Chapter 1

Writer Notes: Remake from a Sims3 story that I started over a year ago.  TS3 didn’t work out for me, but I wanted to continue the story; therefore, I converted the characters and all back to TS2.

Warnings: You know, I didn’t have warnings originally. Vigorous typing, mention of an upcoming party, guy with lots of names, backflashes, and wordy

Even with the droning clicks of the keyboard, it was immeasurably too quiet for comfort, especially for a person trying not to think, not to remember a sadistic ex-boyfriend, who gladly took advantage over his way too trusting of a girlfriend.  Could be someone you know?  Could be someone like the seemly innocent rag doll, Sally Saither.

If it wasn’t for an email from her best friend, Kassidy Lane, Sally wouldn’t have been online.  But her snobby, preppy bitch of a friend would never let it down if she didn’t reply to her messages.  Sally reminded herself that she loved KL as her inbox loaded.  There, ordinarily, sitting on the top of the list was KL’s email.  The mouse quickly clicked on the subject before her eyes could scan the other forty messages in the box. 

Does he have no limits?  She shook her head.   “Don’t think, just don’t think.”

Relief.  This email wasn’t about the drama KL persistently tried to discuss. 

“Dewy—has—come—home?” a smile spread across her face.  “Really?”

Dewy Russell, long-time-no-see friend had moved back to their little part of Hell.  What was going through his mind?  Or had he lost it?  Evidently, there was a party being held at a one Mr. Saiders’s house for their friend’s return.

“Or retreat?” Sally laughed.  “Could be fun, I agree.” The cursor clicked on reply.  “I’ll—be—there.” 

For a moment, Sally sat there looking at her screen.  It was silent again and the thoughts were spilling in waves into her mind. 

“Oh, what-the-hell!”  She typed in the website for the wiki of chat sites.  In a matter of wish-you-would-hurry-up-and-load moments, the log-on screen appeared.

Welcome RedheadSally_steppinurway said the header.  She filtered through the list of chats offered by the site.  No one she really knew was on her area’s chat, Local Bar, so she scrolled on; nevertheless, Clay’s Drama was always updated.  This was a private owned chat by the Man, Clay.  He’s the expert of life, evidently.  Through parts of his site he allowed people to anonymously elucidate their problems and if it was ever severe enough, Clay, himself, would mettle his way into helping the situation.  Sally called him the Godfather of Healing Wounds.

Because Clay himself was not online, she posted a comment on his personal page about what was going on with her.  Clay had many of times stepped (virtually) into her world and saved her from the terrible claws of tormenting depression.  Once he had even dared to call the Suicide Awareness Police.  It was a joke between them now, but during that time, Sally had threatened to disappear off the face of the world.  For a person she had never met, Sally felt connected with Clay.  She just wished that one day they would meet.

Never going to happen.  She told herself.  Clay traveled constantly, supposedly to keep his mind off of horrible and still mysterious events from his past.  He was the guy who soaked up everyone else’s problems to not deal with his own.  What did that make him?

No one was online.  What was Sally going to do?  Sleep?  At nine o’clock at night? 

“Shane,” she sighed.

There were forty messages sitting in her inbox for a reason.  He wanted to explain things to her.  Apparently, he was extremely dire that he had obsessed himself with getting in contact with her, even going as far as showing up at her house.  Thankfully, she wasn’t there.  Her sister, Angel, had left a note from him on Sally’s desk, which she had completely ripped to shreds on impulse before interest ever befell on her what it had said.

Clay would probably tell her that she needs closure.  That sounded right, but so hard to fixate on.  Closure?  Sally never wanted it to end with Shane.  It just had and that was her main problem, getting over things.


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