I stood at the end of a hallway, viewing the figure that floated before me. Old, smoothed oak floors creaked below my feet, making even the slightest motion audible. The corridor was pitch black within the caging walls of distorted family photos and paling paint, which curled and rotted off of the aging wooden boards. I braced myself against them, working in anguish to keep my legs from giving out beneath me.

My breath came in pants, knees shaking as I shivered violently. I could see each intake of air rush from my lungs, floating before me as a frosted white cloud of chill, my bare feet turning to ice as I stared. I came down with a tremor, body convulsing as I stumbled away from the being ahead of me. My eyes remained trained on his triangular back, an ominous shadow that only hovered, singing a distorted song I did not know.

"B-Bill..." My lips remained closed, and yet the name was found, cast into the air and poisoned my senses. He said nothing, continuing his peaceful song, though deepened and slowed to the point of insanity. I became weak, pained in my stomach as desperation absorbed me. "N-no. This- this is a dream!" I spoke, my words echoing back at me in what sounded like a distorted cry of suffering. I backed away, hoping to create an insurmountable distance between us, only for the space to shrink. The floor below me shifted, and I was suddenly being pulled towards him by the very ground. Panic rose, hearing his voice near as I was forced to advance. I tried to turn and run, only to feel something like static push against me. Like an invisible wall. The edge of a game screen. Bill's game screen.

I gripped the roots of my hair, hearing that nauseating tune grow closer and closer.

"Wake up, Dipper!" I screamed at myself, slapping my cheeks beat red. "This isn't real! Wake up!" I coward, folding into myself as the inches continued to dwindle away. I was close now, able to reach out and brush the tips of my fingers against his top hat if I wanted to. But, I didn't. I wanted to get out of there. Get away from him! I wanted to wake up, wake up, wake up! And still, I drew near. Slowly, at a slug's pace, his body began to turn.

Agonized, ruined chants of damned souls and crying children and weeping mothers and begging men assaulted my hearing as I looked on, keeping a shriek of terror at bay only by the frozen fear that stole me. His inky black form began to drip, splattering thick dots of dark slime, dribbling plentifully as though to flood the room. The drops remained for a moment, lifeless and staining, only to sprout row upon row of thin, talloned legs that scurried across the floor and over my feet. Centipedes. Roaches. Even fat, hairy caterpillars crawled along, dragging out black lines wherever they went.

Beyond Bill, I made out the crimson burn of hell fire. Human forms, charred and writhing in agony, seemed to flail against the backdrop of sulfur and tears. There were screeches of pain, of anguish, of pleading forgiveness. Bare, naked children wondered hopelessly, trying in despair to swat the flames from their ever-growing hair. Women broke into sorrowful wails, dropping to their knees, looking to the dark skies in hopes of redemption. I heard swearing, blasphemy, and begging moans crawl along the walls, wrapping around my neck to pull me in. Pull me closer.

His body continued to turn, not yet facing me, still singing his song of revenge. It had slowed down to an unimaginable pace now, dropping an octave each time the melody was stalled. I clamped my hands over my ears, nails digging into the thin structure of cardalig, palms squeezing my lobes to the point of popping them. "It's just a dream, Dipper. It's just a dream. It's just a dream. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up!"

"We'll meet again." His voice buzzed like static, dropping to an indecipherable tone, and yet I understood. I could just make out the corner of his eye, burning red against his black form.

"Don't know where-" I began to hyperventilate, his body not yet angled towards me, but close. His eye was void of a pupil, baring a bloody orb of uncontrollable rage. I snapped my eyes shut but could still see everything. Like I wasn't in my own body, instead watching from a TV set. Like a horror film I couldn't look away from. I begged myself, the self that was watching, to turn the cable off and go to bed! Change the channel! Watch something else! Anything else! Just, please!

"D-o-n-t-k-n-o-w-w-h-e-n-" His voice stuttered like a broken record, warbled and distorted with devious intent. He came face to face with me, his demonic figure still dripping and squirming and hovering and singing. The hellfire rushed past him, burning and crackling as it chewed away at the wooden walls, causing the crowd of people within to chase after it. The damned and tortured filled the hallway, scratching at the wallpaper, ripping at their own flesh, and bashing their heads against smoldering wood. I wrapped my arms around myself, keeping a distance as they fought to climb over each other, hoisting themselves above the flames.

I felt nothing. No burns. No pain. Simply an uncontrollable wave of aghast sorrow and helplessness. And, among the dead, I was sure I could make out tufts of brown hair, cut to shoulder length and held back by a hairband. She bawled in pain, kitty-cat clip ons puncturing her own scalp, digging in and ripping away chunks of flesh and hair. This time, I did shriek, rocking myself on my feet as my head lowered and began to shake.

"Nononononononononononononononononononononono." My eyes watered against the bite of smoke, as well as my sister's bitter cries. I shook, refusing to see her anymore, only to feel a cold hand grip my shoulder. I didn't look up, only screaming and weeping as those thin, black fingers felt my skin. His flesh absolutely crawled with the tiny feet of squirming insects and ink. I felt something long, with millions of little legs, march along my skin. Up my neck, along my chin, across my cheek, over my eye, trailing its way through my hair and down to my ear, where it slowly slipped its way in. But, I didn't move. I couldn't.

The ground seemed to shake, crumbling beneath me as the flames turned blue. Suddenly, the screaming was gone. Silenced. The bodies were now piles of ash, scattering about and floating through the air I breathed. That chilled hand only seemed to drop in temperature, tightening its grip as a single, vengeful command was given.

"Suffer."

The floor gave out below me, and I found myself falling into a pit of light.

[]

My body lurched against the sheets, arms pushing me from my place on the mattress. Panicked, I jerked off of the bed and to the floor, fingers instinctively pressing against my ears once more. My body scooted to a corner, toes curling inwards and knees tucking against my chest while my eyes remained trained on the other side of the room.

"...Wake... wake up..." I told myself, still well versed on my chant. I sat there with my back against the wall, waiting for something to happen. For Bill to morph into existence. For slick, black bugs to crawl across the floor and into my ears. For Mabel to burst through the door, burned alive. But, the room was silent. I worried my bottom lip, body wiggling in place as I concentrated on the situation. Taking a deep breath, I slowly lifted to my foot. I slid up, using the wall as a prop, mumbling to myself small words of encouragement.

"This-... This is real, right?" I felt at my clothes, rubbing the fabrics and stretching it out for my viewing. My shirt had a square, peach shade of clay on the cover with two fat round eyes and a red nose. It was an album cover for Micropop, something I wasn't allowed to wear around Mabel. Jack Stauber was all about claymation. I loved his music, but being that she wouldn't have it, I only wore them as PJs. I was awake.

I let out a sigh of relief, patting my cheek in reassurance. My skin was wet against my palm from both sweat and drool. Or perhaps tears. I tried not to linger on it, brushing myself off with an air of embarrassment. I'd been having the same nightmare for almost two weeks now, with Bill singing that same song. And, if that wasn't bad enough, I still couldn't tell if it was really Bill, or just my mind's conjuring. Was he in my head, or was I in my own? I checked my nightstand, a clock ticking rhythmically at '7:23.' Mabel probably wasn't up yet.

Not that I'd tell her about my dream, but it might be important to see if she's been experiencing them as well. I didn't like to think he was only messing with me because of being his "puppet." No. Never again. I am nobody's puppet. Carding a hand through my hair, I took a glance around the room. My bed sheets were in shambles, tossed about and sideways on my mattress, making a crumbled up pile of cloth that was nothing short of messy. I had always been an "active" sleeper. Mom used to badger me about making my bed in the mornings, saying it was a good habits, along with cleaning my room, brushing my hair, and a whole bunch of other boring tasks. But, I never saw the point. I'd just mess them up later, right?

I picked at a corner of my blanket, entertaining the idea of tidiness, before letting it fall from my fingers. I'd do it later. Maybe. Probably not.

No. I wasn't going to do it.

I looked to my empty hamper, unwashed clothes lying on the floor before me, not even close when being tossed towards the basket. I had gotten much better about laundry. It was one of the many life skills mom had shoved down my throat, fretting the day I would move out and go off to college. Funny, considering I never went. The news almost killed her, finding out from dad. But, it didn't matter.

Dad didn't really mind. He told me college wasn't for everyone, which was great, considering I'd almost eaten an entire supplies of shirts, worrying what I was going to do with my life. I had other, better plans anyways. Besides, if mom wanted to scream at me for skipping out on it, she'd have to take a five hour flight to New York, knock on dad's door, and ask him politely if I was in. And, there was no way in hell he would have sold me out like that.

I picked up one of my white button up shirts, trying to remember if I had worn it already. If it was close to the hamper, that probably meant I had tried chucking it in. If it was by the bed, I might have worn it once, taken it off before sleeping, and just dropped it on the floor. This one was kind of in the middle... I put it on, buttoning the cuffs before starting on the main line. I slid on my black slacks, zipping them up before searching for my vest. It was always on my desk chair. Next came the tie, but I couldn't tie it until Mabel was up. She was the only one who knew how to. I hung it around my neck for the time being, letting the flaps lie untwisted.

Looking to my bedroom mirror, I ruffled my hair a bit, trying in vain to keep my curls down. Before the hormones and growth spurts, it only tangled. My hair used to be a simple brown, frizzing at the edges, turning upwards near the tips, lying otherwise flat across my forehead. It was so easy to manage, I never bothered with hair products or maintenance. Just snap on a hat and be gone. But nowadays, my head was curl upon stupid curl, forcing me to put in some effort, less I look like an addict. Puberty had done some shitty things to my body.

I pulled softly at the strands, curtaining them over my forehead until I had a swoop of hair to cover my birthmark. My shoes sat at the doorway. I slipped them on, tugging at the laces and tucking them under the shoe's bill. I hardly ever bothered with tying them anymore. It seemed doing anything that wasn't Cipher-related had become time consuming, and I always got anxious if I thought my efforts were better spent elsewhere.

Stepping out of the room, my nose instantly caught onto the faint scent of something sweet. Which, for a moment, was pleasantly encouraging. It was an odd surprise, noting the air's soft melt of butter and sugar, light and charming. Was Mabel making breakfast?

Wait. No.

Mabel can't cook.

My neck hairs prickled up at the thought, instantly putting me on alert. Either Mabel had cracked open a cook book and actually followed the instructions, or a burglar had ransacked the apartment, stolen our cash, and decided to catch a bite to eat before booking it. And honestly, I wasn't sure which one sounded more far fetched. I was cautious with my footing, keeping my ears keenly tuned to the clattering of plates and turning of faucets. It probably wasn't an intruder. What weirdo would break into someone's house to make pancakes? But, then again, this was Gravity Falls.

And, people were weird as shit.

I heard humming from the kitchen. A song, played low and fondly with the smooth rolling of breaths. It had an oddness about it, almost preformed to the point of excessiveness. Cocky. There was pride in the tone, as though showing off rather than simply humming for the sake of it. But, that wasn't what ticked me off. It was the song itself. It sounded old. Familiar. Why did I know what he was singing..?

He..?

He!

I turned the corner, seeing none other than Bill at the stove, cooking away in such a casual manner, I half-suspected of being in the wrong house myself. He caught wind of my presence instantly, looking over his shoulder with a "pleasant" grin.

"Well, Good morni-!"

"What the fuck are you doing?" I deadpanned, eyes glazing over in cold hostility.

Two weeks. We had been working together for two weeks! In that span of time, I had come across seven different ways of hating a single human being without question. And eleven more describing why you could hate them. To list off a few, he was always fucking around. Holy hell, this guy never not took a break. He even had the audacity to suggest I do, too! It didn't help knowing he always stole my fucking seat, and, while giving me a knowing "wink", would light a cigarette. Not to mention his laugh was annoying. His voice alone made my skin crawl, but that goddamn laugh-!

I made a point of clocking out just as work was done, never parting ways with a "Good night" or "See you later." Because, in all honesty, I didn't want to see him later, and I hoped he'd have a shitty night. And now, he was using my stove, wearing Mabel's bedazzled apron, flipping pancakes.

Fuck me.

He continued to smile, that stupid smirk only working to poke at my temper. Turning away, his voice met me with ignorance.

"Just making breakfast."

"Uh, yeah. I know, but why? Who the hell let you in?"

'How do you know where I live? Why are you here? Who the hell do you think you are?' Those were much better, more informative questions to be asked. But, knowing him, I'd never get a straight answer. He liked dancing around the facts like that.

"Mabel did! She wanted to carpool to work."

"So, what? You're driving her today?" My arms went to cross over my chest, an odd feeling of jealousy passing over me. So, she wanted to ride with him today? Yeah. Sure. Go ahead... Treature.

"Actually, she said you'd drive-"

"Like hell I will!"

Mabel and Bill had clicked almost instantly. It was annoying seeing the person I trusted most hang with a douche like that. And even more so, seeing just why they got along. She was chaotic. He was weird. What could be better than that? A lot of things, actually. Like children with cancer and nuclear warfare. Because, holy shit, they were even worse together. They'd only hear from each other once in a while whenever Mabel visited me at work, or called me on the phone, or just so happened to "accidentally" leave her keys in my bag. Whoops. In those instances, though unspoken, there was this strange static that built up between them. Trouble. Serious trouble. I had tried warning her about Bill, telling her to keep away from him, but she wouldn't listen.

'Hogwash!' Mabel'd say, and though she didn't know what the hell that meant, she was always able to shut me down with it. She'd put a finger up, hush me, making little peeps whenever I tried to object, and twirl away without listening. After a while, I just gave up. It was pointless arguing when she was in romance-mode. Or, at least what she considered romance. There was no way that mutant puppy love was getting in the car!

Bill said nothing of my response, smiling once again. He turned away, sliding a pancake off of the pan and plopping it on a plate. There was a whole stack of them. They smelled good, too. But, I'd rather starve than enjoy anything he put in my mouth. Scoffing, I moved forward.

"Who said you could use our stove, anyway?"

"Again: Mabel... You think she likes a man who can cook?" He smirked with this look on his face, like a prize. Like he was a prize. Because, of course every woman loved a man who could cook. And make her laugh. And dress up in bow ties and freshly polished shoes and reach the top shelf and tie a tie and somehow wink without two eyes. What a dick.

"She prefers mermen."

"I can work with that."

"-Who play guitar."

"Is piano okay?" He sat down on a stool at the isle, sliding a single flapjack off into his hand. Folding it in half, he nibbled at it like a burrito.

"You need to speak spanish."

"French. Close enough."

"And you can't be a complete ass hole." Bill paused, mulling over my statement. He let out a hum in thought, finger tapping at his chin as my words stumped him.

"Well... Every rose has its thorns, I suppose." Bill sighed, looking at his rolled up pancake before cramming the last bit in his mouth. It created a bulge in his cheek, giving off a chipmunk effect as he munched sloppily at it. I stood there for a moment, watching him work at his breakfast.

This was fucked up. Like, really fucked up. Were we actually talking about this? About him trying to court my sister, even though he knew I hated him? Was part of the rivalry between us in him trying to get with her? Because, if it was, that was sort of wrong. No. Super wrong. No guy goes into a relationship expecting to hold hands the entire time. He was going to- This shit was weird. He was weird. There wasn't a chance he was getting near her. Not with me around.

"Good morning~!" Mabel's chipper voice cut through my heated thoughts, making me jump from her presence. I turned to look at her in the hallway, wearing her iconic Shooting Star sweater, as well as her favorite skirt. She used to tell me it made the mood 30% more romantic. Please, God no. Her smile widened, seeing how Bill and I were "chatting," misreading that horrible conversation as a possible wall jumped. Nope. Wall still intact. And tall. With a mote of alligators and spikes and a fire breathing dragon covered in barb wire and a sniper placed three rooftops over, just in case all other methods failed.

"Hey there!" Bill beamed back. "We were just talking about you!"

"Aw~! You guys missed me?" She cooed, feigning bashfulness. "Sorry for the wait. I was just getting dressed. You find your way here okay?"

"Yup. Key was right where you said it'd be." Bill stood from his stool, giving me a side glance. Okay. That comment was definitely meant for taunting. What did he intend on doing, now that he knew where we hid the spare apartment key? Well, that's exactly what he wanted me to wonder. And I did. Glaring at him with an unrivaled hatred, I pondered the statement ringing through my ears. Because he loved leaving me little treats. Puzzles. Things he said that could mean one thing, but could also mean something else. Like, he didn't say he was going to use that key and sneak into our apartment to see Mabel while I was asleep or working late. But, damn it. That's exactly what I was thinking.

'You stay the fuck away from her you hear? Shit bag screw you screw you screw you.'

His eye left me, satisfied with the rotten look on my face, addressing Mabel now. There was a distinct shift in her stance, noticing his attention on her. She hardened for a moment, becoming straight as she stood, shoulders rolling back and lips pulled into a smile, eager to please. I almost puked. But then she softened, putting herself at ease where she was. Her eyes dulled a tad, wiping away the lingering glint of excitement.

"We should get going soon, don't you think? Place gets real busy real fast, and we don't wanna fall behind on our workload. That whole Bill-thing's got the GFPD running nuts. Wouldn't you say, Dippy?"

"Don't call me 'Dippy', bastard."

"Oh! There's that language of his again. Now, how'd a youngster like that pick up such a mouth?" He said, speaking more to Mabel than to me. He wagged a finger my way, tutting his tongue, and there was nothing I would have loved more than to bite off his damn index. It'd probably go 'crunch!' Real easy, and it was right in front of me.

"You sound like an old man." I opted for the less extreme response, keeping my mouth to myself. Who knew where his fingers had been, anyways? "Where do you get off telling me how to talk?"

"Just a friendly tip, pal. You're not real charming when you mouth off like that." He moved a bit closer, though staying far enough away to seem playful. Nothing hostile. No advances. Just talking. Right. "Keep it up, and you might find yourself getting what you deserve."

"Is that a threat?" Not that I was threatened. I wasn't. Not even a little. The guy stood a good three inches taller than me, with a mobster haircut and mysterious eye patch. Maybe one day I'd ask about it. How he lost it. Must have been a gruesome tale. But, not today. Today I was staring back at the ass hole that came into my house, intruded on my work space, and made my life a living nightmare just by breathing. No. I wasn't threatened. Just pissed.

He lifted his hands to me, a look of shock on his features. He took a step back, as though realizing how it looked. But I knew better. This was an act. Like everything else he did, his motions were taken truthfully by everyone but me. What a load of bull. The day I fell for his bologna was the day Waddles sprouted fairy wings and floated off into the sun set.

"Huh? Oh, no no no no no! Of course not! I'm just warning you. Really, though. Not nice to curse, friend. Not at all. I mean, look at me! I'm twenty-eight! You think I go around saying stuff like that? You think I'd kiss my mother with that mouth?"

'Oh, I'll bet you do a whole bunch of shit with that mouth, Mr. Experimental. Go fuck yourself.'

"That's what I've been saying!" Mabel chimed in. Once again, I was shocked to notice her presence. Jesus, she was loud as an air horn, but give her a minute to quiet down, she almost faded into the background. I'd have to remember that, just in case I had some sensitive material to discuss with one-eyed Jack. Didn't want her catching wind of anything too weird. "I don't know what happened! He goes off for a few years of highschool, comes back, and it's like- Boom! Cursing like a sailor!"

"It was New York. Everyone cursed." I said curtly, crossing my arms with a shrug. I looked at the kitchen stove, a clock blinking as fifteen 'til eight. Mabel shook her head in disappointment, hands on her hips as she grumbled.

"Yeah, yeah Mr. Potty Mouth. Tell it to the judge." She turned to address Bill. "Well, mom sure wasn't happy about it. Grunkle Stan seemed kind of proud, but everyone else was weirded out. He'd never been like that before."

"Mabel, go start the car. I'll be down in a minute." I pulled the keys from my pocket, dangling them in front of her face. She pouted.

"Hey! I'm not done yet!"

"Yes you are." I shot back, giving her a look. A perfect expression, telling her how little I appreciated the comments. It was strained, cold. Nothing close to vicious, but something similar. A warning. Of cold shoulders. Of later arguments. Of conflict. Mabel hated conflict, and she'd zip it as long as it meant keeping the good vibes flowing. The keys dropped in her hands, letting out a satisfied little jingle. "I'll meet you in the car." There was a pause, a moment with her eyes staring back into mine, testing the genuine power behind my tone, before sighing.

"Don't take too long." Mabel's voice lowered. She shuffled away, mumbling and grumbling and whining under her breath, slipping her coat on before exiting the room.

"Wow. Cold-blooded, aintcha? You're real snappy today, Sapling. But, then again, you always did have a stick up your ass, didn't you?"

"Will you shut up? What the hell's up with you acting all chummy around my sister, huh? I thought I told you to-"

"To what?" He moved forward, forcing me to step back. It was reflex, nothing more. I wasn't intimidated. Not at all. Not even a little. He just came a bit too close, and I wasn't prepared for it. Yeah. That's all. "Do you honestly think what you say means anything to me? You think you've got some kind of power over me? Huh? Do you?"

My mouth went dry, looking up at him. And I hated knowing I did. When he got this close, I sort of had to look up, no matter how badly I wanted to look down. I bet the guy loved that. He loved that I had to look up at him. Because, more than anything, that told him how far below I was. And he wanted to keep me there forever. Bill viewed me for a moment, a slight grin forming over his lips. He was silent. But, yes. He loved it.

"You've got an attitude, sport. You know that? A real sour personality." His body leaned in and, once again, I moved away. Back, keeping from that strange smirk of his. Something felt off. "You work with a big mouth. You're all about being the bigger man, and you know why? It's 'cause we all know you're not. You're smaller, Dipper. Lithe. But, you don't want anybody seeing you like that, so you're compensating. Is that it? It is, isn't it?" He spoke with resolve. His smirk continued to develop, molding into a confident smile. Another step forward. Another step back. I scoffed, the sound just barely escaping me without tripping up. I almost whined in discomfort, my vocal cords contorting into something strange. He made me feel all kinds of uneasy.

"And what if I am? I'll still kick your ass." He was getting a lot closer than I'd like. His eye seemed a bit sharper, something I'd seen once before on Nature Planet. The lion creeps up on the unsuspecting elk, shoulders rowling back, hips jiggling, ears lying flat against its head. It was ready to pounce. To attack. Consume. Devoir the elk and strip it of everything it was. That's how his eye was. And, beneath my display of hostile confidence, I was shivering. He could eat me alive.

"Hmm. Doubt." Bill said bluntly. He was calling my bluff. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit. "You don't look like the fighting type... Well, actually, I take that back. I'm sure you could kick some ass if you tried. Just not mine."

"You wanna test that theory?" Dipper, stop talking. Just stop fucking talking. Why the hell are you still talking? Because if I don't, he'll know he's got me, and there's no way in hell I'm letting him.

"Aw. You're just full of fire, arentcha? Cute. Real cute! Pretty, even. Something you'd see in a whore. No offence." And that final step he made, far wider and longer than the last two, had me bumping into the edge of the kitchen table. My hands went back to catch me, propping myself up against the smooth ebony. There was a stickiness underneath my hand. Some leftover frosting Mabel had mindlessly wiped away with a napkin. But, the streak still lingered, and it stuck to the base of my palm. This time I shook, only for a moment, before the chill of my mood empowered my expression, willing me to glare.

"None taken." My voice was worn with ice, encouraging an advance. "I'd expect nothing less from GFPD's third-rate helping hands. Couldn't even find someone with two eyes." His body grew a little closer. Just a millimeter. A slight shift. My stomach turned, feeling that small space lost between up. The safeguard meant to seperate us. He was in my bubble. And, in a nervous panic, my mouth started doing what it wanted.

"You think they marked you down at half-price? Was there a sale?" His eye grew lidded, ignoring my comments. Instead, he leaned in a bit more, chest almost pressed against mine. His head lowered, giving me a look of slight indignation absorbed by apathy. I felt like my arms would give out, feeling the air puff from his nostrils. "I bet there was. People don't usually buy damaged goods unless they're discounted. Did you come with the suit, too?" Shut the fuck up shut the fuck up zip it Dipper zip it zip it zip it you're okay this is okay don't freak out just shut up about it and he'll go away get out of there move leave leave leave Jesus Christ will you shut your trap already?!

My lips pursed and pulled. My tongue flexed with a sliver, rolling over my teeth once in a while. I spoke through a daze, not even sure what words passed the last. It didn't matter. He only got closer with each pause; each period. It was a slow, torturous thing, feeling his body close in on me. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds, but with every inch destroyed, it added another zero to the infinite wait for this to end.

"You're like a pirate Ken, you know that? Pirate Ken. Tall, blond hair, one eye. Does that mean there's a pirate Barbie I don't know about? Haha! Mabel'd be pissed-" Bill's hand ghosted over my waste, and I was suddenly shot with nerves. I caught a glimpse of a memory, sharp and blinding where I sat in the driver's seat, the man next to me blurred and obscure.

No. Don't remember it. It didn't happen. That never happened.

"Do you ever shut up?" Bill asked, lips parting with a wonderfully intoxicating breath, and for a moment, I wanted him to make me. His hands rose, leading their way to my neck, fingernails trailing almost my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His body was close. Too close. Far too close, and it brought something to me.

[]

The same heat back in highschool. In his car. It was rainy that day, storming, and I couldn't walk home. So, he drove me. I never liked him much. Not much at all. But, he was always there. Watching me. Encouraging me. Sending me gifts and advice and ' I'm here if you need to talk's. He never pushed past his status. Never tried to jump the fence between who I was to him and who he was to me. And, I never even considered it. He and I. It never passed my mind.

Until that day.

When the car slowed, and he started fiddling with the dial, even though the overcast messed with the stations. And I looked out the window and thought about my robotics club and journalism, what needed to be turned in on Friday, what was for dinner tonight-

And that hand found my knee .

It was just as warm as Bill's body now. Firm. Unmovable. Unprecedented. Uncalled for. But still there. He turned to look at me from the driver's seat, because he'd pulled off from the road, parking us by the highway. I hadn't noticed. And he studied me, hand rubbing a circle at my knee, before telling me how proud he was. Of my school work, of course. Because I was a bright kid. Always. Always bright. But not bright enough to know what I wanted.

The cars just kept passing by, sending waves of rain flying as they zoomed past us. He got closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. The hand moved up a little, just a little, slow as to not scare me away. Up to my mid-thigh, where his thumb dug into the inner half of my leg, and his hand was firmly gripping me. He was close, just as Bill was now, lips huffing out a single breath.

The man was clean-shaven. Hispanic, with jet black hair slicked back like a gentleman's. Built. Very well built. Something I tried not to linger on. Mid-thirties. Maybe late. You couldn't tell. He smelled like after shave and citrus, as well as something soft. Baby powder, perhaps. It didn't matter. He smelled good. Really good. And, in that moment, he looked good too. His other hand had fallen to slide under my seat, feeling my ass beyond the jeans. A faint recall came to mind, remembering just what he'd said about me a while back. About my body. He said I had a nice ass. And, before that moment, I had laughed awkwardly. Because I knew it was a joke. Because I knew he was just picking fun.

He wasn't. He was telling me what he wanted. And, for a heart stopping moment, I had wanted exactly the same thing. Something came over me. The soft rain drops. The firm hand gripping at my thigh; my rear. The smell. It all filled the car. But, as those lips touched mine, just barely making contact, hardly skin against skin, pink flesh simply perched against the peak of anothers, an electricity shot through me. This wasn't just any man.

This was John.

And, in that instance of realization, I pushed away. No. No, I won't. I didn't. I never did. I never will. Leave me alone don't touch me this is disgusting just stop it stop it stop it! I screamed at him. What the hell was he doing? What the hell was I doing? What the hell were we doing? He was my-!

I grew queasy, staring at him. And, of course, he denied it. That wasn't what he was trying to do at all. He wasn't trying to do that. Wasn't trying to touch me. He was already married. To a jewish woman who'd just gotten a divorce; two kids at home. Both going to highschool. One girl. One boy. But, after that day, the jewish woman's son decided to live with his dad in New York. But, not before walking himself home in the pouring rain.

[]

Bill leaned away, satisfied with his craftsmanship. He had tied my tie for me.

"Hmm... Not bad, but-... You know, you might look good in a bow tie." He mused, rustling my hair. I was too frazzled to protest, simply groaning at the contact. My heart beat slowed, viewing that face in front of me. That's not John. He's in California, living it up with Martha M. Pines, raising their two year old son. My half brother. The one that doesn't say much. Never will. Likes construction and Legos. Eats the crust on his toast and doesn't complain. No. No complaining. Too polite. Even at two. After a while, his hand receded, and another smile crossed his lips. But, this one was different. Odd. Like he was gloating. Like he knew something I didn't. Or just something I didn't want others to know. I viewed him for a moment, watching that face of his burn bright with smugness. I was briefly, very briefly, grateful for the distraction he'd provided me, if even for a moment.

"So I've heard."