BLENDED

#35

9/22/00

I wish there were some way to sneak into my house unnoticed.

I wish.

Leaning on the horn I duck my head and drive down the long, sweeping driveway towards the garage. The throng of reporters push up towards the car but get out of my way when I gun the engine furiously.

Who would miss a few dead reporters anyway?

I finally reach the safety of the garage, turn off the car, and slump, exhausted, back against my seat. A few heavy tears roll down my cheeks.

What the hell am I going to do without Andy?

His stinging words are all too fresh in my ears. His harsh rebuttal of our friendship brings sharp pangs to my head and chest. Oh, Andy…

"Dana!" Matt calls out, walking into the garage.

Shit. I can't exactly tell him what's wrong and he'll be sure to ask.

"I'm going to pick up Kimberly; she called and wants to come over," Matt remarks coldly, taking in my obviously distraught face without comment.

He turns, striding towards his car sitting next to mine in the garage, and starts to briskly slip inside.

"Wait! Matt, what's wrong?" I question, confused, wiping my tears hastily.

"Nothing. I'm just fine," he chokes out bitterly.

Am I missing something here? I can only take so much rejection and hatred in a day. In a few hours.

"Matt!" I call out anxiously, angrily, and with a lot of bafflement.

"By the way," he adds acidly, already having started his car. "You have a visitor."

And he's gone.

What the hell? Who is visiting me?

Andy?!?!?

The thought goes out of my head almost instantly. Even if the possibility of him forgiving me and wanting to see me existed, it's not feasible. Not only is his car not here but I came straight to my house from the hangar and there's no way he could have looked up my address, found his way here, and gotten past the reporters in that time.

Wishful thinking.

Who else would upset Matt though?

"I can't fucking take any more of this!" I scream, angrily lashing out at my car tire.

My body torques through the air as I attack the unseen enemy. My fist lashes into the air where a person's jugular would be if they were of average height. My foot crashes into "their stomach." Oh, god, just let me at any one of those damn reporters!

As suddenly as my anger comes, it goes. I melt down to pieces again, struggling to keep my ice from melting.

Must be El Nino.

I walk resignedly up through the door and into my house that has taken me through so much. My house that is probably being featured on tomorrow's front page.

I walk resignedly through my kitchen, eyeing the drawer full of knives for a moment too long. How nice to hurl a few of those at a couple of people. Or many people. Hell, it would keep me on the front pages.

I walk resignedly and oh so tiredly into the living room and collapse on the couch without seeing anything, the thought of a visitor completely gone from my mind. The tears are back in my eyes and my body aches as if I've been run over by a steamroller.

Why the fuck did they have to go and buy a country?

"Bonjour, mon amour."