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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px] YOU'RE NEVER GONNA UNDERSTAND you swayed your hips and stole the breath that i was taking [/style][style=background-color: 1b1b1b; width: 200px; height: 300px; float: right; border: 0px solid #D2D2D2; padding: 8px; color: D2D2D2; overflow: auto; text-align: justify; font-family: arial]With five hours until 2013, Hayden Scott stood in front of the mirror for a final glance. He was dressed in argyle like the rich small town boy he always hated being. He frowned a bit as he pushed a stray hair out of his eyes. He felt like his mother had just dressed him. In a way, maybe she had; she insisted on purchasing clothes from Express to make him look like a grown-up. It wasn't like Hayden didn't dress like one; he was fine when he was in LA, but she wanted him to dress like an upper-class puppet. He had to be kind to her and wear what she gave him, of course, out of the guilt that came from the fact that he rarely came home. At the end of the day, it didn't matter what he was wearing. He was used to switching costumes and switching faces. He forgot in the next few moments that he hated his sweater. Grabbing his wool jacket, he checked the time before heading down the stairs. "I'll drive, Ma," he called out before grabbing the keys and opening the garage. Like magic, his family appeared to pile into the family Escalade. After spending more than a week in Chantilly, Hayden felt like he was driving himself mad. There wasn't one place he could go -- besides his family's home -- where he wouldn't run into someone from high school. Needless to say, none of the familiar faces were pleasant. Even now, Hayden could only see pity in their eyes regarding the loss of Neal. After a decade, it still felt like a fresh wound when he saw the eyes of Neal's old friends peering into his own. On top of that, Hayden was guilty; he didn't want to think about his involvement with Neal's unfortunate demise, and he wanted everyone who had known Neal to leave him alone. Next time he picked up milk at the store, he didn't want to see Nancy Evans in the shampoo aisle with that idiotic sympathy in her eyes. It made Hayden's blood boil, which was an feeling he had once learned to subdue. After days of dealing with people's pity, he felt like throwing himself off of that old abandoned building himself. Neal died, but Hayden and Tiffany got to deal with all that came afterward: the endless guilt. Seeing the Prescott household was yet another trigger for him. Hayden remembered playing in the front yard, which looked exactly the same, and eating dinner there days after the funeral. It felt like yesterday, but years were already behind him. It was like he was growing old without living. "Hayden! So good to see you guys are here," Mrs. Prescott greeted at the front door. She took the wrapped container of meatloaf from his hands. Little Prescotts ran around just as they did at the usual New Year party. A few of the Scotts were also there: cousins and Hayden's parents' siblings were usually invited. Of course, the numerous Prescotts outweighed any other family present. The generations went back to before Tiffany and Neal's grandparents were even born. That was what made Prescott family reunions overly populated. "Hayden!" a little one yelled. He clung to the man's legs. "Hi Topher," he replied, chuckling as he ruffled the kid's hair. Topher Scott, his cousin of eight years old, looked up to Hayden like no other. "You wanna play Battleship?" he asked, practically begging. Hayden laughed once again and picked the kid up from the floor and onto his feet. "Let's get to it." The parents weer already having wine and the children were retired to the guest room and the left portion of the living room. Topher plopped down on the ground in front of Hayden and opened up the box with the game pieces. "You're about to get destroyed!" he threatened maniacally. His ruffled brown hair reminded Hayden of himself when he was a child, but Topher had green eyes in contrast to Hayden's blue ones. He was zany-looking and wild, but that was what Hayden loved about kids. That's what he had loved so much about his friendship with Neal. Once they finished their game, Topher began to reset the pieces before he looked up. He squealed and hid behind Hayden. Hayden followed his gaze to see Tiffany standing and greeting his parents. Conspicuously, Topher pointed a finger at her. At first, Hayden thought it was fear, but he realized what it was. He turned around. "You got a crush, kid?" he questioned, barely refraining from cracking himself up. [style=letter-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: 2px solid; padding: 2px] WORDS: 767 | TAG: char as tiffany prescott l HE'S WEARING THIS I'm excited! [/style]

table made by MADAME MARIANNA of CAUTION 2.0

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TIFFANY'S SOULMATE HAYDEN . 1130 WORDS . OUTFIT . I HAVE SO MUCH MUSE

Although New York promised nothing but monotonous theater work, Tiffany was counting down the days until she returned. Visiting her parents evoked strong feelings of self-loathing and guilt. Family gatherings were supposed to be comfortable, yet Tiffany hadn't felt secure around her kin in years. All of them imagined the young, vivacious teenager she used to be. For their sakes, she pretended to be that girl, if only to avoid gossip amongst her relatives. Smiling had never felt so plastic before. Aunt Lisa wanted to uncover every detail of Tiffany's life at Princeton; Grandma Susan wanted to hear all about the boys she dated. With reluctance, Tiffany spoke of Donovan-- her last boyfriend. Her grandmother wanted to know every detail, and after listening to everything Tiffany had to say, she was disappointed to find they were no longer together. Tiff may have left out the actual reason her relationship with him ended, instead excusing their break by insisting they simply "grew apart."

The Prescott home had been full of people since eleven. Her cousin and his family were staying in the office with their two daughters, Emma and Kate. The presence of young toddlers helped shine the spotlight elsewhere. Tiffany managed to hide out in her room for a much needed rest until Mrs. Prescott came to fetch her. "We have guests," she reminded her daughter sternly. "You're being extremely rude." Either way, Tiffany wasn't thrilled to be around squealing children and chatty elders. Dragging Tiffany back downstairs to socialize was a fated mistake. After all, her tolerance levels had sunk dangerously since her years as a Chantilly brat. Even then her patience hadn't been substantial. So, figuring her mother couldn't possible whine about her working in the kitchen, Tiffany decided to take up refilling chip bowls, monitoring finger foods in the oven, and snacking on the vegetable plate no one else seemed to have touched. This way people were forced to approach her if they wanted to chat. As far as Tiffany was concerned, her plan was flawless.

The hours dragged on with excruciating lethargy. Herds of people continued to stampede through the front door, and Tiffany honestly believed her parents had invited the whole of Chantilly to their "little" party. Not to mention Mrs. Prescott had insisted she wear three-inch heels. The balls of Tiffany's feet were screaming from standing on them all day long. Her breath was short-winded from wearing a misfitting belt she borrowed from her mother. Overall, her New Year's Eve experience was utter torment, and there was plenty of time left on the clock until the midnight countdown. God, help me, Tiff thought, nibbling on a carrot. As if her situation could get any worse, a sharp squeal in the other room made her heart drop. "Hayden!" an annoying, high-pitched voice hollered. Great. Just great. The rest of the Scott family had arrived.

Knowing her mother was bound to dismember her body if she didn't, Tiffany held her head high and went out to greet Mr. and Mrs. Scott after she threw a batch of cookies in the oven. Her effort seemed to please her hospitable mother, for she instantly backed out of the conversation and looped Tiffany right in. "My, I haven't seen you in quite some time, young lady!" Mrs. Scott teased, hugging Tiffany close. "You're right. It's been too long," Tiffany replied, obviously playing along. Mrs. Scott chuckled, so it was only fair that Tiffany offered her own giggle. They spoke of what Tiffany had been up to around Chantilly since Christmas, including shopping with their newly-engaged daughter, Peyton. She was scheduled to make an appearance with her fiancee later on. Right now, they were busy at another party across town. An unfamiliar pang of jealousy throbbed throughout Tiffany's being. Receding into a life of solitude certainly hadn't been her intention. But here she was. Single and alone.

For a moment, Tiff feared Mrs. Scott would anticipate her thoughts and vocalize them. Mothers had a tendency to understand how people felt without much indication, and though Mrs. Scott wasn’t Tiffany’s mother, she figured the same rules applied. Mrs. Scott’s eyes were fixed upon Tiffany’s face intently; air refused to run through Tiffany’s airways. Suddenly, a drawn-out beep poured out from the kitchen. The oven! Tiffany turned with an apologetic smile to take care of the cookies she had placed in the oven, but she was surprised to find her mother already near the oven’s edge. Damn. It looked like she and Mrs. Scott were chatting for a while longer. Again, the conversation laced through Tiffany’s outings around the town. Much to her delight, Mrs. Scott steered away from any heart-stopping conversations. That is, until she caught sight of Hayden and Topher playing Battleship together.

“Sometimes I wish Hayden would come back to town more often,” Mrs. Scott sighed. “I understand he’s busy with whatever he does in California, but it would be nice to see him settle down here…” Tiffany pursed her lips, forfeiting her self-control by glancing in their direction. She honestly hadn’t spotted Hayden since she crept out of the kitchen. She was surprised to find him with the little guy. Kids had never been his interest. Tiffany could see how that hurt his mother the same way her refusal to settle down hurt hers. But more importantly, why had Mrs. Scott brought up that topic now? And why to her? Tiff was at a loss for words. Awkwardly, she took another glance at Hayden and the small boy. Topher had a finger pointed in her direction now. Hayden’s piercing blue eyes were also pointed in her direction. How did that saying go? When it rains, it pours? That sounded about right.

“Well, I’m going to help your mother in the kitchen, sweetheart. It looks like you have a couple admirers,” Mrs. Scott cooed, shuffling off into the kitchen. Tiff watched her go, defeated. She might as well get this conversation over with. Topher looked sheepish while Hayden looked amused. It took a decent amount of restraint to avoid calling out Topher’s rude pointing habit. She had to continually remind herself of his age and naivety. The surrounding crowd also helped her keep her head screwed on straight. Hayden’s lips were moving, but she was just out of earshot to hear him. “Your mom sent me over here,” she explained, standing near the two boys. She shot a genuine smile in Topher’s direction, and he quickly cowered behind Hayden’s back. Puzzled, she asked, “Am I really that intimidating?” Her eyes flicked to Hayden’s. Slowly but surely, she crouched on the ground. “Hey Toph. What’s up, buddy?” she asked the other boy, her voice unnaturally soft and… pleasant.

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px] YOU'RE NEVER GONNA UNDERSTAND you swayed your hips and stole the breath that i was taking [/style][style=background-color: 1b1b1b; width: 200px; height: 300px; float: right; border: 0px solid #D2D2D2; padding: 8px; color: D2D2D2; overflow: auto; text-align: justify; font-family: arial]The new engagement was something that Hayden unintentionally chose to put out of his mind at every opportunity. Of course, he never had breathing room at home. It seemed like questions about Kaesyn and other girls from LA were the the torture devices of the week. As the older brother and future man of the household, it had been his unspoken duty to settle down sooner than Peyton. Of course, Peyton was the stabler of the two. That wasn't fair, at least not to him. Did anyone get to feel sorry for her because she lost her best friend? DId she have to live with the fucked up part of her past? No, she didn't. That was all he wanted to say when his dad questioned him or when his mom complained about grandchildren. How can you fucking expect me to raise kids when I'm a murderer? Who could actually fall in love with me? I'd never tell her the truth. She'd just fall in love with the idea of me, the idea of some big-shot actor. Maybe. If I make it that far. It consumed him. Those thoughts destroyed him, and the best he could do was hiding them. He just laughed about being single, grinned about being independent, and continued with his life. Topher, as cute as he was, stood as yet another reminder of Hayden's failure to do as his father asked of him. Instead, he partied his way through high school and spent loads of scholarship opportunities that got him a degree he wasn't even utilizing. To them, he was a sad excuse for a man of the Scott family. Even if Hayden had a great capacity for self-denial, these truths assaulted him in droves during the night. When it was just Hayden and his thoughts in the dark, only the worst demons would come and visit him. In the daylight, he was safe. In numbers, he was golden. When he saw Tiffany's bright blue, subdued eyes, he couldn't help but falling back into some pit of despair. Somewhere deep down inside of him, he had an apology to give to her, but it always came in the form of lame birthday cards sent in the mail to her New York address or Christmas chocolates. Everyone knew that these acts didn't really heal him. They were immediate, like alcohol after an incident, and only exacerbated the matters in the end. Undoubtedly, there was the other side of seeing Tiffany that he didn't understand: the happy nostalgia. He remembered playing Jell-o in the car and squishing each other against the back window. He could recall making homemade pudding pops and watching The Breakfast Club on repeat. It felt like those days weren't so far away when Tiffany's eyes connected with his own icy ones. Maybe she had the right to be mad at him, but she was still the only piece of his childhood that he could hold onto. Sadly, she was also the only piece of proof that he hadn't imagined his involvement in his dearest friend's unfortunate half-suicide. She was the only one who knew the truth. Every fiber of her existence screamed out at him with it, making him feel dirty for seeing her as beautiful or admirable or courageous. Worst of all, he wanted to tell it all to her and see if she'd be that one person who knew -- when or if it was all out in the open -- and still accepted him. Before he knew it, she was standing in front of him, and his bleak moment of despair disappeared with Topher's squeal behind him. His blank expression returned to a bright, cheery one. “Am I really that intimidating?” she questioned, connecting with his gaze. He laughed without constraint before turning around to see Topher's physical response. "C'mon, Toph! Don't be rude to the pretty girl," Hayden nudged. He looked at Tiffany and winked charmingly. "I think he's got a bit of a crush," he whispered. Topher's face was attacked with a blush that spread in a matter of seconds. "Did you make cookies?" he asked, flustered with the age difference between himself and the pretty woman who was paying attention to him. Topher didn't like many girls in his classes, only the ones who looked like they were ten or eleven. He was mature for his age, according to his parents, which made him want to chase older girls. In her dress and heels, it was easy to idolize Tiffany Prescott. Hayden understood the appeal, and maybe he knew it best because of the taboo that came with finding her sexually attractive. At some point in their friendship, they had been only friends. In fact, she had been viewed as a sort of a little sister figure. When adulthood hit her, however, he saw the curves filling in and the bubbly personality becoming filled with a more refined attitude. It made him curious. It made him want to know her better. "Tiffany here doesn't bake, does she? It sounds like she would throw a feminist fit. She went to Princeton, Toph. You know that?" Hayden asked. He was throwing a few subtle punches at the Ivy League education system, but he was also bragging on Tiffany a bit. She was basically a genius, but that wasn't something he got to tell her often. [style=letter-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: 2px solid; padding: 2px] WORDS: 895 | TAG: char as tiffany prescott l HE'S WEARING THIS Muse makes me happy! I've been overflowing lately as well! c: [/style]

table made by MADAME MARIANNA of CAUTION 2.0

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TIFFANY'S SOULMATE HAYDEN . 1023 WORDS . OUTFIT . THE CONFLICTED FEELS

Toph was adorable in the way all toddlers were. Sheepish and cowering behind Hayden's back, Tiffany appreciated the lack of energy he seemed to have. Her boss, Kris, had a young child Topher's age. He was constantly running down the halls, through the seats in the audience, and climbing all over the props. Kris did nothing to regulate her child. Instead, she had the indecency to snap photos of him practicing such disorderly conduct. Mrs. Prescott used to do the same with Neal, and it was no wonder how he ended up. Tiffany never wanted to be a mother. Doing so brought life into the world, another free spirit with his or her own general will. The anguish in her parent's eyes wasn't hard to spot. Losing a son before his time had destroyed some part of them deep down inside. It just so happened that they were able to rebound, whereas Tiffany continued to squirm on the court, no intentions of standing back up. No, a child was too much for her to worry about. Willing herself to live every day was a tremendous battle already. How could she guide another through life when she didn't even want to lead herself?

Hayden laughed at her own expense, and she knew right away she asked for that. There was an endearing quality about Hayden whenever he laughed. Nostalgia cluttered her mind and soul. Seeing Hay laugh made Tiffany wonder if life could be more. Could happiness be attainable? Could she forgive her wrongdoing and move on? The answer was no. Not for her. Thinking as such was the result of a moment of weakness. Here, she was damned, invited personally by Satan himself. Realizing she had zoned out with her thoughts, Tiffany raised her eyes to the young boy again. Hayden was mid-sentence. Something about a crush. Tiffany raised her eyes, pursing her lips. "A crush, huh?" She sent a smile in Toph's direction. If young children were able to see the broken witch that lived inside, then their cowers wouldn't be out of admiration but fear. So fickle... so naive... Tiff shook her head. "His parents better watch out for that one," she mused. "Falling hard for anyone is dangerous." She glanced at Hayden as she said this. A mass of unsaid words laid just beyond the crevice of her lips. They'll only let you down in the end, was one of the most poisonous. To lighten the mood, however, Tiffany held out her hand to little Toph.

Topher asked, "Did you make cookies?" How he knew was beyond her, but she nodded. Meanwhile, Hayden went off on a tangent about who he thought she was. According to him, she didn't bake. According to him, she was a feminist. According to him, she was a Princeton graduate. Hm. The previous two were news to her. To his defense, she accepted how her allergy to romance came off as feminism. Censoring human emotion helped her keep people at a distance. Tiffany rolled her eyes, annoyed with Hayden already. Tiffany's childhood was built around him. He was like a statue erected in town square. Now that the magic was gone, she was able to see him for what he truly was-- lost, desperate, and hopeless. Sending Christmas chocolates and birthday cards looked sentimental. Nothing more, nothing less. To Tiffany, his "sentiment" looked like utter excuses. Bragging about her was another one of his charming tactics. News flash, buddy, she thought icily. I won't fall for that. Not anymore. Toph was the only force holding her by Hayden's side, and not even the pink-faced boy was enough to make her decision to stay concrete. "Do you want me to go get you a cookie?" she asked him.

At once, Toph's face sprang to life. "Yeah!" he exclaimed. "I mean, yes, please." What a perfect gentleman. Tiffany nodded, finding her balance on her feet once again. "I'll be right back, okay?" Toph nodded. Fleeing from that conversation was relieving and selfish. Her general distaste for Hayden as a person shouldn't have been applied to Toph, too. An innocent bystander, the least she could do was give him not one but two cookies. She hoped his parents wouldn't mind. Mrs. Prescott looked at her critically, as if to say "save some for our guests!" At that, Tiff took another cookie, her total prize ending in five cookies. Two for Toph, one for she, and two for Hayden. See? She could share if she wanted to. Mrs. Prescott probably had enough of Tiffany's bitter attitude. Their relationship typically tapered away as Tiffany's stay grew longer. That was part of the reason Tiffany wanted to come for Christmas dinner and hop right back onto a plane. By insisting she stay longer, Mrs. Prescott had created a battlefield.

"Here you go, buddy," Tiffany said, gifting the young boy two. "Two?" he exclaimed, overjoyed. Tiff's free hand put a finger to her lips. "Shh!" she warned. "We don't want to get in trouble, do we?" Toph shook his head, biting into his first cookie. Now with three left, she offered one to Hayden. There was no way she was eating all three on her own. Ending up single, alone, and fat would send her over a cliff. "Take two," she insisted, glancing towards the kitchen. Mrs. Prescott was no longer in sight. And, in case Hayden questioned her, she added, "I'm on a diet," which wasn't entirely true, either. Chocolate chip cookies were Neal's favorite kind. Eating them, much like listening to the beach boys, watching The Breakfast Club, and coming home, reminded her of the way her life used to be. Neal was gone, but he was everywhere. Looking back at Toph, she was amused to find his cheek smeared with chocolate. Instinctively, she wet her thumb and wiped the chocolate mess from his face. Mrs. Prescott used to do that to her face when she was younger, and by the time she finished, she had no idea what led her to do so at all.

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px] YOU'RE NEVER GONNA UNDERSTAND you swayed your hips and stole the breath that i was taking [/style][style=background-color: 1b1b1b; width: 200px; height: 300px; float: right; border: 0px solid #D2D2D2; padding: 8px; color: D2D2D2; overflow: auto; text-align: justify; font-family: arial]"His parents better watch out for that one," Tiffany joked. "Falling hard for anyone is dangerous." Hayden, once again, felt the urge to frown deeply, but refrained. His actor's charm was out and active, so he laughed melodically once again. "His parents are probably just worried. He's in a cougar stage that he might not grow out of." Hayden ruffled the kid's hair once again and Toph crinkled his nose in response. Hopefully, he had no idea what "cougar" really meant, considering its sexual connotation. Tiffany was kind instead of cold, luckily, and meant well when she reached her hand out for Topher to take. It was endearing, even if it seemed out of character for someone as... complicated as Tiffany. Hayden winked at Topher as the boy came out from his hiding spot behind Hayden's back. Hayden's smile wavered when Tiffany responded to his half-compliment with a roll of her eyes. She didn't know her strength when it came down to her icy attitude. Her mother probably got the brunt of it, he realized, and he would never get used to it. Maybe people in the city knew better than to let it get to them, but Hayden and their two families knew that the teenage Tiffany had been sweet and optimistic. When she made moves like these, the magnitude was amplified with what she used to be. Years ago, comments like that would have made her crack up or slap him on the arm. Suddenly, a pang slammed Hayden in the stomach. She probably wouldn't do that again. It just wasn't in her character to make those accidental flirtatious moves. In fact, she rarely laughed at his jokes anymore. She was new and unimproved. She was regressing and falling into a hole where the sun didn't shine. Topher was the spoiled one; she was offering him sweets now? Seriously? Maybe Hayden needed to take some pointers from the kid. Just like that, Toph's pretty lady was off to fetch him some cookies. Hayden grabbed him and tickled him under the arms. "You little player!" Hayden teased, laughing all the while. Toph looked up and stopped laughing for a few moments. Hayden turned and his eyes made contact with Tiffany once again. She handed him two cookies and Topher bounced up and down before scarfing one of them down ferociously. He shook his head at Tiffany's rhetorical question and Hayden spaced out as he became fixated on the finger on her lips. Those heels and those lips... He had no idea what he was thinking. This was Tiffany Prescott. Even with a high capacity for denial, he could feel that she hated him immensely -- at least part of her did. She offered Hayden a cookie, to the man's surprise. "Thanks." His bright blue eyes smiled at hers as he sat up to eat the one -- two -- cookies he was offered. "Diet?" he questioned. She was just asking for it, and this time, his eyes scanned her medically, not perversely. "Tiffany, you're kidding, right?" Hayden had his own idea about diets. Though some dietary pills only affected heart rate at rest, he didn't like the idea that girls risked their biochemical health to look better. He probably cared less when people were actually overweight, but that wasn't something he typically encountered as the main issue when he volunteered at the emergency room in LA or at home. The girls whom he dated, though, didn't need to diet to impress him. Girls like Tiffany especially didn't need to diet. This time, the frown was all over his face as he basically prepared a lecture. "You know you don't need to..." He wanted to say so much more, but the look on her face threatened him every time. He just watched her interact with Topher. She was turning out to be just like her mother, and maybe that was a good thing. Topher yawned after gulping the remnants of the second cookie. "Topher!" Carrie, his mother's voice, called. She stood sternly by the kitchen and wiggled her finger as a "come hither" gesture and Topher obediently made his way to her. It was just Hayden and Tiffany. Hayden wasn't making a huge deal out of it, however, and started playing with the puzzle that was lying in pieces in front of him. On the box, there was a picture of a Christmas mistletoe. He only got one connection before he heard his own mother's voice. "Hayden? Tiffany? Can you two help set up the food?" Hayden looked at Tiffany before getting up and reaching out a helping hand to steady her on those high heels. The two promptly helped with the platters of food and waited for the elders to serve themselves before helping the children get their plates and food. "Like old times," Hayden remarked to Tiffany. [style=letter-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: 2px solid; padding: 2px] WORDS: 809 | TAG: char as tiffany prescott l HE'S WEARING THIS The two of them are so messed up! xD [/style]

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TIFFANY'S SOULMATE HAYDEN . 780 WORDS . OUTFIT . TWO FACED WUT

Tiffany listened to Hayden's concerns, mostly rebuttals against her own theories, with a cocked eyebrow. Cougars, huh? Mock serious, she replied, "You say that like it's a bad thing." Whether or not she believed her words was fair game. Part of her believed falling for someone who was more mature held more peaks than pitfalls. Did she honestly need to bring her numerous examples to the table? Donovan? Lyle? Nick? Matt? All of them had been at least a year younger than her, and all of them had dumped her to the curb eventually. Tiffany wasn't disillusioned to believe their actions had been purely spiteful. Men these days had a tendency to take, and upon realizing Tiffany wasn't comfortable meeting all their demands, they decided to cut their ties. Boo hoo. Life went on. Little Toph was bound to find someone to sweep off her feet one day. Most guys in their families did.

Cautiously, Topher's fingers interlaced with Tiffany's. A trusting smile burst into view. Okay, Topher was more likeable than she gave him credit for. His sheepish reaction to Hayden's wink reinforced that. Sometimes kids his age were already cocky. Improper child-rearing had the tendency to corrupt the innocence toddlers were renown for; Carrie had certainly done a magnificent job with Toph. Interacting with him whilst Hayden's eyes were fixed on her honestly didn't deter her in the least. All she saw was the small boy, his outstretched hand, and the cheeky grin inflating on his face. Their parting deflated his smile some, but another reassuring from her own lips seemed to remedy that issue. Tiffany almost wished guys her age were just as easy to please. Rape crimes were bound to decline if only grown men were content with chocolate chip cookies.

She watched Topher take up his first bites of cookie before turning on Hayden. Mentioning her "dieting" seemed to bother him. Why did he care? Hayden hadn't cared about her after Neal died. There was no need for him to have a change of heart now. "Diet?" he questioned. Tiff nodded, rolling with her white lie effortlessly. "Yeah, y'know... Jenny Craig? Carrots? Things like that?" Tiffany tilted her head to the side, biting into the cookie she saved for herself. "You're the doctor. You should know these things, Hay," she added. The poison injected into her tone was inevitable. Truthfully, Tiffany had gone on a diet once before, but the very sight of fudge had been the end of it. The holidays was no time to think about fitness, apparently. And yet, Hayden continued to obsess over her life's choices as if he had a say in it! "Look, Hayden," she sighed. "It's my body, and if you don't mind, I can do whatever I want with it."

By then, Topher had become mute. Toddlers were said to sense tension in the air. Wiping off the chocolate on his face might have been Tiffany's way to reassure him. Not that it mattered. Tiff could care less if a slobbery child thought wrongly of her. The chances are he'd forget about her flaws the moment she gave him another cookie. Unfortunately, she was never given the chance. Carrie was calling him over before she knew it, and, "then there were two." Hayden's attention wasn't really on her, anyways. He'd been engrossed by a stupid jigsaw puzzle of a mistletoe. A mistletoe puzzle? Tiff had a hunch her mom had bought multiple pointless games just for such an occasion. As far as Tiffany remembered, that puzzle hadn't been in their cabinet when she was a child. Besides, the pieces looked freshly cut. All the boardgames of her childhood were missing pieces or ended up damaged somehow.

Out of boredom, Tiffany began to help Hayden out, but their quest didn't last for much longer than a minute. Mrs. Scott was calling them over-- together-- to help serve food. "Coming!" Tiffany called, reluctantly accepting Hay's outstretched hand. She trailed behind him as they reached the table. Kids were lined up to receive their plates. Defrosted in the presence of everyone sans Hayden, she threw about generous smiles and sweet comments like nobody's business. Twice she offered to gather food for someone else without their asking such. Emma came up to her and asked for a roll, which she graciously handed over. Mrs. Prescott looked appeased from her position behind Tiffany. She was the last to gather food on her plate, following both Tiffany and Hayden. Tiffany had opted for a chicken sandwich, salt and vinegar Lays, mini sausages, mozzarella sticks, and no vegetables. So much for that diet of hers.

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px] YOU'RE NEVER GONNA UNDERSTAND you swayed your hips and stole the breath that i was taking [/style][style=background-color: 1b1b1b; width: 200px; height: 300px; float: right; border: 0px solid #D2D2D2; padding: 8px; color: D2D2D2; overflow: auto; text-align: justify; font-family: arial]Hayden had no idea about Tiffany's history, but he liked girls who were younger than him. It wasn't any creepy Freudian issue he had, but he didn't mind seeing that they were less mature than him. In fact, he never saw that in girls. He was oblivious to the deeper intellectual connection that he typically lacked with females he encountered. He wasn't looking for a commitment, so searching for a compatible match -- at least in terms of intelligence -- wasn't even close to a priority. "It's bad for an eight-year-old," he replied, smirking at her. "Toph, let me tell you something: those middle-school girls? Bad news." Hayden actually went through the same stage as a young boy, but he figured most did. They liked older woman on principle. They were better-looking in every way, and most of them were out of reach. Everyone knew that boys loved a chase. Tiffany was a chase. It was a constant battle with her, even when he was trying to care for her. "You're the doctor. You should know these things, Hay," she said to him with ice in her tone. He had a smile on his face still, entertained by her persistence in being cruel to him, but he squinted his eyes in mock scrutiny. "Hold up there, princess. You know, diets are usually biochemical disasters. We can talk about heart rate all day, but I know you're not planning on taking pills. We both know you're very fit." At this moment, he took another second to scan her in the most medical sense of the word, "Most diets disallow proper nutrient intake. Besides that issue, low-fat diets are linked to depression, heart disease, higher cancer risk, carb imbalance, and massive weight fluctuations." He paused a beat for effect and added,"I mean, if you want to know the biological reactions that are responsible for the symptoms, I can tell you right here. I don't mind." He popped the last bit of his second cookie into his mouth and smiled sweetly at her once again. She didn't know what kind of war she was waging, did she? He knew she was entitled to her own decisions, and he respected that lifestyle of hers. She was different and far more independent than most girls who came from Chantilly. In fact, most of the girls he remembered having crushes on in high school were house mothers without much to show for themselves in terms of careers. Tiffany had it all laid out for her; hell, most Princeton graduates did. She was starting from a small point, but Hayden was confident that she was going to break through with some massive screenplay. It would happen someday, and maybe he could even get his spot in it. She probably wouldn't let him, at least not with this pussycat attitude, but he wasn't all too worried about the future. His nonchalant outlook on the future was his greatest weakness and a slight strength. He was relaxed today. Sadly, Topher could sense the hanging tension in the air. Two smart minds could challenge each other this way, and two smart people typically didn't have children together for this exact reason. Hayden was relieved to see that Carrie was taking care of business instead of allowing Tiffany and Hayden to intellectually abuse each other until the boy ran away in tears. He didn't mean to ignore her next statement, but he was engrossed in the puzzle that he was messing with for the few moments they had before being called to help with good. He never refused, of course, as he was an adult guest. He didn't have kids to watch and didn't cook anything on his own, so he was given the plate duty every year. Hayden smartly watched Tiffany collect all of the food on her plate. He cleared his throat with a smug grin on his face. On his own plate, he piled on ham, chips, meatloaf, and wings. He knew he was going to be back for multiple plates, so he wasn't going to fill it up. As an older man, he had the right to eat as many plates as he wanted. Maybe Tiffany didn't have that liberty. "I hear the no-vegetable diet is extremely effective," he teased. He elbowed her flirtatiously before making his way over to the kitchen island, which was the only other surface he had to eat over, and started to scarf down the food on his plate. [style=letter-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: 2px solid; padding: 2px] WORDS: 787 | TAG: char as tiffany prescott l HE'S WEARING THIS And now he's confused xD [/style]

table made by MADAME MARIANNA of CAUTION 2.0

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TIFFANY'S SOULMATE HAYDEN . 894 WORDS . OUTFIT . PARDON THIS SUCK

Tiffany would never surrender and admit to it, but bantering with Hayden was a refreshing change from the submission she was normally greeted with. People in the city knew better than facing her in verbal battles-- she always won. A Johns Hopkins graduate was, in theory, her perfect match. Professionally, speaking. Romantically, she and Hayden were doomed from the start. Their pasts mixed with their wits was a recipe for disaster. Topher, on the other hand, might have been a better fit for Tiffany had he been twenty years older. The realization put a stop to her heart. She was twenty years older than the young fellow before her. She was old! Tiffany crinkled her nose at the thought. It looked like she was on a one-way trip to gray hairs, wrinkles, and arthritis. Lovely. Gone were the days of the middle school crushes Hayden warned Topher about. Tiffany turned on the young boy easily. "Don't listen to him, Toph," she insisted. "Age is but a number." For once in her life, Tiffany was actually playing the "bad influence" card. Neal used to have that spot tied up tight.

Hayden was opposed to middle school romance for one reason and one reason only: rejection. Surprisingly, Tiffany remembered his days of pining of freshmen and sophomore girls as if it was yesterday. Her jealous scars were bound to encrypt her memory with reminders. Girls like Mary Howard and Emily Bernard were the types of girls Hayden liked long ago: thin, curvy, busty. Those were all of the features Tiffany's premature body lacked, though she sheepishly got away with stuffing her bra once. Of course, Hayden didn't seem to notice. There were a lot of attention-seeking stunts Tiffany pulled that flew right over young Hayden's head. Sending him anonymous candy grams freshman year, leaving him anonymous "love letters" in sixth grade, always fetching whatever her asked for... the list was infinite, yet Hayden never seemed to wake up and smell the desperation. Neal didn't, either. It was obviously a teenage boy syndrome. Ten years later, the very mention of a diet was all Tiffany needed to mention to capture Hayden's undivided attention. Timing had never once rooted for Tiffany in her entire twenty-seven years of living. Why was she convinced Father Time would give up his grudge for her now?

Rambling about diets and their detrimental effects, Tiffany could have sworn Hayden didn't intake a single breath. Fact upon fact flowed out of his mouth relentlessly, almost to the point where slapping him across his perfectly-sculpted face became reality. "Does detailing the consequences of not eating a second cookie typically work for you?" Tiffany wondered, smiling pleasantly. Honestly, even if she was one a diet, Tiffany didn't see the need to freak out. Plenty of Americans dieted on a daily basis. Celebrities were forced into a regulated diet to keep their camera-ready figures. Starving herself to death wasn't her intention. Her cupboards back home were stuffed with Oreos, Lays chips, Hershey Kisses, Twinkies, and other sugar-loaded snacks. Obesity was more threatening to everyday citizens than being underweight, anyways. One look at a local Chantilly fast food chain was proof of that.

Silence between the two was almost welcomed by the nearby bystanders. A movie was on, and dietary advice wasn't in the script. Tiffany would have mouthed an apology to her cousin had she cared. The movie on television was old, some pick from the shelf by Grandma Susan. Tiffany had watched the movie many times in her childhood. It was It's a Wonderful Life featuring James Stewart and Donna Reed. The ending used to bring tears to Tiffany's eyes. The same couldn't be said anymore. Out of habit, she glanced at the screen periodically before Mrs. Scott pulled her and Hayden into the meal assembly line. Hayden was a position behind her in line; his baby blue gaze seared right through her soul. "I hear the no-vegetable diet is extremely effective," he teased, smug in every definition of the word. Tiff scoffed, glancing at her plate guiltily. "You know what they say!" she called after him. "A chicken sandwich a day keeps the cravings away!" Soon after, she was content to see him go. A break from Hayden was much needed and deserved.

Unfortunately, the couches were overcrowded, the coffee table was occupied by toddlers, and the dining room table was also unavailable. That left Tiffany with her room and the spot across from Hayden at the kitchen island. Her mother would definitely look down on secluding herself again, so Tiffany reluctantly started off in Hayden's direction. Mrs. Scott glanced at them, a pleased expression coming over her features. Tiff set her plate of junk food on the counter and ate with dignity. Unlike Hayden, she took her time, savoring each bite. Scarfing down her food was harmful to her "diet." Snacking on the vegetable platter while she monitored the oven had also taken its toll on her hunger levels. Tiffany didn't have a clue what to say to Hayden now; the only sincere question she could formulate concerned his eating patterns. Did his agent count the calories he could intake? Did he even have an agent? How was Los Angeles? Of all the questions, "Are you still dating that one girl?" was the one that she heard herself say.

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px] YOU'RE NEVER GONNA UNDERSTAND you swayed your hips and stole the breath that i was taking [/style][style=background-color: 1b1b1b; width: 200px; height: 300px; float: right; border: 0px solid #D2D2D2; padding: 8px; color: D2D2D2; overflow: auto; text-align: justify; font-family: arial]Hayden wasn’t particularly picky about the people he gave attention to. After going through an extensive education in both medicine and the social skills that were needed in the field, he had grown to care for a variety of people. When it came down to health, everyone was his concern. It was his responsibility to make sure his mother made sound decisions with the ingredients she put in her food. He wanted his father to slow down with the alcohol, even if the man learned from Hayden’s mistake. It was ironic, but it worked. Finally, there was the Prescott family. It wasn’t just Tiffany; he gave tips to Mrs. Prescott when he could. When she asked about the best vitamin supplements for women preparing for menopause – which Hayden was shocked with encountering, considering she had watched him grow up and he was now watching her grow old – he gave her the best advice. Though he was Superman now, he still had the qualifications. When he volunteered at the ER on his free days, he realized how much he missed working with the patients. Tiffany just happened to step on his toes, and he was making it his personal mission to step on hers in return. His tangent about the medical repurcussions of diets was his form of revenge and his only way of showing that he actually cared about how she was taking care of herself. Tiffany had every right to her own decisions, but he didn’t want her to fall into the typical Hollywood stereotype. He didn’t want her to be one of the girls who measured her self worth by how boys saw her. Could he live with himself if he allowed her to become that pathetic? "Does detailing the consequences of not eating a second cookie typically work for you?" He laughed in response, unsure of how to reply. It was an adequate response on her part, but it didn’t measure up to an apology for her blatant misunderstanding of his continued medical knowledge. ”Does insulting my intelligence typically work for you?” he asked rhetorically. Of course it did. It was how she decided to drive their friendship; he had known that since the Christmas dinner at his house. She was closed in by four walls she had built with her own bare hands. For a moment in their silence, Hayden took his eyes off of the puzzle pieces in front of them and looked at Tiffany. She was so fixated on the screen, as if the last few moments of bickering had been forgotten. He knew her, though, and she had a capacity for holding grudges. Somewhere in that cold heart of hers, she kept a little box of qualms she would never vocalize. Her concerns and heartbreaks were locked away in some part of her psyche, and he never knew if she was going to yell at him for leaving her side when all she needed was an actual friend. He remembered holding hands at the funeral, surprisingly, like it was yesterday. It was being in Chantilly that made him realize his ultimate mistake: being a coward. He was no Superman, not when he was letting his childhood friend suffer through her guilt on her own. Words left him, though, as they were never his strong suit. He was a number person. He counted the steps he had to take to work and the steps he took from each of his tables to the kitchen. He made a math problem of the three recipes he had learned to sustain himself in the city. The only words he knew were in his scripts, and the only reason he remembered them was because he once enjoyed memorizing equations and symptoms of patients. In his brain, words didn’t cooperate well with his thoughts until they left his mouth. At that point, it was too late to take them back if they came out the wrong way. Sometimes, even when he knew he had a good thought, he just couldn’t bring his lips to say it. Apologies never sailed smoothly. He took the easier road: he just didn’t say much of substance at all, at least not when it was emotionally relevant. However, she slipped up. Even with her icy tone, he knew he got under her skin. After elbowing her only slightly, he could see the blood rushing to her face. He had a weird way of offering an apology, and he did so by grabbing her attention when he could. Maybe he was ruthless. He was annoying, like an ex-boyfriend she couldn’t stand to see, even on occasion. It was his only way of being able to laugh at their situation, though, and he was selfish in wanting to monopolize that source of little comfort. Her tactlessness made him laugh when he got her to slip up. He could see how frantic she was when she was defending her white lie about a diet. Girls on diets didn’t make such huge mistakes. He didn’t know why she had lied, but it didn’t matter because he would surely forget about it the next day. Her embarrassing silence didn’t last long as she took her place beside him. He was nearly done scarfing down his last wing before she suddenly spoke up. "Are you still dating that one girl?" He choked a bit on the meat in his mouth. Mrs. Prescott, who was grabbing a silver fork from the drawer, turned and made eye contact with Hayden. He had no idea what the expression on her face was, but he figured that Tiffany’s words were surprising to her as well. Why did Tiffany care? She didn’t seem to care about anything these days. ”Excuse me,” he said, holding up a finger and coughing until he felt like his eyes were going to stop watering. He made his way over to the drink table. ”Did you want something?” he questioned politely. The variety of sodas was dizzying. ”And no, not really. I guess I date casually. I just don’t care to settle down. And… well, she had a kid.” He looked down at the red Solo cups that stood in a stack beside the two-liters. [style=letter-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: 2px solid; padding: 2px] WORDS: 1035| TAG: char as tiffany prescott l HE'S WEARING THIS MUUUUUSE [/style]

table made by MADAME MARIANNA of CAUTION 2.0

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TIFFANY'S SOULMATE HAYDEN . 759 WORDS . OUTFIT . ME-OW. >_>

Laughter: light, happiness, humor, and jokes are a few of the words that Tiffany associated with the word. Hayden intentionally humoring her retorts wasn't probable, but she couldn't suppress the idea that he might be. Paranoia had moved right into her life without warning. Trust was rarely earned, much less considered, these days. Hayden, her mother, her father, Hayden's parents, Peyton, and Garrett were all subjected to her standoffish nature forevermore. Piercing anger began welling in her chest as her time with Hayden lengthened. How had she fallen so madly in love with him before? Oblivious, Hayden displayed no intimation of understanding how Tiffany felt. The most she was able to shake out of him was that stupid laugh of his. God, and even then she had to recall one of his flaws in order to keep her head above water. For instance, remembering Neal's funeral bolstered Hayden's cowardice. Hayden turning his back in her greatest hour of need supported his betrayal. Tiffany had constructed a great wall of China as far as Hayden was concerned. Access to her heartstrings was strictly prohibited, and trespassing was punishable by a slow, tortuous death. At least in her mind it was.

"Does insulting my intelligence typically work for you?" he wondered in return. Tiffany guffawed. Dueling individuals with her words brought on so much pleasure, especially when she found weak links in their strategy. Tiffany shook her head. "I think you're better off asking yourself that question," she pointed out. How was she supposed to know if insulting his intellect worked for her? Although Tiffany wished a countless number of times to read Hayden's mind in the past, she found relief in not knowing what ran through Hayden's mind. "If it does, I can assure you that wasn't my intention," she added. Adulthood had dusted away her teenage fantasies and replaced them with solid, reasonable goals for her future. Hayden wasn't in those cards. Unless, of course, Hayden had missed her original connotation of her previous statement. From her extensive understanding of Hayden 2.0, Tiffany was displeased to say her wit could have very well been unnoticed by the man beside her. Neal would be disappointed. Oh so very disappointed...

Excusing her disappointment as Neal's made coping with her thoughts soothing. People used to say the Prescott siblings knew each other better than they knew themselves. Tiffany had never contradicted their theories, and thinking for both herself and her dead brother was a sick method of coping. Clearly Hayden wasn't up to the task. He could barely separate malice from flattery. It was settled, then. Next time she'd make her intentions clearer than day. Coming out and questioning his relationship status was the perfect warm-up for an extensive line of questions to come. Honestly, she hadn't expected him to choke on his chicken wing when the topic arose. They were big kids now; these topics were supposed to be effortless. Tiffany was able to admit she was single without missing a beat. Why couldn't Hayden? Tiffany could image her teenage brother frowning deeply from heaven. Whatever happened to his suave, tactful partner in crime from the days of old? Was Hayden Scott degrading into his father's character with each passing day? Only time could tell.

A fit of suffocating coughs exploded from Hayden's mouth. Dozens of eyes turned on their conversation. Some held concern; others held mirth. Tiffany was most likely the exception. Her eyes were trained on her mozzarella sticks, a ghostly smirk overtaking her expression. Match point. Hayden had certainly bet out of his league when he decided to poke fun at her slip-up. His coughs continued all the way to the drinks table, and only then did they cease. "Do you want anything?" he offered. Tiff glanced at her mozzarella sticks. She'd need a gulp of something if the mozzarella lodged in her throat. "Root beer, please," she replied, peeling off the crusty exterior of her cheesy snack. Steam erupted from the tiny gap she created as she listened to Hayden go on. Casual dating? An aversion to settling down? Tiffany pursed her lips, finally daring to bite into her mozzarella stick despite the distance separating her from her drink. The last bit of information cleared the muddled waters. "Oh," she said, shrugging. "I guess that makes sense why you decided to end things... Caring for others and taking responsibility has never been one of your strong suits." Of this, she was certain Mrs. Prescott was probably glaring at her behind her back.

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px] YOU'RE NEVER GONNA UNDERSTAND you swayed your hips and stole the breath that i was taking [/style][style=background-color: 1b1b1b; width: 200px; height: 300px; float: right; border: 0px solid #D2D2D2; padding: 8px; color: D2D2D2; overflow: auto; text-align: justify; font-family: arial]Hayden felt some sort of attraction between their two bodies, but he wouldn't admit it, not even if it meant someone got to take away the second cookie for the rest of his life. It felt sinful, like he shouldn't be allowed to look at Tiffany in those heels and think that she was very well put-together. Was it so wrong to be immensely attracted to someone only a year his junior? Was it so wrong to want to mend things between them? She was obviously holding an intensely deep-ridden grudge that he couldn't seem to bring to the surface. She was quipped and short, but she wasn't direct, and that surprised him to some extent. She struck him as the type to lay things out on the table. He was in over his head, though; if she hadn't spoken in a decade, she wasn't going to talk to him about the whole ordeal on New Year's Eve. It wasn't like it was really on his mind in a tangible sense. It was just in the air between them like stars in the galaxy. "Intentions?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He chose to let her take the last good comment. The only reason he was letting it slide was because he could feel his heart rate raising just a bit. He didn't know if it was anger or sheer nervousness. He usually didn't get nervous, but knowing that Tiffany was on the edge of calling him a coward or a failure made him want to shut the hell up. She toyed with words, and that was her game. She could do that. She had intentions, though, and they both knew that she wasn't particularly fond of Hayden for what he did. When he thought about leaving ten years ago, he felt like gagging until he fell over and passed out. Maybe then someone would take him home and tuck him in like they used to when he was a young boy. Problems were scarce and small back then, back before Neal was gone, back when Neal could practice entrepreneurship by selling lemonade with Hayden beside the street sign at the end of Hayden's drive. Hayden was still tactful, but Tiffany was the perfect Kryptonite. She was the only person in the entire Universe who knew Hayden's complete past. Everyone knew about his wretched alcohol addiction, but she was the only one who knew that he was present when Neal threw himself off of that abandoned building. Those who could deduce that much would never think that Hayden had anything to do with it. There had been alcohol and the urge to dare his best friend. What else were teenagers made to do? Those stupid decisions were theirs now, though, and Hayden and Tiffany could share all the silence they wanted, but just their bodies carried within them the guilt. It was enough to cause an entire room to split in tension. They knew more about each other than most pairs ever did in a lifetime. The connection was evident and undeniable. Their bond was made of hatred and mutual self-disgust. Maybe that's why he wanted her to slap him across the face. At the same time, he wanted to tell her that she didn't need to shut herself in. Neither party was golden. He retrieved a cup of root beer for her while blinking back the last of his shock-induced tears.When he finished pouring his, Tiffany spoke once again. "I guess that makes sense why you decided to end things... Caring for others and taking responsibility has never been one of your strong suits." Ouch. That was under the belt. In fact, he hadn't expected it at all. He kept his composure this time, however, and he carried the drinks back to the kitchen island and set hers in front of her. He felt Mrs. Prescott's eyes on him once again, but she strode away with an exasperated huff. Tiffany was probably to be scolded for her insensitivity, which gave him some satisfaction. He looked at her and wondered how he felt about that. He had wanted this to happen. She was getting close to something. She was going to be direct about what happened. Regardless of the hatred in her voice, it was better than the past decade. He didn't want to hide anymore and he hadn't spoken to her about it since the night they held hands in the dim lighting of a balcony. As romantic as it had seemed, it ended up being the last night that Hayden was Hayden and Tiffany was Tiffany. Hayden was not far different; he was completely changed. Tiffany was the complete opposite of the teenager version of her little self. Even now, though, the guilt clung to them like the cheese on Tiffany's food. They could peel at it, but the taste would be there no matter what. It was like waking up with a hangover each morning, wondering if the destination was Heaven or Hell. "I like kids just fine," he said casually, deciding to let his words come before the anger that made his face turn a shade of red. "And I care for people." It was hard to bite back the venom in his saliva. "That's why I went into medical school. I wanted to care for people... to make sure I didn't hurt anyone. To make sure that I could fix people, even when they are hurt." Maybe he failed in that moment of need, but he was working his way into purgatory. He had taken the past few years to make up for the loss. He wasn't closing himself in. He wasn't trying to be a hermit. He was helping people, being a hero. "What about you, Tiffany?" he bit. [style=letter-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: 2px solid; padding: 2px] WORDS: 960 | TAG: char as tiffany prescott l HE'S WEARING THIS OH SHAT. I don't have control now. -lets Hayden loose- [/style]

table made by MADAME MARIANNA of CAUTION 2.0

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TIFFANY'S SOULMATE HAYDEN . 1395 WORDS . OUTFIT . MY POOR BABY ;_;

Tiffany had spent the last decade in silence. New Years Eve was supposed to be the best time of year to start again; however, a new beginning didn't seem possible with Hayden. After all their history, erasing their differences on a whim wasn't logical. Psychologists recommended talking through conflict no matter what the situation was. Couple therapy required trust and sacrifice. Friendships required trust and sacrifice. Tiffany wasn't in any position to define what she had with Hayden. Their relationship was complicated, to say the least. No, beyond complicated. Impossible. Tiffany always excused avoiding Hayden as a result of his betrayal. Losing Neal and Hayden in the same year turned her world upside down. They were the most prominent figures in her life, and before she had time to mourn one, the other was running off to boot camp. Mrs. Prescott hadn't sought out help for her grief-stricken child; neither had Mr. Prescott. It was no wonder she wound up with a whole lot of baggage.

"Intentions?" Hayden asked. Tiff shrugged, receding into her own mind. There wasn't much Tiffany could say without crossing a line. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. Times like these sent Tiffany's mind reeling for the substances she banished long ago. Scratching her arm absently, Tiff averted her eyes to the television once more. A familiar rush was reverberating through her body. Old habits died unbearably hard, which explained her reaction to Hayden's fickle relationship status in a way. Grudges were one of her most fatal flaws. Consequences of actions left their impact. Maybe that helped bring light to her reluctance to let go of her brother's life. There was no closure, no end to her questions. Hayden's presence gave rise to such unanswerable questions. Seeing him encouraged her nightmares to revisit her unconscious...

"Neal, no!" The eerie light of the moon across the roof cast long shadows on the floor. The thunderous clap of bones upon pavement snapped her heart in two. Years of the same reoccurring dreams couldn't prepare her for the mangled mess she saw peeking over the roof... No amount of therapy could diminish the gathering pool of red... Tiffany forced the haunting dream to the back of her mind. Flashbacks to her brother's last night petrified her. A large chunk of her anger stemmed from her fear, and honestly, lashing out at Hayden after a reign of censorship felt nice slipping off her tongue. Mrs. Prescott and the lot were entitled to their own judgments. None of them understood how deeply Hayden wounded her. Her word choice, as it stood, was generous compared to what she should have said, though again, they were clueless.

Typical of Hayden, his response to her venom was casual and laid-back. His sheer nonchalance roused the anger from her core once more. Ten years of biting her tongue wasn't supposed to amount to this result. Justice was supposed to be hers! Clenching her teeth, Tiffany listened to Hayden drone on. "I like kids just fine," he insisted. "And I care for people," he insisted. Tiffany released a mouthful of hot air, chewing her food as she listened to him further. His face was tinted with red, which gave Tiffany some verification of her goal. Spurring Hayden into a rage wasn't easy, but knowledge from the past also reassured her doing so wasn't inconceivable. Hayden's darkest days followed Neal's death. A meager glance was all Tiffany needed to realize how tortured his heart and soul became. Discerning from who he was and who he became was probably easier for her, however. Criminals had the tendency to think alike.

Tiffany hardly noticed her attention fading into her memories. Hayden's was an annoying buzz at the back of her mind. "That's why I went into medical... to make sure I didn't hurt... I could fix people..." His lips parted with each distinct syllable. His body language represented his rising temper well. Quite frankly, the words were lost to her, swallowed by the oblivion of yet another taunting memory:

Sophomore year was wrapping up in two weeks; Neal was ecstatic for the awaiting summer months. Girls, booze, and endless parties were on his mind twenty-four/seven. Tiffany too began to ponder such subjects, wishing her elder brother would allow her to tag along. Times were rarely serious with her elder brother. When Mr. Walsh asked him what he wanted to do after high school, he casually responded, "Hollywood chicks." The classroom had apparently roared with laughter from Neal's recollection of the event. Everyone appreciated his humor apart from Mr. Walsh, who promptly sent him to the Student Relations Office for the remainder of the day. Later that night, Tiffany observed a unique phenomenon in the Prescott household.

"What the hell was that about, huh?" Mr. Prescott's voice bellowed. Tiffany crept out from her room and stared from the staircase. Her body was hidden behind a slowly dying potted plant. Neal was leaning into the kitchen doorway. Tiffany knew her father was leaned up against the counter, though he wasn't in her eyesight. Somehow, she just knew. "Hollywood chicks? I've never been more disappointed in my entire life!" Tiff flinched at her father's bluntness. "When are you going to give it up? When are you finally going to grow up and figure out what you're going to do with your life?" No answer. "Huh?!" Mr. Prescott's voice was gradually increasing in volume. "What? Do you honestly think you can just skip off to California, audition, and make a living?" Before that moment in time, Tiff had never known the scope of her father's disagreement. Tiffany didn't think anyone did. Had Neal told Hayden because she sure the hell hadn't told her...

Flowing back into reality, Tiffany was surprised to find Hayden silent. His tirade had ended, and in its place, silence presumed excluding the laughs and commentary coming from the other room. It's a Wonderful Life was beginning to reach its climax. Her mind had turned against her for whatever reason, and the ego she developed had deflated. Nothing sounded more appealing than running away and never looking back. Flights on New Year's Eve were easy to come by. No sane person traveled during the holidays, not when family took priority over everything else. That's the thing, though. Tiff wasn't sane. She was losing control, losing her grasp on life with each disturbing thought. But running away meant forfeiting the lead she worked so hard to maintain. Her mind stalled again and again while she scrambled to recall Hayden's words. Her struggle was apparent in her face, the empty confusion in her eyes. Standing before her was the man who knew her best. Whether she accepted it or not, Hayden was the one who knew her inside and out. People never changed. Only their habits did. To hell with the conversation, she thought. Quietly, she said, "What does it matter, anyways? I'm just the dead kid's sister. You don't even understand how selfish you are... how selfish you've always been. You don't live in a goddamned broken family, Hayden. You can cure as many people you want, and you can strut around as Superman all you'd like. And the worst part of it is you don't even understand how lucky you are. If you chose to, you could walk away and never look back. I can't. You can call up Peyton any time you want. You have the privilege to see her go far in life. And me? All I have is plot three hundred two where my brother will remain for the rest of eternity, poorly stitched up from a fall off a roof."

And now the silence was pure, no voices penetrated the air. Everyone's eyes were trained on the two distraught beings quarreling in the kitchen. Tiffany didn't mind them. None of them mattered to her. Every fiber of her being ached. Her heart throbbed for the love of a brother she'd never have, and tears began streaming down her face. Tiff threw down the snack in her hand and made for the garage door. Flinging it open, she stepped out into the garage and sat on the cold cement floor.

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px] YOU'RE NEVER GONNA UNDERSTAND you swayed your hips and stole the breath that i was taking [/style][style=background-color: 1b1b1b; width: 200px; height: 300px; float: right; border: 0px solid #D2D2D2; padding: 8px; color: D2D2D2; overflow: auto; text-align: justify; font-family: arial]When Tiffany began to speak in that smooth-cut tone, he realized his mistake. She was not one to be trifled with, and he had overstepped his boundary. He felt his heart beat violently in his chest and his fingers gripped the counter so hard that his knuckles turned white. In direct contrast, the skin on his face could no longer hide the red blood that was pumping through his veins. He wasn't just angry. He was guilty, ashamed, completely and utterly mortified by his own actions. Didn't she know that much? It was clear that he had denied it for all these years, but he thought she would have some kind of understanding of his guilt. He wasn't strutting around like Superman because he didn't think he was worthy of the title. When he came home, he just felt like a pathetic mid-hundred pile of fat and muscle with nothing inside -- no organs, no brain, and, most importantly, no beating heart. "What does it matter, anyways? I'm just the dead kid's sister." It felt like a stab wound in the chest. He could see himself in a hospital gown as the patient instead of the doctor. They could diagnose him, right? Antisocial Disorder fascinated him most; its similarities to his symptoms made him wonder if that's what made him such an asshole. He was insensitive. misunderstood, and never seemed to do the right thing, even when he knew exactly what that constituted. She was the dead kid's sister, but he was the best friend. That wound could cut deeper in some respects, but she didn't get that. That's why he wondered if Tiffany had Antisocial Disorder as well. They could kill someone and feel detachment. It wasn't that they couldn't talk to people; it was the fact that they could hide from such a wretched memory for an entire decade and still sit there and eat food like they deserved a place on the planet. Hayden remembered going back to that abandoned roof every night for the entire week after Neal died. In the late hours, he had sneaked out of his window and stared at the ground where Neal's body once lay. It was self-torture. His guilt was amplified by infinity while she described his relationship with Peyton. He once imagined Peyton on that asphalt where the blood would never truly come up. He once imagined her dead eyes, blond hair splayed across the ground like she was just a Barbie doll that fell onto the ground. It once made him cry himself to sleep. It once made him want to hide her away and make sure no one could harm her, that he couldn't harm her, that she would never get near a roof and do what Neal did. He had nothing to say to Tiffany about that because he didn't want anyone to know. He didn't want Peyton to know; it made their relationship better if he kept his distance. If they got too close, she would see the flaws she once saw as a teenage girl, back when their arguments were frequent. Now that they were adults, he wanted to be at arm's length so that Peyton could have her room to breathe and wouldn't feel guilty about living her own life. Tiffany was right, of course. She had a life. If he wanted to get close, he could. He had the choice. Tiffany didn't. He looked into Tiffany's startlingly warm blue eyes. They looked like melting ice, warmed by the heat of an argument and a decade of pent-up emotions. A grudge could only last so long in that tiny body of hers. Hayden couldn't cry, though, not when the entire room had shut up to stare. He couldn't cry; it just wasn't something he did anymore. He just stared at those eyes and let it all sink in. "Do you ever want to punch your dad?" Neal asked one day. Hayden remembered that so clearly. With a beer in his hand, Hayden laughed. He leaned on the roof of that abandoned warehouse casually. It was their spot when it wasn't being occupied by the other high schoolers in the county. It was their private hang-out. It was basically the grown-up treehouse. "I guess. We wrestle for fun." "No, I mean... Like, my dad just busts my balls all the time. I get no fucking breathing room. He basically calls me a drama queer every time I talk about California." Neal's eyes became dark. It was the look that only crossed his sculpted features when he talked about his family. Hayden realized that seriousness of the topic and folded his arms over his knees. "Alright. So you're gonna let that bother you?" he asked, taking the tough-love route. "Nah man. I just don't want to end up like him. You know? My worst fear is that. Living some regular life with a typical goal. How do you die like that?" Hayden bit his lip and thought about that one. He still did, ten years later. He thought about that because he was now living the dream that should have been Neal's. That was why he had selected his career choice, of course. He wasn't just going to do what his dad wanted him to do. Mr. Scott and Mr. Prescott weren't all too different. It wasn't like most dads wanted their only sons to become drama geeks. That wasn't the matter at hand, though. All Hayden could think about was the bond he had shared with Neal, the one he could never resurrect or replace. He didn't actually know why he left TIffany's side. She was the closest thing he had to having Neal once again, but he ran away. He knew nothing else but running. It was what he did. He got the hell out of dodge when someone came to tackle him. He dodged the boys in football, lacrosse, basketball. Life was no different. He was selfish. He knew to run because it was his only choice. She just reminded him of all that he had done, all that he had been running from. That was why he tried to make a joke of her, tried to play it off like it was nothing. It was the only way he knew how to cope with a death that happened when he was so young and intoxicated. He could still feel her hand in his. When it came down to forcing himself to remember repressed memories, he had no will, but she was making it happen. This time around, though, she was turning her back on him and slamming the door. Who was he kidding? That door had closed years ago, back when he made that happen. He made Tiffany stop trusting people. How could she trust anyone when the only person who had been responsible had left her side? How could she trust anyone when Hayden ruined that for her? With his hands at his sides, he stood on his own while the rest of the room began to resume to their normal activities. They knew that they had nothing to say to make the argument better. In fact, most of them were confused as to where the subject came from. "Honey, are you alright?" Mrs. Prescott questioned, putting a hand on his shoulder. He looked down and blinked a few times. "I'm fine, Mrs. Prescott." He took her hand off of his shoulder. It wasn't a malicious statement, just a movement of mercy. He didn't want her to touch him and get the same blood on her hands -- her son's blood. He had no apology in hand for the girl who was now either sitting in the garage or taking a walk. He didn't know what was better for him: to let her cool down or to speak to her. It was only nine at this point, which was nowhere near the New Year. It was already sour because he had pushed the limits. The guilt was almost unbearable. It tasted like bile in his mouth. He began to walk upstairs when Mrs. Prescott made her way back into the living room. No one saw him as he made his way to the restroom. He just wanted some alone time. As he walked through the hall, he passed a room he hadn't encountered in too long: Neal's room. [style=letter-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: 2px solid; padding: 2px] WORDS: 1462 | TAG: char as tiffany prescott l HE'S WEARING THIS Wow. Your post. <3 [/style]

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TIFFANY'S SOULMATE HAYDEN . 1373 WORDS . OUTFIT . SHE'S SCARING ME D;

Your secret's out... a voice inside her head whispered.

.... Everyone knows you've lied. It's not too late to run.

Tiffany stared straight into the face that stared right back. His image was foggy from passing tears, but the amount of surprise, anger, and guilt on his countenance was evident enough. What had she done? The eyes of her family members left her bleeding out, ashamed. Her parent's eyes were the most difficult to resist. She could only imagine what crazy diagnoses were running free in their minds. Knowing her mother, Tiffany wouldn't be surprised if she had a voicemail from her therapist when she returned to her dainty New York apartment. Questioning her life's choices was the little push she needed to fall over the edge, spiraling and flailing down towards a deeper level of self loathing.

Get out! that same voice hollered, instructing her feet to the door. Tiffany left Hayden's presence wondering where the door would lead. To the garage? To a nearby park? New York? The most recent option was hardly plausible. Her credit card was nestled somewhere in her purse upstairs. Unless, of course, she decided to stick out her thumb and hitchhike. Her embarrassment hadn't winded her enough to put her life on the line. Not yet. There were times in deep sorrow when she pondered joining Neal in the clouds. Peyton and Garrett basically had enough squared away. Mrs. Prescott could indulge in Peyton's prosperity, fore Tiffany had little hope for her own future. Dead or alive. Growing up forced Tiffany's parents to hold their heads high come rain or hell water. Tiffany's generation, however, broke down at the prospect of a broken nail. In comparison, Tiffany was nothing more than a musket against an automatic rifle.

Sobs continued to shake Tiffany Prescott to her core. No one came out to check up on her, though no one was really to blame. Losing her cool on Hayden came off as manic and savage. Surely the raging imbecile inside wasn't the sweet child everyone loved! Alas, it was. Tiffany's dark side became more prominent as the years pressed on. Her mental state disintegrated as her guilt grew stronger. Idealists often said distance makes the heart grow fonder, and in her case-- Neal's soul being intangible no matter how much she wished otherwise-- the saying rang incredibly true. Five more minutes of conversation would make the next sixty, seventy, or eighty years less intimidating. Five more minutes with her brother would help her unravel the intoxicating riddles screaming in her head to be solved. Those five minutes were never going to come; Tiffany could sit at Neal's grave for days and never hear the words she needed him to say. Only the birds would chip at her in their strange language. Only the crickets would play her a song while she groveled at the unattainable.

"Tiffany?" a voice called, frenzied. Tiff looked up to find a silhouette standing not too far off. The cold night atmosphere swallowed her whole. The lingering glimmer from a car's headlights were the only source of light betraying Tiffany's hiding place. Who would have thought the garage door was open? "Tiffany? Are you okay?" The figure stepped forward cautiously. From her obvious curves, Tiffany made sense of her gender. Peyton Scott. Normally her warm and earthy aura calmed Tiffany's frayed nerves. Tonight, her charms were ineffective. The darkness that had settled over Tiffany's mindset made her immune to Peyton's concerns. "Tiffany, what's wrong?" Peyton repeated, taking a seat next to her. "Is she okay?" a man's voice inquired. Garrett. "Tiffany?" Peyton's voice. All she wanted was some space to breath, but her throat had closed in. She was rendered unable to reassure her childhood friend of the situation. "Why don't I meet you inside, babe? I'll be in there in a second, alright?" Garrett's footsteps slowly receded before disappearing altogether after the garage door slammed behind him. "Tiff, what happened?"

"Please go away," Tiffany whispered, wiping her tear-stained cheeks with her arm. Peyton didn't move. Tiffany could feel her gaze burning a hole in her profile. Self-consciousness kept Tiffany's eyes glued to the floor. Giving Peyton the opportunity to see her icy eyes breaking apart meant exposing her vulnerability, and honestly, Tiffany didn't want to make Peyton second guess her choice in bridesmaid. Peyton and Garrett's marriage was the only event Tiffany had to look forward to, even if she didn't openly admit the fact. Peyton's hand stroked her back maternally, but Tiffany shook her off. "Please, Peyton," Tiffany urged, more forcibly this time, chancing a quick glance in her direction. "I'll come inside soon." Peyton hesitated. "Promise?" she asked, child-like. "Yes." And that was that. Peyton didn't look back once she stood. Tiffany watched her go with another round of tears awaiting departure.

Closing her eyes, Tiffany brought forth Neal's image. Neal's handsome face was sprinkled with golden stubble and perspiration. His highlighted golden hair was tousled and obviously neglected. His forest green eyes were full of life and ambition. Many agreed his voice held the same endearing qualities. Neal was the epitome of ambition, symbolic of life itself. Irony had never been grander. Recalling his image so easily relieved Tiffany as much as it pained her. Drilling his memory into her mind with the scrapbooks upstairs had served their purpose. His voice was lost in one of the boxes in the attic. Tiffany wasn't strong enough to face his bedroom equipment, trophies, and clothes. Thumbing through those wretched picture books were enough to drive her into hysteria. Tiffany could only imagine how loony she'd become if she dared to invade the boxes containing Neal's life achievements.

Maybe another look through those books... Maybe just a peek. Mechanically, Tiffany stood up, dusted off her dress, and shuffled towards the garage door. The bright kitchen light left her stumbling while her eyes readjusted, and a series of concerned peeps from her relatives trailed behind her as she retreated once again up the stairs. She didn't want to look into their faces and see the messages obviously running through their minds. Had she gone crazy? What treatment did she need? Every single of them would cough up thousands of dollars to send her to some rehabilitation center, she'd bet. Lunatics would tarnish the all-American theme her family had going. Neal's death had already been a generous exception made. At this point, Tiffany wondered if they blamed Mrs. Prescott as much as her offspring for their corrupted family behavior. Tiffany knew she did. Her parents made the world out to be rainbows and fucking unicorns.

A new snapshot of Neal shuttered through her mind with each step up the staircase towards his bedroom. Neal acting. Neal playing football. Neal singing karaoke. Neal dancing. Neal kissing one of his many girlfriends. Neal drinking. Neal pulling a prank. Neal falling, falling, falling. Neal lying dead on the pavement. Neal's closed eyes on the coroner's table... Tiffany's eyes blinked open, bewildered once again. Meltdowns like these didn't typically occur in Chantilly. Normally Tiffany was able to fend off her skeletons until she returned to New York. This extended stay was definitely the exception of the rule, and her misfortune was far from over. Standing in front of the door of Neal's bedroom was Hayden Scott. Tiff had no idea how long he'd been there. Honestly, she didn't care. Flipping through those scrapbooks were her therapy and punishment. Flipping through those scrapbooks was a private matter. Hayden needed to leave her house and leave her life because she was fed up with his sugarcoated excuses. "The door's not going to bite you, Hayden," she told him dryly. Her shoulder brushed his chest as she twisted the crystal door knob and stepped inside. Again, a snippet of Neal flashed through her mind. He was lounging in the papasan chair that was now a desk. "Dad does the bills in here now." she gestured to the piles of envelopes near the computer. "And mom wraps presents." Her head moved in the direction of various wrapping papers, tape, and scissors. "It's like Neal was never here."

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px] YOU'RE NEVER GONNA UNDERSTAND you swayed your hips and stole the breath that i was taking [/style][style=background-color: 1b1b1b; width: 200px; height: 300px; float: right; border: 0px solid #D2D2D2; padding: 8px; color: D2D2D2; overflow: auto; text-align: justify; font-family: arial]Blue eyes stayed glue to the door. One shaking hand reached out to touch the knob and froze. Gun fights, game nights, police lights: they all seemed to distant to him now. Maybe they were. In his mind, he was still stuck on that stark night, but his body had outgrown it. His entire life had outgrown Neal. He was supposed to be okay now. Hayden was supposed to be normal now. He was supposed to move on and make something new of himself in Hollywood. There, no one knew his name or cared to. All he had to do was show up and be someone else. They cared about Superman. Who doesn't care about Superman? That's all they wanted to see. He just had to put on tights and a new face. That way, people didn't want to dig deeper. No one wanted to dig into his life story or understand his feelings. Hayden was just a body used to depict a superhero, nothing more. Maybe that's why he had become so shallow. "The door's not going to bite you, Hayden," a voice said. He didn't even flinch. Instead, he remained focused on the doorknob that was in front of his hand. Tiffany brushed past him, sending warmth through the chest where he touched. He followed her to look around the room that he didn't expect to change. It used to be full of posters of beautiful women, rock bands, and football teams. Now, it was bland, bleak, refined. These words did not describe Neal to any extent. He was unique, rambunctious, irreplaceable. The office environment in front of Hayden made something inside of his chest flare up, and it was furious. His expression remained unreadable as he put his hands onto his hips as a doctor would, to get that lab coat out of the way. He registered the words in his mind, but his focus shifted. He looked at her and felt the urge to grab her hand to say what he was about to say, but his right and left stayed glue to his hips. He licked his lips and glanced down at the floor before making contact with her eyes. "Tiffany, I'm sorry for leaving you to fight this on your own. We both know I was an ass to do that." Hayden was far from arrogant, but apologies were a struggle for most people; something about dropping pride was a challenge for the entire human race. Even when he deserved for her to be angry with him, he didn't want to say, "I understand if you don't forgive me. For the rest of your life." That would give her an excuse to disappear from his life forever. He wouldn't hear from her again if he gave her that choice. Somehow, by not providing the option, he felt like he was in control. He wasn't. If he were in control, Neal wouldn't be dead, his room wouldn't make it seem like Neal never existed, and Hayden would be legitimately happy. Tiffany would be truly happy. She wouldn't have to live every day with the thought that she could have saved Neal in the right state of mind. Hayden remembered seeing her in the city. She didn't have a drop of wine. He assumed that she hadn't had an ounce of alcohol since the incident. After seeing the pavement stained the same deep red as wine, he could understand why it was a nauseating thought. Hayden just blocked the remnants of tragedy from his mind, but that was because he could distract himself with math or logic. Tiffany, on the other hand, was doomed with emotions she put down on paper. He didn't have the release, and he didn't need it. It wasn't his passion to feel. It was his passion to pretend. "Hayden! Are you coming down?" he heard his mother call from the bottom of the staircase. The room looked so dark to him still, even if a lamp was lit, and he didn't feel like he had to come back into the crowded room full of people who were clearly happier than he was. He replied, though. "Yeah!" he hollered simply. He turned to Tiffany and realized just how much he hated seeing her cry. He felt protective, once again, a duty handed down from Neal to Hayden. He reached out without thinking, swiping a part of her face with his finger to make the glistening water go away. The make-up on her face had run a bit, so the black sparkles on her face made the damage look worse than he had expected. She was still beautiful, but in such a tragic way. He dropped his hand, feeling as if he had violated her. She was still closed in like an iced-over igloo. Tears were warm, though, and seeing her in such an emotional state of being made him wonder why she didn't animate her emotions more often. Maybe that was why he felt like he could never relate to her; even a math-minded person like himself had more enthusiasm for all things. Seeing Christmas lights with Garrett and Peyton was enough to show him that much. Afterward, Hayden acted very glad about the engagement, even if he felt belittled to some extent. TIffany was a bad pretender; she was unreadable, but so many parts of her made Hayden realize just how unhappy she was on a daily basis. It was the way her smile never reached her eyes and her laugh never sounded like dissonance. It was all neatly put together; all of her was robotic and unbreakable. He turned to leave and pushed the door open, feeling like the air in the hallway was far less dense. He stepped out and wiped his eyes for a moment before walking downstairs. He felt like he should be holding Tiffany's hand, but she would probably slap him if he behaved as he did on the night of the funeral. How was she going to trust him if he went through the same process? He would end up going home to LA anyway, and any feelings he felt for her now wouldn't matter in the long run. She would find a guy who didn't care for her feelings and Hayden would find another girl to sleep with for a few weeks and leave. Nothing mattered here, but he wanted them to. "Only an hour and a half 'til 2013!" Mr. Prescott bellowed. He and a few of the older men were on the couch with their legs crossed over like they were in a country club. The ladies were sitting at the table playing poker, as tradition warranted. Hayden turned around to look for Tiffany, hoping she was prepared to go back in. No one was looking at them this time. Maybe they learned that staring never made her feel better. She wasn't psychotic. If she were, Hayden would be as well; the only reason he had avoided therapy was because of his father. She was just unlucky. 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table made by MADAME MARIANNA of CAUTION 2.0