Given the choice, Buffy didn't think she would have opened an antique shop.
Squeaky hinges spoke for attention as people ambled in, fanny packs and cameras as good as TOURIST labels on their bodies. "Hello," she chimed, and they responded in kind. "Let me know if I can help you with anything." The strangers nodded in unison and headed off to wander.
Buffy sighed, looking back down at her catalog spread over the glass countertop. As a storeowner, she couldn't really complain. People moved in, refurbished their new homes, but liked to stay inside the lines of old fashioned style. Travelers, particularly little old ladies, were partial to antiques. Men bought their wives anniversary gifts daily, it seemed. Cornfields unfortunately got mowed down and bought by developers, then before you knew it there were thirty identical houses all bunched together like some ugly rosebush. Their occupants also liked dining room sets circa 1940, despite the tedium of those 21st century homes.
There was always stuff to sell, and even more to buy in this business, and Buffy had grown to appreciate life's old treasures. However, she couldn't say this was the kind of store she herself would have founded seven years ago.
At age 20, Buffy was more concerned with whether she should switch her major and what to wear to the party next Friday night, than good business sense. She hardly even thought about that kitschy stuff her mom sold unless Buffy was working at the shop to earn some extra cash.
Then, things changed rather rapidly. Her mom had been sick months before it happened, almost a full year prior. No doctors warned them, nobody said it was a risk, yet somehow a brain aneurysm snuck in, killing her silently.
Buffy shivered. She still remembered that day like it was a telephone number or some weird dream she couldn't shake. Except these things didn't end when you woke up, and for weeks she tangled herself in sheets and cold sweats, a familiar dead body appearing inside her nightmares. The sound of cracking ribs echoing around when she tried to revive Joyce over and over again. It made Buffy feel crazy sometimes, and seven years later, she still couldn't think of her mom without pain leaking in.
A happy, bumpy song played softly overhead, pulling Buffy out from under the swamp-like recollections. The radio helped lend an air of tranquility to the store, always left on to speak before dark wood tables and gilded mirrors. Joyce Summers had loved antiques. She felt they were art in their own right, especially the desks and paintings, things that held emotions inside drawers and brushstrokes. It was up to Buffy to keep this beloved little shop alive after her mother passed away.
She could have sold, but she also... just couldn't. Rupert Giles, Buffy's cousin and retired high school librarian, had helped in the ways he could. He supported the decision to manage her mother's store, even worked with her and taught Buffy some rules of business. Moved her out of the dorms once she dropped classes, three or four round trips in his small car, stuffed to the ceiling with boxes and miniature household appliances.
It had been one full year since Giles moved back to England, and while she missed him dearly, Buffy knew he was happy. Besides, she could make it on her own. She'd been doing quite well so far, mental turnabouts and missing her mom asides.
Another creak of the door's hinges announced a new customer. *Really need to ask Xander to make that stop.* She looked up and found familiar eyes with heavy lashes staring at her, and Buffy smiled. "Hi, Penny."
The girl rushed to the counter. Her face was pink from the wind, and her brown hair fluffed in different directions for the same reason. Wringing her hands and carrying a large backpack that dropped unceremoniously from her shoulders to the floor, Buffy didn't need to ask whether the teenager was upset. "What's wrong?"
Penny set her arms on the glass top, and Buffy noticed tearstains streaking her cheeks for the first time. "It didn't work," she complained wetly.
The overwhelming sensation that told her she shouldn't have to ask this next question, made Buffy softly quest, "What didn't work?"
The girl's morose expression doubled in misery. "Paul! I asked him to the dance, just like you told me to, and he turned me down!"
Buffy's mouth fell open as she was immediately hit with disappointment and guilt. "Oh... Wh-When did you ask him?"
"Just now!" The girl cried. "After school." A sniffle of athletic proportions. Buffy handed over a tissue from the Kleenex box beside them.
Penny was one of many young adults who came by the store these days. Trading anecdotes and hopeful questions for Buffy's advice, sympathy, or just kind words the woman might be able to provide regarding any situation. The kids enjoyed her insight and found a place to dump their insecurities. Every one of them prayed for understanding to shine from someone else's eyes besides the mirror's; Buffy delivered, and did so happily.
In cases like this, things were less happy, and sometimes Buffy really hated being depended upon for A+ level words of wisdom. She had only ever been a C average student herself, but liked to think she did better in life than in school. However, no one was perfect, and sometimes she screwed up.
Penny's puffy blue eyes were just one reason Buffy's unwritten advice column came punctuated with an "I could be wrong" clause. Oftentimes she wasn't but that only made the days when she was, so much worse.
Buffy turned to get a can of pop out of the mini-fridge by her knee, the only thing under ten years old in this place asides from the computer. She pushed the cold drink against Penny's arm and asked, "Do you want to tell me what he said?"
"No!" the girl exclaimed.
Buffy waited, opening the cherry coke and letting it fizz through the quiet.
Another sniffle. "I talked to him as soon as I got out of class," Penny began. "He was at his locker, so I just walked up and- and asked him how he was, ya know? Just to start the conversation." Buffy nodded. "Th-Then, we like, talked and when I thought it was okay I asked him if he had a date to the dance next Saturday." Another nod from her avid listener. "And he said 'Yeah, I'm going with Angelina."
Buffy was silent, eyebrows slanting. "He-"
"Angelina!" she yelled. Inquisitive shoppers from the back of the store jumped, but soon went back to browsing as Buffy tried to convince Penny to stop crying.
"That wasn't him turning you down," she said sympathetically.
"Yes it was! What would you call a guy saying 'no' to being your date because he's going with somebody else?!"
Buffy swallowed her admittedly amused impatience. "I'd call it 'He already has a date.' Not him turning you down."
Penny rubbed her damp eyes and looked away, finally spotting the coke and taking a tentative sip. Wiping her lips on her sweater sleeve, she muttered, "It's not?"
Buffy couldn't hold back a smile. "No. He just had another..." *Don't say "girl."* "... commitment."
Thinking that over, calm restored itself quietly, then an abashed blush fell over Penny's smooth complexion. She looked up to Buffy hesitantly. "I didn't mean to freak out on you. S-Sorry."
A tiny snicker escaped, and at the narrowing of teenage eyes, Buffy quickly muffled it. "That's okay." The girl took another sip of her drink. "It's totally acceptable once in a while to flip out over a boy. Believe me."
Thoughts from a few days ago tried to rise to the surface, realizations she didn't want to focus on, and Buffy shoved them back down. Penny thankfully distracted her. "So, do you think if he wasn't going... with her, that he'd- he'd have said yes?"
"Yes." Buffy nodded pointedly. "And if he didn't, he's an idiot."
A smile, gaze brightening. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
Her shoulders rolled back, and her hands quit clenching. Buffy saw that unrelenting teenage resolve kick in, the kind not every young person was equipped with, but Penny had in spades. She sniffled again, almost delicately this time, and reached for her discarded book bag lying on the ground. "How come you always know how to calm me down, but my own mom can't think of anything to say that doesn't sound like it just came right out of a Self Help book?"
Buffy's lips tightened. She threw a guarded glance at the wall. "She's trying. Trust me. She'll always be there for you." She bravely met those young blue eyes again. "No one cares as much as your mom does."
Frowning, Penny silently acknowledged her griping must have contained something idiotic, so after mentally filing away Buffy's quiet words, she wisely veered the subject in a different direction. The favored topic lately was boys. "Guys are stupid, right?"
Buffy smirked a bit, nudging her emotions back with a head bob. "Yeah, they can be."
"Incredibly stupid. Like, supercharged morons."
Laughter and a smile, not unnoticed by passersby looking through the windows. "I can totally agree with you on that." Unfortunately, heartache was often a two way street.
"I mean, Paul and Angelina? She's such a bit-" Penny froze, eyes wide. "I mean- She's just, she's mean. She's a stuck up cheerleader and total jerk, but he isn't. He's sweet, and funny... I just don't know what he sees in her."
Buffy rolled her eyes. Paul probably didn't see much above the plunge neckline of Angelina's cheer uniform. "He's a guy, and a teenager. He's... got some growing up to do."
Penny whined. "I'm a teenager."
"You're a girl, though. We're better."
"True." The young lady grumbled under her breath, tracing invisible designs on her coke can. "Why can't some handsome stranger just fall in love with me like in the movies?"
Buffy scowled. "Hey." Penny's head lifted. "The right man will come along, and he doesn't have to be your high school sweetheart. Life isn't all about finding some mysterious, seemingly perfect guy to whisk you off your feet. Don't wait for him, and he'll come around."
She seemed to listen, and fortunately, Buffy wasn't blindsided by the pendulum swing. Her "perfect" man had recently tried to live up to the fantasy, grant those wishes she used to make. Well, turns out the whole thing wasn't so perfect after all; she was still getting used to that.
Buffy cleared her throat and focused again. "Besides, sometimes what a girl really needs is a treat to make her feel better, and no boy will ever compare to chocolate-y baked goods." She gave Penny one of the twenty or so coupons lying on a glass tray near the register. "Show this to Madeline, and she'll cut you a free slice of cake."
Penny grinned, staring at the Nothin' Beats Sweets bakery logo in her hands before hopping away from the counter. "Thanks! Cake sounds good. Oh! Or maybe a cookie."
"Or a cookie," Buffy agreed with a nod. "Just make sure it has chocolate in it," she spoke sternly.
The mock gravity made Penny laugh. Her smile softened after she stared for a moment. Blonde hair, a face that made the men in town stop and notice, gentle heart, patience... If the conversation hadn't been so focused on dating, if Paul hadn't already found a girl to take to the dance, Penny wouldn't have said what she did next.
The courage in her own voice made her stand taller, and the earlier boy-related letdown felt sort of worthwhile now. "Buffy? This might sound..." She shook the nerves away. "I know you're going to find a great guy someday. Someone who's nice, and not a supercharged moron."
These words preceded Penny's happy exit. Standing there like a misty statue all of a sudden, Buffy watched the girl say thank you for the pop before leaving with an over the shoulder goodbye.
When the squeaking door closed, it nearly made her jump.
A weepy teenager found the way to draw emotions from the grown woman, and make her weep instead. Though it hadn't been Penny's objective, Buffy was left to plop into a chair she kept behind the counter and think. Think about hearts, and past boyfriends, but mostly loss. Things you missed out on when you were pining after someone special, someone believed to be your true love. Someone who always remained this wonderful possibility, a future unwritten, and then when you finally had them, felt them real and secure in your arms, they were short of what you needed.
Thinking about lost time was daunting. Remembering things, plans that were shortened or cut off, ideas and dreams, girlish hopes she'd had when she was ten. The thoughts came and came and played out like a disjointed movie, someone's sad story that ended with a twenty-something year old finally waking up.
She may have loved Angel, and fallen for him hard a long time ago, but it was now Buffy felt like she was just hitting the ground.
Customers from earlier approached with some dusty wineglasses and a picture frame. Buffy rung them up without thinking. She barely mumbled a word as the chatter continued on behind her. She wrapped their glasses individually with paper, then put everything in a box. The strangers said thank you and goodbye but she didn't pay attention, following them only to pull the blinds over the windows.
Buffy flipped the lock on the door. Her hip pressed into the counter, elbows poised on the solid surface as she let her face rest in open hands. The slow, timid beat of a Goo Goo Dolls song filled the silence, and in the temporarily secluded Antique shop, she let herself be weak. Fears and disappointments, her own misconceptions, all built in secret over time then leveled within days, like a wrecking ball demolishes a skyscraper.
Evidently, people outgrew many things. They even outgrew each other, and so as lonely acceptance poured the foundation for a brand new start, Buffy wept her regret onto a tray of coupons.
***
Spike ran a hand through his curls, sighing anxiously. He shut the book in his lap, the one he'd barely been reading, a cover for his snooping. She had pulled the blinds. She never did that before closing time and it was only four o'clock; Buffy wouldn't leave until six.
The plush chair squeaked beneath him as Spike sat up, scowling out the window. Clouds were gathering overhead, thick as castor oil and promising a storm. The blinds might be closed to block out the dreary weather, but she had never done it before. Those big store windows provided good advertising of the interior, showcasing expensive antiques.
Buffy tugged the shade over the entrance door pane, and Spike's heart skipped in his chest. Something wasn't right. Was she closing early then? The lights still appeared to be on, and he hadn't seen anyone else walk in besides that brunette kid and the group of four; the latter came out with a box of what he assumed to be delicate things. The girl carried only what she rushed in with, plus a can of pop. Nothing unusual there. Teenager one of the umpteenth many who requested Buffy's time on a daily basis.
Unsure of what to do, Spike got up, found a shelf and hastily shoved his book back into place. He grabbed his favored leather coat and threw it on, moving like a flying crow to the exit.
When he stood brazenly outside the library, frozen still, Spike's fingers clenched into anxious fists at his sides. Feet stalled with toes pointed in a deadly direction. Every instinct screamed "Go to her!" but he knew he couldn't heed them. Want was doused by fear and trepidation, possibly a bit of self loathing, even an insecurity or twelve. It didn't matter; he couldn't stroll through that door.
The neutral store title, written in cursive style, glowed against a blackening sky. White backdrop, brown and gold letters spelling out Antiques, an unoriginal name to stand out amongst the otherwise goofy array of stores. Tourists loved cheesy, Buffy never bought into it.
From what Spike knew, she was alone. Oh sure, she had friends, but her only blood relation- a mother -passed away about seven years ago. Left Buffy the store, and fortunately for her, this town was a tourist trap. Spike figured it had something to do with the proximity to the capital. Didn't bother him, and if they helped support Buffy's business then the more the merrier.
He eyed those windows again. Bloody irritating, not being able to see inside, check on her and try to figure why the shades had been pulled. He was in plain sight now, and people were beginning to notice the man donning black leather fixed in place like a lamppost.
He started jiggling his leg. Damn it. Buffy hardly ever broke from routine when it came to her shop. Why was she blocking herself in? Was she okay? Why didn't he have X-ray vision?
Suddenly, now about five minutes into his inner meltdown, the door window cleared. A sigh built up in his lungs and then released like an untied balloon when the rest of the shades rose, one gentle pull at a time.
His heart returned to its normal beat, and Spike smiled gently. The air became redolent, thunder following the damp scent of rain. He didn't spare a glance to the heavy sky, but fixed his attention where it landed naturally, unthinkingly. People rushed around like flying pin balls, heading for cover in cars and shops, the restaurant across the street filled up quickly.
Buffy shifted her gaze to the clouds, looking high above him and building rooftops. Her face was easy to read, an expression that portrayed the thought maybe she shouldn't have reopened the blinds after all.
When it stormed, his girl occasionally left to grab a sweet from the bakery down the block, but she always returned and merely locked the front door rather than turn out the lights and shut down. It didn't mean she enjoyed watching the rain fall, but sometimes Spike thought she did. It was a tossup. Buffy never closed herself off from the doom and gloom, but only sometimes would she embrace it with a smile. He really thought it all depended on her mood.
Suddenly, a wave crashed into him, and the ocean held nothing on this feeling. Her eyes lowered, and in the gentle chaos of running pedestrians she spotted his unmoving form. Like a blanket torn away, suddenly wracked with cold, Spike's entire body tensed. Buffy stared as he was blatantly staring at her, before frowning and tilting her blonde head. He tried not to let fear become a showcase, but he could barely manage a smile and soon found turning towards the ground was safer than this.
He heaved great, trembling breaths into his mouth. The memory of reading about panic attacks surfaced, but he merely swallowed a gulp as thick as dry cake, choking on nerves before walking down the street. He was afraid to turn back, to meet her eyes for the second time and lose himself in undiluted hysteria. She couldn't see him. Couldn't know him ever, or look at him now.
No matter how much he wished she could.
***
*Okay, weird,* Buffy surmised. A strange guy she was positive she had never met before, dressed a lot like Billy Idol, and looking into her shop the same way she'd seen hawks gaze at grassy fields was enough to cure any girl of the blues. Or, at least, send them packing and off to wait in a nice dark corner before she tossed them away for good.
That was her conclusion, in her solitude of dusty furniture and shadows, no more locking herself up like a princess in a tower, lest she wanted to remain that way forever. Crowns were nice but hardly worth an empty heart.
She faced a pretty big emotional somersault recently, and it was better sometimes, to be alone in the dark with your tears. A little, anyway. Everyone liked having shoulders to cry on, but once in a while you needed the peace an empty old store could provide.
But the shades were lifted now, windows open to a big black sky and one strange figure dressed to match. He pushed her inner resolves and plans to the wall, and made way for curiosity to pique. Buffy studied him much harder than she ever had any book, but just as she decided that face was brand new, as well as handsome, he turned away.
Bolting down the street like a kid caught trying to steal a packet of gum, the man with bleached white hair and a long flapping coat quickly outdistanced the window frame. Buffy moved to watch him continue on his way, and was baffled when he went on like a bullet, straight down the sidewalk. Big boots created large gaps of space and before she knew it, he was gone.
Buffy rubbed the back of her neck and scowled at the floor. Odd guy. He had to be a stranger. A person that much in love with the 80's stuck out like a sore thumb around here, not including the occasional fashion challenged farmhands she ran into; they were usually partial to high neck sweaters and plaid rather than leather dusters.
She totally would have noticed this man before, but had never seen him until this very moment.
Then again, he seemed to know exactly where he was headed, and not many people hung around long enough in this town to figure out all the crossroads and dead end avenues. Maybe he was just going to where he parked his car.
She wondered who he was. She also wondered why he had been so fixated on her store window. Buffy thought little old ladies were the only people to stare like that, covetously, as if there was treasure just beyond the glass; the man in leather ogled like he'd already found it.
Buffy scowled, deciding she was thinking too much about this. The route distracted from inner monologues and emotional developments.
Then again, maybe that was a good thing. Dwelling was not one of her favorite pastimes, especially nowadays.
As a matter of fact, Buffy hated dwelling almost as much as she hated expensive shoes with heels that broke on the third or fourth wear. She was much more open to living on a budget and buying secondhand; plus, absently thinking about strangers beat endless rumination any day. So, she wondered a bit more, daydreamed even.
He might stroll into the store one day, if mystery man was in fact a local, and what might he say? "How are you?" "I always wondered what the inside of this place looked like," or, "Would you like to go out to dinner?"
Buffy balked in her own head. Where had that come from?
All right, maybe this wasn't such a good idea, letting the mind go off to play without a leash. It just goes to show what ten years of timid hoping and a punctuating revelation will do to a girl. She was leaning against a rain pattered window, daydreaming about some man she didn't even know. Nutty much?
*Why?* Buffy asked herself, *You've allowed dreams to grow and die over a decade, there's no shame in finally opening the door to someone new. Especially a fictional someone, who is probably leaving town as you dwell and process a crazy dissection of your own brain.*
That inner voice of logic encouraged her earlier musings, the female reasoning which sounded an awful lot like self preservation. Buffy tentatively reached out to her imagination. Sure enough, there were plenty of trails to explore, most of them very new, and now accompanied by a mystery man in leather.
***
Two mailboxes, a good sized tree, and a parked motorcycle were things that nearly kissed the front of his car on the drive home. The chaotic, crazy person drive home. Spike wasn’t proud to say the least.
He’d seen her, which was the norm, but she saw him back. The shock had been as jarring as your reflection blinking on its own. Spike couldn’t say that he had recovered either; consult road rookie moments one, two, and three.
With minimal idiocy, he managed to park in his driveway. Getting out of the car, amazingly graceful for the way his body was shaking, he tried unsuccessfully to forget her face. He never could, of course, but Buffy looking at him was a new occurrence. It was something he fought hard to prevent, and until now, Spike had been wildly successful.
Christ, one slip up and he was probably on the way to screwing himself over ten different ways before the week was done. Remembering Buffy's eyes, the way they latched onto him, all lack of disgust on her face in trade for curiosity; it made him damn fidgety. And Spike wasn’t a hopeful person, but he could have sworn he felt her watching him the whole way down the street. It was a hard memory to shift aside and bury.
If it was in fact a memory, and not some pathetic wishful thinking on his part, which was honestly more likely. Scrounging up the necessary courage to turn his head and check was impossible. Didn’t rightly matter, Spike figured. He trudged into the house on wobbly knees.
Plush red carpet and an empty, wood paneled foyer greeted him as always, tired silence permeating his skin. Such quiet grew bland after a while, but remained a judgeless houseguest.
Heading for the stairs, running up creaky carpeted steps one by one, Spike pounded to the second floor. A thin layer of dust coated tables and ottomans, sheet draped furniture lined the hallway like faceless soldiers. At the end stood the door to his bedroom. He shoved it open, then slammed it closed.
He dropped into his favorite chair by the only window, comfy and regal in style, a cushioned seat beneath the sill. Dark burgundy fabric depressed under his weight, and a pale hand found the solid wooden arm while the other pinched the bridge of his nose. Behind closed eyes and worry lines, thoughts unraveled, playing a depressing tune that would never cease to amaze with its frequency.
He wouldn’t be able to stop himself from watching her. Spike had tried before, many times, all unsuccessful designs to encourage distance. He went cold turkey, tried weaning himself off her like a bad habit, and busied himself with projects. Unfortunately, similar to his beloved cigarettes, Spike always came out of the discipline attempts frustrated, covered in metaphorical patches, and frantic for a fix.
It didn’t take long to figure out what the problem was; he was in love. Spike denied it to himself for as long as possible, but never could get out from under it.
Eventually, the shoddy poet and roughened punk kneeled in supplication. Spike never had a thought to giving her up once he gave in.
He couldn’t actually say he had her, though, now could he? Months of watching did not a relationship make, not any kind. Hopelessly devoted, getting by each day with a woman as his sun and moon, Spike was not the man he had been.
He was better.
Years and years ago, he’d grown up in a near vacant town in England until he reached the age of twelve. Teased and ridiculed by everyone his age and older, Spike had been only too happy to move after his mother asked how he might feel about travelling to America. They took up residence with his aunt, but things weren’t as different as he hoped across the pond.
From one rural home to the next, Spike experienced another kind of torture; the new was almost worse than the old. He wasn’t picked on, wasn’t beaten up twice a week for being a sniveling baby, nor was he called out for writing admittedly awful poetry. No, in America, Spike experienced a different sort of cruelty for being an outsider. He was ignored.
Mutely observant from that point on, the only people who cared about him his mum and frail Aunt Beth, William Pratt watched this tiny Wisconsin town develop and change, while he hardened. The people he went to school with shed their youth like the houses and cornfields, but no one ever truly aged. Most of them left, and those who didn’t faded into the background.
William was one of those few. As a nerdy young boy, somehow only more pathetic once high school came along, he made hardly any connections as the years passed. One serious girlfriend to speak of who'd given him a new title, and a thousand or two nameless bedmates, he never felt about any of them the way he felt about Buffy. Which was certifiably insane, he realized, but Spike had never kidded himself by saying he was normal. He knew he wasn’t.
Holding on was a talent of his, though, no matter how destructive or pointless. The heart wasn’t exactly a reasonable thing, and Spike’s always craved the impossible. Wished his mother was still alive, wished he could find peace in something more than a bottle, wished for the love of a woman he would never have and didn’t rightly deserve. She needed someone special, a man good enough for her, more stable, less hateful towards the world in general. Someone bright, and decent, and devoted.
He may choose Buffy every time, but that’s all he had for her. Devotion. She still deserved more than him.
Spike sighed heavily, jaw an iron clench while he stared out the rainy window. This time, she had seen him, didn’t look straight through, didn’t glance and turn away, but examined his whole frame. Like a bird watcher, like he was an interesting piece of art or a good film, those extraordinary eyes fixed and gave Spike a few seconds of attention he would never forget.
It was strange, but even now he felt that undeniable urge to find her, to actually walk up to Buffy and say something. This desire was easily flattened beneath fear, and the obvious point that such ideas were ludicrous and idiotic. He could never be with her the way he wanted, and trying to get close would prove lamely treacherous. It would merely help solidify every single reason why Spike already knew he couldn't touch her.
And yet, like a candle flame fighting for its life, or a cement handprint struggling not to fade under footsteps, the man hoped.
_________________
END NOTES: Thanks for reading! Reviews are super, super appreciated and welcome! :D
squawks
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!