Age does not protect you from love. But love, to some extent, protects you from age.

Anxiety is love's greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.

Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation, no solutions.

Dreams are necessary to life.

Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.

Good things happen to those who hustle.

I postpone death by living, by suffering, by error, by risking, by giving, by losing

I stopped loving my father a long time ago. What remained was the slavery to a pattern.

I will not be just a tourist in the world of images, just watching images passing by which I cannot live in, make love to, possess as permanent sources of joy and ecstasy.

If all of us acted in unison as I act individually there would be no wars and no poverty. I have made myself personally responsible for the fate of every human being who has come my way.

If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don't write, because our culture has no use for it.

Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death.

My ideas usually come not at my desk writing but in the midst of living.

The human father has to be confronted and recognized as human, as man who created a child and then, by his absence, left the child fatherless and then Godless.

The only abnormality is the incapacity to love.

The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say.

There are many ways to be free. One of them is to transcend reality by imagination, as I try to do.

Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will bring back, a new life, a new friend, a new love, a new country.

We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are.

We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls.

   The Monday following was grey without being rainy, and as Rupert checked his wallet to make sure he had enough money to buy lunch, his mother was hassling him about Anias. "All I'm saying is that you should have her come over more often! She's charming to talk to…and besides, I haven't seen your uncle talk so much in ages."

   "Moooom!" Rupert whined, not wanting to discuss Anias. "Mom, she had green hair and lips; I can't imagine you wanting her in this house ever again!"

   "Most of her hair was either blonde or…magenta." She seemed to wince a little. "It was only partially green."

   "Mom. Please. I'd like to keep my friends separate from my home life."

   "Besides," she was ignoring his comment, "You two would be so cute together!"

   "MOM!"

   "Maybe you could get her to choose a single hair color."

   When he got to work, he took the long route and turned one street later than he normally did so that he could look into the parking lot. His heart did a little flip when he saw Annie's car.

   He spotted her as soon as he came in the door, snoozing away on the sofa with what was probably the first cup of coffee of the day being neglected next to her head. Rupert felt a certain sense of lovingness as he woke her. "Annie…Anias. Wake up?"

   She moaned and turned over, blinking at him. "Oh. Hi."

   "Yeah, hi." He hesitated. It was best to be honest. "You look terrible."

   "Not too shabby yourself." She smiled. Her hair was disheveled and her make-up was smudged…on accident.

   There was this awkward pause between them. Rupert seemed to sense what Anias was feeling though. "You don't want to talk about it, do you." The statement didn't deserve a question mark. But he kept his smile up.

   "Well…I never said that." A quirked eyebrow. "Ok, fine…I don't." She looked ashamed. "But…can you blame me?"

   "Yes." He ignored her huff. "I wanted to kiss you, so if you didn't want to kiss me, you should have just…said something or stopped me, instead of getting all tongue and teeth on me."

   "I still love him."

   Silence.

   "I do."

   "No, no you don't!" Rupert was so glad that the shop was empty right now, because in all his life, he couldn't remember his temper flaring so many times in so little a time space. "You feel sorry for him; that's your fucking issue! Stop letting that jerk use you! You deserve better, Annie!"

   "Annie?"

   "Yes, Annie. I nicknamed you and forgot to tell you. A long time ago. Because I care about you. Well, that's not why I forgot, it's why I named you…no but listen, stop it. Just…stop going back to him!" He was pulling at his orange hair.

   "Look Rupert, you're cute and all, but I still love Shaun."

   "Then you're a bitch for doing this to me."

   …

   …

   … And she was gone.

   Rupert sank backwards onto the couch, moaning in despair, face buried in his hands. "What have I done, what have I done, what have I done?"

***

   Anias was crying silently, watching her tears fall into the water below her. This was where she came to get away from it all. I love him…I love him…I – Oh shut up. You don't love him. She knew she'd stuck around because she wanted the attention. The male attention. She wished so badly that she could have Shaun love her. She wanted him and no one else; those kisses with Rupert had been a mistake.

   The first one had been a drunken mess and the second…well, that was his fault, she decided. She stared at her reflection in the constantly-moving water. The wooden planks beneath her hands were splintering. She sniffed. "I can't do this."

***

   Rupert became silent again. He talked to no one. He served people without a smile or frown. He lost all feeling. He became numb. If it was possible, he became even more anti-social than before he'd met Anias.

   He went home that night and ate dinner without speaking. He took a bath and barely registered the shouting in the room next door. He didn't comment on Charlie leaving the house with his girlfriend, not bothering to come home until early the next morning. He didn't feel lust for anyone as he slipped into sleep. He thought of the two bitches in his life: Rebecca and Anias. He never even winced as he thought that way about Annie – Anias.

   The next morning, he got up, brushed his teeth, got dressed. He was about to leave early for work when Uncle Bernie pulled him aside. "Come, come, you shouldn't be out riding a bicycle without any breakfast!" he said cheerfully.

   Rupert allowed himself to be pulled away to the sitting room. There were two bowls of cereal there.

   "Now, tell Uncle Bernie what's wrong." He said, spooning little beige blisters of air into his mouth.

   "Nothing." Rupert's voice was back in monotone.

   "Don't lie; it's bad for your complexion." Rupert shrugged off this strange explanation. 

   He just shrugged.

   "Well, get it all sorted out soon, because if you start letting yourself be a sheep again, you'll have to work with your mother, whom I know you loathe."

   "I don't loathe her, Uncle Bernie…I just…don't get along with her. Most of the time."

   "We'll see, we'll see." He muttered to himself.

   That afternoon, Rupert was still thinking about absolutely nothing when he saw a very familiar face walk in through the door. Oh fuck, it's Shaun. He stood in front of the door for a few seconds, and Rupert caught his breath: Shaun's hair was especially bright today, somehow, and his skin seemed…Oh God, no. No way in hell!

   Shaun was oblivious for a moment until he looked in the direction of the menu above the counter, but his gaze strayed casually to Rupert for a moment. Then he quickly looked back to the sign.

   Rupert tried to find a way out of this situation of serving Shaun, but upon looking around, it became clear that no one else was free. He turned around in defeat and took Shaun's order. He was barely able to comprehend the order because of the fire in his gut: hatred. Discomfort. And something else that he couldn't quite put a finger on. It had to be something worse than hate though, because it was the hottest and most fueled feeling he'd had in his stomach for a while. It was just starting to rise up into his throat when Shaun opened his mouth to speak.

   "Is Anias here today?"

   "No." said Rupert through clenched teeth. His fists were tightened and this stupid burning feeling in his throat was bringing him to new heights of dizzy.

   "Oh." Sip. "I thought she'd be here to…ah, see you or something." He took another sip of his mud and licked his lips. Rupert squinted in a way he hoped conveyed his annoyance.

   "No, she's probably mad at me."

   Shaun cocked his head to one side in interest. "Really? What'd you do?"

   "How do you know it was my fault?" Rupert made himself puff up a little…as much as he could, anyway.

   "It's Anias – therefore, it will always be your fault."

   Rupert had never heard this side of the story before. He'd never thought for a moment that Anias had issues. Not real ones. He sighed. What the hell? "Well, I called her a bitch."

   For a moment there, Rupert was afraid that Shaun might punch him out right there in the store. But he didn't. He burst into a wide grin, and Rupert couldn't help but relax a little. That grin was infectious. "Way to go on calling her out." Rupert was reminded of every time he'd ever heard Shaun tell her she was a bitch or some variation thereof.

   The burning feeling in his throat was threatening to spill out of his mouth. "I called her a bitch for being hung up over you."

   Shaun's grin faded, but he didn't look mad. He just sipped more of his coffee.

   "Why were you looking for her here again?"

   "She's not home. I thought…I thought maybe you two were…yeah." Shaun's stuttering was making the burn rise again, only it went past his mouth – thank god – and started attacking his brain.

   "How old are you, anyway?" Shaun had long legs; they gave him a longer stride than Rupert.

   "Eighteen," Rupert lied. It wasn't too far away, was it? Ok, yeah, it was definitely a long way from now. So then why did it matter?

   "Oh. So you're legal, then." Rupert couldn't really tell where Shaun was going with this. He sounded so…so conversational.

   "Yeah. Why, how old are you?"

   "Twenty-two."

   Holy shit! Rupert knew he shouldn't be late tonight, but maybe he'd make it out of dinner alive. Then, it occurred to him: twenty-two, fancy car, maybe he had a mobile. "Hey, can I use your phone?"

   "Yeah, sure." Shaun pulled a small cell-phone from out of his pocket, and Rupert felt that annoying heat start burning again. He kept trying to calm himself down and remind himself that Shaun wasn't that bad, because this weird hatred feeling was worthless.

   Rupert dialed his home number, and his mother picked up. "Hi mom."

   "Rupert? Where are you?"

   "Uh…closing shop." He smiled as he heard Shaun snigger. "Could I stay out for a while?"

   "Why?" she sounded suspicious.

   "I wanted to hang out with a friend or two for a little while."

   "Oh, alright. But be home before ten."

   "Wow, ten? Thanks. Bye." He shut the phone before his mother could say good-bye.

   They walked onward until they reached Shaun's car. It was a beautiful Two-tone green with black racing stripes. Rupert didn't honestly know much about cars, but he could tell this one was nice.

   "Well, are you getting in?"

   "Uh, yeah." Rupert got in the car and sat comfortably in the leather seat. He had four hours to be out.

***

   Anias was woken up by turbulence. It was still light out, but she was disoriented nonetheless, mainly because she couldn't tell which way was north.

   When she got through the terminal, she stopped and sighed for a moment, then got out of the airport. She found a taxi and got a ride out to the country: to her dad's house.

***

   Rupert looked around at the studio apartment in slight awe. He didn't know why: it wasn't anything special. But something about the essence of the apartment made him feel…amazed.

   Shaun unceremoniously tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter and took a seat next to them, his feet dangling a few inches above the wooden floor. Rupert was examining the wireless when he heard Shaun say, "Turn it on." He did and blaring guitars and pounding drums met his ears. "Have a seat." Rupert found a space on the worn-in couch next to some laundry. He wasn't sure if it was dirty or clean. Considering he was the same way, he didn't care.

   He found himself with a cup of coffee shoved into both his hands. When he sipped it, it tasted much better than the crap he'd tried a while ago in response to Anias's mental prompting. "What's in this? It's good."

   "Amaretto and some hot chocolate." Rupert blinked. "It won't get you drunk, if that's what you're worried about." How could Shaun read him like that? "I don't generally drink or like normal coffee, that's why I always add stuff to it. 'S why I asked for plenty of cream in my order today."

   "Yeah, your order." Rupert pondered a series of different sequences for those words: Your order. Shaun's order. Ordering Shaun….

   Shaun was sitting on the top ledge of the couch, close to Rupert's head. From that angle, he looked…statuesque. In fact, come to think of it, Shaun was much broader in his shoulders and rib cage than Rupert could ever be. His arms were long and muscley, his torso was lengthy and broad, and his hips (why he was looking, he wouldn't have been able to say) were squared comfortably and practically oozed masculinity. Rupert gulped some of the coffee down in a painful attempt to quell the monster growling inside his gut. Shaun's being nice, so why am I feeling so mad at him? He wondered.

   "So, what are you and Anias exactly?"

   Startled by the question just as much as he was by the way the way his stomach monster snapped at Shaun's smooth voice he answered as best he could, "Um, friends, I guess. I mean, we…we kissed. Twice. But she apparently didn't want it." He knew his voice was becoming loathsome. He was becoming loathsome.

   "Ah, I see." Shaun took a deeper swig at his coffee. "You know, she'll do that. She'll say she wants you one minute then change her mind the next. So…how many people have you kissed?" It didn't occur to Rupert that Shaun had asked about "people" not "girls." He was missing the point of the question.

   "One. Anias."

   "Oh, burn."

   "What about you, then?" he asked defensively. He knew he was going to be outnumbered simply because of the age barrier: sixteen – eighteen, in this scenario – vs. twenty-two.

   Shaun threw his head back in a throaty laugh that made Rupert shiver. "Too many to know better, but not enough to care." He looked at Rupert with shining green eyes. "So then, you've obviously only kissed girls."

   "Yeah." Rupert suddenly felt very uncomfortable. He was always fending off the notion that he was gay, and on top of that, the stomach monster seemed to roar at that sentence: I must really hate the idea. He thought.

   "Ever thought about what it would be like to kiss a dude?"

   "Not really…ok, maybe once or twice, but it doesn't mean I'm gay!"

   Shaun laughed again, this time a little less dramatically. "No, it doesn't. I've kissed boys before, and look at me: I'm stuck on Anias. I lean more towards girls, but occasionally I'll indulge in a little guy-on-guy for myself." He was just so…laid-back about it! And here sat Rupert, Mr. Strong Sense of Sexuality. "So you've thought about doing it. Why haven't you? You're eighteen."

   Rupert winced at the reminder of his own lie. "Yeah well…I don't exactly know a lot of guy-friends who would be ok, fine, and just dandy to make out with me and say that nothing weird happened later."

   Shaun seemed to ruminate on that for a while, but then he got up to refill his mug. He took Rupert's as well, and on his way back from the kitchen, he dimmed the lights. Rupert's stomach monster crouched, curious as to the new surroundings.

   "Um, thanks."

   "Yeah." This time, he sat beside Rupert. The music somehow seemed distant, even though it was loud and rough.

   Rupert started noticing things about Shaun: his breath seemed to be hot and slightly heavier. Every time their arms touched, the monster would crouch a little more and electricity would spike Rupert's sense of touch. Rupert felt tense. And he felt anticipating. He suddenly realized with horror that the monstrous feeling inside of him that had been threatening to burst out wasn't hate: it was lust.

   Oh fuck. He thought.

   "What was that?"

   Oops, he'd said it out loud.

   "I said, oh fuck."

   "In a rush?" And before Rupert could figure out what that had meant, Shaun had pulled his face forward and locked him in a kiss, and to Rupert's utter shock and slight disgust, he kissed back, the monster in his stomach to hum in satisfaction.

   Pretty soon, Amaretto-chocolate-coffee things had been forgotten on the already-cluttered coffee-table, and Rupert found himself underneath Shaun in an ever-growing make-out session. His initial disgust had eroded away, but the shock remained. He was a little more at ease now, and so he risked grinding his hips up; Shaun was just as excited about this as he was.

   Shaun pushed back, moaning into Rupert's mouth. "Hey Rupert,"

   "Uh huh?"

   "Let's move this little shindig into the bedroom, yeah?" Rupert followed Shaun behind a rice screen that served as the divider between sitting room and bedroom. With two-and-a-half hours left to burn, Shaun wasted no time….

   Rupert knew he should feel disgusted with himself. He knew he should be ashamed of what he'd just done. He also knew that that was certainly not the case.

   He was curled up on his side next to Shaun's body – also on his side – and was enjoying the strange sensation that he'd just done something incredibly perfect. Maybe he had. Maybe he hadn't. Maybe up was down. Maybe he didn't mind Shaun so much. He didn't know at the moment, nor did he care.

   He jumped a little at the feel of lips against his neck. Shaun laughed softly and stretched an arm around to hold Rupert's hand. "Jesus, don't go freaking out on me now."

   "I'm not freaking out. Ok. I am. But just a little bit." Rupert bit his lip.

   "'S ok. Don't matter." Shaun sat up and straddled Rupert; just when they were about kiss some more, Shaun chanced a glance at his alarm clock: it was 9:48. "Oh shit." He leaned up and Rupert felt himself sulk in disappointment. "We need to get you home."

   Rupert turned around so that Shaun was now sitting on his ass. "Just fifteen more minutes? Please?"

   "Sorry man, but hey, if you ever fancy coming over again, you're welcome." He could hear the smile in Shaun's voice.

   When they pulled up to Rupert's house, Shaun gave Rupert some tongue good-bye and gave him his own number in exchange for Rupert's. Rupert felt as though he were walking on air the whole way up to his room. He sank onto the bed and just drifted off to sleep. What he didn’t know was that his mother had been asked to give him a message, and since he hadn't said hello to her on the way in, he didn't know what it was or who it was from.

***

   Anias was relieved to find that her old room was exactly the same as when she'd left it. Its bright red walls and golden trim seemed gaudy to her now that she'd calmed down a little since her early adolescence.

   She stroked Clog's head gently as she surveyed all her old books and things that she'd left behind. Clog was the name of her ferret – the same ferret she'd rescued from the drain pipe of this house a few years back. He was old now, and liked to be carried around as opposed to walking by himself. She had imagined that he was also tired from running away from Myrtle, her old cat. They never had gotten the old Tom Cat fixed….

   She sat on her bed and allowed Clog to scurry about on the floor. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of his little ferret claws scraping the floor. It made her smile. It was here at home – in Ireland – that she could forget all about Shaun…and almost forget about Rupert.   

   "Hello sunshine. Feeling better?" Her father poked his head in through the door.

   "Yeah, a little bit. It's…it's good to be home." She smiled weakly, but not untruthfully. She lay back, listening as she heard her father rummage through a box in the kitchen searching for his needles. She shrugged it off. If not for her will power, she'd be in there joining him.

"Mom, what the hell?" Rupert was practically pulling his beautiful red hair out of his head.

   "Don't talk to your mother like that!" His father said, wrapping a pseudo-protective arm around her. Rupert scowled at him.

   "And why not? You do!" he pointed an accusatory finger.

   His father looked shocked – like maybe he wasn't aware that his son could hear every single argument he'd ever had. Like Rupert hadn't been hearing it since he was five years old.

***

   Rupert sulked. Rupert paced. Rupert screamed. For the first time in many, many years, he screamed. There were no words in it, just a thousand cries for help. He needed to get out of this house. His mother and father had banned him from work for a week.

   "You need time off with your family," was his mother's explanation.

   Rupert's retort had been "What family?"

   There was a knock on the door.

   "Who is it?"

   "Charlie."

   … … "Go away."

   … "Alright." Footsteps. "But, just so you know, I was going to go out tonight."

   About five days later, at 11:00 at night, Rupert was lying on his bed and trying not to remember Charlie's offer days earlier. After a few days locked in his room, it began to look enticing. No, he thought bitterly. He's half the reason I'm here. I'm not sure how, but it's got to be true. Then, an idea came to him: What would Anias do?

   He stood up and threw on a hoodie over his pajama shirt, opening the window. He looked out at the lawn below him…it was a long drop. He reached out onto the drain pipe, gulped, and slid down.

   He landed roughly. He raced to his bike and got on it, hurrying in the direction of Anias's house.

***

   She leaned into Shaun – for warmth, for company, for sex. She hadn't seen Rupert in a while, and was worried. She was scared that something had happened to him. So she was escaping. Ignoring the fact that she cared about somebody for once. She didn't care about Shaun…not really anyway. No, he was around. But she didn't care.

***

   Rupert stopped, his tires screeching to a halt. The fancy car was here. He looked up into the lit window: He could see Anias crushed against Shaun, her lips pressed firmly against his. I bet that's not all, damn him. Rupert thought to himself.

   He collected himself and tried hard to think. I should go back. That would be too awkward to walk in on…no! No, I'm going to ruin it for him! She deserves better! He walked into the apartment, and then up the stairs to the third floor. He hesitated at the door, but then knocked. Loudly.

   He could hear rustling and cursing – on Shaun's part – and a little bit of quiet bickering going on. "Who the hell would be calling on you at this hour, you whore?"

   "Shut up! I'm a stripper, not a whore. Don't forget how you met me!" This was a bit of a shock to Rupert's ears, but he shook it off, determined to beat this demon first. "I'll go see." And the next thing he knew, the door opened and standing in its place was Anias, dressed in a silky pink, kimono-inspired robe. "Rupert?" She sounded a little shocked herself. "Hey," she smiled. She looked happy to see him.

   "Hey yourself," he said sheepishly, and was taken by surprise when two arms encircled him and brought him into the house. When she let him go, he looked around a little awkwardly. He hadn't seen the inside the last time he'd been here.

   "Oh my god! How – forget that – where the hell have you been? Here, I insist you have something to drink!" she poured him some wine, the clinking of glass not loud enough to muffle a cough from Shaun, who'd clearly been forgotten.

   "Hi." Rupert scuffed a foot.

   "Hey." Shaun looked stuck between very confused and very angry.

   After another hug, Anias asked about why he hadn't been at work, and then sympathized a great deal more than Rupert was accustomed to. He knew she meant it, but it seemed a little more dramatized than it would have normally been. She was putting on a show.

   Shaun made his exit after an hour of this continual sticky-sweetness. He'd had enough.

   Rupert was beginning to feel very, very giddy: he'd had a few more glasses of wine than he'd meant to, thinking he would just sip at one until it was finished. He couldn't help himself as he leaned over onto Anias's shoulder, staring at her cleavage unabashedly. "You're – you're really, really pretty." He slurred.

   "So are you."

   "Huh?" this confused him.

   "'Seven inches'…remember?"

   He grinned stupidly. "Oh yeah." Then he scrunched his face up with thought. "Wait, you said you didn't believe you…I mean me." he chuckled.

   "So what if I don't." she smelled heady and like wine.

   He'd meant to say, 'I'll have to show you' but it came out as a long groan as he pushed her down. He just lay on her for a while, but was then struck by a fit of inspiration; he began to kiss her. Not a real make-out kiss, but just chaste kisses around her face and neck.

   She pulled his face up to look at him and said, "Kiss me for real, you twit."

   It was three in the morning when Rupert woke up. He blinked in confusion at the ceiling: it was a light shade of blue. Since when was his ceiling blue? "Oh shit!" He sat up, and immediately regretted it – his head hurt and his stomach tossed. "Double shit."

   After a glass of water, he left the house. Anias hadn't been there. He was glad to see that he'd woken up fully-dressed…that almost completely ousted the chance that he'd had sex. But then he remembered the kiss…

   …It was sloppy, but good. She'd put up with him. There had been lots of tongue, and it had grossed him out at first, but he came to like it, and soon found himself trying to get as much of it as he could, delighted when Annie had sucked on his tongue. He'd imagined her doing that somewhere else…

   …He almost crashed into a bush on his bike thinking about it.

   When he got home, he was happy to see that he wasn't being waited for – it was now almost four thirty. He parked the bike and ran quickly and quietly into the house. He did pretty well up until he reached the stairs; he fell on the last one, tripping and waking the whole house, because he'd broken a vase. He stared up at everyone and squinted at the sudden brightness of everything. After telling a very neat lie about getting a drink in the kitchen, Rupert agreed to let Charlie take him back to his room…except instead of Rupert's room, they went to Charlie's.

   He'd expected perfect Charlie to chastise him. To give him a thorough talking-to. But he didn't. Charlie beamed. "You're plastered, aren't you?" He sounded too happy to be Rupert's older brother.

   "Well…I was."

   "Who were you with?"

   "Anias."

   "The girl from work? But I thought you didn't like her…not enough to shag anyway."

   Rupert's eyes went wide and his face contorted a bit. "We didn't do it!...at least, I don't think we did." He added.  

   "Well if you're not sure –"

   "I woke up on her couch with my clothes on!"

   "Oh." Charlie sounded mildly disappointed. "Well, better luck next time."

   Rupert found himself standing outside in the hallway, shaking his head. "Wait,"

   The door opened. "Yes?"

   "If my door was locked, why did they believe my story about getting a drink of water?"

   Another grin. "I figured you'd do something like this, so I told them I unlocked it."

***

   Anias came home to find that her apartment was short one Rupert. She laid down on the sofa and breathed him in, and when she found a single, shining red hair, she held it in front of the window before letting it fall to the floor below. Then, she realized something; she was lying on something warm and lumpy. She pulled it out from beneath her. It was a black hoodie.   

   The next day was Sunday. Rupert didn't have to work anyway, so he didn't fret accidentally only to discover that he was still grounded. He did learn a life lesson though: just because you have the day off, does not mean you have the day off.

   At around one o' clock in the afternoon, there was a knock at the door. Rupert was sitting ruefully in the sitting room with his parents and Charlie, snacking on a few burned sugar cookies, and the unexpected noise surprised him, although it was who was knocking that surprised him the most.

   Martha opened the door and had to stifle a yelp so that it could give way to a very off-key, "Hello, may I help you?"

   "Hi, um…is Rupert home?"

   Martha looked very alarmed to see this…colorful teenage girl on her front step, but even more alarming was the sweatshirt she held in her hand. It was Rupert's.

   "Oh, why…yes. Yes he is." She tried very, very hard not to judge this book by its cover, but was having a difficult time doing so. "Why don't you come in?"

   The girl blushed. "Oh, no, I mean – not to be rude, but I wouldn't want to impose…it is Sunday."

   Suddenly, this girl had won a spot on the outskirts of Martha's heart. "Oh no, it's fine! Do come in!" She ushered the girl into the house, and led her into the sitting room where Rupert promptly dropped his glass of milk. "Anias? W-what are you doing here?!"

   "Returning this," this she held out the hoodie, "Uh…you…you left it at the bookshop last week." She made up, and Rupert was thankful beyond measure that she was smart enough to remember that he was supposed to be grounded.

   "Um…thanks." He went into the kitchen to grab some paper towels so he could clean his mess. He could hear his mother speaking kindly to her and offering her a cookie. She declined, very politely, he noticed. On his way out, he noticed his father making his way hastily to his study. "Alright there, Dad?" he asked.

   "Um, yes fine. Just…fine."

   Rupert cleaned the mess, and when he came to the spot beneath Anias, he took a little time to quickly look up her skirt…that is until she kicked him in the side. He made a low noise of pain.

   "Rupert, are you ok?" He heard his mother ask.

   "Yeah…fine, just leaned on a nail is all." He scowled up at Anias, who smiled placidly back at him. He could hear his brother sniggering.

   It was when his mother asked Anias if she could stay for dinner that Rupert almost lost his nerve. I don't believe it! They're getting along. Though admittedly Anias looked very uncomfortable with the whole situation.

   At dinner, Uncle Bernie spoke quite a bit. The family hadn't heard him talk this much since his fifties…and that had been quite a long time ago. Mainly, he just asked a lot of questions, like where she'd come from ("Ireland"), why her eyes were the color of ripe grapes ( "Birth defect"), did she have any pets ("Yeah, back home in Ireland: a fish, a cat, and my ferret. His name is Clog."), and then who she lived with.

   "I live on my own in downtown London. My...my parents are divorced." She looked extremely ill at ease with where the conversation was going. "My dad lives in Ireland and my mum lives in America."

   "Really?" Martha cut in.

   "Yeah, in California with my half-brother."

   "How interesting. But Anias, aren't you a little young to be living on your own?" Rupert could detect his mother's do-good plots from miles away.

   "She's eighteen, mum." He said.

   Now his mother looked confused. "You're going to college already?"

   "Well…" she could tell it was a dumb idea to tell this woman that she was had…dropped out. "Yeah. I mean, I was a freshman when I was sixteen." Rupert dropped his fork; he hadn't known that.

   "Oh, you must be very intelligent!" He hated the note of happiness in his mother's sour voice…but at the same time, it gave him a little hope.

   "Not really." She said to her food. Rupert noticed she hadn't eaten very much of it.

   It was then that James entered the kitchen, hesitating when he saw that Anias was still there. He sat down however, and put on a grin. He looked over at her and said, "Hello then. And you are…?"

   "Anias. Haven't we met somewhere before?" The tone of her voice was condemning without being obvious to anyone but James and Rupert.

   "No, I… I don't believe we have," he said, spooning potatoes onto his plate. "I think I'd remember a hair-do like that!" he smiled.

   She nodded in silence.

   At about eight, Anias insisted that it was time for her to go home. Rupert offered to walk her out to her car, and his mother reminded her that she always had a place at the house.

   If only she knew, Rupert thought to himself. When he was sure they were out of ear-shot, he grabbed Anias by the forearm. "You never told me you were a stripper!" he hissed in the dark.

   "A bigger point if it mattered." She sounded patronizing.

   "It does matter!"

   "Why?"

   "Because…because it does!" he breathed, trying to pull himself together. "Ok, look, it's just a bit of a shock…even for you." He was glad to see her smile at that. "But why did you ask my dad if you'd met him before?"

   She looked down. "Rupert. I saw him. At work. At my work. He paid me a lot of money on the way out –"

   "You didn't!" he shouted.

   "No! No, no, no! I would never do that! But I thought you should know."

   "Are you sure it was my dad?"

   "Definitely."

   "Are you positive?"

   She smirked. "Only fools are positive." He got the message.

   "Wow." There was an awkward silence between them, and Anias said she had to go.

   "Wait!"

   She turned.

   "Wait…" he stepped in closer and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her to him. Their lips met. A long, wet, soft kiss followed. Tongue like before, except not sloppy – passionate without being obscene. "Don't go to work tonight. Call out sick. Please."

   She looked uncertain. "Oh…I…alright." She bit her lip and looked irresolute, but kissed him again on the lips and said, "Ok." And then she left, leaving Rupert standing in the middle of the walk-way alone and astonished with his own actions.

   That night, when Anias got home, she called her manager. She said she couldn't come in to work because she was sick. It was only half a lie.

   She sat back in bed and thought about the kiss. She wished it hadn't happened. No. She wished it had happened…a long time ago.

***

   "Oh, mmm…OH!!" Rupert let go of himself and fell onto his bed with a muffled "thwump." "Oh GOD that felt good!" he sighed and looked out into the night, wondering if Annie had kept her promise. KNOCK, KNOCK,KNOCK! He groaned and pulled some pants on. "Come in!"

   "You must be in a good mood – not even asking who it is." Charlie came into view from behind the door.

   "I am."

   "I heard."

   A scowl. "What do you want?"

   "To talk." Charlie sat on the bed beside his younger brother. "So…that was her? The girl you got drunk with, I mean?"

   "The one and only." He said truthfully.

   "She's hot."

   "Fuck off, you have a girlfriend."

   "It was an observation. And besides, I thought you two weren't dating…not that your kiss outside gave it away or anything." He smiled at the sight of Rupert's eyes widening and his mouth opening up in a silent rage.

   "The fuck were you watching us for, you pervert?"

   "It wasn't for enjoyment, believe me. It's just hard to ignore your younger brother when his moans are floating in through an open window." He laughed when Rupert's face fell into a look of shame and terror. "Relax, Mum didn't hear. Come to think of it, Dad didn't seem to keen on meeting your little girlfriend."

   "She's not my girlfriend. We just…make out sometimes." God that sounded bad. "And the reason is because…well…let's just say Anias has indeed met dad before. In a very…compromising situation."

   "What do you mean?"

   Rupert's mind and heart were bitching at each other on an internal debate. He deserves to know. "Anias…worksasastripper." His heart had won. "And… shesawdadattheclubsheworksat."

   "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on a minute! Your girlfriend –"

   "SHE'S NOT MY GIRLFRIEND!"

   " – Anias then, is a stripper?" Rupert was ready for the blow, but it never came. "You lucky bastard."

   "Focus Charlie, focus! Dad's going out to strip clubs behind mum's back!"

   "Right…. But still…" he looked at Rupert with a look of envy. Finally, he said, "Are you going to tell mum?"

   "No. Feel free to invite her wrath unto yourself if you think she deserves to know so badly." He crossed his arms.

   "No thanks." Charlie stood up, and on his way out, he turned around to say, "And do me a favor little brother – if you must shout, shout into your pillow." Rupert's face reddened as he watched his brother leave the room.

Anias wiped her face one last time and crawled out of bed. She huffed in front of the bathroom mirror causing her hair to tousle even more than it already had. She felt disgusting, for of all of two reasons. One was that she had spent three hours in her bed, crying and sniffling and mourning…as well as guilt-tripping herself to no end. She was her own most ruthless opponent. All inclusive package, she thought sarcastically as she blew her nose.

   The other reason was that if she looked out her window at the parking spaces that line the sidewalk beside the apartment complex, she would probably see the rubber from Shaun's car tires burnt onto the pavement…

   … "Anias…come on baby, just one more time. I need you." He pushed her head down, firmly and with no shame; no courtesy. No choice.

   "Shaun, we shouldn't…we really shouldn't." But even as she spoke these words, she barely believed them, because while she spoke them, she was still undoing the zipper of his jeans.

   "That's right, come on…" he encouraged her down again.

   And when it came time for sex, even as she hit gold on an orgasm, she whispered, "No…no, please no!" She hated him…no…

   …She hated herself. "God, you're a whore." She said to herself. She imagined her reflection winking.  

   There was a noise at her door; the door had opened and shut, quite abruptly. Had Shaun come back? She wondered a little hopefully, but mostly with resentment. Had she been crying so hard that she hadn't even heard his car?

   She went into the kitchen to the door and saw that no one had come in. There was a crumpled piece of paper wedged between the door and its frame. She slipped it the rest of the way through, but didn't have the heart to read it…she'd save it for later.

   As she walked back to bed, she passed the window, and swore that she had glimpsed a blur of red hair and a bicycle.

***

   Why did I do it? Rupert wondered to himself as he pumped his legs, cycling back to his house. It had been a lot of work, finding her house: he'd asked at work seeing as everyone seemed to be friends with her. Once he'd gotten directions, he had to develop an excuse so that when he got home, he'd have a credible reason. Then he had to get to the apartment, which had been dangerous in and of itself. The neighborhood was wonderful…it was the drivers that sucked. He'd almost been hit by a car that whose occupant was a narrow-faced young man, with hair very similar to Rupert's. It had been a really nice car….

   Then, he'd gotten into the complex and left the note to her in the door, and he was seriously regretting his choice: he was going to be so embarrassed come Monday.

   When he got home, he parked his bike in the driveway, and walked up the path to get to the front door where his mother was waiting just as he knew she'd been, not a bit less cross than he had imagined.

   "Where on earth have you been?" she snapped. "It's nearly seven o' clock!"

   "I had decided to help close up shop tonight. It took longer than I thought it would. Sorry, I…I should have called." He threw in apologetically, knowing it would give him both scolding and brownie-points concurrently. "I promise I'll call next time!"

   "Yes well," she sounded somewhat mollified, "Be that as it may, it's time to come in. You've missed dinner and I was worried about you!"

   "Figures…" he muttered.

   "What was that darling?"

   "Dinner, I'm sorry I missed dinner." He invented imaginatively.

   That night, Rupert lay in his bed and stared upward, then out the window in the direction of Annie's apartment. He started to imagine a history between himself and Anias. He felt wrong and dirty and unfaithful for doing it…Oh screw it! Rebecca hates my guts anyway.

   He imagined Anias lounging on the ground, her head in his lap as they sat beneath his favorite apple tree. He imagined her lips kissing trails down his neck…his chest…his hips….further. "God, if only I could wake up next to you." He didn't know where the hell this was coming from, but he let it continue, trying hard to ignore his body's reaction to the well-imagined fantasy. He tried to imagine what she would feel for him…embarrassment and slight guilt. She didn't like to treat relationships like anything but trophies…but she wouldn't do that to him. He had no idea what was making do it, but he couldn't take it anymore. He broke out some paper and a pen, and began to write.

"Last year's kisses are this year's tragedies and every time I give it thought

I miss the way your lips would brush against these hips,"

   What? There was no harm in any imagination, was there?

"And the wish is only widened by the drink I've got in my hand.

Tell me that you love me; I don't care if you're lying

'Cause it's better off that way. But I know you're telling the truth, almost as if to say…"

***

   She put the bottle down with the muffled 'thump' of glass. She'd have to buy more wine tomorrow – that had been her last bottle. She lit up a cigarette and pulled lengthy drags off it until it was spent. Hadn't taken long.

   She made her way to bed and snuggled underneath the blankets, but when she made to rest her head on the pillow, she heard a faint crumpling noise. Oh that's right! She thought, taking the forgotten letter out form underneath her.

   She grinned: Normal: 5 inches, Hard: 7 ½ inches.

   And at the bottom was scribbled, Thought you ought to know.

   She placed the dirty little note underneath her pillow and closed her eyes with a sigh. She knew who it was from. It was the first time in a long time that she slept well.

   When Anias woke the next morning – Monday – she hummed softly to herself, not bothering to get ready. She wasn't going out today. She was going to make him wait until tomorrow for her company. It was kind of obvious that Rupert enjoyed it, even if he did find her annoying. She ate a slow breakfast, made a few important telephone calls, and went back to bed. She needed to sleep today – she was going back to work tonight. She hadn't turned up for ages, due to her fascination with Rupert, and her manager had threatened to fire her. She needed that money.

***

   "Where is she?" Rupert was pacing nervously in the back of the store during his lunch break. It was 11:00 am and she still hadn't come by. Not even for a few minutes. Not even with any of her friends. She hadn't shown up at all.

   He knew he shouldn't have given her that nasty note. He knew that even she hadn't really wanted that much information.

   He tried to keep his hopes up for the rest of the day, but no suck luck: she never came by.

***

   Rupert lay nervous in a bath that night.

   Anias set out to work in a faux fur coat and a bright purple scarf. Her shiny black heels clicked in the dark of the night.

   He laved himself, hoping that the feeling would relax him. It didn't.

   She went in through the back door and found what she liked to call, her 'desk' because that's what it was: it just happened to have lights and make-up and drawers full of lacy lingerie. She pushed her bag under her vanity – desk – and pulled a few things out to wear: white fishnets, pink panties, a powder-blue skirt that could barely be considered decent, and a far too short tube top: also blue. After she had her 'work clothes' on, she did her hair and make-up. She'd added a pink working tie just for effect.

   He went to bed, wishing that he had never sent that stupid note. Wishing he could still think of her as awful and in horrible taste as opposed to thinking, I bet she tastes great.

   Cat calls. Whistles. Whoops. Money. She crawled on all fours like an animal to the closest business man and took his bowler along with his £50 note…that she took with her teeth, being sure to graze his hand with her teeth ever-so-lightly. So very tantalizing.

   Rupert held fast, squeezing harder on the upstroke, picturing her face above him, heated and with her teeth bared in a…

   …feral growl – a guttural lie that emanated from deep within her throat. She stood….

   Rupert wished so much for her to be right here with him, that it was she doing this to him, not his own hand. But her mouth. "Ooooooohhhhhh…" the note raised in pitch and his back arched.

   She let the top fall and was barraged with money and calls and a few pieces of paper with phone numbers.

   Rupert exhaled deeply. He was so tired.

***

   At around four in the morning, Anias packed her things and said good-bye to her manager – who apologized for being so rude once he'd heard about the latest visit from Shaun. After what had happened between Anias and him, Shaun was banned from the club. "Don't let that shit get you down, Anias. That scum doesn't deserve a girl like you!" he'd told her with pride.

   He had been trying very hard to help Anias get out of his place of business: there would always be girls who took jobs as strippers. There was only one Anias Aìthne, and only one person he knew who had that voice.

   When Tuesday rolled around, Anias returned to the bookshop. She counted herself as lucky: Mondays, Fridays and Sundays – these were her new working days. They were the best days to own. Monday because that was the beginning of the week when all the business men were tired from going back to work. Fridays 'cause it was the end of the week – pretty self-explanatory, not to mention that all the college boys – and some of the girls – would turn up. Sunday because all the unfaithful church husbands came in. 

   Tonight, she wouldn't have to work. Today, she could spend all day with Rupert.

   Rupert was already at hard at work referring a book to someone. Anias smiled – a warm, genuine smile. Rupert was talking. To someone other than she. And he looked happy about it.

   When Rupert looked up and saw her standing there and staring at him with a look of…was that tenderness?...he could feel butterflies begin to pixilate inside his stomach.

   "How are you?" She sounded different.

   "Alright. You?" He smiled nervously. He had decided earlier that morning that he was going to make himself as obvious as his social autism would allow.

   "Good…" she lied. "Got your letter by the way." She winked.

   He laughed, "If that's what you'd like to call it." He looked down, silently begging his Converse to teach how to converse.

   "It sounds good. Really good."

   Oh wow. Was she really flirting with him? "Really?" he cursed the eagerness in his voice.

   "Yeah. But, what would you say if I told you I didn't necessarily believe you?" she smiled.

   "I guess I'd have to say I'll prove it to you." Had he really just said that?

   Before he could hear what she had to say to that, his moment of flirtatious happiness came crashing down around his ankles.

   "Anias!" They both looked toward the voice: a tall man with a narrow face and shiny red locks was approaching. His hair bounced a little as he walked.

   "Er…Shaun. Well, I must say, this is…unexpected." She spit it out through gritted teeth.

   Rupert felt his temperature rise as he watched Shaun bring Anias into a hug…more of a grope. He thought to himself. He glared at the other redhead with all the hate he could muster.

***

   Martha was worried about her youngest son – deeply worried. Ever since he'd gotten that job at that bookshop, he was becoming more and more distant all the time. He wasn't even remembering his church material anymore! She would have to speak with her husband about this.

   Seeing as where it was Sunday evening, she knew he'd be in his study, reading. She walked down the stairs and knocked. Nobody answered.

   "James, darling?"

   Still no answer.

   She pushed the door opened and found that the study was empty.

***

   Anias was working all she had, and had a very responsive audience tonight and she knew she'd be paid handsomely. There was one man in the audience in particular who was making no noise at all. He just sat and smiled, appreciating her near-nakedness and marvelous singing-voice.

   On the way out, he'd slipped her a very generous donation. It would pay for all of next month's rent and then some.

   "Oh you're not still on about that Shaun-guy again, are you?" Rupert asked exasperatedly.

   "Only a little." Anias sighed into her coffee cup. "It wouldn't be so hard if he'd just stop calling me all the time." She'd had a fit that morning, and for some bizarre reason, Rupert had found himself comforting her.

   "Well tell him to sod off! Tell him you have a boyfriend!" he said. His upbringing and most of his conscience had drilled him that nobody ought to treat a girl the way this guy had been treating Anias…even if she was miserable to be around.

   "That would be a lie."

   "Oh, as if you couldn't get away with it." he smirked.

   "No, I couldn't." she sipped again. "He knows me too well, Rupert. He'll want to meet the bloke, seeing as he and I are still friends." She held that last word with slight contempt.

   "Oh." Rupert thought for a moment; he could make her better or he could make her worse. At this point, he really didn't care which because anything was better than her numbness towards the general public. He disliked her idea of balance: no opinion at all. Quite unlike her really. He thought. As was mentioned, he could make her better or he could make her worse. "Well that was dumb on your part." He went back to pretending to be hard at work behind the café counter.

   "Excuse me?"

   "I called you out on a dumb decision, and now you're probably going to storm out on me again." He noticed that the last bit had really been him thinking to himself. The odd thing was that it sounded more resentful and hurt than hopeful and happy.

   Anias looked for a moment like she might deck Rupert. But she didn't. "No, you're right. I…I just can't help it though; he has so many problems!" She looked up at the ceiling.

   Rupert couldn't help but notice her bright choice of lipstick today: Bright red. Bright cherry red. It reminded him of last night: "lips full and red as a cherry on the tree." He shook his head. "Doesn't mean you have to deal with them."

   "Yes it does, he's my friend." For the first time since he'd known her, Anias sounded defensive. It made him smile just a bit.

   "No, it doesn't. You have to fix your problems before you can go and save the world." He said brightly, refilling her cup of coffee…hoping that no one would ever notice that he had stopped charging her two cups ago. When she stayed silent, he said, "Besides, he doesn't seem like a good friend to me." he'd learned early on not to use the term, 'no offense but…' because she would then take immediate offense before the words came out of your mouth.

   "Oh, like you'd know a good friend if they sat on you."

   He laughed. The sight reminded him comically of a drunken dame at a bar, rudely reminiscing with her favorite bar-tender. "Good friends don't let other good friends sit on them." He had also given up on defending what she called his 'social autism.'

   She looked at him for a moment before a grin spread across her face. "Yes they do."

   Despite how well their conversation the day before had gone, Rupert couldn't help but moan in agony and frustration at the fact that Anias had left again, and in quite the hurry. He couldn't even remember what he'd said this time. She should be a lawyer he decided, considering he couldn't remember what happened; she was talented at talking circles that somehow made sense.

   Another thing: he knew he thought of her as annoying. She was older than him – eighteen – and had all those friends and that ex-boyfriend-thingie, and besides all that, he had to admit, she was…good-looking. She must have something better to do than bug him. He always dreamed of her leaving him alone when they got into their little fights…but once she did, he couldn't help but feel a little lonely.       

   His internal monologue was interrupted by knocking at the front door. When he heard his name called, he walked slowly down the stairs to see who it was: no one ever called for him, so….

   It was Rebecca. Rupert stood in shock at the sight of her: her dark ringlets caught the light beautifully and her face looked pale in the rainy light of the day. "Hi Rupert," she said.

   Rupert swallowed. "Um, hi Rebecca."

   "I was wondering if maybe you'd like to take a walk with me down the street?"    

   "Oh yeah! Of course, sure…." He was walking into a disaster.

   Hot. Wonderful. Water. He didn't even have it in him to pretend to drown tonight. She'd given him quite the embarrassment. "How could I have been so stupid?" He asked the ceiling. "I mean, I knew she didn't like me!" he turned his head sharply to face the tub wall so that the water splashed about. "God, the fact that she wouldn't even let me finish my song let me know right away…so why did I hope that she would like me?"

   It was then that Rupert believed himself to have officially lost his mind; he jerked bolt upright when he heard Anias's voice. "Because, you want her, that's why."

   He looked around, searching for the telltale signs: bright hair, purple eyes, and a slight sneer. She sounded like she was in a bad mood.

   "Anias…is that…are you…here? With me? Now?" he squeaked.

   "Not exactly, Rupert." He looked around, but still saw no girl. "I'm simply filling in for your voice of reason, who has seemed to take a week off. Poor bloke…judging by the conditions, you're probably over-working him." She sounded chastising  

   "So…" he probed nervously, looking upward as if he could look into his own mind, "…so then you're not really here…while I'm bathing?" He had his fingers crossed under the water.

   "Oh of course not silly! I'm merely a figment of your imagination, no doubt about that…though, if I really were here to witness this I'm sure I would be shocked to find that you actually possess an imagination." He could just picture Annie (as he'd affectionately named her last week – in his own mind) with a finger lifted to her chin in mock thoughtfulness.

   "Great," he sat back and reclined into the tub. "Now she's even in my head."

   "Oh cheer up, I won't say a word." And that was the last of his momentary insanity…for the moment.     

   Rupert loved his new job. He even kind of liked the people. Ok…some of them. The other employees didn't speak with him much, and he wasn't complaining, but some of the customers were down-right weird! And considering he sporadically enjoyed his own uncle's company, it was quite a bit for him to say that.

   But there was one person who topped them all off: he didn't know her name, but she came into the shop everyday, mostly by herself. Sometimes, she was surrounded by friends, but she never seemed to come in with only one or two people. It was always an extreme with her: she was either alone or was with too many people at once. Rupert honestly didn't see how she could get on with that many people, especially all at once.

   Moreover, she looked outrageous: her hair was shoulder-length and wispy, all equal parts platinum, yellow, green, and magenta. It intrigued him to no end. She was voluptuous, and he had to admit that he was a little enthralled by it. She was so different from Rebecca, who was all thin and dark. This girl was so bright!

   But his fascination was quickly dashed…

***

   Anias lounged, stretching  languidly upon the café sofa. She watched him from a safe distance, playing it cool, playing it…well, safe. He'd been working here for a week. A whole week without a word. Not just to her, but from what she could tell, anyone. It disgusted her. Nobody that cute should be allowed to stay so silent. She thought.

   What she liked most about him, so far, was his hair. She'd always had this thing for red-heads…ever since Shaun…but his hair was just beautiful. She wanted very badly to be in a compromising position with him, perhaps clutching that same, gorgeous red hair. Yeah, she sighed, I wonder if he's a screamer.

   She pondered this for a while before deciding that after an entire week of watching this kid be silent, she was going to have to force him into talking. She strolled up to the counter – he was working in the café today – making sure that he was the only person available to wait on her. She waited patiently as the boy came to the conclusion that, yes, he'd have to talk to her.

   He approached her awkwardly, and said, "Erm, hello…what could I get you?" Anias bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing. She resisted the strong urge to make some suggestive remark about what he could get her.

   She shrugged for a moment. "Carmel latte would be nice…if you could please, bring it over to me?" She pouted a bit, tilting her head.

   He looked at her, first incredulously, then after looking down for a few seconds, frustrated but willing. She liked how his full lips made a half-pout in reluctant compliance.

   Satisfied, she made her way back to the couch, making sure to sashay a little as she walked. She wasn't done yet, however. She watched him as he tried ever-so-awkwardly to make her drink. She was happy to see that when he brought it over, he lingered for a moment.

   "Thanks, mate." She winked at him.

   "Um…yeah, any…any time." He found himself saying, wondering why the hell he was so struck by her. She was…well…weird. But then again, so was he.

***

   When Rupert got home that day, he realized he had a problem. He wasn't quite sure about what, exactly, but unfortunately, his body was. It was at the dinner table that he blurted it out, and discovered exactly what was wrong.

   "So darling, how was your day at work?" his mother asked.

   "Good." He said. It was bloody great. He thought.

   "Anything special about it?" she inquired. The only other sound was the clattering of cutlery against plates.

   "There's this girl…" he hadn't meant for it to come out that way. Or at least, he didn't think he had.

   For a moment, Rupert thought he'd followed in Uncle Bernie's footsteps because all was silent. His mother looked from him to his father, and both of them broke into wide smiles. And for once, Rupert was happy – he'd made his parents smile.

   And then the door slammed: Charlie was home.

   Charlie was perfect. Perfect grades, perfect looks, perfect at church, perfect at home, perfectly clean room, perfect every-fucking-thing. And Rupert hated it. You see, it went like this: Rupert had ok grades (his math grade had been a disaster), had long red hair and freckles and was too lanky (Charlie had short blonde hair and was muscley…with no freckles), he was always slouching and missing words out in church, he missed dinner on occasion to have a bath, and had a very messy room. Rupert was anything but perfect.

   Charlie took a seat at the dinner table, and said in a rather horsy voice, "So, what did I miss?" He really didn't know what he was asking.

   Their father was the first to answer. "It seems Rupert here has taken a fancy to a girl at work."

   "DAD!" Rupert let his fork down with a clatter.

   Charlie took this as a sign that, yes, Rupert had indeed fallen for some girl he met at work. "Very good, very good. I was honestly starting to wonder if he was gay."

   The phrases "I'm not gay!" from Rupert, and "Charlie!" from their mother arrived simultaneously.

   "What? I'm only saying…" he trailed off.

   "I'm not gay." Rupert asserted. "But neither do I fancy the girl! All I did was answer the bloody question! You asked me if there was something special, and I said, yes, there's this girl…. And she is. She's different, and from what I can see, she comes to the café every single day. And today she talked to me, and made me bring her the drink she ordered. I didn't even talk to her, really. I don't fancy her!" He realized he was standing now, and so he walked away with the peculiar sense that he had just lied.

   Later that night, as Rupert was trying fruitlessly to fall asleep, there was a knock at his door. "Who is it?" he asked.

   "Charlie."

   He would wait a few moments. Make him wait. "Come in."

   The door opened and in stepped his perfect brother, with his perfect look of mingled worry and amusement. "May I…?" he pointed at the bed.

   "Sit."

   Charlie looked around for a moment, absorbing how this room hadn't changed in the least for sixteen years. The only new things were the bed and a few more posters. But then, "Where'd you get this one?" he ran his fingers over a poster of a band. He and Rupert had never really had the same taste in music, but often times, he used to buy Rupert CDs because their mother and father would never have approved of Rupert's taste in music.

   "Oh. They're an American Band. I got the poster from work. Said they didn't need it anymore."

   "Really? An American band? Tell me more."

   Rupert was taken by surprise; his brother had never really shown much interest in him before. "Oh well, yeah. Um…well, they're called The Academy Is…. Their music is…really…hold on." Rupert reached over to his CD player and pressed play, knowing that their album was the last one he'd been listening to. The music began and after the first song, he pressed stop. "So, what'd you think?"

   "You're right. They're different." He mused.

   "You didn't like it." Instead of the usual feeling of appreciation he got from liking something Charlie did not, Rupert was filled with an immense sadness.

   "No." Fuck Charlie's honesty. "But, just because I didn't like it, doesn't mean they're not good." Well, this was unexpected.

   "Yeah. They're really good." He could hear the tone of defensiveness in his voice.

   For a few moments, there was silence. Not awkward, exactly, but strange. And then, Charlie spoke. "That girl, at the bookstore…does she work there too?"

   "No, she just…shows up there. Every day. She's a bit odd though, she always stares at me."

   Charlie laughed.

   "What?"

   "Let's assume you don't fancy her, as you made clear downstairs." Rupert blushed at the mention of his 'performance'. "Did you not stop to think that maybe she fancies you?"

   "No, no. She can't, she doesn't know me!"

   "Maybe. But I was only wondering. We all kind of had hopes for it. You know…."

   Rupert thought for a moment. "There is a girl I like…Rebecca."

   Charlie cocked his head to one side. "Rebecca, from church?" Rupert nodded. "But Rupert she's…she really isn't your type."

   "How the hell would you know?"

   Charlie took the hint and stood. "Right then, I'll uh…just leave you to your thoughts."

   The only thoughts Rupert had the rest of the night were what Charlie could have meant by, "She's not your type."

   It was not until he got to work the next day, that Rupert remembered he had the day off on Wednesdays. "Oh shit." He had no way home other than his bike, and he was not going to make that journey yet. "I might as well go into the store anyway."

   He stepped in and found a book of poetry, and sat down on the sofa to read it. What he didn't discern, was that he was sitting on Anias's couch.

   It must have been one in the afternoon by the time he was moved from his book. There was a shadow that had come out of no where, and then, "Excuse me, but have we met before?"

   Rupert looked up. Somehow, her hair seemed brighter today. "Erm, not really."

   "Me thinks we have."

   "You read Shakespeare?"

   "Yeah, so budge up and let me have a look at that book you're reading."

   Rupert moved over before he could stop himself.   

   She peered over his shoulder, and stayed silent for a while. He tried his hardest to ignore the few strands of brightly-colored hair that covered his shoulder "Poetry? I wouldn't have thought it."

   "I like poetry." He said, somewhat defensively. "I write it."

   "So do I."

   "Really?"

   "Yeah." She waited for a moment. "What's your name?"

   "Rupert." Why he was giving his name to a complete stranger, Rupert never quite figured out.

   "I like it."

   "Sorry?"

   "Rupert. I like your name." God, she was strange.

   "Um…thanks, I guess." He mulled the situation over in his head: this girl had just sat down next to him as though they were old friends. The same girl whom he'd waited on yesterday. The same girl that had been staring at him for the last week. The same girl who had made him bring her coffee. "What's your name?" he asked, feeling rather childish.

   "Anias."

   "Oh…you mean, like the writer?" He could feel the flush creeping up his cheeks. He wasn't supposed to read that particular brand of writing.

   "I suppose…not that I can really put myself with her…."

   It was just…so…awkward. But Rupert found that it didn't stop there….

***

   "Goooooooood! Do you ever go away?" He asked Anias, who was sitting comfortably on a shelving stool beside him as he restocked books.

   "Nope." She said, showing absolutely no signs of offence at his remark. "Not until you answer my question, at any rate." She was currently thumbing through a manga entitled, "Tramps Like Us" and studying the various dirty positions of the characters.

   Rupert turned to her, his livid blue eyes meeting her serene violet ones. "How in the bloody name of Jesus am I supposed to answer something like that?"

   She looked up at him and said, "Honestly."

   He growled in frustration, attracting attention. "There really is no preamble with you, is there?"

   "Only in bed." She looked entertained "So, you've never wanked before?"

   He blinked. Deciding it was best if he just answered her, he plunged: "well of course I have! But it's not as if I ever thought to whip out a tape-measure too, you know?"

   "So what you're telling me is, you've never wondered how big your –"

   "No!" he cut her off before she could finish that thought.

   "You know, Rupert, for a boy of sixteen, you show an immense lack of curiosity!"

   "Well for a college drop-out, you seem to have far too much of it!" They were both shouting now, and everyone was watching. Some of them – those who knew Anias – were smiling. "And another thing, where do you get off asking about that?"

   "I'm not at liberty to answer you." She said, legs crossed.

   "And why not?"

   "Because you don't know how big it is, which means neither do I, which means I won't get off, so there. I can't tell you 'where I get off.'" She seemed pleased with herself as Rupert tried desperately to untangle himself from the sentence. "But do me a favor, dearie –"

   "I'm not your dearie."

   "And find out tonight." And with that, she left the shop, leaving Rupert in a puddle of confusion.

   That night at the dinner table, Rupert would not speak. He was too frazzled by the day's argument with Anias to really want to speak. Today was nothing really. Yesterday, it had been about why he didn’t have a girlfriend – she also seemed to suspect he was gay. The day before that it had been why he never went to concerts, and on that same day, it had been why he didn’t drink coffee. When he answered that his mother had told him it was bad for him, she'd laughed and said, "Your mother must be quite the hypocrite then." And before he could defend his mother, he realized Anias was right.

   That was another problem: Anias was almost always right! How anyone so young could be so smart, he would never know. So smart, so stubborn, and so incredibly annoying!

   He took a bath; he pretended to drown to the sounds of his parents arguing. He told Charlie to bugger off on his way to his room before bed. Charlie smiled and nodded.

   After deciding it was far too hot to sleep in pajamas whilst covered – he couldn't sleep without the covers on, even in July – he lay in bed, trying hard not to think. He was afraid of what his brain would concoct. But he failed miserably. He began to think about this morning, watching Uncle Bernie play his piccicello before work. He never understood quite how the thing worked, but somehow, it managed. It looked like a clarinet, but it had one long hole down the front and no valves. Instead, the hole was covered by strings, all of different thickness. While blowing into the piccicello, you had to use a bow to strike the strings. His uncle had invented it.

   Then, he thought about the ride to work. It had been nice because the sun was out and there was barely any traffic that morning. He'd had enough spare money to buy himself a bun from the bakery for breakfast, and in light of recent events, willed himself to try coffee. It sucked.

   Then he thought about how during his lunch break, he had gone to the library to get himself a library card. With it, he borrowed a book by Anias Nin. Speaking of Anias, she'd followed him in there. He was pleased though, because she had helped him find a book by her namesake that he had never even heard of before, and after that, kept mostly to herself.

   But that could only last for so long. It was shortly after that, he remembered, that their fight had taken place. And it was after that, that she'd left him all by his lonesome, fuming over the question. It was her last remark, 'find out tonight' that had really made him mad. But it also made him think: how big was it, really? He had never cared before, but now, just because she'd mentioned it, he wanted to know, and it would not stop nagging him. That's it, he thought, and got out of bed, dressing again.

   He knew there was only one place to find a ruler, a tape-measure…anything of that sort: Charlie's room. When he reached it, he knocked softly. No answer. He opened the door, and stepped in. Charlie appeared to be asleep. Rupert walked very, very carefully. More carefully than ever in his life. And the strange part was, it gave him a sense of fun to be doing this; sneaking off into his brother's room to borrow a tape-measure for something he otherwise never would have contemplated doing.

   He reached the desk where he knew it would be, opened the second to the top drawer on the right, and found it right next to the duct tape. Ahh, the advantages of having a perfectionist brother. He thought as he held his prize aloft, and began the journey back across the room. Rupert had never been cocky before now, so he had never known what it can do to a person's ability to sneak.

   BAM-CRASH-AND-BOOM!!!

   He'd tripped on the only available thing: his own two feet, and landed crash in the middle of the room. Luckily, his parents were heavy sleepers. Charlie, on the other hand, was not.

   "What the fuck are you doing? It's two in the fucking morning!" He said, reaching for the lamp. When the light came on, Charlie's face came into view, raving mad.

   "Err, sorry, just needed to borrow something."

   "What?"

   "Your…your tape-measure."

   Silence. "Why?"

   "I…" now was the moment of truth. "I wanted to know how…er…big my…you know, is."

   More silence, this time, more pronounced. "Use your own tape-measure." He sounded half angry, half joyous – perhaps because Rupert was showing interest in his own anatomy.   

   "Haven't got one." And so broke the dilemma.

   Charlie thought for a moment. He wanted to encourage his younger brother in what he thought was a good direction. On the other hand, it was his tape-measure. Ew. "Oh alright." Rupert looked ecstatic. "But make sure you thoroughly wash it before you put it back!" he said. Rupert nodded and left.

   Back in his room, Rupert grabbed his notebook and a pen; no reason to forget. Who knew, maybe it would be important someday. He got naked again and lied down flat on his back. He was almost unsure of what he should do. It seemed…embarrassing, even if it was just he, himself, and him.

   He pulled the covers off of himself – making him feel even more embarrassed – and pulled out the tape-measure so that it was an even foot. It would be easier to tell if he was good or not. He reached down, and underneath the moonlight, checked. He sighed. Reaching for his notebook, he wrote, Normal: 5 inches. He sighed again, desperate for relief from the oncoming blush. Then, another thought occurred to him. It couldn't hurt to try when I'm…hard. He let the blush take over.

   He reached down again, without the tape-measure this time, and grabbed. He tried to think about Rebecca, but for some reason, it wasn't working too well, so he pulled the notebook over to himself and found his last entry. He'd worked on it a little since the beginning. "Rolling silk waves and eyes the size of baby worlds; unbeknownst to their own violet brilliance. Milky breasts that are full like the hills…a voice that carries more than good will. Hair of palest intent for thee and lips full and red as a cherry on the tree. Taste like licorice, smell like rain, the heart of a car-wreck: a crashing train." He felt a heavy weight between his legs, and knew that the poetry had done its job. He set the book down and took up the tape-measure yet again, and checked. 7 ½ inches was what he wrote down. Not bad, I guess. He tried to forget the painful swelling that he had so carelessly inflicted upon himself. It hurt. Badly. He sighed and sat up, and pulled the book in front of him again. He finished the job, barely pushing his journal out of the way in time.

   He had to admit, it gave him a weird feeling of self-satisfaction to have gone through all that. Especially the last part.

***

   It was two-thirty am. What in the bloody hell gave Shaun a right to call her right now?

   "I knew you'd be awake." He said. She could hear the smile in his voice.

   Oh yeah. She wished he'd never known about her insomnia.

   Anias didn't bother to remember the conversation after she'd hung up the phone. It was all pointless drabble anyway; Shaun rolling wave upon wave of pick-up lines on her, trying to ask her out again. She would never say yes. Ever. They were friends now, and she liked it that way. No more booty calls. No more fucks. No more Shaun.

Chapter I: Get A Job – Get A Life

   It was a grey, rainy day, and Rupert – for the life of him – couldn't figure out how his mother had talked him into doing this: delivering home-baked goods to a bunch of old farts, all of various degrees of insanity. On a bike. Because he couldn't drive.

   So now, as he finished delivering the final package (a collection of sugar cookies that were better-made than the ones in his own home) to the last batty old woman, he thanked the lord that he didn't believe in, because she had tried to chat him up. God, he thought, disgusted.

   Rupert was a quiet boy of sixteen, and had been home-schooled since the age of seven, simply because his over-extensively religious parents thought that he would become corrupted by the children of the public school system. It's all their fault, was a common motto of Rupert's when describing his parents; he was aggressively anti-social and had the hardest time getting through conversations. If sending me off to be hit on by old women who have more wrinkles than a freaking raisin is my mother's way of teaching me social grace… he thought to himself, hating his mother. Really, he thought she meant well, but she sucked at going about it.

   His color was rising, concealing his freckles as he rode through the mist and drizzle back home. He would have liked to be anywhere else…but he didn't know where else to go. He had no friends. He had no growing room for his interests – most of which he had yet to discover. But more importantly, he had no life.

   He grunted to himself in a mixture of frustration and wishful thinking as he passed by a young couple standing at a bus stop, shamelessly making out.

   When he arrived home, he promptly made a bee-line for his room so he could strip and get into the bath; he could hear the yelling in the kitchen.

   "Well James, maybe if you'd just get off your ass and talk to the boy, you'd know him a little bit better!"

   "Martha, please." The calm, scratchy voice of Rupert's father surrounded the silence. "You can't talk about knowing him."

   "I don't know what you mean." Rupert had stopped in the middle of the stairwell – he wasn't really sure why, because he hated hearing his parents fight. He could imagine his mother crossing her slender arms across her non-existent breast with feigned innocence as she said this. "I really don’t." She had probably shaken her blonde head as punctuation.

   "Don't lie to yourself; you push him to do what you want to –"

   "STOP!"  

   It was at this point in time that Rupert chose to continue up the stairs, avoiding hearing the rest of the fight as best he could.

   Even as he lounged in the hot water of his bath, Rupert could hear shouting. It had moved into the sitting room. He sighed. I hate them… he thought as he sunk himself under the water, closing his eyes and pretending to drown.

   He changed into his pajamas before going downstairs to find some food – his bath had made him skip out on dinner…no doubt he'd hear about it tomorrow. He stepped lightly passed his older brother's bedroom. He could hear a light snore. Lucky bastard, he thought. Rupert himself was suffering a bad case of insomnia and had been since the age of twelve. He knew it was a bad case because nothing good ever came of it: just lousy poems and songs about someone he didn't even know.

   Upon passing his parents' bedroom, he could hear only one person breathing. His mother.

   He crept quietly down the stairs and after tripping his way into the kitchen, he stood in front of the ice box, staring, hoping that something would appeal to him. It was one of those moments in his life where he was very hungry, but had no idea of what he wanted. That seemed to happen quite a bit lately. It all tastes the same anyway.

   When he finally decided on some left-over mac and cheese, he pushed it into a bowl and prayed that the low thrumming of the microwave wouldn't wake his father, who was sound asleep on the couch.

   Rupert sat up at the kitchen counter, slowly spooning himself mouthfuls of sticky, cheesy, artificial goodness. He savored the warmth, despite the slightly off-color taste. It made him happy as well as made him sick. He stopped chewing for a moment, closed his eyes, and began to imagine it: Curves that roll like the waves of an ocean…an ocean of pale silk. Yeah. That's it. Eyes like sapphires…or maybe amethyst. That would be cool. Rolling silk waves and eyes the size of baby worlds; unbeknownst to their own violet brilliance. He had to write that down.

   He threw the rest of the sickening treat into the garbage and rushed up to his room. He shuffled through the top drawer in his nightstand, searching for it. Then, he found it: the leather-bound journal he'd bought himself as a sixteenth birthday present. It was the best thing he'd received…accept for maybe Uncle Bernie's present.

   It had been a grand piano that had a few of the end keys missing, but short of that, it was beautiful. It now sat in the sitting room, bereft of company accept for Rupert, who had taught himself how to play immediately.

   He wrote his piece down and imagined her coming to life.

   The next morning, Rupert awoke to the sounds of frantic dressing. He got up and looked in the mirror: long, shaggy red hair, luminous navy blue eyes, and lots and lots of freckles. "No wonder you haven't got a girlfriend yet." He said to his reflection. He imagined it slouching a little in despair.

   He dressed, washed his face and hurried through breakfast, jumped in the car with his mother, his father, his brother and crazy Uncle Bernie, and off they went to church.

   The service was boring – as usual. He hadn't really taken to anything he was told here since he was little. The priest spoke in monotones, the songs were dull and poorly written – always the same thing – and the company was bad. Not to mention that the coffee and snacks afterward were crap.

   There was one good thing about church though, and that was Rebecca. Rebecca was also sixteen. She was a little taller than Rupert, with long, curly black hair, and – in Rupert's opinion – the face of an angel. They talked a little bit, every now and then, but really, she didn't treat him good or bad. In her world, he was just…there. But he aimed to change that.

   Socially inept as he was, Rupert was a poet…and not just any poet, but a songwriter. He wasn't really sure he could sing all that well, but good enough to let Rebecca know how he felt about her. And today would be the day. He caught up with her as everyone was filing out of the church, and asked if she would like to talk to him back inside. She agreed, and they went in to sit in the front pew.

   "So," she asked, "What did you want to talk to me about?" Her air of indifference was paining Rupert, and she knew it; she was enjoying herself.

   "Well, um…I…you see." He stopped, took a deep breath, and concentrated. "I…I wrote you a little something. It's…it's not finished yet, but. I'd like you to hear it."

   Rebecca looked somewhere between quite amused and really, very scared.

   "Right then…" and Rupert cleared his throat. Now, it would be a lie to say that he had an awful voice. But it would also be a lie to say that it was gorgeous. Perhaps, if he had enough training, it could be gorgeous, but for now, it was ok. He gave himself a starting pitch, and began: "Your eyes sparkle in the moonlight. Your hair is…” breath… "…brighter than the sun. Your skin is dusty in the twilight, and charms almost everyone."

   "Almost?" she interrupted him, but he went on.

   "Your skin holds no charm for me, because to me, you're nothing but a dream. It is you who I will never know, because you are putting on this show…"

   "That's enough." She said, crossing her arms.

   Rupert looked up at her. This was the kind of attitude he had been singing about. "Fine. Alright. Anytime you wish to hear the rest of it…"

   "I won't."

   "…to hear the end, you know, I'm willing." He watched her get up and walk crossly out of the door, and sat there, unmoving until his mother came and got him.      

That evening, at the dinner table, something unusual happened. Something that only occurred every once in a great, great, great while. Something astonishing: Uncle Bernie spoke.

   It had started out – as usual – with an argument. Rupert refused to call this a fight, because in order for it to be a full-blown fight – in his mind – his parents would have to be screaming at each other from both ends of the table. But no, it was an argument. An argument, curiously enough, over Rupert.

   Rupert watched this from beneath his tangle of red hair; hidden behind his azure orbs and mask of countless freckles. He watched as his mother said quite calmly, "I think it's time for Rupert to get a job."

   That was the big one. You see, his father believed that Rupert should get a job on his own. That he didn’t need encouraging until he chose something. Privately, he liked to think that this was because he did not want to see his son turn out like himself: working a nine-to-five he didn't even like, married to someone that he could barely understand, and finding yourself hiding behind a book that you really don't believe.

   "Well, let's see what he thinks, Martha." Rupert hated this, when his parents would talk about him as if he weren't really there even though he was in plain view. His father turned to him and asked, "Rupert, would you want a job?"

   "Um…well…I er…that is to say…" he studied his plate for a moment, and was about to answer 'yes' but not before his mother could do it for him.

   "Of course he does. He'd have money to put into a fund, perhaps to go to college…?" Rupert knew for a fact that she wasn't suggesting a higher education – she was ordering it.

   "Well, hey. Not all of it. Some of it," he added, seeing the look of temper on his mother's face. "I just…don't know where I'd like to work."

   It was then that the storm began. His mother seemed to have planned this all out, because she had a specific idea for the job: working with her, at the Christian Retirement Home. Oh God, he thought. Apart from Uncle Bernie, most old people creeped him the fuck out…and even so, Uncle Bernie was something to be wary of.

   More than a little eccentric perhaps, Uncle Bernie was his mother's brother. It was funny, really, because some days, Rupert thought he was absolutely mental; off his rocker; checked in for good to the peculiar-parlor. But then, there were the days where he would do or say something completely unexpected. Something brilliant. And today was going to be one of those days.

   "James, Martha," the old man asked politely. All mouths ceased fire. "Not to be rude or anything," at this, he winked at Rupert. Rupert smiled. "But considering your son is sixteen, it just might be…" he searched for his words carefully, "More appropriate to let him choose his own place of work. Hm?"

   There was complete silence. Rupert just couldn't stop himself, "God bless you, Uncle Bernie!" This earned him a glare from his mother. "Sorry…." he mumbled into his dinner plate.

   Nothing more was said that night, and while everyone else seemed to wilt underneath the heavy blanket of tension, only Uncle Bernie chewed onward with a smile on his face, cheery as can be.

   The next day, Rupert settled down with the local newspaper, a red pen, and began looking for openings in the classifieds. He found a few things, but he kept coming back to the opening at a local bookshop and café. He liked to read, and didn’t really get the chance to look at real books. He supposed that if he worked in a book-shop, it wouldn't be too odd for him to read during his lunch break. And besides all that, it was located directly next to the library, which meant he'd be free to do something he'd wanted to do for a long time: he could get himself a library card.

   For once in his life, he could bring books home that interested him.

   He rang up the owner, a nice but dumpy old woman named Lily, and she interviewed him over the phone. Quite casual really. By the end, he'd gotten the job. He would start the next day.

   That afternoon, as he helped his mother in the garden, he told her about the job. Needless to say, she wasn't happy about the fact that he would be working somewhere where she couldn't keep an eye on him, but nonetheless, at least he had a job.

   At the dinner table that night, Uncle Bernie spoke again. This time, it was directly to Rupert. "So, any luck?"

   "Yeah," he said, pleased that he could carry on a conversation with someone. Pleased that his uncle was supporting him and speaking. "I got a job at the bookshop in town."

   Uncle Bernie didn't say a thing for the rest of the night…just nodded at Rupert his approval.

   When Rupert arrived at work the next day, he was nervous. He went in and asked for Lily, who promptly gave him a hug and a smile, as well as a plastic employee id that could be attached to his belt. She explained that his job was to stack the books and help people find what they were looking for, and occasionally sub in the café when people were out or the store became too busy. He would be paid a wonderful seven pounds an hour, and all just to deal with a few people here or there.

   What Rupert didn't realize, is that it's not about how many people there are to deal with, but who it is that's important.

ok, here's the deal: I was struck with a bout of inspiration tonight (last night, whatever!) for a new story. For now, the working-title is "Tactless." I's kind of a coming-of-age meets botched-patched-weirded-out romance type of thing. I'm excited...can't wait to start writing it. but or now, here's the storyline and character-plot/design.

Tactless

The story so far...
Rupert is an unwitting victim of teenage depression, as well as a boy torn between his quest for perfection and finally coming into his own -- he just can't seem to handle both. He is a starving artist -- starving for some art -- and striving for attention. At age sixteen, he is still a virgin (an embarrassing feat, apparently); he's totally anti-social; a supressed bi-sexual, and a train wreck crashing in the slowest of motion...it's htese traits and more that make him so attractive to her. 
She is Anias (or Annie, as Rupert so affectionately names her later on). She doesn't suffer from insanity...she's enjoying every moment of it. She is however, suffering from her own brand of drepression: a college drop-out (alleged-expellee) of 18, she's overly-intelligent, and 'creative' doesn't even begin to cover it. In fact, it's her blatent sexuality/creativity that intrigues Rupert, as well as freaks him the fuck out...just a little: he discovers a drawing she did depicting himself recieving a very good-looking blow-job from her. Anias certainly isn't a whore, but neither is she a stranger to sex, and she is perfectly willing to teach Rupert about more than just self-love. She's a new breed of train wreck, carening in a slightly different, slightly faster-paced direction than Rupert...
So, will their abrupt and passionate (not to mention abruptly-passionate) head-on collision save each other from completely derailing? 
Only time will tell.
 

Hi. First of all, the to anyone who cares, this entry can be aken both seriously and humorously. I'll let you be the judge of which time is most appropriate for both...

I am so through with this life and all this standing in line because I've had enough of all the "winners" behind me when I'm more talented than most of these fools. I'm gonna' cut in the line and buy a house in the Hills -- but I will be so rich that I won't have to pay bills.I can yell out on my porch and it'll go down to the city. I'll go to Hollywood parties and befriend all the stars while I pretend that I don't care about who they are, when really on the inside, I'm jumping up and down out of my seat. I'll buy a brand new car for all of my friends: for my mamma's birthday -- a Mercadese Benz. Nothing's too good for the woman who raised me.

I'm gonna' sell my soul so my craving for fame can be realized: you're gonna' know my name. Cause you know one day, I'm gonna' be a rockstar. You're lucky to be my friend -- yeah, you know who you are. My life will be easy; everything'll come cheap, and I'm already skinny cause I just don't eat. Well I'll shoot my drugs at the end of the night -- yeah right. That's the life that they think I would like. I don't pretend to think that I'm right, but I doubt that I will be wasting my time. I'm gonna' be a rockstar.

I'll have to affairs: one with a Playboy Girl, and another with a boy who's on top of the world, with shaggy red hair, freckles, and a skateboard. That could keep me happy for a year or more, but I'll have to talk to Heffner and see if he would let me be on the cover or in the center-fold. 

xo. indie.

I've got all these beats in my head and all your words messing up my bed. "Dance, little diva, come on, what's your name?" I wanna' sing, but it doesn't feel right 'cause they're not playing my stuff and they won't all night. Just tell me what you're trying to aim for: you’re not there.
   Hey, MTV VJ, you're talking away all night long. Hey! Who cares what you say? Hurry up and press "play" and just get to the song. Hey, MTV VJ, you're taking away all my time.
   They all think that they're stars, but they got nothing on artists who really are exactly what they say. What's your claim to fame?

lllllllrrrrrrrvvvvvvveeee..........india 

I need to leave town: I got another appointment. Sorry I couldn't stay; boy you know I enjoyed it. Not gonna hang around; there's nobody dancing and I'm not interested in a little romance, no, no.
   I'm a heartless bitch: with just a kiss of my lips I'll have you down on your knees, and you'll be begging me "please"…heartless bitch: with just a swish of my hips I'll have you down on your luck and sleeping in from a hard fuck. Oh?
   I'm all outta' rent, guess I need a new job. Well, I'll be singing onstage, blowing my voice to hell. I need to get out of this town, so I'm leaving: going to California at the end of the season. 
   I'll have you down on your luck and down on all your money. Heartless bitch: with just a lick to your hips, I'll have you driving me crazy, baby. (please)
Oh. Yeah, I'm waiting.
   Heartless bitch: that's the name of the pitch. I'm a just a little too smart to be a good-girl-lady. "Heartless bitch:" I am so tired of this, you should come up with some lines to make me stay here all night....

trü fucking l♥ve, indie (rox)

You ain't nothing to me if your look's in the way, cause I know what I need, and this ain't it anyway. "Last chance honey, to prove you're worth my money. This is your last chance baby, to prove your dance is a maybe." This is my last dance.
   You ain't nothing to me, so keep your manners in check; sweetie, I don't need any of your smack - no way. This is my last dance honey, to prove you're worth my money.

xowhateverxo, indie