it might not be the same

Newt found himself shaking. It was a fear. A fear of the unknown. What had happened to Rae? It was all his fault. No way could he be with Anita now. No way.

He was in his favorite place of all places at the old factory where he kept the mattress and all his things for his drawings. It was dark now. He was sure Anita wouldn't come. Why should she? If he were her, he wouldn't come. Besides, she would have to come alone. Why hadn't he came by to see her? Be a real boyfriend that he should be? He was the worst. The very worst. She'd know that soon enough.

But there she was. As if she had to be there for him.

"Are you OK?" She looked so sad.

He wanted to tell her, not really, but he didn't.

"I just feel so bad about the library." He knew that sounded lame, but what if it was Rae who started the fire, anyway. What if she was so unstable? Maybe she needed rehab, and he didn't know it.

"Its not your fault. It was just an old library." Anita touched his arm then and held his hand.

Newt just nodded. Trying to get Rae out of his mind. He had before when he was Anita. He'd completely forgotten about her, in fact. Maybe he could again. Maybe if he thought that she was real. She wouldn't be real.

She caught his lip with hers. Anita kissed him so sweetly. And he smiled as if she would be all he ever needed.

"I care about you, you know." Anita told him, and he kissed her back as if he'd missed this moment. He needed this moment now with her. Here. It was there place now. Not just his.

They got comfortable on the mattress then. There was enough street light coming in so he wouldn't have to light a candle.

"I wish we could really fix this place up." She told him as she unbuttoned his jeans. "You know, like some pillows and linens and things."

Newt kissed her slowly and he felt what she was after. He closed his eyes sleepily as she showed him she could very well make him her own with her tongue and her mouth. And he felt as if the chains of he worries broke free, there was nothing else to think about but the possibility of being one with her, yet again.