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Here I sit, in my den, alone. I stare at the phone for God knows how long, maybe an hour or so. Within that time, I tried to gather up the necessary courage to pick it up and call her.

I get up and pace the room over and over, my hands clenching against my hair in frustration and confusion.

“Damn, what is she gonna say? What if she really DOES want me out of her life?” I kept on pacing, my mind racing about with unanswered questions. I was beside myself yet again, not in the exact way when I first saw her, but just...completely baffled and ignorant.

I throw my arms up in disbelief of what my 'friend' did to me that day and it's something I will never be prepared to forgive him for. Great, now I'm off track again. Stay FOCUSED, Richardson! Think of what you're going to say to this woman...she's it, right? She's the one you're planning to spend your life with, ok? You can't worry over what the bastard did with your ex....

Again, I look over at the phone after I stop pacing; hoping it would ring...that would be impossible because she doesn't even know my number. Stupid.

I plop back down on the leather couch and sigh heavily, feeling myself getting upset. “Damn it, pull yourself together...” I keep telling myself, but it's not working; not one bit.

Just as I was about to let out a single tear, the doorbell rings; at first the sound didn't trigger my ear drum, but the second and third and fourth ring did. I pull myself off the couch and open the door to see a man in a blue suit; the bellhop.

“Mr. Richardson, a letter for you,” he says in a smooth, British butler type tone of voice. “A letter? From whom? A fan?” He shook his head and told me the envelope was unmarked with no return address or name; just mine in near indecipherable cursive. I take it from his hand and tipped him; he refused it, saying it was common courtesy in serving me;

I hate being treated like I'm royalty.

That's one of the main reasons why I didn't want to be who I portray to the fandom and critics alike anymore.

I sit down and look over at the envelope after the bell hop left and I wonder; “who could have sent this to me? And why?” The only way to answer those questions is to open the letter and find out. As I did so, I uncrinkle it and read its contents:

Kevin.

We really need to talk things over.

I should have let you explain, and in a fit of anger, I shut my ears to you.

Meet me at the Desidia Terrace balcony tonight; I trust you know where it is. Hope to see you then.

And that was it.

That little voice in the back of my head kept telling me, “It's Kristin; it's Kristin,” but I hope to God it isn't. But at the same time, she's willing to do anything to get me back; she said so after she was escorted out of the courtroom...

“GET THIS WOMAN OUT OF MY COURTROOM!” the judge shouted whilst slamming his gavel repeatedly. “No! You bastards! You can't do this to me!!” she shrieks at the judge, and to me, stupidly wanting her own justice.

Oh, she received her 'justice', alright; 200 hours community service and a permanent restraining order placed upon her, for because of her erratic behavior the judge feared she was dangerous to society. I watch as the guards restrained her and I watched her as she tried to get away, kicking and screaming.

Imagine that; all of this because I wanted a divorce. Sad.

“I'LL GET YOU BACK, RICHARDSON!! SO HELP ME GOD, I'LL GET YOU BACK!!” And she was whisked away.

I get a cold chill everytime I think back to that day; but I'm glad I got her out of my system.
But is she truly out for good?

I walk down an empty street towards the Terrace and look up to see someone with their back turned. “Kristin, what do you want now...?”

I thought as I approached the building, walking up the steps. It started to get colder as I make my way up the steel steps, clasping onto the cold banisters. The wind began to pick up and the steam from the rotating vents filled the air blocking my view as well as the womanly figure still with her back turned.

Breathing hard and holding onto the banister for support,
I spoke to the stranger; “Alright, Kristin...what's this about?”

She turned around and said, “Trust me, it's not who you think it is.”

“Nathalie...?”

She walks up to me, placing her leather gloved hands upon my pale face. “I'm sorry...for never letting you explain yourself. I was so fumed, and--” “Nat...it's fine...you shouldn't be the one apologizing...it's me. I'm theone who lied to you from the start. I'm the one that kept everything for you. I never knew you could be so wonderful...” I take her hands into mine and look into her misty blue green eyes. “Can you forgive a fool?”
Her eyes, those lustrous turquoise orbs glistened in the streetlights. A smile creeps up on her which made me flash my own in response. “Only if you'll tell me one thing.” “Anything...”

“Why did you break away from your life?”

“That wasn't my life, Nathalie. Being in the limelight, and signing autographs, and spending the past 17 years trying to make people happy; and for them to accept my 'image'...is NOT my life. It...it took me 5 months to realize that you're my life...” I held onto the sides of her arms, looking down at our shoes. “You are it for me. Not Kristin...not my other 'friends'...you.”

“All my life, I thought I was placed on this earth to please others, be used and get no kind of respect in return....” Nathalie looked down at the ground then at me, a single tear falling down her face. “So, what did you do?” “I....I can't tell you that--” “Kevin.” I heard her say in a stern voice, turning me around to face her. “You're opening up to me...don't draw back now. What did you do?”

I look her in the face, lashing out my soul with 'You can't tell her this, she'll hate you for sure' chants restraining it. But upon her request, I told her what really happened at the ocean that fateful day...
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