*is looking over her living room one last time, hugging herself and smiling at the noises coming from the kitchen, where she left Ian, a newly arrived Caleb, and her new yippy puppy*

*jumps slightly when she hears the phone ring, yells that she's got it and bounds over to the coffee table, hurriedly answering the phone*

Hello?

Ian and I went to buy Puppy some things last night. Okay, I went to buy Puppy some things, Ian went to buy the bloody store. Anyhow, Puppy is now the proud owner of a lovely set of food and water bowls and a disgustingly large assortment of toys, which are currently strewn about the house.

But right this second, Puppy is in the kitchen with me, chewing on the bottom of my jeans. And me, I've spent the day trying my hand once more at baking. Only this time, thanks to Betty Crocker and Grandad, I successfully made two cakes!

*covers the second carefully iced cake with plastic wrap and places it inside a bloody huge cooler filled with every flavor of ice cream she could find, carefully replaces the lid and races the puppy over to the table, where she earlier set out her girly pink and glittery stationery set*

Yeah, so after the pet supply store – where I did manage to procure a lovely Pooper Scooper and a fucking awesome slingshot – I was overtaken by a massive wave of guilt, and so I made Ian stop at the grocery store. And there? I cleaned them out of ice cream. Completely. Only this time it's not for me.

*sits, sighs deeply, picks up her pen and starts to write*

( Tove... )

*is in her kitchen, the backdoor and all the windows open as she beats the blaring fire alarm into submission with a broom, the kitchen full of smoke from her third burnt cake*

*finally manages to bang the cover off of the fire alarm, silencing it, and turns to survey the smoking cake on the counter*

So much for apologizing for my behavior with baked goods, I guess.

*sighs and tosses it out the backdoor, to join the other two cakes she's ruined, then pauses to look over her hazy kitchen, which is entirely covered by every dish she owns, all of which are now dirty from her efforts to bake one damn cake*

*looks down at herself to see that her sweater and jeans are covered in cake batter, and reaches up to find that her hair and face are also splattered*

So this morning, I went to see the stupid bloody shrinky person Caleb found for me, just like I promised Ian I would. And just like he promised me he would, Ian's gone to get me a puppy! *grins and bounces back over to the counter, determined that the fourth attempt is going to be successful*

The shrinky bloke seems to think I'm depressed, and that with the proper medication and, of course, his continued services, I'll be well in no time. Self-aggrandizing tosser. Anyway, I've decided that baking is going to be my new thing. I tried denial for a while, but that sort of just ended up with me getting my stomach pumped, and that wasn't very fun. And then I tried more denial, only with the addition of mind-altering substances, but that didn't work out so well either, because, well, I'm sort of in the tabloids now and Ian wasn't at all pleased with me. And let's be honest, Ian's like the only person left that gives a damn about me (besides Mikey, of course, oh, and CalebandMumandDad), so I'm going to do my best to not be a bother from now on.

*clenches her jaw and narrows her eyes at her fourth bowl of cake batter*

And I am going to bake him a bloody cake to make up for being such a needy, whiney, pathetic pain in the ass. *glares down at the bowl* I AM.

*clutches the bowl to her chest, stirring the batter madly, not caring when it slops over the side and onto her bare feet, her tongue sticking out in concentration as she stabs at the lumps in the batter that obstinately refuse to go away, no matter what she does*

*removes earplugs, gets out of bed, and grumbles himself downstairs for something to drink*

To drastically understate things: Keira has not been herself lately. Correct me if I’m wrong, but the last time I checked, she was sweet and romantic, not hedonistic and debauched. I don’t have a standing objection to any of her activities per se, but come now, night after night after night? And so soon after… *trails off and sighs* She insists that the pills were an accident. I’m not exactly inclined to believe her.

*can’t find a drop of alcohol anywhere, as Keira has consumed it all over the last few days* *huffs and puts the kettle on instead*

Under any other set of circumstances I would simply leave, it’s not as if this isn’t her house and her life, after all. But from what I understand she’s booted Caleb to the curb and Michael has gone back to Mr. Law, and leaving her alone just now… I shudder to think.

*gets up when the kettle whistles and pours himself some tea, settling down at the kitchen table with it*

My interference was not exactly welcomed the last time I tried, and I had to retreat, but I’m beginning to wonder if it isn’t time to have another charge at the fortress gate, as it were.

*walks into the house with her purchase from the drug store*

*reads instructions and sets timer for five minutes*

*paces around until timer goes off*

*walks into the bathroom looks at the stick*

FUCK!!!!

*walks into the bedroom in shock and wondering what to do*

You know what?

Fuck sad.

*rifles through her closet, snatching the skimpiest dress she owns off its hanger and wiggling into it, before grabbing a tiny handbag and a pair of strappy shoes*

Caleb's been driving me mad watching me all the time, just waiting for me to do something, asking me all sorts of bloody questions. Oh, but this morning? I woke up to find him packing my bags for me. Bastard. He said that he had to go back and that he couldn't just leave me here and that he was taking me with him.

*quickly applies lipstick and eyeliner, deciding not bother with fixing her hair*

Naturally, I've kicked him out.

*arranges her pillows on her bed and throws the blankets over them so that it looks like she's under the covers, just in case Ian decided to check in on her again*

Caleb says he's going to tell on me. He says I should come home to be with him and our mum and dad. He says I shouldn't be alone. But I am alone. I've been alone for quite a fucking while now. No point in getting used to having them around me when I'm just going to have to come back. England's not home anymore. This is.

*grabs her handbag and her shoes, and then quietly sneaks out of her bedroom window rather than risk coming across Ian and having to face the subsequent interrogation*

But I've decided that since I have to be here, I don't have to be here all by myself. I'm fucking young and rich and famous and there are plenty of people out there who would like to be with me. In every sense. So I've decided that I'm just going to start giving people what they want. They get me, and I get to not be by myself. And it's time to start acting my bloody age, anyway. I need to be twenty-one. I need to be partying and dabbling in illicit substances and having all sorts of drunken, anonymous sex. I live in L.A., for Christ's sake. It's time I explore the seedier side of things for once.

*holds her handbag between her teeth and clutches her shoes in one hand, as she climbs down the trellis on the side of the house, jumping off halfway down and falling on her ass*

*lies back in the grass and laughs, then picks herself up, slips her shoes on, and sprints over to her car, looking back to see if Ian's caught her and grinning when she realizes she's managed to elude him*

In fact, that sounds like as good a plan as any. Besides, Mikey's trampoline is just sitting back there ignored, and we just can't have that now, can we?

*jumps in her car, starts the ignition and peels off in the direction of the nearest fucking club, fully intent on finding someone or taking something that will keep her mind off of everything else*

*is lying in bed, staring at the ceiling*

Caleb tells me I tried to kill myself. Caleb also tells me that Ian saved my life and that he and Mikey stayed with me throughout the whole ordeal. But most interesting of all, Caleb's informed me that the blame for my suicide attempt rests with Tove, or at least that's what Caleb says he told Tove. Caleb tells me all this repeatedly, while he hovers over me all bloody day and watches my every move. Lucky for me, Caleb's gone to fetch my new prescriptions, and that leaves Ian in charge of babysitting me this afternoon.

Caleb's wrong about everything, though. I didn't try to kill myself, and even if I had, it certainly wouldn't have had a bloody thing to do with Tove. Please. It was an accident. It was an accident which happened because I’m stupid and pathetic and, apparently, just a bit depressed.

*kicks the blankets off and makes her way out into the hallway, checking for Ian and heading for the stairs when she sees no sign of him*

I'm sure that Ian, at least, will think that all this was about Kate leaving. Clearly, though, Kate's abrupt departure only served as the climax of an existing problem. Still, I don't know what to bloody think about the Kate business. That note and her behavior so obviously point to Tove having done something that made her want to leave. But since I don't know what he did because no one tells me anything, and since he’s never done anything to me, I'm just going to pretend nothing happened. As far as I'm concerned, he just got back from France and that project of his is over. And he's making some changes to his house. Big ones.

*goes downstairs and sees Mikey on the couch, his back to her* *smiles and creeps over to the armchair near the head of the couch, curling up in it and hugging her legs to her chest, resting her cheek on her knees as she waits for Mikey to notice her*

*is sitting at the kitchen table in the middle of the night, staring at her glass on the table, exhausted but still not able to fucking sleep*

I am all alone here. My family's on another continent. I can count on the fingers of one hand alone the number of real friends I have. I can count on even less than that the number of friends who are what they seem and who don't suffer me out of pity.

*swallows thickly, her eyes stinging from the tears that are beginning to gather there*

( I don't fit anywhere. )

Hmph. It seems dear Kate has left us. I wonder if Keira made an advance or... perhaps something happened on the cruise. I do wish I could have spoken to her before she left. Had a proper goodbye.

Meanwhile, I believe I am Keira's only remaining house guest. I'm not sure if I should feel guilty about being such a burden, or better for not leaving the poor dear all by her lonesome.

*goes to sit out on the back porch and ponder*

*is curled up in one of the chairs on her patio, the place where she last saw Kate, staring out at her yard, still clutching Kate's note in one hand*

*returns her gaze once more to the envelope she has propped up against an as of yet unopened bottle of vodka on the table, finally giving into temptation and ripping it open, too livid to care that Kate obviously didn't want her reading it, and not at all bothered that it's not addressed to her*

*unfolds the note and blinks at the two words written there*

*drops the note on the table, numb and confused, and thinks over the past few days, about Kate's strange behavior, her sudden unwillingness to even mention Tove, and then this*

*shakes her head, her eyes welling up as she clenches her fists*

*jumps up out of her chair, grabbing the bottle and charging over to Tove's ridiculous bloody trailer, and then hurls the bottle as hard as she can at his door, seething as she watches it shatter*

*spins on her heel and goes back home, furious with herself for having been so bloody stupid, and wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed alone and cry*

So, after disappearing without a word, Mikey was thoughtful enough to call me and ask me to lug his bloody crap over to some bloody employment agency for him.

*parks the bloody car and gets out, opening the trunk and slinging a big bloody trash bag over one shoulder*

Like I said, thoughtful.

*slams the trunk and makes her way towards the damn building*

*bounds into her house, a grin on her face and a carton of ice cream in one hand* KATE?!

*bounces into the kitchen, where she finds Kate sitting at the table, staring out the window, a mug of tea sitting untouched on the table*

*quickly grabs a spoon out of a drawer and hops up on the counter, gazing at you thoughtfully as she eats her ice cream*

*curiously, around a mouthful of ice cream* Still not feeling well?

*finally arriving home from the cruise and walking back into Val's house sitting her bags down*

Ahh, land! *crashes on the couch and flips on the TV*

*wonders what Tove is up to since she is bored*

*sighs*

*stumbles back in the room tiredly, closing the door behind her and throwing her room key down on the dresser*

*looks around the room, gritting her teeth when Kate's nowhere to be seen* *kicks her shoes off angrily, pausing only when she hears the sound of someone moving around in the bathroom*

*sighs, so completely relieved that Kate's not with fucking Jack, and goes over to the bathroom door, tapping softly* Kate?

*is pacing her room, wringing her hands and frowning deeply*

I haven't seen Kate since she left last night. It's been almost a bloody day, and I still haven't seen her. I've been from one end of this bloody ship to the other, I've looked nearly everywhere, and I still can't find her.

*sinks down on the end of the bed, looking down at the floor*

But I know exactly where she is. Even before I searched the whole of the bloody ship, I knew exactly where she'd be.

*clenches her fists*

She's with Jack bloody Nicholson. The same Jack bloody Nicholson who leered at me all throughout the bloody Oscars. The same Jack bloody Nicholson who's notorious for his womanizing and debauchery. The same Jack bloody Nicholson who is not only physically repulsive, but morally reprehensible as well. The same Jack bloody Nicholson I'll be burying in my bloody backyard if he's laid so much as a bloody hand on my Kate.

*snorts and shakes her head sadly*

Only that's the thing. Because she's not my Kate. She hasn't got a bloody clue that silly little Keira fancies her. No, she's too busy hating Tove and fancying Jack bloody Nicholson to really notice me. And I'm too bloody cowardly to say anything to her, because while I would like to believe that I might have a chance, that she could feel about me the way I feel about her, I know that there's just no way. It's absolutely hopeless.

Too bad I'm too bloody stupid to let that keep me from hoping anyway.

*is lying on the bed, clutching a stack of pamphlets in her hand and swinging her legs in the air*

I've spent all bloody afternoon while Kate's been off doing God knows what to God knows whom, putting together a little itinerary for the rest of our stay.

*clears her throat* In other words, I've signed us up for some very *bites lip uncertainly* interesting classes, and Kate is going to have a bloody seizure when she finds out what I've got planned for her. *grins goofily*

...but try telling that to Kate.

Last week, when we got the tickets, Kate was very *clears her throat* reluctant to go on this trip. *sighs wearily* But, I managed to beg talk her into going on a cruise with a group of people that she bloody loathes she's not so very fond of because it's to wrap up this bloody project she hates, and because I swore on my life assured her that this wasn't some sick attempt by good Lord, she really does not at ALL care for him Tove to exact his revenge upon her for having accidentally burnt down his house. In short, she agreed and all was well. More or less.

Problem solved.

Only not really, because today we, a remarkably unenthused Kate and I, arrived at the bloody boat, and what happens? We are asked to declare which of our positively gleeful selves is the dominant and which is the submissive in our relationship.

Naturally, Kate was... *frowns thoughtfully* She wasn't much of anything, to be honest. Her face just sort of went slack and she seemed to be robbed of her capacity to speak, so that left me with the task of delightedly declaring her the dominant partner and myself the submissive.

So now that we’ve been informed not only that we are in fact in a relationship, but that we are very, very, enthusiastically into tying up and then inflicting pain upon one another – which, now that you think about it, sounds like most relationships, actually – we've only one slight problem. What's that, then?

Me.

Yes, I've already proven to be a poor partner in the short time during which we've been on this bloody cramped boat, as I've lost my new fake but not for long girlfriend to a state of relative catatonia.

And now, now I just have to figure out how to bring her around. In more ways than one. *bites lip*

*comes downstairs, still buttoning his shirt, overnight bag in one hand, cell phone pressed to his ear* Ok, I got it. No, I'm on my way. *hangs up* Shit.

*sets bag down by the front door and tiptoes back upstairs for several minutes* *comes back down with two notes folded in half and goes to set them on the coffee table in the living room, but notices an envelope already there* *picks it up and pulls out cruise tickets, frowning at them before setting them back down, unfolding one note and adding a little bit to it and leaving all three, along with a set of keys on the coffee table*





*grabs his bag and heads out the door to the airport*

Well, we are all alive, thank God. Ms. Winslet, whether by accident or design, set fire to the Christensen house. I refuse to have any dealings with Mr. Christensen, as he apparently considers a television to be far more important than such trivial things as human life.

Ms. Knightley has been kind enough to take me in. She’s a very sweet young lady, from what I can tell. I may be wrong, but she seems a bit taken with Ms. Winslet. We are also supposed to have another housemate here, a young man, I believe. I’ve not come across him yet.

Meanwhile, I need tea in a very bad way. *heads off to the kitchen, puts the kettle on, and sits down to wait for it to boil*

*slams her door and paces around her room, absolutely livid*

I cannot believe Orlando. *sits down on the side of the bed, only to jump back up immediately and resume pacing*

What a bloody child. *glowers* Both of them. Orlando for picking a fight with poor Tove who hadn’t done anything at all to him, and Tove for encouraging him and then stomping off like some bloody two-year-old. *scoffs* He doesn’t feel safe? HE’S A BLOODY GIANT. He’s THE BLOODY MISSING LINK big.

*stomps over and slams her bedroom door again, just for the hell of it*

*stomps over to the bathroom door, intent on doing the very same thing, when it swings open just as she reaches for the doorknob* *screams and puts a hand to her chest, giggling nervously once she sees it’s only Kate*