I knew I was somewhere different.  Before I even opened my eyes the next morning, even with my brain as fuzzy as it was, I was missing the familiarity of the purple room.  As my brain puttered along, trying to form rational thoughts, I tried to piece together the events of the night before.  I remembered the brain melting drive, the quest to unload with Callie, the need of a knight in shining armor, and the conclusion of my entirely too long day, a complete and total breakdown in the arms of one Ben Stevens. 

            I internally cringed at the memory of the emotional deluge, and the hideousness was able to pull me from my semi conscious state a little faster.  After we moved to the couch and Ben inquired again about the cause to the explosion, I spilled everything, and lord save me, I do mean everything.  Explicit detail about every aspect of every trauma that I had been ignoring, or attempting to repress to no avail, I laid out for him.  He sat there, never once interrupting, trying to get me to stop the meltdown.  No, he held me comfortingly, hugging me tighter when something particularly hard was shared.  When I broke down completely explaining the reality of life without my Grams, I swore I felt him pull in his own shuddering breath, but I was too enveloped it my confessions to look up.

            After that, the blurriness set in.  I know that I eventually stopped crying.  I remember by body feeling more exhausted than I can ever remember it being before.  The combination of relief to have purged myself of such heavy thoughts, and the physical toll of the hysterics left me completely spent.  I couldn't remember making my way to the guest room, and I feared that maybe I collapsed and had to be carried in or something equally mortifying. 

            As I continued towards coherence, I became more aware of my physical state.  Oddly achy, as if I hadn't moved all night, and yet somehow perfectly comfortable.  I hadn't heard any commotion from Ben outside the room, and I wondered if he had left for work.  I could most definitely understand his desire to sneak out, lest he come back into contact with the emotionally unstable woman he regrettably opened his home to for the night. 

            When I went to stretch myself out a little bit, I froze when I bumped into something.  It occurred to me that opening my eyes might be a good idea.  The brightness of the room was slightly blinding and I went through some hard, rapid blinks before I was able to focus enough to see that I was still in the living room.  I must have passed out on the couch. 

            Then I heard the breathing.

            I considered that I might have just been listening to myself, so I held my breath, listening carefully, and there was most certainly breathing coming from behind me that was not my own.  Clarity was setting in and I laid perfectly motionless as I assessed my surroundings, the most prominent sensation being something draped over my waist.  Without moving more than absolutely humanly necessary, I tilted my head ever so slightly to survey the situation. 

            An arm.  His arm.  The warmth I felt behind me was Ben, lying with me on the couch, that arm laid across me, holding me tightly against him as he slept.  An adolescent fantasy come staggeringly true, and I couldn't be entirely sure that I wasn't still asleep and merely enjoying a wonderful dream. 

            Sleeping or not, I certainly wasn't in any sort of hurry to move from my position.

            I lay there for a few more minutes, just enjoying the sensations, still debating over the possibility of dream versus reality when Ben pulled in a deep breath and his arm tightened slightly around me.  I became a statue, wondering if even he realized how we had ended the evening, or if he was about to fly off the couch and run screaming from the house.

            "Good morning," he sighed sleepily into my hair.

            "Hi," was my intelligent response.  I honestly had no idea what to do, or say.  Did I get up?  Would that be considered impolite?  Of course more than seeming like a less than gracious guest, I was quite comfortable where I was.

            Damn, he was moving.

            "So, are you feeling better?" I could hear the smile in his voice.  I blushed.

            "Um, yeah," I muttered.

            Much to my dismay, his arm left my side.  I had grown quite accustomed to it lying there.  He gently took me by the shoulder and maneuvered me until I was lying on my back beside him, as he perched above me, leaning up on his elbow.

            "Really, are you okay?" he asked sincerely.

            "I'm fine," I answered, not meeting his gaze.  It is easy to be embarrassed with oneself after spending the night bawling hysterically to the picture of perfection.  "I am sorry I sort of unleashed the beast on you last night."

            "I actually enjoyed it,” he chuckled.  "Thank you."

            "Um," I frowned.  "Do you have a weird fetish for hysterical women or something?"

            He laughed.  "No, I just meant, thank you for letting me be your friend.  It makes me feel good that you let me help."

            "Oh."  My face flushed deeper still.  "Hey, don't you have to go to work?"

            "Technically, I suppose I do," he smiled.  "Unless...  Are you sure you are feeling better?  I can stay with you if you'd like."

            I knew I looked like an idiot the way I stared at him when he suggested that.  For a moment I wondered what it would feel like to say that I wished he would stay.  I imagined the joy of laying on the couch all day, and working to somehow get his arm around me again. 

            The bubble popped however when I had a flash of my less than stylish appearance last night with mangled hair, and how I must have looked after hours of crying. 

            "No, really, I am okay," I insisted, trying to breathe out the side of my mouth, just in case my morning breath was more potent than I was aware of.  "Thank you, though."

            "Well then," he grinned, hovering dangerously close.  "Let's see if we can get you back to your car."

            He quickly sat up, and very lithely hopped from the couch until he was standing in front of me, extending his hand to help me up.  When I stood, I caught a glimpse of my reflection off of the television, and almost shrieked.  The night had not been kind in any way.  My hair had dried into a matted, Medusa looking mess, my eyes definitely looked as puffy as they felt, and while the clothes he had loaned me was comfortable, I was certainly not going to wind up in a fashion magazine, unless perhaps it was under the how not to look columns...

            Always polite, he excused himself to go prepare for work, realizing that our little couch crashing had made him late for work.  I felt terrible, hoping that I hadn't gotten him into any trouble, even though he assured me that it would be perfectly fine.  A few short minutes later he emerged, looking dapper in his work clothes, and even though I swear he was gone for less than five minutes, he came out looking as though he has spent the better part of a morning grooming.  He even made his days' worth of stubble work for him, as if it were one well thought out look he had been going for.  If it hadn't been so pleasurable to look at, it would have been seriously irritating.

            I had been wise enough to leave my clothes in a crumpled pile on the floor of the guest room, and thanks to that genius, they were still bordering on sopping wet.  Ben, very unnecessarily, apologized for not thinking to have laundered them overnight.  I had to give him a strange look for that one.  Not terribly sure I would have been all that comfortable with him washing my clothes in the first place. 

            He offered to make breakfast, or at the very least coffee, and as much as I would have loved to prolong our odd little morning together, the guilt of his lateness won out over me and I insisted that he get moving.

            Perhaps not even ten minutes after flying off that couch, we were out the door, him looking polished and professional, and me wearing his old clothes, the pants of which I had to roll up over my damp shoes so as to not trip over them as I walked.  I looked like I was doing the walk of shame, but alas had nothing to be ashamed of having done.  All the mortification, none of the reward.

            Before we hopped into his car, he called and arranged to have AAA meet us at Mort's to help us break into my poor lonely car to retrieve my keys.  And despite my assurances that he had already gone far above and beyond, he insisted on staying with me until a fellow named Sal arrived, and silently, and humorlessly jimmied his way in through my window to free the keys.  For all that, good ol' Sal could have saved us an awful lot of theatrics had we brought him into the mix the night before, but then I would have missed out on my meltdown, and our couch sleeping. 

            After his very few minutes with us, Sal packed up and headed on his way, leaving Ben and I to a somewhat awkward moment.  Awkward for me, anyway.  I wanted to calm and confident, but I couldn't shake the fear that he was merely being his usual gentlemanly self, and that once I was completely rescued, he would turn and never look back.  I wouldn't have blamed him.  I can't say that I would have been too keen on rushing back to a person that one date into the relationship not only needed a dramatic rescue, but that also bared every dark little detail of their existence in an epic sob-fest. 

            I once again was at a loss for words.  There were things I wanted to say, things I couldn't say, and things I should never say, so instead, I just stared sheepishly at the ground, as I leaned against my car.

            "So," he grinned, standing in front of me.  "Are you absolutely certain you will be alright?"

            "Yes," I grimaced.  Clearly, he thought that I had become a mentally unstable loon, and was afraid to leave me alone for fear of doing harm to myself or others.  The look he was giving me had me wondering if he was thinking of taking my shoelaces...

            "Relax, Max," he laughed.  "I was only trying to get out of work for the day.  I am in no way implying you wouldn't be alright without me."

            Hmph.

            "Okay, well, I had better be off then,"  His smile contradicted his sigh.  "Do me a favor though?"

            "What?"

            "Promise you will sleep for me," he yawned.  "If I know one of us is catching up, maybe it will keep me from nodding off at my desk."

            I had to laugh.  "Sure, no problem."

            The awkwardness returned.  So what was supposed to happen?  Should I hug him goodbye?  A kiss?  I shuddered at the act of bravery.  A hearty handshake seemed to fall short of what I felt.

            Before I could commit to any sort of romantic gesture, or witty response, he abruptly leaned in and pressed his lips against my forehead.  I gasped, actually gasped.  He moved in so quickly that I didn't see it coming, but lingered there long enough that it was becoming hard to breathe properly.

            "Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?" he breathed against my skin, his hand having somehow found its way to resting above my hip.

            "Mmhmm..." was the only sound I could manage.  

            With one more fast peck on my hairline, he, and his hand pulled away and turned to walk towards his car.  My knees having succumbed to the kiss, I nearly fell over and had to grab my door handle for support.

            "Get some sleep!" he called back as he climbed into the Lexus, and then he drove away.

            And so I was left, after the weirdest of nights with Ben Stevens.  I slowly climbed into my car, still slightly disoriented from the encounter and sat staring out the window towards nothing.  I considered following his advice and going home to sleep, a wise decision indeed, but I was suddenly too keyed up to think of sleep.  The one thing that was able to direct me towards action was the incredible rumbling let forth from my stomach, and the realization that I hadn't eaten actual food for more than a day, as well as the fact that I was having flashbacks to the muffins that Ben had brought for me the day he replaced my DVD player had me saying to hell with what I looked like and yes to procuring sustenance and a latte. 

            Soon after, I was sitting in front of a window at Alice's, cradling a steaming cup of coffee and stuffing bites of a cranberry orange muffin in my mouth faster than I could chew, all the while reliving every moment of the previous day.  I was having a strange time trying to figure out how a day that started out so soul crushing could end on such a high note. 

            I was also thoroughly enjoying the fact that the clothes I was wearing still smelled amazingly like Ben.  It was hard to enjoy the experience without being looked at by other customers as the crazy clothes smelling girl.

            Alice's was the perfect spot to sit and recollect.   The sitting area was laid out almost like a living room, albeit an incredibly comfortable one with happy music playing softly in the background, the smells of fresh pastries and exquisite java, and a handful of wait staff sprinkled in with what appeared to be very loyal customers.  Servers greeted most of the guest by name, and an order of "The usual!" was spoken more than a few times.  Beautiful wooden floors accented with country styled area rugs, mismatched but complimentary kitchen tables and chairs, and a nice selection of comfortable arm chairs and couches to lounge in.  The draw of a worn, but irresistibly soft looking royal blue easy chair by the front window won out as the perfect location to get carried away by my thoughts.

            I had gotten so lost in the blend of analyzation and sleeplessness that I couldn't tell you how long Allison Rogers had been standing beside me, or how many times she'd had to say my name before I broke from my haze long enough to notice her.

            "Mackenzie!" she trilled so loudly that most of the other patrons looked up.  "How are you!"

            "Um, wow," I stuttered.  "Hi, Allison.  Sorry, I was just dazed for a minute.   What's going on?"

            Before she even answered, she twirled around and plopped down into the chair across from me.  Then, without further provocation, she sat back and launched herself into an unnaturally dull story of her life, which she of course thought was riveting, about she had recently graduated from school with a two year degree in fashion design, which I am sure she would find millions of uses for while living in a metropolis like Biddleton. The fashion capital of the midwest.

            Of course she wasn't able to find a position as the next Lagerfield, so instead she was working at the nearest mall in some tweenager shop, but to hear her talk about it, she was the world of all its ills through eleven year old fashions.  I didn't want to begrudge her enthusiasm, it is wonderful to see people who truly enjoy what they do and all, but it seemed to me that she was speaking to convince herself of her importance, rather than inform me.  She spoke with such brightness about everything, but the energy never touched her eyes.  They stood, looking either at me for split seconds, or gazing out the window as she rattled off her accomplishments, and always had a somber, if not depressed cloud over them.  It made watching her speak oddly fascinating, to see the contradiction to what I was hearing. 

            Her tale went on to detail what I assumed to be all of her male encounters since high school, with as many as she mentioned.  Hell, for all I knew, she was just giving me a rundown of the last weekends tally.  I was absolutely shocked at how detailed she got with her accounts.  Some men I had heard of, had gone to school with, others were random fellows she had met at bars, clubs, and however else she managed to snare the unlucky bastards, but by the end of her explicit recall, I could have given a police artist sketch of the anatomy of every single one of them.  And I mean, all of the anatomy.  Length, color, girth, religious preferences, all of it.  I flushed wildly as she spoke, trying to focus on a sugar granule attached to the side of my muffin, wondering how I managed to be ripped out of my happy memory haze and into this conversation that would be considered inappropriate by locker room standards.

            Allison was always one of those people I partially loathed.  She had no redeeming features that I could identify, other than that she was very friendly and would pretty much strike up a conversation with anyone about anything.  She was that girl in high school that was immensely popular, and yet you would be hard pressed to find a person that actually liked her.  She couldn't even be classified as popular by association, she never ran with any particular group, whether by choice or because no group would accept her it was never clear.  Instead she hung with her two counterparts, Mary and Sandy.  Two people kept around for their fierce loyalty and for their plain by comparison looks and personalities.  I could never figure out if they knew their places in her world, but they seemed content enough to play the roles, perhaps to keep from being lost in the shuffle elsewhere.  I used to hope that once high school ended they would retreat their separate ways and find their own identities, but it seemed that time for them had changed nothing.

            While Allison was someone I would never have chosen to spend a lick of time with, there was something about her that made you want her to like you.  A completely inexplicable phenomenon, but a very noticeable one.  It could have been that being seen with her somehow made you worthy of being talked about.  People would wonder what little thing you had that would make Allison take interest.  Spending a day with her was like earning the cover of some high school celebrity magazine.  The headlines would scream your name, your It-ness.  A buzz worthy person where a no one once stood.

            The other possibility I considered was that because Allison was rarely seen with people other than her twosome, it made the person of her new found interest feel as though they had something worth being interested in.  Even though you were terrified in her presence, never knowing what the real reason for your participation was, you still felt like you had achieved something of greatness.  It never lasted long, and most people never came out of it without some sort of mental scarring, and yet we all still secretly hoped that we would be next.  That even though your first instinct was to throw something at her, or string together profanities in her honor, the end result would always be hoping that you would be one of the rare few to garner her attention.

            As an adult, and moreover knowing about some secretive altercation that had occurred between Allison and Callie, I knew better and had my head on straight enough that I wasn't about to let myself fall into those trappings again.  Her boisterous approach to recanting every minute detail of her unimpressively average life just solidified it.

            "So tell me about you," she inquired when she finally veered off the pornographic path.  "What have you been up to since school?"

            "Not much," I sighed nonchalantly.  "Just back in town for a while staying at my Gram's place."

            "Yeah, she died or something, right?"  Allison spewed this sentence while absentmindedly playing with her fingernails.  It was clear it wasn't meant as an attack of any kind, she was just sincerely that clueless and lacking in the compassion department.

            "Yeah," I snapped.  "Or, something." 

            "Oooh, so I heard that Michelle invited you to one of Parker's parties!" Her head snapped up at the memory, "Why didn't you come?"

            "Uh," I blinked.  "I was busy that night, I think."

            "Well, you should come to the next one," she rattled on.  "Everyone was asking if you were going to be there!"

            "It's not really my kind of---," I began.  "Wait, people were asking about me?  Why?  What were they saying?" 

            I panicked.  My face burned, my stomach tightened.  I could imagine all the laughing, the snide remarks at my return, the uproarious good time detailing the pathetic aspects of Mackenzie's life.  The rehashing of all the humiliating things I had ever done, and even without the most recent events, they certainly would have no shortage of material.

            "Michelle said she ran into you at her bank, and that you were looking great!" she smiled, no hint of pretense, but I wasn't convinced.  "Man, everyone was really looking forward to seeing you.  You are like one of the few people that got out of here, we wanted to hear stories about what the real world is like, ha!"

            "Really?"

            "Well, yeah," she quiet down and gave me what I assume was supposed to be a thoughtful look.  "It's fun to see how people turned out.  And she was right, you are looking amazing!"  Then she stopped and took a quick look up and down at me.  "Well, maybe not today.  Are you sick or something?"

            "No, just a long night," I frowned and sank a bit into my chair. 

            "Oooh, with who?" she cooed.

            "No, it's not like that," I tried to quickly correct the situation.  "I got locked my keys in the car and had to spend the night at---” My sentence skidded to a halt.  How was I to answer that?

            "At?" she encouraged, and playful yet naughty look on her face.

            "Um, at my neighbors house," I finished lamely.

            "Who?" she pushed, "No one lives out there, except..."

            Dear lord, the second it registered on her face, I wanted to crawl under the table and hide.

            "No.  Way." she mouthed.  "Ben Stevens?  You are sleeping with Ben Stevens?!"

            "Oh my god!"  I hissed.  "Could you be louder, I don't think the waitress on the other side of the room heard you!"

            "I heard her," came a voice from nowhere.  I looked up, and indeed, there was my waitress, giving me a little wave.

            "Oh, shit."

            "So you are!" Allison laughed, "That is unexpected!"

            "No, I am not, I mean, we haven't..." I stammered blindly along.  "No, it's not like that.  He was being nice letting me stay last night since I am an idiot and locked myself out.  We didn't sleep together, I mean we slept, but not like slept together!"

            "Didn't you have a thing for him in high school?"  she grinned.

            Oh, someone save me.  I had gone so far beyond being able to blush that I had entered the world of hemorrhaging humiliation.

            "Mackenzie?"

            Jesus, who else would be ambushing me?  Right then and there I made a solemn promise to any deity that would listen that I would never again leave the house without having a full hair and makeup team tackling the unfortunateness that was me in the morning, let alone a morning after the night I had just had.  I can't believe that I would have let myself wander into public looking the way I did, as incoherent as I was.

            I turned in the direction of the new voice of torment and almost fell out of my chair.

            "Mr. Vaughn?"

            Martin Vaughn stood behind me, in all his tiny framed, balding glory stood behind me clutching a small sized to go coffee, smiling that warming friendly smile of his.  And all I could wonder is if he had heard the incorrect announcement that I was sleeping with Mr. Ben Stevens.

            "How are you Mackenzie," he smiled.  "How are you holding up?"

            I stood up quickly and stood in front of him, I don't know why but it just felt rude to remain sitting in front of a man like Martin Vaughn. 

            "I am fine," I spluttered.  "How are things?"

            "Well, I was going to call you later today anyway, so it's good that I ran into you here."

            "Oh really?" Confusion colored me, "What about?"

            "Well, the first check from your inheritance has arrived, and I wanted to set up a time to give it to you and sign some paper work."  His voice was so soft, and gentle, "It is only about a third of the total amount, but the rest will come once we get all the technical aspects out of the way, if that is alright."

            I loved him.  What was I going to say, that no it wasn't alright, that I was going to demand to him to give me all the money no matter what?

            "No, that is fine," I chuckled.  "Whenever you need me to come by is fine."  I added, "But to be honest I still feel really weird about all this money, you know?  I mean. What am I supposed to do with it?"

            "Well, she wanted you to have it, but that doesn't mean you have to decide right away."  Talking to him was like talking to the most wonderful grandfather in the world.  It was so comforting.  "You just take your time, and you'll figure it out." 

            I stared at him blankly for a moment, contemplating what he said.  I am sure I could have stood there all day.  I had considered that being the benefactor for Gram's money had cost me my family, but I had yet to consider what positive things it could bring to my life.  Although, depending on the day you ask me, chasing off my relatives might very well be a positive thing.

            "Well, if you are free, just stop by my office this afternoon or tomorrow, so we can get you squared away.  If not I can always drop by the house if you like."

            "No, I'll be there."  I smiled, "Thanks, Mr. Vaughn."

            He gave me a reassuring pat on the arm before saying his goodbyes and giving a quick wave to Allison who I had completely forgotten about.  Suddenly the mass exhaustion of everything caught up to me, and as I watched Martin walk out, my shoulders slumped from the weakness.  I was too tired to deal with Allison anymore, and quite frankly, too tired to deal with anything anymore.  My temporary high had fallen, even with the aid of the coffee, and all I really wanted to do was go home and climb into bed.  I would never tell anyone ever, that I fully intended to wear Ben's clothes when I did.

            "Hey, I am going to take off, I need some sleep," I mumbled.  "Had a long night."

            "Yeah, I bet you did!"  Allison laughed crudely. 

            "Yeah, no," I muttered, and started scooping up my things, making damn sure that my keys were planted firmly in my hands.

            "Well, hey, you should come to the party next week, everyone would love to see you," she insisted.

            "I'll try," I lied.  I had become the walking dead and was just praying that I could make it home without falling asleep at the wheel.

            "Hey, why don't we hang out this weekend!"  she announced unexpectedly.  "We could have lunch, or go shopping or something, what do ya say?"

            "Um, yeah," I yawned.  "Sure, whatever."

            I plodded off half conscious, knowing that I had so much to think about, but not being able to get my mind off of one thing, or one man in particular.  And if I only had a few free neurons free to obsess about something, I could think of no finer way to use them.