The unbearable ache was what woke her; her arms were sore, her throat raw, and her eyes swollen shut. After a dazed moment of being perplexed, reality came forcefully rushing back to her. She let the numbing pain wash over her again, succumbing all too easily to the tears and silent convulsions. Len was gone. Her best friend, more like a sister to her than Ari had ever been- simply gone.

Her heart hurt, her soul felt empty, and she let the pain seep out of her tear ducts, washing her skin with a salty sting. She would never again be able to hold her friend. She would never again be able to dance with her, or laugh with her or fall asleep exhausted with her in the back seat of Jeb's truck after a long day of partying. She would never again feel Len's all healing hugs, never again see her glorious eyes, or hold on to her delicate hands.

And it was all her fault. Even Cash knew it. Len was gone, and all because of her. She didn't fight the melancholy as it settled over her, pushing her into a depressed fitful sleep.

-.-

Cherish found herself on the floor, trapped in a cocoon of blankets. It took her a long time to separate herself from the sheets, her head aching like it had been squeezed in a vice all night long. She sat against her bed for a good ten minutes before she was able to fully open her eyes, stuck shut as they were with a crust of dried tears.

"Ungh." She examined her arms, bruised and bloody, and noted the fibers of her blanket fused to her right arm. She stared at it, contemplating, before finally pulling herself up off the floor.

"Len, I can't do this to myself anymore, Babe," she muttered. Her phone lay at the foot of her bed, dial tone blaring out into her quiet room, last number dialed, Jeb's. She didn't recall much of what happened the night before, only the grief eating her alive; she didn't even remember if he had answered. Turning the phone off, she tossed it onto her bed, shaking her head; she wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't answered. Lately she hadn't exactly treated him, or any of them, for that matter, like friends. In fact she had pushed them away, refusing to talk to them, ignoring them, hating them.

She dragged herself to sit in front of her computer, opening up the file that held all her pictures of Len. She forced herself to look at them. Len was always joyous, laughing, shining. Len didn't let herself get dragged down by the weight of sadness, choosing always to look at the happier side of things. Len would have despised the new Cherish. Len would have hated for Cherish to be a depressed mess, forcing herself to push away all memories of their friendship. Come to think of it, the last time Cherish had been such a mess as she was now, Len had hated her with a passion that had scared Cherish half to death.

"Len, you know I love you, right?" she shakily questioned the face grinning at her with its red, red lips and shining deep brown eyes. "I wish it was me, you know. It should have been me. I'm sorry.  I'm sorry I did this. I'm a pathetic mess, aren't I? Then again when wasn't I a mess? You kept me together, Babe."

Her eyes stared unblinking at the picture on the screen, etching it deep into her mind, so she saw it when she closed her eyes. "I can't do this anymore, Len. I can't let you see me hating myself. I can't let you see me torturing myself..."

She couldn't even bring herself to say the rest; I'm going to try and accept this so I can move on like you'd want me to. Forcing another deep breath, she placed her lips to the screen before pulling herself into the washroom, dragging the blanket behind her. She had come to the realisation that she had been trying to forget everything Len. She had been trying to erase her so it wouldn't hurt as much.

It was impossible because Len was nearly everywhere for Cherish. Even Ian was one huge reminder of her Hellene; the way he spoke, his spirit, his lameness, his laughter, his loving personality. Cherish couldn't count how many times in the past month she had cried herself to sleep; hating Ian for reminding her, hating herself more.

As she splashed water on her face, she remembered the dreams, nightmares really, that she'd had the night before. Everyone else had died, too; Jeb, Cash, Iggy, Audrey, Harper, Delia, Ari and even Ian. The dream her- her subconscious mind- had freaked out. But, in watching her dream self break down over all those people, it hit her. No matter how much she distanced herself, she still cared.

Len hadn't been the only one who loved her; they all had and probably still did. In torturing herself she was torturing them too; the thought was excruciating. She examined her arm and the blanket stuck deep in the dried blood, thinking that hurting everyone who loved her was more painful than what she would do next. She soaked her arm in warm water and ripped the blanket off.

Hissing in shock, she watched as fresh blood came up. Peeling off her mess of a shirt, she pressed her bare back and arms against the cold tile, enjoying the shock it gave her. In the mirror across from her, her reflection examined her with weary hooded eyes. Her long thick black hair was matted and hung limp against her slender browned body, ending just below her buttocks. She didn't know how she had let it come to that point, flat and lifeless as it was. Her hair had been her pride, always well done, shiny, strong and well taken care off.

Her reflection took in her appearance with contempt. Atop each arm was a ring of stars, looping delicately over her equally delicate shoulders. Hot rod flames leapt up from her wrists, engulfing her arms in their red-yellow glow. Running alongside her arm, down the left side of her body were soft scrolling letters that read, "love me tender".

Her lifeless eyes swept across her body to her reflection's right side, settling on the skin below her right breast, where two cherries- a stupid joke, really- winked at her. Her upper right arm was peppered with the smooth spots of a leopard, which disappeared just above her elbow. As she turned, her reflection's eyes bore into her back, reading the letters engraved into her skin. Black, gothic lettering spanned the space just below her neck; MALICE. Under that in small, delicate cursive, the words "forever dolls" sat neatly between two black hearts. Below that, her reflection's eyes traced the lines of the two Sailor Jerry type nautical stars that sat on her shoulder blades.

She met her own eyes again, noticing them for the first time in a long time; they used to be so full of life.

-.-

The road stretched out before her, a long grey expanse broken by the occasional green road sign. Three hours she had been driving, and soon she would be pulling into a parking lot, preparing herself to see Cash's older brother, Quentin. She had called him and he had been so surprised to hear from her that he'd cancelled everything he had to do for the day. When her shiny black and red car pulled into the parking lot, Quentin was waiting outside his tattoo shop, drink in hand, his feet propped up on the table that was just outside the door. After mentally talking herself into it once again, she shakily lifted herself out of the car, walking to him as calmly as she could.

"Hey, Babe." His voice was soft as he addressed her and she smiled, dropping herself into his lap to squeeze him hard. "God, Rish, I've missed you. How've you been dealing, Babe?"

Her voice eluded her for some time, and there was a long awkward silence as she buried her face in his neck. "Quinn!" was all she managed to get out, quite unevenly before he kissed the side of her head.

"I know, Babe, I know. We all miss her."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry I left you guys."

He smiled awkwardly at her, staring at her hair, an odd expression on his face, "I left too, Babe, you weren't the only one." 

As he took her hair in his hands, raking his fingers through it as he pulled it back and off her body, she smiled sadly. "Yeah. But, you didn't leave because of what happened. You still talk to everyone. I just-"

"It was hard for you. We understand, you know, Rish."

She wrung her hands, her fingers red from the pressure she was using, "I know. I'm sorry."

"For hurting?" he asked her gently, prodding her to answer truthfully. Healing her.

"No, for making you guys hurt more."

"Actually, for me, it hurt more before you left.  Man, it hurt to see you like that. It got easier after you were gone, only because we didn't have to see you like that everyday. But we still worried- I still worried."

She leaned into him again, locking her arms around his neck. Quentin was an older brother to her, how not when they had all spent most of their younger lives at Cash's place, either drooling over his older brother or wanting to be him?

He chuckled suddenly, pulling her out of the hug, examining her closely, "You're so different."  His fingers tugged at the shirt she wore, the long black sleeves covering every inch of her arms, the buttons done up all the way, her jeans actually an old pair of his, belted tightly around her waist, "You still wear those?"

"Why not?" she questioned with a grin.

He smirked, poking his finger into one of the holes that resided on the inner thigh, "That's why."

Had it been any other guy, she would have flipped out; even more so when the mischievous look crept into his eyes and he began poking her sides.

"Gah! Quentin, stop!" she gasped, bringing her knees up between them and pushing herself out of his grasp.

He laughed as she tumbled onto the asphalt and carefully lifted her back onto his knee, "I bet you haven't done that in a while."

"What?"

"Laugh... Smile... really."

She hummed in a way that told him he was right, her eyes scanning the inside of his shop through the glass. Inside, a young man was checking her out, equally as interested at the girl seated on his boss' lap with her arms draped familiarly over his shoulders, as she was in the shop. There were two girls sitting in the shop, lounging on the couch and scanning some tattoo magazines, either waiting for someone else or trying to pick for themselves. Another girl, infused with metal and drowning in large colourful dreadfalls popped out for a minute, and then disappeared into one of the back rooms again.

Quentin looked at the young man pointedly, sending him back to work after catching his eyes lingering on Cherish. She started with a bark of laughter, "So, you're still doing that, huh, Quinn?"

"Course." He muttered, still glaring inside.

"Ever the big brother, Quinn."

He grinned, his features softening, and he looked at her again, head cocked to one side.  Reaching out, he brushed her face gently.

"Oh, Quentin, I didn't know you felt that way about me!" she batted her eyelashes playfully at him.

He laughed, as he pulled her hair back, securing it with a tie from his wrist, "S'not you, that's all."

When he pushed her sleeves up, exposing her arms, he didn't question the bandages, just took them in with mild surprise. As he undid the top buttons of her shirt, revealing her collar bones and chest, she caught the eyes of the guy inside on her again, popping out of his head in perverted interest.

"Ick. Creepy, Quentin!"

Quentin growled, lifting her off him easily and taking her into the shop, and glowered once again at the boy. He sat her down on the couch and dropped a kiss on her nose, before turning back to the guy who was now pretending not to have noticed her, "Terry, don't you have stuff to be doing?"

"They haven't decided yet!" Terry said in his defense, gesturing to the two girls. Quentin nodded as he disappeared into the hallway; Cherish picked up one of the magazines and leafed through it with mild interest.

"So, who's that?" Terry asked casually- cautiously- when Quentin returned.

Cherish looked up and smiled at Quentin when he caught her eye, "No one."

Terry turned away busying himself with something, "You two are really close. Is she a new girl? I thought you were with Nessa?"

"I am," Quentin's tone was bland as he set two bottles of water on the counter.

Terry raised a brow in her direction, "So then-?"

Yanking the bottles off the counter, tossing one to her, Quentin glared again,"Off limits."

Laughing, Cherish popped her bottle open, "Quinn, you're too much! I'm a big girl you know, I can handle myself!"

Terry grinned, winking at her, at which she merely rolled her eyes. Quentin sat himself down on the couch across from her, with a snort, "Yeah."

A long silence passed between them, punctuated only by Cherish's occasional flip of a page. Beside her, one of the girls had decided on a pretty butterfly to decorate her lower back. She now sat on the big leather chair, straddling it and making nervous faces at her friend on the couch, as Terry prepared the area.

Quentin inclined his head at Cherish and inquired, "What're you looking at?"

She glanced at him and noticed the fingers of his right hand flexing; a habit that indicated he had an idea for a tattoo he really wanted to do.

"Well," she mused, "I was thinking about one for Len."

"Any ideas?"

Shaking her head, she frowned, "It's Len, how do you pick just one?"

Quentin grinned like a child on Christmas day as he pulled off his shirt, and Cherish knew the  inking was about to start. As she vaguely heard the two girls giggling, her eyes settled on the left side of his chest, where she knew it would be, over his heart. The scroll with her name on it, and then Len's, followed by the blank space for the names he would add.

As she let her eyes travel downward, she laughed upon seeing the arms wrapped around his lower torso. One of them hovered over his belt, the tips of the fingers disappearing into his pants, the other was balled into a fist offering anyone who looked the middle finger. Len's and hers; they were inked when the girls had been thirteen. They were supposed to be laying their hands flat on his belly, side by side, but as the picture was snapped, they had both moved; Quentin had been so surprised. She reached out and placed her hand on his left side, her fingers tracing Len's till they ducked behind Quentin's belt.

"Oh Cherish! I didn't know you felt that way about me!"

His joking words pulled her from her memory, and she grinned up at him, "Always, Baby, always!"

Laughing, he led her into the back room, away from Terry's prying gaze.  "So, where do you want it, Rish?" his eyebrow was raised in question, his big hand enveloping hers.

Shrugging, she looked over her shoulder at Terry, who sure enough had read more into that question than there was.  Rolling her eyes, she followed after Quentin, "Anywhere you like it, Babe!"

*Title song by The Lucky Stars (hilariously tongue in cheek funny!)

Who was expecting all that to be under Cherish's car mechanic uniform?

Up until now there have only been glimpses into her old life, but it is finally here! I'm so excited for the moment when her two worlds meet!