This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, business establishments or events is entirely coincidental. Comments and feedback are highly appreciated, send to mozlover21@gmail.com

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Chapter 13.

I kicked at the unruly and heavy wool blanket in a feeble attempt to get it off of me, but the damn thing was wrapped around my leg like a tree-dweller enveloping a branch, refusing to let go and face the ground below. I had been tossing and turning in bed for the past five hours, unable to get any shut-eye. Finally the blanket mass loosened enough for my leg to make a clumsy escape. The swish of cold air hitting my leg sent goose bumps running up my arms. I looked at my freed limb, the paleness of it a blunt contrast to the dark of the room. I kicked the blanket off completely, trying to get rid of the stifling feeling in my chest, albeit unsuccessfully. The feeling remained even after the blanket hit the dusty wooden floor below.

My light blue boxers seemed to glow against my exposed by the moonlight skin. It's funny how sometimes parts of your body don't seem like they belong to you. I stared at my foreign legs, and wondered at their shape and tone, as if I was studying something that didn't belong to me for over twenty years. Maybe it was my lack of sleep that created all these maddening thoughts in my head.

Feeling worn out yet restless at the same time I continued to fumble until I was on my back. My lack of sleep was somewhat of a catch-22. On one hand, I was glad to be awake, because the last two weeks brought a new genre of nightmares to my sleep, ones I didn't have any experience with, and which seemed almost scarier than actual memories. But on the other hand being awake equated with my wheels turning nonstop, and that's something that was quickly driving me crazy.

The new dreams were bizarre, with no unifying quality besides the dark grey moor. I was always lost in the foggy moor, which is something I must have read about, because I've never been to or even heard of one, so how it ended up in my dreams was a wild guess. It was right around daylight, a gray kind of period, somehow worst than darkness, more sinister. Gloominess hung around as I wandered through the messy land, sinking into the bog with every clumsy step. Never-ending miles of cottongrass, blue heather, and sphagnum mosses surrounded me. The atmosphere was hypnotizing.

At some point in the dream I would always end up bumping into the shadow of someone. From my sister, or Breckett, to Derick and Mark. But I would never be able to speak to them, and I couldn't reach out, just stare blankly as they all addressed me in different ways. My sister would say something with an angry tear-stained face, but I couldn't hear what. Breckett would look at me with an acidic stare, a threat in his eyes. Derick looked at me with a sad smile of encouragement, like he wanted me to get out of there. And Mark; Mark's face was unreadable, a bold question mark. It was a poker face, and I never was any good at cards.

But last night it was Luke that I saw in my dreams. Luke, wearing the same exact clothes as me. Standing parallel to me. I was cold, but he looked like he didn't feel anything at all. We just stood and stared at each other, until I spoke up.

"Why are you here," I had asked, startled that my voice was audible. I couldn't speak to anyone else in the moor dream. The corner of his lip turned upwards, a small smile.

"Why are you here?" he asked me back.

"I don't know," I muttered to myself, somehow feeling like I should know. Luke smiled again.

"I don't either," he said. His face gentle.

"You have to know, you're obviously in my head with some kind of a purpose, a message," I said, trying to piece the puzzle together.

"Like you just said, I'm in your head. This is your dream. So you tell me why I'm here," he said still smiling.

"I don't know," I replied frustrated, searching my head for any possible answers. I came up with nothing. Luke just stood there, a thin grey cotton long sleeve draped loosely on his thin frame. A black beanie covering his blonde hair. His face pale, his eyes clear water blue, his lips red. In this environment of cold and uncertainty he stood out, he was beautiful.

"Are you here as a warning?" I asked confused.

"A warning against?"

"Mark?" I asked, as he smiled again.

"Do you think you need a warning?" he asked.

"Maybe, maybe I do," I said to myself. Had I been a blind idiot? Had I missed something everyone else has seen? Was Mark just using me?

"What he did to you...that wasn't okay, and I'm sorry," I said.

"What he did to you...that wasn't okay, and I'm sorry," he replied, and I knew the `he' in his sentence meant someone entirely different than in mine. I smiled at him sadly, noting the similarities of our situations. We were both deeply hurt.

For some reason I felt the sudden urge to be open with him. I pulled up the sleeve of my shirt, exposing the long white scars. He looked at me and suddenly I felt understood, and the feeling was so peaceful that I never wanted to wake up.

"Am I going to be okay?" I asked.

"That's up to you," he replied, the mysterious smile still playing on his lips.

"What about you, will you be okay?" He seemed surprised for a brief second. Like he never thought that I would consider his well being as important.

"I think so," he said, and the words seemed to joyously leave his mouth. Like it was a brand-new thought he'd never entertained. And he was so happy to say it out loud.

After I woke up I couldn't figure out whether I felt happy or sad.

And now, a night later, I was kicking around a blanket, trying to figure out what was worse, dreaming or thinking. Thinking involved a lot of unpleasant details. Like the fact that two weeks had passed since I last spoke to Mark, and the chances of us ever being together again were looking slimmer and slimmer each day. And that as usual instead of clarifying anything our last conversation left me more confused than ever. And that now he wasn't returning my calls, which was almost worst than being broken up with in the first place.

Not being able to lay still any longer I sat up, picked up my phone, and checked the time. It was still ridiculously early, but since I couldn't get to sleep I decided to finally take a shower. I've been walking around dirty for three days; it was time to feel like a human again. I let the warm water run down my body, as I just stood there motionless. I didn't have the strength to actually wash myself, but the water felt cleansing on its own. Suddenly I jerked my head at the sound of the bathroom door opening.

"It's like six in the morning Jer," a sleepy Lena mumbled as she sat on the toilet and proceeded to pee, completely disregarding any personal boundaries. I sighed to myself, still not used to living with a girl. Apparently they had absolutely no qualms about walking around naked and peeing with the door open. Lana pulled her panties up as I tried my best to make myself invisible behind the see-through shower partition.

"Can you flush after you get out? I don't want the water to scold you," she said on her way out. I mumbled a "yeah" and went back to aimlessly standing under the showerhead. But the thoughts swarming my head were getting more and more vicious, and a feeling of worthlessness came over me as I turned the hot water up. I couldn't deal with my emotions, couldn't process them, so I tried to forcefully give myself something else to focus on. The physical pain of the scolding hot water seemed to help. The tears and sobs came out organically, but I tried stifling them for Lena's benefit. I didn't want her to have to worry about me going nuts, but mostly I didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable. And I didn't want her to leave me. As strange and annoying, in a girly way, as her presence could be sometimes, it was also soothing and distracting. Hanging out with Lena helped me to not dwell on the loss of Mark. It helped to ease the perpetual sense of melancholia within me. But the clawing pain never let me forget that love was once within my grasp, and that somehow, like an idiot, I once again let it get away.

Lena was now temporarily living with me. Thankfully she decided to fill in the empty spot in my life as she was looking for a place to stay anyway.

"I'll unpack tomorrow, too much crap to even think about doing it tonight," she said later that day, dismally looking at the plethora of boxes stacked throughout the apartment.

"Yeah, good idea. I'll be out of your hair all day so you'll have plenty of time," I replied.

We sat down and started eating the Chinese takeout she ordered. I grabbed the TV remote but Lena stopped me.

"Wait, so tell me again about what happened with Mark. I need to get this straight." I groaned inwardly, but decided to tell her anyway, figuring that maybe she would have some new insight that I obviously lacked on the topic.

I told her about our initial run ins, from the restaurant, to the apartment, to the hometown meeting, and what he said about some "plan," and how I missed him at the bar exam. I told her how I broke up with Derick, which was still tearing at my heart.

"Are you and Derick talking?" she asked.

"Yes, but we try to limit it. It still feels like a fresh wound for both of us, so acting like best buddies might not be the best idea right now I guess, you know?"

"Yeah, I agree. Okay, so then you called and texted Mark, and what happened?"

"Nothing at first, I think he was on the plane. I waited the whole next day. Finally I got a call from him, and he didn't really sound like himself. He sounded drunk maybe, I don't know. Just off. He said it was too late, and that I should tell Derick I didn't mean what I said."

Lena looked at me thoughtfully, I saw the wheels in her head turning but she remained silent.

"Anything else?" she asked.

"No, I haven't tried to contact him since then. I'm tired of the games Lena, I can't do it anymore. If he wants to be with me he knows where I am. I mean I broke up with an amazing guy for him, I forgave him for dumping me once already. How else am I supposed to prove myself?"

"No, you're right, you did everything possible," she said, but I could tell she was holding something back. I decided not to ask her.

Instead I continued to bury myself with work and school. The added finical stress of Derick moving out and me having to pay for everything by myself was enough to occupy my thoughts 24/7, leaving me no more time to cry about Mark. Besides I felt too angry to cry. As Lena became more accustomed to the apartment I become more accustomed to the fact that I would spend the rest of my life alone. Even if I could be with anyone else but him, what would be the point? Nobody could ever compare, so it would be like cheating them and myself. I tried to come to terms with my sad fate. At least I had my cat Idaho, I thought, and then imagined myself as a crazy cat guy (is there such a thing?).

The next day I drove down to see my family. Kayla's situation with the baby was just another worry to add to my already long list of shit to deal with. But I knew that I had to do my best to be supportive of her, after all she was family, shitty or not.

When I saw her she was sitting on the couch, wearing an oversized hoodie and snacking on cookies and Nutella.

"Where's mom?" I asked, not bothering with niceties.

"Work," she replied staring blankly at the TV.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fantastic," she replied, the sarcasm dripping from her lips.

"Have you.." I started to ask but she cut me off.

"No, not that it's any of your business."

"We have to tell her," I tried to say gently.

"There is no we, this is my baby," she replied irritated.

"Well, what are your plans?" I asked, trying not to nag her, but unable to stay optimistic about the situation. "Have you gone to see a doctor yet?"

"Just for the blood test," she said.

"Don't you need some sort of prenatal care?" I asked worried.

"I'll be fine, just stay out of it," she replied. I sighed, too tired to argue with her. I sat on the arm of the couch as she eyed me suspiciously.

"Do you know if it's a girl or boy?" I asked looking at Maury on the TV screen.

"Nah, not yet," she replied.

Since the situation was going nowhere I decided to go home, and try again in a few weeks. I fell into a dreamless sleep, and woke up the next morning to Lena carefully watching me.

"Morning' stalker," I said rubbing my face.

"Good morning, are you ready for this?"

"For what?" I asked raising my head from the pillow.

She shook a large crisp white envelope in front of my face. There was no visible return address, but my name was scribbled in a very familiar fashion. My heart lurched as I realized who it was from. I opened the envelope bidding my hands to stop shaking. Inside it I found a small newspaper clip. A short article, with no picture. The headline read, "Local Swim Teacher Arrested For Sexual Misconduct." I gaped. Lena carefully looked at the article, then back at me, then back to the article again. I continued reading. "Authorities arrested 45-year-old Stuart Breckett on Friday, the Police Department said in a statement."

"Is this what I think it means?" she asked.

"I don't know. What do you think it means?" I asked, puzzled and unsure.

"Did he put you know who behind bars?" she asked curiously.

"No, that's not possible. Even if there were any forthcoming witnesses, Mark has a previous assault charge against him, he couldn't possibly prosecute the man he almost killed. Conflict of interest or some such, right?"

"Yeah, you're right," she said puzzled, "but this is connected somehow, I just know it." I look at her, unsure of what to think anymore. Why would Mark send me this? How was he connected to Breckett's arrest?

"How are you feeling?" Lena asked all of a sudden. I was momentarily confused by her question. And then I realized that the man who had ruined my childhood would now be facing a trial. He would hopefully be put away for a long time. He wouldn't be able to hurt anyone anymore. I was supposed to have feelings about this. Any normal survivor would. Yet, somehow, all I felt was sadness, as the tightness inside my chest continued.

Lena grabbed her laptop and disappeared behind the screen. We sat there for 20 minutes. Me just holding the paper, staring into space. Her typing away on her computer, studying something intently. All of a sudden her mouth popped into an "ooh."

"What is it?" I asked.

"Check this out," she said. I looked at the Google image on the screen. It was a formal picture of a man and a woman at some banquet. The man in question was Elisabeth's father, Daniel Hightower. The woman I didn't know. I had trouble understanding what Lena was trying to tell me. I gave her a puzzled look.

"Didn't you say that Mark works for Daniel Hightower now?" she asked.

"Yeah, so?" I asked, still not getting the connection.

"Look closer Jer," she said pointing to a the tiny picture caption. I read it again, slowly this time, "Daniel Hightower, pictured here with longtime friend District Attorney Linda West."

"Do you know what this means?" Lena asked.

"Mark was trying to get to Hightower to get to the DA?" I asked out loud and Lena nodded her head in agreement.

"That's what it looks like." I pondered the thought. Could it be true? Was Mark still trying to right a wrong after all this time?

"I have to talk to him," I said looking at Lena. She nodded again. That night I booked a next day ticket to New York, intent on facing Mark Norton one last time.

I reached the gray Indiana limestone clad building known as Hightower and Associates in mid afternoon. The building was tall and stifling. I walked in quickly and made my way to the directory. The "Mark Norton" office was located at the highest floor, ofcousre. Too anxious to wait for an elevator I ran up fourteen flights of stairs, propelled by a sense of anger and injustice about the whole damn situation. I was barely breathing when I reached the top.

I was greeted by the sight of a tiny red headed woman sitting behind a long black desk. The whole floor was minimalist. One flower, one desk, and one woman surrounded by five different offices. I recognized only two of the names, Daniel Hightower and Mark Norton.

"Can I help you?" the tiny red headed woman asks me.

"I need to speak to Mark," I say and the look she gives me informs me that I sound very much out of place.

"Okay, do you have an appointment with Mr. Norton?" she asks in a tone of voice one would use with a toddler.

"No, I'm a.... an old friend," I say awkwardly. She searches through something on the computer screen, then pulls out a black book from under the desk and leafs through it.

"Well I don't have you anywhere in here," she says confused, "and his schedule is booked today."

"Look, it will just take five minutes," I say panicking that I won't get to see him after all.

"Sorry, I really can't squeeze you in today, but we can make an appointment for next Tuesday," she says trying to placate me. I stand there speechless. I look at the door marked with Mark Norton. There's no security in sight so I just head for it really fast.

"Excuse me," she says watching me knock on the door.

"Mark," I call out. I pull the handle and open the door. Nobody is inside. Fuck.

"Excuse me, you can't do that sir. This is a private office."

"Do you know where he is? I really need to speak to him," I say close to tears. She seems to be almost moved.

She thinks for a moment and then reaches for her purse and pulls out a card from her wallet.

"Here," she says handing me a business card for another attorney. The gesture puzzles me.

"He's a great lawyer who takes a lot of pro bono cases," she tells me quite happy with herself.

"I don't need a pro bono lawyer," I reply outraged at what she's hinting at.

"Mr. Norton isn't even a licensed attorney yet, he hasn't been sworn-in," she says trying to persuade me to leave.

"Can you please just tell me where he is," I ask hopelessly when another office door opens. I look back and see Mark walk out of the door with two other men. He stops in his tracks when he sees me.

He says something to the other two guys who nod their heads and shake his hand, then head for the elevator.

"Sorry Mr. Norton, I was just telling this gentleman that your schedule is full right now," the secretary informs Mark in a very apologetic tone.

"No need," he says still looking at me. He walks toward his office and holds the door open.

"Come in," he says. I shoot the secretary a look to let her know I'm not crazy. She seems baffled by the situation. Mark closes the door behind him. I came in here with a purpose in mind, driven by all my pain and confusion, ready to confront him. But suddenly I feel all the words leave me, as I stand in front of Mark, speechless.

He nervously pulls at his navy tie and then props himself on his desk.

"Sit down," he says motioning to the chair right behind me. I feel a quick pang of pain at his official tone of voice. But after fourteen flights of stairs my legs feel like they are made out of jello, so I sit down.

"You haven't called me back," I state crudely.

"I'm sorry," he says, "I figured it would be for the best."

"How so?" I ask, feeling the previous anger return to my body.

"I figured you'd be mad enough to call Derick back and never talk to me again," he replies bluntly. The revelation hurts like hell.

"Is that what you want?" I ask sadly, needing a final confirmation. Needing to end this for good.

"What I want?" he asks with a hint of bitterness in his voice, "No, of course not. What I want is you. You, everyday. To see you smile, to hold you, to hear you speak, to make love to you and to fuck you, and to kiss you, and to count and memorize every single mole and freckle on your body. That's what I want Jeremy," he says, the vain on his temple prominent with tension. I sit stunned. "But that's not going to happen, so what's the point of me telling you this? This is why it was easier to not call back and hope that you would come to your senses and call Derick," he says, Derick's name sharp on his tongue.

"Why isn't that going to happen? What does it matter if you took the bar or not?" I ask meekly.

He sighs, looks down on his desk and fidgets with some papers.

"Why," I ask again, the word hangs limply in the air.

"The reasons behind don't matter, what matters is how we proceed," he says with a kind of finality that pisses me off. I shake my head.

"You are so selfish," I reply on the verge of tears, yet angry as hell. He looks shocked at my choice of words. "Stop treating me like a child, stop talking to me in riddles, and just tell me the truth. What happened the night you were arrested? Why did you leave me? Why did you move to New York? Why are you engaged to a woman? Why can't you be with me? Why do you make everything so difficult?" I stutter out. He looks at me and for the first time I see sympathy in his eyes.

"I didn't even realize how many questions I left you with," he states blankly. I nod, relieved he finally seems to be getting it. His body slumps further down on the desk, the way it did when he first told me about Luke.

"That night," he says referring to the night he confronted my abuser, "I couldn't sleep. You were kind of whimpering in your sleep, and thinking about all the horrible dreams you've had for so long, and all the shit he put you through, I was so angry. So I went downstairs and after talking to mom I realized that it would take a long time, if ever, to get Breckett anywhere near a prison cell. And that thought made me even angrier than I already was. Imagining him just living his life, I couldn't handle that. Getting his address was beyond easy. And I just couldn't stop myself. I drove over there, rang the bell. His wife answered the door. I asked to see him, pretending it was about work. She seemed suspicious but called him anyway. He walked out and I told him to shut the door behind him. He asked me why, and I told him his family wouldn't want to hear what I had to say. He looked afraid all of a sudden and started backing into the house, which made my blood boil. I mean here was this middle-aged predator, this fucking coward, not willing to even talk to me like a man. So I dragged him out by his shirt, and he kicked and screamed. I punched him to shut him the fuck up. And once I threw the first punch I just couldn't stop. So I continued until the cops pulled me off," he says coldly. I take it all in, once again shocked at the brutality.

"Why did you leave me? Why did you say you never loved me?"

"When you came to see me in prison, I just couldn't face myself, let alone you. I didn't want to put you through eternity with someone like me. Someone who robbed you of the only chance to see this guy put away for what he did. I wanted to make it right. That was the only way I could see it ever working. It was the least I could do to make up for messing up like that. I knew that if I told you the truth you would forgive me, and I didn't deserve your forgiveness. So I punished myself by separating from you."

"You punished me too," I wanted to say out loud, but instead I held it in.

"And Elisabeth?" I ask.

"She doesn't matter," he states.

"You're getting married to her, of course she matters," I reply irked.

"Yeah, but it doesn't matter. I don't love her, she was an accident," he starts saying.

"An accident? You're ruining a woman's life by accident?" I asked, finally getting what Derick said about Mark treating people like disposable pawns. He takes a deep breath.

"Before I even graduated school I spent months trying to figure out how to get into Hightower's firm, not because I care about the work they do, but because Hightower has one friend who I really needed. There was never enough evidence to make any kind of case against Breckett because nobody was working the case. Nobody knew he was a predator; there was no tangible proof. I needed to make a case that would stick, but obviously I couldn't do it with my previous history. But Hightower is close friends with the DA. They have the resources to make this case happen. Anyway, getting to him took months of failed attempts. This was once instance where my last name wasn't going to help me. I was grasping at anything, and just when I thought there wasn't a way I stumbled into her. I was at a charity event, it was my last try, I was just going to go for it and talk to him in person, which wouldn't have worked, you've met the man, so you know he hates me. And then I bumped into her, and when she told me her name, I couldn't help but try. I was desperate. I just wanted to get her to like me enough so that when I started distancing myself or getting in trouble her father would come and talk to me. Which is exactly what happened. He heard she was involved with me, checked my record and naturally flipped out. He found me and threatened me, which is exactly what I wanted. It was all going perfectly according to plan. I told him if he would do me this one favor, this one case, that I would leave town and never speak to Elisabeth again, and he agreed. It was all going to work Jer. I was going to make it right. I wanted Breckett behind bars more than anything. He walked because of me, and I wasn't going to let that happen again. So I started to work on the case, unofficially of course, my name couldn't be attached to it because of what I did, I didn't want the case thrown out because of me. Everything was going great, except for Elisabeth. I guess she didn't get over it as quickly as I wanted her too, and Hightower liked what I was doing with the case, so he gave me another ultimatum. Instead of leaving town he asked me to stay and marry her and work for him, in exchange for him putting Breckett behind bars. I didn't know what to do, it was my only option Jer. So I said yes, hoping she would change her mind. I had it all figured out," he says and then starts laughing, "I really did think I had it all figured out. Except the control freak in me forgot to factor in chance. What are the chances that you and I would find each other again on a random day, in a crowded restaurant? Do you know how many things had to go a certain way for that to happen? I mean I was supposed to be there an hour earlier, but first I forgot my wallet, so I went back to my apartment, and then my neighbor needed help. When I finally came out I missed at least three cabs, and then at the restaurant I wasn't going to go to the bathroom at all, but for some reason I got up and went anyway. What are the fucking chances?" He goes on, almost in a trance. "Anyway, I didn't factor in the possibility of seeing you again, and everything changing."

"What changed? I don't understand," I reply quietly.

"I just....every time I thought of you it was the thought of us, together, back in school. I never thought of you moving on," he says clenching his jaw a little. "So seeing you again, it woke up feelings that I tried hard to stifle, and I wanted nothing more than to be with you again. And then seeing you with someone else...well that killed me," he finishes.

I sit there speechless. All this time, all this pain, everything could have been avoided.

"What about the black eye...on your birthday?" I ask absent-mindedly.

"Oh that...I was following some leads, and one guy didn't want to talk to me, got pissed off and lost control."

The tears roll down my cheeks. They feel warm on my otherwise cold skin.

"Don't cry," he says gently. I look at him, a feeling of despair washes over me. I need him. Need him so much. I dart out of my chair and into his arms. I grasp at his face and smash my lips against his lips. My wet face crashing into his dry cheeks. He quickly gets over his initial shock and grabs me, pulling me closer to him. Our lips smash in the most brutal and hungry way. The yearning never subsiding. I feel his erection push into my leg as I pant into his mouth, my eyes closed.

"Open your eyes," he murmurs against my face. I follow the order.

"You're mine," he states, and the air that gives life to those words gently skims against my lips. I want to say yes, to confirm. I want for that statement to be true. And yet, we both know that it's not possible. I force myself to move back, let us both regain some composure.

"So you're marrying Elisabeth?" I ask, barely above a whisper.

He shuts his eyes forcefully. When he opens them again they're glistening. It's as close as I've ever seen Mark Norton to crying. "Yes," he answers.