This is not a chapter, just apartment pics

   Heeeey guys! So I have finals all this week (boo) and then I get a four day weekend (yay), but I'm going on a family trip (also yay, unless... well it could be boo-ish, depends on whether or not the dynamics are smoothed out by then), so I've been a tad busy. Just a tad. In case you didn't put two and two together (the title + the I've been busy thing), I haven't had time to write (boo), but I did take pictures of Delilah's apartment and would like to say a HUGE, HUGE thank you to everyone you helped this blog reach 27, 000 views. That's insane; I didn't think I'd get 7,000, much less 27,000. Without further ado, here are the pictures:

The first floor of the apartment/living room.

Second floor, Delilah's bedroom:

Second floor, Phoebe's bedroom (ignore Delilah in there):

Second floor, bathroom:

Second floor, Anderson's bedroom/nursery (once again, disregard the Sims in the pic):

Second floor, dining room/kitchen area:

9.2 Part One: Art Supplies and Xavier

 

 "Are you sure you're okay by yourself?" She asked, concern filling her eyes.

   "Yeah, course. I'm not a little kid."

   "I know… I'd stay longer if I could, but schools starting and I don't have any vacation time left." Delilah, who worked as an elementary school art teacher, had taken the last week off. Original she'd meant to go to the Virgin Islands and stay the full week with dad, but since that hadn't exactly worked out, she'd spent the week showing me around Los Angelus. I'd seen all the sites, been to the beach, Disneyland,  all the tourist-y attractions Delilah could name, we'd gone to.

   "Andy and I will be fine, won't we?" I asked he toddler, who was still adapting to his new surroundings.

   "Yeah, yeah, Deli, we good."

   "Okay then…" She sighed, turning to walk down the stairs, towards our front door.

   Delilah Alice Rosewood-Janes lived in a two story apartment that use to be the city's fire department and now was home to four lovely two bedroom, one bathroom apartments, because of course she loved the hipster vibe it sent of. We had to use what use to be Delilah's sculpting area for Anderson bedroom. She was not an organized tidy person; the home wasn't dirty, she just this peculiar decor style that made it look like she didn't have enough space for everything she collected. Her bedroom. Despite belonging to a thirty year old, looked like it was property of someone a decade younger, she was stuck in this perpetual state of early-twenties mentality, a bit like sitcom characters were.

   "Whatcha wanna do?" I asked Anderson.

   "Pahk, pahk!" He exclaimed. He always wanted to go to the park.

   "Not today, we went yesterday."

   "Moo-e-um."

   "The LA Children's Museum isn't open today."

   "Boo boo, Fee-Fee."

   "I know." I sighed. "Boo boo, Fee-Fee. She's trying, though."

   "I tired."

   "Okay." I picked him up. "Nappy time?"

   "Yeah, yeah." I walked over to his bedroom and gently placed him in the crib. I kissed the top of his head. "Nappy time, brother!" I turned my iPod on, picking the baby's quiet time playlist, and placed it on the changing table. 

   "Bye, bye, Fee-Fee." He yawned, closing his eyes.

   I exited his bedroom quietly, not sure what I was going to do. A few months ago I was focused on getting good grades and drawing classrooms from school, friends' bedrooms, or even my own, only in the drawings the decor was much more modern and lavish. Ever since I was a young child I loved decorating rooms; the home I was renting in Isla Paradiso was rather small compared to what I was use to, however it was my own, and I got to decorate how I wanted to, so it was wonderful. I loved having that sense of pride about my decor choices... If only my budget was larger.

   I loaded the dishwasher with the breakfast utensils and plates, then wandered downstairs. I could paint a bit, maybe design and decorate another room, but I didn't have any canvases or sketch paper or charcoal pencils or oil paints. Delilah probably had some is a hidden crevices of the apartment, she did have an easel- it would seem rather silly to not have the proper supplies you need in order to use it. If I were to go to the art store, I'd need to change; I was wearing a raggedy pair of sweatpants, Delilah's purple, shrunken t-shirt, old flip flops, I hadn't bothered applying makeup, and my hair was a failed messy top knot catastrophe- I was far from presentable.

   The couch looked enticing, so I plopped myself down upon it and picked up the remote. I turned on the television, flipping through the channels. Nothing was on, except for cruddy reality shows, soap operas, and infomercials. Daytime TV sucks. I needed to find myself a hobby, ASAP; defiantly start interior decorating my drawings again. I landed on a random channel, sighing. Maybe I would take a nap… Anderson started crying at two am because he thought he say a monster and refused to go back into his room until it was bright and sunny at eight. I was about to close my eyes, when someone knocked, an ear splitting knock, on the door.

   "I wonder who it is." I mumbled, glancing down at my clothes. Hopefully nobody important. It was probably Delilah, who forgot her bicycle helmet. I stood up, carefully opening the door.

   "Hey, Delilah, I- uh. Hello?" A carrot haired man smiled, pausing when he realized I was not the violet haired Delilah.

   "Hi, I'm Phoebe Janes, I'm Del-"

   "You're the step-kid, huh? The one who the meet up tonight is for?"

   "Yeah. Step-kid… It's so weird, we just kinda seem like friends, ya know? And, uh, what meet up?"

   "Crap! I think it was suppose to be a secret surprise thing."

   "Well, the secret's out now… might as well tell me." I smiled, looking up at him with large eyes. I probably didn't look very convincing, considering my current state, but it didn't hurt to try.

   "Basically, Delilah arranged for all her close friends, me, Carly, Beth, GiGi, Hannah, Zachary, to meet up at her favorite club for drinks and dancing and she was planning on introducing you to us."

   "Drinks? Dancing?" I asked. I didn't have a ton, or any, experience with parties and group outings; I was fairly certain that clubs weren't my scene, especially with Delilah's six closet friends. 

   "Obviously nothing alcoholic for you, but yep. When she tells you, act surprise, okay?"

   "Yeah, sure. Thanks for telling me… I dunno if I'll go."

   "Oh, c'mon, Phoebe. Delilah planned the whole thing for you, people took off work, hired babysitters, might as well show up. Hey, you might even have fun in your first LA club."

   "I… okay. But only because I don't want Delilah to think I'm taking advantage of her and don't appreciate her efforts."

   "See? That's the spirit. Now, I came by to drop off this book, anyways she said she needed it returned yesterday, but when I stopped by she wasn't here."

   "Yeah, she was out of the country... Right now she's at work, but I can give it to her, tell her that… what's your name? I don't think you ever introduced yourself."

   "Oh, I didn't? I'm sorry, how rude. I'm Xavier Tenant." He smiled, sticking out his hand, which I gladly shook. 

   "Nice to meet you."

   "Likewise. Well, I don't want to keep you from doing whatever you're doing."

   "Yeah, I-"

   "Harder! Harder, oh baby, I'm about to c-" The actress on television exclaimed, as the image of two very naked, very attractive people, the female was entangled with the male; this was not the channel I meant to land on, nor was it appropriate at nine-twenty-four in the morning.

   "Oh my gosh! I didn't, I wasn't watching, I picked a random, don't-" I scrambled for the remote, turning to a hopefully more appropriate station.

   "Don't worry." He smirked as my cheeks turned crimson. "Well, I should let you get back to your porn."

   "What?! No, I, I wasn't-"

  "I'm teasing, sorry. That happens to all of us at one time or another,"

   "Really?"

   "Nope, just you. I was trying to comfort you… did it work?"

   "Up until you said that, sorta."

   "Ah, well, dammit. Someone, Delilah actually, told me ever since the satanist vet name Verona incident, I've lost my dashing charm the lovely ladies love and am now I've just got my wits and quirky, awkward paleness. Figured I'd test her hypothesis on you; apparently it's true, I have lost my way with the ladies."

   "I-I, uh, but I'm not lovely." My blush deepened and not because of the television. Xavier was… he was interesting, he was one of Delilah's friends, so he had to be at least a decade older than me, but still he had this peculiar honesty and boyish smile that created an attractive mix of misguided humor and approachable charm. Still; I shouldn't be blushing over the first man who ever bothered complimenting me, besides it wasn't even me he was complimenting, he was just being polite so he could test what Delilah said.

   "Ridiculous." He smiled. "That's ridiculous." He paused for a moment as I looked up into his dark, greenish bluesy eyes. "Here's your book, honestly, I shouldn't be keeping you any longer than needed. Thanks for giving it to her."

   "You're, um, you're welcome. Bye." I took the book and turned, glancing at the cover. Artistic Expression: What Picasso's Color Schemes Really Meant. It was an art book; maybe, maybe he was an artist. Maybe he knew of a decent art store where I could buy a sketch pad and pencils. "Wait!" I exclaimed, throwing open my door. "Er, uh, may I ask you a question?"

   "Sure." He smiled, turning away from the elevator he was waiting on. 

   "Do you know where a good art supply shop is? I saw the book and thought maybe, you know. You were an artist or something."

   "I'm not, but I do."

   "Great, I'll get a pen, if you could please write down the address, that woul-"

   "I could take you there, if you wanted. I don't go into work until an hour from now, anyways."

   "Thanks, but I've got to watch my brother, Anderson. He's three."

   "Oh, yeah. I think Delilah mentioned a kid or something. Delilah and toddlers; ha, never thought that would happen!"

   "Is she anti-kid?"

   "She loves kids, but not the idea of motherhood. I think she feels guilty about her parents' divorce, like she thinks she caused it, but whatever." He shrugged. "You know, you can hire a sitter. Hannah and her husband's for their two month old's pretty good, plus she doesn't need any notice."

   "But, I look like a mess."

   "Nah. Besides, everyone's at work; nobody would see you."

   "Okay... Will you call the sitter?"

   "Yes, m'lady." A few short minutes later, I had lectured the sitter on how to properly care for Anderson, than Xavier and I were standing awkwardly in the elevator together. 

   "So, uh, how did you meet Delilah?" I failed at small talk; I didn't care about the weather or sports and I wasn't up to date on American politics, that was the only relevant question I could think of.

   "College, grad school. See, her and I, as well as our five other friends, who you will meet tonight, all have master's in education."

   "Oh, cool. So, you're a teacher?"

   "Nah. My parents really wanted me to be, so I humored them and got the master's, but my two bachelor's are in computer science and accounting. I wanted to be an accountant; how lame of a teenager was I?"

   "I don't think it's lame… so whatcha do?"

   "I work for a company that teaches other companies how to use financial software. It's not what I want, but it's something." He shrugged. "So, what do you want to do?"

  "Interior decorating, but after my parents... After the thing happened, my plans changed I dunno. I don't want to leave Anderson, but I want to do something. I guess right now I'm content decorating rooms on a sketch pad."

   "Hey, you don't have to know what you wanna do. I'm twenty-nine and I'm not sure if I should suck it up and take the benefits my current job has or melodramatically quit and hope someone's in desperate need of an accountant and will also pay me what I'm currently making, if not more."

   "I'll keep that in mind." I smiled. "Thanks for taking me."

   "Oh, now problem." The elevator dinged open and we stepped out, into the lobby, than out into the street. He hailed a cab, then we were off, off to the art store.

SIM'S RELATED NOTE: So Phoebe is in LA now- wow! I moved her to a CC world, because I don't like the Showtime world, whatever it is named, and no, they aren't in Angel City or Las Anegios, gorgeous player made worlds, they were too much for my computer to handle. Instead I'm playing in Evansdale County by the lovely folks over at My Sims Realty, you can download the wonderful world here- trust me, it's a nice sized world that even moderately adequate computers like mine can handle. However the fire station is not by MSR, I remodeled the it myself, so if you want me to upload it (it has CC), just tell me and I will. 

MY ACTUAL LIFE RELATED NOTE: I wrote chapter 8.16 to here on a road trip my parents insisted I go on, because family time. The trip was fun, we climbed a mountain, than ate ravioli from Trader Joe's. I got the leftovers and am currently eating lemon ravioli and also truffle ravioli, dipped in garlic hummus. It is an interesting, but good, IMHO, combonation. Also, if you haven't tried cookie butter, you need to! It's delicious and I should stop typing before this Sims legacy blog turns into a food blog. Oh! Oh! And, I had fall break this week, yay, but school begin's Monday, so updates may be more scattered. I dunno. Anyways, I appreciate you reading.

9.1: Flying to LA

   "Good bye house." I said it was the end of the month and I had informed my landlord that I was moving out; he told me just to leave the key underneath the doormat with this month's rent. It didn't seem like the most intelligent plan, but I was in no mood to argue- I just wanted to get out as soon as possible.

   "Bye, bye homie." Andy waved to the house, as I picked him up. All the furniture came with the home, other than the clothes, food, toys, linens and crib and baby swing, which was already on some plane being shipped to LA, there was nothing for me to pack up.

   "We're going to go to the airport." I said to him.

   "C'mon, Pho!" I heard Delilah call from the from passenger seat of the cab. "We have to be at the airport in twenty minute a in order to make it through security in time."

   "Alright..." I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. Here was something surreal about leaving the only city you'd ever lived in. Despite the pain and panic associated with Isla Paradiso, it was still my home and the Virgin Islands was still my county. I opened the cab's door to see that Delilah had already fastened the carseat into it. I strapped Andy in, then I hopped around to the other side, climbed in, and buckled myself in.

   "Deli not got seatbelt!" Anderson called out, pointing towards his step-mommy.

   "Phoebe." She whispered. "They're so uncomfortable! Do I have to wear it?"

   "Yeah." I nodded. "Set a good example for him."

   "Safety first!" She exclaimed in an overly chipper tone, as she buckled her seatbelt. "I'll have to get use to this example s-hhheet."

   "Nice save." I smirked. "Airport, please." I said to the cabbie, who began driving.

   "It's refreshing seeing lesbian co-parents adopt. I don't understand why people get so torn up about it."

   "We're not lesbians..." I said. "Or at least, I'm not."

   "Uh, neither am I. Not that there's anything wrong with that... She's, uh, she's my- nope. Can't say it."

   "Step-daughter. There."

   "Really?!" The cabbie exclaimed. "Are you sure you aren't sisters? Is the little man there her step-grandson?"

   "He's my brother." I said. 

   "Okay..." The cabbie glanced from Delilah into the mirror at Anderson and me. "I'm sure family reunions are fun."

   "I'm only thirty." Delilah quickly said. "She's eighteen, he's three."

   "He didn't ask." I said. 

   "I know. It just- I mean, c'mon. You're way too young for me, even if I was a lesbo."

   "Isn't lesbo offensive?"

   "I dunno. I don't mean it to be."

   "Yeah, well, I'm fairly certain it is."

   "Why are you parenting me? I should be parenting you."

   "Leh-Bo!" Andy exclaimed, smiling and clapping. "Leh-Bo, leh-Bo, leh-Bo."

   "Look what you did."

   "Me?" She innocently gasped. "You repeated it."

   "Yeah, well you're the mom."

   "Don't you dare call me that word."

   "Mommy, mommy, mommy." He said, pointing to her.

   "Haha." I chuckled. "Wow..."

   "Can I ground him?"

   "He's three."

   "True... Can I ban him from watching Sesame Street?" 

   "I don't let him watch TV."

   "Really? Are you like one of those lame, superstitious child raisers?"

   "Child raiser?"

   "Well parent implies that you birthed him, had some part in his conception, or a romantic relationship with someone who did."

   "Ah, well, I'm just trying my best. I figured he's already going to be a rebellious, angst filled teenager who goes through therapists like a toddler goes through crayons, I don't need to make him worse."

   "Aww... He won't be like that. Look at his chubby little cheeks and curls. He'll be fine."

   "Do you know the stereotypical personas available for kids whose parents died when they were young? There's only one and it's the rebel goth one."

   "Anderson, promise Delilah you won't be like that." She turned to face him and said it with a huge smile on her face, like she was telling him he could have lolly pops and cotton candy instead of mashed peas and chicken for dinner.

   "What Deli, me what?"

   "Aw... Promise me you will be an angel."

   "Mama, sissy, daddy angels. Me be goodie."

   "Yes. You be goodie."

   "We're here." The cab driver said.

   "Thanks." I said, unbuckling Anderson and exiting the car. Delilah tossed him a twenty and exited as well. We began towards the building, as Andy smiled and clapped and pointed wildly at he planes that were coming and going.

   "I wonder…" She began, then she paused. 

   "You wonder?" I curiously asked.

   "I… He thought we were lovers or sisters or that Andy was your kid. Will people always be like that?"

   "I dunno. I've never been to California; I don't know how the people are."

   "Interesting… very, well, interesting." She opened the door and I stepped inside. The noise of the hustle and bustle of busy travelers filled my ears as I tried to keep Anderson calm.

   "Loud! No, no, they shh, shh." He looked like he was on the verge of a meltdown. I'd never taken him in an incredibly loud or crowded place before, clearly he wasn't reacting well.

   "Aw, honey, it'll be okay." Delilah cooed to him. "This is an airport! Yay."

   "No, no." He said, as he began flailing his arms, tears streaming down his teeny tiny cheeks.

   "Oh boy." I muttered. "This is going to be a long flight.

9.0: Step-Moms and Explanations

   "Shh, shh! Oh it'll be okay." I cooed to Anderson, who had been overwhelmingly fussy lately. I felt bad for him; I, being a just out of high school, unemployed, eighteen year old, wasn't exactly mummy material. Mom wasn't exactly mom material either, but at least she sorta knew what she was doing- I had no clue and no experience.
   "Fee-Fee! Nah, nah." He screamed at a volume I didn't think was humanly possible for a three year old to be at.

   "Fee-Fee's trying." I whispered. Fee-Fee was his nickname for me that I didn't like, but put up with. At least it wasn't be-be or sissy or something much more terrible. "Really, I am."
   "Me don't wanna shh!"
   "Hush little Anderson, don't say a word, Phoebe's gonna buy you a," I began humming, hoping this would calm him down before the neighbors came over, screaming at me to shut the dang kid up.
   "Me don't wanna shh!" He repeated. I sighed. Usually he was a smiling, talkative, inquisitive, yet well behaved toddler, but today all he could was scream and cry.
   "What do you want to do?" I exasperatedly snapped. I tried keeping my composure around him, his teeny tiny world was completely shaken up because mama and daddy and Ma-wuh-lo were bye bye, he didn't need to see me to have a meltdown, but it was difficult. I had, surprisingly, taken their losses rather well. I had locked myself in my bedroom for a solid month, crying and eating nothing but takeout, but after that month I signed up for grief therapy, after three months of that the phycologist and I agreed that I was stable and nearly done with the healing process and I should try and give myself a life that I could call normal.
   Anderson complicated things a bit; I was legally an adult and therefore could be his guardian, if I wasn't he'd end up in the system, a fate that would make me cringe. The Virgin Islands had kept him in custody until I'd been proven to be a fit guardian, then I gained custody of the toddler brother I loved so dearly. Now, nearly six months after their deaths, I was 'the girl whose family died' or 'the orphan' or 'the girl who is trying the best she can to hold her life together'. Whenever I went grocery shopping or to the beach or museum with Anderson, I heard the whispers, saw them staring, as people sympathetically gave me discounts on a variety of items and words of wisdom and guidance. I was the girl raising her toddler brother who had no other family. My grandparents were deceased, my Aunt Wren one, my Aunt Basil... well, I'd never met her before, but I presumed that she was getting older, had her own family, her own worried. The government was happy to not have to deal with Anderson anymore; they didn't bother researching my family history to try and find some distant relative.
   "I want park." He said, stopping the screaming and stream of tears.
   "You want to go to the park?"
   "Yeah, yeah." He grinned at me. "We go to park!"
   "Okay, but what do you say first, when you're asking for something?"
   "Pwease we go to park?" I nodded and he began clapping.
   "I should get your stroller and jacket; it's such a nice day, with the breeze and all, we can walk."
   "Yay, yay, walkie to the park."
   "Yeah. We are going to walk to the park."

   "Yay!" I set him in his baby swing, turned it onto low, then walked into the office slash nursery. I hadn't managed to keep mom or dad's home; I downgraded to a two bedroom, one bathroom, one story place that was alright and in the okay part of the island. It was not the luxury artsy studio I envisioned myself living in, but at least it wasn't a trailer or a cardboard box.
   "Hmm..." I glanced down at the baby sweaters that I'd neatly hung up in the closet. That was the one thing I loved about having a toddler; everything made for them was so tiny and adorable. I don't think I could have my own child at this age, I wasn't sure when I wanted my own kids, I just knew I wanted three or four, but I could raise my brother... Sometimes I wonder whether or not I could raise my niece, if she hadn't joined her mommy in whatever form of the afterlife existed. I think she would have grown up watching Marlo preform, seen the backstage glitter and glam and sweat and pain and joy and maybe grown up to have a career in dancing. Maybe she'd be a ballerina, maybe she would have been a choreographer, maybe she would have designed sets or costumes for dancers who were just like her mummy. I'd take her to the ballet studio and we'd smile and watch a recital and then we'd tour backstage as people reminisced about Marlo.

   I stopped thinking of what could have been, grabbed the first sweater my eyes landed on, and scurried back out to Anderson. I didn't need to wallow in the past, I needed to keep moving forward, just like my therapist told me to do.
   "Ready to go?" I asked him, picking him up and helping him put on his sweater.
   "Yeah, Fee-Fee. Me is."
   "Yay! Let's go." I grabbed the stroller, then opened the front door. I quickly stepped out, locked the door, then buckled Anderson into the stroller. I began strolling at a leisurely pace, as he pointed out the colors of flowers and how birds were flying and he wanted to know how.

   "Lookie, Fee-Fee!" He gasped, as if something had just made his tiny brain implode.
   "At what?" I curiously asked.
   "She got purple hair." He began wildly pointing at a lady who was standing a few yards away, looking rather befuddled as she glanced around the street.
   "Oh, Andy, don't point."
   "Why?"
   "It isn't nice."
   "Why?"
   "Because... because, uh..." When I was little, my parents told me not to point at people, so I didn't. How was I suppose to explain why you shouldn't to him without saying something along the lines of 'because I said so'? I despised that phrase as a child and vowed never to use it, but right now it seemed the easiest thing to say. "Because-"
   "Purple girl am coming over." She exclaimed. It was true; she was casually jogging over to us.
   "Um, hello." She said. I hadn't seen her before, which was rare, considering how small the island was. "I'm Delilah. Do you know the city well? I'm looking for someplace and lost..."
   "Oh, I'm alright with directions and general places, where are you trying to get to?"
   "Well, I was given this address a few months ago by a man, then I started a new job and couldn't come until now. I went to it and nobody was home..."
   "What address is it?" She pulled out a sheet of paper and showed me. Something about it was familiar, somet- oh my gosh.
   "Are you sure that that is right?"

   "Yeah, um, Harbor Janes, ever heard of him?"
   "Are... are you joking? Is this some sort of prank?"
   "What? No, why would it be? Is he like a prankster or something?"
   "I..."
   "Janes... me Andwson Janes."
   "Anderson Janes?" She, Delilah who was rather puzzled, said. "Are you... May, Marissa, it began with an M. I can't remember."
   "Maya?"
   "Yes!" She said, smiling and snapping her fingers. "Maya. I knew it began with a M."
   "No, she was my mother... how do you know Harbor?"
   "He's your father." She gasped. "You're Marissa, Maddy, it's another M name or that one that girl from Friends had, um Phoebe?"
   "I'm Phoebe."
   "I'm... remember when your dad went to Vegas?"
   "Vaguely."
   "Well, we sorta, um... got hitched. Only we didn't know each other that well, so we thought, what the hell, why not go on living our separate lives and in four years meet back up and decide what to do about the whole marriage thing." That plan seemed so ridiculous, so foolish, so irresponsible... it had to have been my dad's.

   "So, wait. You're-you're my step-mom? I need to sit down."
   "I am, but I don't like the term step-mom. See, I'm not exactly wanting to be a mom. I love kids, I'm an elementary school art teacher, but mom isn't something I'm good at."
   "Okay..." I paused. "What should I call you?"
   "Delilah, I guess. My full name's Delilah Alice Rosewood-Janes."

   "Alright." I mumbled glancing down. "Would you like to come to my house? I… I have some news about my dad."

   "Sure." She smiled. "Oh and I have the marriage certificate, in case you were wondering the legitimacy of this."

   "Thanks." I said, as I lead her to the house. I slowly walked up the porch stairs, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. I felt self conscious about the size of the home; I loved it because it was mine, I'd rented in and got to design it myself, yet I'd never had a visitor over before, and that made me nervous. "Sit, sit." I gestured towards the couch. "Would you like something to drink? Water, milk, coffee, green tea?"

   "No thanks." She smiled, sitting down. "I just wanna hear about Harbor."

   "Alright…" I sighed, buckling Anderson back into the swing. "Um, first, may I ask you one thing? It may seem weird, but go with it."

   "What is it?"

   "Well, did you, um, did you remain," I glanced at Anderson, "faithful during the four years you guys were married, but not together?"

   "Yep. I had, had, as in in the past, a crush on a really good friend, but it didn't really go anywhere. See, he was dating this vet for like four years, but they broke up like three months ago, though. Did Harbor not remain faithful? Look, I get it. He's got an ex-wife, I'm guessing she's probably your mom, and if he wants out, I'm totally cool with it." Darn it. I was hoping she'd admit to not being faithful, I could tell her my dad wasn't, and she'd leave me with my content little life and I'd never have to tell her about their deaths.

   "How do you feel about my dad? Do you love him?"

   "Do I love- er." She looked down. "I don't really know him, sweetie. I like him. He seems nice."

   "Okay." I took a deep breath. "He's dead."

   "He's… he's what?" I expected some tears,but instead she just started breathing heavier, looking from me to Anderson, then back at me. "What?"

   "I'm sorry. Six monthsago, almost. Heart attack. My mom and sister are also…" I was going to cry. Stay strong, stay strong. "You know."

   "What? No..." She began tearing up, but then she wiped her eyes, exhaled, and smiled at me. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. D you need anything? Money? Anything?"

   "No... I thought you'd take it worse."

   "I... I feel weird. I didn't know him that well; we were strangers, but... Still. You're an orphan. That's terrible. Honey, I'm so, so, sorry."

   "I'm okay. I've got Anderson."

   "I have a two bedroom apartment in LA, I'm... If you need…"

   "I couldn't. I barely know you; you barely know me, it wouldn't be right."

   "C'mon. Please? I'm your step-mom. Step-mom... That sounds so weird. You're like twelve years younger than me… I could book a flight for tomorrow, just, what do ya day? You're a kid and you're raising your brother; you need someone there. Someone to help. Why not let it be me?"

   "I… can I sleep on it?" 

   "Sure."

   Should I say yes? Should I say no thank you? I didn't know her that well, but what did I have to lose? The end if the month was coming, so for rent everything would be alright… maybe I should.  It I'd lived in Isla Paridiso my whole life, plus I'd have to get US citizenship or a visa, if I was going to be living there. I… what was I going to say? What about Anderson? My mind flooded with thoughts- I'd have a lot of thinking to do tonight.

And the Generation Nine Heir Is...

Phoebe Janes, uh, I didn't hold an heir vote, because I already have her plot worked out and I didn't want to have to create one for Anderson  (I know, it's bad of me to be lazy, but, ah, well, see this is my legacy, therefore I will be lazy if I want to ☺) . Chapter 9.0 will be out soon!

P.S. I'm on Autumn Break, yay, which began last Friday and ends tomorrow, boo, so there may be more infrequent posts because I have to gear up for finals.

8.18: Endings

WARNING: YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ SOME REALLY F%#*ED UP $#!T THAT MIGHT BE TRIGGERING AND OFFENSIVE AND IS REALLY F%#*ING MESSED UP. ALSO, I VERY, VERY, VERY RARELY CURSE (this is why I usually say 'fudge' or 'sugar' instead of the real F or S word) SO IN CASE YOU GENERALLY IGNORE WARNINGS BE WARNED. IT IS MESSED UP AND SICKENING ENOUGH THAT I CURSED.

Marlo's POV...

   "They're paying closer attention…" I whispered, lowering myself onto the floor of the stage. 

   "They are?" Mr. Elton sympathetically asked. "Why do you think that?"

   "Anderson, my younger brother, sorta brings out this maternal instinct I didn't know my mom had. She's started pressing me more about food, watching what I do online more, monitoring my activities. It's like, she actually cares. It's super sucky, cause I'm having to eat stuff or else she gets all bitchy about it."

   "What do you do about the eating?"

   "Well, like, I can't gain weight. I mean, I didn't get into that one academy, so I need to be even more perfect, even skinnier. I've started purging or puking or whatever."

   "All the time?"

   "Not really. I mean, I don't go over to mom's a ton, so only when I'm at there or dad watches me."

   "Good. You know how bad throwing up is; it'll hurt your pretty little complexion, starving is much better."

   "I know, Mr. El-"

   "I've told you, Marlo, call me Nicholas."

   "I know…" I looked up at him as he stroked my cheek. "Um, my pro-ana Tumblr's gotten two hundred followers." I said, glancing back down, hoping to change the subject.

   "Tumblr?" He asked. "You fifteen year olds, so young, so beautiful, so pure… So technology oriented." When he said pure, he moved his hand from his lap to my leg, stroking it up.

   "Yeah." I said shifting my weight.

   "Your purity and beauty is why I love you. Your purity from your tough, your beauty from your slimness."

   "I wanna be skinnier."

   "Don't worry, you will be. Stay motivated; you'll be the best ballerina ever. I'll make sure of it."

   "Thank you, Mr. Elt- Nicholas." He was a donor I'd met the night of the recital. I'd convinced him to donate two hundred thousand dollars to the studio, ever since he'd been helping me be pretty. He bought me diet pills, leotards, laxatives, makeup, private lessons with better teachers, and in turn didn't ask for any money from me, he just wanted to occasionally kiss me, stroke me, watch me preform or change or he would ask for pictures of my body. It was all innocent; besides he was helping me… honestly, he was helping me. He was, really. He was the one person who cared about what I did, he was the one person who understood what it was like, trying to be pretty in a world of preexisting perfection. I knew I was ugly, worthless, I knew my family wanted me to be hideous and fat and fail, but her wanted the opposite. I didn't believe him when he said I was beautiful; I wouldn't be truly beautiful until I was the thinnest of them all. I was five-seven, one hundred and two point three pounds and I wouldn't be perfect until I was eight five point zero.

   "I want to help you, Marlo. What you read about depression and bulimia, anorexia being diseases, weaknesses, is wrong. You aren't diseased and weak, you're strong and healthy."

   "Thank you." I felt his hand moving up my thigh, towards my thin skirt, my leotard and tights underneath them.

   "You are grateful for my help, aren't you?"

   "Very much." I smiled, my eyes still focused on my frail fingers.

   "Why won't you look at me, then? Why look down. Your eyes are so beautiful... I help you, won't you do this to repay me? Won't you look at me?" I glanced up, his gaze upon me. "Thank you." He leaned closer, his hand moving up from my thigh to my waist, then towards my rather small endowments. I felt him squeezing, I wanted to look down, wanted to shut my eyes, but that would upset him and he wouldn't help me be perfect anymore. "Do you like that?" He asked.

   "Yes." I squeaked, lying. "Thank you, sir."

   "Not sir." He said firmly, pinching my arm fat harshly, as if to remind me. "Nicholas."

   "Nicholas." I repeated. "Nicholas." The word felt filthy, sickly in my mouth. I hated it.

   "Your voice is so lovely."

   "Thank you." 

   "Your mouth so delicate. It's begging for me, you're begging for me, aren't you? Begging for me to kiss you?"

   "Yes, Nicholas. I am." The kisses, the tiny white lies, if I did this, if I played his game, I would be vastly rewarded. Nothing was wrong with this, really. Honestly, it was innocent. Perfectly okay. Really.

   "Ah. Good." He placed his lips on mine, pushing me down, so I was now lying on the stage. He placed one hand on my thigh, keeping me down, the other squeezed and pinched and tugged. I felt his tongue forcing its way against my lips, a barrier, so I opened my mouth slightly, letting him do what he wanted. "You know, Marlo, the studio is closed. No one else is here."

   "I didn't know that." I whispered, my heart pounding faster. What did he mean by that? What was he planning?

   "I can feel your heartbeat. I know you want this, I know you're excited and anxious."

   "Yes, Nicholas. I am." I wasn't sure what he meant, or at least I didn't want to think about it. If only I could squeeze my eyes shut, let this kissing be done with.

   "When we met, you were so young. The kisses, they were alright, but I couldn't... You weren't mature enough, for me. Not thin enough, not pretty enough. Now you are."

   "I am glad I am."

   "Shh." He said, pressing his hand against my lips. "See, now, now I can tell your body craves it. I had to wait until it needed it, needed me." Needed him? Honestly, whatever he did, it would be fine, really, it wouldn't matter. This was okay. It was. It was innocent. He didn't want to hurt me. He wouldn't do anything too bad, anything that would make me too uncomfortable. Honestly, he wouldn't. I trusted him, he wouldn't hurt my trust. I know, I know, he wouldn't. "You are needing it. You know me. What you need, what you crave, it is what I give you. It would be rude not to." 

   He began peeling off my leotard, as I limply laid there. He probably just wanted a better look. He wouldn't, he wouldn't do that to me. He knew that I wouldn't like that. I wouldn't say yes to that. I trusted him, that meant he had to be good. Innocent. I shivered as he removed my layers, one by one, until I was left in nothing but point shoes. He wouldn't do this. He won't. No, no, no. Honestly, he wouldn't. He's good. He won't.

   "Such a work of art... So frail, the thinly strewed skin covered your angular bones. I know you can do better, though. I know, ten or so pounds, then you'll actually be pretty. See, now... I know I said you were beautiful, but looking at you, I know you could do better. Be thinner. Still, you want this." He sighed. Was I a disappointment? I know I wasn't at my ideal weight, I know I'm not perfect, not yet, I know I'm hideous, but I thought he didn't think that. He was proud of me. Proud of my progress. He needed to be. Had to be. Honestly, if he wasn't... He put so much effort, money into me. If I wasn't near perfect, then the money, the touching, the kisses had been for nothing. The violation... If it was nothing, then I'd be lost. Worthless. 

   "You've never done this before?" He asked. I shook my head, knowing what he meant. "Good. I would hate to think you'd given yourself to someone who was only pretending to care for you, in order to get into your pants. I care. I'm doing this because I care and you think I deserve a reward." I shut my eyes as he removed several articles of his clothing. I felt him moving on top of me, felt him covering my face with his shirt, felt him pushing, penetrating. It would be okay. Really, it would. Honestly. It'd be over soon. I was a failure; I deserved this punishment. Really.

Harbor's POV,  four months later…

   I knocked on Maya's door, she said she'd drop Marlo off at ballet practice, yet the teacher just called, informing me that Marlo hadn't shown up. Phoebe was still at school, her graduation was soon and they'd asked all the students to stay after so they could rehearse the speeches and walking onto stage and whatever else. Maya hadn't opened the door, which was rather odd, so I tried turning the doorknob, to find that it was unlocked. That's odd… I stepped inside, greeted with eerie silence, instead of the cheerful smiles of Marlo, three year old Anderson, and Maya.

   "Marlo?" I called out. "Hello? Is everything okay?" No one answered me, so I decided to try going upstairs. Maybe they were just very involved in whatever they were doing? 

   "WAHH!" I began climbing up the stairs, when suddenly the earring splitting shriek of a three year old could produce. Suddenly I was running.

   "Anderson?!"

   "Eh, wah, hungwey! WAHH!" I moved quicker, than burst into the nursery to fin him in tears, bawling. "Daddy? I hungry."

   "Okay, Andy. We'll get you food. Do you know where mama and sissy are?"

   "Yeah." He nodded, as he began sucking on his thumb.

   "Where are they?"

   "Me hungwey."

   "I know, daddy will get you something, I promise. Daddy wants to ask mama something first, though, okay?"

   "Mama go into bawthwoom. Mama not back. Me hungwey."

   "Okay, I'm going to go look at the bathroom first, though, okay? I'll be right back, Andy." I worriedly paced to the bathroom. The door was closed, so I knocked. No answer. "Hey. Hey, Maya? Are you in there? I'm coming in there, alright?" I threw open the door, the sight sickening. "Oh my... Fudge! Marlo? Marlo, honey?" I be at down, seeing my fifteen yera old withered around the commode covered in what looked my vomit made me want to scream and cry, but I needed to stay calm. Calm. Calm. Dammit, calm. I held her arm, it felt cold, trying to feel for a pulse. There wasn't one. Dammit, calm. Dammit. "Marlo? Honey, I love you, Marlo?" I took out my phone, quickly dialing the hospital.

   "Hello, please explain your emergency."

   "I need an ambulance, I need an ambulance, I need a-"

   "Sir clam down, please!"

   "I am calm, I am calm."

   "Sir, what's wrong?"

   "My daughter... She's on the ground, she's, she's not... I don't think that there's a pulse."

   "We're sending an ambulance, what's the address?"

   "I just found her, in my ex-wife's house, it is at," I rambled off the address, starting to jumble my words. "Hurry, hurry!"

   "Sir, we will be there as quick as we can. Do you know when she collapsed?"

   "No, no I don't... Please, she's covered in-n vomit."

   "Sir, you said you found her in your ex-wife's home, is she there with you?"

   "No, no, I don't-t, no I-I do-on't kn-now wh-here she is."

   "Please stay calm."

   "I am-m, damm-mit-t."

   "Sir-"

   "The windows open."

   "Pardon?" 

   "The window... Maya never opens them."

   "Sir-"

   "The window…" As if in a trance, I moved towards it, then I looked down, past the ledge. The sight was ghastly. Holy mother of God. Dammit. God. No. Please. Dammit. "She's... No. No. No!"

   "What? Sir, please-"

   "She... She's down there. Her-r organs, they're all over, sh-he jumped?! No. My chest… it started hurting. My left arm… now, my vision, I…" The phone dropped from my hand, as I crumpled down, hitting the ground as the lights went off and my vision went black.

   Yesterday afternoon the local emergency services found three dead in Maya Bayonet's home. Bayonet was one of the three, after local government employees Harbor Janes called the services, requesting an ambulance for his daughter, Marlo Janes, who was found, collapsed in the bathroom. Marlo was determined to be dead before H. Janes reached her.

M. Janes, 15, a dedicated ballerina, died from esophagitis, a condition where the esophagus is inflamed. M. Janes was found severely underweight and sixteen weeks pregnant, the father of the fetus- a girl, who did not make it- has yet to come forward. M. Janes' weight and online activity has left investigators o believe that she was an anorexic, bulimic, depressed teenager who never sought treatment. The constant purging is what lead to her esophagitis. M. Janes was believed to have been overcome with morning sickness and did not intentionally throw up her final time.

Maya Bayonet's, 40, cause of death was suicide. She jumped, doctors believe, after finding her daughter in the bathroom, dead. She did not have any previous health issues, it is suspected that she was overcome with grief and shock.

Harbor Janes, 37, died while on the phone with emergency services from a shock/surprise induced heart attack after finding not only his daughter, but ex-lover, Bayonet, dead.

H. Janes was a kind, caring citizen who will be dearly missed. The three leave behind Phoebe Janes, 18, Bayonet and H. Janes' daughter, and Anderson Janes, 3, their son. No funeral plans have been made, however, if you would like to donate to the family or send your condolences, you are welcome to, just contact the local paper. The three will be deeply missed by the community and were lost too soon. 

8.17: Labor and Platonic Love

  

 "Hey, um, Maya, can I talk to you?" I asked, glancing down at my feet.

   "You already are." She pointed out, as she set down her ice cream tub and spoon. I imagine being pregnant sucks, with the whole growing a mini human inside yourself for nine month thing, yet Maya made it seem like it was just eating ice cream and buying new clothes because her old ones didn't fit.

   "I know. Um... Remember when I went to Vegas?"

   "And I called you to tell you about this," she gestured towards her eight and a half month sized bump, "and you acted like a total idiot?"

   "In my defense, I was pretty smashed, with the shots and pot and all."

   "Please." She snorted. "You're just as stupid sober. Exhibit A." She gestured to the bump once more.

  "Yeah, yeah." I sighed.

   "Oh, I'm only kidding." She smiled. "You know that. So what did you want to tell me?"

   "Well, when I was in Vegas, I sorta did this thing that I'm not exactly proud of..."

   "Get a tattoo?"

   "Yes, but that isn't the hing I'm talking about."

   "Wait, you really got a tattoo?" I nodded. "Let me see!" 

   "Here." I lifted up my shirt slightly, exposing my whole back tat.

   "Oh my gosh." She giggled. "How did I not manage to see that before?"

   "I don't know." I laughed along with her. 

   "So what's the thing you were talking about?"

   "I got married."

   "Haha! Right. No, seriously, what is it?"

   "I got hitched."

   "Harbor, stop, really what did you do? You knock another girl up, because I'll be pissed at first, but I'll get over it. I mean, we decided to stay not together, so if you were worried I'd get jealous or something, I'm fine. Oh! Did you get a girlfriend? Go to a strip club?"

   "Maya, I got married."

   "Wait... You're serious?" I nodded, glancing down at my feet, then back up to her. "Okay. To who?"

   "Delilah Alice Rosewood-Janes."

   "Where is she?"

   "Las Angelus."

   "Did you get an annulment or something?"

   "Nope."

   "So you're still married?"

   "Yep."

   "But you haven't seen her in eight months and don't appear to be planning on moving in together."

   "Yep."

   "Are you kidding me?"

   "Nope."

   "Oh dear… so what's the plan?"

   "In four years," then I launched into the story, telling her all the details of what happened the night be got married and how we'd meet back up in four years.

   "That's rom-com level ignorant." She sighed. "But does seem like something you'd do and is kinda cute, in a wow, they're clueless way."

   "Thank you?"

   "You're welcome."

   "In four years, I want to meet this girl."

   "She isn't a girl, she's a woman. She's twenty-six."

   "Ah a younger-" She paused, staring at me.

   "Maya?" I asked. "Maya, what's- oh wait." I glanced at the puddle she was sitting in. "Let's get to the hospital."

   "Smart man." She laughed. "Two kids and now he can perfectly recognize the sig- OW MY GOD. Hospital. OUCH. HOLY MOTHER OF-" And with that I helped lift her off of what was thankfully her, not my, couch and waddle to the car.

   A short period of time later, she was in a hospital room and I was standing next to her, as she screamed and screamed about how much it hurt and the doctor ordered her to push, push, push and oh look the head. I love my children, my I have to admit childbirth is disgusting. Getting to hold the child for the first time, beautiful, but the actually bringing it into the world? Gross.

   "GAH! Ow, ow, ouch, ow FUDGE."

   "Push, push, push! Almost out!" The doctor exclaimed.

   "I FUDGE, FUDGE, FUDGE, forgot how much this OW OW, OUCH hurt." Maya screamed. "Even with the drugs."

   "Just one more push!"

   "Just one more-" I repeated, as Maya's heave interrupted me.

   "GAH AH!"

   "Congratulations!" The doctor beamed, as the baby screamed. "A bouncing baby boy. What would you like to name him?"

   "Harbor, what should we name him?" Maya whispered. Despite having eight months to prepare for this, we hadn't actually discussed first names. We'd determined he or she would live with Maya, have my last name, and that was pretty much it. 

   "Uh... You always liked the name Levi."

   "True, but that was from the past... A different time. Maybe Levi as his middle name?"

   "Uh... What about Andrew? Or Andy?"

   "Anderson?" She retorted. 

   "Anderson Levi Janes?"

   "Anderson Levi Janes." She confirmed, as the doctor handed him to her. "Aw! Look how precious he is." We welcomed our third and final child into the world that night in a rather odd way; we both loved him to death, we both deeply cared for the other, yet we did not love each other. Perhaps some would view it as barbaric that we intentionally were planning on raising him in separate homes, perhaps some would view it as civilized and modern. Either way, that did not change how we felt about our child, little Anderson Levi Janes.

8.16: What?! Huh?

   "My head's pounding..." I moaned, opening my eyes just to receive a sharp pain. "The light..." I groaned, desperately shutting my eyes. "What the hell happened?" I said to no one in particular.

   "Well, sleepy head-"

   "Gah!" I exclaimed; someone was in here?" 

   "What, you don't remember?" Chuckled a, I lifted my eyelid a hair to see a purple haired gorgeous girl sitting at the foot of my bed. What was her name? Ah, yes. Violet Glitterbottom, the stripper I'd done some rather unsavory things with.

   "Violet... what happened?" I shut my eyes again, my head pounding.

   "First, let me get you an aspirin and water." I heard her standing up and shuffling around, then I felt her handing me a plastic water bottle and a pill bottle. I squinted and popped open the pill bottle, swallowed an aspirin, then chugged a bit of water.

   "Thank you." I gratefully said, feeling a tad bit better, but still pretty horrid.

   "No problem." She daintily replied. "What's the last thing you remember doing?

   "We finished our... session? Is that the right word? We finished our session, then we headed down to the bar and I did shots."

   "Okay... after the shots we smoked a bit, then some chick named Maya called you, you kept calling the phone magic box and saying she had a tiny person in her, so I think she's pregnant. Than you told me you had to go, but I asked you to stay with me and you did and we hit up a couple casinos or something. I don't really remember what happened after we left the club."

   "Wait... wait, Maya's... Maya's pregnant?" Holy hell. Holy hell. We'd... we'd done it a month ago, the timing, what if... dammit.

   "Yeah." She shrugged. "Who is Maya, anyways? You seemed pretty torn up last night."

   "Dammit... wait, one thing, at any point last night have uh, intercourse?"

   "I don't think so." She shrugged. "Either way, I'm STD free, I sure as hell hope you are, and nothing else could happen."

   "Something else could happen... SOmething, like... Violet, Maya is my ex-wife."

   "Oh..." She flinched. "That bites... I'm sorry. Do you know who her baby daddy is?"

   "I... I think I am."

   "What?! When was your divorce?"

   "A few years ago... but, uh, see, uh... about four weeks ago both of us were lonely and it was convenient, that's all. We decided afterwards it is best to keep things civil and we don't actually have any emotional connection, anyway, so we thought no big deal."

   "Apparently it is a big deal..."

   "I guess so and if we, you know, then maybe you could, you know be-"

   "Pregnant?! Ha. God, no." 

   "It could happen."

   "No it can't. Not to be."

   "What do you mean?"

   "I had surgery. I can't have kids."

   "You... okay, so-" Suddenly a phone began blaring Canon in D. "What's that?"

   "Your phone, I think."

   "My- crud, I think I borrowed Walter Wallace's." I quickly picked up the phone and answered. "Hello?"

   "Harbor, what the hell, man?"

   "Wallace?"

   "Yes, I'm on a pay phone. How could you do that?"

   "I'm sorry for taking your phone, I'll give it back ASAP, I swear. I'll pay for any damages, I just, right now I'm in some cruddy motel with Violet and it isn't a great time."

   "You think I'm talking about the phone? I go through phone's like bubble gum, I don't care if you have it. I meant all the pictures you sent Morris."

   "What pictures?"

   "You don't remember? You're with the stripper, the bill must be insane by now, dude we only paid for an hour, and you're doing this weird stuff. Gambling, smoking, at one  point you sent a picture of the stripper completely naked pole dancing use a sign advertising a quickie wedding chapel. Dude, those knockers are insane, by the way. And the piercings and tats? Clad we hired that one instead of Redemption; Violet seems much wilder." 

   "Crud, crud, crud. What have I done?"

   "That's not all."

   "It isn't? It cannot get much worse than impregnating your ex-wife, can it? Unless it is that."

   "Wait you- I didn't know you'd... I... wow. I hate to tell you this over the phone, no it isn't the Maya thing, but you sent us this picture from the chapel."

   "Alright."

   "Dude, you married the stripper!"

   "Please tell me you're joking. Please. Say it. Dear God, please say you are."

   "I'm sorry. I called up the chapel, pretending to be your brother, and they confirmed it. You are legally married according to the state of Nevada. Also, your, ehem, wife got married stark naked, then started running around outside the chapel, apparently, because the police arrested her for public nudity and noise violation."

   "She was- just. Dammit."

   "We bailed her out this morning and drove you two to a cheap motel on the Vegas outskirts. We're waiting in the lobby."

   "Okay... Okay."

   "Look, we're lawyers, if you want, we can get you out of this marriage to Delilah Alice Rosewood-Janes before you can blink."

   "I... can you explain this to Vio- erhm, Delilah?"

   "I guess. Isn't that the husband's job, though?" I handed the female who was apparently my wife the phone, as she gave me a quizzical look. There was a lot of yeses and nos and what the hells and oh Gods, but eventually she hung up and turned to face me.

   "What are we going to do?"

   "I don't know."

   "I just..." She stood near the window,  next to me. "I barely know you."

   "I didn't even know your real name." I pointed out.

   "Delilah Alice Rosewood. Well, Rosewood-Janes now."

   "Harbor Cohen Janes. I have an older sister, Basil, like the plant, and a twin sister named Wren who mysteriously disappeared one day. We still have no idea where the hell she is, but the PI suspected drug and gang activity."

   "I'm sorry."

   "It's all in the past." I shrugged. "We were never the closest, anyway. I was a very naive, sensitive child and she disliked those traits."

   "I don't have any siblings; my parents got a divorce when I was seven because I dunno. It was the thing to do at the time."

   "Maya and I got divorced a few years ago, because of money and fighting."

   "Ah... do you have any children?"

   "Two daughters, one just turned fifteen, the other thirteen. And my ex-wife's kid, now."

   "Oh dear..."

   "I don't want to have kids. I liked kids, I want to be an art teacher at an elementary school, but I don't want to actually have kids."

   "Why?" I pressed.

   "They just... Look, I don't want kids. I'm not evil, not a satan worshipping, not a horrid person, I just feel like I'd be happiest with a family of two."

   "Okay... I was just curious."

   "I know. I get a lot of crud from people, though, because they say I'll get baby fever though and how if I don't have kids who will take care of me when I'm older. The world is overpopulated enough and you don't have to have kids to have a fulfilling life."

   "Oh... well, you're sorta step-mom to Phoebe, the fifteen year old, and Marlo now."

   "If we stay married."

   "That's a big if. What should we do?"

   "I don't know."

   "Did you have a LA relationship?"

   "There was a crush, but I never acted on it." She shrugged. "He wasn't really into it."

   "I'm sorry."

   "Eh. it's okay. He's dating this mega hot vet. I couldn't compete with that.. even though we've been friends since I moved to the city... Just. You know."

   "Okay... what about us?"

   "I don't know. Where do you live?"

   "Virgin Islands."

   "Crud. I'm in LA. Am I just suppose to give up my future?"

   "No! No, do what's best for you."

   "I'm just scared... I don't want to end up like my parents, if we go for it. Besides, I think I'd be a cruddy step-mum. Probably evil, like in the movies."

   "I don't us to end up like my last marriage." I glanced down. "Is this vomit on my leg?"

   "Looks like it."

   "Mind if I go shower?"

   "Not at all." I turned to see Delilah giggling like a four year old.

   "What?"

   "Your tattoo."

   "What tattoo?"

   "The one on you back. The 'I heart llamas' one."

   "When did I... last night," I sighed. New marriage, new tattoo, new baby. Could last night have been any worse?

   "I'm not going to the Virgin Islands."

   "I don't think I could go to LA."

   "And what about your ex? If she's pregnant..."

   "I'll be there for her, but I'm not heading own the marriage road with her again."

   "Not very noble."

   "You don't understand. The pain, the suffering... we're finally civil, I'm not going to ruin that."

   "You both kinda did when you couldn't keep your horny hands to yourself."

   "I know... I know." Suddenly she gasped.

   "I have an idea!"

   "What?"

   "Well," she dramatically paused. "Normal people don't do this. Why do we?"

   "I don't want to have to have another ex-wife, for starters."

   "But don't have to get a divorce. You live in your city, I live in mine, my life isn't exactly going anywhere as of now; I'm hoping my career will start soon, and when I turn thirty, four years from now, my life hasn't gotten better and both of us have decided what the hell, we'll spend the rest of our live together; I'll even stop dying my hair and play the cutesy suburban PTA mom part."

   "That's insane. What if we don't think what the hell?"

   "Annulment. Simple as that; obviously this is a big choice, why not think it over?"

   "Thinking if over for four years is a long, long time."

   "So? Do you have a better plan? Look, you're nice enough and so far I've only been able to date idiots in bands who have arrest records up to their ears. Why not? You've got an ex-wife and kids and not a lot of money, so you're either going to end up one of three ways. Alone, with another mid-thirties soccer mom divorcee, or with some insane chick who decides she likes you, like me."

   "I... I'm fairly certain no one else will get the plan and think it is a good idea, but sure. I've got nothing to lose." And with that I agreed to the most insane, least thought out plan of the century. 

NOTE: Hey... I will (finally be ending) Harbor's generation in a chapter or two, so stay tuned! P.S. I'm not doing a poll this time, because I've sorta got the details worked out, so yes.