Things were going well.  That should have been my first clue.

            My inexplicable Biddleton euphoria had me blinded to from the reality of recent occurrences.  Why I seemed to be under the misapprehension that none of these things would ever come back to taunt me was beyond me. 

            After waking up in a somewhat drunken state from my date with Ben, I wandered about the living room mindlessly adjusting pillows on the couch, straightening pictures on the wall that weren't even crooked, and I did so with an annoying grin that I tried in vain to suppress.  It didn't take long to run out of things to fake tidy, and I was becoming annoyed with myself for my swoony demeanor.  In the spirit of being productive, I decided to take my coffee and check in on work be checking my email.  This is clearly where I went wrong.

            I planted myself at the kitchen table, legs curled up to my chest, cradling my mug and watching my laptop load up.  When I logged into my email, I was expecting a few emails from business contacts, and some spam mail of course, but not at all for the messages waiting for me.  My inbox was ripe with loaded weapons.  Interspersed with the advertisements for creams promising relief from erectile dysfunction, and ways to meet hot local singles were three emails that knocked the wind out of me just by the names attached to them.

            The first was from my sister Gracie.  It was sent the day of the funeral.  The time stamp told me that she must have sent it right after she arrived home that night.  Remembering the icy gaze she laid on me before walking out the door, my chest tightened at the thought of the content of that message.  Further down my inbox lay a letter from my mother.  I could feel a tear forming in my stomach.  Mom's had come three days after Gracie's.  The final loaded name was from Sara, one of the mutual not-taking-sides-which-actually-meant-taking-Eric's-and-Carmen's-side friends I had left behind when I moved here.  That one arrived late yesterday.

            I stared at my screen for an immeasurable amount of time.  I was torn between actually reading the typed time bombs, or the very real possibility of shutting my laptop and throwing it into a wood chipper.

            My lack of access to a wood chipper sort of forced my hand.

            I thought it best to start at the beginning, chronologically speaking.  It was the only rational thing I could think to do.  Otherwise, choosing which message to read first was like trying to pick death by hanging, firing squad, or beheading.  I clicked on Gracie's message, the title being a simple "Hello".

 

            Mackenzie,

 

            I wanted to say sorry for how everyone left today.  We were acting ridiculous, and it isn't like it was your fault.  So it must feel pretty cool to have all that money now though!  What are you going to do with it?  We are barely getting by anymore, so it would have helped us out a lot, but I know that you deserved it, so don't you worry about us.  I feel bad that you and I have never been that close, and was thinking that maybe we should try to fix that, you know?  Maybe we could take a vacation together or something!  Wouldn't that be fun!?  Way better than the trips we took as kids with mom and dad.  Remember the trip where mom got so pissed at dad for getting drunk every day of the trip that she left him at the hotel in Colorado, and took his plane ticket so he had to rent a car and drive home?  They were psycho.  We could go somewhere nice though.  Of course I would have to be really careful with money being so tight, but you know how it is.  Well, I guess you don't now, do you!  HAHA!!  Well, let me know.  It was nice to see you again!

            Love,

            Your Sister

  

 

            My blood had reached a steady boil by the end of the letter.  Who the hell did she think she was fooling?  I couldn't tell if I was more infuriated by her feeble attempt to extort money or a free vacation out of me through guilt and trips down our family's rocky memory lane, or the fact that she thought I would be stupid enough to fall for it.  Typical Gracie, manipulative, selfish and thinking she was sneaky and intelligent when reality dictated she was worlds apart from being as such. 

 

            I debated rattling out a somewhat violent sounding remark, but I couldn't steady my thoughts enough to pinpoint exactly what I wanted to say.  Besides that, I had two more blood pressure jacking bits of mail to read.

            From my mother, a message with no title.  I was shaking so hard I could barely click on the link properly.  Whether from rage or fear I couldn't discern, but it was certainly troublesome. 

            I never thought I could be as disappointed in my own child as I am in you.

            That is how it began.  I was expecting as much, but that somehow didn't manage to lessen the blow.  And it was the nicest part of all she had written.  The letter was long, detailed, well thought out.  It had a polished feel to it, which took the cut that much deeper.  I felt that if it had just been a spur of the moment tirade, a frenzy that she had worked herself up into one night that she thoughtlessly took to the computer to purge, it would have been one thing.  This, however, this had the appearance of her spending several days on.  Taking the time to make each biting remark it's most efficient, to give each word the most efficient sting possible.

            I couldn't read the whole thing.  I tried, and my eyes began to blur at the raw anger before them.  Various words and phrases popped out to drive the meaning home.  Ungrateful bitch.  Should be ashamed of yourself.  Hope you are happy spending all that money knowing your entire family hates you.  Thief. 

            It shouldn't have all hurt me as much as it did, but the reality of hearing anything like that from your mother is going to hit a nerve of some sort.  I had known something of the same effect was coming at one point or another, it is just her style.  Nevertheless, I felt wounded. 

            I can only explain my decision to read the message from Sara as an experiment in masochism.  There really was no justifiable reason to have done it right then.  A smart person would have waited until the sting from the previous two had subsided, even somewhat, before diving into the last message.  At the moment however, the urge to rip the goddamned Band-Aid off all at once was overpowering.

            "I Miss You!!" was her header.  Things were starting off slightly better at least.

 

            Max,

 

            I am so sorry for how everything went down before you left.  I really feel just awful about the whole thing.  At first I was thinking that I just wanted to stay out of it, even though it was so awful how they went about telling you and her moving in and all.  It's just they are my friends too, and I thought that it would all work out in the long run or something.  I was completely chicken about the whole thing, I know that, and I am seriously sorry.  I really was just going to stay out of the whole mess, but when they told us all that they were going to use your date and the hotel you had booked, because the Eric the jackass didn't want to lose the deposit he put down, I thought that was the rudest thing I had ever heard!  I mean they have been together like three months!  And most of that was while he was with you!!  How freaking tacky is that anyway???  Whatever, I just wanted to let you know that when she asked me to be a bridesmaid, I absolutely said NO, because it was just-----

            I couldn't read anymore.  I was having an aneurysm.  I could feel blood vessels breaking apart in my brain.  Arteries rupturing.  My insides were shattering and I could feel every break. 

 

            They are getting married.

            On my wedding date.  At my hotel that I picked because I loved it so much, the way the ballroom was so classically elegant, the way the chandelier was somehow epic and understated at the same time.  I wouldn't ever be married there, not to the man I had spent so many years with.  No.  Now he would walk down that isle I had so carefully chosen with the woman who was to have been my maid of honor.  It was the most horrifying of prospects, the most hurtful of possibilities.

            Maybe it wouldn't have hurt as much had I not been so freshly wounded by the other notes, although I couldn't think of a time when something like that wouldn't suck the soul right out of a person.  When Gracie and my mother had disarmed me, Sara's news had finished the job.

            I didn't want to cry, I refused to dignify the things they had all done with tears, but I felt hysteria looming.   I suddenly jumped and slammed the lid of the laptop shut and jerked my chair away from the table as if I was afraid the damn thing would open itself up again and attack.  I eyed it cautiously like the snake it was, coiled and ready to unleash more venom from the people in my life, and the need to hyperventilate was becoming unmanageable.  I realize that sanity ceased to be my friend at this moment, for this was when I decided that I was going to go buy the wood chipper that I believed would have saved me from my decision to read the damn emails in the first place.  Before I was able to rerun the words through my head, I was up, keys and wallet in hand, in a dead sprint for my car. 

            I could hear the voice of reason echoing in the back of my mind, but the sounds of my panicked breathing were sufficiently drowning it out, as was the sound of my tires tearing through the gravel of the driveway as I raced off of the property.  I wasn't sure of where I was going at all, but I headed away from Biddleton, catching a glimpse of Ben's house as I flew by.  The feeling I had carried from his living room until the morning was a distant memory, and I toyed with the idea that it might have been a hallucination.  With the weight of the day crushing my chest, I couldn't rationalize that I had just been a part of a wonderful evening with a wonderful man.  It had somehow become tainted by the rest of the mess.  The more I thought of everything, all the words tumbling over each other inside a brain that wasn't able to process fast enough to keep with the deluge of information.

            When I made the observation to myself that perhaps it was time to upgrade my RAM, I began laughing manically inside the car.  I knew I was losing it, and the notion of the wood chipper just added fuel to the crazy hyena noises emanating from me, and so I decided the best, thing I could do was to just drive.

            And that is exactly what I did.  I drove.  I was so disoriented I had no idea what direction I was even headed in, not that it would have mattered, I was determined not to have a destination.  That would have involved committing to someplace, a place where I would have to stop and my neurons would begin to misfire and send me into a frenzy again.  No, driving was good, it was safe.  It required just enough focus to not have to think about all the things I was determined not to think about.  When those pesky thoughts would attempt to creep their way back into my line of focus, I would speed up, causing me to keep my mind on the road where I was desperate for it to stay.

            I went places I hadn't seen before, through the country, eventually popping out into another city.  The sun passed across the sky.  I saw a sign that said "Welcome To Kansas".  I stopped only when absolutely necessary to put gas in the car after the little needle dropped dangerously below the E.  I tried to ignore my screaming stomach, and scratchy throat, but surrendered at the gas station by running inside for whatever bags of crunchy eat on the go crap I could manage to grab in a dead power walk, and a few bottles of water.  When I was out of the car and pumping gas, or walking through looking for snacks. My head wandered into places I had steadfastly boycotted.  So race through I did.  The poor attendant must have thought me a mental patient on a quest for corn chips, but I couldn't be bothered to care. 

            I wasn't paying attention to where I was going at all, not following any direction in particular, a left turn here, a right one there, but I somehow ended up looping around at some point heading back in the direction of Missouri.  I knew that eventually I would have to head home, and the more I drive the more I realized that my impromptu plan of escape was not at all successful.  The more I tried not to think about everything, the stronger it became when I would allow my mind to wander.  There was no out-driving any of it, and a new plan needed to be formed.  One that did not involve me setting out for a wood chipper, or that kept me driving for another eight or nine hours.  What I needed was some help, another perspective, another voice to drown out the ones screaming in my head.  My first thought honestly was Ben, but I couldn't unload this kind of crazy on him.  Wailing about my recently failed engagement and familial insanity was not how to win over a guy I had been on one date with.  Pretty sure that kind of behavior is against any new dating laws.

            In a rare moment of blissful genius, Callie's name popped into my head.  Yes, she was exactly who I needed to talk to, her infectious enthusiasm, and inherent feisty streak that I was hoping would be used to toss out a few barbs about the subjects of those letters was exactly what the doctor ordered.

            I recalled hearing her say something about getting off work around two in the morning, and according to my rudimentary calculations, if I carefully ignored the posted speed limitations, and made no more stops, I just might make it back into Biddleton to meet her when her shift ended, and perhaps she would be willing to donate a little time to assist in repairing my rapidly fraying rope of mental stability.

            A brilliant plan if I had ever heard one, and more importantly, it gave me a sense of purpose as I raced back home.  While my attempt at running away from home had been interesting, it was most definitely not helping, and I was ready to make the crushing chest pain go away. 

            I knew I was cutting it close, and so I really pushed it to make it in time.  I wanted to call her and give her a heads up, but I was afraid to disturb her at work, and quite frankly, my bizarre behavior had me questioning the notion of making any plans for fear I tripped out and ran away or did something else loony bin worthy.  With all that in mind, getting there was the only thing I could commit to.

            Rain had begun to sprinkle down lightly after I crossed the border back into my state, and as a perfect indicator towards my luck thus far, the closer I got to home, the harder the rain began to fall.  By the time I closed in on Biddleton, a few minutes after two in the morning, it had officially begun to pour.  I was a woman on a mission, and I was determined to catch her before she headed home, so rain and potential speed traps being damned, I floored it to get to Mort's.  I made it right before two-thirty and was somewhat crestfallen by the lack of cars in the parking lot.  Refusing to admit any sort of defeat, or rational thought, such as calling her to warn her of my impending arrival, I jumped out of my car as soon as it stopped and flew for the entrance.

            Of course it was dark inside and the door was locked.  I knocked, my face pressed up against the glass, desperately squinting for any sort of movement on the inside, but there was nothing.  Not willing to let go of the plan that had driven me thus far, I darted around to the back of the bar, hoping beyond hope to catch someone straggling before heading home, trying, and failing to ignore the monsoon that had erupted as soon as I passed though the city limits that was soaking me a lot faster than I had anticipated.  All the stress and frustration from my day had built up, and I was grasping to my frantic idea of finding her there, as if somehow she had been standing there it would have proven meant to be that she was my appointed confidant. 

            My clothes were clinging to me from the rain, and I was suddenly very aware of how the chill in the air was still very much present.  Perhaps it was the jolt of cold I felt, or the fact that my mania was starting to wear off a bit, but I finally agreed to relent and just call the girl.  I trotted quickly back to my car to grab my cell phone and sit in front of the cranked up heat, and was slightly more than shocked when I tugged on the door handle and my hand slid off.  Okay, not to panic, it is the rain, I just didn't have a good grasp.  I reached forward more slowly this time, and gave a firm yank.

            Oh my god...

            There, through the water pouring down my windows, I could see that in the ignition of my car, were the keys.

            I quickly raced around to each door, pleading with any of them to open, and was shot down each time.  By the time I had circled around to the driver’s side again, I was swearing and screaming at myself for my incredible stupidity, but I could barely hear myself over the sound of the downpour.

            My mania melted into panic.  I was too far away from home to walk in the middle of the night, in the pouring rain, and I didn't even have my cell phone to call anyone.  I looked around , feeling my face contort into a wild look, and squealed with delight when I spotted a pay phone across the street in front of Carver's Flowers. 

            Thanks to the freakishly late hour, I didn't have to worry about dodging traffic as I bolted to that phone, and by that point I was so drenched that a few more minutes in the rain wasn't going to make any difference.

            Of course I didn't know her number, I had become spoiled by the contact list of cell phones that I hadn't bothered to memorize a phone number in years, and thanks to my wallet being trapped inside my locked down vehicle, I was not only going to have to call information, but I was going to have to call collect. 

            I had to shout to the operator over the noise of the weather, and let me tell you I was not the least bit surprised when said operator informed me that the call placed went straight to Callie's voicemail.  Twice. 

            I had begun to shiver violently as the cold began to seep into my bones, and was on the verge of either a full blown mental breakdown, or the arrival of the hysteria I had been praying to keep at bay the entirety of the day.  I couldn't understand any of it.  I had been so inspired by the idea of having an actual friend to go to, and the idea that it wouldn't work the way I had planned hadn't occurred to me in reality.  I was just so in need of something going right that I seemed to have set myself up to be the receiver of one hell of a coincidence, or soul crushing failure.  I wondered how I could have gone from feeling like things were going so well, to feeling happy in a place where I thought Mackenzie happiness had been long outlawed, to this, frigid and miserable on the street.

            As I stood there, shaking, and dripping while clutching the phone in front of me, I had a thought.  My first inclination actually hadn't been to call Callie.  The name that had popped into my head was Ben's.  Maybe that was where I went wrong.  I was so determined to fall into a meant to be shoulder to cry on, and I had overlooked my first instinct.

            "Would you like to make another call, ma'am?" the operator repeated, sounding annoyed.

            I didn't even hesitate.

            "Ben Stevens, in Biddleton, please."

            It took a few rings for him to answer, and when he did, I had to sit silently as I listened to the operator asked him to accept the charges of one Mackenzie Parker.  I could hear the sleep in his voice, and knew that I had woken him up.  Clearly, normal people were asleep at that hour, not strolling the streets in the middle of a deluge.

            "Of course,” he responded.

            "Ben?" I squeaked once we were connected.

            "Max, are you alright?" he spoke, sounding worried and more alert, "What is that noise?"

            "Um." I felt like an idiot damsel in distress.  "I am sort of stuck in the rain.  I locked my keys in my car, and I am stranded by Mort's.  Ben, I am so sorry I woke you up, but I didn't know who else to call."

            He cut me off, "I will be right there, okay?"

            While I felt terrible pulling him out of the confines of his nice dry bed, I was so grateful for the potential rescue I couldn't let myself feel that bad.  After we hung up, I ducked under the eve of Carver's store where at least part of me was shielded from the rain.  By that time, I was officially freezing and huddled down into a little ball on the stoop trying to conserve whatever iota of warmth my body was able to hang onto.  When I saw the headlights pull on to Main Street, I was so grateful that I actually squealed out loud.  Quite thankful no one heard that actually.

            As the Lexus pulled up to the curb, I was already in motion to meet it.  For the first time since I had met him, he didn't hop out to open the door for me, but instead wisely opened it by reaching across the seat, always the consummate gentleman. 

            "Ben, I am so sorry," I spluttered as I jerked the door shut behind me, gasping in glee as the warmth from the cars heater enveloped me.  "I can't believe I pulled you out of bed for this, I really am sorry."

            "Jeez, you have to be freezing!"  He quickly pulled off his coat and tried to place it on my shoulders.

            "No!" I yelped out, shivering, "I am soaked, I will ruin it!"

            "Max, I don't care," he insisted and wrapped it around me in one swift motion.  "Are you alright?  What happened to you!?"

            I wasn't sure how to answer his question.  While I was happy to see him, and be with him, I was once again aware that this kind of craziness is not something you spill to a man you went on a single date with.

            "I..." I began, "Had a rough day is all."  Yes, short, concise, not at all alluding to my questionable behavior.  "I was going to try and meet Callie when she got off work, but I got here too late, and then I locked my keys in my car like an idiot."

            "But you are alright?"

            "For all intents and purposes," I sighed, "Yes.  Just really cold."

            His eyes looked slightly less worried than they had, but he was not dropping his concern.  As he cranked the heat to its maximum, and started driving away, I relaxed into the seat, thrilled to my very core that his fancy car had come equipped with that invaluable butt warmer feature. 

            "So why don't you tell me about your rough day?" he asked.

            "Um, well," I stammered, "It was nothing really.  I was just being silly about something.  Not a big deal actually."

            I felt like an idiot, knowing that my voice, and the drowned mouse appearance didn't exactly corroborate my story.  I was taken aback by the surge of desire I felt to just collapse onto him and cry.  I glanced quickly over at him as he drove, and the urge to lay my head on his shoulder was overwhelming.  It looked so safe, so warm, so comforting, I felt myself lean in towards him ever so slightly, and had to grip the seat to keep myself in place.  I had shared with him the first night we had gone to dinner the gist of my situation with Eric and Carmen, but the fact of the matter was, when your fiancé runs off with your best friend, it doesn't reflect that highly on you.  The fear of appearing either completely pathetic that people in my life would value me to little as to be able to behave in that manner, or maybe that he would wonder what about me was so horrible that I would drive everyone that I love away was too real.  I didn't want to risk that.  He had seen my entire childhood unfold with pathetic-ness, and for some reason he seemed to have either forgotten or overlooked all of it enough to have wanted to spend time with me.  To give him a refresher course on my family drama and the dirty details of my failed relationship seemed like the least wise of decisions.

            Lost in my own thoughts, the drive to my house went quickly.  The prospect of making a mug of boiling tea and climbing into it was becoming more and more appealing as we pulled into the driveway.  I was having a hard time accepting that I really had spent sixteen hours driving around like a madwoman.  That, combined with the emotional weight of the day was really starting to take its toll, and I was exhausted.  Yes, hot tea and the purple room were calling to me.

            "Oh my god."

            The realization hit me hard and I was about to scream. 

            "What?" Ben inquired as he shifted into park.

            "My keys!" I yelled.  The volume was almost earsplitting in the car.  "I don't have my freaking house keys!"

            The perfect ending to my perfect day.  Just brilliant.

            "Wait!" I had a burst of genius, "You have a spare set, right?  Because you were looking after the house?"

            He stared at me silently for a few seconds and I felt my look of genius-ness melting off my face.

            "Yeah, not anymore," he offered reluctantly.  "I put them on the shelf in the laundry room that first day you were here."  Genius moment gone.  "I didn't need them to take care of the birds so I put them back."

            I knew that I looked like an imbecile.  I was aware.  Soaking wet, huddled under his coat, and staring at him like the crazy person that I had officially become.  Then the laughter started that completed the picture.

            "Of course you did!" I giggled, embracing the hysteria.  "Why wouldn't you have?!  That is exactly what today was missing!  I mean, what would the worst day possible be if I wasn't stranded in the freezing rain with no way to get into my own damn house!?" 

            "Max," he was trying to not smile at my shrieking.  Glad I could amuse.  "I live, like ten feet away.  You can stay with me tonight and in the morning I will drive you back to get your car.  It'll be okay, I assure you."

            "I can't ask you to do that," I tried to sigh through my strained throat.  "I already yanked you out of bed in the middle of the night, I have bugged you enough."

            But he was already moving.  I felt terrible.  Like the person that is always a mess and needing to be helped out of their ridiculous situations. 

            "It isn't exactly a big deal to turn over control of the guest room for a night, you know?" he chuckled.  "What am I going to do, just let you sit on your front porch all night and freeze to death?  Now what kind of person would I be if I let that happen?"

            We were in front of his house before he even finished speaking.  The rain had slowed to a dull drizzle, of course now that I wasn't standing in it, it chose to subside.  Wouldn't have been at all surprised if the cloud had been following me.  I wanted to protest against the idea further for risk of being an even bigger burden, but I was too tired, too wet, and too out of other options to make any noise about it. 

            We quickly ran from the car to avoid the sprinkling, and I had to take note as I stood on his porch waiting for him to unlock the door that even with bed head and clad in pajama pants and a pullover he looked stunningly handsome.  It is just unfair how some people can do that.  Not that I particularly minded it with him, since I was the one who got to enjoy the view.

            Once inside, I stood in the familiar foyer pulling his coat around me as tightly as possible, and Ben disappeared into the back part of the house.  I wasn't sure what to do, since I didn't want to ruin any of his furniture by sitting on it in my wet clothes.  Seconds later he returned with a towel in one hand and an armful of clothes in the other.

            "Follow me," he spoke dutifully as he led the way.

            I had remembered seeing the spare bedroom the night before on the tour.  It was very simple, the walls painted a soothing grey color, the bed adorned with a very manly, very simple black and grey comforter.  There wasn't much to it the room besides the bed other than a night stand and a chair in the corner by the window. 

            "Alright," he smiled and handed the clothes to me.  "Bathroom across the hall, these will be dry at least, and then we can do something with the stuff you are wearing."

            "Oh wow," I sheepishly looked down at the floor.  "Thank you.  This is really nice of you."  I gave him an awkward smile, "You probably are dying to get back to sleep, so I guess I will see you in the morning."

            "Are you kidding?" he grinned.  "I want to hear about the worst day possible."  I cringed.  "I'll see you when you are finished, okay?"

            He didn't even give me a chance to agree with him, he simply kept his grin and pulled the door closed behind him.  While I wasn't in a rush to get out there and share the story he was hoping for, I was anxious to peel off the wet clothes.  As I changed, I had a moment where I realized that I was standing naked in Ben Stevens' house and I felt myself blush head to toe.  And when you blush head to toe whilst naked, you will discover that parts of your body that you never would have expected to have that skill, do in fact have it.

            I fought with the idea of taking a nice hot shower, that would have really been ideal to shake the storms cold off of me, but I already felt like a huge imposition, so I just wrung my hair out with the towel and started pulling on the clothes he had provided.  I was thrilled that they fit, and better still were baggy.  By that point if I hadn't been able to fit into his clothes I might have had to off myself.

            It was just a simple pair of pajama pants and a worn in t-shirt, but they were so comfortable, not to mention dry that I was feeling much better.  The clothes smelled like him.  That didn't hurt anything either.

            The aroma of coffee pulled me out of the room faster than I had intended to go.  While caffeine at three in the morning wasn't the best idea, it was a welcome replacement in the hot beverage category for the tea I had been dreaming of.  There he was, sitting at the kitchen table, a mug for himself, and one in front of the chair beside him.  I had to shuffle my feet as I walked over his hardwood floors since the pants were so long.  This was a fine transition from the polished date night look I had sported the night before.

            I sat beside him and wrapped every available part of my hands around the warmth.  He had to be so tired, and I knew he had to work the next morning, so I couldn't for the life of me figure out what he was doing staying up. 

            "So," he smiled as I sipped.  "Bad day?"

            "Kind of," I laughed. 

            "Good listener," he pointed to himself.

            I couldn't wrap my brain around the idea of sharing all the nonsense with him.  The possibility that he would see me differently was more terrifying than I cared to admit. 

            "Hey, you know, I didn't notice all those pictures yesterday," I pitifully tried to change the subject.  "Is that your family?" 

            I abandoned my coffee like a coward and walked over to a grouping of pictures hung on the wall at the end of his hallway.  I recognized his parents and sister right away having seen them at various points in my childhood.  The members of this family were all so attractive it was somewhat criminal.  I would be intimidated to all heaven if I was ever in a room with all of them at the same time.

            "So you don't want to talk about it?" his voice came from behind me.

            "It wasn't really anything, I was probably over reacting to something," I lied.

            "See I am getting the vibe that you don't want to tell me specifically about it."  Why did he have to be so intuitive while he was being so cute?

            "No!" I over compensated.  "It's not that at all!  I just, I mean..."  I stuttered.  The way he looked at me, with that hint of a smirk, I knew that he wouldn't buy any of it.  "Look, it just isn't the kind of thing you discuss with a guy you just went on your first date with, you know what I mean?"

            "Were you going to talk to Callie about it?"

            "Well yeah, I guess so," I frowned, confused.  "But she is a friend, not a dating person."

            A look of thoughtfulness took over his face and he moved in closer to me.  I felt like I had said something wrong. 

            "Max, I don't want to be some guy you date," he announced softly.  "I want to be your friend too."  Then with a smile, "If you'll have me of course."

            The word escaped my mouth before I had a chance to stop myself. 

            "Why?"

            He laughed and gently shook his head, and I wished I had some way to buff up the brain to mouth filter of mine that had recently begun to regularly malfunction. 

            "Because, Max," he sighed and moved in till we were practically touching.  "I happen to like you a little bit."

            There were a dozen ways I could have reacted to what he had said, and any of them would have been better than what I ended up doing.

            His words caused my chest to tighten in a very enjoyable way, and I decided to embrace the feelings and sensations that were rushing through me.  But by letting my guard down to embrace those emotions, I managed to open a floodgate.  My heart began to skip, my stomach dropped, and all the thoughts I had worked so hard to keep at bay during my less than sane drive to nowhere came rushing back to me so hard and fast that I felt like I was choking.

            I could feel that what was running through my brain was also registering on my face, and Ben's expressions showed that he was trying very hard to keep up with the confusion.  While I raced through fear, sadness, and a return to hysteria, he matched me with sympathy, concern, and a slight look of panic when I began to gasp for air.

            It was too much, all of it.  Everything I had tried too hard to ignore, or keep hidden in the recesses of my mind, with the intention of dealing with someday, possibly the afterlife, slammed into me harder than I could have imagined possible.  Maybe it was his proclamation of wanting to be the friend I needed right then, maybe it was the exhaustion of a very bizarre day, or maybe it was just time for it all to come out, but whatever the reason, it was happening, and it hurt.

            As I fought to control my breathing, Ben tried to calmly place his hands on my shoulders for support, but the semi-frantic look in his eyes betrayed the action.  As he tried to steady my now swaying body, an earsplitting sob ripped through my chest.  The tears came next.  Tears for everything I had worked so hard to ignore.  Tears for the pain of being disowned by my family, tears for the hurt that I pretended didn't exist from being left by the man I had loved for the friend I had trusted, tears for feeling lost and afraid in the town I had run from as fast as my legs would take me, and tears for the fear of not knowing what was going to happen next in any aspect of my life.

            The most furious tears fell for Grams.  I hadn't allowed myself to shed a single drop for her, the agony of her loss, the reality of a life without the most important person in it.  I hadn't been ready to deal with that grief, and wasn't still, but it seemed I no longer had a choice in the matter.

            At first I tried to fight it back, to stop the hurt as quickly as possible, to not have to have this moment at all, let alone in front of Ben Stevens, but I knew I had to get it out; out of my mind, out of my system.  My mind, what little free space that wasn't filled with turmoil at the moment, flashed back to the car ride with back to Ben's house and the appeal his shoulder held, the urge to curl up into his arms and embrace the safety, the comfort.  Before I had restrained myself for fear of unleashing the crazy and forever and irreparably altering his perception of me had been enough to stop me, but I felt that concept had become a moot point, and all I wanted was that safety.

            I didn't know how to ask for it.  I wanted to beg him to hold me, but I couldn't fathom saying those words out loud, and I doubted my lungs ability to produce enough oxygen to make it happen anyway.  I was torn between just lunging for him, and pleading with him, but I couldn't control the wailing enough to pull any of it off.

            The only sound I could muster besides the cries was a breathless and pathetic, "Please."

            His face melted into sympathetic pain and he leaned into me.  Of course he would know what I had meant, his perfection knowing no bounds.  His arms slid smoothly around my waist and shoulders, locking tightly and pressing me into his chest, as if he were trying to hold my shaking frame in one piece.  The sobs continued to violently tear through me as I clutched myself closer still to him until I felt my knees beginning to buckle.

            Somehow, maintaining his grip on me, he began to maneuver us towards his living room.  As much as I tried to help, he ended up having to almost carry me since my legs, like the rest of my body, had forgotten how to properly function.  Never once breaking his hold, he lowered us gently unto the couch, where I tucked my knees up under myself and curled up as tightly as I could into him.  At this point I no longer cared what his perception of my breakdown might be, and if this were to be the thing that ran him off, then I was going to make sure I got what I needed out of it.

             For a few minutes, the wailing continued, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.  Eventually, I settled into a steady crying, preferring that from the chest ripping sobs.  The whole time, Ben's arms never loosened, only moving his one hand to gently rub my arm, or pressing his face lightly to the back of my neck, a gesture so comforting that at times I felt it made me cry harder.  Such an unfamiliar feeling.  I tried to recall a time when Eric had ever served as an object of reassurance, or anyone from my family, and could only recall them as the sources of the pain. 

            "So," he whispered into my hair.  "Why don't you tell me about your day?"