I didn't recall telling Khan to take me to our offices, but there we were; parked in my regular spot, with my driver staring expectantly at me as I refused to budge from the backseat. 

"Do you need help with your bag, Layla Bibi?" He asked politely. 

I shook my head numbly, walking to the elevator bank, on autopilot. Since it was a little over 5:00 pm, the night guards were on duty beyond the entrance gates, and the familiar ones greeted me politely. I must have seemed like a snobby bitch when I ghosted past them without responding. 

Someone else was in charge of my body now. Someone alien. Because it certainly wasn't Layla Hayat. 

Maybe an hour later, or maybe a month later, I realized that I was sitting in my darkened office, and Fahad was saying something to me. 

"...visit of the psychotherapist from Lahore, followed by the session on breast cancer awareness?" 

"What?" I asked confusedly, and my loyal assistant finally caught on to my complete inattentiveness. 

"Would you like me to open the blinds and the lights?" Fahad asked briskly after repeating a list of tasks that needed my review and approval.

I shrugged. 

"Can I take that as a yes? or an ambiguous response?" he pressed. 

"Yes." I mumbled, staring blindly at the shadowed silhouettes of the cactus collection on my desk. 

"Yes, I can take that as a yes? or Yes, it is an ambiguous response requiring no action on my part?" 

"Go away." I swallowed painfully, closing my eyes, when all I wanted to do was close my brain. I wanted oblivion from my memory, I wanted to go to a place where I didn't exist, and Fahad just wasn't helping me get there. 

He must have left at my terse plea, and I allowed myself the liberty to lose track of time once more. Because my blinds were closed, I had no idea if it was still nighttime, or if it were a new day altogether. Minutes, hours didn't exist in this dimension of oblivion. 

For the first time in my life post-hiraeth, I idly contemplated suicide during that timeless time. This is where I put my business degree to use; I did a cost-benefit analysis of ending my own pathetic life. 

Cost: My family would be devastated.

Benefit: I'd find true oblivion.

and then, 

Cost: My eternal soul will burn in hell.

Benefit: Azaan wouldn't hate me. He'd truly love me till the day I died.

I was working out the third one in my head, when the overhead lights in my room were unceremoniously snapped open. I flinched at the harsh assault to my eyes, a moan of irritation making its way out of me.

"Nightlife?" Azaan called out in disbelief from the doorway. His hand was still hovering over the switchboard. Astonishment, and worry was written all over his face, and I automatically recoiled from the sentiment. I don't deserve your worry. 

"Layla? what the hell happened? it's 2:30 in the morning, sweetheart! what the hell are you still doing here?" he frowned at me, cautiously approaching my desk. I noted that he was wearing an old, hole-ridden Sonic shirt and bermuda shorts; with his hair standing on end, and tired dark circles under his eyes, he had obviously left his bed to get here. 

"I'm working." I replied shakily, toying nervously with the task journal lying in front of my desk. I blindly stared at the yellow-lined pages, trying to make sense of the words written there. The only thing that currently made sense to me, was my betrayal. My helplessness. My cowardice. My self-disgust.

Azaan didn't say a word as he silently approached my desk. I watched warily as he sprawled on the chair across from mine, and began methodically arranging my potted mini cactus collection, in order of ascending height. Once done with that, he stacked my post-it notes into a rainbow of colors, occasionally pausing to yawn behind his fist. After tidying up my desk, Azaan whipped out his iPad and started playing a really loud and annoying video game. He looked perfectly content just sitting in that chair, legs spread out in front of him, his mouth twisted into a pout of concentration, deft, long fingers flying over the surface. 

"What're you doing?" I finally managed to croak. 

"Beating Faris's high score at Diner Dash." He replied while his eyes were still glued to the screen. 

"Why are you here?" I asked after a pause.

"Because you're here." 

His matter-of-fact tone broke me. It broke me into smallest of pieces, until I no longer existed for my own self, until it seemed like I existed for him and him alone. Because he made me want to live, when I wanted to die the most. 

"How did you--?" I began, only to have him interrupt me. 

"Khan called me. Said you hadn't left the building. Then Fahad called me, suggesting that I should check up on you...good thing I did too." He rubbed his left eye tiredly, and my heart swelled at his adorableness. "Say, you still have those Nimco snacks? the mixed flavor, not the spicy one?" 

I exhaled a shaky breath, savoring these last few moments with him, before he'd hate me forever. I drank in the sight of him. From the top of his crisp dark hair, to the indolent power of his body reclining on my dainty pink sofa-chair. He was magnificent, in his old T-shirt that was too faded, and his camouflage bermudas that were too baggy, and his hungry endless vacuum pit of a stomach, that somehow defied fitness logic...

And I wanted to live in this moment forever, even if it wasn't for keeps. For this one moment, I just wanted to be his fiancee. I wanted to be the one he'd grow old with, the one he'd annoy for the rest of his life. I wanted to be the one who'd give him babies, the one who'd keep a secret stash of junk food for his late-night snacks. I wanted to be his first kiss, and his last one. I wanted to be wearing his ring, and I wanted...

I wanted to be his. 

"Aren't you going to ask me what's wrong?" I killed my hopeless fantasies with efficiency. What's the use of dreaming anyways?

This right here would be the point of no return...

He sighed loudly at my trembling question, swiping his iPad shut. His eyes were closed shut as he reclined on my girly pink chair. Somehow, he belonged there. on that dainty piece of furniture. He belonged here as well as he belongs in his own masculine office.

Because you're here. He had said. 

"Something tells me that I don't want to know about it." he finally said darkly, his fingers steepled below his chin. His eyelashes were so long, resting on the top of his cheekbones, his face, a study of near-perfect angles, tinted with late-night stubble. I know it was silly, but if this time were to be the last time we were together, I wanted him to smile that signature, naughty dimpled smile of his, just once. Instead, his expression was taut with anxiety caused by me. No sign of a smile anywhere...

I took a deep breath. My exhale would have been a sob, if I hadn't swallowed hard against the sound. My heart was breaking as I reached into the handbag lying at my feet. The beautiful Lily Ring was cold to touch, as I withdrew it from the depths of the bag. I reverently placed the ring near Azaan's elbow, which was perched on my desk. 

I didn't say a word. 

I didn't have to. 

His eyes instantly came ablaze with disbelief and anger, as he understood what I was saying without words. 

"Please tell me you just want a bigger ring, Hayat..." He grounded out, watching me warily from across my desk. 

"I can't marry you." I stated with finality. 

"Why the hell not?" He snapped angrily, "You were pretty damned okay with the idea four days ago!" 

"I know you're upset, Azaan but I--"

"Upset? UPSET?" he yelped incredulously, a hysterical bark of laughter escaping him, "I am upset because The Foo Fighters  broke up! not because my fiancee is sitting in an empty office building at 3 in the morning, casually informing me that she can't marry me! this doesn't make me upset: this spontaneous shithole you just pushed me into? I am hurt and angry beyond words, Layla! Upset doesn't even begin to cover it!" 

He was hurting, and I couldn't do anything to stop it. Unless I could go back in time, and stop myself from falling in love with him. Because that's how this whole fiasco began: with me reaching for things that were beyond me. Icarus Love. 

My face crumpled into tears when he pushed away from the desk, indifferent to the ominous thud sound of his iPad sliding face-down to the floor. My chin wobbled with the force of my misery, as suppressed angry tears of this morning made their way out of my body with gut-wrenching gasps. 

Azaan turned to face away from me, his shoulders tensed. He seemed so far away suddenly. Unreachable and unforgiving. 

I had been unforgiving to him too, once. It took him months to earn back forgiveness that should always have been his. So I guess I deserved what was coming. 

"Give me one good reason, Layla." He finally whispered roughly, "Just one. And if it isn't good enough, I swear to God, I will elope with you tomorrow. I just can't deal with your indecision any more. Not after you told me that you're in love with me. Not after you gave me a taste of what it could be like, if we were together. These past few months with you, I...I thought they meant something to you." 

One good enough reason?

One will be enough. 

"I betrayed you, Azaan. And I betrayed my Allah." the words were wrenched out of me, tearing up my heart in the process, my very soul. 

"Your brother, your family, and your whores." Musa whispered tantalizingly, "How much are they worth to you? I want to find out." 

They're worth more than you asked for, you fool.

I can always rebuild Hiraeth, someplace new. I can always live my life unloved by the love of my life, no matter how traumatizing it appears to be. 

But if I reject his offer, I can never give my brother another chance at redemption. I can never sleep in peace, with the knowledge that my family, my friends are getting hurt because of me. 

I took my ring off gingerly, kissing it reverently. "Quid Pro Quo." I murmured to myself. 

I'm sorry Allah. I'm about to break boundaries that you set for me. 

I'm sorry Azaan, I couldn't take care of your half. 

I leveled a look of intense loathing on the man who was dragging me to hell. "I accept." 

His responding Cheshire cat grin made my nausea worsen. "I knew you were a smart businesswoman."

"I want the paperwork first." I demanded. 

"Of course." He smirked.

After the formalities were verified, and I had signed my conscience away, I could no longer stall. 

"I suppose it doesn't matter to you that I am engaged to another?" my voice couldn't hide the desperate edge, as he advanced towards me. He snickered at that. 

"Congratulations on the momentous occasion." He replied mercilessly. 

"How do I know you're not recording this? How do I know I won't end up on social media for this?" I flinched as his hand grabbed my arm roughly. The instinct to scream, and scratch and claw at him, was too hard to ignore. I wanted to climb out of my own skin. 

"My wife and I have an understanding of sorts, Layla. We both look the other way whenever we seek variety. As long as we keep it discrete, of course. I'd never embarrass Saleema with a public scandal my dear. That's downright middle-class of you to even assume, I'm disappointed." He murmured, smoothing his sweaty palm down my arm. "Besides, I might be your Prime Minister next year. It wouldn't do to have something like this surface before election time. No...believe me, I have more to lose than you do." 

"How do you know, I'm not recording everything?" I squirmed away from his touch. 

"Don't evade the inevitable, Layla," he crooned, leaning down to tug the dupatta off of my head. "I know you're stalling by asking stupid questions."  Then he pointed at two tiny nondescript black boxes mounted below the light fixtures. "Those are tech-jamming devices, sweetheart. This wing of the house is bug-proof." 

I trembled with impotent fury and humiliation. "I know you belong to no faith, Musa. I know that the afterlife has no meaning to you, but you do possess a soul. We all do. And mark my words: when the day of judgement comes, I will never forgive you. My Allah will never forgive you, for what you did to me, and Chandi. And I curse you. I curse you to the hottest pits of Jahannam. Your soul will never find peace. In Sha Allah (God Willing)"

I gasped when he grabbed my chin without warning, tilting my face from all angles, as if he were examining an object for sale. And I could see now, all the lines of sneers, under his eyes, his cruel thin mouth, and the cold gray eyes. His neatly trimmed beard seemed artificial somehow. And he smelled distinctly of alcohol. 

I have no idea why I ever thought he was handsome. This man was ugly, down to his core. 

"Tick tock, princess." He rasped. 

I closed my eyes, and gritted out. "Just do it then." 

"And force myself on you?" He asked dramatically, "Why, I'd never!" 

I suppressed a whimper as his greedy fingers dug into my neatly bound hair. He pulled at it, and it was all I could do, to cry and fight like I would have, as a child. 

"How many 'feminine empowerment' bullshit seminars did you conduct at that whore house of yours anyways, hmm Layla?" He jeered, "All of those empty motivational rhetoric you encouraged? How ironic that all that led you to this moment. At my mercy. And now that you remember your place, you will kiss me. You will kiss me, because I won't force myself on you. I want you to do it on your own, knowing all the while that I can do whatever the hell I want with you, and there's nothing you can do about it." 

It took every ounce of my own inner strength, to remind myself that Musa's words didn't matter. That even if loathsome and degrading, the act was my own wretched choice. That good will come out of this evil. 

So I did what I had to. 

I kissed my worst enemy. 

I allowed him to take liberties with my body, that he had no business taking-yet again. And as I walked away from his golden palace, I left something behind that I'd never get back. A part of me died in that grand library. 

And I knew just one thing: Layla Hayat was no more. 

................

"I betrayed you, Azaan. I cheated on y-you." I whispered lifelessly after recounting the harrowing events of this past day. "I know you can never forgive me, because I know how hard forgiveness is. What I did to you, is so much worse than what you did. You'll hate me for it. But I want to ask your forgiveness anyways. I have prayed and prayed for Allah's forgiveness, but I'll never be at peace unless I get yours too."

He was facing away from me, head bowed, and I had no way of telling whether he was hurt or angry. The only indication of his emotions were the taut lines of his body, and the clenched fists hanging by his sides. 

"I have no illusions for our relationship; I don't expect...No. I don't want you to honor our engagement out of gentlemanly scruples. You can h-hate me all you like, but know in your heart that I will love you in this life, and the next. And if that love means anything to you, then maybe in a few years, you might find it in your heart to forgive me. I'd like that very m-much." 

I choked on the last word, as a silent stream of tears overwhelmed me. I bit my knuckles to keep from crying out loud. 

"Did you enjoy it?" Azaan's deadpanned question made me hiccup into outraged silence. 

"How could you even--Of course I didn't! H-he all but f-forced me. I threw up on his lawn afterwards!" My hands were trembling with the rage at his insinuation. 

"Then you didn't betray me, Nightlife." He turned to face me, and I actually recoiled away from the anger ablaze in his eyes. 

"Azaan, I kissed another--"

"No. It was not a kiss. It was assault. It was coercion. It was blackmail. Google it." 

I slumped back in my chair, just eyeing him incredulously. 

Of all the possible reactions I had anticipated, acceptance and forgiveness hadn't been one of them. In order to protect myself from hurt, I had never allowed myself to even hope for it. 

Yet there it was: Azaan Malik protecting me as usual. Even after I committed a heinous sin. 

"Did you get your brother released?" he asked quietly. 

"Yes. I sent a lawyer with the papers to the High Court. Dad will have a press conference to announce his release tomorrow--well, today."  I replied numbly, still in denial. 

"What about Chandi? Is she home safe?" 

"Yes. Juju supervised her release into our custody." I nodded. 

He was quiet for a breath, before he asked a question that turned my heart into mush. 

"So what are we going to do about a new place for Hiraeth?" 

Tears of helpless love sprang into my eyes when I heard him. We-he had said. 

We is officially my favorite word in the world from now on. 

"Oh Azaaaaan!" I wailed, burying my face in my hands, as I cried freely. This time with a mixture of gratitude, sadness, relief and hope. "I don't deserve it! your faith! I feel filthy inside now. You can't imagine how much I hate myself for being so weak in front of him! It was like he owned me..."

He must have moved because suddenly he was crouching next to me, murmuring reassurances, words of love into my ears. 

"Tell me Layla, what did you when that perverted professor made moves on you? Did you win, or did you lose?" he asked seriously. 

I stared tearfully into his eyes. He was still grim-faced, but it was clear from his expressions that he didn't hate me, which was something of a miracle really. 

"I w-won." 

"And what about that time you saved--I dunno--30 teenage girls from that prostitution ring? Did you win, or did you lose?" 

"I won." I sniffed. 

"What about Hiraeth? providing shelter, food and love to helpless women. Is that a win, or a loss?" He stroked a gentle finger over my face, flicking away stray tears. 

"It's a win." 

"What about your Fashion Walk? It is still cited as one of the most iconic abuse awareness campaigns of all time. Did you win, or did you lose? Nightlife?" 

"I won." 

"What about when you poured hot sauce into your sister's douchebag fiance's eyes? He screamed like a banshee, and you called him a Llama molester. That was a heck of a win, no?" the ghost of a smirk crossed his face, and my heart nearly stopped when I spotted the elusive dimple in his cheek. Mine.

"Yes." I giggled tearfully. 

"When the love of your life made a mistake and left you broken, who pulled you together, after Allah?" 

I raised my eyebrows at him, astonished. 

"Who did?" he repeated firmly, giving my chair a little nudge. 

"I did." I whispered back. 

"That's right. You have won things at your age, that people don't even achieve in lifetimes. You Layla Hayat, are a winner. But like all smart sportsmen, you know that some days you have to lose, so you can grow from it. So you can become humbled by it. So that the wins seem all the more sweeter when they happen." He was saying this with such serious sincerity that I couldn't believe this really was the same boy who once ate a dozen lemons for kicks. 

And it was like this invisible weight lifted from my shoulder. Tears of helpless gratitude swam into my eyes as I realized what his support meant for me: Redemption. 

One of my favorite names from the 99 names of Allah, is: الْغَفَّارُ (The Great Forgiver). Forgiving someone has never been easy for me as a person. It happens to be one of Allah's infinite qualities: being forgiving. And so many times, I have taken solace in the knowledge that He will forgive me for the sins I committed against His nature, as long as I don't wrong a fellow human. 

And here I was, in love with the most perfect man, who embodied that quality so well. 

God knows I would never have easily forgiven Azaan for cheating on me, no matter the reason. And maybe it was my own insecurity that led me to asking him this question: 

"This is more than a loss, Azaan." I tucked stray hair behind my ear, tugging at the ends in agitation, "I'm scared that this will change our relationship. Maybe not today, but someday you might despise me for being weak enough to let him--well you know." 

His jaw hardened at that, and he seemed to be struggling with sudden rage, "The only way it will change our relationship, is when I will one day, ruin that monster's life, and for once in your life, you'll have let someone else fight a battle for you." 

I frowned in response, "Promise you'll flub him up?" 

"You bet baby." He nodded. 

"And you won't get caught?" I pressed. 

"They don't call me Batman for nothing, you know." He grinned that adorable grin of his, and I was done for: for the second time. 

I nodded briskly and snatched the Lily ring back from the tabletop it was lying on, and thrust it into his face pointedly. I was scowling with belated anger at Musa's sleazy plan. The more I thought about it coolly, without the cloud of heartbreak clouding my head, the more pissed off I was becoming. I have never considered myself to be a particularly gory person, but I have to confess I wouldn't have minded performing an appendectomy on him...without anesthetics. I also imagined yanking out his kidneys and donating them both for AIDS research. The idea filled me with more glee than it should have. 

"Are you as angry as I am?" Azaan quirked a brow at me as he took the ring from my hand. Instead of sliding it onto my offered hand, he kept toying with it. 

"Angrier." I retorted. 

"Then I'll hold onto this ring until after we blow off some steam. Come on." He yanked me up from the chair in one fluid movement, and before I could protest the manhandling, we were climbing four flights of stairs up to his gym. 

"What...the...hell...?" I panted after the exertion of the stairs climbing, "Why didn't we take the elevator?" 

"Because our elevators get automatically turned off after 3 am." He grunted as he moved past me, and began rummaging into an equipment locker built into the wall of the gym. He grabbed a couple of boxing gloves from inside, and tossed them to me. 

"Azaan wha--?" I got stunned into silence when he turned around and punched a overhanging red punching bag multiple times. Oh. 

I stopped flinching after the third THWACK. 

Slightly out of breath, with a sheen of moisture on his face, he turned towards me, his eyes ablaze with manic excitement. 

"You wanna join me, in beating this shit-stain to a pulp?" He gestured towards the red punching bag. 

I slowly approached him, pulling on my gloves in the process. This is why he didn't want to give me my ring back. 

"This is Musa?" I smirked, lightly pushing the heavy bag, watching it swing slightly. 

"Wait." Azaan growled, rummaging in the locker once more and emerging with a huge black permanent marker. He drew an ugly stick figure with deft strokes. I yanked it from him and added a bushel of beard and broken teeth. Then Azaan decided to add an NSFW element over the bastard's head. "Dick-brain." He explained politely when I looked confusedly at him. 

I nodded and added a speech bubble that said: 'I have thin eyebrows.'

"Oh right. I remember you hate thin eyebrows." My fiance gave me a thumbs-up. "He is ugly." 

"Not ugly enough." I gritted my teeth as I landed the first punch, right on Musa's head. And then it was as if a frenzy seized me. I no longer had control over my body as I snarled, yelled empty threats and obscenities at the poor punching bag, kicking and punching it as if my life depended on it. I was unmindful of my hair tumbling out of my clip, and down my back. I wasn't even aware of Azaan in that moment, so potent was my rage.

He didn't interrupt. Just let me vent out every last drop of my anger out of my body. And afterwards when I collapsed on the gym mats underneath me, I felt de-toxified. 

"I...I get it...now. Why...you love...doing...this..." I gasped to Azaan after I had wordlessly gulped on the water bottle he handed me. I collapsed on the floor weakly, choosing to watch him approach the punching bag I had just abandoned, and land a few strategic blows to "Musa's" nether regions. 

He shrugged, landing blow after blow of merciless punches, "I don't love it. But it's a great way to stay in shape. Watching you however...well, let's just say, I have developed a newfound love for activity."

I viciously yanked my sweaty, stringy hair into a rough ponytail. "Oh yeah? Why's that?" 

"You look so hot doing it." He grinned between a pause between his kicks, "It makes me glad that we're eloping today." 

I snorted, "I sure feel hot. Why ever didn't you turn the A/C on...WHAAAAT?" I yelled in surprise when I heard the last part. 

"Yeah. We made a deal, remember Nightlife?" He reminded me with gleeful enthusiasm, "If you could give me one good reason not to marry you, then we elope today." 

"That wasn't...I am not...WHAT THE HELL! I'M NOT RUNNING AWAY WITH YOU AZAAN MALIK DAMMIT!" I sputtered, half laughing at his annoyingly adorable, cocky smile. 

"Like hell you're not." He frowned, "The least you can do, after putting me through this hell is, honor a legitimate deal that we made." 

"I can't run away!" I yelped, distressed, "We're not THAT desperate! our families aren't feuding medieval war-lords. Nobody is opposing our marriage!" 

THWACK was the answer. 

Well then.

"My mother will never forgive me if I don't wear the dress she made for me. She has spent a decade designing it, do you know?" 

THWACK. 

I could almost hear his, 'Oh COME ON! Seriously?'

"It's not like I don't want to marry soon. Because I do...but people will make up horrible stories if we marry suddenly. Especially the Media." 

THWACK. 

'As if you give a rat's fart about appearances!' 

"I'm scared of Kulsoom Dadi. She will be horrified if we don't invite her." 

THWAAACKKK!

'Kulsoom Dadi will love having the excuse to guilt trip us for the rest of our lives.'

"We could do a small wedding in a couple of months. Easy enough to plan. Hmm?" I offered reasonably.

Azaan stripped off his gloves without looking at me, and threw them to one side. He did that distracting thing that he does after workouts, where he strips down to his tank top, and wipes up his sweaty face with the discarded T-Shirt. 

Except this time, he wasn't wearing a tank top under his Nightshirt. 

I forced myself to stare at anything but my fiance's droolworthy pecs and biceps. 

"...or we could just have an intimate Nikah tomorrow, and the reception in a few weeks?" I asked in a suddenly high-pitched and breathy voice. Suddenly I didn't want to wait anymore. We were finally each other's. Stronger than we had been before this morning. And somehow, each excuse I made sounded emptier than the one preceding it. Something in my heart just clicked into place. It's time--it said.

"Well? Say something!" I waited anxiously while he took his time drinking water, and clearing up the gym. 

He slowly approached the bench I was perched on, and held out his hand towards me. I gingerly places my hand in his, and watched with an aching heart as he gently, reverently slid my ring back into my finger. 

"I'll take that as a yes, then..." 

Author's Note: 

We're here, folks. The most depressing part of any book. 

At the End. 

Well...ALMOST at the end. 

The next chapter will be the last one of "Don't Remind Me". Which will be followed by the customary Epilogue. :) :) :) 

This chapter just flowed through. Like diarrhea. Which is a relief after last one's...well you know. 

So maybe a lot of you might feel like I undermined the "Feminist" aspect of Layla's character development. But I felt like Layla was winning too much. As if Donald Trump had won in her world, and promised to have "So much winning. That you'd be tired of all the winning." (Drumpf reference). 

Anyways, I felt that I needed to make her lose in a big way. See how she'd bounce back from there. (I love her so much, even though it's weird, because she is a figment of my imagination! I WISH I could be as strong as her!) 

Is it exaggerated violence on poor Laylee? 

Yes. 

Was it being turned into a long-winded "Star Plus Soap Drama"?

Probably. 

Is it 'Unrealistic'? The drama?

I FRIGGIN HOPE SO. 

Violence, abuse, coercion against women SHOULD be fictional. I wish it were about as real as Kulsoom Dadi's Pet dogs. But it's not. 

In fact, I have gentled the story in my opinion. Simply because I don't have the stomach to write real, gritty, hardcore realities like other authors. I have hinted at the real abuse Layla faced, choosing to spare the details. 

So yeah, my book is unrealistic, because the reality is so much more intense, and dramatic than my lighthearted romance book could handle. 

So thank you, dear reader. Whoever you are. Thank you for supporting me so much, for the past near 50 chapters. Please continue with the fabulous work, and don't forget to Vote and Comment!! Tell me what you thought! It means the world to me! <3 

And before I sign off, I have to show off this week's Artwork by none other than, MsKhan7

THANK YOU SO MUCH KHAN, YOU DA BOMB GURL!! <3 :* 

Anyways, I have barely edited it, because I know for a fact that I won't get a chance to be on Wattpad for the next few days, and I wanted to get the story out ASAP. SO anyways, I wouldn't mind if you'd point out major typos. Just don't be an asshole about it. I am short on patience these days :P TIA.

Love and Potamatoes, 

-E.

PS: Americans who'll be voting soon: Be smart FFS. And move to Canada. 

Ciao.