je puis seulmente oublier.

[star studded]

Part One.

Full Name: Althea Laurel Adler
Goes by: Althie, Thea (a new one)
Current location: The city that never sleeps.? The ghetto portion of it.
Description: Apartment.? Small.? Kinda smells like old people.
Occupation: Waitress and cliched struggling thespian.
Current age: Twenty-one.
Date of birth: October 27th.
Birthplace: Good old Boston.? Home of drunk Irish guys, drunk Italian guys, and a baseball team that never wins shit.
Name(s), age(s), and occupation(s) of parent(s):

Jonathan Adler - Pilot for American Airlines.
Rosemary Hawkins - Art dealer.

.Name(s), age(s), and occupation(s) of sibling(s):

Lincoln Reverin Adler - Who the fuck knows what he's doing now.

Height: 5'4"
Weight: 120.
Hair color: Black.
Eye color: Blue.
Left-, right-handed, or ambidextrous: Left-handed.
Heritage/Nationality:? Czech, American, French, German...
Religion: I'm supposed to be Jewish, but I got lazy, and I like Christmas.
Education: Diploma from Boston Latin, several random classes taken independently..
Marital status: Sweet mother of Mary, I just got the right to drink!
Children: None.. that I know of.

Part Two.

Likes: Dancing, eating, dancing while eating, hot chocolate, baths, big showstopping numbers, denouments, yoga, the color chartreuse, the word 'perpendicular.'

Dislikes: Glory Corgan.

Phobias: Losing a limb?? I don't know.? Small rodents?

Part Three: Do you...

Smoke: Nope.
Cuss: Oui.
Sing well: I've been known to karaoke here and there.
Sing in the shower: Only good stuff!
Talk to yourself: Sometimes.
Believe in yourself: Sure!
Play an instrument: I know what the notes are on a piano.
Want to go to college?: If a lump sum of money dropped out of the sky.
Want to get married?: Not right now?
Want to have children?: Not right now.? Again.
Think you're a health freak?: Not really.
Get along with your parents?: Yes.? Most of the time.? I do avoid my mother's phonecalls, but who doesn't.
Get along with your siblings?: I almost maced my sibling.

Part Four: Current...

Clothes: Jeans and a halter because it is as hot as a motherfucker in here.
Mood: Lazy.
Music: No Knife - Riot For Romance
Taste: Toothpaste.
Make-up: I have not applied today's lipgloss yet.
Hair-style: Long with bangs.? Aka, the lazy-man's hairstyle.?
Annoyance: The lack of A/C in this place.
Smell: The usual aroma of this apartment.
Book you're reading: Tim Burton's book of poetry and drawings.
CD in CD Player: No Knife.
DVD in player: 1991: The Year That Punk Broke.
Refreshment: Water.
Worry: I am surprisingly not too worried right now.

Part Five: Favorites:

Food: Sushi, veggie lo-mein, sweet and sour chicken.. pretty much anything Chinese.
Drink: I like red wine, and when I'm feeling daring, a beer, or a shot.? As for non-alcoholic, I like Coca Cola.
Color: Blue.
Album: Fiona Apple - When the Pawn
Shoes: Suede heels, or sneakers.
Candy: M&Ms, Gummi Bears...
Animal: Ocelots.? Aren't they cute?
TV Show: Law and Order: SVU.? I aspire to be like Detective Olivia Benson.? And Ice-T is on that show!
Movie: An American in Paris, Breakfast at Tiffany's, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, The Princess Bride.
Song: In THe Lost And Found (Honky-Bach) - Elliot Smith (I'm so indie.)
Girl's name: Iris, Ellen.
Boy's name: Mark.
Vegetable: Spinach.? Uncooked.? In salads.
Fruit: Pineapple.

Part Six:

If I were a month, I'd be: September.
If I were a day of the week, I'd be: Thursday.
If I were a time of day, I'd be: 8pm.
If I were a planet, I'd be: Mars.
If I were a sea animal, I'd be: A stingray.
If I were a direction, I'd be: Swimming under something.
If I were a piece of furniture, I'd be: An end table.
If I were a sin, I'd be: Sloth.
If I were a historical figure, I'd be: Circe.
If I were a liquid, I'd be: Seawater.
If I were a tree, I'd be: Birch.
If I were a bird, I'd be: A tern.
If I were a flower, I'd be: Lilies.
If I were a kind of weather, I'd be: Rainy.
If I were a mythical creature, I'd be: A mermaid.
If I were a musical instrument, I'd be: A piano.
If I were an animal, I'd be: A bird.
If I were a color, I'd be: Pale blue.
If I were an emotion, I'd be: Anticipation.
If I were a vegetable, I'd be: Peppers.
If I were a sound, I'd be: Waves crashing.
If I were an element, I'd be: Barium.
If I were a car, I'd be: A stretch Hummer. Why? Who knows.
If I were a song, I'd be: Last Dance - Donna Summer
If I were a movie, I'd be: Pretty Woman. Minus the whole prostitute/Richard Gere thing.
If I were a food, I'd be: Strawberries.
If I were a place, I'd be: Mid-ocean.
If I were a material, I'd be: Sand.
If I were a taste, I'd be: Salt.
If I were a scent, I'd be: Freshly cut grass.
If I were a religion, I'd be: No idea.
If I were a word, I'd be: Catastrophe.
If I were an object, I'd be: A snow globe.
If I were a body part, I'd be: Hands.
If I were a facial expression, I'd be: Surprised delight.
If I were a part of a house, I'd be: The stairs.
If I were a subject in school, I'd be: Psychology, because I've always wanted to take a class like that.
If I were a cartoon character, I'd be: Babs Bunny from Tiny Toons. Remember that show?
If I were a shape, I'd be a: Circle.
If I were a number, I'd be: Two.

<font color="#303030" size="1">[ June 30, 2004 04:40 AM: Message edited by: dead ends ]</font>

[star studded]

[ two years prior; nineteen; boston. ]

"Though Althea Adler's delivery makes it difficult to believe her age, her performance is sometimes lost in the lines that she lets speak for her." Sprawled in the living room of her mother's one-story house, she peeked over at Lincoln. He sat in a chair, reclined and staring at the television, even though there was nothing on the screen worth watching. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"It's a nice way of saying you look too young to play Emilia when the guy you're married to is being played by a thirty-year-old." Lincoln mumbled almost inaudibly as he flipped the channels at a rapid pace. They were completely dissimilar save for their outward appearances. Even their accents were different having been raised in the same city. Althea had worked for an entire year to make her voice an accent-less blank slate, easily manipulated into foreign dialects, but never possessing one of her own unless she chose to turn it back on. Lincoln, on the other hand, had obliterated the letter 'r' from his speech, and hardened the rest of his vowels and consonants in compensation. He dropped the endings from words with careless ease that she would never understand.

"She's supposed to be young. Idiot critic bastards." The paper was flung away carelessly. "People should do their goddamn research." Her language around her brother took on a vulgar theme, simply because he rubbed off on her. "How the hell do you even know what you're skipping past, you're surfing at warp speed."

Lincoln's broad shoulders lifted before the television was turned off with a stab of his thumb on the power button, spinning in the chair to face her. "What's there to do here? You two live like the fucking Amish."

"Not having Nintendo 64 does not make a family Amish, Linc."

"You know what I mean." Her brother stood at an intimidating height, wandering towards the stack of paper kept by the computer and stealing a piece. Plopping down beside her, he was folding it into a square and then working to create his usual fixation. His room at their uncle's house was littered with these things, their tips crumpled. It was like a graveyard. Eerie. Althea never liked going into his room there, if only because these things presented an obstacle and a shocking reminder.

"Why do you make those?" She questioned him with daring audacity, Lincoln's blue eyes twitching towards her as the creation was complete. A perfectly creased paper airplane that was lobbed across the room, gliding before it hit the wall and fluttered to the ground.

"No reason."

"There has to be a reason."

"There isn't."

She kept herself quiet for a moment, fumbling with the cuffs of sweater sleeves. Winter months in Boston were terrible, and the heat was kept down as low as possible to save money on oil refills. She sighed, leaning over as Lincoln snagged another piece of paper in order to fold it into an exact replica.

"You're wasting paper."

"No I'm not."

"Whatever." She was inexplicably angry, arms folding across her chest, leaving Lincoln to fly another paper airplane at the closet door.

"Say it." He ordered.

"Why did you burn Dad's house down?" It came out of nowhere, a memory triggered by crash and burn replicas of planes, of a crash years ago, of every last little thing that her brother had done to bury himself in trouble.

Silence was inevitable as Lincoln stared her down. It was very rare for her to be nervous around her brother, her protector, but at times like these, she was at the least cautious. He stood, retrieving one of the downed paper airplanes and crumpled it between palms into a compact ball. In one swift move, he stepped towards her and launched it, hitting his twin square in the face with the light paper ball. It made no painful impact, but the motion itself was disturbing.

"Hey!"

"Don't be a bitch."

"I wasn't being a bitch, it was a fucking question! Don't be a fucking jerk!"

"I'm the jerk? I'm the fucking jerk!? It was what, three, four years ago?" He craned over her, fingers jabbing at himself in stiff motion. Althea stood, forcing him to straighten his spine and leer at her from the same distance.

"You never gave any of us an answer, you fucking torched his house to the ground and you never told anyone why! What if he was in it, what if I was in it, Lincoln!? You could have killed someone!"

"I didn't kill anyone. No one died that day."

"You could have!" Fists reached forward and pushed at her brother's shoulders. His closeness was starting to make her want to recede, and rather than do that, she shoved him away.

"Don't touch me, Althea." His tone was warning, but she took no heed. A small fist was made and she swung it at his shoulder. He had always been taller, stronger, and with that advantage, her forearms were gripped effortlessly. Two steps were taken forward and he had her spine compressed against the flat of the wall with a rough thunk. She winced at the impact, pushing forward, but to no avail. He was stone, a rock that could not be moved.

"Get off of me, you asshole!"

"What did I say."

"Leave me alone!"

"What did I say!?" His voice bellowed like an earthquake, and she turned her head away silently. She would not dignify him with a response. Her arms were dropped and he backpedaled a step or two, a finger pointing directly at her. "Sometimes you need to just keep your fucking questions to yourself, you know that?"

"Get out."

Lincoln was already a step ahead of her, the front door yanked open to gust in a winter chill, his feet on the porch a distinct signal that he was retreating but not in defeat.

She was only half surprised that evening when Lincoln's car never pulled up to the stage door of the Schubert Theater in order to drive her home.

<font color="#303030" size="1">[ June 28, 2004 05:46 PM: Message edited by: dead ends ]</font>

[star studded]

"Don't burn the noodles. And why the hell are you playing this retarded music?"

"Don't you have a roommate to bother the shit out of?" Althea was craning over the boiling water, attempting to manage both that and the sauce she was attempting to season in order to personalize something. The lyrics from her small stereo were filtering into the kitchen, and Lincoln turned his nose to them. I don't think I wanna spend another night with you / I don't think I wanna spend another day / Feelin' the way you leave me to...

"This isn't exactly great date music, Althie. You should put on something that he'll know. Like Buddy Holly, or Bill Haley and his Comets.." Lincoln was abruptly swatted with the hot end of the spoon she used to stir noodles.

"He's not fifty, ass."

"Do you even know how old he is?"

"...no? But I know he's not fifty." One noodle was snagged out of the water with help of a fork, and Althea flung it expertly at the wall. It stuck there, unmoving. "Pasta's done." The heat beneath the pot was turned off and she was dumping the entirety into the strainer that rested in the sink. Lincoln watched lazily from his spot on the counter, legs swinging as he sat there.

"So, what date is this?"

"First."

"Haven't you been hanging out with this guy for awhile?"

"Those weren't dates." It was matter of factly stated as she shook the strainer dry, dumping the pasta back into the pot it had cooked in. "You know that you have to be out of here in like.. twelve minutes, right?"

"Nah, I think I'm gonna stay and chaperone. Just in case he tries to grope you or anything."

"Lincoln. Don't test my patience." A finger tick-tocked at him, a rather motherly motion that he scoffed at. "You have eleven minutes to be out of here. And I'd prefer you not wait until you have five, because then I will just kick you out."

"Did you change your sheets? And wear clean underwear?"

"Shut up! That-- Get out!" She pointed towards the door and he stared at her finger with no regard. Althea seemed dead serious, her eyes narrowed at him, her face twisted into an angry sneer. Lincoln's matching shade of eyes rolled, his hand swatting at her own in order to force her to stop indicating he leave.

"Those were valid questions, Al."

"Those were Stupid-Lincoln-Questions, now get out of my apartment before he comes here, sees what an idiot you are, and leaves because I share some of your genetic code."

"Promise me you'll at least change the music."

"NOW!"

[star studded]

If you get a feeling
Next time you see me
Do me a favor and
Let me know
Cause it's hard to tell
It's hard to say
Oh well, okay
Oh well, okay

In the steam after an early morning shower, Althea's brain flickered back and forth from various voice lessons. She thought in terms of open vowels and closed, of clear consonants and breath control. Robe-wrapped and staring in the foggy mirror, she cleared off the steam and stared at the shape of her mouth, inhaling breath before she started to speak. Eyes were trained to watch the corners of her lips, not drawing them too far back, not letting them contract too far forward.

"Monday." Not bad. "Tuesday." The last five days of the week were run through slowly, her voice lifting and falling in pitch to turn questioning, suggesting, affirming. The usual pre-audition warm up sounded strange to ears that had not heard her routine before, or had no idea why she would be running through this series of words and sounds like some foolish kindergartener trying to remember how to recite.

You're up early. Big audition today?

Althea sighed, her eyes closed. Not now. That little voice inside of her head had, over the years, taken on its own personality. Now that she stared at her reflection, it had a body to inhabit. It was just another one of those conversations with herself that made her look like even more of a lunatic than she really was.

So what is it this time? Monologue?

"Cold read. I've never even seen the script. You know, talking back to you just encourages you even more."

Cold read. That's no fun. Don't screw it up.

"Oh, thank you for the advice. If you don't mind, I'd like to get back to my warm up."

How was your date with that cute little professor guy?

"Like you don't already know." In a fit of frustration, the mirror on the medicine cabinet door was deflected as she threw it open, not looking for anything in particular. It was just a method of quieting her sense of logic. She stared at an array of bottles and things, vitamins, aspirin, a thermometer, toothpaste. Toothpaste! She could always brush her teeth. Again. The white and blue bottle was removed from the small shelf, her blue toothbrush snagged as well. The door was closed again and once more, she faced the wet reflection of herself.

Do you know what guys do when they're scared, Althea?

"La la la! I'm not listening." She glared at her reflection, and in retaliation it mimicked her coarse, cruel look. Minty paste was dabbed onto the bristles of her toothbrush, and she ran it harshly over teeth. The feeling spread throughout a well-exercised mouth, but the sound of fibers against enamel didn't do much to stop the excess noise.

They run.

Foam was spit into the bowl of the sink in punctuation, the nervous flutter in her chest not exactly doing much to comfort her.

"Shut up."

This is way over your head. Way more than you bargained for, honey. Why do you think he never says anything?

"I don't care. Could you give it a rest? I have a lot to do today. Like.." Eyes glanced at the thin watch around her left wrist. "Manage to flag a cab and find a studio I've never been to in forty-five minutes." Robe was being discarded and replaced instead with a vintage-esque house dress. The sleeves were short and white, and Althea cinched her waist with a thick red belt. Her mind silenced. She suddenly felt terribly sorry for Michael if that was what he had to deal with twenty-four hours a day.

No, his was something much more. Hers was just a product of nervosa and neurotic habit.

Hands pulled back black hair into a mess of a ponytail, her bangs left to frame the sides of her pale face. Summer was going to fry her skin if she wasn't careful. Maybe if she didn't give it the opportunity to, she would manage. Feet slipped into red shoes and she was shuffling out of the bathroom to scoot around the living room in search of her bag and the contents she needed to put in it. Wallet, keys, the small makeup case she'd use in the taxi. Check, check, check.

Don't forget your resume.

"What did I tell you?" Grumbling irritably, she followed through, snagging the small folder out of a drawer and tucking it under her arm.

When does the list go up?

"No list. Three woman show. They'll call me before midnight tonight if I get anything." Glancing quickly at the small dinner table, a glint of something caught her eye. Origami paper from the night before, folded and unfinished. It sat there, something Michael had toyed with, something that fell to the floor without her noticing it. Reaching, she swept it off the table and stuck it in the pocket of her dress, moving back towards the door.

Break a leg.

"Shut up."

The door slammed swiftly behind her.

[star studded]

"Althea! Althea!" There was someone shuffling down the hall as she fumbled with keys to her door. Post-audition, she was a frazzled mess in the early evening, watching as Russ from down the hallway was wandering up to her, lilies in hand. He was tall, an older, stout man graying at the temples. His accent was strictly southern, a drawl to wow anyone.

"Russ, I told you, I'm too young for you." Her head shook in jest, arms crossing her chest before intercepting the cumbersome package.

"I'm spoken for, missy. Some delivery guy came and dropped these off for you while you were out. I signed for'em since I'm so nice." He stuck hands in pockets, rolling on the balls of his feet before plopping back to his heel. "Who they from? Secret admirer?"

Althea plucked the card from its confines in the twine, flipping it so that she could eye unfamiliar block print. The message itself said just who it was from, her lungs exhaling in a lazy sigh. "Freak. Hey Russ, you speak Spanish?"

"A little bit. Mostly hola an' adios, and.. no comprende, amigo."

She flicked the card towards him, holding it up as he squinted in examination. "Can you read this?"

He took a moment, scanning his brain for an answer. "Something about having.. and living.. and.. nope, no idea."

"Thanks anyway, Russ."

"Who they from?"

She took a moment, her door swinging open. "I'll tell you when I figure it out for myself."

Inside, the flowers were stuck with last night's batch, watered and placed on her small dinner table as the oversized centerpiece. Purse was thrown down with resume and informational sheets, tentative rehearsal and performance dates, places.. all the technical things she'd read if she absolutely had to. A blinking light on her answering machine drew her attention, finger jabbing it to sound the tinny, mechanical voice.

"You have two new messages."

There was a piercing beep before the first one sounded through.

"Hey. It's Lincoln. The guys are coming up from Boston next weekend for a final show sorta thing at the Lion's Den. Yes. The Hotel Rumor is breaking up. Maybe. Ehh, we don't fuckin' know. So like, if you don't come, you're a shitty sister. And if you bring your elf of a boy toy, I will hold no responsibility for what myself, Glory, and the rest of the guys will subject him to. Peace."

"Asshole." Mumbled under her breath before she kicked off shoes and thunked onto the couch, holding both the phone and the card in her hand.

The evening would be spent calling anyone she knew who had taken a Spanish course, and waiting for the phone to ring.

[star studded]

"Are you going home for the weekend?"? Eddie sat across from the deliriously giddy Althea, who picked around at her sandwich with careful fingers.? He watched carefully as spare lettuce was pushed around on her plate, her mouth curved into a painfully wide grin.

"I don't think so.? I don't know what I'm doing for the fourth.? Probably gonna go watch some fireworks or something."

"This is the first year there will be no Adlers on the Esplanade!"? Eddie's brown eyes widenened in realization.? "There have been Adlers on the Esplanade since its opening in 1835!? Adlers have been there to keep the reputation alive, with drinks in their hand and loud, obnoxious comments to anyone who dared to tell them to quiet down!? And what about the Boston Pops?"

Althea's hand pressed to her heart.? "It'll be the first year I don't get to see my future husband, Boston Pops and Symphony Condutor Keith Lockhart!? In his little tux!? He's gonna miss me, I know it."? She sighed, hanging her head mournfully in remembrance.

"I'm sure Boston Pops and Symphony Conductor Keith Lockhart has no idea that you exist.? Except for that time that you yelled that you loved him at Symphony Hall."

"He looked at me!"

"Why are you so happy today?? Does it have to do with taco-man?"

Althea sighed, eyes narrowed at Eddie.? "Not entirely."? Eddie sipped from his soda, mouth folding comically over the straw.?

"Did you ever notice how you can't look manly drinking from a straw?? So .. what's the big exciting news?"

"Don't steal other people's material, Eddie.? And..."? She let suspense linger in attempt to torture him, but he simply stared across the small table at her, the breeze from the outdoor patio whisking across them.? "I got a part."

"You did!?"? He leaned in, soda forgotten.? "Not like I didn't think you could get one, but.. congratulations!? How long is the run?"

"Five weeks.? Five shows a week, matinee on Wednesday, no weekends.? So I can still work part time, which is good."?

"Well good for you! I will attend as many as humanly possible. Question!. Am I allowed to bring things to throw on the stage during your performance? Examples being small stuffed animals, watches, various packaged candies.."

"Answer! No." The suggestion was vetoed with a finger ticking in his direction. Her admonishment left Eddie sighing in defeat.

"Fine. You win this round. What are you playing anyway?" This had escaped him before, slouching back in his seat to fold long limbs over his chest.

"It's this weird, abstract three-woman show. There's three female characters and they each perform these weird, barely-there storylines using a certain poet's work. It reminds me a little of the Hours with the whole.. Mrs. Dalloway tie-in." Her hands circled themselves in explanation, Eddie's expression remaining unchanged.

"What poet are you .. reading, or using or .. whatever it is." He had shifted to retrieve his wallet, fishing through it for a credit card to hand to the waiter that shuffled beside them.

"Plath."

"You know the question I'm going to ask, so.. I'm just going to sit here and wait for my answer." The metal chair skidded against concrete as Eddie sat back once more, his arms folded in resolve.

"No, there are no scenes in which I crawl halfway into an oven and asphyxiate myself."

"Damn. So did you tell your laundry-obsessed and taco-craving friend about this?" Mouth folded around the straw again in an exaggerated motion, forcing Althea to look away or be subjected to hysterical laughter as Eddie's cheeks caved in.

"No, I'm actually going to go stalk him down.. er.. visit him after we're done here. So if you could finish up, that'd be nice." False attitude was conveyed and Eddie's hands flew up in defense.

"My laundry is just as clean as the next guy's, Althea. Just as clean."

The best thing about lunches with her cousin was the confidence that no one around them would ever understand a single word exchanged.

[star studded]

The silence was at the least, uncomfortable. Siblings sat across from one another, matching eyes focused on their own respective fan of glossy playing cards. The mess of face-down Bicycle cards between them acted as a barrier for both, neither willing to cross for fear of reactions. Lincoln sighed heavily, contemplating his next move before a thin and pitchy voice broke the silence.

"Got any nines?"

"Go fish." Althea arranged her set in ascending order from left to right, the mix of red and black suits sitting in a jagged pattern. This bored her, to be honest, but it was better than having to endure actual conversation. Her brother boiled and rumbled like an oncoming storm, and she could feel his breaking point fast approaching. Lincoln's oversized hand reached into the messy pond of cards, retrieving one and sighing in disappointment. It was stuck among the rest of his growing hand.

"I think you're lying. Quit holding out." His attention was diverted, leaving him to rearrange his cards, but Althea's eyes rolled anyway.

"Nothing's keeping you here, Linc. If you think I'm cheating at 'Go Fish' you're free to leave."

"Whatever." His retort nearly clipped the end of her sentence short, a snapping reply to her observation. Her usual patience had been replaced by a nervous edge, and the end of her rope had clearly been reached. She folded her cards into a pile and let them flop boredly to the table.

"I'm finished."

"What's your problem?" His own cards dropped as Althea pushed away from the table to wander towards the kitchen. Water began to run, a sink full of dishes being rinsed off and sorted.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe that you come busting in here uninvited and acting like everything's hunky-dory? That could be the start of it." There was a rattle-clash of silverware and plastic against the metal sink that made Lincoln lurch in his seat. He twisted to face the kitchen, one arm draping the back of his chair, its opposite propped on the table.

"Why wouldn't things be fine? I didn't know I wasn't allowed to come visit my own fucking sister without a written invitation and prior RSVP notice.."

"You know what I mean! You and Glory were jerks the other night, and I'm sick and tired of just letting you get away with being a prick for no reason. You're like a bully, you just.. berate anyone in your path to make yourself feel better for being a lonely asshole." An angry hand turned the water off before shaking itself dry. When she turned around, Lincoln stood facing her. It made her slightly nervous. He always managed to move without being heard.

"You were no Princess of Polite either, Al. I heard you sling a few insults at both of us."

Her chilidish instincts told her to kick him and chime that he had started it, but sense and logic ruled, if only for the moment. "You embarassed me."

"Oh, so that's what this is! We made you look less than desirable in front of your date, stop the presses!"

"That's not what it is at all! You embarass me in front of everyone, Lincoln. You did it at home, you do it here now. You followed me out to New York--"

"Followed you!? I followed you to New York? Oh yeah, that's what I did. I missed you so much that I picked up and followed you out here, Althea. You know, my decisions rarely have shit to do with you, or how you'll feel, or what you'll think of me after I've made them, so don't go and get all fucking sappy on me. My world doesn't revolve around you, and.. oh, here's the kicker.. neither does anyone else's!"

"Get out. Get out of my apartment, right now."

"You sound like Mom." His arms folded across his chest as if to refuse. He was stone still and unbudging.

"Oh, do I? Do you remember why Mom kicked you out of the house, Lincoln? Do you remember why all of that shit happened when we were kids? Because whether or not you like it, your dumbass decisions affect people. They piss people off, they embarass people." Her hand chopped at her palm with each point like she was attempting to slice it in half with the side of her fingers, another

"Mom didn't kick me out because I was an embarassment, Al." It was a subtle reminder for his sister, who just churned forward like a train on the wrong track.

"You're right. She kicked you out because you had been arrested God knows how many times before you even turned sixteen. Because you were on probation for six months because you stole a fucking car. Because you lit our father's house on fire and a year of juvenile detention did nothing to even make you feel the slightest bit of remorse, you never even apologized."

"You wanna keep going? Is this.. is this making you feel better or something, because I think it's kinda funny."

"He never did anything to you. He never did anything to us. Ever. You had no reason. You two were like best fucking friends until you did that, and it will never ever make sense to me. I have to rationalize it somehow, Lincoln, and I can't. You know what I tell myself? I tell myself that you did it because you're a fuck-up. I don't like having to use that reason. I use it for everything with you."

Untouched, Lincoln stood with arms folded and shoulders high, his expression still the same half-interested smirk he had worn when he walked in the door. "You done?"

"No."

"Well, I got nothin', Al."

"As usual." She turned her back, the water in the sink turned back on as background static. "Get out."

Shrugging, Lincoln turned swiftly on heel to waltz back past the table. Eyes caught the overabundance of lilies that were slowly starting to wilt at the edges, stuck stem to stem into the tall, glass vase. Carelessly, his arm reached out to knock the reverse of his wrist into it, sending flowers, water and glass all to spill onto the floor in a crash of subtle destruction. The door was slammed poignantly behind him.

Althea closed her eyes and screamed.

[star studded]

"I wish," I said savagely, still mindful of his laugh and throwing discretion to the wind, "I wish I was a woman of about thirty-six dressed in black satin with a string of pearls."

"You would not be in this car with me if you were," he said, "and stop biting your nails, they are ugly enough already."

"You'll think me impertinent and rude, I dare say," I went on, "but I would like to know why you ask me to come out in the car, day after day. You are being kind, that's obvious, but why do you choose me for your charity?"

I sat up stiff and straight in my seat with all the poor pomposity of youth.

"I ask you," he said gravely, "because you are not dressed in black satin with a string of pearls, nor are you thirty-six." His face was without expression, I could not tell whether he laughed inwardly or not.


Rebecca, by Daphne duMaurier

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The whirr speed and the creak of metal was all too familiar. On the subway, she wasn't as fearful as she was cautious. Upon first moving to New York, every unfamiliar face had been regarded as a security risk, a danger, an intruder. Now things were more familiar, the street and subway musicians regarded as noble entertainment, the homeless merely staples on the sidewalk that she emptied her spare change into.

Overhead, the subway signs flashed their next destination. "Approaching 5th and 56th."

Under her breath, Althea spoke to herself, her voice pleasant and mechanical, imitating the public transportation voice she knew so well from childhood. "Entering... Downtown Crossing." She wished for Boston on days like these, where she was unsure and skeptical, where she didn't quite fit into the puzzle of her own life. She wished for the sprawl of South Station, the rush of trains buzzing past her ears. She wanted to be in Logan Airport, meeting her father for lunch before sending him off again. She missed the green spread of the Common, sitting front row for each summer's Shakespeare production, fawning over obscure actors and perfect delivery. She missed Nick Sullivan's simplicity, discussions over coffee and laughter at private jokes about the Orange Line or walking through Jamaica Plain at two in the morning.

Leaning back in her seat, she lolled her head to her side to stare at Lincoln. He looked straight ahead, blinking at their reflection in the windows of the subway train. It took a moment, but he peeked back over at her, the two pairs of eyes meeting in a blue lock.

"You're upset." He noted it quite quickly, only because this time it wasn't an emotion that she directed at him. She was attempting to keep it hidden, which made it all the more obvious. Althea's eyes closed, and she lolled her head back straight, two twins watching an opposing set in the window. Quadruplets. In response, she shrugged and slouched her spine deeper into the seat.

"I'll beat him up for you if you want." That was another thing about Boston that didn't apply here in the city. At home, Lincoln's fists were her only threat to those she didn't get along with. Boys that deceived her and broke her heart were subjected to her brother's wrath. Here, at this time, in this place, that wouldn't fly. She did not have a problem with a boy. She was contemplating what the hell she was going to do about a man.

"That's okay. You don't need another assault and battery charge, and he won't be nearly as fun to look at if you screw up his face." It was almost as if the altercation from the other day had been forgotten, and in many ways it had been. It was just another argument thrown into the file in their brains, left to collect dust until a point from them needed to be dragged out in a future argument.

"What'd he do? Screw around with some other girl?" Lincoln's mind worked in simple solutions to simple problems. Infidelity, he could handle. Heartbreak, teasing, hurt feelings.. he fixed those things and he fixed them well, his own or his sisters. Althea shook her head to refute his assumption, her hand waving as if to dismiss the issue.

"No. Not that. Even if he was, he's not my boyfriend, I don't care what he does."

"Yeah, okay." Lincoln's eyes rolled. He knew his sister was easily hurt, a direct result of her thought processes. She thought too much and felt too fiercely, so much so that she could conjure up feelings when they weren't even there. It's called acting, you idiot. "So what's wrong?"

"You know how you can kinda read people for responses? Like, if you do something, you see the way they act, and then judge whether or not it was a good decision to do that?"

"Yeah?" The concept seemed simple to him, a normal every day thing.

"He doesn't do that."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't read him. At all. No vibes, no reactions, no.. anything. And he says its not me. I know it's not me. But it's just strange to know that you're being read and picked up on and.." Invaded with secrets stolen right out of your head. "..and there's nothing that he's really doing about it." Althea's eyes closed again, her arms settling across her chest. The subway zoomed on, clicking with the track as it ran, jarring them only slightly when it swayed to and fro.

"I dunno what to say, Al. Some guys are just weird. Maybe he's wanted in sixteen states. Maybe he's got a secret. Maybe he's gay." Lincoln's voice jumped with laughter at his own suggestion, lanky limbs stretching over his head in exhaustion. "I'm no good with this kind've advice. You know that."

She knew it all too well, of course. Sighing, she leaned forward, with elbows on knees, the ledges of her spine showing themselves beneath white fabric. Lincoln reached over, pulling one of the two low pigtails she had draped over her shoulders. She swatted him away.

Her mind was busy thinking of how she'd spend her evening waiting for a knock on her door that wasn't Lincoln, and a voice on the other end of the phone that wasn't Eddie.

[star studded]

The sounds of traffic woke her as they usually did, only this time the terrain was unfamiliar. She stretched out her legs and they came upon opposition, and when she rolled over slightly, she found she had run out of surface to support her. Scooting back into place, after avoiding falling onto the floor, she sat up abruptly, the haze of sleep still clouding vision and perception. This wasn't her apartment. It was way too orderly and nice to be her apartment. And she had been sleeping on a couch.

Oh yeah.

Lazily, she sprawled back out as best she could, pulling a sheet over her head and sighing into the cotton of a pillow that wasn't hers. A yawn fell quietly, arms stretching towards the wall behind her and legs towards the opposite. Her spine lifted slightly and for a moment she believed she could stretch arms and legs to touch the walls if she just tried hard enough. Sighing, she fell back into place and attempted to untangle herself from the sheet she had managed to cocoon herself in overnight. Bare feet hit the floor and she stood, fingers attempting to comb back her mess of dark hair into something resembling order. She padded silently up the row of stairs, confronted with the upper layer of this place she hadn't seen. Wandering from door to door, curiosity was dangerously piqued as she approached one that was ajar enough for her to peek in. She paused, angling her head to look. All she saw was the lazy sprawl of a dark arm, and she kept walking on.

The bathroom door was closed behind her and locked, not for safety, but to save her from any potential embarassment. She was doing a quick check, ensuring that there were towels, soap, shampoo, all within reach. Again, to avoid the pain of embarassment.. that seemed to be today's theme and it wasn't even noon yet.

Fancy meeting you here!

Althea took a moment, glaring at her unkempt reflection. Its mouth was pulled into a taut scowl, brows narrowed. "You shut up."

This isn't your house.

"Brilliant observation, Newton, got any other nuggets of wisdom before I get in the shower?" Her attempt at intimidating her reflection into submission wasn't working as well as she had anticipated it could.

Don't use all the hot water. And what are you going to brush you teeth with?

Angrily, she draped her towel over the mirror, stifling herself.

Her shower, as usual, was filled with strange, vocally opening noises and breath warm-ups, sighs that started high-pitched and ended at the very basement of her range, lifts that started low and ended high, as though she were in wonderous question of something. The bathroom was left steamed as she attempted to avoid dripping water on the immaculately kept floor.

He has to be gay. Look at this place. It looks like the Queer Eye guys live here.

"Monday. Tuesday. Shut up." Towel-dried and redressed in pajamas, wet hair was yanked back into a high ponytail, facing away from the foggy mirror instead.