Plight of Amour.

Knowing that I was in the same town as Bill again did something strange to my head. It messed with my thoughts, with the sanity that I had somehow forced myself to keep under control for five years.

All of my hard work crumbled with the dream that haunted me the first night in our old house. It was probably the most pleasant of the dreams I had about Bill since we left, but I wasn’t any more convinced that I was going to find him again.

This was also unlike the dreams I had before, because it wasn’t us when we were younger. There we stood, seventeen and eighteen-years-old, our current selves.

It was dark all around us. I could only see him standing in front of me, in the circle of light sent down from the streetlamp above our heads.

He definitely outshined me, that was for sure. He looked gorgeous beyond belief. So beautiful, so dazzling. It made me sick because I must have looked so plain and normal in his eyes.

His breathtaking, smoldering eyes that made butterflies rage around in the pit of my stomach.

“Bill,” I whispered.

He didn’t answer. Instead he put his hands on my waist and pushed my back against the streetlamp. He dipped his head down and he pressed his lips passionately to mine. Even in my dream state, my heart skipped about ten beats.

My hands buried themselves in his hair, twining through the silky, super long dark locks. I closed my eyes and kissed him back, pulling him closer, crushing our mouths together harder.

His tongue slid through my lips, and mine started fighting against his.

He moved his hands up from my waist and put them on the back of my head, only increasing in the passion and intensity of this amazing kiss. If you could even call it that! This was so much more! This should have been a sin, dammit! Something illegal!

Bill broke away from me and started pressing his lips to my jaw and neck and collarbone. I tilted my head to the left, my eyes closed. I untangled my hands from his hair and let them drop to his shoulders.

I bit down on my lip, but that didn’t work with fighting back the sounds threatening to slip from the throat. I moaned loudly. This stimulated his work on my neck.

“Bill,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Oh, Bill!”

Suddenly, I was being shaken. Someone had hold of my shoulder and was screaming my name.

“Calla!”

It wasn’t Bill yelling. It was a girl, a familiar girl.

“Calla, wake up!”

“OH!” I jostled awake, bolting upright in my bed. I looked around quickly, feeling disoriented, confused, and not fully recovered from my reverie.

Rillia was standing at my bedside, her arms crossed over her chest, smirking.

“Hi?” I whispered, grinning innocently.

She twisted her face up in a pained expression. I raised an eyebrow and was about to ask her what was wrong when she burst into laughter. She cackled, her entire body shaking.

I threw back my covers and stood. “What’s so funny?” I cried, grabbing her shoulders.

Rillia waved her hand to and fro, shaking her head. With her other hand pressing against her chest, she gasped for air.

I shook her. “Rillia!” I shouted. “Talk to me! Breathe!”

Finally she lifted herself and put her hands out in front of her. “Okay. I’m okay.”

I let her go, eyeing her skeptically.

“What were you laughing at?” I asked, keeping my tone down.

Rillia’s eyes took on a sudden gleam that I didn’t like at all. She pressed her hand to her chest, threw her head back, and said, “Bill! Oh, Bill!”

My jaw dropped. “I was talking in my sleep?!” I screeched, feeling the color flush from my cheeks.

“Yes, you were,” Rillia answered, grinning from ear to ear. “And can I please ask what you were dreaming about? I mean, I understand that Bill was in it, but what happened?”

I growled and pointed to the door. “Leave,” I demanded.

“Not until you tell me what you were dreaming about.” She planted her hands on her hips and glared at me. “Tell me, Calla.”

“Why do you care?” I whispered.

The pain was back in my chest. The dream, the beautiful dream, hadn’t helped my pain. It only increased my agony.

“Because…I’m just happy you’re not waking up crying anymore.” Rillia patted my arm. “Will you please tell me what you dreamt about? I’m guessing it was better than the dreams you’ve been having.”

I took a deep breath, shifting my eyes to the wooden floor beneath my feet. “Bill and I were on a sidewalk, beneath a streetlamp,” I began, my voice barely above a whisper. “He…he started kissing me.”

Rillia stifled a giggle.

“And it just escaladed from there, but nothing illegal happened,” I finished.

“So?” Rillia exclaimed. “It’s your dream! Who cares if anything illegal happens? Besides, you were dating him once. You have every right to dream about getting in his pants!”

I groaned. I should have just refused to tell her, or say that I didn’t remember it. That would have worked. She would have let it go and went on her way, but no. I had to say it.

“Rillia, I didn’t get in his pants,” I muttered. “It was nothing like that.”

“Then why on earth were you making such odd sounds?” Rillia shot.

“Trust me, it might as well have been sex, because that was freaking amazing!” I shivered, thinking back to how intense the dream kiss was. “But it was only a kiss.”

Rillia grinned, “It always starts out as a kiss, honey,” she whispered, and turned swiftly on her heel. She started moving quickly toward the door.

“Yeah, so I’ve been told.” I shook my head. “Oh, and good morning to you, too, Rillia.”

“Good morning, Calla!” Rillia grinned and held the door open, gesturing out. “You first, my love.”

I rolled my eyes, but left the room anyway. Rillia followed at my heels.

“What time is it?” I asked, suddenly remembering I had no clue if it was even daylight.

“It’s ten,” Rillia said as we bounded down the staircase.

“Ew. I only slept for six hours?” I asked, trotting across the kitchen.

Rillia gasped. “Oh, no! Only six hours? Because most of the humans in the world only wish they could get that much sleep. Really, Calla. You have a sleeping problem.”

I ripped open the refrigerator door and bent to peer inside.

The night before, I had gotten so involved and caught up in my writing, I didn’t even attempt to keep up with what time it was. Before I knew it, the clock read five am, and I finally went to bed with Bill on my mind.

The end result was nice, but still left something to be desired thanks to the pain that ached in my chest.

I stared blankly at the inside of the fridge for several minutes before standing up to my full height again.

“There’s nothing in here,” I said, a little shocked.

Rillia nodded. “I know. I have to go shopping today to buy food and all that kind of stuff,” she stated. “Would you like to come with me?”

“Sure.” I closed the fridge. “When are you going?”

“Later.”

“Ah. That answers my question.”

I put my hands on the counter and leaned over the sink to look out the only window in the kitchen. There were streaks of water on the glass, the clouds above were a dark gray, and I sighed.

It was raining. I had forgotten how much it could storm around this time of year in Germany.

But it was beautiful, nonetheless.

“Calla,” Rillia called, bringing me away from the gorgeous rain.

“Mhm?”

“Honey, you look like a hot mess,” she whispered, amusement in her tone.

I nodded, knowing that I looked like hell. My body felt dirty and sticky from the rough night I had and my hair felt disgusting. Quickly I raked my hand through my hair in an attempt to smooth out the sweaty knots that now plagued it.

Rillia sighed. “Want to go out to eat for breakfast?”

I smiled. “Yes, please.”

/-/-/-/

Rillia and I glanced around at the passing restaurants with curiosity.

Some things had changed since we left; they had put new buildings up with strange names, some towering over others. There were new shops, eateries, diners, and whatnot scattered around. And with Rillia at the wheel, we drove around aimlessly for quite a while, trying to decide where to go.

“Verdammen Sie,” Rillia cursed.

I pointed out the windshield. “Look. There’s a diner, Rill. Just go there. It looks good enough.”

Rillia swung the car into the parking lot beside the diner and cut the engine quickly. She sighed, leaning her head on the steering wheel. Rillia was probably the only person in the world who hated driving so much.

I shot a dirty look at her.

“I’m driving next time!” I cried, and threw open the car door.

Rillia climbed out and circled around the car to walk beside me. I kept my head down, watching the damp concrete pass beneath sneakers and attempting to listen to Rillia complain about German drivers and bad food.

I shoved my hands into my jeans pockets.

My mind was wandering, to the dark depths of the words written in my diary at home. It started out as just a normal diary entry, but went into something much more than that, and I began writing about him.

I wrote pages upon pages about his beautiful eyes, his dark hair, his flawless skin. The writings quickly became a bodice ripper romance, something I had never written before.

That must have been what fueled my passionate dream.

“Calla?”

I glanced sideways at Rillia. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.” I opened the diner door and let Rillia step inside before me. I hated walking head of anyone.

We found a booth at the back and slid in. A peppy blonde waitress bopped up to our table, said her name was Annabelle, and handed us two menus. After a moment, she asked what we would like to drink.

It took me a second to realize she was talking in German, and Rillia was talking back in our native language.

I smiled. I missed talking in something other than English, especially the language that reminded me so much of Bill.

“I got coffee. Is that okay with you, Calla?”

I smiled over at Rillia. “Of course it is, mein schwester.”

Rillia grinned. “I missed hearing you say that,” she whispered, her expression softening. “It’s been so long since you spoke German.”

I nodded slowly and looked down at the menu in my hands. “I couldn’t bring myself to speak it,” I whispered.

“I know.” Rillia lifted her own menu in front of her face and stared at it, making a few strange faces as she did so. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” I muttered, still staring blankly at the names of the meals. “Something with waffles.”

“I want pancakes, then.”

“Share?”

“Share.”

The waitress came back with our coffee. I took my cup as soon as she set it down and took a drink. She picked up our menus from the table and pulled a pad and pen from her apron.

“Was möchten Sie anzuordnen?” she asked, still smiling.

We rattled off our orders and she wrote them down quickly before turning and leaving again. I sipped from my coffee, watching Rillia’s eyes wander the diner, apparently interested in what she saw.

“Earth to Rillia,” I whispered, putting my coffee on the table.

“Rillia to Earth, yes?” Rillia smiled brightly at me and I laughed.

“You are so weird.”

Rillia nodded, batting her eyelashes. “Well, that’s just how I am.”

“I know.”

Quietly she lifted her own coffee cup to her lips, but stopped. Her eyes were locked on my face, staring at me.

I raised an eyebrow. “Rill, are you alright?”

Rillia shook her head. “No.”

I glanced over my shoulder, to the side, around the diner, out the window, searching for what reason would make Rillia suddenly act so strange. I finally slapped my hands down on the table and glared at her.

“Rillia, what is wrong?” I demanded, emphasizing each syllable angrily.

She leaned over the table and put her hand on my cheek. Her lips turned up into a small smile.

“Calla, you have color in your face.”

I pulled my face from her hand and stared at her, confused. “You really need some food in you,” I stated. “You’re blabbing.”

Rillia grinned. “I’m not blabbing! Really, Calla! You have color in your face!”

“So? Don’t most humans have color?” I took another drink of coffee. Rillia was scaring me with her strange words.

“No, honey,” she whispered. “I mean, you haven’t had color in your cheeks since…”

She didn’t have to finish. I lowered my head.

“And now I miraculously don’t look like a zombie anymore?” I asked.

“You don’t,” I heard Rillia whisper. “You look like my sister again.”

I shook my head.

Annabelle came to our table then, a tray balanced in her hand. She set our plates in front of us. Rillia thanked her, while I began attacking my waffles with a fork.

The waitress disappeared around the corner to another booth and I attempted to listen to Rillia blabbing on and on about how she was right to move us back here, how it would eventually work out and I would be with…him…again.

I didn’t want to think his name.

It would result in me losing what little appetite I had.

And I’d had enough of Rillia trying to force food down my throat.

But all I was really doing was singing in my head, listening to the sound of his voice float through my hectic thoughts.

I chewed thoughtfully, nodding in the right places to Rillia’s words and answering whenever she asked questions. In reality, I was far off in my own land. And that land involved slow dancing with Bill in the pouring rain as his hands latched onto my hips and he continuously bent down to kiss me during his singing.

I sighed dreamily and took another bite of waffle. It was soft and warm, but the powdered sugar tasted a little off. I grabbed the syrup from beside the napkin container and poured it across my plate, hoping to stifle the strange taste.

Rillia stopped talking to stuff half a pancake in her mouth. I was happy to find that the syrup did mask the flavor of powdered sugar. I smiled to myself, scraping my teeth across my fork.

Bill was now whispering the lyrics to Geh in my ear, as we still moved around in the slow beat of the sad song. The rain still poured. He looked absolutely beautiful. Gorgeous. Breathtaking. His hair was dripping wet and draped down his shoulders. His clothing clung to every perfect curve in his body. My legs felt weak just at the sight of him, both in the dream and in the diner.

Rillia sighing loudly broke me away from Bill’s enticing self. I lifted my head. Her hand was outstretched in my direction, holding something square and black.

“What?” I asked.

Rillia closed her eyes, obviously exasperated. “Your phone, Calla.”

“Oh.” The thing she was holding was my Blackberry. I laughed quietly and stole it from her hand. “Hello?”

“Calla, it’s so great to hear your voice!” The annoyingly pixie-like voice of my agent, Teniell Gillian, rang through my ears.

I made a sound. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to her. She was always much too happy all the time and it made me feel uncomfortable. Her personality happened to be the polar opposite of mine.

“Hi, Teniell,” I greeted, feigning as much happiness as I could.

Teniell giggled. “Oh, Calla! I’m so happy you made it home in one piece. I was worried something would happen and my beautiful client would disappear and—“

“Ten, I’m fine. Yes, we made it home.” I lifted my coffee up to my lips.

“Good! I wouldn’t want to be out of work.” She laughed again. “Anyway, I also wanted to call to remind you of the book signing and meeting we have on Wednesday.”

I nodded, knowing she couldn’t see it. “I know. I have it put into my Blackberry to remind me. And I believe it’s on the calendar as well.”

“Good!” Teniell clapped, but her cheering was cut short by a small voice screaming in the background.

I almost choked.

Poor Teniell with her overactive, hyper, and yet adorable five-year-old son, Finn Gillian.

It made everything that annoyed me about her seem so much better.

“Tell Finn I said hi,” I said when Teniell came back to the phone.

“Of course,” she said breathlessly. “Or you can tell him yourself when we come over tomorrow. He really wants to see you again. He misses his Aunt Callie-Bear.”

I smiled. “Sounds great! I love my Finny-pants.”

“Okay, then! We’ll be over some time tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay. Bye bye.”

“See you.”

I ended the conversation and clicked my Blackberry off. Rillia stared at me.

“What did Ell want?”

“She wanted to make sure we were okay, and if I remembered the book signing on Wednesday,” I replied, eating the last bit of my waffle. “Oh, and they’re coming over tomorrow. With Finn.”

“Great. You know I don’t like dealing with Teniell all by myself!” Rillia complained. She put the amount of money from the bill on the table and stood up.

I quickly followed behind her.

She took the car keys out of her purse, but I quickly stole them from her.

I jingled them around. “My turn to drive.”

/-/-/-/

Back at home, I streaked immediately upstairs and attacked my diary. I turned the pages directly to where I started writing and read.

It was dark outside, but I had to make the venture over to his house. He had a right to know. I had to tell him. It was his relationship in jeopardy too. Didn’t that give him a right to be let in on the terrible news my father had just relayed to me?

I believed it did.

So I ran through the muddy grass as fast as I could, trying to get to him before Father realized I was gone.

I stopped reading.

It was just as I thought.

I had somehow got caught up in writing about our promise. It was just a little different from what really happened.

I tossed my diary to the floor and buried my face in my pillow.

This meant something…

If I was ever going to finish this and make it into a book—oh, how the publishers and Teniell would eat that one up—that meant it had to have a good ending, otherwise no one would read it.

I had to find Bill, even if it was merely just to tell him how much I still loved him.

For the sake of my book…

For the sake of my sanity…

For the sake of our Plight of Amour.

/-/-/-/

My hands shook as I handed my diary over to Rillia.

She took it, a big grin on her face. “Thank you for letting me read this,” she whispered. “What’s it called?”

“Plight of Amour,” I whispered.

No one but Bill and I knew of our plight. Rillia was only informed that I had a plan to find Bill again, no matter how long it took, no matter how many hearts I had to break. As she read it, she would merely think it was another one of my brilliant creative ideas. She would have no clue it was based on at true story.

Her eyes scanned over the first page quickly, and I bounced my leg nervously from where I sat on the couch. I hated—no, loathed people reading my works. It made me really hesitant and I didn’t want to hear any word of criticism.

Rillia turned the page.

I pressed my lips together.

She was smiling, but her eyes worried me. They were wide as they stared down at my messily written words.

I stood up and slid out the front door onto the porch. The air was chilly, but it felt very nice. It almost made me think about other happy things, such as how it smelled of autumn or how the leaves of the trees in the neighboring yards were all changing colors.

The neighborhood around me was silent and the sidewalks were empty. I no longer knew who living around us; I’m sure most of the familiar people I had grown up with were gone.

I glanced at Bill’s old house as I leaned against the porch railing.

Much to my dismay, it was still empty.

I laughed at myself. Of course it was still empty. He wasn’t going to move back in just because I was desperate to his face again. I was ignorant to even consider such a blaspheme thought.

I balanced my elbow on the railing, my chin lying in the palm of my hand.

A car veered down the small street, screeching loudly when they neared the bend in the road. I closed my eyes and let my mind take me away.

The daydream was different this time. It reminded me much of the bodice ripper my book had suddenly become. Bill was all over me, attacking my every curve with his lips and his hands roamed, up my shirt and down my pants like a scavenger.

I smiled and sighed.

My fantasies were the only reason I was still alive.

I heard the front door swing open and smack against the outside wall.

“Calla, this is wonderful!” Rillia cried.

Reluctantly I opened my eyes. Rillia came to stand beside me, my diary still in her hand. She was grinning from ear to ear.

“Really! This is amazingly good,” she whispered, putting her arm around my shoulder.

I nodded. “I’m sure it is.”

“You should let Teniell read it,” Rillia responded. “She would want to get it published the second you finished it, but it was still be nice. This might be your best one yet.”

For someone who didn’t like me being famous because of my writings, she sure was willing to get my books published.

But I knew she did the things she did out of love.

I sighed and turned my head to look at her. “I don’t know…” I whispered hesitantly, feeling slightly sick to my stomach. “It’s kind of out of my genre.”

“Why? It’s sexy, enticing. Women all around the world would be drooling over it!” She was practically jumping up and down. “You would be even more famous in the romance novelist world with this book.”

I shook my head. She knew how hesitant I was to send anything to the publisher, so why was she even pushing this right now? I wasn’t even closed to finished!

“Calla, will you at least consider letting Teniell read it tomorrow?” Rillia put my diary on the railing beside my elbow.

I shrugged, my eyes focusing on a tree covered in amber leaves. “I’ll consider it,” I whispered. “But there’s no guarantee that I’ll have it published or anything. You know I’m not the first one to jump on that wagon.”

And I would be thinking twice on getting this one published at all. This book might never have an end. Or it might never have a good ending. The publishers and Teniell wouldn’t like that very much, now would they?

Rillia leaned against the pillar holding the porch roof up, her arms crossed over her chest. “I know, sweetie. I just hope you know that you’re insanely talented.”

And I nodded.

Because how else was I supposed to reply to something like that?

I would never think I was insanely talented anything.

Except at being crazy, obsessive, and focused on only one goal.

And do I even need to say what that goal was?