C'est possible....

"So did you get into that apartment?"

I winced and sipped my cider.  "I was approved save for one thing.  Unfortunately, that one thing happens to be the bill from Tristan's psychotic meltdown in Spokane."  With a shake of my head, I sighed and took another sip.  "I scrubbed and scrubbed those walls, every inch of that place, and I still got slapped with a $2,200 bill."

Michael took a swig of his beer.  "Should have called a professional," he said with a knowing wink.

"Yeah.  We were in Spokane," I replied.

"Like I said.  You should have called a professional."

I scoffed.  "You were in Iowa!  How could-"

And then it hit me.  Like a pallet of bricks to the chest, it hit me.  I stared at Michael over my glass, mouth open, eyes unbelieving yet calculating.  He gazed back at me, his own eyes filling in the blanks before he looked away.  I could barely find my voice.  "You were in Spokane?"  I whispered.

Michael took another swig of his beer, raised his brow in that playful "you know it" twitch, and slid out of the booth to go do who knows what else.  Mainly, just to get away from my onslaught of unspoken questions.  After a while I saw him head outside so I followed him, determined to get at least one answer out of him.

"How could you have been in Spokane?"  I tried to fit the pieces together in my mind while listening to his at the same time.  "You were-"

He turned his head to me just enough so I could see that look.  The look that says, "You know exactly how. It's hilarious you're asking."

What raced through my mind wasn't so much a list of questions as it was a list of scenes.  Images of Tristan's madness taking over, of his hand around my throat, of being slammed into the wall, of prying bloodied knives from his hands while begging him to listen to me through the haze.  "Do you have any idea....how could....why would anyone do that to me?!?" I was so....confused I didn't know what to say.

Michael turned to look at me head-on and gave me a wry smile.  "It wasn't about what we were doing to you."  It's what we were doing for you.....

The look on his face told me I had heard the whispered thought correctly, and then that my immediate assumption was correct.

Tristan's not the only one with bodyguards.

I just now decided to scan through my Facebook and eh, why not, see if Michael uploaded anything new.  There's a new-ish photo of him carrying two svelte young ladies in bikinis, one on each arm (and I literally mean on, they're sitting on his biceps while he carries them around) and I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes.  Then I realized no one is looking at me right now so I rolled them anyways.  Oh, Michael.  Michael, Michael, Michael.  Genius, warrior, guardian, playboy.  I constantly remind myself of that last little attribute so I don't let the other three drag me into his seductive web.

Images race unbidden through my mind.  Fingers tugging clothes....tongues tangling in a flurry of lips against lips....naked limbs entwined on the concrete.....bathed in moonlight.....gasps, moans, whispers.....

Drag you into his seductive web? My inner conscience scoffs.  Honey, you dived into that web with a smile.  Nay, a grin.  

My mental foot swiftly kicks my inner conscience in the shins.  We don't need to go into that.  So what if I had a tryst with a sexy young man who may possibly be my guardian (or one of)?  It's not like we're "together" or anything.  Heck, I haven't seen him in over a week.  Because you've forced yourself to stay away.

Shaddup, you.

Lithium

Like with most medications, painkillers can be addicting.

And like most good friends, mine felt compelled to intervene for the betterment of my good health and well-being by nagging me about my "addiction" to my "painkiller": my affection for Michael.  That man is a living, breathing, extremely effective human Tylenol.  And a drunken playboy who talks crap which generally reflects on me making me appear to be a fool for even associating with him.

No one but Lydia quite understands why I like being around him.  To be honest, I don't understand it either. I should be wary of him, I should be more than happy to keep my distance, I should actually be interrogating him with whatever means are necessary/available to finally get answers and explanations to things that right now only he knows.  But instead, I find myself yearning to just breathe in his scent.  Because for some inexplicable reason, he is the only person in the past three years to not only ease the pain inside me just by giving me a friendly hug, I start to forget about why I felt any pain at all just by being in the same room as him.  It worries me.  Out of all the men in my life who I am not related to, he has to be the most dangerous to me and yet the most irresistible, save for Jake (who by no means was dangerous at all, just incredibly irresistible).

I strongly contemplated my options in the grand scheme of things.  I have no home of my own, my worldly possessions are stuffed in my SUV, I have a mediocre job that just reminds me of what I could be doing with my life versus what I am doing, and I'm still poor.  I have no significant other, no children, and no prospects of either.

But I have my passion for knowledge.

So I contacted the local university and took a very thorough tour, discussed my options with several advisers, and looked at different on-campus housing options.  My favorite?  Selling most of my things, bunking down in a single-person dorm, surviving off of campus meals (which are actually amazing) and fully immersing into my studies and research.

Tristan has departed for treatment and therapy, or something like that, to improve his health and to gain skills and the overall ability to deal with himself, his issues, his health, etc.  I approached the idea of not seeing him again for almost a whole year as casual as humanly possible, which was easier than I expected it to be.  I'm going to miss him, though.  Our farewells were going pretty smooth until he told me to be careful and stay safe because he won't be able to drag my ass out of trouble anymore until he gets back.  Then I felt my stomach knot, a lump form in my throat, and I hugged him.  We may have had an interesting go at a failed attempt at marriage, but he's still one of my dearest and closest friends.  And I am going to miss him.

Lydia and Trev do NOT understand the concept of undying friendship after a dead romance.  I deal with their criticisms and lectures with a grim smile and drum of my fingers.  Trev is the worst because he is the most honest, which is because he cares for me like a brother to a younger sister.  I care for him like he is my brother, but that also makes me want to punch him in the face every time he verbally bashes Tristan or Michael.  Once, he started to bash Jake, and I gave him the icy stare of death.

"Jake was a marine, he was a great man, and he loved me very much," I said calmly, dangerously softly, and if looks could kill I'm pretty sure mine would have blasted him like a shattered shell. "You would have liked him.  You would have approved."

"Where's the f***** now?" Trev demanded in his annoyingly bossy-because-he-cares tone.

"He died.  In the line of duty."  Which is true no matter which way you twist and turn the stories.  Jake suffered an agonizing life for the sake of the greater good.  He died doing what was right.

Trev gave a respectful nod and raised his bottle of beer.  "Alright.  I can understand that."

I'm tired.  I'll write more tomorrow.