CHAPTER 10: Tear In My Heart (cover above made by the lovely TheUJelly_)

this one's for sev because she is probably one of the best people on earth.

"If you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones. 'Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs. Setting fire to our insides for fun, collecting names of the lovers that went wrong." Youth by Daughter

Nicolas Bear Forrest

END OF term exams never failed to suck all the energy out of me. They consumed my every thought and forced me into a lockdown, where studying took over all aspects of my life. Beginning December did not only mean the smell of holidays and drunken family, it also meant that exams were on the verge of happening. Study groups stayed until 3 a.m, some got delusional and others lived on coffee.

Therefore, waking one up on the wretched first of December at 9 a.m. was considered unannounced torture. The doorbell rang twice in the past five minutes. I hoped that falling back asleep would make whomever it was go away, but the thought of someone on the other side expecting Adrian or me lingered in the back of my brain. Adrian slept like a well-fed baby, so the chances of him waking up were close to zero. I, however, hardly slept and easily woke up.

When the doorbell resonated across the flat once more, I shot out of bed without second thought. From the peek I took at his room, Adrian was, as I expected, in a starfish position. I opened the door, expecting an advertisement person.

Instead, there stood a girl in jogging pants, a bright red sweater that read: I AM PROUD TO BE CANADIAN and sporting what seemed to be an attempt at a stiff attitude. If I didn't know her, I would've thought she was homeless. But I did; I'd be able to recognize her in a full crowd without a doubt.

I put my hand on the door frame, barely concealing my surprise. We hadn't spoken since her burst with James. I called twice and gave up, because in situations where someone you love hurts you, sometimes you want to be alone. "Hunter?"

"Hi," she said. Her face was bare of make up, yet her eyelashes stayed thick and uncountable, "I need to say something."

"Couldn't that have waited until noon?" I asked, instead of granting her unasked permission.

"No, actually," she frowned, "My flight's at noon."

"Right. Go ahead, then."

Her eyes concentrated on a place lower than my face and she looked up when I cleared my throat. "You're not wearing a shirt," she then chose to stare directly in my eyes.

Being half-asleep didn't aid my ability to talk without thinking, "I don't, when I sleep. We've slept together more than once." At her raised eyebrows, I added: "At the mail thing."

"Please put some clothes on," her voice was oddly unsteady, "I can't talk if you're half naked."

"Alright, give me a second." I tried not to race back into my room and throw a shirt on. I didn't bother looking in the mirror, this was Zoey. I could be covered in dirt and she wouldn't treat me any differently.

Back at the door, I offered her to step inside. She shook her head and held her hands together. Her nails barely had any color on them, but the chipped and scratched polish was present a few days back. She was nervous, or had been for a few days.

"I need to say something," she said, empty of light and full of courage. "I need you to listen, please."

I nodded. "Okay."

"First of all: I'm sorry for being a bitch during the dinner. I was trying to show you off and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. I've been a shitty friend and I won't make excuses for it and I'm sorry. I felt bad. You've been a good friend to me and I've been a, well, a bitch. So, yeah. Sorry," her strict gaze at me wavered when I gave her no answer. "Forrest?"

"It's okay," I said. "You didn't have to apologize."

She adjusted a strand that fell in her eyes. "I did. Second of all, good luck with your exams. I hope you don't fail. Third of all, uhm. Thank you for not telling me about you-know-what. If you had told me, I don't want to know what I would've done. Thank you."

She stood tall and fearless in front of me. Eyes looking ahead, pale face and unwavering body. She didn't let a single emotion fall through in her words. I wanted to believe that she was still there, the Zoey who was full of life and love. I wanted to believe that she could freely smile again.

"Is there more?" I asked.

She opened and closed her mouth again. "I-yeah. I don't think I can be around you for a little bit. Or for a long time. I look at you and I keep seeing you breaking my heart. I don't like to keep grudges and I know I said I'd forgive you. I do, somewhat. But right now, I can't forget. I'm just so fucking fed up with people breaking me. So, I need to take care of myself."

"Hunter, I-"

"Please," the word came out in a harsh whisper, "I just need to-be okay. It's hard on me. You hurt me badly and I'm tired of being reminded of that every time I look at you. The whole James thing messed me up and I can't help but look at you and think of how you messed me up too. I know you come to Silvercrest every Christmas and of course, I won't ask you not to. And I told Jessie that it's okay if you hang out at the store while I'm gone, Adrian will be there anyway. But I don't want to-"

"See me," I finished.

She nodded. "I just can't. Not now."

And I think she didn't expect me to say: "I understand," because she stared at me in shock.

"Thank you," she mumbled. "Thank you."

She got on her toes and hugged me tightly. We held onto each other for longer than a normal hug lasted. Her grip only disappeared when her phone buzzed in her pocket. I wondered how hurt she was. I wondered if she was going to be fine; then shook all the negative possibilities out. She was stronger than I ever had been.

"I'll see you around," she said.

She turned on her heels and I cried out, "Hunter!"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," the rehearsed words came out, too hollow. She stared at me for en extra second and shook her head. "Not really, no. But hey, I'm a strong, independent, beautiful woman. I'll get through it."

She didn't seem too sure of the validity in her words. She seemed tired, drained of energy. I doubted she even believed what she was saying.

"Okay."

"Don't forget to pay Walters a visit," she said. "He talks about you sometimes."

"It'll be the first thing I do once I land there."

She didn't smile, she clenched her jaw. For a second, I thought she had tears in her eyes but she was gone before I started to question it. I wanted to run after her and beg her not to cut all the ties I had sewn between us, but if I did, I'd be selfish. For once, she was doing something for herself. Therefore, I shut the door behind me and got ready for a run.

-

My mother died at 10:35 p.m. on Christmas Eve of 2012, almost five years ago.

She insisted on buying everyone Christmas presents. She wrote me a list of all the gifts to buy people, from her loved ones to her worst enemy. I protested when she asked me to get a watch and a box of chocolates for her bitchy boss, but she said that everyone is good inside and even the worst of us deserve a little bit of love.

Half of her visitors got kicked out; there were too many people around her. The only ones who stayed were her mother, her best friend, her sisters, my father and I. We put up a Christmas tree and lit up the room just to see her smile. She was able to smile through chemotherapy and being diagnosed. She didn't lose her free spirit until her last breath, in front of me.

Alone with my father, she cried. He held her while she cried for hours. She told him that she wanted another kid. That dying in the beginning of your forties was horrible and that the universe was a piece of shit. When I walked in the room, she dried her tears and greeted me with a smile.

She never liked Beth. From the moment they met, mom tried to talk me out of it. She interfered to extreme measures only once and didn't talk badly about her again. Beth was always the bad influence girl to her, the one who stole her son from her. Beth was the door to tasting cigarettes and alcohol, to staying out of the house overnight and coming home at noon the next day. She made me forget all the bad.

When Beth cheated, I sat at my mother's grave and laughed. I found out a few days after her death and I couldn't help but laugh. She was right, she always had been. She wanted someone with whom love could survive through everything and Beth escaped at the first intersection.

She knew a lot about love and taught me all of it. She told me that the person you love is the best friend you come home and kiss. The person you love is the one that makes you want to rip your hair out, but make them happy. The person you love is the mixture of all that is right and wrong in the world, so when you make a mistake: they will understand. Your past doesn't matter, because if they are your present, you will do anything to make them your future.

When she passed away, I lost my way and love for anything. I stopped coming home, because every spot in the house reminded me of her. She was blindingly vivid in my mind and I didn't know how to function. I stayed alone and forgot how to live.

Dad took me along with him to Canada, even though I begged him not to. The first time I cried since her death, sober, was my first night in Silvercrest. The thought of her making things good, checking up on me or even just crying out "Dinner's ready!" when there was still thirty minutes left until dinner was truly ready.

She would've either loved Zoey or hated her completely. They shared the pinch of the good kind of crazy, the kind that easily makes you hold on and never want to let go. Mum would've smacked me for hurting Zoey and called her to make sure that she was okay.

I always flew to Silvercrest a day before Christmas Eve, to spend it with dad. During the first year, he would not stop sending me money for dumb occasions. At some point, he understood that I was growing up. I made enough money to take care of myself. He helped, but he wasn't my crutch anymore. He didn't like to come back to England, not to visit. I fought with him more than once on the fact that he didn't want to visit her. He insisted that going would bring back too much pain, that she understands.

Exams end on the 21st of December. My flight to Silvercrest was at 5 a.m. on the 23rd. I had no choice but to visit her before or during the exams, to have enough time to spend with her.

Looking at her grave never stopped making me feel like a kid. I felt like the seventeen year old kid who didn't attend the funeral, because he was drunk, but came later the same day and cried there for hours.

Here lies a beloved mother,

daughter, sister, lover and friend.

"Ho lasciato l'amore."

Gina Caponi-Forrest (lines)

[1970-2012]

"Mum, hi." I picked up the remains of roses and threw them towards the trees behind me. In their place, I laid out a dozen roses horizontally under the grave stone.

I bent my knees and crouched, as several steps away from the grave. I sat on the dry ground near the edges of the empty cemetery and stared at the grave for a few moments before talking.

"I'm doing okay. School's kicking my ass, but I'm surviving. Adrian says hello. He mentioned that he misses your homemade pizzas, the other day. You made the best ones," I smiled. "What else is there? Oh. Remember Zoey Hunter?"

"She's in London. Literally. No, it's not a dream. She owns a store here. She's not doing so good. James, the friend from Canada, cheated on her and lied to her. He broke her heart. I feel like she won't be fine for a little bit. I don't know. I saw her last week and she was, I don't know. Broken? No. It's like I was looking at her and I couldn't see her. Mum, I'm so in love with her. God," I sniffed, "It would be so much easier if you were here. It would be easier for you to wake me up and tell me that these past years have been nothing but a bad dream."

And so I propped my elbows on my knees and covered my eyes with my palms. I cried and didn't stop for a long time, but it didn't matter. She was my mother, she saw me at my worst and at my best. She promised she'd listen, that she always would. Now, I wasn't so sure. I was a lunatic talking and crying to the grave of his mother.

-

Group conversations always get messy, no matter who is included in the messages. There's often confusion, misunderstanding and inability to plan events without a hundred messages.

7:30 p.m.

Jessie: if you aren't busy, bring your arse over to Elisa's at 8. I'm interviewing people for a temp job while Z's gone, maybe even for a permanent thing.

Adrian: what if I am busy?

Jessie: make yourself un-busy. You're sitting in front of me.

Adrian: wow

Jessie: ?

Adrian: you look beautiful even across the counter. ps: customer, LOK UP

Jessie: (kissing emoji)

Nico: (puking emoji) Get a room ffs.

Adrian: I DO HAVE ONE. But someone has been studying so much that if I even make one noise, SOMEONE will hurt me. how am I supposed to get a room then?

Jessie: Adrian, chill. I got to go, work. Contact Camilla, please? Ask her if she'll come

Adrian: Nico please bring chips with you.

Nico: If Zoey found out that we ate buttery, delicious chips in her delicate art store, she'll kill us.

Adrian: Lover boy scared of his girl?

Nico: Don't

Jessie: Don't.

Adrian: what's wrong with lover boy??

Adrian: Oh nvm Jess just hit the back of my head

Adrian: Sorry mate

Nico: I'll see you in a few

Adrian: SO who brings the chips??

Camilla: not me, YOU bring them.

Jessie: thank god you're coming, you'll keep me sane

Adrian: nico please bring smoothies, won't drop anything. I promise.

Nico: fine. what kinds?

Camilla: mango please!

Jessie: smoothie

Adrian: strawberry+banana

Nico: alright!

Adrian: wieourkladlj;SJSDH

Adrian: kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkl

Adrian: sorry, I butt texted

Seen by Camilla, Nico & Adrian

-

After nearly dropping the bag containing the drink-holder and spilling three full smoothies on the ground more than once, due to impatient walkers on the street, it was a relief to see the street leading to Elisa almost empty. That feeling didn't last for long, a pair of my hands tapped my shoulders and caused me to hold onto the bag tightly, sure of a spill.

"Fancy seeing you here," said a smiling Camilla. All the impromptu anger and annoyance at whoever started me was gone.

I sipped on my drink and focused on the car in front of the store, "you should know that you almost made me drop the drinks."

"Oups, sorry. You're carrying them all in there?"

"Yeah."

She took the bag from me and braced it in her arms as if it were a baby. She chuckled when I asked her why she did so, and said: "Swinging it like that doesn't help."

"How are you?" I said, instead. We'd slowed our pace; the store was getting closer with every step. We hadn't spoken in a few days; I slept in and never went to run, she preferred taking walks with Steele before the sun set.

Camilla whistled, "Good. But I think I should be asking you that, shouldn't I?"

"Why?"

"Zoey," her eyes didn't leave me. Her voice softened, "Her basically breaking her friendship with you off. Your exams."

"I'm fine. The exams end in two weeks, I'll survive."

She nodded, a smile of politeness turning into one of disbelief. "You're fine?"

"Do you want me not to be fine, is that it?"

"No!" She exclaimed, "of course not! You just don't seem very fine. I don't know how I know, but I do."

I gulped to keep myself from saying something that could potentially ruin my friendship with her. I wasn't sure if she was wrong, but a small piece of me leaned towards her words. I was drained, tired and nostalgic towards a series of might-have-beens. I was in love with someone who didn't want to love me back, and that pain reached levels that forced me to disconnect my mind from my heart.

"Don't worry about me," I gave her a small smile. "The only thing you should worry about is, well, tonight," we spotted Adrian from afar, spreading his arms out to us. We both stepped away from him, but he still put his arms through ours and saluted us.

He gave us both a grin, "we have the whole store to ourselves." This kind of excitement only came out whenever he was happy; overwhelmed with the natural joy that accompanied drugs or love. It was the latter, in his case.

"You're talking as if we're two teenagers losing their virginities for the first time and planning it out," said Camilla, struggling to hold the bag of smoothies in one arm.

Adrian stared at her, unfazed. "Planning it out or not doesn't do shit, it'll be crap one way or another."

"False," I said. "It isn't crap for everyone."

"You did it with what's-her-face Isabelle or Belle or Beth or whoever the fuck she was on her couch in the basement."

"It wasn't crap."

"Maybe not," he shrugged, "but she's a bitch. I don't know her; she might be a nice person. But from what I've heard, she's horrible. So, anything that is related with her is crap."

Camilla smiled-but then again when didn't she? She replied with, "You're not a bad friend."

"You doubted me?" he shook his head, let go of us and grabbed the bag from her hands. "Unbelievable."

We followed him into the store. Even though I knew she wasn't there, I still hoped she'd appear and give pride to her paintings. Seeing the delight in her eyes at the mention of art gave me the adrenaline and settling hope that reminded me of the beauty inside of the little things. They do matter, the little things. Sometimes even more than the big things.

Minutes later, the first interviewee walked in. Jessie tried her best to look official, but planned to scare the shit out of each potential worker, because only the best and strong deserved to work at Elisa, according to her. Adrian sat on the counter beside her, while Camilla and I had to drag dusty chairs from the storage room, clean them and sit on them.

"Hiya!" said a tall girl with eyeliner with wings that reached the tips of her eyebrows. "I'm Lennon. I'm here for the job interview."

"Jessie," she answered and shook her hand. Jessie gave the girl a look that could've turned ice water to fire. She skimmed through the CV."Why do you want to work here?"

"Because I need a job, my dad cut off my allowance and he told me to get a job." At Camilla's wince, Lennon added: "Because I love the store. It's, erm, gorgeous. Very artsy and astatically pleasing."

"Did you say astatically?" said Jessie.

"I did?"

Adrian set his drink on the counter, hopped off and whispered in Lennon's ear. She smiled wider and said, "Aesthetically. I meant aesthetically." She eyed Adrian with nervous eyes for a while.

"Huh. Okay. Where did you hear about Elisa?"

"I saw it."

"Wow," Jessie didn't smile, "so, tell me about yourself."

Lennon's make-up covered eyes lit up, she'd practiced this before. "I love music. I'm hardworking, happy, and easy to love. I'll make the customers come back. I'm very, um, did I already say happy?"

"You did. So, I can see here that you've worked as a babysitter and at a restaurant before?"

"Uh," she hesitated and nodded, "I worked at a restaurant before. I did."

Jessie narrowed her eyes at Lennon, "you're sure you did?"

"I'm sure."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen," she continued to smile, but visibly shrinking under Jessie's eyes.

"What school?"

"Holland Park."

"Oh! Ninth or tenth form? My sister goes there," Jessie leaned back in her chair, fake welcoming on her features. Lennon fell for it.

Camilla tilted towards me and whispered, "She's either 13 or 14."

"Tenth?" said Lennon.

"My sister is in tenth too! You probably know her, Zoey Curtis?"

"Yeah," grinned Lennon, "we have classes together."

Jessie's act disappeared. "Zoey Curtis doesn't exist, Lennon. How old are you?"

"Fourteen," she croaked. "Almost fourteen."

Jessie handed her back the CV. "You volunteered at the restaurant, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"You do know that it's tough to get hired at 13?"

"Yeah."

"I advise you to go home, then. Thanks for coming, Lennon. Tell whoever's waiting outside in the car I say hello."

That was that.

Those who arrived after her weren't much better. One girl carried the printed flyer around, which was graphically flawless, thanks to Adrian's friend, and claimed to be perfect for the job. The only problem was that she hated anything related to art. She didn't say it, obviously. Her nose crinkled every time Jessie asked her about art and she mumbled crude criticism about every painting or piece of jewelry she saw, as if we didn't hear her. Camilla was the one to tell her that we'll give you a call if we need you, but you and I both know that's doubtful. She also meant: we'll give you a call if the world is ending and you're the only living person who can take care of this place.

One guy was definitely high on something; he was sloppily talking about how fluffy the paintings looked and caressed a strand of Camilla's hair. Adrian and Jessie walked him out, while Camilla tried not to laugh at Jessie's continuous bilingual cursing. Her favorite sentence, we concluded, was: Fuckin' hell. Este lugar no es una especie de broma. For fuck's sakes. ¿Una persona en todos los de Londres, que es tan difícil?

Two more were scheduled to come tonight, which was an accomplishment since Jessie only put up the flyers yesterday.

"Oh, wow," Camilla said in a small voice, perking up at the arrival of the next candidate.

Jessie greeted him with a simple, shy nod. For someone who has loud written in their DNA, this was out of sorts. Her disappointment slouch was gone.

I didn't see what was so great. It wouldn't hurt him to run a brush through his hair, curls could be tamed. It would be great if he chose whether to smile or not to smile, and not to look at Jessie and Camilla as if he could see through their souls.

"Miles ," he shook Jessie's hand. Adrian wanted to kick him, he really did. "I'm here for the job? I spoke to a Jessie, is she here?"

"That's me," she didn't move.

"I want to be Jessie," mumbled Camilla. At my look, she smiled and said: "what? He's physically attractive. I mean, I don't know how the cake tastes but it looks good."

Jessie said: "Right in front of you. So, Miles. This is Camilla and Nico, my friends. And this is Adrian." Everyone but Adrian noticed her lingering gaze of he's-a-great-thing-in-my-life.

"It's nice to meet you," Miles ushered towards everyone but us.

"So, how did you hear about Elisa?"

"A friend of mine, actually. She comes here all the time and raves about how great it is. I'm looking for a job, so here I am."

"And why do you want to work here?"

"I love the idea of being surrounded by art all the time. Besides, from what I see, talented people have worked on this. I don't know much about paintings, but I would love to work here and learn more."

This was the best answer, so far. And the best interview. He was polite, seemed not to completely hate the store, was charming, and Camilla chipped in more than once. We each rotated the role of reading the CVs out loud and asking the candidates questions about their previous jobs.

It was my turn, but I handed his CV over to Camilla, in hopes of helping her get more chances of talking to him. She stared at the page for a moment and shook her head, gave it back to me. I nudged her, but she just looked down to her braid and fixed loose strands.

"Camilla?"

She let out a "humph" and murmured, almost shyly: "I'm dyslexic," in my ear.

I nodded indifferently, to spare her from having to declare that publicly, and continued, "Uh-so you're currently working at a grocery store?" I asked him, "then why do you want to work here? The pay is different, isn't it?"

He shrugged, "If I'm going to be honest with you, I need a second job. I can work around my shifts. And I know it's too much to ask, but I'll be here when you need me. I can work around shifts at the store and be here. I don't work too far from here. I completely understand if this creates a dilemma."

"Why do you need a second job?" said Camilla. "I don't mean to pry."

"It's fine," he gave her a smile. He took out a wallet and a picture, showed it to Jessie, then Camilla and I. A pouting kid, who couldn't have been older than two or three years old, was being held by a beautiful, blonde woman. "That's why. I have more than one person to take care of and get a proper Christmas present for."

Both women in the room sighed, while Adrian's demeanor melted down noticeably. For the next moment or so, Jessie asked him questions on his availability and fell in love with his dedication. She told him that she would call him in the next few days, just to be a little professional. Four adults sipping on empty smoothies didn't exactly come off as serious, as much as we tried. He was unofficially hired from the following Monday to the 30th of January, with a salary that was higher than normal.

Jessie locked the doors of the store and dimmed the lights. She shared a look with all of us, before breaking into a celebratory dance, which consisted of her clapping her hands, faintly tracing the borders of twerking and screaming "uh, huh! Oh, yeah! I rock!"

Thirty seconds later, Adrian was moving his hips beside her, which was borderline disturbing. Camilla hopped around them, repeating the chants. I would've joined them, but I was too busy laughing. If anyone looked closely through the glass, he would've seen three psychos dancing and one struggling to laugh and dance at the same time. The fun came from being on the other side of the screen.

What happened later was a blur. A mess of Adrian falling on one of the paintings, the sound of the rip & Jessie's gasp echoing in my ears. The first to verbally react was Camilla: "I don't know Zoey that well, but I do know that she'll murder you for that. It was nice knowing you."

"She won't know," announced Jessie, already taking the painting off the wall, leaving a metal screw lonely. She pointed to Adrian, "you are banned from the store for a week. And banned from getting a piece of this," she did a full body wave, "for-three days."

"Three days?" he stepped towards her, but she shook her head. "Fine. I deserve that."

"You do, Collini. Forrest," she adopted a military voice and gave me the ripped painting, "there's a painting with colors similar to this in Zoey's corner of the storage room, in a box with Nature written on it. Probably the first one. Go get it."

"Yessir," I lit up the storage room.

It reeked of painting brushed and wood. The room was cleanly divided into to parts, Zoey's and Jessie's. While Jessie's was messy, fashion projects splattered around the floor and in boxes, Zoey's was as clean as a painting station would be. Stains on the floor, a neat stool and canvas: it was like she never left. I remembered her wall at the haunted mansion, her heart sprawled against the edges.

The box Jessie indicated was the first beside many others, and a small treasure chest. I opened the Nature one and took out the closest match to the painting in my hands. Set on leaving the room before looking through more of her stuff (I learned my lesson with the photograph), I got up. But the broken canvas, still leaning against the box, was knocked over by my leg onto the treasure chest.

On the top was taped a paper, reading:

Jessie. If you open this, I will not hesitate on listening to opera music for a full hour while you sleep. -ZH

Well, I mean, it was addressed to Jessie.

Before I could think of the cons, I examined the lock. A four number password was required to open the chest. I decided that if I guessed the code right in the third try, I'd look at the surface and leave it as it was. If I didn't, I would put the chest back where it was.

1234.

Nope.

0000.

No.

I thought of her birthday and put in the numbers, doubtful that the idea would be successful.

1309.

Open.

This was a bad idea. It really was.

But all it had were several white and sketch pad papers. The page on top had a painting of what I assumed was the sky at night, but underneath it were a load of words, starting with: Nico, which practically forced me to read the next words.

Nico,

I wish you didn't appear. I was fine with you being far away. I was fine writing letters to someone who, to me, didn't exist anymore. I don't know what to do anymore. It feels like I don't deserve happiness anymore. I just wanted a happy ending. James is supposed to be my prince charming. But I'm a princess or whatever the fuck I am, crying at 3 a.m. and staining my goddamn pillows. I haven't changed my pillow cases everyday in a long time. Would you have treated me better? Probably not. I'm so tired. Of temporary things. People. I want to stay in the happy pictures and moments forever. Maybe I should just marry myself. It's sad to think that I'm the only person who knows how to treat myself right.

Z.

This was four days ago, before she even found out the whole story. I wanted to read more, to understand what hid behind her "I'm fine," bubble. From a quick look, the crumpled papers and tips of painted paper indicated a mix of letters and drawings. I itched to analyze each piece of the inside of the chest.

But I imagined the disappointment and anger Zoey would feel if she found out, the loss of trust I'd gain. At least she didn't want to stop seeing the Nico she wrote to. So, I locked the chest again, placed it where I found it and headed out the storage door, two paintings in hand.

- - -

unedited & shitty but ONE DAY I'll rewrite this entire thing.

me talking to you: when exams are over I WILL UPDATE FREQUENTLY

you: HOURRA (or ok idgaf)

weeks later

me: hello this is an update

you, shoving breadsticks in your purse: i'm sorry, something came up I have to leave IMMEDIATELY. the breadsticks hold more truth than your words.

In other words, I'm sorry for the late update! I've been swamped with NaNoWriMo, which I won't finish either. The next chapter should arrive soon, & it will include James, Diana, Joel, Skye, Julia, Walters & Zoey's mom! Be prepared!

also, if you'd like your name to be a new character's in one of my books, all you need to do is enter the giveaway on my profile, you'll see the link!

ps. if I don't answer your pm, it's not because I'm a horrible person. Since most of the time I get nothing but reading requests and such, even though I clearly state on my profile that I don't accept them, PLEASE contact me through twitter/instagram/ask.fm. Twitter/insta: yasthepotato, ask: ask.fm/yasthepotato

ps 2.0: I CANNOT WAIT FOR "BADLANDS", that album will be SO GOOD i WILL CRY

love, yas