The Puma Stare

#8

Menezzi hauled me back to my dorm half-slung over his shoulder, an icepack strapped to my face with cloth bandages, making me feel like Quasimoto after a bar fight. He plopped me none-too-gently onto my bed, told Ian to watch me, and got the hell out of there. In a completely unpredictable plot twist, I had a concussion. Judging from my whiplash emotions and questionable amount of Advil I was given, it was a pretty bad one, too. The nurse, Mr. Kepler, told me I'd probably had one from Ian's punch and running into several solid structures too, so if I didn't play it safe for the next couple months of my life, I might be thrown into a crippling coma with no chance of waking up.

Well, not really, but he might as well have said I'd be a carrot if I took another punch to the face. I felt like a carrot. My limbs felt crisp and ready to snap, and my face was incredibly stiff. I think the only difference between vegetation and I was that, at this point, carrots could probably beat me in checkers.

Did this normally happen to guys? Did they often get into such intense fights with inanimate objects to vent their rage? Why was all this flaming pissiness suddenly flooding into my body and making me go up in a blaze and sometimes random moments? I did have a temper at home, but not after moving in with my foster-siblings. I thought living with them had taught me the zen ability of patience and understanding. Maybe they were my own personal tranquilizers, and the further from them I got, the more my temper was allowed to roam and lash out.

Thinking more about it, why had I beat the shit out of the wall? I can't even remember the catalyst to my undoing. Something to do with Wes. Stupid, sly Wes. Probably black mailed me into something. Why did he even get to have such nice eyes and an elegant nose? Shouldn't extortionists have less appealing features? If they did, they could just charm their way into things. The way I see it, Wes belongs on some hipster blog with a skate-park back-drop. I'd have to suggest it to him when I violently rip out his lungs for whatever he did to piss me off.

My thoughts drifted for a while, until eventually they grew bleary and weak. I was three seconds from sleep when something kicked my leg, causing me to snap my eyes open and flail my limbs uselessly. I looked down, bewildered as to what hit me, to see a shoe lying delicately on my bed, as if it was a puppy begging to be cuddled. I kicked it off and looked up to see Ian sitting at his desk with glasses on, turned slightly in my direction.

"Stay awake," he muttered with clear annoyance, running a hand through his greasy hair, causing it to curve and glisten repulsively in the light. "That was my only warning." He turned back to his work, unperturbed by my self-inflicted injuries.

"And I thought you didn't care," I crooned, but it was too late to be entered in the contest of bitchy comebacks.

Ian only grunted in reply, which was probably because his back so hunched over his work it cut off his vocal chords. God, who did homework at twelve in the morning? Oh, yeah, people who woke up at twelve in the afternoon. But it was a school night, and somehow I doubted Ian took AP classes.

My stomach roared loudly, and I suddenly felt the hollow cavity that would be my stomach, had it not already began devouring itself. There was no way I'd be able to make it to the commons before my liver was sacrificed in the name of hunger, not to mention I lacked the ability to stand on my own and I'd probably trip into a ditch and start eating the grass in some severe case of starvation-induced schizophrenia.

"Don't we have food in here somewhere?" I asked Ian, looking around for something more edible than dry wall.

He chuffed back at me, clearly impassive to my appetite.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Let's have gay sex," I proposed.

An indifferent grunt.

"With whips and chains and assless, leather chaps," I said, tilting my head at his back, because he now appeared to by lying on top of it. It was like Ian was trying to convince himself the closer to the floor he got, the less he would hear me. Every time I spoke it got lower, though I doubted he was listening to me at all. "I'm actually a girl in a wig attending this school to hide from a gang of drug dealers who are trying to kill me for witnessing one of their guys throw my neighbor off this super tall building I live in."

Another apathetic chimp noise.

I glowered at his back. "The guy actually pinned me to the roof and gave me this huge scar on my face as well as one right along my collar bone, which I cover with stage make up, and that's hidden with my tampons and three thousand dollars in the bathroom air vent. Whenever I take it off the wall I feel like a badass in some spy movie, and I could probably get a part in a movie like that after I'm graduated here." Ian's torso was practically devouring the square footage on his desk now, yet I did not relent. "I can use this as a reference for my acting ability, because let's face it, almost every college is going to find the fact that I attended an all-boys boarding school weird and probably a sign of some serious mental condition I contracted as a child, but drama schools would just be impressed and probably all start throwing melodramatic death threats to each other like 'bitch, I'll cut you if you don't back off my cross dressing teenager,' and I'll feel really good about myself from some demented form of pure attention—"

Ian spun around in his chair and leapt to a stand, his eyes wild behind his glasses. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up," his snarled, literally baring his teeth at me.

For a moment I thought, he has a really nice canine tooth, then I realized that he was probably about to use it to rip my flesh off. A little part of me quivered inside with Ian towering over me, his jaw clenched and anger clear in his eyes. I immediately wondered once more why I was so intent on irritating a guy that could beat the shit out of me without pause. Then that little part of me died and I felt the sudden and impulsive need to egg him on.

"Or what?" I asked lazily, scratching at my hairline. "You'll punch me in the face? I should just start renting out the unbruised portions of my skin if life is going to keep clobbering it with a myriad of solid objects," I mused, admiring the idea. "At least then I could buy a taco with my purpling eye."

Ian blinked at me, anger long-since replaced with bewilderment. "You're really fucking weird and I have homework," he snapped, throwing his hands in the air and turning back to his desk.

"But I need food!" I cried, rolling around on my bed.

"God, what are you? A five year-old girl?" Ian hissed as he sat down. I choked on my spit. "Find your own fucking food and leave me the hell alone."

"I might be five, but I read at a six year old level," I snapped back, sticking my tongue out before actually listening to his comment. Ohmigod, I realized. He was totally right. I'm pouting. I'm pouting like a freaking middle school girl who thinks whining with some shallow, lazy comment begging for food will make her endearing and adorable to all her egotistical tween guy friends.

I allowed myself a muted chirp in horror at this revelation before the urge to spring off the bed, chop lumber, eat raw meat and surround myself in gym equipment overtook me. Unfortunately, my concussion allowed no such springing, cutting down Darwin's forest was probably illegal, I had no food, let alone raw meat, and the gym closed at ten. So instead, I slowly rose, stiffly walked to the door, and went to the vending machine at the end of the hall where I bought a bag of beef jerky and chewed it in shame.

How could I have acted like such a… chick? I bet it's this stupid concussion. I took like, seven Advil. That had to add up to some amount of drug-induced euphoria, right? 'With every five aspirin, get one personality trait detrimental to your alias'? Excuses, excuses, I chided to myself, ripping off a piece of jerky begrudgingly. I'd have to watch my whiney, teenage girl tones more in the future, lest I suffer at the accusatory chants of "Calvin is so gay, he's plays with Barbie all day." Were rhymed insults even in style anymore? They were, in my opinion, much worse than being called a bitch, because you found yourself caught up in the catchy belittlement after a while, chanting it in your head and cursing yourself for doing so. It was like a song you hated, but couldn't help tapping your foot to. Besides, if anyone could inspire the masses to revive third-grade put-downs, it was me.

I took a pain-stakingly slow pace eating the bag, and bought whatever else I could with a random amount of change in my pockets. It was to stave off hunger until I was asleep, at least, and avoid Ian until he was thoroughly passed out. It was probably a half hour until I headed back to the dorm, silently hoping Ian had gone to bed. The closer I came to our bright red door, the lighter and more hesitant my steps became. In truth, I was probably regarding myself with more suspicion than him, and I'd openly admitted to being a girl. At this point, it's his fault he doesn't know I secretly have a uterus.

Ever-so-gently, I twisted the knob of the door, viciously digging into my lip as I did so. It turned a fourth of the way before unceremoniously stopping in place and refusing to move any further. My eyebrows knit together, and I turned it again, more aggressively this time. It stopped at the same spot. My eyes went wide, the contacts sliding uncomfortably around as they did so.

I was locked out.

I didn't even get to finish thinking, Ian's there; just knock, before viciously rejecting this idea. It had less to do with pissing him off and more to do with ohmigod, what if he opens the door and my shirt rips itself off and the brace comes undone and my boobs pop out and my hair bursts from the wig and my secret it shattered?

"Callista Zamora: Master of Logic and Rational Thinking," I muttered, lifting my hand to knock. And that's exactly where it hopelessly hovered for the next four minutes, held back by the terror that my whiney statement from before had somehow seeded itself into Ian's mind, convincing him of my absolute and undeniable womanhood. It was another minute before I quit kidding myself and began pacing in the hallway, eyes getting heavier by the minute.

Of course! I thought after a moment. The fire escape! I'll just go down the elevator… head around back… pull down the metal ladder seven feet in the air… and climb eight floors of steps to my dorm room… with the freshly locked window. Brilliant. Infallible. You should conquer an impregnable fortress in Israel while you're at it, Cal.

I sighed and sat next to a fern, eyes half-lidded and back sliding further down every minute. I was nearly half asleep when the elevator around the corner dinged and snapped me out of it. I turned my head lethargically towards to elevators as Wes stepped around the corner, looking mighty suspicious. He had yet to see me behind the plant, which made me wonder all the more as to why his eyes were so shifty. What had he said to me that made me run into a pole?

After clearing the hall, he quickly fast-walked down the hall extracting a slim envelope from his jean pockets. I watched with mild curiosity as he stood in front of my dorm three feet away, and just like I'd been doing ten minutes ago, hovered an inch away from it. After a minute or two, he'd still failed to notice I was sitting in arm's reach of him, and I decided I might as well make light of the situation.

"'Sup, Wes?" I asked, my voice cracking the air.

"Fuck!" Wes yelped and threw himself into the wall, where he lost his balance and toppled to the floor. After a second of panting and desperately searching for the source of the voice, I poked my head out of the fern, laughing.

"That a love letter to Ian?" I questioned, jerking my head towards the envelope. "I don't think you're his type."

Wes just stared at me from where he was splayed on the ground, eyes larger than usual.

"Then again," I snickered, slowly getting to my feet, "I don't think you're anyone's type." My head throbbed at the altitude, and the blue hallway walls weren't helping.

He blinked at me. "What happened to your face? Aren't you pissed at me?"

I shrugged, explaining, "I ran into a pole. Don't remember what you did, though I'm pretty sure it was a dick move."

Wes stared a little more at my face, then rose from the carpet. "Yeah, it was," he said, nodding and examining my face. His eyes narrowed. "Why'd you run into a pole?"

I rolled my eyes at him, and then regretted it when my head was flushed with pain. I showed him my bruised hands. "I beat the shit out of a wall, or so I'm told," I stated, looking at the gruesome purple. My eyes flashed up to him. "I was that pissed. Mind telling me why?"

He choked, crumpling the letter in his hand. "Let's just say… it won't happen again." Before even giving me the chance to reply, he changed the subject to, "Are you locked out?"

A large sigh escaped my lips, and somewhere in there was a "Yeah." Well, if whatever he did made me resort to self-harm to vent my anger, I figure I wouldn't be too thrilled to hear about it again. "Where are you coming from, anyway?" I inquired. He'd taken the elevator when he lived on the same floor.

"I was at Leo's. Why don't you just knock?" Wes asked me, jerking his head towards the door. "Ian's in there, right?"

My eyes dropped to the tan carpet. "Yeah."

There was a long pause. "Did you piss him off again?"

"Maybe," I sniffled, crossing my arms and feeling the desire to sleep slowly claw its way to my head.

"Calli—" Wes said, snapping me right out of my lethargy.

"You know my name?" I shrieked in a whisper, jamming my pointer finger in his surprised face. "How the fuck do you know my name?" His large, brown eyes blinked at me, and I found myself examining his eye lashes. Goddamn, I forgot how long they were. Still not fair.

"Um, you told me?" Wes replied in a question, gently grabbing my accusing finger and putting it back down to my side.

"Why?" I snapped back.

"Do you need a place to stay?" he asked in a sudden change of topic.

I chuffed and glowered at him, but I couldn't deny how heavy my eyelids were becoming. "Why did I tell you my name?"

"It's hard keeping secrets from someone as handsome and charming as me."

"Wes."

He shrugged off my tone. "You can stay in my room, if you'd like."

My eyes narrowed. "You mean, 'I can stay in your room because you'd like.'"

Wes smiled cheekily at me. "I'd call it a mutual benefit."

"So, it's either face Ian or sleep with you?" I ground my teeth and turned to my door, slamming it with my fist. "Ian? Let me in!"

His grin slid off his face, replaced by an expression of melancholy. "Well, it was worth a shot."

"There was no shot," I muttered back, throwing him a look and knocked on the door again. Wes made an ugly face at me and retreated to around the corner, back to his dorm. "Ian," I commanded, leaning against the door. "I need my key!"

After yelling a few more times, a muffled groan from the other side of the wood, and I heard him fumbling with the knob. A minute later, the door swung open and a half-asleep, half-naked man stood in front of me, my dorm key in his hand. I felt myself blush, though I'd have blushed if he was forty and a hundred pounds overweight. I found myself analyzing the line of his collar bone again, but before I could fully download the curved shadow right on the edge—

"Take you're fucking key and shut up," Ian snapped and chucked it at me, slamming the door shut before the key even hit the face. And it did, by the way. It made me tear.

Grimacing, I unlocked the door as quietly as I could and stepped inside. It was pitch black, but I knew the arrangement well, as Nate had instructed I should, just in case I had to outmaneuver someone in the dark. I also knew there was a pair of jeans a few inches ahead, and that I'd probably hit the desk chair if I moved a little more to my right. After treading carefully in the seas of darkness, I changed into my sweats and found my bed, gently lowering myself onto it. I removed my contacts and frowned at the prospect of sleeping another night in the wig. I could hear Ian's heaving breathing, and I marveled at his ability to sleep on command.

Then again, I don't even think I finished being impressed before I was out, too.

#

The alarm clock began blaring far too early. I felt like someone had filled my limbs full of sand. I struggled to roll over and turn off the alarm. Ian groaned once and rolled back over, gifted with the ability to wake ten minutes before classes and still arrive on time. I think I might just make five-thirty my new unlucky number.

After allowing myself a good begrudging roll-around-the-mattress-in-the -attempt-to-trick-Tuesday-into-thinking-it-was-Saturday, I got up and headed towards the bathroom. An hour and fifteen minutes later, I was out and re-masculinized, tricked out in baggy jeans and another, baggier sweatshirt. Call me paranoid, but I felt more insecure about my appearance after last night, and I wasn't going to get caught in just a plain t-shirt anymore. Ian was still passed out on his bed, clutching a pillow close to his face. How could someone look so pissed in their sleep? Was he pissy in his dreams too? I was willing to bet the only time he enjoyed himself was when he was beating the shit out of someone.

Snagging my pack, I left the dorm and headed towards breakfast, where I assured my stomach I would eat everything and the plate after denying it dinner last night. I was to the elevator when a voice called out down the hall, "Cal? Wait up!"

I turned to see Wes shutting his dorm door, Liam next to him, and bustling over to me. I was forced to wait, whether I wanted to or not. The elevator opened a second after they reached me. Wes grinned widely at me, showing off all his wonderful demon-spawn fangs. He was dresses in cargo shorts and a fitted graphic tee that made him look like a well-dressed twig. Liam was still blonde and boyish, but this time I noted a brown freckle in his hazel eyes. My hair must've covered the pole-shaped bruise, because neither of them were staring at it.

"Going to breakfast?" Wes asked, batting his feminine eyelashes at me.

"No. Dinner. Obviously." I scratched at my wig and jammed the main floor button. Call me irritable, but after last night, I still wasn't happy with this elevator.

Wes snorted. "Ian still asleep?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, he's right here. Can't you see him?"

My sarcasm had the intended effect, and Wes snapped his mouth shut. But to my surprise, Liam soldiered through, asking, "Are you this cross with your parents?"

"Oh, no," I vehemently denied. "With them, I'm just a peach. They just sent me to a boarding school because they want others to feel their immense joy at my stunning and optimistic personality."

Liam laughed loudly, and I suddenly noticed he was cute. Dimples on both his cheeks, and front teeth a little crooked, as well as his smile. His nose was straight and rather feminine—no bar fights for him—, the bridging smooth and aristocratic. Unlike his other friends, his face was still rounded with just an ounce of baby fat, and I figured that's what made him look younger. His lips were thin, but it was balanced out by the width of his mouth. Objectively, he was average, but his grin and laugh made him attractive. Liam was the kind of boy you watched in class unconsciously; your eyes couldn't help but gravitate towards him.

"As much as I appreciate your clear admiration of my awesome beauty," Liam emphasized eyebrows quirked. "You're kind of creeping me the fuck out."

I jerked, almost completely oblivious to the fact that I'd been doing my analytical stare on a conscious being. I met his eyes, my face flush. "Shit, sorry," I said, shaking my head. "I stare at people. It's a bad habit. My little sister always calls it the Puma Stare because people feel like I'm preying on them—" I snapped my mouth shut, because while Callista had many sibling, Calvin had none. But it was too late, both Liam and Wes gave me curious expressions.

"Sister?" Liam asked as we stepped out of the elevator. "Is she ho—"

"Only thirteen?" I cut in, glaring. "Why yes, she is. Thank you for your completely innocent and unpedophiliac inquiry towards my close familial bonds."

He turned red, becoming the ultimate contrast for his light hair. "It's a reflexive question," Liam explained lamely as we left the dorms, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking like he wanted his pockets to expand and swallow him whole. By the time we'd made it to the commons, his blush had only lightened a few shades.

"And twelve or not," Wes said, eyes glittering as he dished himself up, "if she's your sister, Puma, I bet she could make a grown man cry." Internally, I punched myself for letting my nickname slip. "I mean, look at the attitude she puts up with," Wes continued, gesturing loosely at me. "Kid has to have nerves of steel."

I grabbed a carton of bacon and began shoveling eggs onto my plate, snorting. "More like nerves of the illegitimate bastard child of titanium alloy and diamond."

Liam snickered with a stupid grin on his face. "Well," he lamented, "if she looks anything like you, she'll need 'em."

"If she looks anything like me," I replied back smoothly, throwing a few muffins onto my pile of carbs, "she'll need them to fend off the suitors and gay couples begging her to be the surrogate mother of their children." I mock-tossed my hair around my face.

Wes, who'd test-tasted a banana muffin, choked on a laugh and turned the half-digested sugar bread into a projectile, which consequently hit the face of a bewildered Asian kid. We all jerked our heads towards the floor to cover our chortling laughs while the kid glared in our general direction, unable to find a culprit. Wes was convulsing in giggles and Liam was attempting to hide his grin. I caught the Asian kid's eye and pointed to a ginger by the sausage pan. He gave me a grateful head-tip and made his way towards the poor redhead. By the time we had made it to our table, administrators had broken up the argument and I was halfway through my eggs.

I snorted and shoved a piece of bacon in my mouth, thoughts still lingering on what Wes had said, mostly because he'd been mistaken. Cassi was the force to be reckoned with, not me. To be around her, you had to adapt or die, and my attitude was the adaption. I'd been quite silent and meek before being placed with her in the Behlen's foster house three years ago, fester inside with anger. She was an unending riot of prodding questions, blunt responses, and in a weird twist of events, my first friend. Some people could call it pathetic, but those people probably hadn't been exposed to Cassi for three plus years. It was like trying to like trying to live four feet from a nuclear reactor and not grow a third arm. Our relationship was seven different kinds of untraditional. I'd inherited her anger problems, or rather, she'd taught me to lash out with the anger I already had pent up in me. Cassi removed the brain-to-mouth filter I used to have, replacing it with a brain-to-sarcasm one. In turn, she learned maturity and responsibility from me, and I constantly encourage her in school. What I couldn't say for my grades, I could speak highly of in hers. Together, we taught each other the familial loyalty neither of us had the opportunity to learn in our youth. Because of this, we clung together like blood sisters. Even after the Behlen's had us moved within the year, Cassi and I worked faster than the people at Child Services to find us a mutual home, where we ended up meeting Ash, seven at the time, and converted her into perpetual sassiness by a dual exposure to Cassi and I. Lee was the only one who'd made it out of our affection with a sensible, polite head, and that's probably just because he thought having attitude meant being a girl. After I became legal age, I'd scooped Cassi up and had been in the process of adopting Lee and Ash, too. But considering I was only eighteen, trying to adopt more children, these ones under the age of ten, the process became more of a reluctant debate. It'd taken two months of heated argument to get Cassi, and considering my income was just barely making it passed the requirements. By the time I got out of here, they could already be adopted, or back in the foster system with Cassi, waiting for yet another liberation.

I hoped they were alright. They had to be alright. Nate would make sure they were alright. No, Nate would make sure they were better than alright. Under his wing, they would be flourishing. I reminded myself to thank him again.

Forcing myself out of that depressing train of thought, I re-focused on the table, where two vaguely familiar boys and Leo had joined us, watching Wes speaking animatedly with intrigue.

"…took the charred cupcakes and starting throwing them from the balcony," he gushed, face alight with a big grin. "Ian chucked one, and it straight down into Mrs. McIntee's cleavage, nothing but net. She freaked the fuck out and started mangling Richard with her purse, calling him a perverted slob and shoved him into the pool."

"What?" a brown-haired one croaked, face squished by his smile. Liam was rocking back and forth, clutching his stomach while his face was bright red.

The one next to him with shaggy black hair snorted. "It's not like McIntee's boobs are hard to miss," he snickered. "Half her body is cleavage."

"Yeah," Liam managed to choke out. "And the other half is the result of secret, midnight trysts with Hostess products." This caused the five guys to explode in laughter, whereas I found no such hilarity in the jibe. Or maybe I was just in a sour mood from thinking about my kids.

It took them a minute to settle down, and in the minute, I found myself accidentally analyzing the black haired guy. I detected an air of smug confidence to him, which was an air I was very well attenuated to, especially after meeting so many New York low lives. He had big, blue eyes that were somewhat sunken into his head, but contrasted with his dark hair in a way some may call striking. His facial structure was very well defined; but I'd go as far to say sallow. You could probably cut glass with his wide cheekbones. There was stubble all over his jaw, and with his tousled hair, you could even call him rugged. This was one of those times where I could say he was handsome, but I was in no way attracted to him.

"If you're gonna keep checking me out, you might as well buy me a drink," he suddenly drawled, giving me an annoyed expression. And in this precise moment, I realized everyone was staring at me.

"The Puma Stare strikes again!" Wes burst out laughing, while Liam rolled his eyes and everyone turned their gaze to give him a confused look.

I blinked, speechless realizing I'd done my creeper stare twice within the same hour. "Oh," I said indifferently, looking at the black haired guy. "Sorry. I spaced off." Quickly, I shoved the remainder of breakfast into my mouth to prevent further obligatory conversation. I glanced up to the commons clock as regular conversation at the table picked back up. I had no desire to stay, and excused myself with forty five minutes left before classes, coming up with a shaky lie about unfinished homework.

In reality, I wandered about campus, making half-hearted attempts at noting hiding places. That tree had low branches, and the foliage was rather thick. I could climb up there and unless you were looking for me in the trees, I couldn't be spotted. I knew the rafters in the boat houses were easy to climb into. There was a pot hole in the grass four feet ahead of me, and I'd need to memorize it if I didn't want to trip and break my leg off at night. No matter how much I attempted focus on my hiding spots, my head kept wandering back to Cassi, Lee, and Ash.

Cassi couldn't be adopted, this I knew for sure. Four days before this whole things started, I'd gotten the official statement from Child Services. Those had been the best four days of my life. Cassi and I lived off euphoria, spending our spare time planning on how to convince the system I could take on two more mouths. My apartment supposedly one bedroom, but that was almost too small to fit a bed, let alone four people. The living room was large enough to fit a couch and TV, but so far I'd only gotten to the couch part. The kitchen was more like a hallway with counters, leading to the bedroom. The bathroom was something I'd really rather not remember.

I recall mentioning in my proposition letter to CS that what I couldn't supply in video games, I could make up for in affection. We'd all bonded in a void of feeling alone and unwanted, and if we could just live together again, I promised I would produce responsible and compassionate adults. While Cassi was sure we could win, I had my doubts. I was an eighteen year old product of foster homes and mediocre grades, and I had enough trouble standing on my own feet, let alone holding up three other pairs. But I knew that, given the chance, I wouldn't screw up the potential of life with my family.

Briefly, I wondered if the fact that a murder had taken place atop my apartment building would deter them from allowing more kids into my neighborhood. Then again, maybe the fact that I'd survived a high-class boarding school without failing out would replace their doubts. What were the odds I could get employed here? I wasn't sure if the government would reimburse my lost wages, and I doubted it.

Huh, I thought. A job. Something to think about.

A/N: The only reason this chapter is so long is because I couldn't find a good cut-off point O_O Don't worry, I have not the required motivation to make all the chapters 5.5K words.

I'd just like to take a moment to thank all my reviewers, because without your gushing, affection-filled comments spurring on my insatiable vanity, I wouldn't have so much fun writing xD

So, thanks to 9:45 in Budapest: you made me delightfully bewildered.

Ididn'tcreateanaccountyetshootme: Careful what you wish for. I have a guitar that shoots heat seeking bumble bees, ensuring there will be no escape. And omg please don't live for my updates I'm fickle and will probably end up not paying child support for the small fan in you :S

To HannaD: I'm not sure whether you're referring to the elevator fiasco or her life xD But thanks!

And at this point, I'm not sure who I've privately replied to or not, so. Um. You get caps-locked.

SNOWYASHCAT

NM POYNTER

LUNARIANIGHTROSE

GUEST

GUEST...2? UM. GOOD ON YOU YOU REVIEWED TWICE BUT IDK IF YOU'RE THE SAME PERSON OR NOT SO IDK MISSPELL IT NEXT TIME UNLESS YOU LIKE THE DOUBLE CREDIT WHICH I TOTALLY UNDERSTAND I MEAN LOOK AT ME I HORDE ALL MY REVIEWS AND STARE AT THEM WHEN I'M FEELING DOWN BUT UM I APPRECIATE YOU REGARDLESS OF YOUR PLURAL OR SINGULAR EXISTANCE

CHIKAZEX

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GUEST... 3? OMG I DONT KNOW REFER TO THE PARAGRAPH ABOVE

BANDNERD

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I think that's it.

Really, thanks for the reviews! And to all those people who sit and watch and glared at all this annoying black text for being in the way-aka me, when I'm reading on FP-just think... in the next chapter... you could be an obstruction blocking all links leading to escape. You could be that bolded black text people glare at.

YOU.

~schnitzelover