life, meet death -- dani cassidy

[dani cassidy]

<center></center>


Main Entry: 1: ad?dict
Pronunciation: &-'dikt
Function: transitive verb
Etymology: Latin addictus, past participle of addicere to favor, from ad- + dicere to say -- more at <u>DICTION</u>
1 : to devote or surrender (oneself) to something habitually or obsessively &lt;addicted to gambling&gt;
2 : to cause <u>addiction</u> to a substance in


<u>Current Addictions</u>:
-Cigarettes
-Floss
-Killians Red
-Tennis -- watching, not playing.
-Motley Crew
-French Toast
-Chocolate Milk
-Cell Phones
-Riley.
-Satirical Comedies
-Cigarettes (definitely deserves to be listed twice)
-The Moon


Warning: This list is subject to change. In the event this list does infact change, only two things may remain: cigarettes, and you. Both are suffice, both produce longterm effects that may or may not be harmful according to the Surgeon General. Either way, they both taste so good.

<center>--</center>

[dani cassidy]

The sofa had become her personal prison, body confined to its material while glazed eyes stared blankly at the television set. She had been laying there for hours, the free time was killing her. Though she hadn't heard results of the tests, the doctor told her to take the day off, slapped a note in front of her incase a boss needed any kind of something or another (as if she had a boss, which she technically did, though the company would be screwed without her anyway), and sent her on her merry little way. Seven-thirty on the dot, and a Tivoed episode of Rescue Me sprawled across the screen, closed lips humming along to the theme song. She was dressed sloppily -- a pair of stonewashed jeans that were a size too big for her, a thin white tanktop beneath an Ohio Buckeyes hooded sweatshirt. She lay sprawled out on the couch, head resting against the armrest, hair pulled back into nub of a blonde ponytail. Thirty minutes until kick-off -- football was something she shared with her father, a way they communicated through the distance. Later, they'd call each other after the game, peruse highlights, and that would be all. Legs shifted to stretch out and crossed at the ankles, eyes cutting towards her cigarettes, the pack thinning quickly. Fingers moved to scratch at scalp, and she held off, knowing she'd want one later. It wasn't long before there was a brief rap at the door, Riley letting himself in. He was carrying a nondescript brown paper bag, and was headed straight for the kitchen.

"I brought enough chips and dip to feed an army."

"Hi, you."

He stood in the kitchen, glancing over at her from behind the kitchen sink.

"I know you had an extremely busy day, laying around and all. Hungry?"

"Oh, yeah, you know I just loved sitting around on my ass, when I should've been at work. Mark called me though, about the Jefferson spread, said if it wasn't finished by Tuesday Jefferson would pull out of the Winston ad. Mark said we should look into Marlboro, I told him to tell Jefferson to pull his thumb out of his ass. I'm sure you know all of this, though."

"Yeah, Mark told me at the office. They think they can actually tell us what to do, when in reality, we make the pictures -- they sell them. They'd have nothing to sell if we stop."

"Exactly."

"It was chaotic there without you."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Riley brought a bowl of triangle-shaped chips and salsa into the livingroom, setting it on the table. Dani pulled her legs back to curl indian-style beneath her, sitting up so spine pressed against the arm of the couch, making room for Riley, who flopped down and shifted to get comfortable. Slouching down, he kicked his boots off, letting them hit the wooden slabs with a clunk-clunk. They sat there for a long moment, in the comfort of one another, a silence warming over that the television cut through. The words came semi-flatly, eyes moving to watch him.

"Riley.."

"Hmm?"

"How would you feel it I died?"

Eyes widened as he looked at her, head turning to look back to the television.

"Jesus, Dani. Find a lighter subject."

"But I want to know."

He sighed and shifted uncomfortably, eyes remaining on the television.

"Find something less morbid to talk about, hmm? It was probably just fatigue. You've been working nonstop, and you'd never eat unless someone happens to remind you to. ...I'd be sad if you died, though. Happy?"

Chest rose and fell in a silent dissatisfied sigh, and she got up rather curtly, words flatter than before.

"I need a cigarette."

Remote was tossed down to where she was sitting, pack of cigarettes brought out to the balcony that allowed its viewer to peruse the Chicago skyline. The company really had hooked her up pretty sweetly. Eyes glanced down at her cigarette as it was started, smoke billowing from her lips towards the ground below. Leaning forward, elbows propped themselves on the rail, fingers bringing cigarette to lips for another drag. Meanwhile, Riley sat on the couch staring at the television, cheeks puffing up before he exhaled an audible breath. He had two choices: sit there and ignore her, or go see what was really going on. Feet pressed to the floor and he followed her out, moving to stand behind her. Hands pressed against the rail on either side of her, chin resting on her left shoulder.

"Talk to me, hmm?"

She offered a ridiculously fake forced smile, cigarette brought to lips for a long drag.

"There's nothing to say, I'm fine."

"You can't bullshit a bullshitter, Dani."

His head shifted to now prop on her right side, facial hair scratching at her soft cheek. As much as she tried to force herself against it, inevitably, she leaned into his touch. She breathed him in, and suddenly the cigarette had no meaning. It was doused on the rail and flicked towards the street below, fingers lacing with each other.

"I don't know." I don't want to tell you how scared I am. What if I really am dying? I don't believe in God, let alone an after life... what is it worth? What's any of this worth? ...I don't want to tell you, but I'll try.

"I- I'm fine. Really."

Failed attempt numero uno. Riley pushed away from her and moved to scratch fingers at the nape of his neck, clearing his throat a bit. He was starting to get pissed.

"Do you want me to be here for you or not?"

"It isn't about that."

"Yeah, it is. Because I'm trying to be the good guy, I'm trying to listen to you. Do you want to know how I really feel? The fact of you even mentioning going away from me, for even just a little bit, disturbs the shit out of me. It's something I don't even want to think about."

She froze while he spoke, eyes staring blankly at the front door of the building across the street from her.

"Ahh, I see. Still the nutshell that can't be cracked, mm?"

Fingers moved to rub over her forehead, hand instinctively reaching for her pack of cigarettes. She stared down at them, then tossed them onto the chair, turning around to face him.

"What if it's not fatigue, Riley? What if something really is wrong? What if everything I've been working my whole fucking life for is about to fly out of the window, because I can't seem to keep myself alive? You don't understand, because you aren't the one waiting for test results."

"Excuse me? What the fuck, Dani? I'm waiting for those test results just as much as you. You think I don't care? You think I don't give a rat's ass how healthy you are?"

Teeth moved to bite the inside of her bottom lip, steadying it from the trembling.

"You're right. Maybe it's just fatigue."

She moved to walk past him towards the door, and he stopped her. Hand reached and grabbed her elbow, a bit roughly at first, then loosened its grip.

"Don't do this. Stop shutting me out."

Her jaw tightened and she looked up at him, eyes glazing over -- from frustration, from anger... from fear. He sensed it, he sensed all of it. Pulling her towards him, he wrapped his arms around her ridiculously small frame, which now shook and trembled as she proceeded to break down, on the balcony, in his arms.

Initial break-down, or initial break-through? Either way, it was probably a good sign.

<font color="#a62a2a" size="1">[ September 09, 2005 01:07 PM: Message edited by: reconciled ]</font>

[dani cassidy]

<center>I wanted to paint you a picture
Of what you mean to me
But no matter how hard I splattered paint
The canvas was always clean
I wanted to write you a letter
Filled with phrases and verbs
But no matter how many times I tried
I never found those words.</center>

Still no news from the doctors, though no news was good news. She'd rather believe she was stagnant and nothing was changing than to have a simple phone call that would determine her fate for the rest of her natural born life. Even so, the scare made her look at things a bit differently. Ears listening more keenly to sounds, eyes watched more closely to signs. She never thought she'd die in the comfort of her bed -- at least she hoped to God she wouldn't. No, she needed something more dramatic than that -- not even a car wreck would suffice. No, she wanted something glamorous -- poison found in her salad, gas found in her vehicle. Something out of the ordinary. Something worth writing about.

Work had been absolute hell, and it wasn't because of the amount of work, it was because of what the amount of work led to -- a lack of him. More and more, she found herself being lost in piles of paperwork, which she in no way intended on ever having to deal with when she pursued her degree in photography. What did it take for a girl to snap some shots and be on her way? The mere two days spent in the hospital put her behind in a week's worth of work, and she was drowning quickly, swimming up a creek that only a few very special strings could fix. Those strings were Mark and Riley -- and both of them knew it. Mark played her like a fiddle, always bouncing from good cop to bad cop, that sinewy grin plastered to his face on a quasi-regular basis. And Riley was... Riley. The reason anything was everything, anymore.

<center></center>

Previously that afternoon, fingers shuffled through various papers that laid askew across her desk, eyes falling to one particular photograph that winked itself into view amidst the chaos of bland black and white. It was that of a hummingbird, taken several months prior on her own time, with her own lens. Grays studied the picture, memories from that day flooding her, washing over her from the inside out. There was something to be said for a photograph that came from pure beauty, not a deadline or a paycheck. Later, she'd found herself on her balcony, toying with the photograph in Photoshop. It had soft undertones that she wanted to brighten, crisp edges that she wanted to soften. She sat for a long while gazing at the photograph itself, watching the moon reflect itself from the glossy paper. She lost herself in that photograph, falling into a meditation of sounds and sights that only she could hear, only she could feel.

Christopher was there.

She felt him inside of her, crawling through her veins, telling her things she needed answers to. She felt him looking at the picture through her eyes, touching the gloss with her fingertips, smiling a lopsided smile with her lips. She felt him wrap himself around her heart, letting it palpitate more steadily, letting her breath calm itself. He came at the most opportune times -- he always had. He always seemed to come when she was lost, in dire need, in danger. He came when she looked for him least, and needed him the most. And as quickly as he'd come, she felt him vanish, the pit of her stomach empty as it'd always been, the lull in her heart returning from a fairy-tale state that lasted mere moments. But before she could wince, before she could cry, her thumb was texting Riley, telling him she needed her blanket.

Christopher's blessing had come.

[dani cassidy]

It was all completely out of character, the way the smile was plastered across her face, the way she dialed numbers as rapidly as possible to hear her voice on the other end of the line. It'd been months since they'd talked -- Generally, they just never had anything to say, unless it was about money or an argument. But today... today was different. One ring... C'mon... Two rings... C'mon c'mon, pick up... Three ri...

"Hello?"

"MOM."

"Danielle? Oh my, it's been a while."

"I know. I... wow. It has been a while."

"I was just thinking about you yesterday, I hope you're alright. Are you safe? Are you happy?"

A chuckle slipped from her lips and she pushed herself away from her desk, standing, turning to look at the skyline view from her office.

"Mom, I have something to tell you."

"What, Love?"

"I met someone."

"You did? And you're actually calling home about it?"

Another chuckle. Her mother knew her well.

"Yeah. His name is Riley."

"Riley... Riley... don't you work with a Riley?"

"Excellent memory. Actually, the same one. He's... moving in with me. Today."

The words were still fresh, still new, still divine.

"OH MY LORD! Heavens, child, I thought this day would never come. Are you pregnant? Are you engaged? Oh holy hell..."

Like mother, like daughter.

"Calm down, none of the above. Just.. I don't know. He's different."

"It's about time. You're not getting any younger, you know. And Jesus Christ I hope you aren't getting any thinner, you're a wafer in those pictures you sent me. Eat some lard before I make you."

"Mother, please. I'm fit."

"You're not fit, you're a walking cigarette. And you're not even the normal sized kind! You're a damn Virginia Slim, you skinny little thing."

"I'm definately not a Virginian, thank you."

"You're definately not a lot of things. But skinny is one of them."

"Stop making fun of me."

"Alright, alright. So touchy, this one. Anyway. I've got to go, your father is complaning that he can't find his golf clubs and Marcy is running around with her tail between her legs. Don't get old, and don't move to a resort area. It gets very boring very quickly. OH. But I met someone, also."

"What? What about Dad?"

"I needed to spice up my life."

"Excuse me?"

"His name is Jack."

"Jack?"

"Yes. Jack Daniels. Talk later, Punkin."

The smile spread even further.

[dani cassidy]

At first sound, all that was heard was the rush of water, pooling down from the showerhead that hummed loudly, echoing off the barren walls of the apartment. Shoes walked heavily against the wooden planks with repeated thump, thump, thump, creating a metronome for the night ahead. In conjunction with the steady ticking of the second hand, it seemed like some sort of music, various pulses and rushing water sliding together in an atonal piece of palpitation that never ended, only rested. The water, the clock, the shoes each fell upon deaf ears, wafer-like form crippled to the bottom of the tub, steaming water raining over porcelain skin far too pale for comfort. Mark had let her off from work early, she'd felt the shivers, hands like ice that refused to click and tap on laptop any longer. She just needed a simple shower to warm her up, eat something to boost her blood sugar, and a blanket of Riley to make everything alright. Steam filled the bathroom, sprawling its tired fingers against the walls and porcelain, mirror fogging as time ticked on. He'd get home eventually, though he would be unable to enter the bathroom if he tried. All that was there to keep her company was a ticking clock hanging above the television set, ticking with each second, its face glinting from the small lamp that sat crookedly on the end table. Water spilled down glassy skin, moving along the curvature of her back, hissing as it sprang incessantly from the showerhead.

"Dani?"

Front door was kicked close by the heel of his shoe, a large brown paper bag filling his arm as he teetered into the kitchen. Bag was set onto counter heavily, before hands wiped over his thighs. He didn't hear the water at first, but once he did, a smile crept over his lips.

"Dani, I brought some dinner home."

Silence, from the other end. Feet carried him to the bedroom, shirt pulled up and over his head to feather to the bed lightly, undershirt clinging to his form like a second skin. Toe of his left foot moved to prop against his right ankle, kicking one shoe off, than its twin. Brows rose when he didn't receive a response. Moving closer to the door, index and middle fingers curled to knock lightly.

"Y' fall in in there? I brought home Chinese, I don't know what you like so I picked up a little of everything."

By now, he was getting frustrated. Brows furrowed and fingers moved to knock again gently.

"Dani? Open up, this isn't funny."

The ticking and tocking of the clock had never seemed so bold as it sat above the television set, second hand darting its way in that pie-like rotation. Water pounded like a hard rain, skidding down porcelain tub, the white shower-curtain pulled away from its rings. There was no answer when he called her name -- words fell upon deaf ears of a heaping pile of bones, limbs sprawled disjointedly in various directions. The door to the bathroom, though closed, remained unlocked -- its hinges creaked and moaned as wood swelled from the moisture of the water. The heat from the water brought color to her cheeks, posing sleep as a possibility to unconsciousness. Lips parted and showed teeth that glinted from the overhead light, the rest of her mouth a black hole, tongue rolled to the back of her throat. Lids were closed over pale grays, head dizzy with fumes only her own body could produce. On the other side, Riley was dizzy with confusion, as he opened the door to find her in a beautiful, contorted mess. Wafer-like, she was cradled in his arms, a naked mess of skin and moisture. Her jaw dropped more as he lifted her head, sending her tongue further into the back of her throat. She lay silent while he spoke clamored mutters, clueless of how to react. She lay motionless, though not a mark was on her body, not a bruise would be found. They said she could have been medicated for what she saw -- but whenever it happened, she had no evidence. The tests were always passed. In a flash of a moment, lids flung back in her head and she trembled, eyes looking over his shoulder, fingers gripping his shirt. Quiet, rushed whispers spewed from her lips.

"R-Riley. He came. He was here and he was staring, and he wasn't happy, Riley."

Her voice lowered as eyes refused to blink, terrified facial features frozen in time, as tone moved into a motherly lilt.

"No, Riley. He wasn't happy at all, and he said he's gonna fuck me up something fierce if I don't straighten myself out..."

A sickening grin slid over her lips, eyes refusing to blink, staring still over his shoulder. Naturally, he'd find nothing there.

"What are you talking about? Who the fuck came here?"

Lids finally clicked in a blink and grays lifted towards him, facial expression falling into a look of panic.

"Riley? What.. why.."

Brows furrowed and she glanced around, fingers gripping the edge of the tub to pull herself to sit up, fingers then lacing around the knobs to shut the water off. It still ran inside her head -- a clouded, empty head that had no recollection of anything. Hands moved to cover her face and she drew her knees to her chest, shaking her head. She trembled, now, out of embarrassment and confusion. Hugging her knees to her chest, she lay her head down, cheek pressed to kneecap as eyes blinked open at him, body shivering.

"I was cold. I took a shower, and it happened again. I was freezing, shaking-- and the next thing I knew--"

Her eyes widened, tears sliding down gaunt cheeks slowly, but steadily. Lips parted as she stared again, but not eerily -- from memory. It fell out in a shaken, choked whisper.

"--Christopher."

[dani cassidy]

<center>Too soon we lose the sight
Of what was clear and available
We choke back time to find the light
Thinking we're unstoppable
But time keeps on ticking and licking
And sicking its morphine into my veins
And I just can't figure out where I went wrong
But I'm too fucked up to complain.</center>

Riley,

I have so much I want to tell you to your face, but I can't. I don't know how to. I'm not used to having someone there all the time, supporting me, telling me I'm beautiful, asking me to let them in because they've been banging on a door that won't seem to fucking open. I'm not used to having someone find out who I really am, find out my past, and find out how the wall I worked for so many years to build around me crumbles with one push of a tiny, minute finger leaving me naked in front of you. I didn't want that. I didn't ask for that. I didn't ask for you, I didn't want you. I didn't want you to figure me out, to find out anything behind the photographs I've taken. I didn't want you in my house, breathing the same air I did, sharing the same bed I sleep in because that meant tearing down that ridiculously unsteady wall. It took me decades to build that wall around me, shutting people like you out. <u>People like you</u>. People who are so perfect it's sickening, who find beauty in people who find nothing but a sour taste in the whole goddamn world. Why are you here? Why the hell are you in <u>my</u> life? Because I don't deserve you. I don't deserve someone who just keeps reeling me in closer the more I want to push them away. I don't deserve someone who actually listens to the fucking words that come out of my mouth, not because of obligation, but because they actually care. That isn't love. That's some fucked up fantasy that doesn't exist -- not in my world. You don't exist, you can't be real. Because if you are real, and I ever lost you, it'd be the end of me.

I didn't know how to tell you about Christopher, but however I was going to tell you certainly wouldn't have been the way you found out. He was the best thing I ever had, and I lost him in the blink of an eye. He's my personal savior, an angel that has never let me down -- not once. But of course this could <u>never</u> make sense to you, because you don't know. You don't know the pain I felt when he died in my bedroom ten years ago in a beautiful mess of a boy. You don't know how I couldn't sleep for years and I needed to be medicated for it, and I'd sleep with my younger sister just incase I had nightmares. You wouldn't know these things, because I'll never tell you. I'll take them to my grave in a bloody, distorted black and white image that I hope to God no man or woman will ever have to take with the camera of their own eyes. These things are mine, Riley, not yours. I don't want you to learn them or understand them. I don't want you to ask about them. I don't want you to pretend to care, or pretend to know what I went through, because people have done that before. It doesn't work. I just want you to be real, and I don't want you to be strong for me. I want us to be equal, not you supporting me. I don't want you to have a reason to have to support me.

This is fucking disjointed and irrelevant and words that are not coming fast enough with my thoughts. And this letter will never find you, because upon finishing, it will be shredded and burned in hopes that with every fucking miniscule flame, another memory in my twisted mind will burn with it. I know, some day, I'll wake up from a night where I slept the entire way through, having lost myself in you, not him. I'll wake up crying because I understand life and love and all of the things I ever wanted, not because I dreamt about him and I fought a bloody battle with nothing but my sheets.

But you will never know the difference, because I already wake up with a smile on my face, and pretend to act like I care about you, and that I don't have these dreams. I put you on a pedestal and you know I do -- some day, that pedestal will be real. And you really will be the center of my attention and affection and everything that makes me whole. Until then, these letters will be written as broken testimonies. And they'll burn.

Please continue to pretend to know me. It makes life that much easier.

-Danielle

And the letter was ripped into tiny miniscule pieces, before turning to pure ash.

[dani cassidy]

The skyline burned its way against a dank, gray sky, threatening rain at any given moment. Cigarette was brought to her lips and for that solitaire moment, brightening the life of her bleeding veins that cracked with remorse and confusion that only deepened by the day. Gaunt cheeks sunk far into mask, lids heavy over dull grays that hadn't slept for two days -- and skin now had the residue of a soul who hadn't bathed, hair unkempt, still wearing the same shorts and Pete Yorn t-shirt that carried her to bed after her spill. Riley, on the other hand, was the opposite. Freshly pressed blue shirt worked diligently to fit like a dress shirt, save for the top button that remained unclasped, refusing to constrict his throat. Black slacks hung loosely from his hips, blanketing him from any drizzle that may have escaped from the sky. He sank into the Adirondack chair on the left, while she remained seated to the right.
"Were you burning something?"

"Other than cigarettes? No."

"Oh. The apartment smelled like burnt paper."

Slender shoulders rolled into a shrug, eyes refusing to make any contact with his.

"You looked like you went to church."

"Fuck no. I just needed to run errands, and didn't feel like looking like trash." Hands moved to take the packet of Winstons that lay beside her, bringing a single stick to his lips. Lighter was fished from trouser pocket, hands coming to protect sweet flame from anything that may hinder perfectly lit cigarette. Lungs feigned for nicotine, chest rising slowly as he took a long drag from the tightly rolled cigarette.

"Dani, we've got to do something. You can just sit out here all da--"

"Yeah, I can."

"Jesus Christ, at least bathe. Look at you."

Teeth drilled into each other silently as she tapped off dying ash, eyes skidding to their corners to glance at him half-assedly.

"Do you really think this is helping?" Spoken as a trail of smoke billowed and waved from his lips.

"It's Sunday. I never do anything on Sundays."

"Forget it. I'm going to take a walk."

Cigarette plummeted towards the ground below, cars threatening the short life with which it could still live. Grays watched it as it fell, hitting against black asphalt, immediately pancaked to the slick road by a tire. It made her smirk. Veins crept with the brief remembrance of the letter, splaying words in front of her that made little sense, yet meant everything. Smirk fell away from her lips and cigarette was flicked to meet his, catching its death shortly after its fall. Lids blinked idly as she watched it, before head turned to call over her shoulder.

"Riley?"

"Yeah." Keys jingled from inside, arms sliding into ratted old jean jacket.

"I think I'll come for that walk."

Feet carried her inside and he moved to block her from the bedroom, arms lacing about her waist loosely as lips caught her forehead for a chaste kiss. Immediately, she melted into him, sinking into the frame he offered her. She pulled away from him soon after, disappearing into the bedroom to pull on a pair of black sweat pants and a long sleeved nondescript t-shirt, bare feet sliding into black flip flops that slapped against the empty wooden planks. Hair was pulled back into a ponytail, cell phone left on the end table beside the bed.

"Ready?" Hand was held out for hers, feigning for whatever contact she was willing to give.

"Yeah."

Keys jingled as he pulled the doors closed behind them, dropping them into the right pocket of denim jacket. Fingers moved to lace with hers, guiding her down the steps nonchalantly.

"Have I told you lately you're beautiful?"

"Stop saying that, you'll make me believe it."

"Good."

[dani cassidy]

Seconds felt like minutes, minutes felt like hours, hours felt like days, days felt like... Finger moved the scroll down the page, eyes staring half-assedly as clouded images obsconded true view of the article that lay before her. While night terrors seemed to have ceased temporarily, so had Riley -- they only saw each other in the evenings, and had very little to say to one another. Things were changing in ways she couldn't grasp; she doubted it really had to do with what happened regarding Christopher -- something just wasn't right. Lips parted as oxygen was brought in, thick ropes of hope restraining any facial expression. Palms pressed to the edge of the desk as she rolled away from thick wood, standing to move into Riley's office -- his door was closed, though music came from within. Her judgement thought better than to bring things up at work, fingers moving to rub against temple as she made her way into Mark's office. Two light knocks, and she let herself in -- the door was open, anyway.

"Mark."

"Hey, Dani. C'mon in."

"I can't cover this article, it's shit and I don't even know what they're marketing."

Slender fingers plunged a thin stack of stapled copies his way, letting them fall to his desk with a short slap.

"Dani, sit down. I want to talk to you." Thumb jutted towards the seat opposite him, and he turned to the computer.

"If it's about why I supplimen-"

"This isn't work related."

Eyes lifted to watch him, face remaining as a mask to hinder any signs of interest. Dropping into the plush seat, slender legs crossed at the knee while fingers folded to rest in her lap, quietly. Just don't fire me.

"Dani, I'm not sure what has been going on, but I want to help you." Eyes lifted to meet hers, his facial expression forcibly soft -- almost eery. "I know you've been going through a lot, and I haven't exactly been the coolest kid towards you."

"What are you getting at?"

Cheeks filled with air and puffed before he leaned back in his chair, feet keeping the chair from rolling, arms moving to stretch and fold behind his head. It made cleanly-pressed shirt cling against his torso, in a not-so-flattering sort of way.

"I'm getting at... well. How are things with Riley?"

Shaking her head she immediately stood, moving to take the stapled copies back. When she reached, he grabbed her wrist, thick fingers curling about slender, boney wrist.

"Dani, please."

"It's none of your fucking business, Mark."

Fingers tightened about her wrist, and she froze, wondering if he'd try to hurt her -- there? With the door open? It didn't make sense. His lips parted and remained motionless for a moment as he searched for the right words, brain formulating equations and answers, projecting the future. The two of them, together, in a home with a white picket fence, perhaps even a Collie named Lucy. No -- too close to Lassy.

"Dani. He isn't right for you. He doesn't give you the attention you nee-"

"What the hell do you know about us, Mark? What has he been telling you?"

"Nothing." Fingers released her wrist, though Dani's feet remained planted right where they were -- just as he knew they would. "Meet me, tonight. Ten o'clock, at the plaza."

"I'm not meeting you anywhere. You're my boss." Inside, she trembled. Quit. Just fucking slap him across the face, and quit. Flee. Find somewhere else. <u>Leave</u>.

"You'll meet me, there's no doubt in my mind. Tell Riley a word about it, and you'll lose your job so fast you'll have to put out to make rent payments."

Just then, a woman by the name of Colleen knocked lightly at the door, stepping one foot in the doorway.

"Sorry, Mark -- am I interrupting?"

"No, we were just making some business arrangements." Lips spread into a toothy grin, eyes narrowing so slightly only Dani would catch them. "See you tonight."

[dani cassidy]

The rain made a funny kind of something on the streets, a foggy mirror that stared up at the moon twice as brightly as it shone down. Heels clicked against the pavement, cigarette sucked upon, the sweet addiction filling her lungs and calming her nerves. What the hell does he want with me, anyway? I'm just a coworker.. Turning onto Sixth Street, she found him not far, sunken back against a wall that almost blended into black jacket. He wore a hat, and pushed away from the wall when he saw her coming, hands shoved deep into pockets.

"Come with me."

Before she had time to respond, he took her by the wrist and pulled her into a small bar, thick smoke hindering vision at first, as eyes tried to adjust to the new lighting.

"Is this what you call a first date?" Frame flopped down into a seat across from him, a small square table creating boundaries from him. His fingers moved to his temple, hat removed from his head.

"I need to talk to you about something I know you'll understand."

"What?"

"My wife."

Eyes widened and she glanced around, as if the woman would be staring her down. "Umm, look. I'm flattered and everything, but if youre marri--"

"No, Jesus Christ, it's not like that." He leaned closer to her to speak, droping his tone to a more intimate level. "We're seperated. She's been having... issues."

"Everybody has those."

"Yeah, but. I don't know how to put this without just... saying it. Riley told me what happened, in confidence. He told me because he was scared and didn't know who else to tell. And Gina-- her father died five years ago, and she swears he comes to see h--"

"What? Riley told you?" Jaw went slack and she leaned back in her seat, eyes cutting to their corners. Hate was the only word that swam through her head.

"Look, Dani, it's not about Riley. My wife needs help, she's staying with her sister and I don't know how to help her the way you could. She refuses to go to a psychologist, let alone any other kind of doctor -- but if you could relate to h--"

"Where is she?" Stated more as a flat, broken statement than a question.

"Oak Park."

Lips puckered as she sat for a moment in silence, spine pressed back to the chair, cigarette ashed into the ashtray that lay perfectly center on the table. Index tapped on the rolled paper as she sat quietly, Mark leaning forward onto his arms while fingers laced together in silence. He knew she was sizing up the situation. Throat was cleared quietly, and she dropped the cigarette into the ashtray, eyes moving back to him with a curt nod of her head.

"Alright. Tell me how to find her."

A sigh of relief lurched from his chest, and he nodded vigorously, before eyes fell to his watch. "We've better go, it's late. I'll give you directions tomorrow at work." Pushing away from the table, he let her out first, polite enough to ask her if she needed a cab. She shook her head and replied a generic comment, the rain having ceased. They parted as quickly as they'd come together, each with a different hope in their hearts.

[dani cassidy]

The apartment smelled of generic disinfectant, spoiled food and cigarettes. Chipped, peeling walls were yellowed with age, a thick line of smoke sprawling from the kitchen to the livingroom. They'd made previous arrangements to meet -- while Danielle thought the woman would be hesistant, she was in fact treating her like a savior. Gina hurriedly opened the door and closed it quickly behind to be locked. Words came out rushed, and quiet.

"My sister is gone for exactly an hour. Can you help me?"

"Um.. look, Gina, I--"

"You can't back out. I know you see what I see."

"I do." Frame dropped onto the sofa, cigarette lit to be pressed between Dani's lips. She gave a single nod, blowing smoke from cracking lips. "Tell me what you see."

"He's everywhere. In the bathroom, he'll come when I'm taking a shower, and stare. At night he'll stand over me and watch me, and his mouth constantly moves but I can't hear anything he's saying."

"Did he abuse you?"

Gina moved to sit on the coffee table's edge, facing Dani -- not incredibly close to one another. She sat for a long, quiet moment, as cigarette was put to her lips, smoke moving to weave itself within Dani's.

"Yes."

"How old were you?"

"Twelve."

"Did it happen often?"

"No. Only once."

Head dropped in a nod again and she leaned forward on her elbows, denim-covered knees parting rather masculinely.

"It's alright, you don't have to be afraid."

"I'm afraid of what people think of me. My sister doesn't know, well-- she knows, she just doesn't understand. She refuses to believe." Tongue wet dry lips and she swallowed hard, wide blues moving to look into Dani's dead on. "Tell me what you see."

"He violates things through me. People, things, myself. Not in disgusting ways or anything, more emotionally than physically. I've learned to accept it."

"What kinds of things do you do?"

"Correction -- what kinds of things does he do. You have to learn to seperate the two."

"He makes me..."

Hand moved to rest on Gina's knee, head nodding lightly. "It's okay. When you're ready--"

"--He makes me break things. A lot."

"Like?"

"Dishes. I've broken a lot of dishes. Anything that will shatter. In the process I've gotten stitches, bruises -- they almost took Mark to court for it. That's when we seperated, I didn't want him to be accused of anything he didn't do. I tried to explain to him why I do these things, but the more I talked, the more confused he got. And my sister, well, she just ignores it."

"How often does it happen?"

"A good bought will happen once a week. I do it when I'm alone, I buy dishes from Goodwill and keep them in my closet. When Sylvia goes to work I take them and break them."

"You're owning the action, is it really you?"

Gina's lips were sucked and bitten down between her teeth, eyes glazing over as she retraced events, looking for a common pattern. After a good twenty seconds of silence, her shoulders rose and fell softly as she shook her head. "I don't know."

"Start doing something for me -- log what you do. How it happens, when it happens, what you feel before, during, and after. Make sure you log any blackouts, any boughts of hysteria. Alright?"

She nodded softly and silently as a pupil would, as Dani rose to her feet. Cigarette was dabbed into an ashtray that sat upon the endtable, and she slid her purse over her shoulder.

"I've got to get going. We'll meet again this time, next week. Alright? If anything changes, call my cellphone."

"Thank you, Dani."

"And I promise -- everything will be okay."