Cause you can't stop running. . .

"RUNNING AWAY"

�� I hear her before I see her. �Her truck shuts off, followed by a door and footsteps. �She always did prefer power trucks to small cars. �"Cars are for people, who have nothing better to do with their time," she'd laugh as she revved her engine. �I don't know what it is, but a chick with a stick shift is sexy.

�� I watch as she groggily stumbles through the door, a sleepy smile glued on her tired face by shiny moisture as she licks her lips.� Her hair, a mess of curly tangles is piled on her scalp and suspended in midair by a black chopstick. �I silently wonder if she still lives with that damn cat of hers, and if she's seeing anyone new.� I shrug inwardly . . . it's really none of my business. �She can do whatever she wants with her life. �I'm doing what I wanted with mine, aren't I?� I do kind of miss little Genevieve though.� That cat was so annoyingly cute that you couldn't hate it.

          I shake my head bemusedly. �It's nearly three and she's actually smiling, that has to be a good sign. �She hasn't bothered to dress. �Of course, what did I expect, when I call her at close to one in the morning and try to explain that I've been slapped by a muse in my dreams and I need her help right away. �She had every right to tell me to write it down and wait until at least eight to call back, but no, she's here, and she's still in her stained tank top and blue plaid pajama pants. �She has always loved those pants, and the rip in the left knee shows it. �I smile as I remember that's the rip I put there the last time I saw her. �She's wearing only a hint of leftover mascara, and she's thinner and paler than three years ago, but she's never looked more beautiful I think.�

�� She slides her jacket across the sofa and drops her backpack, letting out a dejected sigh. �"Okay, I'm here.� I'm not sure why I dragged myself out of bed at three in the morning, but I did."

�� "Yea, yea, okay . . . Thank you. �It's just that the muse hit and I really needed to get all this done." �I let my arm drift over the control panel splayed in front of me. �Several sheets of lyrics and a few pages of notation are haphazardly spread over the counter that I've been trying to work at.� Trying, yea, that's it.� Actually, I've been wondering if she'll show up at all, and not getting very much done in the way of succeeding.� She waves her hand and shakes her head, leaning over to see what I've already done.� I watch her try to hide a grimace at the lack of progress on the soundboard table.

�� "Don't worry." �She chuckles gently, her arms rising in a simple defense.� I see them as I used to, an embrace of the invisible.� A hug to the one that should always be there, but never has been and maybe never was.� "I know the feeling, so I won't do you in just yet.� She's a hard woman to tame, and she likes to roar at the oddest of moments, as you should recall."

�� I feel my ears turn crimson.� The last time my muse yelled, it was in the middle of a make-out session with her.� To my surprise, she gives me her crooked smile and closes her eyes sleepily.� It is still really early.� "But next time you call me at one in the morning, you'll be answered by a dial tone.� WRITE IT DOWN."� Her finger jabs playfully into my chest to emphasize the command.� "You know I always keep a notebook by my bed and in my car for that reason.� You never know when your muse will kick you right between the eyes . . . or other places for that matter."

�� I smile.� At least she hasn't beaten my ass for calling her.� I have to try to remember that she's not one for wake-up calls.� Last time she was woken up this early, John had a pistol to his head before she had even opened her eyes.� I secretly chortle.� John never did have the charisma that I have when it comes to her.

�� "Oh, and don't you dream of waking me up at my house.� Ask John what it's like to have a .44 caliber pistol between your eyes."� I snort quietly in laughter.� She always could read my thoughts.� Subconsciously, I raise my hand to my face and wonder if I'm really that transparent.

�� The last time we worked alone like this was over three years ago and although I remember every detail, everything about her screams "I've moved on."� She hasn't even asked why I've called her after all this time, even though I know she's dying to know.� She's too proud to ask, always was.� She'd never just break down and demand an answer, no matter how much it's killing her.

�� "Why don't you just say it?� I know you want me to ask, but I don't care.� Work is work, no matter who it is."� She blurts out with out moving her eyes from the switchboard as her fingers race over the dials and buttons.

�� "Ask what?'� I reply, feigning innocence and trying to hide my pain from the last comment.� I still don't know how she's gotten so good at reading my thoughts, or how she learned to cut me down with such nonchalant ease.� "I have no idea what you mean." �She glances upward quickly as I shrug.

�� "Don't play coy with me, dammit!� I'm not some ditz you can play cute with.� You want me to ask 'why me,' but I'm not going to do it, so either you tell me, or you don't.� It makes me no difference.� Either way quit staring and finish so we can leave."� Her face turns red as she takes a breath from her outburst and returns her fingers to the panel of matching cherry dials.

�� I turn away; slightly embarrassed for her, partly because I know she's right, partly because I know she'd never feel embarrassed for herself.� I wonder if that's a good trait or a bad one.� She never was the least bit bashful, even if she does flush a beautiful shade of scarlet.� I feel my lips lift slightly at the knowledge that her blush doesn't just extend to her neck and the tips of her ears, but to the tips of her toes.� She's this light dusty shade of rose all the way down her body when she's heated. �I subconsciously slap myself.� I shouldn't be thinking thoughts like this; I should be finishing, while it's still dark outside and not yet daylight.� I don't want to spend all day in here either.

�� She begins to hum a distant tune, and I briefly recall how she would bite her bottom lip and make her beautiful purring noise to calm her nerves.� The humming becomes more erratic as I lift my gaze to watch her bounce silently in place for a few long moments before nearly racing out of the room and down the corridor into the bathroom.� I hear the door slam and I let out a pent up breath and struggle to replace my flailing wits and mask.

�� I hear the door reopen and her footsteps come nearly all the way back to the realm that in her absence I preside in.� I could never rule near her.� She wouldn't sway, could never be content to just sit idly by and let whatever happens happen.� Change clinks and the squeak of her shoes return their march toward the door I am now too fixed on.� I realize this just as the door swings open and I snap my eyes back to a monitor where I should have been surveying lyrics.

�� The ripping of a plastic wrapper catches my attention and a glance covertly at what she's wrestled open.� 'Sunflower seeds', I mutedly curse.� She always did have a pension for the damned things, only her pension was more of an addiction.� I mentally gird my loins at the last time I brought up the strangeness in her obsession.

�� I remember, she sat curled on my chaise lounger in the middle of my neat little living room, her nosed all but pressed in a paperback novel, and her free hand wrapped carelessly around a plastic cup full of discarded shells.

�� "You are the strangest girl I have ever met."� I state as I cross the room to pick up a box of old albums.

�� "How so?"� She asks without looking up.

�� "Well, while most girls are content to pore over a magazine with a bag of chips or popcorn, you sit glued to a paperback for hours, devouring sunflower seeds by the handful."

�� "So?"� A demand and a shrug, not a question, delivered around a mouthful of the ranch kernels.

�� "So, that's strange, and you don't eat them a few at a time like most people.� No, you stuff as many as you can into your mouth before you choke and then spit them into a cup, one by one."

�� She lifts her eyes and stares blatantly challenging at me. "Fuck you, what's your point?"

         "You've got too big of a mouth."� I face the dare readily.� A haughty brow arches over her currently purple eyes.

         "I could fit more than you, but with the seeds, I've got to have room to maneuver . . . besides, they taste better."� She salutes her victory by stuffing more shells in her mouth and returning to her book. �With a shrug, I hastily beat my retreat to soothe my wounded pride.

         She always did know how to put me directly in my place, it's one of the few powers she's learned to wield over me, of course, the same could apply to her, if only I had the will to use it.

         I watch her as she sings silently along to the music in front of her, matching the rhythm and checking the pace of the tempo before moving a few more levers. �I can't take my mind off her as she changes the beat a few more times. �She sways in time to the music without a conscience thought for anything but the task in front of her. �She loses everything but focus. �I silently wonder if she's seen anyone since me. �It's been such a long time, and we were almost perfect. �I needed my music, and she needed someone in particular. �Never would tell me who, just that he was blind and stupid. �I couldn't be particular.� I couldn't be her somebody, so I left. �I know she cried, and I hated myself for doing it, but how do you love someone who says she's already in love with someone else. �It was such a pretty day too . . .

         "Are you gonna join me, or will I have to throw you in?"� She asks as she lounges on a raft near the middle of my kidney shaped pool.� I smile with a slow shrug and dip a toe into the water.

         "Nope, not going in, it's too cold."� I say with another shrug and then turn around to go back inside.

         I'm almost to the door, before I feel the water splash me from behind. �As I turn to tell her she's watering the lawn with chlorine, she grabs my waist and begins to drag me backwards. �I try kicking and pulling to free myself, even though I know that eventually I will end up in the pool with her whether she wants me to, or not.

�� "Oh no you don't.� You're coming in that pool whether you want to or not."� She struggles to fight me and keep her bathing suit in place as she takes a few more steps backwards. �Suddenly I stop fighting, and catch her off guard, quickly lifting her into my arms like a bride and tossing her and her little white bikini into the pool.� She comes up sputtering and cursing, and I'm unsure as to which is stronger. �I calmly slip into the pool and ignore both. �"Fine," she shrugs and returns to her raft.

�� "But I want the raft . . ." I whine as I swim over to her and lay my arms on the edge of it.� She smiles her little crooked grin and slides over to the other edge.

�� "Fine, we can share."� I jump up onto the raft and pull her into my arms.

�� "Why aren't you married, petite?"� I ask as I smooth her hair out of her face.� I know we're both still young, but I figured she'd be at least in a serious relationship by now.

�� "Cause I love someone in particular."� She shrugs as she rests her head against my chest.

�� "Oh, why aren't you with him?� Does he know you love him?"� I ask, wondering just who this guy is, maybe I could have him shot.

�� "No, he doesn't know.� He's blind and stupid, and he'd never notice me."� She looks up at me heartbrokenly and I wonder how this guy could be so dumb as to not love this beautiful blonde creature laying here with me.� I don't know what to say, so I just kiss her on her forehead and lay my head down against the raft.

�� "Oh my goodness, how could I have been so stupid."� I think to myself as I take a deep breath and flip to a new song.� It's always been me, and I never saw it.� She was in love with me, and I was blind and stupid.� No wonder she cried so hard when I left.� She's too strong to just cry over anyone, and I screwed it all up.� I understand why everything about her seems to say she's over me.� My God, she must hate me.

�� "How many times are you going to read that before you correct anything, Loki?� It doesn't just fix itself, you know."� I smile at the use of her nickname for me.� Maybe she doesn't actually hate me, I mean, she did show up, hasn't ordered a hit on me, and she's joking around.� There could be a chance . . . well, maybe . . .

�� "I'm sorry."� I mumble quietly, lost in my thoughts of her as I try to focus on the new song lyrics. "Umm . . . could you run through this in the booth so I know how it would sound on Kristen?"� I ask sheepishly as I tap the lyric board and pull up the words in the booth without even paying attention to the song.� She shrugs dismissively and opens the door to the glass room in front of me. �She still walks with a slight sway from side to side, and I wonder if she'll always walk that way.

�� The lyrics she sings tell of a guy who has done everything wrong, and I curse myself for making her sing them without realizing it.

�� "He's always right, can't be wrong, and I wonder if it'll take him long, to realize what he needs is the girl that I can be.� He's always blind and I'm confused, he doesn't see what I'm going through.� He doesn't know.� I'm always here; I've always been. I wonder what he's seen in them.� Why can't he see, that the one that he needs, is the woman he'll find in me?� He'll find it in me. . ."� The music slows to a stop, and she slips off the headphones, glancing up at me nonchalantly.� I watch her blink rapidly a few times to fight back tears.

�� "It's just fine.� I think it will sound great with Kristen singing it.� You think she could put the feeling behind it?"� I catch myself from saying, 'like you,' as I let go of the intercom button and she slips quietly from the booth.� She shrugs as she retreats once again to the bathroom down the hall, this time with her bag in hand.� I wait a few minutes for her to return before going to check on her, under the guise of a munchy attack.

�� The wooden door is locked as I push slightly on it to see if it will swing.� I hear her muffled sobs as she sniffles a few more times before blowing her nose.� I know she's coming out so a rush toward the candy machine to hide the fact that I was listening.� She appears, now clad in blue jean shorts instead of baggy cotton pants.� Her eyes are puffy and tinged with red when she looks up at me. �She studiously pretends to ignore me when I catch her looking and returns to the studio.