew took two off the top of the pile and handed one to me. We served ourselves some food and I pulled out a chair to sit down. I started eating right away, realizing suddenly how famished I really was.

Because I'd been doing the overnight shift for more than five years now, I was used to waking up and having dinner, especially because I had lived at home, where everyone else was on a different schedule from me.

"So I was thinking," Shane began, after we'd all gotten settled with our food and started eating.

"Better watch it. Thinking's dangerous," Andrew said, shooting me a smile. Shane rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, too.

"So you keep telling me. But I'm not dead yet." Then his face turned serious. "I thought maybe we could move Dylan's stuff from the study into his room, and then move the fold-out couch from my room into there, so Hannah can have her own room." He looked at me to see what I was going to say. What could I say? He had already done more than enough, allowing me to stay here while I got back on me feet, after the ground had been abruptly pulled out from underneath them.

"Or we could save time and just move it into my room." Andrew glanced at me and then at Shane. Into his room? Sleeping in the same room as Andrew, even if not the same bed, sounded like a forbidden thrill, like something that would make it very hard for me to sleep at night.

"You know the rule. No overnight visitors in the bedroom." Shane did not seem nearly as shocked as I was at Andrew's suggestion. "We made that rule when we moved in and we're not breaking it now."

"Well I don't know how thrilled Dylan's going to be when we move his gaming stuff out of the study." Andrew shrugged. I was still stuck on the part about she can stay in my room. He had suggested it. Like maybe he didn't mind sharing his room with me. He hadn't objected to sharing his bed – though we had not been using it at the same time... was there a deeper meaning to all of this, or was I just overreacting to what was just supposed to be a friendly gesture?

"I think he'll live with it. Besides, he's only one third of the vote. I'm okay with it, and if you're okay with it, that's a majority." I realized that neither of them had asked my opinion.

"You don't have to move all that stuff around. I mean, I'm only going to be here a little while." I felt the need to add that. I didn't want either of them to think I was just going to freeload forever.

"Look. It's no trouble," Shane said, "If Dylan makes a fuss, so what? He makes a fuss about everything." He shrugged. I sighed, but didn't argue anymore. If Shane wanted to do this, I would let him do this. I was not planning on staying very long anyway. I had to get a newspaper the next time I was at work so I could start searching for apartments. I should have done that last night, but it had slipped my mind, with all the worries that had been floating around.

"Speaking of the devil, wonder where he is," Andrew mused.

"Probably out getting drunk again and picking up random strangers," Shane said.

"As long as he doesn't call here expecting me to pick him up. I've got better things to do with my time than chauffer his drunk ass around all the time," Andrew grumbled. Shane shrugged again.

"Oh, shit. I gotta get to work. You're not in today, are you, Hannah?" he asked. I shook my head. Tuesdays were when the back-up Night Crew worked, giving us regulars a day off. Except for Shane, who took Saturdays off instead, so he could spend time with his girlfriend, Emmalyn.

"Well I'll see you guys later, then." Shane cleaned up his stuff and then left. It was just Andrew and I now, sitting in the kitchen finishing up our meal. I picked at the egg-roll on my plate, not really hungry anymore.

"Want to watch a movie or something?" Andrew looked at me through his eyelashes. I was overwhelmed with the urge to kiss him, wondering how it would feel. Would it be like other kisses I'd given and received, or would Andrew's kisses be a whole different kind?

"I guess so." I didn't really care what we did, but I liked the idea of sitting next to him on the couch. Maybe he would hold my hand again. We cleaned up the remaining food, sticking the containers in the fridge, and I followed him into the living room. I sat down on the couch and he opened the cabinet under the television set, revealing a DVD player on the top shelf and a row of DVDs on the bottom shelf.

"What would you like to see?" he asked. I shrugged.

"Surprise me." As long as it wasn't something extremely gory or pornographic, I could watch just about any kind of movie.

"All right, I will." He knelt down and started flipping through the DVDs until he came across the one he wanted to put in. I tucked my legs underneath me on the couch and watched him slide the DVD into the player. Then he put the case back, closed the cabinet, and grabbed the remote control.

"You'll like this one, I think." He smiled at me before sitting down on the couch next to me. And not on the other end of the couch next to me, either. He sat right next to me, only about an inch of space between my leg and his.

But instead of focusing on him, I faced forward and looked at the television, wondering what movie he'd picked out. When the movie started, though, I couldn't hide the grin on my face.

"The Goonies!" I exclaimed, barely able to contain my excitement. It was one of my all time favorite movies, of course I was going to enjoy it.

"You've seen it?" he asked, seeming a little surprised. I nodded.

"Only about a thousand times!"

"Man, that's a first. No one else I've ever talked to about it has ever heard of The Goonies. Isn't that crazy?" I liked how he was looking at me even though the movie was starting in front of us, and Mouth was getting sprayed in the face with water from the pipe his father was trying to fix. I just could get lost in his eyes for days, forgetting what else I was supposed to be doing. I was overcome with the urge to kiss him again. I clasped my hands together and wrenched my gaze back to the movie.

"Well, anyone who hasn't seen this is missing a really good film," I said. Andrew didn't say anything else, which I was glad for, because I really didn't want to talk during the movie. I didn't want to ruin a good experience with words.

It was completely dark outside by the time the opening credits had finished, and the only light in the room was coming from the television set. It was also getting a little cold in the room, and all I was wearing were my pajama pants and my tank top. I wrapped my arms closer around my body, but it did little good.

"Cold?" Andrew whispered. I shrugged, not wanting to seem needy or anything. He got up from the couch and walked over to the corner of the room. I couldn't tell what he was doing, and I kept my eyes on the movie, not wanting to miss a thing, even though I knew everything that happened in the entire movie.

"Here," he whispered, handing me something – a blanket. I took it and wrapped it around my shoulders, pulling it close.

"Thanks," I replied, my voice also a whisper. He nodded and sat down next to me again, this time closer than before, at least it seemed to me like he was closer. Almost daringly, I place my hand on his knee, which was so close to mine I could feel the heat from his body on mine.

I looked across the couch at him and he looked at me. Through the dark, I still met his eyes. Then he placed his hand on top of mine, still on his leg, and I smiled. Then I flipped my hand over and entwined my fingers with his.

They fit together perfectly, like puzzle pieces or a glove and a hand. His fingers were warm and callused, gentle against my own.

As the movie progressed, I found myself leaning closer to him, whether on purpose or not is hard for me to tell. All I know is that when the Goonies found One Eyed Willy's pirate ship, I was resting my head on Andrew's shoulder, and he had one arm around my shoulder, the other was still holding my hand. I could have sat like that for hours – all night, even, if Dylan hadn't come home and ruined the moment.

I heard the door slam loudly, cutting off the end of the movie, where Mr. Walsh is telling off Troy and his dad. I jumped a little bit, but didn't really move. Then he came into the living room, flicking the light on, nearly blinding me.

"What's up, assholes?" Dylan stumbled into the room, steadying himself with a hand on the bookshelf. "Jesus, make the room stop moving, eh?" He put his other hand to his forehead and then burped, loud. I'd seen my dad drunk enough times to know that Dylan was most definitely drunk.

"Did you drive home in that condition?" I asked, releasing Andrew's hand to stand up and walk over to Dylan.

"Yeah but it's okay. I didn't kill anybody." He waved his hand at me as I tried to help him stand.

"Oh jeez," Andrew groaned, "you're going to get arrested one day."

"Not me. I got a system. Those cops ain't gonna arrest me if they can't catch me!" He raised his hand triumphantly, like he'd discovered some great secret that no one else had ever heard of. I wondered if he did this often – drove home completely wasted. If he did, it was a wonder he didn't kill himself.

"Oh man, I'm gonna puke..." he said, practically running into the kitchen. I heard a retching sound, and I hoped he made it to the trash can or the sink and not on the floor.

"Does this happen a lot?" I asked Andrew as Dylan continued to retch in the other room. I winced at the sound. No matter how many times you heard it, no matter how many times you'd smelled that unmistakable scent of a man having spent all night downing beer, it was never enough to make you get used to it.

"Unfortunately, Dylan spends much of his time that he's not working either getting drunk or having meaningless sex. He's pretty much a poster child for an early grave. I don't know he manages to stay alive after all the dangerous stuff he does." Andrew shrugged. When I didn't look any more assured, he stood up and crossed the room to stand in front of me, hands at my waist.

"Look, don't worry about him, all right? Dylan does a pretty good job of taking care of himself. Besides, you've got someone more important to worry about." He looked down at me. I was having trouble thinking with his warm hands on my waist like that, and his eyes so close to mine.

"No overnight visitors!" Dylan shouted from the kitchen. I could see him standing in the doorway and he wasn't so far away that he needed to shout. It appeared that he felt he had to, though. Another aspect of drunkenness that I didn't understand. My father often shouted when he was drunk, but that was usually when he made fun of me, calling me names and saying I was pretty much useless. "If you wanna fuck you gotta do it in the living room where I can watch!" Dylan said, and then laughed, like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. He bent over laughing, grabbing his stomach.

My face burned red, and I couldn't look at Andrew. To be honest, I hadn't thought about having sex with him. Actually, that was a lie. When I had first lay on his bed and pulled the covers over me, I thought about it. I thought about him lying there next to me, a hand slung across my naked chest as we both slept.

But I didn't want Dylan to know that I had thought about it. I didn't want to give him something else to laugh about.

"I think it's time for someone to go to bed," I said, like I was talking to an eight year old. I moved out of Andrew's grip and walked towards Dylan again. I took his arm, and when I touched him, I got a static shock, making the hair on my arm stand on end.

"Jeez, what did you do?" he asked, yanking his arm out of my grip, "That fucking hurt, dude!" He rubbed his arm where I'd touched him, looking at me suspiciously. Well it wasn't like I'd done anything on purpose. It was just a little static shock, that's all. "Besides, I'm not so drunk that I can't walk up the stairs by myself." He gave me another suspicious look before he went down the hallway to walk up the stairs. I looked at Andrew.

"How do you guys live with him like this all the time?" I asked. Andrew shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets.

"We're not usually here at the same time. I have two jobs, and like I said, he spends a lot of his time at the bars. Either way, he's only a jerk when he's drunk. Sober he's a really nice guy." Andrew said it like it was an excuse for his behavior. The same excuse my mom used to forgive my dad's behavior.

"Please don't make excuses for him. He wouldn't act like that drunk if he didn't want to act that way sober." It wasn't like my father was an alcoholic or anything, especially not in the beginning of the marriage. I mean, he only really started drinking when David was born, and I was just entering high school. I stopped being Daddy's Little Girl when I turned twelve and started puberty. And after David was born, he hardly talked to me at all ... except to criticize and insult.

"I just don't want you to leave because Dylan's a jerk." He shrugged again and looked down at me. The height difference between us was not a huge one, but he was tall enough to have to look down at me. "I'd like it if you stayed a while."

"I wouldn't want to exploit your hospitality. I probably should have been in an apartment years ago, but I just didn't want to leave David and Mom." I sighed, really not wanting to get into this now. I didn't want to think about what I was not going to see again, what I had to leave behind. I knew I'd start crying again, blubbering like a baby or something.

"What happened?" he asked. I shrugged and moved back over to the couch, sitting down again and tucking my feet underneath.

"It's kind of a long story," I said, though there was certainly a short version – the one I'd told Shane. But Shane knew me a little better than Andrew did. Shane knew about my dad, my home life, and all the gory details ... except for one, which no one knew, except me, and my dad had some idea, but not nearly enough. Andrew and I had never talked about that kind of stuff, and I wasn't sure he would want to listen.

"I've got time," he said, sitting down on the couch next to me.

"Are you sure you want to hear all of it? It's a lot of baggage that you might not want to deal with," I warned.

"I can take it." I think he just wanted to hear what I had to say, whether he could 'take it' or not. Well sometimes you just want to tell the whole story, and tonight was that time for me.

"It's my dad. He's pretty much the source of the problems. I mean, it wasn't always this huge deal, because when I was born, I was his little baby girl, his number one, his everything. There's so many pictures in the photo albums of him holding me in a little pink dress, in my first Halloween costume, my first Christmas..." As I continued, I explained that the change had happened after David's birth.

"And he threw you out because he didn't like you anymore?" Andrew still seemed to be confused, even after I'd explained everything - okay, there was still that little detail I'd left out, but I couldn't tell anyone about that part.

"Basically, yeah." I untucked my legs from underneath me and stretched them out, raising my arms above my head and stretching those, too.

"Well, no offense, but he seems kind of like a jerk." It was Andrew's turn to shrug. I just nodded.

"I'm uh, going to take a shower," I said, standing up. It wasn't that I felt particularly dirty, but I didn't want to talk about this anymore. I had told my story, and that was enough for me.

"You know where the bathroom is?" he asked. I nodded, and crossed the room to where my duffel bag was sitting. I'd put it there last night, barely remembering that I'd done so. Searching through the bag, I found some clothes and picked them up, carrying them with me upstairs to the bathroom.

I shut the door behind me and flicked the light on. The bathroom was not as clean as the rest of the house had been. It was a nice decorating job, white tiles and off-white colored walls. The shower curtain had a pattern of fish and turtles. But the floor was covered in dirty underwear. The bathroom rug was curled over itself and the toilet seat was up, looking like no one had cleaned it in years. The medicine cabinet held an opened box of condoms, some of the packages spilling out onto the counter. Deodorant and body spray filled up the rest of the spaces on the cabinet. Toothbrushes and soap lay together in the sink.

When I pushed open the shower curtain, I saw an open bottle of shampoo spilling into the tub, a wet washcloth bunched up on the tile. The tile looked dirtier than the toilet did. The floor beneath my feet felt like it hadn't been swept in ages, either.

I sighed to myself and stepped back, into the center of the room. Closing my eyes, I clasped my hands together in front of me and tried to summon the proper words. Grime and filth dirt and mess make this bathroom dirty no less. It didn't exactly make sense, but I had never had to do a cleaning spell before. I felt my hands grow warm, and the whole room around me felt warm. I waited a moment longer before opening my eyes.

It worked. The bathroom was spotless. Now I could take a shower.

Author's Note - This is for all the people who wanted long chaptered-stories. I hope you enjoy it.