I'm in a chat room, one of my hacker rooms, and I close the main window, dropping into just private chat with Blue Sakura, aka Andrea. I've been looking for her today, hoping she can give me insight into how Peter DeLaCoeur is handling the news that hit the Internet today. Unfortunately, with such stuff, I couldn't get the newspapers to put it out, but in this digital world, it should still carry weight.
BS-What are your reasons?
CDG-I was wondering how Peter took the news.
BS-And how would I know that?
CDG-You know who I am. You don't think I don't know who you are?
There's a silence on the screen for a bit, then Blue Sakura comes back.
BS-Okay, let's lay our cards out. It's been a long time since we used to play in my room.
CDG-Yeah, it was fun. You had a pretty awesome Barbie collection. It seems that we've both changed since we thought that Ryan Reynolds was cute.
BS-What do you mean thought? I still do.
CDG-TMI. So how did Peter react?
BS-Your timing is off today. I haven't been home yet, and I had a nine a.m. class. I haven't heard from anyone at home.
CDG-What's got you out so late? It's nearly seven.
BS-Checking some things. Your reappearance had me chasing some stuff down.
CDG-Anything I'd be interested in?
BS-Perhaps. If I figure it out, I'll drop you a message. Peter certainly doesn't trust me, even less than Jackson. Spoils me rotten, wants me to be his little princess, but he doesn't trust me.
CDG-Speaking of that... I have verification on your history, too. I'm holding it in reserve, it's the sort of bomb that could be spun to hurt Peter badly. But maybe you, too?
BS-We can discuss that later. I need to go for now. Thanks.
CDG-For what?
BS-Discretion.
Blue Sakura logs off, and I sit back, sighing. Discretion isn't my strong suit, and I'm no closer to finding out if I'm closer to my goal than I was when I started looking for Andrea online. I want firsthand verification, I need it. The depression is bad tonight, even though I was able to read all about the social reaction to what I'd dropped on Peter DeLaCoeur's lap. My workout wasn't enough to alleviate it, my endorphins were not enough to push it all back, and for some reason, I can't take my pills. I'm sitting here, staring at them in their plastic bottle, and all I can think about is how I made fun of Jackson for his own self-medication. How can I accuse him of running away from reality when I'm taking my own collection of mind-altering stuff?
Angry, I grab my bottle, get up, and shove it into my dresser, out of sight. I'm going to handle this the old-fashioned way, the same way that the old masters advised. Purity is something that cannot be attained except by piling effort upon effort.
Fine. Effort has brought me success. Effort has brought me the ability to bring down Peter DeLaCoeur if I can stay the course. Effort has allowed me to hone myself into the perfect instrument of my vengeance. I can beat this too, dammit.
I go over to my meditation corner, lighting the candle there. It's a new one, a gift from Darcy after her most recent visit, with a fresh ocean scent and supposedly a guaranteed twelve hour burn time. Instead of meditating, however, I stretch out, cradling my head in my arms as I let myself drift, searching for something I can hold onto to pull myself out of the depression.
What comes to mind startles me, and I sit up. Jackson? What the hell? He's a damn playboy, despite whatever he may have said when he visited. Yeah, it was noble, yeah he may have risked the wrath of his father... but he's still wrapped up in being a douchebag.
I lie back down, letting my mind drift again, but it keeps circling back, refusing to let go of Jackson. He can't be all bad, after all. If he wasn't lying about his physique being all natural...
“It's all natural,” Jackson teases me, stretching out beside me. “After all, steroids cause shrunken balls. Did they look shrunken to you?” He's got a point. I remember what his cock looked and felt like in the limo, he's certainly not lacking in the size department with either the twig or the berries.
“I guess I owe you some credit for that,” I say, reaching out and touching his arm. He's wearing a white dress shirt and charcoal gray slacks, although since we're lying down he's taken off his shoes. “So why'd you put so much effort into lifting?”
“To escape my sadness,” he whispers, reaching out and brushing my cheek. “When you left... you left a hole inside me. That, combined with the rest, I had to pour it out somewhere.”
“You... you were on my mind, too,” I admit, laying my hand on his side. “I really thought you were special, and that someday you were going to ask me out on a date, not just over to build models or study or play video games.”
“I would have,” Jackson says, easing closer. We're close, and I can feel the warmth and magnetism of his body so close, my heart beating faster in my chest. I'm not a virgin since I had to practice my seduction and erotic skills on someone, but I've never actually made love before. My heart has never been opened to anyone... but Jackson. And even then, that was a whole different me. “I was going to, and I wanted to kiss you, too. Remember that last time we played in the pool?”