Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Butterflies & The Net ❯ Chapter 2: New Attitude! ( Chapter 2 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Butterflies & the Netby iloveanimecartoons

Genre(s): Psychological/Angst/Hentai/Drama/Romance
Rating: MATURE

Disclaimer: I don't own you Tube (if I DID, anime that get uploaded on the site would friggin' STAY there!)…Actually, I don't know who does…I even went to ask.com and couldn't get an answer. Go fig, huh? Oh, The Harbor Court Hotel is not mine, either...it's a big fancy hotel in downtown Baltimore, MD that just so happens to be across the street from the Inner Habor. I think I covered it all. Oh, wait...the song--that I purposely butchered for reason's of the main character's lack of song memory--is an old western song, I believe. I think it's called 'I'm An Old Cowhand' (but, PLEASE don't quote me on that, guys.)

A/N: Okay, that had to be the hardest, longest, most aneurism-inducing frustrating procedure I've been involved in since the last time I called a 800 # and had to go through all the prompts, cut-offs, recalls, switches to wrong extensions, and crappy CSRs…OY! Sorry for the crappy stretching of the PROLOGUE, folks…it was harder than it looked, to upload, so I had to get creative. I dedicate this chapter to my Mutt, and my 2 newest cyber buds, kiotsukatanna(thanks for reading the beginning of the story for me and replying) and Proforce(see both of you guys in the forum!)!

Oh, in case anyone forgot:`Sprint SUX! ' = Thoughts bold and italicized words = Flashbacks “I like pie.”= Talking ./' = singing

Theme Music 4 this Chapter: My `Let Me Be With You' Hawk-Up from my YouTube Playlist. CHOBITS RAWK!!!!So do you, Gaby!!!!!! Thankies!!!!!

There's a phrase in my head and I gotta say it! “To the moon, Alice…to the moon!” ROFL! **chortle** Okay, here we go…

Chapter 2: New Attitude!

“Ms. Amarante, in today's session, I wish to touch on your thoughts on self. While I am very proud of the progress you've made in the last 8 months, I feel it necessary to get a feel of where you see yourself, currently.” Dr. Busch opened, skimming notes and charts of previous sessions, making observations of Solya's responses to the request and writing notes in the margin.

Solya sat stock-still and, rather stiffly, nodded in response. To say she felt comfortable with this aspect of the therapeutic process would be a grossly inaccurate assumption...she was petrified! Two weeks of planning; making Pro/Con lists; talking to trusted peers—her step mom, her best friend Jerrod, and her only female friend (currently out of state, in college), Jazmin Jimenez; research, budgeting, and figuring…okay, it was a lot. Well, to say that she could fit it all in to a 45 minute session and still leave time for her therapist's comments, suggestions and advice, she wasn't so sure she'd be able to. She felt tense and flushed and, suddenly, her chest tightened and her throat dried up. At the first hint of nausea, she leapt up from her seat, index finger in the air to alert to her therapist that she'd be right back…then darted to the restroom and dry heaved for a couple minutes. Realizing it was just the onset of a minor anxiety attack; she implemented her breathing/relaxation exercises and slowly wound down.

`C'mon, Solya! This is for the championship! No going back, now! Suck it up and just doit! Yeah! Okay, no more sports references for you…God, I can't wait for the playoffs! Okay, focus! Show her what you've got!' After splashing a few handfuls of cold water on her face and neck, she dried her face and hands with a few paper towels and walked briskly back to her therapist's office.

“Sorry about that. I guess I wasn't as prepared as I thought, Dr. Busch. I guess change still makes me nervous, huh? But, change is good--right, Dr. Busch? So, I will. Shall we continue?” Solya apologized, blushing.

“No worries” her therapist assured pleasantly.

“Um…good, good, then,” Solya returned.

“And, yes, Ms Amarante, change is indeed a good thing—a great thing—and, also, to many people, a frightening thing, “Dr Busch agreed, “But, you've grown so much, Ms. Amarante. I

“Uh, yeah…”

Dr. Busch smiled at Solya warmly. `Still a bit antsy…but, she is improving by leaps and bounds! She's come so far!' Solya bit her lip a little and finally made eye contact with her therapist. “Actually, “Dr. Busch continued, “ I was just noting how the way you recognized and immediately handled your potential anxiety attack was impressive and shows lots of growth in the areas of self-acceptance and coping skills.”

“Yeah, beats last time when I barfed all over your carpet,” Solya mumbled, “I'm still willing to pay for the cleaning bill, Doc!”

“And put our elite cleaning staff out of a job? Now, how could we ever hold our heads up high again after having been involved in such a…scandal?” Dr. Busch replied, humor in her words, “Builds character, ya know…”

“How about that…oh, the pity of it all…I'm so very ashamed,” Solya added, bowing her head in mock shame, giggling a little. `Wow, my shrink is so cool! She really does know how to calm me down. Gotta love her!'

“So true! You've changed a lot, Sol…I'm glad you're able to come down from your anxiety on your own, now—and much quicker, I might add! Go, girl!” Dr. Busch encouraged. “Wait, did I just say…Go girl? Um, time to pump my brakes.”

“Teeny Bopper moment?” Solya asked, raising an eyebrow, laughing inside at the `younger jargon' her therapist chose to use.

“Teeny Bopper moment,” Dr. Busch agreed, easily enough, “But, enough fun…time to pick that brain, as you say. I can gush on and on, all day, about your development. What I'd like to know is what you see happening to you, mentally and emotionally. The good, the bad and the ugly, Ms Amarante…so, do tell.”

Solya fidgeted with the wet paper towel she never threw away until it ripped in her hand, then balled it up and tossed it in the basket, just making the shot. “Swish!” she proclaimed, chuckling nervously. She turned back to Dr. Busch, smiling meekly at her. “Oh…yeah. Okay, well, I think I'm getting better with recognizing when I get anxious and dealing with it before it gets complicated. I stop and breathe and try to analyze the situation; like if it's really real or something I'm assuming, that may or may not be the case. And what I've noticed lately is things aren't as big as I use d to make them out to be—not as unattainable or impossible—and, when I think on this that way, they're really not that serious.”

“Hmmm…I see…” Dr. Busch thought aloud.

“Yeah…right,” Solya continued, gathering a fortifying breath, “Doc, for years, I've set myself up to fall—to fail—before I even had a chance. Before I ever gave myself a chance. That's not good. Yeah, my childhood wasn't exactly the stuff of dreams and my life, in general, hasn't been an picnic, either; still, you showed me that my past doesn't have to dictate my future—doesn't have to rule my life and doesn't have to be the `be all and end all' of my entire psyche. I love that word, by the way—psyche. But, seriously, Doc, I know I can be…well…okay. And, I get that, now.”

“Indeed.” Dr. Busch replied.

“And,” Solya continued, “That's why I've spent the last 2 weeks on a plan—a really great one, Doc!”

“I take it you're excited of your development. I'm really pleased with my efforts! Well, do proceed!”

“I'm really pleased with my efforts!” Solya exclaimed enthusiastically. She paused for a minute, grinning like an idiot. `Okay, calm down, girl,' she told herself, at the first sign of fluttering in her belly, `No hurling today!'

Dr. Busch nodded, still writing notes, quirking a half smile at Solya. “By all means, Solya, do tell!”

Dr. Busch, Solya knew, only referred to her by first name when she was duly impressed or intrigued. This expression leant Solya courage and she cleared her throat and pulled a stapled booklet out of her backpack. Taking a deep breath, she flipped the booklet open and began.

“Dr. Busch, I'm ready—really really—to start over!! I want to be healthy in every way. Not just emotionally and mentally, but physically, as well. We've talked of my reluctance to lose weight and I did the Pro-Con list as you said.

The Pros were: 1. Health

2. Strength

3. Vitality

4. Decrease in probability of developing any weight-related family illnesses

5. More comfort, socially

6. My Pop's will be happy

7. I'll live longer

8. More personal interactions…” she paused, thinking that one over, “Though, I'm really comfy with my current circle of friends, Doc…ah well…um,

9. Cheaper/Easier to find clothing and,

10. Less back pain.”

“Wow, you really did your homework! Not bad! Did you find any cons, Solya?”

“Actually, yeah…um, The Cons:

1a. I'm a hemophiliac

1b. The fact that, because I'm a hemophiliac, and am at high risk for most, if not all most invasive surgeries of any kind, things didn't look very promising. Damn it Doc! Sorry…didn't mean that. But, I mean, HELL!! After 2 weeks of calling around and getting referred and re-referred and re-re-referred and, well, you get me—nada! No gastroenterologists or bar iatric specialists will recommend me to anyone for the GB. Crap. Murphy's Law at it's crappiest! Oh well, what can ya do?

2. The fear of failure

3. Lack of motivation.

4. Cravings…I mean, come on, Doc—I love Chocolate, Pepsi, and Butter Pecan Ice-cream! And, yes, diet anything sucks…well, except for those Lean Pockets and Diet Mt. Dew; there're actually pretty good!

Dr. Busch nodded, with a chuckle, inclining her head as a cue for Solya to keep going.

“`Kay,” Solya continued, “Let's see… 5. Going it alone—well, no…gotta take that one off. I've got PB, D, you and that support group you suggested. Okay, 5. The costs of gyms—not working, right now. 5b. I'm seriously out of shape, Doc…exercise isn't exactly always in the forefront of my mind. I guess that might fit in with #3, kind of. So, then, yeah…that's it. Yup. Uh huh. Looks like the Pros outweigh the Cons, huh?”

“Hmmm, sounds like,” Dr. Busch answered

Solya took another deep breath and began again, “Yeah, I thought so, myself. So, with all that in mind, I believe I'm ready!” Solya reached over to the water cooler and pushed the button to release the water into a Styrofoam cup. “You guys really ought to consider biodegradable cups,” Solya muttered under her breath.

Her therapist heard her and nodded absently. `Too much like right for the clinic Iwork for,' she mused to herself, absently, while eyeing Solya carefully as she sipped her water.

“Oh, gracious, that's good water!” Solya admitted, smacking her lips a little.

`She looks really nervous…and kind of thirsty.' Dr. Busch noted mentally, passing a Trazadone promotional mug and pen to Solya, noting her constant swallowing as she fiddled with the nozzle on the water cooler.

“Here…have a freebie.”

“Aw, yeah—thanks, Doc! Free corporate merchandise…gotta love the F word! Cool mug—ooooooh, it has one of those screw on tops! Coolness! Eat cha heart out, Starbucks.” Solya proclaimed, “Oh, and I do love this pen, Doc! So, how long do you think this time? Two weeks…three?”

“The ink lasted 3 weeks for me, so far…I'm betting on 4 weeks before it dies on me,” Dr. Busch estimated, rolling her eyes when the session buzzer went off, “Well, that's all the time we've got, today, folks! Join us next week when Solya answers the age old question—pause for dramatic music…Dun, dun, duuuuuun—“Where do we go from here?” That and, possibly more promotional items on the next exciting installment of…take it home, Solya!”

“As the Brain Melts!” Solya laughed, doing the bump with her therapist and ending with a high 5, and an over exaggerated bow, “You have got to be the coolest, funniest, most real therapist I've ever met…man, this is unreal! It's almost funny…so, same Bat time, same Bat channel?”

“Hey, whatever pays the bill. I kid, I kid. You're not half bad yourself, Solya…actually, you're pretty great! And don't you forget that,” her therapist returned with a wink and a giggle, bowing back at Solya before she turned to leave the room, “Sayonara, Solya-san!”

“Drat, therapy's so fun—Oh my God, I can't believe I actually said that—that I actually never finish the finer points of my plans! But, it sure was a nice 45 minutes! Still…”

“Oh, that would be because you think too hard, too much and too long…” Jerrod whispered into her ear, as he hugged her from behind, earning a surprised choke from his best friend, “And you're a friggin' perfectionist…oh, and you're your own worst critic, Sol.”

“Gee…thanks?” Solya laughed helplessly, trying to wriggle out of his hold, “PB, we're in a professional building—”

“That my Great Grandmother owns.”

“Be that as it may, PB, I don't think this will be—“

“A problem because you were the last appointment for the day for anyone on this floor?”

“Still, you rude thing…and get off my GOMs, you, you, Tickle Monster from Hell! PLEASE, PB! I gotta piss!”

“Now that's ladylike.”

“You think?”

“No…not really…”

“Deal with it; I just had 3 cups of water in 45 minutes. Now scat!” she ordered, leaning forward with the threat of toppling them both if he didn't let go.

`Hmmmm, threatening to face plant, PB. Not really a good idea right about now, ya know!' she scolded herself, as her bladder protested the sudden pressure from her change in posture.

“You're lucky I bought those jeans for you, Sol…okay, you've got 3 minutes…and I'm timing you, “Jerrod said, letting her go and setting his watch alarm, “Okay—GO!”

“What the fuck is this—2ndgrade? Boy, go sit down in the waiting room and read a 4-year-old Reader's Digest or some such magazine—increase your word power or some such shit like that! And get me a cup of water, while you're at it…” Solya rebutted, suddenly crossing her legs and rocking in classic `Pee Pee Dance' form, “Uh oh, shouldn't have mentioned liquid,”

“Oh, that reminds me—I've got a new word for you when you get out, Sol!”

“Yeah…gotta go PB…can't talk...must…drain…lizard—wait, what'd I just say?” Solya muttered brokenly, trying to concentrate on making it to the toilet in time.

“Yeah, you know I heard that one…go on, before you defile yourself!” Jerrod laughed at Solya, as she turned the corner towards the Ladies Room.

`I'm a grown woman…I will notpee myself!' She chanted over and over again, until she got a clean stall—stocked with toilet paper and a clean toilet seat—and just barely made it to, well, drain.

Seven minutes later, Solya bopped out of the bathroom, singing off key. Jerrod shook his head and laughed, listening to his friend purposely sing horrible, and utterly male, a song she only knew 1/3 of the words to.

./' I'm an old cowhand, from the Rio Grande

./' And I learned to ride `fore I learned to stand

./' I'm a good six shot so don't Playa Hate

./' If alone and horny, I masturbate

./' Well, that was a joke. So, don't instigate

./' Yippee Tae Bo Kanye

“You…need Jesus…soon, girl!” Jerrod mumbled loudly enough for her to hear, shaking his head once more, “At least you got the first two lines right, this time, Sol. Shall we?”

“We shall,” Solya agreed, taking Jerrod's arm in hers and strolled out of the Medical building together.

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Five hours later, a very full and rather tipsy Jerrod Domingo and Solya Amarante stumbled into her house. After using the bathroom, getting a small pot of coffee started, they headed to her bedroom. They proceeded to scoot to the top of her bed and watched the 1977 Super bowl on video, curled up in a light fleece cover. Solya leaned on Jerrod's shoulder and he draped his arm around her shoulder.

`I am notdrunk—so…so, there! I just feel mellow, that's all! Humph! Tease me about myliquor limit, will she? Once again, it's on!' Jerrod huffed to himself. About 30 seconds later, he was pinching and poking her upper arm, over and over till she squealed in barely repressed discomfort.

`What is he—12? Oh, I've got something for him!' Solya cackled with glee, in her mind. In retaliation, she licked him in the ear and stuck her index finger in a twisted repeatedly.

“Eww! Okay, that's it!” Jerrod growled playfully, flipping Solya onto her stomach, straddling her lower back and locking her arms back.

“Um…OW! Get off me, PB”

“Say you're sorry.”

“Hmmmmmmm….hmmmmm….hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm… ;.well, let me ponder that…no.”

“Solya…” Jerrod reiterated in a sing song tone, rocking back and forth on the small of her back, “Say it.”

Solya hissed in discomfort. True her arms were a little sore from the position he had her in—add the fact that Jerrod didn't always know how strong he was when he was “mellow”—but, more so was the quickly returning burn in her bladder from the 12 light beers she guzzled with him in the `Drink You Under The Bar' contest they decided to engage in, at the neighborhood tavern. “Sorry sore ass loser—I only beat him by 3 beers!” Solya mumbled to herself.

“I can hear ya, you know…gonna say it?”

“I'm sorry! Now get up! Nature screams and I must answer!” Solya yelled, muttering the last part in an almost whisper, “Yeah, I'm sorry. Sorry you're a damn goofy ass nerd when you're drunk.”

“What was that?”

“Erm…nothing…not a thang. So, you gonna get up any time soon?”

“Ohhhhhhhh…my bad,” Jerrod relented, getting off her back and popping her hard on her behind, laughing as she clenched her butt cheeks and squirmed/ran towards the bathroom.

“Oooooooooh! Jerrod, if I piss myself, I'm gonna rub poison Ivy on your man-man when you fall asleep!” Solya threatened from the bathroom entrance, as she unlooked her belt and struggled to unzip her jeans in time.

Jerrod winced, cupping his privates protectively, as he frowned in her general direction. With a chuckle, he decided to tempt fate. “The Chesapeake Bay…Niagara Falls…The Patapsaco River…a 40 ounce Steel Reserve pouring slooooooooooowly into a tall, cold, glass…Mississippi River…a drippy faucet…The Patuxent River…the ocean churning around violently in a hurricane…The River Nile…an ice cold Pepsi with the slush floating in it…toilets flushing over and over and over and o—”

“Hah! I know what you're trying to do and it didn't work! I made it! Dummy!”

“Wow. Now that hurt.” Jerrod replied in monotone, “So, how was therapy?”

“Don't try to change the subject on me, Jerrod!”

“No, really…seriously…what happened? Did the good shrink like our ideas?”

“Didn't get as far as all of that…but, I had an anxiety attack,” Solya admitted, quickly finishing the rest of her sentence when she heard Jerrod's quick intake of breath, “An almost attack! I caught it and calmed it down. Calm down, PB!”

"And, you're okay? You're sure?"

"Yesssssssssssss, Jer. Don't blow a testicle over it."

"Such a way with words, M'Lady," Jerrod drawled.

"Don't I?" Solya returned with a wink. "Look, I'm feeling it. I'm going to bed, man."

"Me, too."

And they both crawled into her bed and, after a tussle over the cover, fell asleep in odd positions together.

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“Quite possibly, Ms. Amarante,” Dr. Busch sighed, wondering when her patient, who was rather reluctant today, would stop trying to dodge her questioning. `What's up with Solya, today?”

“Oh, how rude of me! How was that trip, anyway?”

“Don't think I can't tell you're stalling…and have been for the last…” Dr. Busch paused, checking her wristwatch, “25 minutes. Tsk tsk, Solya. Your exact words, our first session: “I ain't no punk—bring it, Doc! I can take anything you throw at me.” Sound about right?”

“Delusions or grandeur?”

“Try again, Solya…”

“Impatience and overconfidence?”

“Some, yes, maybe. I'll grant you that. What I'm getting at is there's nothing to be nervous about, by now, is there. Whatever you say, you know I will analyze with an open mind…and cheat sheets from the latest College Psych books—that was a joke, by the way—but, seriously, go ahead. You were really excited last session and I want to hear what I missed.”

“Not much,” Solya muttered, trying to will away the twisting of her stomach she generally encountered when taking on new things.

“Let me be the judge of that, hmmmm?”

“There's not much more to add to it, really—I really like this space, by the way, but—”

“Solya…”

“But, you've gotta admit, his office needs some plants…and a new coat of paint wouldn't hurt, either, Doc,” Solya stretched, trying to change the subject of today's session for the 8th time.

`Why's she so nervous? I wonder…' her therapist pondered. “Anything…significant happen in the last 2 weeks, Ms. Amarante? Anything at all?”

“There's this jazz concert and dinner—a fundraiser—coming up at the Harbor Court Hotel. I really wanted to go, but money's funny and change is strange—between J-O-Bs, right now...”

“Yes, I do recall you mentioning that. Go on,” Dr Busch encouraged.

“Well, you see…there was this old Junior High classmate I ran into and he asked me out…ironic.”

“Ironic?”

“Yeah…well, he said he remembered I really liked jazz and R&B and he thought I'd enjoy it and he'd like to catch up on old times. To be honest, I didn't think he noticed me enough, back in school, to even think to remember something like that. I mean, we had maybe a dozen conversations, tops,” Solya admitted, twisting her Capri's and staring at the floor.

“I see.”

`Hah…the old comfort zone beinga shakenup issue…poor thing. I hope it wasn't a majorsetback.' Dr. Busch shifted in her seat and thought of how to get Solya to discuss this event. `I guess I couldgo the roundabout way, but Solya's more perceptive than she gives herself credit for…what to do, what to do…'

“And, before you ask, I don't want to talk about it. Well, I guess I can tell you this much: yes, I was uncomfortable and I was way out of my element, but I didn't run. I told him I'd think about it.” Solya admitted at length.

“Why do I feel like there's a huge piece missing from this puzzle?”

“You're not gonna let up, are you, Doc?” Solya asked in a defeated way.

“I can. If I feel my line of questioning will do more harm than good, yes. This time, though, I feel the need to ask you to proceed. As always, it's your call, though, Solya. I'd like to know, if you're comfortable enough to tell me. But, no, I won't push you.”

Solya looked her therapist in the eyes and straightened her posture. She didn't do this much and Dr. Busch knew it. `Must be big; will she disclose?'

“One of my worst phobias is the fear of intimacy, according to you, anyway—maybe it's truer, now, than ever. Have you ever been in love, Doc?”

“Yes, I have in the past and I am, currently. My husband is a sweetie—gotta love that man!”

“Well, to weird folks like me, it's not that simple. I may have been, but I'm not sure. I don't know what it is, really—don't really have a lot of practice with it and all. Well, you know about my childhood—can't really say it's been taught to me, Doc. Well, the guy I told you about was the only guy I ever came close to liking. Whatcha call it? Puppy Love? A crush?”

“Those are a few terms, yes.”

“I dunno,” Solya continued with a heavy sigh, “It was always kinda scary to me, though…the reciprocation part of the deal. Well, I didn't expect a good response. So, I punked out and dropped it. And since I didn't really expect it to happen like ever—me, of all people, in a relationship--I just didn't ever pursue it. I mean, low self-esteem or whatever you wanna call it, I'm not totally immune to appreciative looks from the opposite sex. I'm not that dense, nor am I that naive. I know some guys like thick girls. I just couldn't open myself up to the possibility that anyone would see any worth in me, I guess. Okay, enough of this, Doc. I'm getting uncomfortable, now.”

“Solya, you have said a mouthful! Much more than I expected! Thank you for trusting me with all of that. We have a bit of time left—looks like seven minutes—if you'd like to pick up where we left off last week.”

“Sure. I recall you saying that goal-minded people tend to dwell on overwhelming things less because the have their eyes on a specific prize and the other things in life, that can't be controlled or changed at the time being tend to take a back seat to the main goals set…or, something to that extent.”

“Hmmmm…sounds like something I'd say,” Dr. Busch assented.

“Well, with that in mind, I decided to try to remake me and how I view myself. I've been keeping this journal,” Solya went on, passing the stapled booklet to her therapist, “It's really helped me! Over the last two weeks, I saw the nutritionist you suggested and the physical therapist. Between them both, I lost 7 pounds!”

“This is very encouraging, Solya!” Dr. Busch stated a few moments later, after skimming the booklet. You're off to a great start and I encourage you to keep this up. It will be really effective in the long run. Also, I would suggest you keep a Food Mood Journal; simply put, it's a log of when you eat, the time you eat, what it is, and how you feel before, during and after consumption of said food items. Is this a good idea to you, Ms. Amarante?”

Solya beamed at her therapist and nodded excitedly. Soon after though, she looked down with a determined frown. “I think I've learned to love myself more, Doctor. The accepting of love and praise and all that, from others…well…you see…it's still challenging. But, I'm not giving up! I'm just not as in-the-know about certain things as other people are.”

“Like…?”

“Um…certain social interactions.”

“The potential date, perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” Solya allowed.

“Well, I'd say you're well on your way to making positive changes in your life, Solya. `No' isn't always a bad word. Just try not to completely close yourself off to new things. Maybe a date will be fun…it may suck to the 7 levels of Hell…but, it will be an experience and a learning experience. My advice?”

“Okay—shoot, Dr. Busch! Enlighten me!”

“It's a free evening out…entertainment and a free meal. Something you enjoy and a mystery to be unraveled. And, deep down, don't you wonder what his motivation might be?”

“Well, sure. I guess he does have my curiosity peaked…a little.”

“Then, go for it! Have fun! Be yourself! It's the real you he remembers, right?”

“Well, yeah…I haven't changed much, since then.”

“Then there's no need for fronts and putting up guards, I'd say. Just catch up on old times and go with it. Allow yourself some good times to replace the bad…and tell me all the juicy details next week, darn it! I'm just joshing' ya, Ms. Amarante.”

“You…are…touched. You know that, Doc? Okay, I'll think about it.”

“That's all I ask.”

The buzzer went off and Dr. Busch passed the booklet back to Solya with a bright smile and a warm handshake. “My, how time flies when you're examining one's psyche…and yours is so very Rubix Cubey, as you put it. I'll never tire of your interesting terms for therapy, Solya. Well, same time, Solya fans! Next week…The Secret Life of Solya!”

“The live version…better than Scared Straight…better than the 1977 Super bowl…better—”

“Better end this now before your friend out there falls asleep or comes-a-knocking, impatiently…again,” Dr. Busch warned.

“Oh, Jer? Is that all? He'll be alright, Doc.”

“But,I won't…I mean, just imagine! The soul-crushing, crippling guilt; the many, many sleepless nights of turmoil; the nightmares of Treasure Trolls eating the last Drumstick in the freezer on a hot summer evening…and I'm broke…and my legs won't move…and then…then…then…my satellite service goes out—right when I'm recording the Three Stooges Marathon!!! Noooooooo!!!” her rather silly therapist shrieked playfully.

“Oh, perish the thought…I guess I shall spare you that unpleasant experience. I'm just so sweet that way. And so very cool, too,” Solya bragged, popping her collar.

“Ah, yes…that you are, Solya. Oh, remember, I'm on vacation starting tomorrow—gotta get those souvenirs and I'm still searching for that bobbing Hula Girl for my car, yanno—so, no session next week. You shall be missed like that green stuff growing in the crisper in my fridge…so, feel honored! Nay, privileged!” her therapist rambled.

“Oh, how could I not? After all, I'm penicillin—I ROCK!”

“You…we…are so silly. Bye, Solya.”

“See you in two weeks, Doc—thanks for picking my brain!” Solya joked. With a 2-fingered salute, she made it to the water cooler and got a cup of water and left the office with a sneaky little smirk on her face. Stretching, she pondered her options.

`Steps or elevator—sweat or ease? Oh, the choices…'

Staring at the stairwell door, she sighed, “The things I do to lose an ounce or two…oh well…here I go.”

Halfway up the first flight, she grimaced, taking a breath. “Okay, so I'm still utterly out of shape. At least I can make it up these stairs…slowly…holding up turtles, snails and little old ladies,” she muttered in a self roast, huffing heavily as she slowly walked up the two fights to the main lobby.

`In through the nose…hold for three seconds…out the mouth'

After the 10th attempt at this, practically crawling up the last half flight, she gave up with a grimace.

“Okay, that's like self-asphyxiation and I need to breathe, damn it!” she laughed to herself as her stepmother, Denise, and her best friend came into view over the top step.

“These chairs are too hard—I think I've got `roids!” Denise Amarante muttered, rubbing her behind.

“Ewwwww, that's just nasty, D!” Solya teased, using the nicknames she gave her stepmother years ago. “Yeah, you're touched! And, don't touch me!”

“So, how'd it go, Sol?” Denise inquired anxiously, ignoring the good-natured crack from her stepdaughter.

“I've gotta tell you, D, that journal was a great idea! Doc Busch was really impressed! She thinks I'm ready, now—to move towards defining myself and I gotta say I agree with her wholeheartedly!”

“Well AWE-to-the-SOME! Go, Sol! Go, Sol! Go, go, go, Sol!” Denise cheered.

“Teeny bopper moment?” Solya jested.

“No, dahling…that was 100% Oldschooligan! That's my word, by the way…but, what the hey. I'm generous—you can use it!”

“Um….no thanks, D. Just…no.” Solya chuckled.

“Kids these days,” Denise replied with a shake of the head and a giggle.

`Now, where is PB?' Finding him nodding in a plastic chair, she contemplated dousing him but changed her mind. `He's lucky I'm thirsty!' She drank the water and went to the bathroom when she realized that may not have been the brightest idea ever, when she suddenly had to tinkle. `I'm worse than a 5-year old, drinking when I knowI already have to go soon. Oh well, at least the toilet's close'

Coming out of the restroom, she found a drowsy looking Jerrod talking to her stepmother. `I'm soglad I didn't dry my hands.' She thought devilishly, as she flicked water droplets on Jerrod's neck, giggling madly as he shrieked like a girl and jumped about 2 feet.

“You are sad, PB!” Solya guffawed as he advanced on her.

“Not in the lobby, kiddies,” Denise warned, tugging on Jerrod's arm and staring meaningfully at Solya.

“Alright…” they muttered in unison.

`Wait till later, it's on!' Jerrod plotted in his head.

Jerrod wrapped an arm around his two favorite girls and heaved a good-natured sigh. “Wow, the phenomenal ladies in my life! We've got one about to publish her first work of fiction—already touted to be a page-turner and quite possibly New your Times best-selling authoress by a slew of publishers and online writer's guilds—and a veritable legend in the making, set to bust a new record in life, as well as internationally! Go fig! How'd I get so lucky? I can say I knew you guys `way back when'!”

“Well, to quote Chaka Khan, `Don't let it go to your head, now',” Denise kidded.

“Yeah, yeah…this calls for a treat! Lunch on me! You chicks up for it?” Jerrod offered. Two heads nodding feverishly, complete with goofy grins, and two hand sporting the “OK” signal where his answers.

Dragging the two ladies to a McDonald's, then laughing and turning away, to go to a mid-priced Italian Eatery across the street, the `Fabulous Five' headed off for a nice afternoon of food, fun and conversation.

<(^^<) <(^^)> (>^^)> (>^^<) <(^^<) <(^^)> (>^^)> (>^^<) <(^^<) <(^^)> (>^^)> (>^^<) <(^^<) <(^^)> (>^^)>

“Solya, I finished designing your Yahoo 360 page and I'm tweaking the one you have on YouTube...um, Sol…are you sure? I mean, are you sure you're really ready for this? The public can be really cruel, brutally honest and all—once I put this video log into effect and post the pics, well, you know how bored and ignorant people can be online…” he trailed off, sighing softly and scratching his upper arms, a nervous habit of his that usually signaled he was trying to be honest about a potentially hurtful or uncomfortable topic. With a deep exhale, he continued, “It's just…Sol…I know, firsthand, how tough you are—physically—you're just like one of the fellas and we all love that about you! You are MAD cool and fun and just all-around good peoples, but, you are still a woman, when it's all said and done. But, Solya, I've known you since you were knee high to a chicken box and I've seen where you came from and where you still are, now. Yes, you're getting stronger, more self-assured and all, but…Sol…”

“PB…Jer, it's not like th—”

“I'm not done, Sol,” he proceeded, ignoring her attempt to refute anything he was about to say, “And you're not listening! Just shut the fuck up for once! And just…LISTEN! You're my best friend and I just don't want to see you crushed aga—”

“It won't happen, PB! Have some faith, damn it! I mean, what the hell, man?” Solya cut in sharply, instantly regretting the tone of her words as she took in the concerned look on her friends' face. Waving her hands to dismiss any potential rebuttals, she shook her head slowly and, in a much calmer tone, continued. “I don't think it'll happen again, PB…at least, not this time—you won't let it. You'll be there for me, right? And you said, yourself, that I'm much stronger than I was before, so—”

“No! Damn it, Solya! I can't see you crushed like that again! You…you didn't see yourself the way everyone else did. You were so defeated—man, you were downright fragile—it hurt me! You didn't even know you were in that deep. You were so loaded down with crap and, heaven help me, you were in such denial that no one—not even me, your main man—could get through to you. It was the hardest seven months of my life and it really scared me `cause I didn't know, didn't believe anything—anything—could affect you so intensely as that did. So, because of that, I need your word, Sol. If it gets too hard, too trying or too overwhelming, you'll pull out. Promise me? Promise me because I can't do it and I can't see you go through it again, either. Okay? So, will you? Will you give me your word?” he nearly choked out, desperately to Solya, in a tone expressed only 3 other times in her life.

Solya stood stock-still in amazment and solemn realization. She knew of his conviction in this—Jerrod was a real `man's man' and this display of anger and concern was not to be taken lightly, for he was no slouch, emotionally, but even the strongest of people have their breaking points and she never ever wanted to see her best friend driven to such lengths for her stubbornness—so, she sucked it up and acquiesced. Solya nodded once, reaching out to pat Jerrod on the back. He pulled her into a tight hug, resting his nose in the crook of her neck. Quickly becoming uncomfortable, due to the sentiment behind the action, as well as the closeness of their bodies, Solya patted his back heavily and tried to disengage herself from the embrace.

“A'ight, yo—get off me,” she laughed, hoping the “buddy buddy” tactic worked. Jerrod just hugged her tighter, planting a fierce kiss on her neck.

“You mean a lot to me, Solya. You know that? My life doesn't add up right when you're not okay and with me with me—feel me?” Jerrod whispered into her neck, “Well, I hope that just made sense. I…I don't know. Well, you're really smart, Sol—I'm sure you got me. Anyway, just…don't try too hard, okay? And ask for help when you need it—that's what friends do.”

Shaking slightly, arms at her sides, Solya gulped hard and knew Jerrod could feel it. Wincing, she nearly whined, “Um…Jer…uh, close”

Suddenly realizing how long he'd been holding her, and her stiffened posture, he released her. “Oh, let me let you go, Solya…I gotta be to work in 40 minutes. I'll see if I can't save you some leftovers, later. Peace!”

Solya laughed shakilly and waved her friend goodbye.

“He oughtta know, by now, not to do that,” Solya grumbled with a shudder…then, a shiver.

`Okay, Sol, shake it off! That's Jerrod…PeanutButter, for goodness sakes! Pump. Your. Brakes.'

Many emotions afforded to all, she imagined. Not so easy for her. Never so easy.

“So, my therapist had a valid point—she always does, a darn smart, cool, nice, friggin utterly intuitive woman! Nah,” Solya relented with a huff, “Dr. Busch's cool…I'll be…fair.”

But, as she sat there, pondering her past, she could only come up with one conclusion; knowing that love just never seemed meant to be—not really, not for her—she still strived to know the illusory emotion—must be a dream, yet, even the weirdest dreams can come true, can't they? So, the wish remains true…

“Love on my terms—never getting hurt, never being vulnerable, never having to change anything about me…so, I'll learn and I'll know and…and…well, that'll be enough. At least then I can say I knew love. Yes, then I can say it. To be cherished and to be…special.”

A/N: Evil cliffie? Nahhhhhh…just wanted to give a little background to the fill in gaps and help some of you readers go from “Huh?”to “Ohhhhhhhhh!”LOL! I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations. Oh, the nightmares? They're really vivid flashbacks of her past—and, let me warn you all, it's…not…pretty. You've been warned—more of that within the next 2 or 3 chapters. Your comments help me to write better and elaborate things when needed. I write because it's fun and creative. At the risk of sounding cliché, I also write for the joy of the craft, the peace it gives me and the folks that enjoy it (and to help lift my writer's block, so I can ACTUALLY finish my REAL book). Till next chapter…Lata!