Cut Myself Shaving

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Mr. Joe Morelli

Played by the talented Mr. Mel Gibson.

A Painful Truth...

When it comes to hurting your feelings, no one knows how to do it better than your own mother.

Monday, August 27, 2012

Joe Morelli tries to find as much as he can about Emily Hasting, the plain, ordinary yet mysterious woman who used to live right across the street from him. She comes from a well-respected family, has no siblings, and is three years older than him. They grew up in the same neighborhood. They went to the same schools. Their parents used to be friends. But now he has absolutely no memory of Emily and knows nothing about her personal life. And he just can't get her face out of his mind.

He thinks about her all the time. He even dreams about her at night. Sometimes when he abruptly wakes up in the middle of the night, he will sneak out of his mother's house, walk all the way back to his home and sit on his doorstep to watch the empty lonely house right across the street. He doesn't know why he is so obsessed with Emily. They have never been friends. They have never been close. He just feels this powerful urge deep down inside. And the sad and cruel fact that he doesn't remember her or anything else makes him feel guilty and somewhat ashamed. He doesn't remember if he has ever nodded politely and said "Good Morning" to Emily. He doesn't remember if he has ever smiled at her while saying "Merry Christmas" and "Happy New Year". He doesn't remember her straight shoulder-length light brown hair. He doesn't remember her misty gray eyes. He doesn't remember her sweet innocent voice. He remembers nothing. Nothing at all.

So he goes to the Trenton Public Library nearly every day. He searches through old newspapers and gossip magazines. He uses the public computer to google her name and read millions and millions of related blogs and Facebook pages. And the more he knows about Emily, the more he wants to meet her in person. He wants to look into her misty gray eyes and tell her how sorry he is. He wants to ask her what her favorite color is. Though he knows what Emily did was very, very wrong, he still wants to thank her for standing up for him. He has seen Ranger and Stephanie from afar once or twice, and though he didn't feel a thing—no anger, no remorse, no resentment, and no fear, but a part of him can't help blaming Stephanie Plum for what happened.

He felt so awkward the day his mother went home from the church in angry tears. He feels uncomfortable every time he steps inside Pino's or Tasty Bakery and senses everyone's eyes on his back. He hates being the topic of gossips and rumours. He suffered from severe head trauma. He has to move in with his mother. He has finally lost his job. He was grilled by the not very friendly and utterly unattractive DA. He may have no choice but to sell his house. He is a victim, too. And no one can say Stephanie Plum is not to be blamed. She did cheated on him. Nobody can deny that. Even if he himself remembers nothing of it.

Joe Morelli shakes his head and blows out a heavy sigh. No, he's not trying to play the blaming game. What's done is done. There's no way to turn back the clock. It's just that he feels so alone and so frustrated sometimes, and his foolish heart keeps yearning for Emily Hasting—a woman he can't remember. A woman who loves him enough to kill for him. A woman who is smart enough to build time bombs all by herself. A woman who screamed in the courtroom and told the whole world she would do the same thing again, again, and again had she had the chance. She's unstable. She's dangerous. She's way beyond crazy. She's not beautiful, sexy, or attractive. But somehow he can't stop wanting her, longs for her, and...loving her.

He lets out a bark of laughter. Bob, the loyal, playful and always drooling dog, turns to look at him with undoubting eyes. He pats Bob on the head gently and smiles a sad sarcastic smile. Maybe he's the one who's really crazy and madder than the Mad Hatter.

Chapter 13: Chapter 13

Chapter 13

She
 starts drawing paintings with crayons. Sometimes she draws colorful and
 yummy-looking cupcakes. Sometimes she draws muscular and handsome men. 
And she sings to herself while she draws. She has a most beautiful 
voice. Some inmates sing along under their breath. Some inmates actually
 have tears in their eyes upon hearing her angelic voice. Some inmates 
forget where they are and why they are here. Judas. Bad Romance. 
Starships. Papa Don't Preach. Nessun Dorma. Only Time. Domino Dancing. 
Amazing Grace. In Too Deep. On and on she draws. On and on she sings. 
The heavenly voice soars through the corridors. The paintings fall onto 
the hard bare floor.

Emily and Joe's Cupcake Place. In clear and orderly handwriting she writes beside a rack of Boston Creme cupcake.

Elizabeth Hasting Manoso. In elegant and carefree handwriting she writes and writes on the plain white paper.

The
 tranquil smile on her sometimes peaceful and sometimes contorted face 
deepens as her inner conflicts and struggles wage on like a newly nuked 
Hell. She wants a normal life with a handsome and extra hairy Italian 
man. She craves for passion and excitement and a dangerous, mysterious 
and most intriguing Cuban man. She wants to bear Joseph children. Joseph
 Junior. Anthony. Marco. Ana Maria. Angel Bella. And Rosalina. All six 
of them.

She wants to be beautiful and strong and tough and sexy 
and good enough for Ranger, for her Carlos. She wants to be held in his 
perfect arms. She wants to kiss him in the open wind. She wants to look 
into his eyes and see millions and millions of shining stars. She wants 
to laugh with him. She wants to weep with him. She wants to be free. She
 wants to be wild. She wants to be brave. She wants to be smart. She 
wants to be the love of his life. She wants to be the mother of his 
children. She wants...she wants...she wants...

She stops drawing 
pink and blue and green cupcakes with colorful sprinkles. She stops 
drawing red cupcakes with creamy cheese frosting. She stops drawing 
orange cupcakes with chocolate buttercream on top. She stops drawing 
cupcakes all together. And instead she writes, and writes, and writes.

Elizabeth Hasting Manoso.

Emily Hasting Manoso. 

Elizabeth Manoso. 

Emily Manoso.

"And
 when the samba played. The sun would set so high. Ring through my ears 
and sting my eyes. Your Spanish lullaby." She starts singing, her voice 
soft and dreamy, her eyes shining and glistening. And later that 
evening, Emily Elizabeth Hasting calls her lawyer and politely informs 
him that she has no wish to meet Mr. Joseph Morelli during the weekly 
visiting hours.

Chapter 14: Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Joe
 Morelli can't believe his ears. Emily Hasting has no wish to meet him. 
Her lawyer sounds polite and genuinely apologetic on the phone, but the 
intrigued smile in her voice is unmistakable. He thanks her and hangs 
up. He's suddenly at a loss. He's not really sure what he's been 
expecting, to tell the truth. He may have lost his memories but he's not
 naïve. It's not like he and Emily have a chance for happiness. He know 
perfectly well that they can't have a life together under the current 
circumstance. She's going to be imprisoned for the rest of her life. He 
will probably have to move to a new state, find a new job and rebuild 
his life eventually. Sometimes love has to bow to reality. Besides, they
 don't really know each other that well.

But still it shouldn't end up this way.

He
 holds his head in both hands. He has never thought she would turn him 
down. He thought she would be pleased or even thrilled. He thought they 
can talk and know more about each other. She will smile when he thanks 
her for standing up for him. She will laugh when he tells her about the 
funny and absurd things in his everyday life. She will bare her soul to 
him and give a vent to her fear, loneliness, sorrow and frustration. 
They will become friends. They will become soul mates. They will become 
Platonic lovers. Then they can both be happy and stop feeling lonely and
 unwanted. But now his bubble has been busted by no one other than Emily
 Hasting, the plain and ordinary woman he thought he could trust and 
love. How cruel can life be? How much more does he have to put up with? 
He feels like a stranger among his family. He feels like an intruder 
inside his own house and body. Whenever he pats his own dog, he feels 
like he's playing with somebody else's pet. Whenever he looks into the 
mirror, he sees someone he doesn't know. There's no familiarity. There's
 no closeness. There's no heartfelt affection. And no matter how hard he
 tries, he just can't erase the awkwardness and distance he feels from 
his mind. He feels like an abandoned child facing the vast unknown 
world.

And maybe he's more than a little scared, he admits.

He
 lets out a sigh, gets out of his car(he can't even remember his name or
 his own mother's face, but he remembers how to drive. Just how strange 
is that?), walks in the new French bakery and café he found last week 
and comes face to face with a plus-sized black woman in a too tight suit
 and Stephanie Plum. And the moment he sees the panic and surprise in 
Stephanie's suddenly widened blue eyes, he remembers.

Chapter 15: Chapter 15

Chapter 15

"Cupcake."
 Like a stealthy venomous serpent the familiar word quietly slithers out
 of Joe Morelli's mouth. There's no affection in his cold steely eyes or
 flat emotionless tone, but the hurt, the distrust and the hint of anger
 are too apparent. Memories rush back into his suddenly clear and fully 
functioning mind, many of them extremely unpleasant. That hot summer 
day. Her blown up car and apartment. His worries. His anger. His 
frustration. The disbelief. The betrayal. The pain. The fear. The 
loneliness. The sweet scent of her new perfume dances around him in the 
air. She looks great, he has to admit. Her hair is shorter than he 
remembers. Her eyes are as blue as ever. The beautiful necklace she's 
wearing looks elegant and expensive. So it does pay to have a rich new 
boyfriend. A humourless smile creeps into the corner of Morelli's mouth.
 He takes a step closer, towering over his slender ex on-and-off 
girlfriend and blocking the exit. No, he doesn't plan to hurt or scare 
her. He just wants her to know his sadness and frustration. She's the 
one who ruined his life. She owes him that much.

Silence falls.

Time stops.

Everyone freezes.

Stephanie pales.

And then all of a sudden the hot pink-haired Lula reacts.

Without
 warning she swings her cherry pink Kelly Bag hitting Morelli in the 
side of his head and lashes out a vicious kick at his knee. She then 
grabs hold of Stephanie's arm and barge out of the door as Morelli 
tumbles out of the way in pain. Before anyone inside the bakery has the 
chance to recovers from the shock, Lula's brand new vampire red Firebird
 has already disappeared from the scene. With wild, widened eyes she 
turns to take a look at Stephanie and decides her friend is not feeling 
okay. Immediately she hits the speed dial and starts talking non-stop in
 a panic tone the moment her giant mountain of a fiancé answers the 
phone. Minutes later, the Firebird takes a sharp right turn at the 
crossroad and screeches into the underground garage. Lula stops and 
parks the car like a pro and turns to hold Stephanie's slightly 
trembling hand as Tank opens the door and squats down to check on 
Stephanie.

Well, maybe she overreacted. Lula gets out of the car 
and admits to herself. Maybe Morelli meant Stephanie no harm. Maybe he 
just wanted to say Hi and have a friendly talk. Who says exes can't be 
friends? And maybe she stepped on Morelli foot and jabbed him in his 
ribs with her elbow by accident on the way out. Too bad she didn't have 
the time to stop to check. She's not a violent person, really. She will 
never hurt anyone intentionally. She's sorry if she caused Morelli any 
kind of pain or discomfort, but still she's very proud of herself. She 
has been taking self-defense lessons from Tank for weeks now. She can 
and will step up and protect her friend like a kickass chick anytime. No
 harm shall come Stephanie's way even when Ranger is in the wind. So 
what if she did overreact? Better overreact than underestimate the 
threat. Besides, Mr. Morelli is not exactly the nice and harmless Prince
 Charming, let's be honest.

And ain't it nice that Stephanie didn't drop the bags of ultra-delicious buy-2-get-1-free chocolate croissants?

Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Joe Morelli struggles to stand up. The armour of coffee and freshly baked pasteries makes him dizzy. He steadies himself as the buzz in his ears quiets down. He's not sure if his nose is bleeding. He's not sure if he should feel more angry or more humiliated. His whole body is hurting. People are watching and whispering under their breath. He doesn't want to make a scene. He contains whatever emotion raging in his mind, finds himself a table and sits down. The tall youngish waiter tries his best not to look him in the eyes when taking his order Suddenly he feels voracious. He dips his croissants in his coffee and wolfs them down. Soon his mother will be calling, he's pretty sure of that. He's glad that Lula didn't break his bones or anything. He just wanted to talk to Stephanie. He just wanted to ask her why. He just wanted to make sure that she takes her share of the blame. He just wanted to see her pay the price.

Yeah,
 he knows they were not exactly in a committed, serious relationship. 
Yeah, he knows he was not sure if he really wanted her to be a permanent
 part of his life. But they were technically together at that time. He 
told her one day she would the mother of his children all the time. And 
he did risk his life running into her apartment to see if she was 
alright shortly after the explosion. He did have feelings for her. He 
did enjoy having her in his bed and so did she. They did have a lot in 
common. They did know each other's family and friends. She was 
comfortable and familiar. She was both safe and excitedly dangerous. She
 had always been different. She was his challenge. She was his trophy. 
She was the living proof of his superiority over the average boring 
ordinary men. He had managed to gradually tame her over the years. He is
 her first, and that fact alone should mean something. Her betrayal was 
like a slap in his face. So he was not good enough for her. So he was 
not as good as Ranger. So he came in the second place. And God knew how 
he hated being second. So without thinking he reached for his gun, and 
immediately realized he had made the biggest mistake in his life the 
moment he felt Ranger's powerful merciless fist on his skull.

Morelli order another cup of coffee and another plate of perfectly baked eats and drinks in silence. He thinks of all the things he has lost because of Stephanie Plum. He hates it when life is such a mean nasty bitch. He wonders why his mother hasn't called. He thinks of the crazy look in Lula's wild widened eyes and almost sighs. He will have to find a new job soon. He will miss his days as a police detective. Somewhere deep down within he still wants to meet Emily Hasting. And he knows without a trace of doubt that he will never forget the scary and almost cruel gleam in Ranger's eyes. The day Stephanie made her choice in front of the crowd. The day he tried to kill Stephanie Plum.

Chapter 17

Joe
 Morelli tries to sell his house, but the real estate market here in 
Trenton is still a bit slow. And though people keep telling him the 
price he asks for may be a little too high, he stubbornly refuses to 
budge. He has cleaned up the house and moved all his stuff back to his 
mother's place. He still has some money in the bank. He's not in such a 
hurry to find a new job. Maybe he can rent the house out for the time 
being or something. Maybe someday a well-to-do newly-wedded couple from 
Asia or Europe will fall in love with it and decide to start their 
family in the neighborhood. Maybe he doesn't really want to sell it, he 
sometimes thinks. The lovely cozy two-story house has been his home for 
many years, and he doesn't want to let go of the memories so easily. He 
hasn't told anyone he has regained his memory. He believes this will be 
easier and better for everyone—he himself included. And he hasn't run 
into Stephanie again since. He still feels angry and bitter whenever he 
thinks of her. He hopes Stephanie is not suspecting anything. He doesn't
 want to wake up in the middle of the night one day and find Ranger 
standing at the foot of the bed with a gun in his hand.

Yes, he 
knows he made a most foolish mistake that day when he tried to pull his 
gun on Stephanie. No, he is not ashamed to say that he's afraid of 
Ranger. He has known all long Stephanie means a lot to Ranger and has a 
special place in Ranger's cold calculating mercenary heart. He has known
 all long Ranger is the most dangerous and unpredictable man he has ever
 encountered. Now that he no longer has his police-issued gun and badge,
 he can't help feeling small and timid whenever he thinks of Ranger and 
his ex-military and ex-gangster thugs. He has seen the pictures of Eddie
 Abruzzi's contorted dead face. He wasn't exactly surprised when he 
heard that there was a fresh burn mark on Abruzzi's arm. And there was 
no proof of foul play and no trace of struggle. He done a little 
research and asked around just last year, but still has no idea where 
Ranger's sleek black cars come from. He always felt more than a little 
victorious when Stephanie came back to his bed after Ranger and his men 
helped her out and saved her ass. He always enjoyed calling her 
"Cupcake" in his most sexy lazy bedroom voice and watching her blush 
when Ranger was right there. He knew he was teasing the lion, but it 
felt so good. And now he's afraid that Ranger may finally decide it's 
payback time.

He runs a slightly shaking hand through his hair and
 exhales a sigh. No need to worry, really. He tells himself. What will 
come will come. And if Ranger wants him dead, he's dead. He may as well 
use the time to do something constructive and try to live as happily as 
he can. He opens the drawer of his wobbly old desk, finds some letter 
paper and a pen, and starts to write a letter to Emily Hasting. Dear Emily, he
 writes and stops to look at his own handwriting. Cramped and tilted, 
but thankfully not messy. He wets his lips and keeps on writing. He 
tells her about his childhood, teenage days, and his life in the Navy. 
He tells her about his dreams, his longings, and wishes. He tells her 
about his his pains, his hurts, and his loneliness. He smiles and frowns
 and almost cries as he writes. He doesn't take notice of his mother 
when she pushes the door open, takes a look inside, and tiptoes away. 
He's not sure if he is a good man, he tells Emily. Somehow he's not 
really sorry for what he did to all those little girls and the 
6-year-old Stephanie. He was but a lonely and horny teenager. He took 
girls' virginity, wrote about them on public bathroom walls, and had a 
good laugh with his brother, cousins, and friends. It wasn't his fault. 
He just wanted to have fun. And it's not like he raped them or 
something. They all knew about his reputation. They had sex with him out
 of their own consent. He was royal pissed when Stephanie ran him down 
and broke his leg. But his mother decided not to press charges after a 
long talk with Mrs. Plum and Mary Lou's mom. He writes and writes and 
writes. He bares his soul to Emily. He shows her his vulnerability. He 
won't expect her to write him back, but he will keep on sending her 
letters and holiday cards. He wishes to know her better. He wants them 
to be friends.
Thanks for stepping up for me. He finally writes. Sincerely yours, Joseph A. Morelli. He
 carefully folds the 4-page letter. He seals it inside an envelope. 
Maybe Emily will write him a letter. Maybe Emily will want to be 
friends. Maybe Emily will smile when his next letter arrives. Maybe 
Emily will tell him about herself. Maybe...maybe Emily will love him 
back. And he won't be this lonely and helpless. He will once again be 
brave and courageous. He will find a job, maybe as a mall security 
guard, or a private detective, or...or a bounty hunter. Yes, he will be 
one hell of a bounty hunter. He can team up with Jeanne Ellen Burrows 
and work for Les Sebring. He can go after some of FBI's most wanted. He 
will make big money in no time at all. He will be famous, and 
successful. His mother will be proud of him. He won't have to sell his 
house. And he will be happy. Yes, he will be happy. He needs to be 
happy. He deserves to be happy. He really does.


Joe 
Morelli stands up from his desk and smiles and stretches. Maybe he can 
run to the bakery before dinner and get some cupcakes. He always loves 
cupcakes. Sweet, fluffy, colorful, and tasty cupcakes. And he will also 
get a box of cannolis. Both Grandma Bella and Bob love cannolis. He 
grabs his wallet, steps out of the room he used to share with his elder 
brother, and sniffs the air. Ah, tomato and eggplant lasagna, his 
all-time favorite. Life is good. He goes downstairs and tells himself. 
And yes, he is happy. He really is.

Really.

~The End~

Epilogue



A
 brownish black eighteen-wheeler smashes head on into the bright red 
Ford Fiesta at the crossroad in front of the mental hospital. The two 
bulky female guards get distracted by the sickening crashing sound and 
turn their heads. Emily Hasting takes the chance. They have already 
uncuffed her wrists. And somehow they didn't shackle her ankles when she
 left the prison. She runs as fast as she can. She doesn't look back. 
Not even once. She can hear her breathing in her ears. Her heart feels 
like it may burst. She's here to receive psychological evaluation. 
Everyone believes she's mad and in need of treating, and she hates that.
 No. She's not insane. She's clever. She's brave. She's smart. She meant
 to kill Stephanie Plum. She knows how to build a perfect time bomb. She
 was in love with Joseph at that time, and she has always been the kind 
of woman who will gladly kill for love. But now she's a different 
person:


She has found her true love.


Yes, she's helplessly 
in love with that tall, dark, dangerous, muscular Mocha Latte man. She 
has heard his calm quiet voice, but has never ever spoken to him in 
person. She wants to know more about him. She wants to be an essential 
part of his life. And every day, every hour, she wishes and hopes and 
prays that one day he will love her back. Yes, she knows he doesn't look
 like the marrying type. Yes, she knows he probably has other beautiful,
 faithful, submissive and cooperating women in his bed. She also knows 
for a fact that she's not drop-dead gorgeous or physically attractive. 
Thus she's happy enough to love him from afar.


Emily runs and runs
 and runs. The gentle wind blows past her face and makes her feel like 
she can fly. No, she's not trying to escape. She just wants to hide at 
the corner across the street when he drives out of the underground 
garage. She just wants to take a quick look at his shining black car. 
She just wants to see with her own eyes that he is alright. She will go 
straight back after that. She won't even stop on the road for a snack. 
She likes her tiny tidy prison cell. She likes doing her share of the 
daily chores. She likes the small and not bright enough library. The air
 inside smells of unread and neglected books. They allow her to read as 
many books as she wants. They will try what they can to get more books. 
The only condition is that she must keep quiet during the night. No 
shouting, no screaming, no wailing. No banging her head against the 
bars. They will even think about letting her work in the kitchen if she 
behaves herself. That's an opportunity she can't afford to waste. She's a
 great cook. She's an excellent baker. She makes the best iced tea and 
pastries. She loves to see the big happy smile on people's faces when 
they bite into her chocolate croissants. And people down at the soup 
kitchen always got in line for a third or fourth helping of her creamy 
pumpkin soup.


She just wants to take a look of him. She just wants
 to be near him. She just wants to see him smile. She just wants to hear
 him speak. She just wants to feel the emotion in that soft, amused 
"Babe". She still can't believe Stephanie Plum was that stupid. Who, in 
their right mind, would want Joseph if they could have him? Emily sighs 
and rolls her eyes. Elizabeth keeps her silence and simply smiles. Soon 
they will arrive at that street. Soon they will see that seven-floored 
building. Soon they will find a shadowed corner to hide. Soon they will 
weep silent, happy tears when they see his car. Yes, the sleek powerful 
Porsche, the beautiful, amazing artifact, the—


She trips over a 
stone. She doesn't feel any pain in her foot. She stumbles and falls. 
The ragged ground turns transparent in front of her eyes. She sits up 
and gasps. Her heart thumping wildly in her ribcage. She can hear the 
slim blonde woman snoring like a train in the cell across the hall. She 
looks around dazed. She's still inside her small clean prison cell. 
She's sitting in her hard narrow bed. The night shift guards walks down 
the corridor. Someone moans and murmurs something in her sleep. And 
Elizabeth, her sweet, brave, brilliant twin sister, is still not talking
 to her.


Emily Hasting quietly gets out of bed. She goes to sit 
down at her small desk and takes out a thick stack of unopened letters 
sent from Trenton. She opens the envelopes carefully, smoothes out the 
paper, and starts doing origami. She makes paper cranes. She makes paper
 boats. She makes paper flowers. She keeps humming under her breath. Her
 pale face becomes peaceful. Her misty grey eyes turn clear and calm. 
She's a woman in love. She's a woman in jail. She has made some foolish 
hasty mistakes. She may or may not have remorse and regret. She 
sometimes dreams about running away from the prison. She always wakes up
 before she arrives at her destination. She has gotten more and more 
used to the disappointment. She has quietly accepted her destiny without
 fighting back or complaining. She's no longer obsessed with Joe 
Morelli. She's not interested in his life, his dreams, his longings, or 
his new job as mall security. She's bright. She's smart. She's truthful.
 She's loyal. She feels sorry that she and Elizabeth are no longer on 
speaking terms. But only one of them can be Mrs. Carlos Manoso. And she,
 Emily Hasting, would rather die than let go of his large warm Mocha 
Latte hand...

Author's Note: This chapter is inspired by the 
ever so talented sweetdreams-sunnymornings. If you haven't met her 
Mercenary Ranger, you totally should.

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Ranger & Jeanne Ellen Burrows in [Somebody That You Used to Know]

The Rock and Gina Carano.

Gypsy Chapter 1~5

Story Three of The Impeccable Lies.

The sequel to [Somebody That You Used to Know].

Based on Ronan Hardiman's beautiful and enchanting song Gypsy.

Babe HEA, of course.

Gypsy

He
 locks the door and places his keys onto the silver plate. He holds her 
prisoner with his gaze. Insecurity, uncertainty, resignation, and 
sadness. The long-term dwellers in her eyes. Tired. Pale. And the trace 
of tears on her face. She looks like someone's abandoned pet. One of his
 men is planting a tracker on her newest excuse of a car downstairs. He 
wonders why she's here. A healthy tasty meal prepared by Ella? A decent 
and much better car? Some help with her job? A makeshift haven for a 
couple days? A bottle of his shower gel? Or another round of the game 
they sometimes play? The game that always ends with her running away 
screaming back to that hairy man with a timid, awkward "Thank you" and a
 lingering backward glance the very next day?

It was supposed to 
be a grown-up game. A game of give and take. A game of take it or leave 
it on the table and walk away. It was perfectly designed and expertly 
arranged. A night of pleasure. A moment of passion. To quench the 
thirst. To satisfy the need. To silence the lust. To fill the void and 
emptiness. No price. No obligation. No strings attached. However, it has
 somehow become something much deeper than a one-night stand. It's now 
an affair of the heart, an affair of the soul, and a tangle of trust, 
betrayal, love, and guilt. And now the stakes are high. Too high to 
ignore by looking the other way while your heart and soul yell in pain. 
He sits down beside her and almost smiles. Will he be interested in the 
answer? Will he start searching for redemption? Will he ever grow tired 
of the boring loneliness? Will there be a "someday"? Right now he 
honestly has no idea.

He's a busy man. He lives a regularly 
dangerous life and walks his own chosen path. He has his needs and 
desires. He has remorse and regrets. He has goals, directions, 
destinations, and aims. He's never a wounded, scarred, lost, or 
desperate man. He knows what he likes and doesn't likes. He follows his 
own rules and understands his limits. He keeps his distance from 
impractical longings and impossible dreams. He can be adventurous and 
wild at times. And he can also be smart and perceptive should the need 
arise.

He can cope with detours and change of plans. He knows why 
she is here. He knows why she looks so frustrated and scared. But it's a
 decision she has to make. It's a choice she has to learn to accept. And
 there will be no turning back once she takes the first one small step.

"I need to pee." She blinks nervously and finally squeaks before jumping off the couch and scuttling away like a crab.

He hasn't laughed so hard in years.


J'veux Ton Amour



She
 sits on the toilet seat chewing her lips. His laughter is still ringing
 in her ears. She hates feeling embarrassed and feeling small. But she 
always loves to hear him laugh. She knows she can't hide inside his 
bathroom forever. Sooner or later she will have to come out to face the 
world and tell him why she is here. But the problem is, now that the 
momentum is suddenly gone, her courage is fading away rapidly. And she's
 more and more unsure of what to say. It's not like they are committed 
to each other. They're not exactly in a relationship. She's not exactly 
in the position to demand anything. And she doesn't even know if she 
holds a special place—any place—in his heart, though he once told her he
 loves her in his own way and never—well, almost never—fails to come to 
her rescue. He makes her feel cherished. He makes her feel special. But 
who is she to him, really? Does she misinterpret his kindness and 
generosity for something else? What if all the blood and money he bled 
for her somehow makes her feel cocky and take him for granted? What if 
they are nothing but friends with benefits? What if she has been using 
him without herself knowing? What if...what if...

Did Jeanne Ellen fall in love with his shower gel?

Did Jeanne Ellen purr like a Persian cat while cuddling in his arms?

Did Jeanne Ellen leave kiss marks and bite marks on his neck and shoulders?


Did Jeanne Ellen leave scratch marks on his back?

Did he melt Jeanne Ellen with his beautiful enchanting gaze?

Did he whisper in Jeanne Ellen's ear in husky Spanish?

Did
 he make Jeanne Ellen see the golden sun, the silvery moon, the misty 
blue ocean, and the millions and millions of shining stars?

Did he tell Jeanne Ellen he loves her in his own way, too?

Doubt
 and fear cut through her heart slowly like a dullest knife. The 
poisonous bitterness of jealousy blooms on the tip of her tongue. She 
finally realized that without him she cannot survive. She stands up, 
flushes the toilet and washes her hands. Her eyes fall upon his 
toothbrush and razor. Clean and crisp. Silent and stern. Straightforward
 and easy. Mysterious. No nonsense. She unlocks the door and steps out. 
His bedroom is empty. His TV is on. He's sitting on his couch, right 
next to her cherry pink fake Kelly bag, looking relaxed and at ease. On 
the screen Roy "the Doc" Halladay, his favorite baseball player, is 
pitching. Both of them calm and assertive. The ace of the Philadelphia 
Phillies. And the man who has helped her out and saved her butt for 
countless times and ruined her for all other men. She sits down and 
blinks. He gathers her in his arms and kisses her on top of her head. 
Doc Halladay strikes out the side and steps off the mound. The die-hard 
Phillies fans in the Citizens Bank Park cheer.

"What do you want 
from me, Stephanie? What do you need?" Softly and quietly he asks 
without turning his head to face her and her heart skips four or six 
beats.

She opens her mouth but no sound comes out. Her heart is 
about to burst, but her head is pathetically empty. She was caught 
unaware. She was not prepared. But deep down within she knows he's 
probably not talking about cars or bottles of shower gel. This is it. 
This is her chance. To come clean. To confess. To be honest. To be 
brave. To get rid of her burden. To let go of her fears. To bare her 
soul and show him her love. To hand over, to surrender a part of her. To
 be a part of his life. To be the love of his life. Or to be...rejected,
 and denied.

"I love you." She finally says. Her voice cracks and 
trembles a little and sounds like a stranger to her own ears. Now her 
fate is in her hands. Her happiness is in his hands. And she totally 
forgot to wash her face. Damn.


Mr. Hard To Get

"Babe,"

Ranger
 cups her face in one warm steady hand, his tone soft and almost casual,
 the gleam in his eyes enigmatic and mesmerizing. The intriguing and 
seductive mixed scent of Bulgari and warm Ranger dances in the air 
around her and invades her senses. Memories flash past her eyes in an 
amazing speed. The first time she saw him. The first time he smiled at 
her. The first time he got shot and bled for her. The first time he held
 her prisoner with his eyes. The first time he kissed her. The first 
time he made love to her. The mornings she woke up in his arms. The 
night he traded his life for hers. The joy, the pleasure and the pain 
swamp her mind. The corners of Ranger's lips twist upward a little bit. 
Her breath catches in her throat. She cannot blink. She cannot think. 
She's helplessly attracted and absorbed by his silent and powerful force
 field...

"You look like a raccoon."

She gapes, her mind a 
total blank. She has no idea what to say or how to react. She hears her 
blood rushing in her ears. She feels her face starting to burn. The 
double layer of mascara this morning is a mistake. Big mistake. The fans
 cheers and laughs as Phillie Phanatic, the large furry green mascot of 
the Phillies, starts dancing his trademark belly dance. She feels like a
 tiny trembling mouse facing an unblinking big silent cat. Her eyes are 
about to twitch when suddenly she realizes Ranger is feeling playful. 
And playful Ranger, though charming and sexy, is most unpredictable and 
scary as Hell.

He watched her frown in confusion. He watched her 
eyes widen in surprise. He watched her mouth hang open in the shape of a
 perfect O. The sweetness of her perfume dances around him teasingly. 
The warmth and softness of her body invade his senses playfully. He's a 
bit surprised, he admits. A confession of love is the last thing he 
expects from Stephanie Plum. Being with her is like playing with someone
 else's cat. She will allow him a stolen moment of intimacy and then shy
 away abruptly. It's like the restraining collar she wears around her 
heart is equipped with an automatic timing and homing device. Watching 
her break up and then make up with Morelli has become a part of his 
daily recreation. He has learned not to feel frustrated over the years. 
He was getting tired of waiting for the change that would never come. 
But now she has taken the first step and things have changed.

Is 
it time for the gamble? Is it time to take that risk? Does he really 
want to have her in his life? Does he really want to make the necessary 
change? The growing mutual attraction and deepening affection. The stark
 differences between them. She finally blinks, closes her mouth and 
nervously bites her lips. Fear and anxiety grow in her eyes. But still 
she doesn't turn or look away. Slowly he leans in and gently kisses her.

"But I love you anyway."


Promises Promises



The
 Phillies won. The players smile. The fans cheer. The late afternoon sun
 shines down upon the Earth. A sleek black SUV stops at the entrance of 
the old 3-story apartment building. A tall muscular man clad in black 
takes the stairs to the second floor, opens the battered door, grabs an 
old glass aquarium from the kitchen counter, relocks the door, and 
leaves as quietly as he came. The streets are busy with traffic. Here 
and there car horns and sirens sound. Drivers curse at the red lights 
and yell at other reckless drivers. The sun falls under the horizon. The
 little old lady who thinks she's an elevator operator steps out of the 
elevator and goes home. The moon rises and shines. The wind blows. 
People sit down around the dining tables and dig into their home-cooked 
dinner. The pizza and Chinese delivery guys knock on the doors and ring 
the bells. Dogs bark. Cats meow. The small dark apartment remains empty 
and silent except for the ringing of the telephone and the mechanical 
sound of the answering machine.

The night grows deeper. The 
dishwashers complete the cycles. The TV shows come to the end. The 
lights in the windows darken. The wind gets chillier. Everything is 
quiet and and asleep. The hint of autumn dances in the air and laughs. 
Children dream. Parents snore. Lovers kiss. A tall dark hairy man gets 
out of his car and takes the elevator to the second floor. A charming 
sexy smile blossoms on his face as he reaches the battered door. He 
fishes the keys out of his jean pocket and lets himself in. He kicks off
 his shoes and starts undressing as he heads toward the bedroom. He 
stops dead by the side of the narrow queen size bed. He blinks and 
frowns in confusion. He turns on the light. The bed is empty. The whole 
apartment is empty. Where is she? He tries her cell phone but gets the 
voicemail. It's too late to call her parents, sister and friends. He 
starts feeling a little uneasy. Her car is not parked at the usual spot 
in front of the dumpsters. He gets dressed, waits for a while and 
decides to go find her.

He starts his car. He drives through the 
city and feels antsy. Her car is nowhere to be seen. Maybe it's time to 
face the music. Maybe he should drive to that 7-floored building. Maybe 
she's there in his bed, naked. Maybe he is 
kissing his way down her soft supple body. No, it's impossible. He waves
 the thought away with a laugh. She won't be there. She can't be there. 
She's not there. He knows that for a fact. He doesn't have to see it 
with his own eyes. It can't be. It won't be. Tomorrow she'll be home at 
the first ray of the morning. Tomorrow he's going to buy her a ring, a 
diamond ring, a wedding ring. He will get down on one knee. There will 
be happy tears in her misty blue eyes. They will spend the rest of their
 lives together as husband and wife. They will start their own family. 
They will have most beautiful children, 3 boys, 3 girls, all 6 of them. 
They will grow old together. They will have their happily ever after. He
 drives through the sleeping city. The wind, the moon and the stars 
laugh in his ears but he doesn't hear a thing. Tomorrow will be another 
day. Tomorrow will be the day. Then they will both be happy. They will 
be.



Wrapped Around Your Finger

Bright
 sunlight shines through the windows lazily. The air inside the silent 
7-th floor apartment smells cool and clean. Stephanie stirs and wakes up
 alone in the bed. She yawns, stretches, and feels drowsy. She reaches 
out a hand and lays it on the bed beside her. Yesterday is like a 
beautiful dream. Ranger's side of the bed is cold. He's already on the 
plane to Miami, and he won't be back till next week. She vaguely 
remembers him kissing her on the lips before he left. She will go back 
to her apartment later today to clean up and pack her stuff. Yes, she's 
moving in with Ranger. They are finally together after all these years. 
And she can't help feeling a little uncertain and afraid, though she 
knows she's happy.

She gets out of bed and heads for the shower. 
She closes her eyes and lets the warm water flow down her face. The 
scent of Ranger's shower gel embraces her. She now shares his closet. 
Her toothbrush has its own place in his bathroom. He once told her he 
didn't do stupid things and relationship. But now all of a sudden thing 
have changed. And for the first time in many, many years, she feels 
complete. She dries herself and puts on Ranger's bathrobe. She looks 
into the mirror and locks eyes with her own reflection. She's relieved 
that she no longer looks like a raccoon. And she knows perfectly well 
what she's afraid of. She's afraid that she's not good enough. She's 
afraid that Ranger will have a change of heart. She's afraid that the 
boring and tiresome everyday life will eventually wash away their 
passion and thin down their affection. She's afraid that one day there 
will be no more sparks between them. She has divorced once. She knows 
how it feels like. She knows she probably won't survive if Ranger walks 
away and leaves her. She has a nasty feeling that her worst nightmare 
may come true if she's not careful. But she's got to try. She wants and 
needs and loves him too much. She can't let go without giving herself a 
chance.

She's not a bad person. She's not that ignorant or stupid.
 She deserves some happiness. She almost died when she saw Jeanne Ellen 
Burrows and Ranger together. She nearly lost the courage to live when 
she came face to face with her own imperfectness. And she finally, 
finally realized that she couldn't afford to lose Ranger. She walks in 
the closet. She runs her hand through the rack of Ranger's clothes and 
breathes in the lingering scent. She puts on a RangeMan t-shirt and a 
pair of black cargo pants. She doesn't know the combination of his safe.
 She doesn't know his parents' names. She doesn't know where his 
siblings live. She doesn't know if he will want to go to her parents' 
for dinner every Friday. She doesn't know if one day his love will come 
with a wedding ring. But she does know she loves him and he loves her 
too.

And that is more than enough.


~The End~

Somebody That You Used to Know

Story Two of The Impeccable Lies.
Prequel of Somebody That I Used To Know.
A one-sided and one-chapter story based on the Glee version of Gotye's cute and beautiful song: Somebody That I Used To Know.
Babe HEA, of course.

Title: Somebody That You Used to Know
Category: Books » Janet Evanovich
Author: Cut Myself Shaving
Language: English, Rating: Rated: T
Genre: Drama/Angst
Published: 08-24-12, Updated: 08-24-12
Chapters: 1, Words: 828

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Somebody That You Used to Know

She widens her eyes and stares across the street. She tightens her grip of the wheel as her heart sinks into an abyss of numbness and disbelief. The two of them look perfect together, she has to admit. The tall, dark, handsome, dangerous man in black. And the sexy, attractive, curvy, blonde Catwoman look-alike. Standing side by side. Talking. Seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world. A beautiful match made in Heaven. The woman laughs and leans in closer. The end of her high, shining ponytail brushes against his muscular shoulder. The luscious blood-red lips curl upward. Confidently. Invitingly. Seductively. As if they are sharing a private, intimate secret.
And he almost smiles.
The universe cracks, and shatters. A gaping black hole swallows her soul. Despair rises. Tears flood. Her misty blue eyes become clouded. The notoriously vicious sting of jealousy. The merciless stab of the cruel, leering reality. She feels angry and betrayed. She feels like being slapped in the face. Sad. Lonely. Helpless. And hurt. She feels like she's in a dream. A dream in which she's standing naked in front of everyone else. And they are all laughing. Laughing at her. Ranger. Her mentor, her friend, her Batman, and sometimes lover. And the ever so perfect Jeanne Ellen Burrows. Her smart, savvy, gruesome, invincible rival. This is a battle she's destined to lose. And she doesn't even have any ground to start the war.
Because she's currently technically with another man.
She stays in her car while the two sleek black cars drive away together into the bright early afternoon sun. She doesn't bother to blow her nose. She doesn't bother to wipe her tears. The radio starts playing the same song again. She doesn't know how long she has been sitting there. It's just another typical summer day. It's but yet another ordinary day in her life. It's not the first time she thinks of the unpleasant question. Only this time the road to the Land Of Denial is blocked by Jeanne Ellen's cat-like green eyes and sultry smile. Of course Ranger has other women in his bed. He is a normal healthy man. And she's still technically with another man. There's no future between them.

You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness
Like resignation to the end, always the end

His lifestyle doesn't lend itself to relationships. He loves her in his own way. And Joe will always be a part of her life. Joe will always be there. So why is she so devastated? Why is she so distressed? Why does she feel like she has just lost the meaning and purpose of her life? Why does she feel so painful, so scared, and so sad?

But you didn't have to cut me off
Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing
And I don't even need your love
But you treat me like a stranger and that feels so rough

And what if Ranger decides it's time to turn around, move on, and walk away? What if he doesn't even cast her a backward glance? What if...what if...what if he has already found someone better than she is? Someone prettier, someone smarter, someone cuter, someone braver, more loyal and has more faith? What if they become just friends? What if they can't stay friends? What if they become strangers? What if Jeanne Ellen Burrows is here to take over her place?

Now you're just somebody that I used to know
Now you're just somebody that I used to know
Now you're just somebody that I used to know

She panics. She starts the engine and steps on the gas. She doesn't stop to answer her phone. She doesn't return home to check on Rex. The melancholy voice of the singer keeps ringing in her head. She enters the gate. She stops the car. She sleepwalks to the elevator. She pushes the button. She get off on the seventh floor. She opens his door.

Now you're just somebody that I used to know
Somebody, I used to know

Will she find Jeanne Ellen there in his bed? She doesn't know. She doesn't care. She has something she needs to say. And this is her only chance.

Now you're just somebody that I used to know
Somebody, I used to know

There is nobody here. She sits down on his couch and waits. She blinks. She bites her lips. She closes and opens her eyes. And she waits. And waits.

I used to know, that I used to know, I used to know somebody

Just as she suddenly realizes that she needs to go to the toilet ASAP, the front door silently opens. Ranger is here.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Please Love Me Back Chapter 10

Chapter 10

They
 release him from the hospital. He blinks. He's a little bit nervous and
 frightened. He feels unsure about his future. The blue sky is bright 
and cheerful. The smiles on the nurses' faces are sympathetic and 
encouraging. The thin and exhausted-looking woman—Mrs. Morelli, Angie, 
his mother—takes him to a small two-story house on a narrow, unfamiliar 
street. Everything inside is tidy and clean but smells faintly of dog. Must be Bob.
 He thinks to himself and smiles. He likes that friendly dog a lot. They
 look around the living room and the tiny kitchen. He takes a peek at 
the basement. They walk upstairs to the the second floor. He sits behind
 the desk in his study(or home office). He finds a picture of him and 
the woman named Stephanie Plum. He stares at it for a full minute. She 
looks pretty. And cute. He likes the color of her eyes. He amazes at the
 wildness of her hair. But he doesn't feel or remember a thing. She's 
but yet another stranger to him. The disappointment in his mother's sad 
lonely eyes makes him feel guilty. He wants to make her happy. He really
 does. But he can't do that by telling lies. He has to be honest with 
her, though he feels terribly sorry for her. He needs to do the right 
thing. He can't afford to hurt her feelings further.

They go to 
the small bedroom. He sits on the bed. He looks out of the window. He 
opens the closet. He finds a couple woman's t-shirts, bras, panties and 
socks inside one of the drawers, all washed, ironed, and neatly folded. 
He can't help feeling awkward and uneasy as he sense his mother's eyes 
on his back. Stephanie Plum. The woman whom he loves. The woman who 
almost got him killed. He was her first. She broke his legs. They 
couldn't stay away from each other. They couldn't live together. They 
yelled and screamed and waved their arms in private and in public and 
drove each other mad. They kept breaking up. They kept getting back 
together. Everybody thought there was no way they were going to get rid 
or grow tired of each other.

Until that day.

When Stephanie chose Ranger.

In front of practically half the city.

He
 tries his best and thinks of all the things his mother, aunts, brother,
 sister and cousins told him. Still he can't remember a damn thing about
 his "everlasting on-and-off" "soap-opera-like" "twisted" and "abnormal"
 relationship with Stephanie. He can't remember the lingering scent of 
her sweet perfume. He can't remember the taste of her full red lips. He 
can't remember the feel of her soft warm body. He lets out a silent sigh
 and decides to focus on more pressing matters. The guys from the police
 union were quite frank and straightforward. They will do what they can 
to help him, of course, but they can't rule out the possibility that he 
won't be able to keep his job. They'd like and, as a matter of fact, 
have to take care of their own. But right now they are caught in a 
difficult situation. What he did was deemed as a disgrace to the police.
 People are sick and tired of domestic violence committed by police 
officers. The union has to consider the public's opinion and try its 
best to restore the police's image. They are really sorry, but his 
"health" condition is simply not helping his case.

Great. Joe 
Morelli tells himself. He has just lost his memories, and now he's going
 to lose his job. At least he still has his dog and his family, and he 
can also sell this house if needed. He smiles feebly at his mother and 
together they pack a couple bags of his clothes and stuff. He will be 
living with her and Grandma Bella for the time being. He will always 
have company. He won't be lonely. And maybe he will start getting his 
memories back once he moves back into his old bedroom. He looks around 
his bedroom for the last time and walks down the stairs. He takes the 
bags to the car while his mother locks the door. His eyes fall on the 
house right across the street and he freezes.

"Emily." Morelli 
murmurs under his breath as the setting sun shines into his eyes. He 
stares at the ordinary, smallish, plain-looking two-story house. A pang 
of unexpected sweetness fills his empty heart. Strange, powerful longing
 runs through his veins. "Emily...Hasting..."