"Hello?"

"Can I come get you now?"

"For what."

"I don't feel like discussing you with the others. I need to get out of this place."

"And I care because?..."

"You loved me once, Desi. If you're going to ignore me, resent me and desert me now, then forget I ever met you, Timber Mikayla Wallace."

"No- it's okay. Come over. I rented some movies. I don't particularly feel like watching them alone. Get a pizza, or something on your way over."

"From where?"

"Oh.. Domino's. I called and ordered one a couple minutes ago. Laya," she said, using her own brand of slang.

"Aiight."

In his car, he thought to himself. I miss being able to just jump in a car and go to a club and meet somebody. And, I miss, going out. And, I miss... her. You, Christopher Alan Kirkpatrick, are in love with someone who took your name, but isn't nesicarily in love with you anymore. You, are pretty frickin' pathetic. He got out of the car to pick up the pizza.

"Last name?"

"Uh, I think she called it in under Kirkpatrick, or Wallace."

The man gave him the pizza, and as he left, he opened it. Half pineapple-and-ham, half all-pepperoni. Just the way they always used to get it.

He parked the old Beemer in the garage outside her apartment building, locked it, and went in. He went up the stairs, one by one, towards the apartment.

********

Timber went to the door and waited for him. She smirked as she thought You're letting him win, you know. But she didn't really care. She knew that he still loved her. But she didn't really care about that, either. She'd become desensitised, since they broke up. She wasn't even sure why they'd broken up anymore.

"Open up," a high-pitched voice demanded. "What movies didja get?"

"Uhm, there's Disturbing Behavior, That Thing You Do!, Billy Madison, Pleasantville and I Still Know What You Did Last Summer."

"Man, that'll keep me up all night."

"That was the initial idea, for me to keep busy. We have to watch That Thing, it's my favorite movie. You thirsty? Want a cooler?"

"I really shouldn't, bu—"

"They're strawberry kiwi."

"Okay. Give me 2 to start out."

She seemed warmer, somehow, more welcoming and not so distant as she had been before. She threw the pizza box on the coffee table, and poured herself a glass of refridgerated coffee, and dumped a wine cooler in the glass to top it off.

"You've always liked the oddest things."

"Yeah. You have too. Say, throw in Billy Madison," she said as she sat down on the couch.

********

The next morning, four movies, eight wine coolers (at least) each, a pizza, and a gallon of orange juice (between two people) later (but still pretty hammered,) Chris rolled off the couch and said "I think I'm going to be sick."

"You're probably frickin' smashed," Timber said. "I fucking am."

"What time did you get up— ahh," he said as he tried to sit up.

"I don't know. I can't read anything; it's all blurry. And I'm sure it won't be too great if you go back all fucked like that."

"I think this is the most fucked I've ever been. I've never been this hammered. I have a headache. Which way is the bathroom," he said as he staggered to his feet.

"It's down that hall," she said, pointing.

"That's a wall, I think."

"Oh. Damn."

"You wanna go clubbin' tonight? We're here for at least two weeks to rest up." He opened his mouth to say something else, but he threw up. "Oops. I missed."

"Ah, I'll clean it up later. Orange juice?"

"Sure. Thanks." He sat on a stool at the kitchen bar and looked down in the mug as though it held the answers to the world. Maybe he could try and have a half-sane conversation even though he could barely see, and wasn't making much sense as he talked.

"So why did you leave? I mean, a long time ago."

"Because. Look Chris, just because I'm drunk off my ass doesn't mean you're going to get the answers you're looking for."

"Just thought I'd make sure. Damn, I feel like shit."

"You wanna get smashed agian tonight, is that what you were asking me?"

"Yeah. Hell, it gets me away from them. They're really annoying me."

"Oh, what the fuck. It's Friday night."

"Uh, what else do you have that cures hangovers? I've got a bit-of-a doozie."

"I've got a bit-of-a frickin' doozie as well, don't you think, that if I had something better, that I'd be trying it?"

"Yeah."

"Okay then!"

"I'm sorry, I'm not thinking very clearly right now," Chris said. "I think I'll go sit down."

"Chris?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

"You are sitting down. Oh. Damn."

Chris' laptop, cell phone and a cup of coffee sat on the table. He sat on the bench, racking his brain for ideas. He wasn't sure ideas for what, but ideas- for clothing designs, song ideas, anything. Something to do. Something to keep him from talking to the other guys. Finally, he picked up the phone and dialed the familiar number- Timber's cell phone number. She'd graduated by now, but still lived in the same apartment. Her impatient voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Can I come get you now?"

"For what."

"I don't feel like discussing you with the others. I need to get out of this place."

"And I care because?..."

"You loved me once, Desi. If you're going to ignore me, resent me and desert me now, then forget I ever met you, Timber Mikayla Wallace."

"No- it's okay. Come over. I rented some movies. I don't particularly feel like watching them alone. Get a pizza, or something on your way over."

"From where?"

"Oh.. Domino's. I called and ordered one a couple minutes ago. Laya," she said, using her own brand of slang.

"Aiight."

In his car, he thought to himself. I miss being able to just jump in a car and go to a club and meet somebody. And, I miss, going out. And, I miss... her. You, Christopher Alan Kirkpatrick, are in love with someone who took your name, but isn't nesicarily in love with you anymore. You, are pretty frickin' pathetic. He got out of the car to pick up the pizza.

"Last name?"

"Uh, I think she called it in under Kirkpatrick, or Wallace."

The man gave him the pizza, and as he left, he opened it. Half pineapple-and-ham, half all-pepperoni. Just the way they always used to get it.

He parked the old Beemer in the garage outside her apartment building, locked it, and went in. He went up the stairs, one by one, towards the apartment.

********

Timber went to the door and waited for him. She smirked as she thought You're letting him win, you know. But she didn't really care. She knew that he still loved her. But she didn't really care about that, either. She'd become desensitised, since they broke up. She wasn't even sure why they'd broken up anymore.

"Open up," a high-pitched voice demanded. "What movies didja get?"

"Uhm, there's Disturbing Behavior, That Thing You Do!, Billy Madison, Pleasantville and I Still Know What You Did Last Summer."

"Man, that'll keep me up all night."

"That was the initial idea, for me to keep busy. We have to watch That Thing, it's my favorite movie. You thirsty? Want a cooler?"

"I really shouldn't, bu—"

"They're strawberry kiwi."

"Okay. Give me 2 to start out."

She seemed warmer, somehow, more welcoming and not so distant as she had been before. She threw the pizza box on the coffee table, and poured herself a glass of refridgerated coffee, and dumped a wine cooler in the glass to top it off.

"You've always liked the oddest things."

"Yeah. You have too. Say, throw in Billy Madison," she said as she sat down on the couch.

********

The next morning, four movies, eight wine coolers (at least) each, a pizza, and a gallon of orange juice (between two people) later (but still pretty hammered,)Chris rolled off the couch and said "I think I'm going to be sick."

"You're probably frickin' smashed," Timber said. "I fucking am."

"What time did you get up— ahh," he said as he tried to sit up.

"I don't know. I can't read anything; it's all blurry. And I'm sure it won't be too great if you go back all fucked like that."

"I think this is the most fucked I've ever been. I've never been this hammered. I have a headache. Which way is the bathroom," he said as he staggered to his feet.

"It's down that hall," she said, pointing.

"That's a wall, I think."

"Oh. Damn."

"You wanna go clubbin' tonight? We're here for at least two weeks to rest up." He opened his mouth to say something else, but he threw up. "Oops. I missed."

"Ah, I'll clean it up later. Orange juice?"

"Sure. Thanks." He sat on a stool at the kitchen bar and looked down in the mug as though it held the answers to the world. Maybe he could try and have a half-sane conversation even though he could barely see, and wasn't making much sense as he talked.

"So why did you leave? I mean, a long time ago."

"Because. Look Chris, just because I'm drunk off my ass doesn't mean you're going to get the answers you're looking for."

"Just thought I'd make sure. Damn, I feel like shit."

"You wanna get smashed agian tonight, is that what you were asking me?"

"Yeah. Hell, it gets me away from them. They're really annoying me."

"Oh, what the fuck. It's Friday night."

"Uh, what else do you have that cures hangovers? I've got a bit-of-a doozie."

"I've got a bit-of-a frickin' doozie as well, don't you think, that if I had something better, that I'd be trying it?"

"Yeah."

"Okay then!"

"I'm sorry, I'm not thinking very clearly right now," Chris said. "I think I'll go sit down."

"Chris?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

"You are sitting down. Oh. Damn."