Saturday at Sal's, I volunteered to work the kitchen. I hadn't done much baking since coming to this location, but I wanted to make you something special. You were feeling worse than the day before: irritable and in pain. All I wanted was to get you back to my usual, playful, happy Maddie. Gem always wanted chocolate during that time of the month, so I thought I'd make you something chocolatey. I flipped through Sal's little box of cookie recipes until I found one that I thought you would like. Toffee chocolate chip. I dug through the storage and found the toffee pieces and chocolate chips, then got to work. Making cookies is probably the easiest thing one can bake. But making large batches, I mean like industrial-size, well that gets complicated. The butter softens too much the longer the dough sits out unless you have a chilled bowl, and it changes the texture. Sal didn't have the big industrial-size mixers like we'd had at W. Mandeville anyway, so I had to make them in several normal size batches. By my lunch break, I had made almost 200 cookies. I bundled up a dozen to bring home to you, leaving the others on the cooling rack.

Then I went out to the deli and picked out a box of chamomile tea from the display shelves. Mum always drank chamomile tea when she was in pain from her period. Then I flicked open the Internet on my phone and read about good foods to eat to help with menstrual pain. Bananas. I grabbed a small bunch from the shelf. Hummus. Spinach? Kale. I glanced up at the menu board. Hmmm. You liked veggie pizza. Maybe you'd go for the veggie sandwich with hummus, kale, spinach, roasted peppers, and feta cheese.

I walked up to the register to order and pay for it. "Hey Sal. These, and also two veggie sandwiches." I waited while he threw the sandwiches together. "How much?"

He tapped at the register slowly: click. Click click. Click. Click. I bit the inside of my lip waiting. "$32.50," he finally said. I handed him two twenties, and as he bagged the food, I told him I would need an hour for lunch but would stay a half hour longer at the end of the day to clean up the kitchen. He regarded me suspiciously. "Why?" I told him you weren't feeling well. He went into full-on Greek parent mode. "What's wrong? Does she need soup? Let me get you some soup. Hold on."

I held up my hand. "No, no. It's not like... the flu."

"Still. My soup makes everyone feel better, no matter what is wrong. Hold on, I will get you some soup." He grabbed two large cartons and filled one with his famous lemon chicken rice Avgolemeno, and the other with Hortosoupa, vegetable soup with noodles. "On the house. You give her this soup, she'll feel better in no time."

"Thanks, Sal." I found you asleep when I got home and shook you gently awake. "Baby, I've got some lunch for you."

"We have leftovers," you grumbled.

"I have cookies."

You sat up. "What kind?"

I laughed, "chocolate toffee. They're still warm."

I handed you the box, and you took one out with an adorable, child-like look of excitement. "Oh my god," you said, with melted chocolate dripping out of your mouth. "That's so good."

"I brought you a veggie sandwich," you raised your eyebrows at me eagerly, "and some bananas, and soup from Sal."

"Which soup?"

"The lemon," you let out a low yes, "and veggie."

"Well, now I don't care that we have leftovers because this is better."

"I disagree," I smiled down at you, petting your hair gently. I wiped at the chocolate on your lip with my thumb, then leaned down to kiss you. "As I said yesterday. But I'm glad you're happy. I just want you feeling better."

You ate the rest of the cookie happily, and we shared a little bit of both soups. It was way too much food, and that point was even more salient when I slid the soup containers into the fridge, squishing the thanksgiving leftovers further back.

After I'd made another few hundred cookies, returning to you powdered in flour and bearing yet more cookies...and after we had finally eaten the veggie sandwiches, you crawled into bed and curled up. I rubbed your back with my flat palm while reading one of my textbooks. It wasn't an exciting or romantic Saturday night, like one might expect from a couple of teenagers in Los Angeles, but it was perfect to me. I didn't need to be out partying in some hotel penthouse suite or to be cruising up Mullholland at midnight with the windows down. I just needed you beside me. As long as I had that, I had enough. I had everything I needed.

Monday, I sat down with Liam and Louis and showed them Better Than Words.

"Built to spill," Liam said.

"What?" I asked, scowling.

"This reminds me of You Were Right by Built to Spill."

"It's like you're speaking another language, mate," Louis snorted.

Liam sighed and rolled his eyes. "Built to Spill is an indie band. Here," he swiped his phone open. "Listen."

After tapping a few times, a rock song played. It was a song entirely made of song lyrics. The verses all started with the phrase "you were right when you said..." And then a line from a classic rock song. The chorus, though, was, "you were wrong when you said everything's gonna be all right. Yeah you were wrong..."

"Interesting," I muttered.

"I like yours better, quite frankly," Louis said. "I've got an idea for a riff already." He sat at the piano and played chords.

"Yeah. Yes," Liam hissed, grabbing an electric guitar. He mimicked the chords. Then he sang, "I don't know how else to sum it up. Cuz word ain't good enough."

"Oh my god, yes," I grinned at them both. "It's perfect."

After an hour, we had pretty much hammered out the whole thing. Zayn popped in just as we were finishing up.

"Lads."

"Zaynie!" Liam jumped up and cuddled Zayn until Zayn pushed him forcefully off. We all chuckled.

"The fuck, Liam?"

"I just missed you is all."

"Is he high?"

"Right," Louis scoffed. "As if."

"We've got a new song!" Liam looked at Zayn eagerly. It really was kind of odd behaviour for him. I glanced at Louis, frowning questioningly. Louis shrugged, but he looked a bit guilty. What had he given Liam? Jesus.

"I've got a song, too, actually. Can I," Zayn was hesitant, "can I show you guys?"

"Yeah, mate, let's hear it," I smiled to let him know I wasn't bothered. It was typically my role to write the lyrics. Zayn's to sing them. Liam and Louis' to create the music behind them. But lately these lines were getting blurred, like when they take your glasses away at the eye doctor and ask you to read what's on the wall. I'd written nearly all of Tell Me a Lie on my own, and Zayn was having to share the vocals more and more these days. I thought we might need to have a band meeting and redefine our roles, since we weren't really adhering to them anymore.

Zayn held the crumpled paper in front of him and sang*:
I'm seeing your pain, seeing your pleasure
No bullshit around us, no bullshit to fight over
Nobody but you, 'body but me, 'body but us
Bodies intwined together, coming together
I'd love to hold you close, tonight and always
I'd love to wake up next to you
So we'll piss off the neighbours
In the place that feels the tears
The place to lose your fears
Yeah, reckless behaviour
A place that is so pure, so dirty and raw
Be in the bed all day, naked next to you
Fucking you and fighting on...

"Um. That's all I have so far."

"I really loved that high note on reckless behaviour," I said.

"Me too," Liam nodded. Louis gave a quick nod as well.

I went on, "But, um. I don't know about some of the words..." I swear to you, Maddie, I wasn't just put off because he was taking over my role. I really objected to the content. "Like, um, fucking you..."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, they're just..." I trailed off and looked to Liam for help.

"It's time to grow up, Haz. It's okay to fucking cuss, you know." Zayn rolled his eyes, his face flushing an angry shade of red.

"Whoa, mate, calm down. I just...it's not even that, really." I was struggling to express myself, as was common when I was upset or nervous.

"It's maybe a bit crass," Louis said.

Thank god someone else got it. "Yes, exactly."

"Said Louis, the King of fucking crass." He crumpled the paper up and stuffed it into his pocket. "Man, I fucking knew I couldn't share my shit with you guys. Just because the master poet here didn't write it doesn't mean it isn't good."

"Zayn, I--" I reached a hand out toward him and he slapped it away. Hard. I stepped into his space, towering over him, shaking with anger. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"You. You're my fucking problem. You keep all the best parts to yourself or for Liam, and I can't even fucking call myself the lead singer of this shitty band anymore. So I try to branch out and write my own song, and you just fucking shit all over it."

"Zayn," Liam said his name so quietly, tugging on his upper arm to get him to back down. "The song is good. What you maybe don't realise because Haz usually writes the lyrics, and you don't see the process...is that we workshop the songs this way. We change lyrics that don't work--"

"We literally made Harry change his favourite line of the song we just finished writing," Louis added. I'm still bitter about it.

"It's not shitting on your song. It...is a good foundation. We just need to fine tune it. Together," Liam tried to placate him.

Zayn wasn't having it. "Forget it. Just fucking forget it, okay?" He turned and pulled open the door. "Send me the new songs so I can learn them."

He left, and the rest of us looked at each other in dismay.

"I'm sorry," I shook my head. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"You're not wrong about it," Liam sighed. "I didn't like that line about fucking either."

"It's just a bit objectifying, is all," I said. "Like, kind of degrading."

Liam looked uncomfortable. "I don't know if I'd go that far, Haz."

"It's a fine line between sexual objectification and romance," Louis shrugged.

"Not that fine," I argued. "I mean, so dirty and raw, fucking you...no. That's not a fine line."

"Yeah, but other lines make it more romantic, like, um, how'd it go?" Louis looked up at the ceiling. "I'd love to hold you close," he sang in his raspy tenor, "I'd love to wake up next to you."

"For now and always, it said, too," Liam added.

I nodded. "Yeah, that's true. If he'd just heard us out, we could have worked through the lyrics that were too..."

"Crass," Louis offered again, shrugging with his arms out.

"I feel so bad," I flopped onto one of the metal folding chairs, landed awkwardly on the seat, and tipped sideways onto the floor, my legs and arms flailing ridiculously and catching in the frame of the chair. I laid there staring at the ceiling while Liam and Louis laughed until tears were streaming down their cheeks. Fucking karma.

"Are you okay?" Liam asked finally, extending his hand to help me up.

"Physically I'm fine. Emotionally, I'm bruised."

"That was the greatest thing I've seen...like ever," Louis shook his head, still laughing.

I flipped him off. I sighed, brushing the dust off my dark jeans. "So, which songs are we doing this week?"

"I vote Strong, Little Things, and...do we have End of the Day ready?" Louis asked.

I shook my head. "I'm not done revising the lyrics. I don't know how I feel about that one right now. I don't like the second verse."

"So, no to End. What about one we've already done?" Liam suggested. "Just throw Through the Dark back in?"

"Yeeeahhhh," Louis squinted in hesitation. "I just really feel like we need to perform new material at each of these showcases. The point is to show off what we can do."

"We could do Better Than Words," Liam raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah," Louis and I said at the same time. "Jinx," we were in sync again, laughing.

Liam ticked the songs on his fingers, "Okay, so Strong, Little Things, Better Than Words."

"Little Things, Better Than Words, Strong," I altered the order.

"That's what I just said," Liam huffed.

My phone binged with a text from you. "See you guys tomorrow," I waved, grabbed my bass, and jogged out to meet you at the car. "Sorry, baby."

"It's fine," you pressed your lips into a line.

I wanted to tell you about the fight with Zayn, but I sensed you weren't in the mood. "You okay?" I asked once we were both inside the car.

"Yeah, just tired." That was always code for pissed off with Fern.

"Are you angry with me about something?"

You turned to me with an expression of utter shock, "what? No! Why do you think that?"

"You've just...been kinda grumpy lately." I was terrified that you regretted telling me you loved me. I was terrified of how you seemed to be pulling away. I was terrified that the people in your life were going to tell you I wasn't good enough for you. Every sharp word, every scowl, every eyeroll and shrug terrified me.

You sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm really not mad about anything. I think I'm just grumpy because I don't feel good, ya know? Like my whole body hurts. My breasts hurt," you pushed them up with both hands. "My back hurts. I feel gross. I hate being a girl."

"Awww, baby, let's get you home, and I'll rub your back again."

"You're too good to me."

"There's no such thing as too good where you're concerned, my love."

I drove us home and sent you off to shower while I made us thanksgiving feast sandwiches and chamomile tea. I set two bananas and four cookies on the plate as well and carried it all on this pretty red serving tray you had. You were just pulling on a thick sporty type sports bra thing when I reached the bedroom. You rolled your eyes at me for staring at you. "It helps my boobs not hurt so much. Because gravity."

"Okay. I like it for the record. You don't have to defend it."

"You like it?" You looked down at your cleavage. "Ahhh I see." You smirked up at me.

"You look fit."

"British fit or American fit because those are two different things," your voice was pouring sarcasm like hot water from a kettle, ready to scald.

"Both, love. You look sexy and healthy, and I feel so lucky that I get to see you like this." I wished I could watch you run dressed like this, in tiny shorts and bra that pushed your tits up so high. God, how they would probably bounce. Fuck. I coughed when I realised my thoughts had wandered to an inappropriate place.

Your expression softened, though, as if you had no idea what I was imagining. "Thanks."

"So, I attempted to make the sandwiches like you did. And I've got some chamomile tea--"

"I don't drink tea."

"I know, but it will help with your pain and, like, other discomfort." You furrowed your brows but didn't say anything further. "And I brought you a banana, which should also help." Now you smiled. "And more cookies."

"I love you." You were glowing like the faintest trace of a rainbow in the light of a drizzling rain.

"You love me or you love cookies?"

"I love you. And cookies." I winced exaggeratedly. "But I love you more than cookies. I mean, cookies never bring me you, yet here you are bringing me cookies. So yeah, you win."

I laughed. "I love you, too, Maddie. Now, come on. Get thee to bed."

You laughed. "More Shakespeare." I handed you the mug of tea once you'd settled into bed. You sniffed it and blew to cool it before taking the tiniest of sips. "Okay, that's pretty good, actually." I smiled and handed you the banana.

We ate our dinner and cookies, I cleared the tray, and we settled into bed on our sides, spoon style. I rubbed your shoulder and lower back until your faint snore told me you'd fallen asleep. The rest of our week passed in much the same fashion. We were both preparing for finals and working with our bands. I had pulled Zayn aside on Tuesday and apologised about the song. (He shrugged me off). Then I had to work Wednesday evening and got home late. Still, we cuddled up together to sleep every night. It was the beautifully mundane stuff of living together.

Friday morning, you kissed me all over my face to wake me up. I finally squinted one eye open and moved to meet your lips. You relaxed into the kiss, your lips parting slightly and enveloping my lower lip. You swiped your tongue along that lip, but I pulled away. I could smell your toothpaste and knew my breath must be foul.

"Mm-mm." I shook my head with my lips pressed closed.

"What?"

"You're a minty fresh cheater. No fair."

You rolled your eyes, but it was the old, lighthearted eyeroll I loved so much and not the cranky one of late. "Yeah, I brushed my teeth. I also swam, showered, and ran a load of laundry. I do more by 8 am than the army. See?" You pushed your tongue into my mouth.

I pulled away, burying my face in the pillow. "I have morning breath."

"You have morning wood, too."

I squeaked as your hand dipped under the waistband of my pants and onto the redwood tree waiting there. "Fuck," I exhaled, the feeling of your cold hand on my heated flesh felt so good.

"Do you always get hard in the morning?" You moved your hand up and down, your fingers trailing lightly after your palm.

"Yes," I practically whimpered. My little friend was not used to such immediate attention upon my waking. I usually lay in bed for a good thirty minutes pretending to be asleep still before handling him.

"Do all guys?"

I laughed. I thought it was so cute how you kept asking me questions about my hard ons. And mankind's hard ons. "I don't know. I've never asked."

"So do you...like do you handle it every morning?"

"Usually."

"If you don't, like if you get hard like this," you moved your hand again and I groaned, pressing my hips forward in search of that friction, "if you get hard and you don't jerk off, does it hurt?"

I pressed my hand over yours to strengthen your light touch. "Sometimes yeah. But that's more like if you're wearing super tight jeans--"

"So all the time for you," you laughed.

"Hmm right." I stuck my tongue out. You leaned down and snagged it between your lips, finally having your way with my mouth. I put one hand behind your head and kissed you deeply. Fuck it. If you didn't mind my bad breath, I didn't either. Your cheeks were rosy when we broke apart. "But really it doesn't usually hurt unless you handle it too much or you don't handle it for days and days. And then it's more because everything is all built up, like."

"Well, let me relieve some of your pressure," you kissed my chest, gripped my cock again, moved your hand slowly around the head, gently pushing me with your other hand to lay on my back.

"You don't have to," I managed to say amid shallow breaths.

"I know. I want to." You moved your kisses down my stomach, which clenched with desire, to the waistband of my boxer briefs. You pushed them down just enough to free my pulsing cock. You looked up at me as your fingers teased the base. "I want," you swallowed dryly and looked at it, "to. I want to do it again."

Your tongue pressed against the side and slid up, and I let out a strangled moan. "Fuck, baby." You dipped the tip of your tongue into the leaking slit, and I shuddered. My whole body tensed as you circled around the head.. "Fuck, you...oh, you don't have to, but please, please don't tease me." I felt like I was going to explode and you'd not even truly begun. Finally you took me into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks around the head, pressing your tongue to the sensitive underside, gazing at me with a look of pure innocence. You moved so slowly, gradually applying more and more suction and friction, tightening your lips around me. It was fucking intense, and I couldn't even watch you anymore as my head was thrown back and my eyes were closed. "Oh my fuck, Maddie," I panted. You moved faster now, and I could feel the swell building in my belly, ready to crash against the shore. "Maddie, fuck, baby, I'm close, so close--" you swirled your tongue in tight, tense circles under the head. I mewled, "I'm comi--" the word was lost in my elated cry. You worked your mouth over my diminishing erection, sucking every last ounce out of me. I opened my eyes and looked down to see you still with it in your mouth with a look of pride, like the cat who'd eaten the canary. "That was amazing," I breathed, reaching for you. You finally released my little friend and kissed me.

"Pressure relieved?"

"What's the opposite of something under pressure?"

"That," you pointed at my cock.

I laughed, that loud squeaky laugh. I kissed you again, resting my fingers delicately on your cheek. You took my hand in yours and placed it on the elastic band of your panties. Lacy panties. I looked from them to you as realisation dawned. I pushed them to the side and slid my finger into the very very wet groove between your legs. "Mmmmm. Baby," I closed my eyes and relished the feeling. I pressed my mouth to your ear, exhaling my arousal into your sensitive shell and feeling you tense with the flush of goosebumps. "Oh, my love, you're so wet...just from sucking me o--" You squeaked at my dirty mouth, still covering your ear. "You love to, don't you, baby?" You nodded slightly, pressing your hips down onto my hand. Fuck, I was half-hard again and aching from just having spent it all. I touched myself with my other hand anyway, just circling the head with my fingertips. You whimpered as my thumb grazed the nub and my fingers found the magic spot inside. "Love to suck my cock?" I purred into your ear, pushing to see how far I could go. You nodded again, throwing your head back. I bit and sucked a trail from your ear to your collarbone and back. "Love to have me come in your mouth?"

"Yes," you moaned, your hips bucking against my hand. Fuck I wanted to slide inside you so bad. I wanted to feel how tight you were around my fingers, around my cock. "Yes, fuck," your body tensed as you neared your finish.

"Come baby, come on," I murmured into your ear. "Want you so much, Maddie. Oh, fuck I," my hips were rocking against your thigh.

I slipped my fingers out, and you whined at their absence, but as soon as my index finger found your clit and pressed harder, faster, steadier, you came, your back arching and pressing your hips toward my leaking erection, so painfully hard. I used the fluids from your orgasm to lubricate my hand as I pushed myself to another release, moaning your name.

"You have a dirty mouth," you said, hiding your face against my neck.

"And you seemed to quite like it," I smirked against your hair. You hummed your agreement, adding another faint nod. "I love you, Maddie."

"I love you, Harry."

We went our separate ways for a few hours to practice for that night's music showcase. I didn't see you again, actually, until we were both pulling into the driveway at The Gypsy Tavern. I hopped out of Sal's van and kissed you, smiling at how far we'd come. We had a fun, relaxed evening, watching the other bands, until your mother walked in, and your whole body tensed up. I squeezed your shoulder, pressing my thumb into the knot.

"Relax, love." You stood abruptly and greeted her, flustered and babbling. I don't think I've ever seen you so nervous. I followed you a few footsteps away, toward the back. "Baby, are you okay?"

"I...yeah. I just. I never thought she would come."

I touched your face gently. "How do you feel about her being here?"

"Freaked out. And...I dunno. I guess it's kind of nice that she's here. Nice that she's...trying. But I'm scared she's going to shit all over this, and I don't think I can handle that. Like, being so vulnerable and sharing myself and having her just..."

"She won't," I pulled you close, caging you in an embrace. "She won't, baby. She's here. She loves you." You nodded and then pulled away as your bandmates were waving you over. Once you were out of sight backstage, I walked over to your mum. "Meredith, may I speak with you a moment?"

Okay, Maddie. Please don't get mad at me for this next bit.

So, she joined me past the bar, away from the crowd. "What's up?"

"Maddie is really nervous." She nodded, her eyes wide in surprise. "She's... Meredith, I love your daughter." She nodded with a soft smile. "I love her so much, and I will always do whatever I have to do to protect her."

"I know," she rested her hand on my arm.

"Even from you." She frowned, but still there was a faint nod. "You sometimes say things to her that hurt her. Tonight, if you don't have something supportive to say, don't say anything. She is about to bare her soul to you. Don't make her regret it." I met her eyes and waited until she nodded that she understood.

I started to head back toward the stage, wanting to get a spot where you'd be able to see me. She gripped my arm, and I paused. "Thank you." I recall feeling surprised that this was her reaction, and I'm sure my expression showed that. "For loving her and protecting her and...just...thank you."

I nodded, meeting her eyes. "I always will." And with that I weaved through the crowd until I found that spot on the wall where I watched you the first time.

It was just as incredible watching you that night as it had been eight weeks earlier. My heart fluttered and tried to fly from my body back home to you. You looked and sounded radiant and strong and so profoundly real. Your first song was about the multiple versions of you. I loved the line, "And who was I before that look in your eye showed me who I want to be?" I felt that way, too. That the way you looked at me made me into a better version of myself. That I always wanted to be better, to be more for you. It made me feel...comforted to think you felt the same. Then you sang the song from Thanksgiving. It sounded amazing with the violin and cello. Finally, you sang a new song you called "Failure." "Fallen more than I've flown, crawled more than I've run. But every failure and every flaw, every mistake, every last straw... they made me who I am now. And they led me to you, now." God, you're so good with words. It was beautiful. It was so precise and pure and perfect. (I know you hate that word, but it was. Maddie, it was perfect.)

After your set was over, you jumped off the low stage, hardly a stage at all really, at such a low elevation, and met me halfway, folding your arms around me and kissing me deeply. "I love you," you smiled, widening your eyes. "Eight weeks."

"I love you too, baby. Time ceases to exist when I'm with you." I pressed my forehead against yours, gazing into your eyes.

"We've got to go, mate," Liam tugged at my shirtsleeve. I kissed you briefly and followed him.

We experimented with our set up for the first song, sitting casually across the front of the stage and using acoustic. Zayn, who hadn't been to many of the rehearsals, started off Little Things perfectly, and I know we all sighed in relief. We'd added a short bridge at the end, though, and where that might have gone to Zayn (I mean, bro, you complain you never have parts, but then you aren't there to get them...), instead Niall had taken it. It was a last minute addition, after I'd reflected on how much I wished you could see yourself through my eyes. "You'll never love yourself half as much as I love you, and you'll never treat yourself right darlin' but I want you to. If I let you know I'm here for you, maybe you'll love yourself like I love you."

I saw you grinning all through Better Than Words, and I couldn't help moving to the rocking sound Liam and Louis had perfected. You laughed, and that only spurred me on. It's not easy to dance with a bass guitar, Maddie. One ends up looking like a Robert Palmer girl.**

And then we ended with Strong, which was my declaration of love for you, from oh so many weeks earlier, from after the Hot 25 party. If I had to choose one word out of the millions available in the English language to explain to someone who you are, why I love you...that word would be STRONG...

I've already compared your strength to a ship. ("Like a ship in a storm, beaten about by the raging waves and relentless rains, you remained upright, even if a bit bogged down and broken. You sailed on.")

And to a diamond. ("Your strength is beautiful. Like a diamond. It came from a dark place, as a diamond comes from coal. But that suffering is fuel; it made you who you are. That strength might not always be evident, hidden by layers of dirt and rock, but you shine because you are strong.")

And I'm running out of metaphors...your strength is like... steel. Steel's compound is made in part of crystalline iron. It sounds so beautiful and is so strong and can withstand burdens unbearable to other metals. Heating it doesn't weaken it, but rather makes it stronger, and in fact is forged through fire. As you have been. You have been tested and burned and you've come out of the fire stronger and bolder and brighter.

I'm in love with you, and all your little things. Your love is better than words. And you make me strong, my love.

~~~~~
* I changed the lyrics to pillow talk slightly to show it as a work in progress. Please don't be offended by the band's reaction to it. They are fictional characters.

** these are Robert Palmer girls:

And um, finally...THE OTHER ONE is approaching 300k. I feel like it was just yesterday that I was thanking everyone for getting it to 100k. I kinda can't believe that it's grown so much so quickly, after almost two years of hardly anyone reading it, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to express to all of you, my readers, how much you mean to me. How much every read means to me. Every vote. And every comment (comments are my fav because they are like a conversation between you and the characters, you and the text, you and me). The success of that book truly warms my heart and inspires me and...makes me feel like I really actually could someday turn this writing thing into a career. I love you all so much. THANK YOU 💖