...where the art meets the words...

The Girl who can't catch a break...

Wed, 20 Aug 2008 18:03:09 GMT

...that's me. Last night, whilst watching TV, my nan had a heart attack. She is in hospital at the mo because her heart is still being erratic and they want to monitor her more closely. Friday will be the earliest she is allowed home but even that looks dubious, and in the mean time i am in charge of the house and taking care of my grandad, as well as working all day.

What's worse is she is blaming herself because she can't go on holiday in September now because she can't fly, and my grandad cant have his holiday. He has told her he would rather have her fit and well and loose £1000 than have two weeks in the sun without her, but she is stubborn. I can't even go to see her because i am always working during visiting hours :( It's weird how a house that is so quiet normally turns deathly silent when its driving presence is away.

My grandad was beside himself last night. I think he really thought he would lose his soul mate and when i think of that, and how much i think about the same with Mikey, it makes me cry. I want her back.

<3 <3 <3

Get Well Soon Nanny
xx xx xx xx

(needless to say, and i hate to do it, Turbulence will be on hold for a while longer. I'm sorry.)

Turbulence :+: One More For Love (chapter twelve)

Sun, 17 Aug 2008 14:22:55 GMT

Title: One More For Love
Author: Itrustyoutokillme/ artistic_writer
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Michael/Sara, Lincoln, Other
Genre: AU, Angst,
Summary:He had pressed his finger onto the cream coloured door bell button three times now. Michael knew Sara was home. He could feel her radiate through every brick of the house.
Warnings: Drama! :D
A/N: Beta'd by the lovely Pam (who's LJ user i will add in later when i can remember how to spell it! lol) Enjoy! XD

“Fifteen minutes,” Brenda clarified in an almost silent whisper, her face scrunched up slightly as she peered through the smallest crack between the polished wooden frame and the door of Lincoln’s office. She was kneeling on the floor, her body quivering as she fought to keep her silent balance against the frame. Her knees formed concave hollows in the plush office flooring and she tried to ignore the itching caused by the carpet against her skin.

“Fifteen minutes?” Lincoln whispered back, pulling his gaze from the sight before him and looking down at Brenda with a puzzled frown. “Are you sure?” He stood behind her, his full muscular arms bracing his entire body weight against the door frame as he was greeted with her nod. They both stared at each other surprised, and then as if in a choreographed move, resumed their peering through the door at the same time.

They were staring at Michael. He was sitting in Lincoln’s leather chair with his arms folded loosely across his chest, the action causing creases to form in the elbows of his suit. He had slipped down in the chair a little, his knees holding his body in the chair as they pressed against Lincoln’s hardwood desk uncomfortably. The room was silent and the gentle rise and fall of Michael’s chest was joined with a soft grunting sound that rumbled from his throat. His eyes were lightly shut and his messy haired head was lolled to one side, his lips caressing the woven material on his shoulder.

Lincoln chuckled a little, quickly stifling his giggles with a bear like palm over his mouth. Brenda sprung to her feet in fright, jumping back and inhaling hard as she frowned at Lincoln and pressed her hand to her quickening heart. “I’m sorry…” Lincoln trailed off lightly as he felt the next eruption of laughter. “…he’s asleep,” he announced excitedly as if his receptionist had not seen for herself. Brenda opened her mouth to speak but Lincoln cut her off, his laughter faded and his curiosity had him eagerly pressed to the door once again. “He never sleeps. He’s a machine. Something’s wrong,” he said quickly between breaths, spinning to look at the silent Brenda once again.

“There is always something wrong,” she began, her hand slipping from her chest and resting on her hip. Lincoln seemingly ignored her words and narrowed his gaze at Michael’s slumbering figure once again.

“He hasn’t shaved…” he paused, his tongue casually parting his lips and moistening them as he thought. “He always shaves…” he thought out loud, his words leaving his mouth on a warm breath that left a dewy condensation on the doorframe. Lincoln suddenly gasped and Brenda jumped back another foot, her eyes widening with fear as Lincoln spun to face her like an enraged bull. “He wore that suit yesterday!” he declared in a hushed tone, pointing over his wide shoulders with an erect thumb. His face was frightening and his pupils had grown small because of how wide they were open.

Brenda’s hand flew up to cover her own gasping mouth in shock. Even she knew how obsessively Michael kept a rota of suits so as not to wear the same one two days in a row. Lincoln’s silent and knowing nod told her he was thinking the same thing. “Oh my god…” she whispered to him. “…something’s wrong.”

The morning sunlight shone through the huge, lightly tinted glass windows of Lincoln’s office and danced across the room, warming the space they covered with silent heat. The rays never moved, but the fine particles of dust that jumped and flickered in the daylight made it seem so. Lincoln pushed his door open tentatively, the hinges keeping silent and the carpeted floor disguising the action as it absorbed the rubbing noise like a sponge. Lincoln’s head entered first, bobbing around the corner like an investigative dog and was soon followed by his body.

Lincoln’s footsteps fell awkward on the floor as he tried to keep his balance while tiptoeing into his office. His arms flailed through the air but he did not make a sound and his body was so rigid with trying to stay still and quiet that his muscles ached. Michael continued to snooze as his colleague approached inhaling hard and expelling a long breathy sigh in his sleep. The morning sun had begun to move around the office, leaving its warmth across every surface it touched, and was gently heating the side of Michael’s face.

Michael twitched a few times, his face gently contorting into a grimace. Lincoln froze dead in his tracks, his breathing almost non existent as Michael’s hand flew up and absently tried to scratch away the sunlight from his prickly cheek. Lincoln’s eyes went wide, the whites clearly visible when he turned and displayed his panicked face to Brenda. She held up her hands that had begun to sweat, and held her breath as Michael’s hand flopped back down into position.

Lincoln had just turned back around, carefully avoiding the edge of his desk when Michael spoke. “I know you’re there, Linc,” he grumbled into the fabric of his crumpled shirt. His eyes did not open and his words were damaged and slurred from his exhaustion.

Lincoln straightened up with a slight frown and cleared his throat into a balled fist. “Just getting some paperwork,” he lied, searching his desk top with eager eyes for a folder, a piece of paper, anything to confirm his pretence.

Michael peeled open an eye slowly, blinking a few times to adjust to the warming orange glow of the room. Everything had been illuminated by the sun by now, and it turned everything as auburn as Sara’s hair. Everything reminded him of her, and even though she had agreed to lunch, he couldn’t keep himself occupied enough to forget in the mean time. Michael had slept in the last five days, and his body felt heavy and argued against his awakening.

“Okay so I’m not getting some paperwork,” Lincoln admitted as he lifted his leg slightly to perch on the edge of his desk. “You were asleep,” he said, still surprised.

“Yeah, I do that occasionally,” Michael grunted, his words stretched to a higher pitch as he sat upright in Lincoln’s chair, the leather material creaking under his movement. He yawned, his eyes pinching closed on his face and his jaw separating so wide he felt like it was going to break off. His arms reached out in front of him and a light shiver rippled down his spine as his stretch ended. “I haven’t exactly been sleeping well lately,” Michael admitted suddenly, casting his eyes downwards and taking in his appalling appearance.

Michael looked like a bum. His silvery grey suit was creased and patched with stains. Some looked like coffee and were darker in the middle with a lighter radiating edge that resembled the edge of the ocean on a map. Others were powdery like dirt and were easily brushed off with a large sweep of Michael’s grubby finger nailed hands. His shirt was crumpled beyond help and dust from the Chicago city streets had imprinted itself on the fair fabric. He knew he was a mess but he didn’t care. All that had crossed his mind over the last week was Sara, over and over, in reality and in his dreams.

“Uh oh,” Lincoln said casually, tilting his head at Michael’s words. Michael’s head snapped up towards his partner’s and he took in the concerned look on his face.

“Uh oh?” Michael repeated his words as he used the same hand he had brushed his suit down with to rub the back of his aching neck. “Why uh oh?”

“Because you need sleep,” Lincoln pointed an accusing finger at Michael as he spoke. “Because this firm depends on you getting sleep,” he continued, his voice a little louder then before. “Because…” he paused and narrowed his eyes at Michael.

Michael suddenly felt uncomfortable and his cheeks prickled with a pink glow. “What?” He questioned timidly, patting his hands to his chest and inspecting his pants for anything that could have caused Lincoln’s sudden cessation of words.

“Why haven’t you been sleeping?” Lincoln asked calmly. His voice was a mixture of concern and intrigue that made Michael feel a little uncomfortable.

Michael sighed and scratched his blackened nails over his lengthening beard growth. The hair was short and bristly and it made a rustling sound as he clawed over it. “Woman trouble,” he said simply, his words but an echo in the office around him. Lincoln’s frame softened and he tilted his head sideways, taking in Michael’s broken exterior more closely.

“Michael…” he warned gently, calling his friend’s name until he saw the darkened greyness of his eyes. They were darker then usual; the hues of them greyed by Michael’s complete anguish, and puffy purple circles had begun to appear under his eyes. “…this isn’t another Shelley is it?” Lincoln tentatively asked with a sorrowful sigh. He feared for his friend, again, because every time he seemed to date, things always went wrong. “We can’t move the business again,” Lincoln finished solemnly.

“No,” Michael interrupted quickly with a shake of his head. His tongue darted out to wet his dry lips before he spoke some more, a penalty of not having been hydrated enough this week. “This is not a Shelley thing.”

“Well good,” Lincoln smiled nervously at Michael, waiting for his friend to mirror his action. Michael didn’t smile but instead just looked at Lincoln like a scorned puppy. He was emotionally drained, any fool could see that, and Lincoln didn’t know what to do. Michael had lost his drive, his passion, and his eagerness to work and that meant only one thing; his drive, passion and eagerness had been directed at another source. A woman. Michael yawned again, tearing his eyes from Lincoln briefly as he did so and covering his mouth with his tainted hand. “Is she worth it?” Lincoln asked out of the blue, fiddling with his own fingers on his lap.

Michael didn’t even hesitate as he shrugged off his yawn and answered. “She is,” Michael said with a quivering smile. His eyes fell closed and he saw Sara’s smile imprinted on his eyelids, her ruddy locks bouncing on her shoulders and her eyes glinting with happiness. Michael gulped back tears and opened his eyes to meet Lincoln’s once again. “She is worth everything.”

“Then go get her!” Lincoln sprang to his feet and tore off his suit jacket, crushing the expensive silky material between his fingers before he watched it fall with a dull thud atop his desk. “If she loves you as much as you obviously love her,” Lincoln began, motioning up and down Michael’s tattered frame with a flat open palm. “Then you have nothing to be scared of,” he smiled, leaning back against his desk and folding his arms over his chest.

Before Michael could retaliate, the inside pocket of his jacket began to vibrate when his cell phone began to ring. He scrambled for his jacket, pulling it aside clumsily and reaching into his pocket. The pocket was lined with purple silky material that soothed his skin as he stroked his knuckles against it. The phone jiggled in his palm, vibrating violently with an audible buzz as he pulled it free. “It’s her,” Michael stuttered with a broken voice as he stared at the blue illumination of the caller ID.

Lincoln smiled weakly. “I’ll be outside,” he nodded with a wink and pushed his bulk from the edge of the table and hurried from the room. Michael gulped hard and took a large, steadying breath before flipping the dull black cell phone open.

“Sara,” he said softly before he had even pressed the device to his ear.

“Michael?” Sara said quickly, a little confused by Michael’s changed voice. It was deeper, more ragged than yesterday. “Did I wake you?” She enquired politely, her own voice a tad raspy.

Michael shook his head and spun on his heel to begin pacing the office. “No, not at all. Are you okay?” Michael caught sight of Lincoln’s diplomas hanging on the wall behind his desk and quickly busied himself with straightening a crooked brass frame.

“Not really,” Sara began apologetically. “I’ve called in sick at work today. I think I caught a bug that’s going around the hospital,” she said, swallowing the urge to vomit once more. She was in her bathroom and her voice bounced off of the walls in the whitened room. “Can we reschedule lunch?”

Michael’s heart sunk lower in his chest and the hair on his neck stood on end. He flushed hot with a combination of nerves and defeat. “Oh,” was all he could manage on a tone overshadowed with hurt. “Are you okay?” Michael repeated his earlier question slowly and softly.

Sara shrugged to herself in her empty bathroom and a thin smile crept across her lips slowly. “Nothing some chicken soup can’t cure,” she smiled. “I’m sorry, Michael,” She said quickly, suddenly needing to expel the content of her stomach once again. “I’ve got to go,” Sara hurried, clenching her hand around her throat as the vomit crawled its way up from her stomach. “I’m sorry,” she repeated quickly and hung up swiftly.

The line had gone dead long before Michael pulled the cold, pebble shaped cell from his ear. He gulped a hefty lump down his throat and stared at the phone in his hand. Michael’s heart hurt, and it still pounded a little in his chest, making his palms sweaty with anxiety. His finger pulled the flip front closed and the phone snapped closed with an almost inaudible snap. Michael’s giant hands clenched around the cell phone and he tapped its hardness against the light fuzz on his upper lip, staring intently at the carpet before him in thought.

Michael’s attention was diverted with an echoing knock on the office door. Michael looked up, his gaze blurring slightly as he did so, and caught sight of Lincoln’s inquisitive face poking around the door. He was funny, almost comical. The way he stood made him look like he had no body and his head was held up by a single arm, gripping for dear life to the roughly sawn door edge. “You need anything?” he asked gently, unsure as to how Michael’s conversation had gone. Michal was a hard man to read, and even harder to read when he was run down.

Michael’s lips crept into a twitchy smile as he paced towards the door, causing Lincoln to jolt upright and pull the door open to let Michael past. “The rest of the day off…” he began.

Lincoln huffed and a small chuckle escaped his lips. “You weren’t exactly working in there, Michael…” Lincoln joked, winking at Brenda whose rosy red lipstick smile widening with glee. He was just about to continue when Michael, who hadn’t heard a word he had said, interrupted in unison with the ding of the elevator.

“…And some chicken soup.”

Sara felt like her stomach was trying to crawl its way out of her body through her mouth. Muscles she didn’t even know she had were aching. They hurt to touch, it hurt to breathe and no matter how hard Sara tried, she couldn’t shift the feeling of being sick. The thick, padded comforter on her bed covered her with an eagerness, desperately trying to warm her body, but she still shivered underneath it. Her jaw hung open slightly and her teeth chattered against each other with a severe shiver which left her aching even more with a breathy agitation.

The room was light, too light, and Sara’s head hurt. It pounded audibly in her ears and tiny bursts of white light popped up behind her eyelids on every thump. Squinting didn’t help, neither did the agonising turn Sara made in her bed to try and face away from the taunting daylight. She let out a groan, as she turned, the mere effort of which left her more exhausted. “Stupid hospital…” Sara cursed under her rancid smelling breath, as she settled into a colder space on her soft, linen sheets. “…Stupid bug…” she cursed on a low grumble.

Her rant was interrupted by the chirp of the doorbell, high pitched and whistling its way through the silent house. Sara’s groan grew louder when the hollow knocking on the door followed. Her eyes argued as she tried to open them, staying open for just a second before pinching themselves tightly closed again. “Go away…” she whispered, balling the blanket in her fist and pulling it up to her chin as if hiding from the door would make whoever was on the other side go away.

The door bell rang out again, screeching as the sound tore through Sara’s headache, making it pound harder behind her eyes. Sara heard a squeak as she clenched her jaw tightly, her anger for the persistent door bell ringer finally causing her teeth to touch and rub against each other. She sighed, her breath smelling of vomit and the peppermint from her toothpaste as it breezed under her nostrils. Sara grimaced and finally peeled her eyes open, released the hold on her comforter and threw it off her.

Her room wasn’t cold, but to Sara the rush of air that hit her fully clothed body was arctic. Her loose fitting red, cotton pyjamas pants were gripped to her painful stomach muscles while the legs fell to cover her exposed flesh when she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The mattress creaked a little, depressing the edge with her weight. The door bell chimed out again and Sara wished she hadn’t replaced the batteries her mother had let die so long ago. Sara swallowed back the urge to vomit now that she was upright, and pushed herself up, tussling her messy red hair between her fingers but not really caring who was going to see her.

Michael’s feet tapped impatiently on the broken top step on which he stood. The hot take out chicken soup he held between his fingers warmed the tips, gently caressing and tingling through the white, Styrofoam cup. Steam would have been swirling into the air had it not been for the push on lid that had kept the heat in throughout his journey to Sara’s.

He had pressed his finger onto the cream coloured door bell button three times now. Michael knew Sara was home. He could feel her radiate through every brick of the house. It was a good house, strong and stable and it felt safe. Sara had grown up here with her brother and her parents. Even through her darkest times, this was a sanctuary for her, and Michael respected the old red bricks. If he could ever make Sara feel as safe as they had, he would be half way to happy. This wasn’t just a house, it was a home.

“Who is it?” Michael heard the weak, broken voice from the other side of the door and his heart skipped a beat. He burst into a smile, his lips spreading wide across his face as he took a small step closer to the peeling black painted door.

“It’s Michael,” he admitted with a hopeful tone but there was no answer. The smell of chicken soup wafted up into his senses, a smell he hated but a smell he would tolerate for Sara. Her silence worried him and his eyebrows pulled together in a small frown. “Sara?” He called gently, his breath laying on the black paint in tiny droplets. He stared down at the ground, straining his ears to hear her on the other side of the door. He could have heard her heartbeat in a thunder storm, but his concentration was broken when the latch clicked open and a pale, sickly looking Sara appeared around the frame.

Sara’s eyes met Michael’s and they reflected their exhaustion at each other. Michael’s smile slid from his face and concern crept into his features at the sight of Sara. Her hair was poufy and knotted and her oversized pyjama top looked like it was trying to devour her. Its grey marl colour emphasized the paleness of Sara’s skin, as did her vibrant red hair framing her face. “Chicken soup,” Sara smiled weakly, lifting a heavy arm to point to the cup in Michael’s hand. Michael’s gaze followed hers and dropped to his hand that clenched the chicken soup deftly.

“I bought you lunch,” Michael attempted lightly, a quick one sided shrug accompanying his nervous smirk. He had changed, his crumpled shirt long gone and now replaced for a casual t-shirt and jeans. His prickly growth had been shaved off and his smooth, blemish free skin begged to be touched by her equally as soft hands. Sara smiled a little. Who knew Michael Scofield did casual? His eyes lifted once more, and Sara’s hazel orbs had been transformed into a darker, more sinister colour. She attempted a laugh and dragged her heavy frame backwards to let Michael in. “You don’t look so good,” He offered honestly, stepping forward as Sara stepped back and into the hall.

Sara let out a slight chuckle as she pushed the weightless door with no energy and it bounced open again. Michael caught it and pushed it closed with ease, turning back to Sara. Sara had her arms crossed over her chest trying to keep warm and she inhaled deeply. The muscles across her ribcage stretched painfully and she hid her wince. “I’m okay,” she lied, her fingertip touching the light, dewy sweat that was collecting on her forehead as she brushed her messy locks aside.

Michael set the chicken soup down on the table Sara had just inside her front door being vigilant to make sure the hot cup didn’t touch the actual surface. And old envelope, scribbled on and dog eared made a perfect coaster. “Are you sure?” Michael pushed gently, taking a step towards her and brushing the salty beads from her brow with his thumb. “You’re sweating,” he thought aloud as he cupped her face in one, cool palm.

Sara found herself needing his touch. His cool skin made her head feel better. It made her skin feel better, and it made her feel better. Just to be touched made her feel better on the inside, but she couldn’t hide how much she felt like she was dying on the outside. She felt ridiculous. Doctors were not supposed to get ill, that’s why they were doctors. They stopped this from happening to people, or if they couldn’t, they helped fix it. “And you’re burning up,” Michael noticed, his brow slipping into a concerned frown. He lifted his hand to rest the back of his knuckles against Sara’s damp brow, her skin burning his as fever racked her body.

Sara’s eyes blinked quickly and she couldn’t keep them open. Flashes of hazel met blue in a blurred mixture of hues as she tried to focus on Michael. The room seems to spin, whirling in front of her every time her eyes opened. Sara swallowed hard, trying to gain her composure. “Sara?” Michael prodded gently, his voice etched with worry as his powerful hands gripped her shoulders to stop her swaying.

“I’m…fine…” Sara whispered, her words barely audible as blackness took her over and she slipped from Michael’s grasp to the floor.

"Cos If one day you wake up and you're missing me..."

Thu, 14 Aug 2008 22:45:06 GMT

"...And your heart starts to wonder where on this earth i could be..." [ The Man Who Can't be Moved - The Script ]

Wow. LJ. Fics. Life.

No i haven't turned into some kind of poet who uses one word only accompanied by the smash of a drum or blow of a trumpet...but i do find it within myelf to come to you all with nothing but apologies. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that I'm sorry isn't enough.

Ok let us start with what everyone reads this LJ for. My fics. I'm sorry i haven't post/updated Turbulence for over a year. I had no idea until just now when i looked it up for a friend that that was the case. I suck. And my only excuse is life. It gets in the way of the things we love and drags us all down with it. Ok so lets see, i posted Chapter 11 of Turbulence in May 07. They i had coursework for college to get finished by the same time. Then i was in hopsital in July and recovering until September. Then i got a new Job in November and Christmas was very hectic. Then it seems everyone in my family has a birthday in the start of the year, including my new neice (who was a girl so not called LJ - poo) who was born Callie-Rose on Jan 1st 2008. New year baby! XD Then i passed out at work and it has tekn the doctors until now to discover i have a dodgy heart. I know, i can make some great excuses, can't i? lol But alas, this one is true.

It is called Inappropriate Sinus Tachycardia. It is a heart arrythmia, or quickening heart beat, for no reason. Imagine if your heart was beating so fast because it thought you had just exercised but you hadn't. Imagine it doing this 7 or 8 times a day and your doctors telling you not to worry, even though the "concern rate" is 2 or 3 times a year. Imagine having to wear ECG machiens all day, and have x rays, and blood work, after blood work, after blood work, and more ECG's and full physicals before you're doctors tell you that you have to take medication designed to prevent heart attacks of the res of your life. Imagine, at the age of 23, being told that your medicine designed to help you function on a daily basis can cause type II diabetes and retard the growth of unborn children (luckily yours and not those of your friends lol).

Needless to say, i feel shitty. I feel shitty cos of my heart and i feel shitty cos i haven't updated in so long. I could go on and on, but this post would just be ever so long, and i must go to bed as i am off to the doctors (again :() tomorrow.

On a lighter note, Chapter 12 of Turbulence is finsihed. It is 4,000 words of angsty goodness and is being beta'd as we speak by ready to post tomorrow morning. Please, no praise, its the least i could do. :)

<3 Salem

Turbulence Chapter 12...

Mon, 03 Mar 2008 21:57:23 GMT

...is called "One More For Love" and is half finished ;)

Just a quickie..

Sun, 02 Mar 2008 23:42:01 GMT

...before i go to bed.

remind anyone of a certain couple? Apparently the yearning of mikey and myself to get married is obvious to all...including a 4 year old autistic girl lol. <3

"...I only wanted to be somebody..."

Wed, 20 Feb 2008 21:01:22 GMT

...and now here we are, we're face to face and i'm fucking you. [Somebody - Blue October]

Mikey's ring came today! Hooray! But i have to clear something up. He bought me a ring, yes. He bought me a white gold wedding band, yes. Are we getting married? no. I am allergic to yellow and rose gold, so i can only wear white gold, and i detest jewels, so that pretty much leaves a wedding band. It's very purty but sadly they couldn't engrave it like Mikey wanted :( But to make him feel better, i secretly ordered him a ring XD

Thats my one. It's a crappy image cos my webcam was the only photothing working at the time and i am lazy :-p

This is Mikey's. And i Also had his engraved with our life slogan as it were. "Validus Una" - it is latin and means "stronger together" :)

I have tiny fingers. Mikey really doesn't lol.

Like a kid at Christmas ;)

"...Am I too far gone to be saved?..."

Mon, 18 Feb 2008 17:34:42 GMT

[ Open Water - Funeral For a Friend]

*sneaks into LJ* Well, isnt this a surprise. Lots of people kept on at me to update this thing, so i am :) Firstly, i am really sorry i haven't been around since August. I don't really have any excuses that i want to go into huge detail with, otherwise i would have posted them here. I needed to find a job (mission accomplished by the way. Woo! :D) and i got really depressed job hunting and finding nothing until November.

Then in November the man i thought of as my dad died. He slipped into a coma and never woke up, and he was my mums soul mate, so she was a wreck. As the oldest of four kids, i kept the others together until she found her feet again. Then on Dec 21st a good friend of mine was killed in a car accident. As you can imagine, it wasn't the best year for his family, who have needed my family's help to get through, especially at his funeral which was held the day after what would have been his 24th birthday. Then a few days after my birthday (yay, 22! lol not.) my best friends' boyfriends best friend (its confusing, but i can't jsut say "Dave" or you wont know who i mean lol) was killed in a car crash too. His funeral was on Valentines day, and i am hoping...neigh...praying to whoever will listen that no one else i know dies :(

So i havent written anything new recently. I have lots of ideas and i WILL finish Turbulence, its just been a bit of a tumultuous end of 07/start of 08 so far for me. One good thing to come of it though - my brother's Daughter was born on New Years Day. They called her Callie-Rose <3
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d19/crazydobelady/family/callie4.jpg
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d19/crazydobelady/family/calliesnug.jpg
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d19/crazydobelady/family/jaycallie.jpg
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d19/crazydobelady/family/Photo-0128.jpg

Leets see what else has happened...? My Degu died. He was 12, which is like twice the average life span. Mikey an I got a life motto that we have engraved on our rings we bought each other. Its Validus Una, which is Latin for "Stronger Together" or so his Dad tells me, because he speaks Latin. lol. I've met his parents now...twice. It's enough lol. I threw away all my VHS's. I own two. One is a movie i cant find on DVD and one is a movie that never made it to DVD. That's about it really.

I changed the layout colours a little bit to match my bedroom. I don't know how long my comp will last though actually. I have no working USB ports and my motherboard doesnt always recognize all of my harddrives when i boot up. It needs to be thrown away and a new, brand spanking, shiny machine replace it, but i am scared to get rid of my baby lol. Plus, i have no money becuse i just bought a new bed which cost me £300/$600. O.O

ps. England is cold. *shivers*

My absence...

Sun, 05 Aug 2007 21:50:53 GMT

Ok this may be a little erratic of me..and i don't care. Because i am at the end of my tether. I consider myself an active person. I work, i have indoor and outdoor pets that rely on me to keep them clean, tidy and fed, and i have a 84lb/6 stone Dobermann who hasn't been walked for over a months. And why? Because mummy can't walk.

Let me give you some background. I apologise for its lengthyness, but i'll try and break it up with some pictures. DO NOT CLICK unless you have a strong stomach!!

I had a small warty lump on my heel that kept rubbing on my work shoes. I am on my feet for 6 hours a day at work so i went to my doctor who said that it could be chryogenically freeze burnt off the next day. Awesome! That was July 4th.

July 5th - Went to my doctors surgery and an outside GP did the procedure. Using liquid nitrogen he froze the lump. He said it would blister but i might have to come back 3 weeks later for a repeat session.
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d19/crazydobelady/hospital/july5th.jpg

July 6th - Woke up the next day and the lump and the patch of blistered skin had become wet and soggy and started to peel off. By the end of the day, it had dropped off completely.
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d19/crazydobelady/hospital/july6th.jpg
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d19/crazydobelady/hospital/july6th2.jpg

July 7th - My foot really hurt today and when i looked at it, it had become green and swollen (notice my lack of ankle bone). Kept it covered as instructed and called work to say i wouldnt be in Sunday (8th).
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d19/crazydobelady/hospital/july7th.jpg

July 8th - Today my mother decided this wasn't a normal reaction so took me to our Accident and Emergency department (the UK version of ER with less Luka Kovac XD). The infection had spread overnight from my ankle to the top of my tattoo, which is half way up my leg. At the hospital they took blood tests and xrays of the bone which revealed no infection in the bone but septecaemia (blood infection) and cellutitis (skin infection). I was admitted for a crash course of IV antibiotics and found out i was allergic to iodine, morphine and elastoplast (plaster/bandaid sticky).
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d19/crazydobelady/hospital/july8th.jpg
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July 12th - I was discharged from hospital with a bucket load of pills and instructions to take them as directed for a week. There was two antibiotics and some strong pain relief. In total, i was taking 8x 250mg penicillin, 2x 500mg flucloxacillin and 2x 500mg codine four times a day. That's 48 pills in 16 hours. Needless to say i was in a drug induced coma.
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d19/crazydobelady/hospital/july12th.jpg

July 13th - My boyfriend called the hospital and queried the dosage. They said it sounded too high and it needed changing, so someone should bringing it back up. My mum was on holiday so Mikey stayed with my dogs and My friend Mara came with me to the hospital where they changed it to only 4 Penicillin instead.
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d19/crazydobelady/hospital/july13th.jpg

July 16th - First dressing change by my local nurse. Not much improvement.
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d19/crazydobelady/hospital/july16th2.jpg
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July 17th - another dressing change but silver not applied as it was not working properly on the wound.
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d19/crazydobelady/hospital/S8300410.jpg

July 20th - Back to the hospital to see my consultant again who was very pleased with its progress. Dosage on pills reduced further to 1 x 500mg Flucloxacillin and 2 x 250mg Penicillin. For one week.
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d19/crazydobelady/hospital/july20th.jpg

July 28th - Over a week later I am still taking my medications as directed but i am taken back to hopsital because it has become green and gooey. It is oozing around the edges of the scab and the hospital ask me to keep an eye on it and to go back if it gets worse.
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d19/crazydobelady/hospital/july28th.jpg

July 30th - Practice nurse at my local GP sees wound when dressing is changed and is not happy. She tells me to go back to the hospital immediately and tell them it is infected. Hospital disagree and say it is red and swollen from healing but a swab of the wound has showed i am allergic to penicillin and resistant to Flucloxacillin. I have been taking enough pills to sink a fleet of ships for nothing. New anticbiotic prescribed.
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d19/crazydobelady/hospital/july30th.jpg

Aug 2nd - Had to go back to my local GP because the side effects of the new tablets on a high dosage were killing me. Abdominal pains, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea and low blood pressure all caused through the high doage antibiotic Erythromycin. She halfed the dosage and told me to take Flucloxacillin with it, even though i am resistant it is still doing little work on the wound.

Aug 3rd - Scab totally come off on dressing change - was infected underneath the whole time.
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d19/crazydobelady/hospital/aug3rd.jpg

Aug 5th - The start of granular tissue (i think. I hope)
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d19/crazydobelady/hospital/S8300445.jpg

So i am just about ready to give up. I am fed up with taking pills and them not working. I am fed up with not being able to go to work and losing my wage. I am fed up with not being able to go out in public because i cant move without crutches or without shoes on. And i am fed up with only being able to eat fish and rice incase i throw up again. I am so depressed i just keep crying.

God bless the NHS. *stab kill*

Sun, 05 Aug 2007 21:27:45 GMT

Title: My Last Betrayal
Rating: PG-15/R (drug references, some language)
Characters: Sara, Michael, Lincoln
Genre: Het, Violence (mild)
Requested by: linc_mike_jess
Prompts: Linc/Sara, Michael/Sara, Drugs, Pain, Bruises – and I managed to get them all in there! PBFE piece XD
Author’s Notes: I hope this is to the liking of the author. I tried. This is my longest ever POV fic by one character and it was a challenge :) Thanks to my beta reader, pemphredouk <3
Summary: I am sure, in the deepest depths of my heart, I always knew Michael would find out.

When somebody cheats on you, you always know. There is something inside, something that is set on fire with intrigue, and you cannot stop until you know what it is that drives the internal clockwork of mystery. You start to notice little things, like their kisses. They seem different. They are quicker and they linger for less time than it takes you to blink.

They stop touching you in the way that previously set your heart on fire with passionate love, replacing the intimacy with a shy, aghast emotion you cannot describe. They hardly want to look at you anymore, instead their heart leaps for those they would have previously found menial or annoying, and your mind runs riot with images of lusty betrayal and affairs.

You don’t confront them or ask why, you just continue to slide into the cold, cotton sheets night after night, next to the one who has stolen your heart, but the comfort which you yearn for so much in the darkness never comes.

I am sure, in the deepest depths of my heart, I always knew Michael would find out.

I’ll never forget how I felt that day in Panama when he finally caught up to me in the crowd. It was so hot my thin white shirt was plastered to my skin and tiny, salty beads of sweat littered my brow. When I left the police station and set off down the street without a single idea as to where I was going, the only sound I heard was the crunching of Panamanian sand under my flat soled shoes. I failed to notice the feverishly hot shimmer of shadows following me in my numb, alone state.

Normally I am observant, and considering what I had been through over the last few weeks, I thought I would have noticed. I was tired and I ached all over. I didn’t think I could run anymore. My leg muscles burned like a forest fire within my body and I couldn’t focus. As I stumbled down the streets, bumping into the crowd of darkly tanned locals and shrieking children, I didn’t hear a single one of them. It wasn’t until I felt a firm grip on my elbow that I started to feel again.

I spun, turned to face my attacker, and the dark blue shirt buttoned only half way, and the light, khaki slacks, made him look like a regular tourist. I knew he wasn’t a tourist because of my panicked reflection staring back at me from his government issue black sunglasses. The street crowds had dwindled and even if I could break through the soul freezing fear and scream, no one would hear me. Michael was gone. Lincoln was gone. I was alone.

He didn’t say a word. I remember his face staying perfectly still, staring through the blackened lenses right through me, and then nothing. I pinched my eyes closed so tightly I felt the blood stop flowing to the muscles that would peel them open again. I smashed my elbow against an old discarded table made of metal as I sunk to the ground, immediately curling into a tight ball and fisting my hair between my fingers.

I remember the dull crack of someone’s jaw as it snapped from their face. I remember the scuffling sound the heavy treaded boots made in the debris littered floor, crunching on every twist and turn of the huge feet within them. I remember shaking, quivering in an adult heap of immature fright while the dust was kicked towards my face, covering my hands as I shielded my eyes. And then, like nothing I have ever experienced before, I felt the silence. Cold, hard, tangible silence that could have been punched with the same velocity as my attacker.

Then all I remember is the thick cloud of silence lifting and the gruff, wheezy panting filling the air. I can remember peeling my eyes open, my shaking hand obstructing my watery vision as my eyes adjusted to the kicked up dirt, and then feeling the wash of relief rush over me. To my left there was a man, the same man who had grabbed me, face down in the dirt with blood splattered all over his face. His glasses, although still on his face, were crooked and one of the lenses had been smashed.

To my right, alternating between grabbing his knees and grabbing at his oxygen starved sides was my rescuer. Broad shoulders stood erect and he swiped the back of his hand across a bloodied lip. I stumbled to my feet, brushed my humidity soaked hair from my forehead and on a breath I never knew I had, I whimpered his name.

”Lincoln.”

As I look back on it now, it seems that I was blinded by the want to feel safe again. I had never looked at Lincoln in the way I did that day. Not in Fox River or whilst on the run with the brothers. He wasn’t Michael. My heart belongs to Michael. From the first day I saw Michael Scofield in Fox River I crossed a line. It wasn’t a line you could see or draw, but it was a line within me that I had only ever crossed once before.

You don’t stop being an addict just because you are clean from the drug you once were addicted to. You don’t stop being an addict because you have a steady job that you hate but get up for every day because it pays the bills. You don’t stop being an addict because you attended meetings and shared your experiences with other addicts, and you most certainly don’t stop being an addict because you don’t look like one. Michael Scofield pushed me over that internal line and I was addicted to him.

Lincoln reached out for my hand that day in Panama and like a fool I took it.

“It’s okay, Sara. You’re okay.”

I was shaking so much, despite the abnormally hot weather. Cold sweat rolled down my face, drawing lines in my skin that had been powdered by the dirt floor. I stumbled sideways, my ill-fitting shoes dragging my feet sideways in the rubble and I balanced myself quickly. My eyes were wide, dry and stung from the dust but I couldn’t blink. If I’d blinked, he might have disappeared.

The echo of footprints pounded in my ears as he stepped towards me, his large bear like paws outstretched. He was still talking, soothing me with his words and I let him, feeling each and every word soak into my subconscious. I can’t describe what I was feeling because no matter how you look at it, it shouldn’t have been there. A mixture of arousal and relief washed over my ancient feeling bones and I collapsed into his arms, taking the final step to close the gap between us on my last energy reserves.

“I’m here. It’s okay, I’m here.”

Lincoln’s words were transformed as he said them, turning into what I wanted to hear. I heard Michael, but I knew it wasn’t. He was on his way to prison again, leaving me alone, like he promised he wouldn’t. In that exact moment in time, I felt cheated and betrayed, so I clung to what I had. I clung to Lincoln.

My hands found his face, blunt fingers clawing at rough, stubble to hold him close. He resisted for only a second, but the words I heard were still Michael’s, softly spoken and loving, desperately trying to hold back what he was feeling. Huge, tarnished fingertips clung to my wrists and held my hands steady as they shook against his skin but all I felt was the soft caress of Michael on my delicate inner arms.

I wanted more and without a second thought of where I was, who I was with or the repercussions, I lifted my dreary head and slammed my lips into his like I might never kiss anyone again. That was when I realised he wasn’t what I had felt all along. He wasn’t Michael. Lincoln was something new, something forbidden, and I was foolish enough to want more. I kissed him harder, knowing he wasn’t Michael, and it was like nothing I had ever felt before.

My heart skipped a beat in my chest and then took off like a thundering train, pumping hard, adrenaline fuelled blood around my body. It echoed on every beat in my ears with welcome warmth and I heard myself moan against Lincoln’s mouth. I wasn’t ashamed of my involuntary mirth, nor did I blush or pull away. It was a first kiss like no other and like a true addict, I pushed for more.

There was no resistance to my frenzied kiss. Lincoln met my lips with his own and kissed me like he wanted to and like he had wanted to for so long. I continued to a new point of no return and my lips parted gently, inviting the moist tongue that occupied his mouth into mine to duel with my own. My legs went weak, almost collapsing from under me but he held me up. His hands found my hips and my arms locked together behind his huge, rounded skull, my fingers interlocking against his soft, downy stubble and holding his face to mine.

I never wanted to let go and as he held me afloat in the aftermath of the storm, I couldn’t. I felt safe with Michael but I felt secure with Lincoln. I had started something I knew I’d never want to finish and something I knew would inevitably be my end.

I know what you are thinking because I had the exact same feelings the second our lips parted. How could I do such a thing, especially to someone as kind as Michael? The truth is, at the time, I didn’t know Michael as well as I thought. Yes, he was my hero and I would do anything for him but in reality, I had known Lincoln the exact same amount of time. It just happened that Michael was bold enough to cross the line that Lincoln had not.

Do I wish things were different? Of course, but it cannot be changed. There is no excusing what I have done and there never will be. Michael is not a stupid man, by any means, and neither is Lincoln. But perhaps more alarming is the bond that they share as brothers, comrades and soldiers of reality means that whatever I do with one, the other undoubtedly knows about it.

Discretion is not something you can afford to disregard when you are a cheater. That’s what I am in all honesty. I cheated on Michael with Lincoln, I cheated on Lincoln with Michael and I cheated on them both with my silent partner. I never had any intention of using again but circumstances throw you into a state of disarray sometimes, and sometimes, you cannot ignore the thrall of a familiar fix.

There is only so long after an event, only so much time that can pass before one of the parties involved cracks under the pressure of hiding the truth. Two weeks had passed since Lincoln found me in Panama and we were back in the United States. He was free and I was free and we were ironically living in Michael’s apartment. We had hardly spoken since the day we lost our ability to say no, instead trying to focus all of our energy on saving the one person who could right everything that had happened.

I never once felt awkward living in the apartment of the man I love with his brother who I wanted to love. I also never once let my feelings get the better of me. When we spoke, it was of Michael and legal plans to get him free and bring down The Company. There was no mention of how we felt, what had happened that afternoon in Panama, and neither of us pushed to find out.

Secretly, all I wanted was to know. Kisses work two ways, with two people. They say it takes two to tango, but what does that mean anyway? Was tango some euphemism for cheating? Was cheating a fast frenzy of lovers entwined until the bitter end, or were the stories all false? Any way you look at it, somebody always got hurt. Someone always got betrayed, and it was always the nice guy. It was always Michael.

I remember watching Lincoln from the other side of the expensive black marble topped counter in Michael’s kitchenette breakfast bar and losing myself in thought. I thought about the way his hands held the pen as he scribbled its blue blood over the paper before him. I thought about his hands doing other things, in other places, leaving their mark on soft, milky skin like a brand. The thought of Michael being free in less than twenty four hours thanks to our hard work and the unexpected confessions of Caroline Reynolds never entered my thoughts.

I can’t remember how long I was staring for, mesmerized by the scrawny, uneducated scratching of Lincoln’s handwriting. All I remember is Lincoln’s husky words vibrating through my pink blushed soul and shaking me back to reality. My reality, our reality, Michael’s reality. I never expected what he said, not in a million years, and his words stunned me to silence. Was I really a pane of glass that everyone was seeing through, or was I dirtied and stained and only Lincoln could see in?

“I can’t stop thinking about you either.”

Would you believe me if I told you that that night, the very same night the man I loved was due for release, was the best of my life for all the wrong reasons? I’ll never forget it as long as I live, and I’ll never regret it. I am an adult and could have said no. Lincoln is not an animal with no boundaries, or some feral beast only out for one thing. I saw a side to Lincoln I had never known about that night, and I wanted to see more.

There is always something deep in the back of your mind, a niggling feeling of doubt and fear that can halt anything. I can honestly say that that night, there was nothing. We both knew what we were doing was wrong, and we kept saying we should stop, but how can something that feels so natural and so right, be so wrong? Believe me when I say that if I had the faintest trace of doubt I would have stopped.

Making love to Lincoln is like being on a rollercoaster. You shiver and shake in anticipation while you are teased to the peak of your ability, and then you hold on because if you let go, even for a second, you will be lost. Of course you will always be found but you never want to leave what you have, what you are feeling on every thrust of his powerful hips. You climb to the top of the next vertical drop into blinding oblivion and then darkness envelops you and you are sweating, tensing and holding onto the ride for dear life.

And then, once it is all over, you want to get back on and ride the rollercoaster some more.

Making love to Michael is a totally different experience but just as nerve shattering. He knows how to make me feel like I have never felt before and I wonder how he can know me better then I know myself. He has a gift, the ability to please without even breaking a sweat, to make me mew his name like a kitten calling for its mother. It’s a slower kind of sex and I feel every inch of him inside of me as he pants against my already dampened skin, gripping into the mattress beside me like he might fall into me and be lost forever.

Michael always calls my name when he orgasms but I never hear his voice. Even during sex with Michael I am with Lincoln. I am with the first brother that felt me from the inside and ended my sobriety of innocence.

“He can never know. This would kill him.”

On so many levels, I knew Lincoln was right. There had never been any official announcement of Michael and me as a couple but it was one of those situations where people assume you are so. I had heard so many times before that love is between two people and should be eternal. What I had never heard was how many people could participate in love before things became too blurry.

I was confused. The night before Lincoln had told me so many things, so many times over. It was like we were in a bubble and were protected from the glares and judgement of the world. We had made love in Michael’s bed, the sheets smelling musty and aged because of his incarceration, and so many things had been said. I knew Lincoln was scared, as ridiculous as that sounded at the time, but what I didn’t know was that he was afraid of what he was feeling and not his brother finding out.

I confessed my feelings that morning at the same time as we changed Michael’s sheets and removed our sins from the cotton. We both knew that that night would be the first time Michael and I would make love but we didn’t talk about it. I thought about it a lot. Some of the most depraved questions crossed my mind that day. Even as we drove the half rusted, second hand faded red pickup to the airport where Michael was being flown to from Panama, I couldn’t shut them out.

Perhaps the most atrocious thing of all was when I told myself to follow my heart. I smiled, maybe even cried as I embraced Michael at the airport with Lincoln standing nearby watching the scene with the unaltered expression he was so good at maintaining. He shifted uncomfortably and crosses his arms when Michael pulled me in for a kiss that I delved into hungrily, needing to prove my loyalty, and all I could think about was the approaching night.

If I was to follow my heart, I would be lying, but I figured that by having sex with Michael less than twenty four hours after sex with Lincoln, Michael would never know the feel of any other intimacy and I could therefore make love to both brothers and casually slip into purgatory unnoticed.

Or so I thought. Things are just so much easier in theory and purgatory seems such a fun filled world of happiness compared to where I am now. Judge me if you wish but at the time I wanted them both and it’s because I wanted that I have lost it all. What I did was wrong; I know that, I knew it all along. So much potential for broken hearts and torn souls. Nothing ever ends fairly for any party involved.

What I never understood was how I could have loved two men at once. People often say that it happens but I don’t believe in love at first sight or other affairs of the heart. When you love someone it is for them and them only. You fall in love with them as a person, and that includes their quirks, appeals and downfalls. If Michael and Lincoln were the same people, my life would have been so much easier.

I can’t sit here, writing my life’s last accounts guided only by the sound of the keys of my laptop. How ironically modern, right? Last words written but not written at all. Please don’t try to make sense of this because I can’t. I don’t even know how I got here. All I can do is continue on with my story and hope by the end we both understand.

After Michael’s release, pardon and our first sexual encounter, the weeks passed too slowly. Not too slowly in the sense that I wanted something at the end of them as a reward, but rather, too quickly with one brother and not enough with the other. I didn’t want them to end. We had all agreed that it would be easier for us all to live in Michael’s apartment until we had all found jobs. However, not many places were hiring two ex cons and their accomplice.

It was about three weeks until Christmas and I had been sleeping with both brothers for three months. I thought I could fall out of love with one of them and the other would never know about the affairs. Of course Lincoln knew about Michael because men talk and boast, regardless of how much chivalry they hold on to. Michael was like a boy in a candy store every time we made love, parading about the apartment in his boxers with a cheery whistle.

This particular day was like any other. Michael would wake and tell me how much he loved me, to which I would reply with the honest answer of “I love you too.” It wasn’t a lie, because I did love Michael. We would then shower separately and cook breakfast. The thing about Michael was he needed a routine to follow each day, something to keep him occupied and to live his life by. Lincoln on the other hand lived life as it came to him, taking each twist and turn in his stride.

That’s how I wanted to live my life. I liked routine and order but Michael was military and Lincoln was more of an escape than anything else. I remember on this day the sun was shining rather unusually for December. It had snowed, and the ground was covered in a layer of half frozen water crystals that crunched under the foot of the mailman as he wheezed and struggled to scale the path to the apartment block.

I’ll never know why I had woken up and chosen this day. Everything I had ever wanted was taking his last sip of murky brown coffee, biting into a slice of cold buttered toast and grabbing his grey suit jacket as he headed out of the apartment door. Everything I had ever wanted would never be enough, especially not with me sleeping with the one thing I could never truly have. That day I decided that before I set off for work I would motivate Lincoln to find his own apartment. I would tell him I loved Michael and I couldn’t see him anymore.

I tried to ignore the hurt in his face. I tried to ignore the constant pang of heartbreak as my own cold, traitorous heart shattered in my chest. I tried to explain that what we were doing was wrong but he retaliated with the one question I had kept asking myself. I had no words after that, just the silent stare into his soul that gave neither of us the answer we so eagerly sought out.

“How can this be wrong if it feels so right?”

I did the right thing, right? I took it upon myself to make a life altering decision that would hurt the least amount of people. I felt bad I had hurt Lincoln, and for months afterwards I yearned for him so much. I can’t even describe the feeling of loss and depravity. Even if there was a word to describe it, it wouldn’t have been justified.

As I suspected, Lincoln moved out a few days later. Michael told me that he had found an apartment a few miles away but I knew exactly where he had moved to. It was probably his downfall in the end, but I could sit here blaming myself for the rest of my life. It wouldn’t change the fact that I made the wrong decision. Or I think I did anyway, but when people live their lives of what ifs and maybes, they are sure to crumble.

I suppose worse things could have happened to me. Worse things could have happened to the brothers. Last night I had a dream that I met Lincoln in a bar in downtown Chicago. Rene’s it was called in my dream and it had a red and yellow flashing neon sign above the door. It wasn’t a dive; it was just average looking establishment with a pretty waitress, a pot bellied barman and Lincoln in a spotlight.

Yeah, I know. A spotlight. How clichéd is it that in my dream, the one thing I should have chosen for the rest of my life was highlighted for me. Do you think, in some kind of twisted alternative reality, my subconscious was mocking me? Teasing me with what I could have had? I don’t know. I can’t analyse dreams. If I could, I’d be worth a fortune and this would be my memoirs. As it turns out, no one is going to want to pay to read this.

”Sara Tancredi, will you marry me?”

At the time, Michael’s words were so meaningful they actually penetrated deep into my heart. I knew exactly why I was crying as I stood in the harsh metallic looking kitchen with the diamond ring clutched between my white, bloodless fingertips. My answer was yes. It had always been yes but I was crying tears of woe. My answer had always been yes for Lincoln.

Asking me to marry him was one of Michael’s order and routine exercises. In his mind, the next step to our relationship was marriage. Every time I looked at Michael I saw the man I loved but not the man I wanted to marry. I didn’t want his children. I didn’t want to even own a dog with him. I just wanted all of that with Lincoln, all of that and more.

So unable to say anything else, I nodded my teary head and lunged into Michael arms, emptying my salty sorrow into the softness of his blue cotton t-shirt while he held me. I could feel him smiling as he pressed his lips to my soft, auburn hair, accepting my nod as my final answer. I never wanted to say the answer out loud. Yes was so definitive, so end of the line. If I stood tall and said yes, I was lying to Michael and I was lying to myself.

There is only so much heartache the human heart can actually endure. When Lincoln arrived at our apartment that night to the meal we had invited him to, I could tell by the three day growth littering his jaw that he was already on the verge of breaking down. I had never thought he cared for me as much as I cared for him, but comparing my emotional turmoil to his would have been cruel.

I remember the whiteness of his clenched fist as Michael told him we were to be married. Michael was standing behind me his fingertips clinging nervously to my shoulders while I held Lincoln’s gaze across the table. I was apologising. I was trying to apologise so hard for everything I had ever done to him or taken from him. I was trying to tell him I didn’t want to marry Michael. I was trying so hard, and then he surprised me.

Lincoln stood up, the crisp, white table cloth falling back over the edge of the table from his lap as he rose and walked towards us. My heart beat faster in my chest because I was scared of what he might do or say. Lincoln had said some things to me I had never heard from Michael before and unlike Michael and I, Lincoln and I had actually talked about a future. I think that’s what made what he did so hard for me to take in.

Lincoln extended his hand, gripped to Michael’s equally sized paw for a congratulatory hand shake and then, with a beaming smile I could translate as the ultimate in bereavement, he spoke the biggest and most forced lie I will ever have the misfortune of hearing. If my heart was not already on the verge of emotional suicide, it was at that moment.

“I’m so happy for you both.”

Again I ask the question, how can you love more then one person? I don’t mean in your lifetime. I mean at the same time. I’ve been to shrinks, three in fact, and they all say the same thing. They all tell me I was in love with neither brother. I was in fact in love with the prospect of having two providers. Two big strong men to call my own and take care of me. I told them all they were talking bullshit.

The first shrink, a woman with dark curly hair and square glasses that she perched on the end of her nose, I laughed at. Wouldn’t you? She tried to tell me what I was feeling. What I had felt since the start of the whole botch affair. Wasn’t it her job to listen to what I was feeling? I promptly walked out of her office safe in the knowledge she would never be able to find ‘Sara Sidle’ to send the bill to. Thank you CSI.

The second, Dr Monet Cruzer, was slightly more tolerable. She had at least some kind of fashion sense and wasn’t sporting a huge, ugly mullet that had escaped from the eighties. She actually listened to me, for all of about fifteen minutes. It seems the second you tell someone that you have been sleeping with two brothers at the same time, you are branded. God only knows what Monet branded me as, but again I got the story of being in love with multiple providers and had dropped off her client list quicker than it took her to finish her sentence.

The third shrink was a man. By my own admission, I figured a man might be able to understand me a little better than a woman. You see, women have this tendency to automatically see another woman and judge her. We don’t mean to do it, it just happens. ‘Her dress is ugly’ or ‘oh my god, look at how bad her hair looks’. Never compliments. Never smiles and kind words. Always bitching and back stabbing.

So I thought a man would be different. I thought wrong. Dr David Mitchell was pleasant to look at, young and virile for a doctor of psychiatry, however extremely judgemental. If I had known better, I would have said he was a woman in a past life. Or maybe in the start of this one, I don’t know. Again, straight out of the Psychiatrists Handbook for Chicago based Practices, I was told about my want for more providers.

You know you are a hopeless case when even your shrink makes you laugh. That or you’re insane, but I’m pretty sure I’m not that. Yet. I can still remember my name and the entire travesty I have lived through over the last three years. Who could forget?

Every day after I had nodded and sealed my fate, I wished I could take it back and every night I dreamt about Lincoln and what we could have had. I wasn’t unhappy with Michael, and I did still love him, in my confusing world of emotional funfairs, but for someone so neurotic and intricate, he was rushing. Michael was rushing to get us married like some kind of race of masculinity. I had to be his. We had to be Mr. and Mrs. Scofield as soon as humanly possibly.

What was even worse, but for whom I am unsure, Michael made no attempt to exclude Lincoln from the arrangements. I suppose, being his brother, I should have realised that he would have been Michael’s best man. Why I had thought that by some small miracle Michael would ask Sucre I did not know. Sucre was still on the run as far as I knew, and we hadn’t heard from him in as long as we hadn’t seen him.

It bothered me that after telling him that we couldn’t be together anymore, Lincoln and I were suddenly thrown together for wedding arrangements. Just by looking at him I could tell how much he was hurting inside. I knew he was being torn up every time Michael laid his hand on me lovingly, or kissed me softly in his presence. I knew it because tiny shards of glass penetrated my own heart at the same time.

We were connected. We were one with each other. Soul mates. That’s how I felt. Seeing Lincoln every day, faking his smile and pretending his wasn’t crumbling inside was as hard for me as it was to pretend I still didn’t want him. I remember at once stage Michael was finalising catering options with a petite foreign man who called himself a chef and Lincoln and I were left alone. He reeked of alcohol as it seeped through his skin and enveloped him like a vapour cloud.

I thought about how I had treated him. I thought about how, while I was living the falsified life of luxury, he had nothing. It kept me awake for most of the night and I had segregated myself to the outer most reaches of our king sized bed. I felt so guilty I couldn’t even bare to look at Michael’s back as he slept beside me. Even the radiation from his body made me feel worthless.

The thought didn’t stop and I realised what it was like to be an addict once more. Addiction happens when you are subjected to a substance that makes you feel alive. It is normally the worst thing for you but you cannot do without it. I realised that night, as I stared blankly at the bright red numbers on my alarm clock, that I was still addicted to Lincoln. I pushed back the covers silently, padded barefoot to the lounge where I had stored another addiction of mine behind some of my old medical textbooks I knew Michael would never want to read.

Slouching down onto the sofa, I stared at the shot of hard liquor in the bottom of the laser cut glass for thirty minutes. It was then that I decided a quarter of a glass was not enough to numb the pain. It was then that I filled the glass to the top, rested the half empty bottle of putrid brown whiskey on the table beside it and drank until dawn.

You could say it was now that my life started to go a little askew. From here on out, it will seem like I get everything that I deserve. What I can honestly say is nothing that happens to Michael or Lincoln from here on out, was intended for them. What they did endure is beyond redemption, even for me. No amount of good doctoring and volunteering could undo what I caused.

The first thing I am sorry for is Michael finding out about me drinking again. Coming home to see your fiancée blind drunk, passed out and hugging an empty bottle she failed to find her answers at the bottom of, is not how most men imagine uncovering a dirty secret. Most women’s dirty secrets are huge great big laundry day underpants, not failing to be sober and falling back into an addiction that nearly broke you before.

I don’t remember his face because being a drunk as I was, I don’t remember much. All I remember is waking up the next day and finding a note on the kitchen counter. He said he would be back but he needed time and he suggested that before he came back, I found some help. Help? There was only one thing I really needed and sadly, it was the one thing Michael did not ever need.

A rift is described as a break in friendly relations, particularly among siblings. I had found the help I so desperately needed that day, over and over again in the form of Lincoln. It was like having sex for the first time, only this time, to numb the pain we were causing each other, we periodically drank our sorrows away in bed. In mine and Michael’s bed.

Three condoms and an entire bottle of Jack Daniels later, we were both too high on euphoria and alcohol to notice the creak of the front door. Or the thud of rubber against laminate flooring as Michael plodded around the apartment in his heavy soled boots, gently calling my name. I can only imagine his voice must have been full of hurt and disappointment and not finding me waiting for him on the couch must have sent his mind reeling.

What I can never imagine is how he must have felt as he walked through the hall to our bedroom and pushed open the door. I remember the light spilling across my face and the sculptured curves of Lincoln’s muscles as they rippled and tensed in the luminescence. We froze, me looking up from the sweaty bulk above me at the same time as Lincoln looked over his shoulder. If there was ever a time for feeling at your worst, that was it.

I didn’t expect what Michael did next. I didn’t think in a million years he would resort to violence to solve any kind of problem he might have had. If lunging across the bedroom with the sound of his footsteps drowned out by my pained pleading for him to stop hadn’t made me realise what I was actually doing then and there, nothing would have.

Michael left the apartment that night with a broken hand and a broken heart. He had punched Lincoln in the face so hard that the bridge of his nose had split open and blood had poured all over our sheets. It represented the life that we were meant to live in but that I had ruined. It was a crimson stain on our potential marriage. A wrong that could never have been righted.

Strangely I felt a wash of relief the second I heard the front door slam closed, the mirror rattle on the wall and slid to the ground where it shattered. Like a metaphor for our three way love triangle, it was bust wide open for all to see. It was out and we didn’t have to pretend we were all happy anymore. I patched up Lincoln in the bathroom but neither of us looked the other in the eye or said a word.

Michael was more bruised than either of us. Lincoln had physical black, purple and swollen bruises all over his face. I had the green remnants of sexual escapades all over my hips where Lincoln had held me down. But Michael was more than bruised and with a silent nod of agreement, Lincoln and I decided to numb the pain and arguments that were yet to come. With a shaky, worthless hand, I reached into the sink unit and plucked the glass vial from the underside of the back of the porcelain bowl.

You expected something less than my relapse back into drugs? What would you have done in that kind of situation? I turned to the only thing in my entire life that made me forget. Because that is what I wanted to do. Forget. I wanted to forget the pain. I wanted to forget the loss. I wanted to make sure I never remembered the look on Michael’s face again.

It was truly horrific. It’s like, when you are at a zoo, and the keepers feed small live animals to larger ones. There is some shock mixed with a little disgust, except Michael’s expression was pure hatred. His blood had been boiling so hot that as Lincoln hit him back, confessing his love for me while his blood sprayed across my bare skin, I was burned.

When I was in med school, I wanted to be able to live but feel nothing. Feeling nothing was a massive part of my success as a young doctor. If you could be as good as your mentor you were something special. I was something special until people found out I was using morphine to keep me awake for days on end. When you think about it, I was just doing what a lot of people do to survive. The only difference is I was experimenting with my life.

I’d been with Lincoln until Michael came home four weeks later, found us both high and kicked us both out. He was fair. Why should he have two drug addicts fucking in his apartment? And yes, he did take back the engagement ring. In fact he took it all the way back to the shop and got his money back. That hurt a little but what right did I have to feel that sort of pain?

I know pain and losing Michael was not it. Losing Michael was a bitter sweet wake up call to the rest of my life. No, drugs were not supposed to be the rest of my life. I was supposed to be clean by now but pain has a funny way of making you want to eradicate it from your very soul. Morphine was my pest control for pain, surging through my body and floating the pain to the surface where it evaporated next to Lincoln’s memory. Losing Lincoln was pain redefined and also proof that you cannot have your cake and eat it.

Some people believe in karma. They believe that one good deed deserves another and all that other biblical jargon that fuels the debates of the world. I didn’t believe in fate, or coincidence and I certainly was not religious. There were some occasional slip ups of modern accepted blasphemy but nothing major. That was until I awoke on a hot summer’s day with an ice cold body next to me.

As an addict I had been around dead bodies before. As a doctor I had been around a hell of a lot more, but it is always a different feeling when you wake up next to one. What amplified the feeling of the world dropping out from under me was the fact I was waking up next to Lincoln. The only problem was, no matter how hard I shook him, screamed into his blue lipped face, and slapped at his immobile chest, Lincoln was not waking up this time.

I felt numb. Ironically, I had spent the better part of the last year and a half shooting up and drinking, trying to feel the numbness I so desperately didn’t want to feel at that moment. I wanted to feel anything, but my pale, blood drained face and bloodshot eyes betrayed me. I couldn’t feel a pulse, a heartbeat or a single expulsion of breath from his lavender lips. Lincoln was dead and yet, he still had his huge arm slung haphazardly around my tiny torso like he never wanted to let go.

The coroner came and ruled it an overdose. I’ll never know if it was intentional or accidental. Lincoln was always so careful with quantities and syringes but it is so easily misjudged. Drugs vary from batch to batch. I don’t like to think that maybe after everything that happened, life with me, the only thing in the entire world that stopped Lincoln seeing his only family, he just wanted out. And after everything that happened to all of us, I know if Lincoln has been freed, I want the same.

I love Michael. I love him with all of my heart and I always will. But I was in love with Lincoln and that is the difference between happiness and a lifetime of sorrow. So this is my goodbye. Michael if you ever get to read this, I am sorry. I know that will mean absolutely nothing and will be an insult to say to you in light of what happened, but I need to say it. It’s one of the steps, you know?

Don’t hate me anymore. Move on with your life and don’t let it get consumed by fury. I’ll be with Lincoln so I’ll be safe. Even if he was a back stabbing bastard who stole your fiancée, he cared, and you know that. To the rest of you, I am also sorry. I know you all wanted this to be a happy ending but the truth is there is no happy ending for sinners. I have sinned and will never get a happy ending. I never really deserved one.

Goodbye.

...

Thu, 21 Jun 2007 20:58:58 GMT

Holy crap on a stick! She LIVES!

Good news: I have finished ALL of my coursework. It is all handed in and i never want to write the world horse in anything ever again...except this post. obv.
Bad news: I am physically exhausted. i don't even want to have sex, and that's saying something lol. This means i am in lack of motivation, which means my idea for my PBFE fic, which has to be done and beta'd by July 1st, is just swimming around in my head...and not getting written.

I am doomed.

Other notable things to remember:

- I have to get a job. Full time, paid employment. meh.
- I have to meet mikey's parents. still. eek!
- I have to write some of turbulence soon. the next chapter is the good one lol
- Jess and I should wwrite something. anything. we haven't in so long because i procrastinate and leave all my work until the end of the year, but now college is over, i should write some more.
- Must get online at same time as Jess in order to write.
- Should, in all honesty, go to bed right now to catch up on lost sleep.
- Shouldn't, in all honesty, have eaten an entire tub of mint choc chip ice cream. *barfs*

Meh fuck it. I am going to bed, with the laptop. rar! How's that for a slice of pie!

WTF!

Wed, 13 Jun 2007 12:58:48 GMT

I'm alive!

barely....

i haven't written anything for like 8 weeks. I am desperate need of a brain to write all my college assignments for me. Just when i thoguht i had finished them all, this week i was given 3 more...due in on Tuesday. Holy fuck dude, don't be too nice to the student will you?!

So yeah, thats why i havent written anything as yet. And when i do, i desperately need to write my PBFE piece *cries*

And turbulence.

I fele so bad for neglecting LJ and my friends for actual life lol. What is up with me?

What I have been doing...

Sat, 19 May 2007 00:18:20 GMT

bad me ;)

Turbulence :+: Finding Truth (chapter eleven)

Thu, 17 May 2007 20:05:36 GMT

Title: Finding Truth
Author: Itrustyoutokillme/ artistic_writer
Rating: PG-15
Characters: Sara, Michael, Other/Original Characters
Genre:AU, angst
Summary: Michael Scofield wasn’t special. He was a man, and as such a born liar.
Warnings: None
A/N: Thanks to my betas, darkandtwistyme and jess_00
darkandtwistyme edit: I TOTALLY ROCK SALEM! I FIXED IT YAY!

Sara had spent most her working day avoiding Jenny and making sure she kept herself busy. She didn’t even want to think about Michael, and seeing the smug, thin lipped smile on Jenny’s face made her seethe. But why? Michael had not proposed a relationship to her officially, and she had not minded. They had sex and it was good beyond arguable doubt, but she had found out Michael was a liar. Most men were and a tiny part of her wished she could have met her father’s doppelganger instead of Michael and she wouldn’t be feeling the emptiness she did now.

Michael Scofield wasn’t special. He was a man, and as such a born liar. All men lied. It was a genetically predisposed trait that they all held in high regard within their gender, using it against each other to gain rank and status within the social pecking order. In some instances, women could be described as no better then men. Sara had spent a good portion of the day asking herself why she had let Michael in so easily.

It was unusual for her to be physically attracted to both a man’s body and his brain so easily. In most cases, men lacked the ability to own both a good body and a good brain. But Sara had seen something different in Michael. He was smart, and he was charming, and he was physically fit and healthy. He was, in terms of the female perspective of the ideal mate, perfect. He could provide, he could entertain and he could protect. Maybe that was why she had let him into her home, her shower and her bed so easily.

Some people would call her some unsavoury names for what happened between them. If they were in a relationship, a real working couple that kissed, cuddled and held hands, then the shower, bedroom and on call room romps would be considered love making. They would be two, consenting adults in a relationship that made love. But because they had neither accepted nor denied they were a couple, and had told no one about them being together, then Sara and Michael were just having sex.

‘Were’ was the right word all right. After Michael’s little amnesia stint last night, Sara never wanted to see him again. She hated him, but not the hate of an indignant spouse but the hate of a woman who had been lied to. Michael had lied to her; she had proved that in her very own lounge. He had looked her in the eye and denied the fact he had slept with Jenny. If he had admitted it she might have been a little more understanding, but he hadn’t and she had no forgiveness left.

Standing in her kitchen, the bright halogen lighting blaring down onto her back as she made herself a cup of coffee, Sara had never felt so depressed. Even if she did hate Michael, it didn’t stop her loving him. Sara leant sideways against the edge of her counter, crossing her bare feet at her ankles and laying one arm over her chest. Her other arm was occupied with stirring her coffee, whisking the black, steaming liquid into a hurricane in her mug.

Sara had been stirring for a little over five minutes and her hand had grown clammy from its close proximity with the steam radiating from the coffee. She had gone for comfort dressing. Large, long pyjama pants that scuffed the floor under her heels and oversized red t-shirt. She didn’t remember where she got it from but it made her feel safe when she was feeling vulnerable. Her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail but a few stray strands sprang from behind her ears and fell to frame her face. Sara didn’t know why she was stirring. There was no reason in it and she rarely even drank hot beverages unless she was in a restaurant, but for some reason, the churning blackness reminded her of Michael.

And then, as if on cue, her phone began to ring. Its shrill tone circulated her hall, echoing into the kitchen. Sara didn’t look up because she knew it was Michael. He had called so many times since yesterday that she had stopped running for the phone in case it was someone else. Sara hadn’t said a word to him each time, just slammed the phone back down and stormed off with a growl. She could unplug the line at the wall, but then she wouldn’t get the tingling feeling she craved so much every time Michael’s sultry drone jumped from the answer machine.

“Sara, it’s me again,” Michael audibly sighed into his phone and his breathy grunt vibrated around Sara’s house. She stopped her stirring for a second, dragging the metal spoon up the side of the mug and letting a few drips fall back into the void. She padded from the kitchen, intrigued to be closer to his voice. Sara wished she were closer to him. Her heart ached for him and every time she tried to tell herself he was nothing, he would call back and she would go crashing back into the depressive void of wanting him again.

Sara paused next to the answer machine, trailing her finger over the speaker softly and tenderly like it was Michael’s face and she was teasing his lips with her thumb. If it were Michael, the corner of his mouth would turn up in a shy smile and he would dip his head low, averting his gaze with a slight chuckle. To Sara’s disappointment, the machine simply sat silent, Michael’s frustrated sighs the only sound coming from their speaker. “I don’t know…what do you want me to say?” His voice begged from the black, rubbery machine. He sighed again and Sara could hear him moving around, probably undressing for bed. It was late and she wondered why she was even still up. She cast a glance outside into the dark street, the only light from a few street lamps glowing down onto the pavement and the bright glare of a car’s headlight at it drove past. The engine roared up the neighbourhood and a dog started barking in the distance, hastily told to be quiet by a gruff voice.

“Maybe you’re in bed already…” Michael’s words trailed off. If it was possible, Sara thought his voice was even more seductive than in person, deepened by the travel along wires and communication technologies that had it jumping into the room and making love to her ears. “…I think we need to talk, Sara. There has been a mistake somewhere. I’m not that guy you described,” Michael softly pleaded with no one. There was a long pause and Sara thought he was hanging up when she heard the crackle of movement from the other end of the phone. “I really like you, Sara,” Michael finally whispered, letting his words linger in the phone a little longer before finally hanging up.

Before she knew what she was doing, Sara’s hand shot out and she grabbed the phone from the stand, clutching it to her ear in the hopes he was still there. The single dial tone entered her ear cavity and echoed against her eardrum, indicating the line was dead and Michael had gone. Sara’s entire body relaxed a little but the butterflies still fluttered around her stomach as she involuntarily clutched the phone harder to her ear. Even if she was still mad at him, Sara still missed him like nothing she could describe.

“Mr. Scofield,” the hospital administrative secretary sighed from behind the desk in a tired tone. “Dr. Tancredi doesn’t want to see you.” Her voice was defiant and even though she was small and very finely built, she was trying to act as aggressive as she could.

Michael shook his head, letting out a sigh through his down turned frown. He shuffled his feet against the tiled floor and the faint smell of cleaning fluid wafting in the halls of the pristine hospital. “I’ve just come to see a nurse and have my stitches out,” Michael admitted sadly. “I’m not here to see Sa…Dr. Tancredi,” he correctly quickly, gulping hard at the mere thought of her.

The receptionist looked up at him and she softened a little. He looked pathetic and beaten, his three days of facial growth starting to curl back towards his skin and his eyes blackened from lack of sleep. She tore her eyes from his dishevelled clothing long enough to type his name into the computer and make a note that he was here. “You’re lucky,” she lied, bumping his name to the top of the list through pity. “If you go straight to curtain three, Jenny can take your stitches out now, and then you can go get cleaned up before Sara sees you like that,” she stared at him over the rim of her oval glasses and gave him a serious nod.

Michael nodded in agreement and took the chart she handed to him. “Thank you,” he breathed, his mouth twisting at the corner in the first smile that had graced his lips in nearly four days. It didn’t sound like a long time, and he had seen Sara for even less time, but now he knew she possibly never wanted to see him again, he was so scared. He was scared of going to work every day and having to explain to Lincoln why he wasn’t working to his full potential. He was scared of having to admit to himself that maybe he had been wrong at one stage in his life and losing Sara was some kind of wicked karma. Most of all, Michael was scared of never being able to tell her how much he loved her.

The hospital was quiet today, especially for a Wednesday. Sara always had half days on Wednesdays and she had agreed to let him take her to lunch today. Michael dragged his feet, keeping his head hanging low as he made his way into the triage unit. He paused and his rubber soled shoes squeaked on the floor underfoot while he lifted his head and inspected the vibrant red numbers hanging from a solid metallic pole on each cubicle. He spied curtain three and then saw some shadows moving underneath the rippled pink fabric, cast across the green of the linoleum floor by some hospital issue slip-on shoes.

Pulling back the curtain, Michael saw the back of the nurse he had been assigned. He shuffled into the cubicle and took a seat down next to the tray of implements, each one as sharp and silvery as the one sitting next to it. They all rested on some dark blue tissue paper and Michael stared at his reflection in them for a second.

“Okay, what can I do for you today?” The nurse chimed, her dirty blonde locks swinging half a second slower than her body as she turned around to meet Michael’s gaze. She was still arranging her latex gloves on her fingers and reached out to pick up the chart Michael had left sitting next to the tray on tools in front of him. “Michael…Scofield?” She said shocked, snapping her head up to look at him with wide eyes.

Michael knew who she was as soon as she had turned around. Her hair had changed but was still the same colour. Light, yellowing blonde mixed with some traces of darker, browner hairs but it had grown longer and she’d straightened it. Her cheeks flushed with a pink glow and she went rigid, her fingers turning white against the cool plastic of the chart in her hand. The silence in the cubicle was deafening and Michael’s eyes darted to the nametag that was pinned to the pink jersey covering her salmon scrubs.

“Jenny?” he spat, leaning back and crossing his arms across his chest. “That’s really original,” he growled, staring at her.

Jenny shifted her position and hugged the clipboard to her chest, the plastic of her nametag clattering against the metallic clip at the top of the board. “I had to change my name,” she shrugged, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. “I couldn’t get within a hundred yards of you called Shelley, now could I?”

Michael clenched his jaw. “That was the point, Shelley,” he droned angrily. “It’s called a restraining order for that exact reason.” Michael stood and paced the cubicle, rubbing his hand over his stubble and exhaling hard. His breathe condensed against his palm and he balled his hand into a fist, pounding it loosely against his forehead. “I could have you arrested right now,” he breathed, turning to look at her.

Shelley, formally Jenny, stalked towards him, stopping by the table of implements and resting Michael’s chart to the tray with a clatter of metal against plastic. She reached out to touch him on the arm; smoothing her fingertips over the fabric of his coat and watching her eyes molest his arm. “No,” she sighed dramatically. “You really couldn’t Michael.”

Michael whipped his gaze towards her and narrowed his eyes. He shook her hand from his arm and took a step back from her, stumbling into the cupboard of medications behind him. He stared at her questioningly, tilting his head and letting out a sadistic laugh as he balanced his weight behind him on the counter top. “Of course,” Michael shook his head, cursing himself for being so ridiculous. “You’ve changed your name,” he breathed.

“That’s right,” Shelley said triumphantly, taking another step towards him. “And the restraining order was issued for Shelley Madison, not Jennifer Odie,” she smirked. “You can’t touch me Michael.”

Michael looked at her again and took another step away from her. “You’re crazy,” he whispered. “I don’t know what you think you’ve accomplished by doing this…” Michael began but her excited rant cut him off.

“Don’t you see?!” She sang enthusiastically, clapping her hands together at her chest. “Michael, we can be together now. You and I can be together, just like we want,” she nodded at her with a broad smile on her face.

“What?!” Michael snapped, holding out his palm and pointing to her. “You want that,” he accused, pointing at her. “I never wanted that. You…” he said, pointing to her menacingly and letting a short burst of laughter bubble from his throat. “You are insane, Shelley.” Michael pulled open his jacket and reached into the inside pocket for his cell phone. He flipped it open and punched in three numbers.

“What are you doing my love?” Shelley soothed, watching his hands as he dialled and them lifted the cell phone to his ear. Her smile faded and her eyes searched his face.

“I’m calling the damn cops, Shelley,” Michel said loudly, turning from her and stalking across the cubicle again. “There is absolutely no way you changed your name legally…” he said sharply, pointing at her again. Shelley blushed and looked down to her feet, confirming his accusation. “…And you are breaking the terms of the order, right now!” Michael bellowed, pointing to the floor angrily.

“Okay, so I sort of acquired a fake ID and stuff…” Shelley said with a shrug, walking towards him and reaching for the phone pressed to his head. Her long, delicate fingers traced over Michael’s knuckles, sliding down to his palm and across the cell phone. Michael spun to her and pulled her hand away from his roughly.

“Don’t touch me,” he spat, his voice dark and void of emotion. “Everything you touch just dissolves around me!” He roared. “I went on one date with you. One date! We never kissed. We never slept with each other. And yet, you thought the complete opposite and my life was ruined!” He took a step towards her, his blood boiling under his skin and making his entire body hot and clammy.

Shelley smiled at him sweetly and Michael thought he might throw up. “Why are you so mad, lover?” she whispered at him, flicking her tongue out across the cherry red lipstick on her lips.

“Mad?!” Michael laughed wickedly, turning from her again. “I’m not mad,” he shrugged. “Why would I be mad? I only had to move house, change my car, my email, my phone numbers…” he trailed off, waving his arms erratically around the small, enclosed space. He took a long breath, trying to push away the hatred he felt for her. “…I had to get a damn restraining order to keep you away from me!”

“That’s just a technicality…” Shelley smiled, running her fingers through her hair. She turned from him, sighing dramatically and rolling her eyes. “…Like that sickly cute redhead you’ve been seeing.” Her voice turned darker, tainted with jealousy, and Michael spun to face her, his jaw hanging open.

“You…” he growled accusingly, willing the police to answer their ringing telephone. Everything became clear. Jenny wasn’t someone he had been trying to remember for the last three days. Jenny was someone he had been trying to forget for nearly two years. Only, Sara didn’t realise that and he had to tell her, before she gave up on him forever.

“Aww…” Shelley cooed with an evil grin. “It’s okay baby,” she soothed, stepping towards him again. Michael took a step back and was suddenly pressed against the wall. “She couldn’t love you like I do anyway,” Shelley whispered, pressing her hands to his chest. Michael looked over to his left, noticing the red, security button hidden between a mess of tangled tubes and an unplugged heart monitor. He quickly pushed against Shelley’s shoulder’s, making her stumbled in her heels that clicked against the floor and he flattened his palm over the button, immediately calling for security just as the cops finally answered.

“Thank god,” Michael whispered to himself. “Hi, my name is Michael Scofield. I have a restraining order out against a Shelley Madison and she is breaking the terms right now. Yes, I’d like her arrested. Now,” Michael said, staring over at Shelley’s shocked face as the woman on the other end of the phone busily tapped away at a computer, searching for the order. Michael told the woman on the telephone where he was and no sooner had he done so, two burly security guards burst into the cubicle with police static erupting from their shoulder bound radios, and arrested Shelley.

So far, Sara’s day had been eventful. But so far, there had been no Michael Scofield to ruin it. A few runny noses with a side helping of sickness meant the city was heading for an outbreak. Sara had treated seven patients today with the same symptoms, two of which had been admitted after spontaneously fainting, and three of which felt like they could pass out and had been brought in by a concerned family member.

It wasn’t even a prejudice bug either because all of her patients ranged from a few months old to the elderly. There was so much coughing, patients heaving in their beds and gasping for much needed air after each convulsion, Sara had taken it upon herself to wear a mask. The thin, light blue cotton fabric wasn’t a sure, fail safe way of prevention, but it was as good of a prophylactic as anyone in the ER would get.

And then there was Jenny, the delicately beautiful and sickeningly sweet nurse who haunted Sara’s every thought. She often sat on her own, filling out paperwork, wishing she was writing out the time of death on Jenny’s death certificate. Even if she wasn’t qualified to actually do that, it still felt good to daydream. Apparently, when she returned from lunch, there had been some kind of commotion in the emergency room and Jenny had been carted off in steel bracelets.

A smile crept across Sara’s face, much like the one she had worn when she had been told about Jenny’s rather public exit from the hospital, and she sighed happily, holding onto the feeling she held in her heart. It was warm, almost heated from the depth of Hell itself, and she knew it was wrong to feel like it but she didn’t care. Sara had got her retribution on Jenny, or at least, someone watching over her had made sure she had.

Rounding the corner to her neighbourhood, Sara was met with the blinding deep orange of the sunset over the horizon. It still blazed in the sky, making her squint and instantly reach up for her sun visor. It slapped against the windshield and when Sara opened her eyes wider, she gripped at the steering wheel in half anger, half anticipation of what she saw standing in her parking space.

Michael looked worn and beaten and he hadn’t shaved in a few days. And even that was just guessing. His jacket was dirty and his skin was almost the same colour as the ground he was standing on. As the car neared the space and she stopped it in the road, he quickly rushed to the side, motioning for her to roll the window down with a waving of his hand. Sara gulped, looking away from him quickly and gripping harder to the wheel. If she didn’t, she’d push the door open and tend his wounds, righting his wrongs and mending his broken heart with all the forgiveness she could muster. Sara was trapped between two levels. On one she desperately wanted him to tell her he had never ever met Jenny and she wanted to believe him. On the other, her rationale told her that regardless of how broken he seemed right now that his suffering was worth it.

Finally, she pressed the dull black button and the electric window buzzed to life, sliding against the rubber seals as it opened. She kept her eyes forward, not looking at him as he spoke her name like a whisper of relief. “Sara…”

Michael’s heart twisted in his chest and he had totally forgotten what he wanted to say. “Get out of my space, Michael,” she said, her voice tired and physically drained. Her shoulders slumped against the back of the seat, aching and itching for his touch.

“Sara, please listen to me…” Michael tried again, stepping closer to the car. The engine was still running, ticking over in the quiet street and it took all Sara had not to jerk forward and leave him standing in the void of her allocated parking space.

“Michael…” Sara stopped him, tilting her head back and audibly sighing into the car. Michael watched her closely and swallowed a lump in his throat. He wanted her to say she knew. He wanted her to tell him that she understood. If she didn’t it would be hard to explain and even harder to understand as an outsider. Finally, she turned her weary head towards his and peeled her eyes open to meet his. “…Are you going to move or do I have to park under the building?”

Michael felt all the blood drain from his face at her cold, harsh words. They were not what he had been expecting and they took him by surprise. He blinked a few times, staring at her dumbly with his mouth agape and the wind tugging gently at his jacket. One side flapped open and Sara sighed, stepping on the rubbery pedal and accelerating past him towards the underground access.

“Sara! Wait!” Michael’s eyes went wide and he bolted after her car, his boots pounding the asphalt as he chased after her car. The wind whipped at his face, prickling against his cheeks and turning them a rosy pink shade as he thudded to a halt in the middle of the road. His arm hung loosely at his sides and he pinched his sides, desperately needing oxygen to his muscles. He pinched his eyes closed and hunched over painfully, panting hard and his lungs burning from his sudden exertion. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the exit door so without further thought, he sprang for it, leaning against the gritty wall of the red brick building and waited.

Sara sat in her car for fifteen minutes, just to make sure he had gone. She could hear every second ticking down on her watch, basked in the silence of the parking lot as she sat in her car and contemplated many things. She considered driving back to the hospital to find out why Jenny had been frogmarched out of the ER in handcuffs. She considered rushing out of the parking lot and into Michael’s arms, telling him she didn’t care who he was because she was in love with him. And above all, she considered leaving Chicago and never returning.

Michael looked at his watch for what felt like the hundredth time in a minute and the illuminated hands ticked gently on by. Sara had gone into the parking lot over fifteen minutes ago and still she had not returned. The sun had finally dwindled in the sky and the street lamp above Michael flickered to life. He titled his face up towards it, listening to the hum of electricity surge through the stem of the lamp, igniting the midnight daylight that basked his sorrowful face in a dim orange glow.

His intrigue was so engrossed in the inner working of the lamp that he nearly missed Sara as she walked past. Her head was held high, and her keys jingled in her hands as she fiddled for her front door key, the metallic objects clinking against each other. Michael looked over at her, double taking when he mistook her silky, red hair for a darker chestnut brown in the darkness. When she passed under the next streetlamp and it illuminated her tresses with the radiance of the sunset, Michael stumbled over his feet to catch her up.

“Sara!” he called, jogging to her and his breath leaving his mouth and instantly cooling into condensation in the air. “Sara, please wait…” He begged, quickening his pace when she did.

“No, Michael,” she said firmly, clinking her low heels harder on the ground as she strode determinedly for her front door. All she had to do was reach the gate. All she had to do was cross over the line between the real world and her childhood land of dreams and fantasies and she would be safe.

“Sara, I can explain. I can explain everything,” Michael tried again, quickly shooting a glance down at the ground as he walked, careful not to trip her up with his incessant pleading. He was walking awkwardly beside her, half in front of her, half to her side and he was holding out his chilled hands to her in a forgiving beg. “Please!” he said a little firmer, stepping in front of her and jogging backwards down the sidewalk.

Sara clutched her bag harder to her torso, the well sewn brown leather feeling sticky under her sweaty fingertips. She kept her focus on the ground before her, the flash of gum and stains that were stuck to the pavement passing her eyes as she strode forward. “Michael…” she tried again, not looking at him but letting out a growl of frustration when he began to slow down in front of her. She stopped dead, two houses from hers and her shoulders slumped back in their joints when she looked back up to him. “What?”

Taken back by her callous, snappy words, Michael stopped for a second. He kept his distance, at least a few feet from her and felt the heat generated from chasing her invade his skin under his shirt and pants. His cheeks prickled with heat and he panted, swallowing a lump down his constricted throat. “Something happened today…” he began softly. “…Something you should know about.”

Sara bit her bottom lip and rolled her eyes sideways, catching the stare from an elderly neighbour who was watching them out of her window, curtains twitching sideways a few times. Sara let her eyes fall closed and she pinched the top of her nose between her thumb and finger, letting her breath leave her on an audible sigh. “What, Michael? Because I’ve had a really, really bad day. Week in fact. You…” she pointed at him and dug her finger into his chest as she stepped forward. “…I’ve had a bad week because of you.”

Michael took a step back and quickly looked behind him when his foot caught on a lump in the pavement, the thick, crumbly root from a nearby tree bursting up through the hardened ground. “I’m really sorry…” Michael said sincerely, holding out his hands in apology. His eyes were the lightest shade of grey blue she had seen them in a long while and he reminded her of a nervous child when they are caught.

“Sorry doesn’t take away how I feel, Michael!” Sara snapped, brushing past him and hurrying up her front steps. Her shoes clicked against the ground and were finally dulled when she stepped into her house and slammed the door in his face.

“Sara!” Michael called, shooting at glance around the empty street before following her steps up to the front door. He turned sideways, falling against the old, creaking wood onto his shoulder and he let his head loll to the side and rest against the door. “Sara…please…listen to me,” Michael pleaded quietly, his breath condensing against the painted door as he spoke.

Sara swallowed hard, leaning back against the front door and covering her face with her hands. Her head fell backwards and she panted hard in long, angry breathes, trying to forget the fact that there was barely two inches of wood between them. Sara could swear she could feel Michael’s body heat radiating through the door and it made all of her hairs stand to attention. She hated how he made her feel. She hated her body’s reaction to him. Even just seeing him, her body surging with anger and adrenaline, had made her stomach do flips and she had fought to keep her tone of voice aggravated. She cleared her throat and kept her eyes closed. “I’m listening.”

Michael heard her words, barely a whisper through the door and felt a wave of relief wash over him. “Thank you,” he said softly, his words barely audible to even him. He pressed his hand to the door beside his face, his fingertips splayed out against the wood as he watched them flex next to his features. Michael took a deep breath and rolled his forehead against the door. “Sara I know how you found out about Jenny…but you have to understand, it didn’t happen how you were told…” Michael paused, waiting for her response.

The name on his lips was enough to make Sara fume on the opposite side of the doorframe and she was thankful he couldn’t see her jaw clenching and her fists balling into tight, white rimmed shapes at her sides. There was a silent pause and then she heard him inhale to start talking some more. “Her name isn’t Jenny. It’s Shelley. Shelley Madison…” Michael’s voice was desperate and muffled through the wood.

For a second, Michael thought Sara might have walked off and left him talking to the peeling black paint layered over the front door. He couldn’t hear anything, not even her breathing or an imagined heartbeat through the barrier like he had before. He looked down to his feet, focusing idly on the potted plant that had long since dried in the sunshine sitting beside the doormat. He was about to call her name to confirmation of her presence when he heard the door latch click with a dull clatter and felt the door pull from his body. Michael gulped hard and stood erect, searching her face when she stepped into view. “Go on,” Sara whispered, her tone lighter than before.

Michael let out the breath he had been holding and continued. “Two years ago, some guys at the office set me up on a blind date with a woman named Shelley…” he started, watching her face as she digested the information he was telling her. “We went on one date before I realised she wasn’t the kind of person I wanted to be with…”

“How did you tell her?” Sara rasped, her voice low and her brow furrowed as she interrupted him. She was searching for an excuse to still hate him.

“I’m sorry?” Michael said with a shake of his head. Her question confused him for a second and he stared at her with his mouth open.

“How did you tell her you didn’t think you should see her again?” Sara repeated slower and more sarcastic than before.

Michael averted his gaze to the ground again and licked his lips nervously. He pinched his eyes closed and let his words leave his mouth quietly. “We exchanged numbers and I said I’d call her…”

“...But you never did,” Sara interrupted him again, finishing his shameful admittance for him. Michael looked back up to her sheepishly and Sara let out a low laugh. “You’re a bastard Michael,” Sara scoffed, stepping back into the house and pushing hard against the door.

“No! Wait…” Michael stepped into the door, wedging his foot in between the door and its frame. Sara slammed the door against his foot and Michael gritted his teeth with the pain he tried to tell himself it was worth. He knew Sara was worth it and she deserved the truth. “…I was going to call her,” Michael argued, feeling her release the door from his foot and then the rush of blood to the area as it began to bruise in his shoe. His hand came up and he gripped to the doorframe, supporting his weight and taking it off his foot subtly. “Work got in the way and then she called me.”

Sara studied his face and tilted her head to the side. “What did you say to her?” Sara asked quickly, folding her arms across her chest and letting the door swing open against her better judgement.

Michael looked up at her and shrugged. “I told her we were not right for each other. That she shouldn’t waste her time with me.”

“Why do I get the feeling there is more to this story?” Sara said with an exhausted sigh. Her voice was laced with agitation and tiredness. All she wanted was for Michael to get to the point in his story. Michael looked at her and straightened his posture but did not step into the house. “Get to the point, Michael.”

“Things got bad,” Michael said quickly. “She stalked me. Followed me to work, home from work and wherever I went during the weekends. She’d call me day and night, declaring her love for me and telling me how we were meant to be together…” Michael’s declaration of truth was interrupted by Sara’s giggling and he watched her shake her head with a confused frown.

Sara caught him staring at her and brushed her hair from her brow with a quick sweep of her hand. She shook her head and sent her frayed, rustic hair tumbling over her shoulders. “Now you know how I feel, Michael,” Sara said, the humour in her voice erupting into the hallway.

“Sara, it isn’t funny. I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel in any way uncomfortable but I knew what you had been told was wrong,” Michael finally stepped into the house and pushed the door closed behind him. “I just wanted the chance to explain everything.”

Sara’s laughter faded away slowly and she looked up at him. He looked pathetic. Not even his well pressed suit could disguise the fact he had days of facial hair growing from his chin, spiky and radiating in all directions. His eyes were filled with a watery glint of something she couldn’t place and he really looked ready to give up. Sara sighed and twisted her mouth sideways, looking and staring blankly into her lounge. “You’re serious aren’t you?”

“Deadly. Sara, I am not even that type of guy, I swear to you,” Michael said softly. “I had to get a restraining order…change my email, phone numbers, my car, my address…I had to leave everything but my job,” he sighed, running his hand over his brow that had begun to drip with tiny beads of sweat under the hot, hallway lighting above his head.

Sara was taken back. “A restraining order? Oh my God, Michael…”

“Now do you see? The nurse at the hospital, Jenny Odie or something…that wasn’t her name…” he shook his head and his words left his mouth in a relieved breathy whisper. “Shelley had changed her name illegally…some fake documents or something and got a job at the hospital to be close to me. Sara, she still thinks we should be together and that conversation you overheard that day at the hospital? About me? That was part of her plan to get rid of you.”

Sara’s eyes went wide with shock and she suddenly felt violated. She narrowed her gaze and tilted her head. “She knew about us?”

“Sara, she knew everything…” Michael said, his voice cracking with a sudden fear.

“Where has she been for two years? Why hasn’t she surfaced before now?” Sara asked, confused.

Michael felt his body flush with a pink glow and he looked away from her, watching his feet shuffle on the carpet. “I haven’t exactly dated in two years. I am so sorry. This is all my fault,” Michael growled to himself, scratching his fingertips over the lightly stubbled curve of his head. “I should have realised. I should have noticed her at the hospital but all I saw was you.” Michael lifted his gaze to hers and blushed a little, swallowing hard.

“You were at the hospital today…” Sara said surely. It wasn’t a question because she knew he had been there. Even before she had heard about Jenny/Shelley, put two and two together just now, she had known. Michael was like a presence she could feel wherever she was. “…That’s why Jenny was arrested.”

“Yes,” Michael nodded, his feet steadfast on the ground while his heart tugged at his brain to tell them to step towards her. “I went to get my stitches out. Guess who my assigned nurse was…” Michael said with numb sarcasm. “When I realised, I had her arrested.”

Sara let out a long sigh and felt her guard drop as her body relaxed. It made sense, even if it was highly far fetched; something in Michael’s voice told her it was all true. Sara lifted her hand to her mouth and nibbled on her thumbnail, her entire brain rushing with thought. She could still hate Michael but to be honest, all she felt for him was sorrow. She had jumped to conclusions and led herself to believe that he was nothing more than another guy who would use and abuse her.

“What are you thinking?” Michael asked softly, resting his hand to her shoulder and shaking her from her thoughts. Sara jumped a little, her eyes darting to his hand on her shoulder, searing her flesh through the coat she was still wearing and then to his eyes. She didn’t know why she had chosen that exact moment to make a joke, but unable to shake the thought from her brain, she let it slip from her lips with a smile.

“You hadn’t had sex in two years?” She laughed, arching an eyebrow at him. “And you broke your celibacy with me?”

Michael relaxed and laughed with her as he shook his head. “Sara, you did something to me that day I met you. Something I have never felt before and something I want to feel for the rest of my life.” As his laughter subsided, Michael slid his hand down her arm and took her soft, pale fingers in his. “If you’d let me, I’d like to take you to lunch. I’d like to start again and forget about this whole Jenny thing, okay?”

Sara felt her heart flutter again, a feeling she had missed since he had been gone, and she stared at him with a smile. She let her eyes fall closed and she nodded softly. “Okay,” She agreed lightly. “Tomorrow, you can take me to lunch.”

Michael lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips over her knuckles. The soft, wispy stubble on his jaw scratched at her hand but Sara did not notice. “Lunch tomorrow,” he repeated, kissing her skin. “Thank you, Sara.”

...

Thu, 17 May 2007 18:19:07 GMT

wow...

i've been kinda AWOL, huh?

*is sorry to everyone*

also, LJ is being a bizatch and will not let me post chapter 11 of Turbulence properly. We are falling out *shakes fist*

"...The balance has shifted, warped, sick and twisted..."

Wed, 09 May 2007 15:37:20 GMT

..."grabbing at angels when i fall." [High Wire Escape Artisit - Boysetsfire]

Salem's Room. (which is not finished yet but nethertheless, different to when megs saw it :D)

Bed <3

Above bed.

Comp <3 <3

Above Comp. Most of the DVD's are still in the wrapping (ask meg)

Dr. Who (gerbil) and feed storage.

RJ's bed, Noki (rat at bottom) and Koi (Degu)

Chinchilla cages (there is no one living in the top half of the first one)

above cages.

and Rj on my bed *pushes her off*

*is off to work*

See you all in 4 hours!

Fox River Fic Challenge :+: No One Will Know

Tue, 08 May 2007 10:04:21 GMT

Title: No One Will Know
Author: itrustyoutokillme / artistic_writer
Characters/Pairings: Lincoln, Sara, Michael
Rating: PG-15
Word count: 100
Genre: Humor, Drabble
Summary: Lincoln talks to LJ, then Jane and she must have said something to excite him.
warnings: BRIEF masturbation references.
A/N: Not Beta’d but dedicated to Simone, happywriter06 Because I hate Jane and she has the best imagination possible to know WHAT she actually said to him. ;) Written for the foxriver_fic challenge for May - I chose #3 - Masturbation. MMM <3

Lincoln Burrows. Man of Men. Strong, meaty, chiselled and very, very hard in hand. Just a quick one. Eye closed, head thrown back against the coolness of the wall and breath expelling from lungs hurriedly on each pant. No one will know. The hotel room is quiet and they still think he is on the phone to Jane.

No one will know.

He thinks all those things and fails to notice them bursting through the door. Pants around ankles, cock in hand, face flecked with red. Everyone’s face is flecked with red.

“I…um…I was just…”

“We don’t want to know!”

You know what's really weird...?

Tue, 08 May 2007 09:34:35 GMT

...no, me either.

So I had the best weekend i've had in a long time and it was all soooooooo tiring.

Mara and Mikey came over on Saturday and we totally chilled. There was a korma, a tikka, some stodgy rice (ROFL), some naan and THE LOUDEST rendition of "We go together" from Grease We could ever do lol - It was so awesome! Oh, Mara...btw...Who put the ram in the ramalama ding-dong? ROFL

Then, I'm pretty sure we were all falling asleep anyway but Me and Mara had to get up and go to work on Sunday. bleh. Our ~~gay ass~~ store manager was totally picking on us and Adam because were are the longest stadning members of staff and wanted to "chat" to us at the end of the day...however, good old predictable Ian went home early because the football was on. Tard. I hate football.

Then after work we went to the train station to meet....*drumroll*....MEGAN KATE! <3 <3 <3 You may know her as Meg...or darkandtwistyme but i called her some other random things. You know, we forgot to pic spam ourselves....However, highlights of our weekend were...

- Meg being at my house for five minutes, her mum calling whilst we were all hyper and me answering the phone with "Harro!" - ROFL - okay Meg, i cannot look at your mum EVER. lol.
- My grandad kidnapping Mara. *giggles*
- Hot Fuzz! <-- Awesome movie. So watching it again when i get home. (I tend to suspect "Cornetto" is an on going joke between Simon Pegg and Nick Frost lol)
- TEKKEN BUTTON MASH FEST! - oh my god, i split my thumb open ~~beating~~ playing Mara, Mikey and Meg and now it is all infected lol - its hurts so badly, but because i am the worst winner in the world (and an even worst loser) - *takes a breath* IN YOUR FACE ALL YOU M NAMES! MEHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! *prances*
- This quote from meg following myself saying "he had one eyebrow" - "What like a monobrow or one eyebrows shaved off?" - ROFL Oh she wins so hard! lol
- Karl's ruthlessness on Halo 2 and Gears of War @ his Halo-fest/Lee's BBQ. Never want another BBQ ever again...meat was still mooing lol and Me and Mara need to practise Halo 2 so hard because they would totally own our asses if we playing in our current state. *makes a note to go steal her brothers game later*

Downlights of me weekend....

- Having to work on kids. Bleh. I hate kidswear.
- Meg going home. :( Glad you got home okay that baby ;)
- ~~The fact Mikey cannot purr.~~ God damn him.

Things to do...

- PBFE5 Fic. I can't think of something to write. I might talk to another writer to get some help...or hire someone to be my muse...Has anybody seen my muse? God damn.
- PB HIatus Fic Challenge #3 - NC-17! Wow, i'm so excited about writing smut...again. *filthy thoughts about a Michael/Sara/Lincoln/Veronica 4-some*
- LIVE AND LET LIVE challenge - not sure if i am going to write this one yet...I can't decide if i can actually write half of the pairings i am thinking about. I might just write something that is normally written...but with a dirty, dirty, sexy twist that no one will expect. ~~Like Kellerman finding Sara and Michael in the Chicago train and Kellerman having sex with Sara while Michaal masturbates.~~ Hmm...which leads onto my next Challenge...
- Fox River Fic's Merry Month of Masturbation ;)
- Meh. Coursework. For tomorrow. *kills*
- Go to Doctors Thursday before period pain finally ends my life <--maybe too dramatic. It might not even be associated with my period because its a backache that is there but made worse at thsat time of the month. Crippling. Mara, will you and your hands marry me? lol
- Charge mp3 player. Need music.
- Get a paid LJ account.

ZOMG!

Sun, 06 May 2007 20:41:30 GMT

darkandtwistyme

IS AT MY HOUSE!

PB Hiatus Fic Challenge #2 - Five Minutes Later

Wed, 02 May 2007 00:27:49 GMT

Title: The Pit
Author: itrustyoutokillme / artistic_writer
Rating: PG
Characters: Michael Scofield, Alex Mahone
Genre: Post-escape, General
Summary: Five minutes after entering Sona, he’d entered the light. Five minutes earlier he had left everything he knew.
Warnings: Mild Violence (as ever with me lol)
A/N: I really don’t like this. I actually wrote it and then typed it up and I then threw it away, however I am really lacking for another idea right now. Thanks to tearcreek for telling me making me asking me to write a M/A fic <3 This is for her, as well as the #2 challenge at pbhiatus_fic

There was one spotlight trained onto the courtyard, its lightning blue glow illuminating every inmate in sight. Michael’s face was basked in the light and it defined his features as he squinted against it. He balled his hands up in his pockets, pinching the material on is dark blue hoodie between his fingers and then stepped out into the light. Five minutes after entering Sona, he’d entered the light. Five minutes earlier he had left everything he knew.

The cheering grew louder. It echoed around the space before him and off of everybody in front of him. There was no room to move between the bundles of hot, sweaty prisoners, each one shouting as loud as the one before. One stumbled backwards, pushed by another, and the massive, over stretched and stained shirt he had been wearing had been torn to shreds.

Michael froze when the man turned around, towering slightly above him with a low growling rumble in his throat. He smiled but looked drunk, his eyes rolling back in his head as he struggled to maintain his balance. Eventually he toppled forward, his tattooed body exposed and stained with a red watery blood that dripped from various open wounds over his body. He sported a black eye that had begun to bruise over an older injury, the mark still green around his eye socket, and he coughed blood over Michael’s shoulder as he stumbled forward.

Michael caught him as best he could, gripping to his inky elbows and supporting his weight as he fell to the floor. The man exhaled hard as he hit the ground, rolling onto his back, limp against the crumbling grey concrete. Michel looked up from the man briefly, holding in a gasp for what he saw before him.

Men of all ages, sizes and skin tones were fighting. It was barer than bare knuckle, everyman fighting to survive. Every man for himself and Michael had just walked into the pit. He shot a quick glance to the man at his feet who outweighed Michael by at least fifty pounds. With a trembling hand that was still wet from the warmed rain, Michael pressed two fingers into the man’s neck but was met with nothing.

“He’s Dead, Michael,” a voice sounded from behind him. It was low, tainted with adrenaline surged fear and Michael recognized it immediately. Flicking his gaze upwards, Michael looked back to the man and retracted his hand back to his body as he stood up.

“Yeah, Alex, he is,” Michael agreed, somehow feeling a sadness for the criminal lying at his feet. He had never met the man, never shaken his hand or been on the receiving end of his burly, bruised knuckles, and yet he felt remorse for his corpse gently moulding itself into the floor. Slowly, he turned to the rogue agent and a tiny smirk played its way across his lips. “You seem to be on the wrong side of the wall,” Michael noted, stepping around the body to stand next to Mahone.

There was almost no height between them, both as lean and tall as the other, and yet, they looked far from at home in the prisons of prisons. A crackle of a laugh fell from Mahone’s lips and he pressed his palms to his face to muffle the sound. His eyes darted around the arena nervously, taking in the beaten and the bloodied surrounding them, each lining up to be next in line to fight. It was the entertainment of the wicked. There was a slight satisfaction in knowing that the man standing next to you could be weaker then you and you could prove it, however there was no rules or regulations. It wasn’t Fight Club and neither of them were Ed Norton or Brad Pitt.

They were both on the wrong side of the wall and if they didn’t stick together, the last five minutes of their new, incarcerated lives would have been meaningless.

Coming to terms...

Mon, 30 Apr 2007 16:43:10 GMT

...with the fact i'll be an aunty at 21. Somehow, it just feels so wrong lol.

I found out today that my bro and his gf have decided on a definite boys name, if its a boy. Check this out.

Lincoln James Davies-Stopes

Awesome. Netiher of them watch PB, they jsut both like the name Lincoln. My brother's name is James so that will be his middle name, and me and my mum are totally fangirling over the fact we'll have an LJ in our family!!!

(unless its a girl. bleh. Then they have Kaitlyn...and some other weird name ~~that means i'll have to disown the child LOL~~)

From this post on i will be rerfering to the progress of my first neice/nephew as "teh shrimp" - because its funny lol
Lets hope teh shrimp is a boy. <3

Dear Flist...

Mon, 30 Apr 2007 12:26:06 GMT

Mikey asked me out. I said yes. I'm not single anymore.

(ps. no, unfortunately Mikey is not short for Michael. Dammit! LOL)

Entering day five of sickness. How yummy.

"....silence...."

Sat, 28 Apr 2007 10:59:01 GMT

Well this day couldn't get any suckier.

I went to the party with Mara last night. It was a two day thing because Waldren's 'rents are away so..duh...party. And i felt sick so i didn't drink much. I had like one beer all night (other drinks i left around the house hoping someone else would drink them) but it was quickly soaked up by BBQ food. I ate more then i drunk really so when i went to bed at around 4 am ish, Mikey had already gone upstairs and i went and crawled in beside him.

Then Mara needed rescuing from Gary the sleaze, so ~~my hero~~ Mikey went to go get her and she came and dived in the bed too. Then i suddenly woke up feeling like i needed to be sick and i climbed over Mikey to get out of bed and ran to the bathroom. Remember, always make sure, in your rush to the bathroom, you clamber over the guy you like's genitals because it goes down oh so well lol. So after not seeing Mikey for like ever since i told him i liked him and he told me i liked him back, me, him and a drunken Mara were all sharing a big ass bed and i was on the edge for a convenient exit to the bathroom. Romantic, i know.

I couldnt stop shivering and if i wasn't shivering i was sweating, however i couldnt control either, so i'm sure i was really attactive to Mikey lol. Mara managed to sprain her ankle siding down some stairs to go and get something. I was feeling really icky so i just remember she cried :( I woke up at about half eight this morning, severely needing the toilet and to barf. I didn't barf, but i went back to bed and texted my mum to ask her if she as up, and could she come and get me. Mikey was upset i was leaving, but after i got dressed and grabbed my stuff (minus my belt and some shoppig i bought yesterday cos i wasn't thinking straight this morning) i kissed him goodbye and made a run for it with my morning breath. So Mikey, if you caught my lurg, sorry dude. XD

Also, in today's news. I am to be an aunty. *kills brother* The Non-WM lookalike and his girlfriend are pregnant...again...only this time they have decided that at 20 and 19 thry are old enough to look after a baby. no, just no. I am more than livid at the whole concept and don't feel great about it right now.

Oh yeah, and my dad found out Mikey isn't white today...i think i can safely say i am dispwned. lol.

"...Faith is on your side...

Thu, 26 Apr 2007 12:54:35 GMT

...fears you can't deny..." - [ Save Us - Feeder ]

So i am having this thing. Where i want to crawl up into a ball and ~~die~~ disappear. I don't feel like writing. I don't feel like getting out of bed to do anything. I don't feel like anything. *shrug*

Mara left college for personal reasons. Lucy and I have like nothing in common to talk about and although we get on, it's very lonely. I'm not normally one to talk, so listen up to my vent.

I feel alone, and a very wise and beautiful friend told me "lonely is a very bad place to be" and i love her. so hard. she knows who she is and thank you for being there when i am feeling so low for no reason.

I can only imagine that after spending the last three years with someone, when you part ways this sort of thing happens. So Leigh-Mara Ellwood...I am cleaning out my spare room and you're moving in! (wow could imagine my nans face? lol)

I gave RJ a bath today so later i'll get a nice picture of her hot shinyness. Bailey escaped because i ran out of shampoo *shakes fist at smelly dog*

*is so not getting dressed today*

slow clap

Wed, 25 Apr 2007 08:04:43 GMT

GOD DAMMIT!

It is 9am and I am at my mother's house. I sort of...overslept. And my alarm went off three times but i, as always, slept through it. So then my grandad comes and wakes me up, telling me its 7:30 and i'm late. Which i would have been, had i needed to be at college by now.

But no. I get dressed, rush to the bus stop, get teh bus to Sainsbury's, buy lunch, rush to Rook's but they have no sausages so i can't get my normal breakfast and i have to settle for a gross cheese...thing...AND the coffee machine was not working today GOD DAMN! Then i walk out in a hurry to catch the next bus, and suddenly remember i don't actually have college until 11am. O.O

I sigh. I curse myself under my breath. And i also decide that i'd rather be at college really early than go home and piss my grandad off anymore. So i get the bus to my mums house (i could have walked but meh lol) and thus, this blog.

I thank you.

Fox River Fic Challenge :+: All Fun and Games

Tue, 24 Apr 2007 22:47:41 GMT

Title: All Fun and Games
Author: itrustyoutokillme / artistic_writer
Rating: PG-15
Characters: Lincoln/Sara
Genre: AU, Pre-PB, Het
Summary: As it turns out, her name was Sara. She was tall, with slightly curled rustic locks that bounced off her shoulders as she turned to meet his gaze when he spoke to her and her smile was divine.
Warnings: sexual Situations, strong language (once)
A/N: Written for the lovely domfangirl (a little later tehn anticipated, sorry) because she wanted someone to kiss Linc over at foxriver_fic

“Do you want some more beer?”

“No, I’m okay. Thank you.”

There is a pause and then Lincoln swivels around on the bed in the darkness and then the dull thump of the glass bottle hitting the night stand echoes into the room. Condensation drips down the cooled, green glass bottle neck and begins to pool around the circular base. Lincoln slaps his hands to his knees, rubbing his chilly palms over the material of his dark blue jeans as he lets out a sigh. It’s audible and tinted with nervousness as it leaves his lips in the darkness of the room.

The music downstairs shook every wall and foundation in the house while the party raged on. When he arrived, there was nothing but the refreshing temptation of a cold beer to awaken his senses. Squeezing through the doorway at the exact same time as her was different to anything he had ever felt. There was a jolt, a spark, the ignition of something deeper and he couldn’t resist turning his adolescent bulk to see what had made him suddenly so tingly.

As it turns out, her name was Sara. She was tall, with slightly curled rustic locks that bounced off her shoulders as she turned to meet his gaze when he spoke to her and her smile was divine. Her lips curled up with genuine enjoyment when he spoke, and his eyes lit up to match the hazing arousal in hers. He had whispered to her, his hand resting gently on her bare forearm and he had felt the tiny prickles of the hair there standing to attention as he spoke.

For a second, he forgot they were in full view of other teenagers and leant into her body, sliding his hand from her arm and resting it onto the arm of the couch behind her. He was forcing the issue, pinning her in until she laid her petite, milky smooth skinned hand against the edge of his half buttoned shirt and made him look at her with a mischievous grin while she giggled. She didn’t say a word. Her hand simply slipped off of the fabric covering his chest and under the opposing side, splaying her fingertips out over his skin.

She had nodded and he had almost come right there in his recently changed boxers. He wiggled his eyebrow at her and offered her his hand to pull her from the patchy leather of the couch. She weighed almost nothing as he pulled her to him, purposely letting their bodies crash together before they scurried off to the stairs and ascended them two steps at a time to find an open bedroom with a door lock.

Now they are sitting alone in the darkness, his elbow barely brushing against hers each time he rubbed his hands over his thighs, trying desperately to think of the right way to tell her he has only done this once, and that was a disaster. He gulps but the dry lump doesn’t disappear down his throat like he had hoped and his breath catches in his throat suddenly and with a squeak when her tiny hand is laid on his thigh. He thinks she meant to touch his hand, maybe calm his nerves, but then the way she is pushing it around the muscle and in between his legs tells him maybe she hadn’t planned to find his hand at all.

He fells the bed bounce as she stands up, pulling her hand from his jeans and finally allowing his body to fully relax again. She can’t see it but his eyes are barely able to open and he reaches for her hand as she stands in front of him with her knees pressed to the edge of the bed.

“Do you want some more beer?”

Her graceful laugh escapes into the silence after her words, soothing his irrational and sudden nervousness. It is one thing to accidentally lose your virginity and then pretend like you are the best at sex while you whisper your proposition into another girl’s ear. It is entirely another to have that girl kneel on the bed between your legs, pressing the taught material of her jeans stretched across her knee into your already aroused groin, push her hands against your shoulders until your body hits the mattress of someone else’s bed with a silent squeak of springs and then crawl to sit astride your lap in the darkness.

“You asked for this, Lincoln.”

“And I want this. I want you.”

“Then stop acting so nervous.”

He swears he can see her smiling against his jaw as she whispers her words, kissing his skin and smoothing her hands back down between their bodies over his half open shirt and searing his skin with her fingertips. Her legs stretch open more, her jeans taught over her rounded behind under his hands as she tries desperately to press herself against him. Feel him, even through two layers of jeans. When she does, after he arches off of the bed to let her know how badly he wants her, a groan escapes her throat and she is suddenly done with being slow.

Her hands grip at his face, pulling him closer to her as she kisses him, her lips feverishly crushed to his and her fingers scrapping against his soft, dark brown whiskers that have scattered his cheeks. He presses his hands harder against her behind, grabbing at the flesh and pulling her higher up his body so he can kiss her back. She tilts her head, licking him from her lips while they part for a second and she wiggles against his body. A chuckle leaves his mouth before her lips have cut off his low rumble again, this time already parted and tongue ready for battle.

Teeth clash and tongues duel, sucked, massaged and thoroughly toyed with. It isn’t long before she drops her hands from his face, a satisfied moan fluttering from her throat and her lips vibrating against his. Her tongue explores more, tracing the ridges of his teeth, the bumps along the roof of his mouth and finally, his bottom lip. There she lingers, taking her time to savour the plump skin of his mouth, totally relaxing on top of him and grinding her hips against his while she mumbles for more.

“I have a condom in my bag.”

“You planned on having sex tonight? Who with, Sara?”

She skips her lips over his face, across his cheek and slides them along the prickly stubble erupting from his pores to find his ear. Her breath tickles at the skin, causing every hair on his body to stand to attention and a nerve in his leg to twitch. She can probably feel his reaction under her fingertips because she has her warm, delicate fingers holding the back of his neck.

“I knew you were coming to this party.”

“Really?”

She nods to the side of his face, trailing her other hand down his body in between her thighs to gently knead at his arousal with a smirk. Unable to resist his skin and the salty taste it leaves on her tongue, she darts it out and licks his ear lobe, softly scooping the plump edge into her mouth and humming with seductive content.

“Still want me?”

“Oh fuck yeah.”