tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10549250508061991432024-02-19T06:43:44.423-08:00Uncrossing the StarsAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09831653669000584290noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1054925050806199143.post-11414966838722087732014-09-10T18:23:00.000-07:002014-12-02T18:32:02.861-08:00Exit, Stage Left. Farewell. <span style="color: #cccccc;">It's been a while, and...a lot has happened.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">This is Nancy, and I've just managed to figure out Jules's password. (Why RemyMontague wasn't my first guess, I don't know.) So I thought I should update this blog of hers on what's happened. I'm not a huge fan of putting such personal information on the internet, but Jules did what she wanted to.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Yes, that was past tense. If Jules hadn't been so reckless, if she'd <i>let me help...</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">I'm the one who found Juliet, "dead". I was coming to apologize, you know? I'd yelled at her, I'd said things no friend should, and she was just there, lying on her bed. I thought she was asleep, I swear I did. Then I saw that she wasn't breathing, that her face was pale, and I screamed.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">I don't scream.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">But I screamed.</span><br />
<strike><span style="color: #cccccc;">This was my best friend, laying on the floor, dead and pale and the laughter gone out of her eyes. I've known her since we were babies in a cradle, and this is the last thing I remember about her. Sunken cheeks, quiet stillness, and a horrendous smile that graced her bluing lips. </span></strike><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">She was taken to the graveyard though, by Brian. We're all blurry on the details of what occurred, but here's what we knew for sure.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Pierre had gone to see if he could give Jules one last thing (a ring. It was a ring with a flower made of crystals) and hid when he heard footsteps. Footsteps that belonged to Remy, who had come here because...we're not sure as to why Brian hadn't told Remy about Jules's temporary state, but he'd thought that Julia was really dead. Or, at least, that's our best guess. Brian hasn't been much of a talker lately (but he's told us the basics). If they let <i>me </i>get my hands on him, he'd talk. Oh, he'd talk...</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Either way, Pierre must've surprised Remy or something, because Pierre winds up shot twice in the heart and dead on the ground. Remy dies from alcohol poisoning next to Jules's body, and Jules? She wakes up, sees Remy, and then she shoots herself with the same gun Remy used to kill Pierre. <strike>I don't care what Remy and Pierre wanted to do, but dragging Julia into it? If they weren't dead, I would've strangled them myself. </strike></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">This is what the world's come to. This is what's happened.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Does that satisfy your curiosity? All the ones who've emailed her, demanding an ending to this story? Does it? She's dead, you know. Because all of you encouraged her. She's gone.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Of course, you wouldn't know that from looking at her parents. The Montagues and Capulets have joined their companies, all of them managing one part of the company. They've teamed up with Mr. Price for overseas headquarters and they're richer than ever. It took less than a week to see Mr. Capulet smile. Mrs. Capulet has been shaken and she still cries at the mention of Jules's name, but she's doing better than me at least. She's manage to erect a statue of her daughter and Remy in the center of the company's HQ foyer. Because that's going to help.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">I know why RemyMontague wasn't my first guess for this blog's password. I didn't want to believe he was as large a part of Jules's life as he was. He only knew her for a <i>month</i>, and this is what he did to her. I won't hate him for my best friend's sake, and I know the Capulets have made peace with the Montagues, but Remy Montague will never be remembered as that "nice young boy" as Mrs. Capulet calls him. <strike>He was death.</strike></span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">-Nancy</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09831653669000584290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1054925050806199143.post-91854654379369328062014-08-05T04:30:00.000-07:002014-12-02T17:45:09.588-08:00Roses Fade<span style="color: #cccccc;">Brian Lawrence came over to my house for dinner. Like I mentioned, he does some work on the side for the families so he frequents at my house.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Pierre was also here, which made things...awkward since I had something to discuss with Brian. It turns out, no one was willing to go directly against the Capulets or the Montagues, so Remy and I couldn't just flee and run away.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Then I remembered Brian. He's loyal to no one but himself and maybe Remy--and he's skilled with plants--with <i>drugs, </i>medicinal and otherwise. There had to be something that could help me.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">There was.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Instead of simply running away and living in fear of my parents, I'm going to fake my death. Brian has a certain mixture concocted and, quite honestly, I don't want to know what's in it. I've known him for forever though. It'll pale my face, slow my heart beat, and...basically make me look like I'm dead. Brian's going to be taking my "corpse" for inspection, claiming that since my parents have a lot of enemies, it may be poison. He'll bring Remy to meet me (and, because he's a bit morbid and because of the lack of visitors) at the graveyard and then we're on our own.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">My parents are already stressed--if I act weird they won't notice. They have this whole party thing they want to throw, to show off the fact that Pierre and I are "dating". Speaking of which, Pierre was really earnest today. He kept following me around and smiling at me--and while he's adorable, he's not Remy. I can't even look him in the face or else I'll start crying. It sounds stupid, but knowing that I'm about to run away from everything I've ever known...I know it's for the best, but it's hard.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">What if this mixture is going to kill me? What if Brian will betray us? What if Remy never comes or what if I'm there by myself for hours on end? Did you know I'm still scared of the dark?</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">What am I <i>doing</i>?</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">No.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">No.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">I can do this.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Well, drugs. It's just you and me.</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09831653669000584290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1054925050806199143.post-67799969056755989062014-08-02T12:00:00.000-07:002014-12-02T16:42:05.251-08:00Most Wicked Things<span style="color: #cccccc;">This blog has officially been set to private except for a few of my frequent commentors/viewers, but no one else has access to this. Not even Nancy. Especially not Nancy.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">I managed to track down Remy before he went completely into hiding by sending him a letter through Brian, and he came to my rooms yesterday. (Climbed some vines that run up to my room. It'd be romantic if not for the situation we're both in.) He wasn't happy after finding out about Pierre and we agreed that we'd run away together. It may sound dramatic, but honestly it's the only choice. With my dad's...violent temper, he won't rest until I'm married to Pierre and I'm <i>already married. </i>I can't do that. With our parents' businesses, we have plenty of ties to people who can smuggle us out of the country. And it has to be out of the country. Our parents would give up at nothing to find us, and they'd find us if we stayed in the US. They'd find us. You can't understand the lengths our parents will go to to control us or get what they want. My mom...my mom's threatened to send someone after Remy. And I'm afraid she's not joking. My parents don't joke.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Despite all of that though, Remy and I managed to tease each other throughout the night. We laughed and smiled and kissed and it would've been amazing if it wasn't for the fact that Remy was officially wanted and that if anyone saw him here, I'd have been screwed to next Thursday.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">I tried not to dwell on that though because he was there and he was real and he was <i>mine. </i>We talked about everything underneath the sky--and above it, especially the stars and the birds that soared under them. We'd be as free as them, free of our parents soon enough. We could do this.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">When he left though, Nancy came bursting in my room. Her eyes were ablaze and when my door slammed shut she started screaming at me, asking me how I could still be with him after what he did to Tyler. She kept saying that I had Pierre, why couldn't I just date him? That Pierre was better than Remy, that Remy was nothing. That he was a dishcloth and a demon and...so many words that made me blind with fury. Then she told me that if I didn't break it off, she'd tell my parents about it.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">How dare she. How dare she call him all those things when she'd been in full support of our relationship before. How freaking dare she. How dare she threaten me with something like that, something she know could get me killed.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">I'm on my own now. It's just me and Remy. I can't trust someone who called him a demon (if anyone is, it's her) and I can't trust someone who threatened to tell my parents.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">I can't trust her.</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09831653669000584290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1054925050806199143.post-6764394878747445392014-08-01T13:11:00.000-07:002014-11-30T21:11:31.245-08:00Doomsday Comes<span style="color: #cccccc;">Things have sort of gone to hell.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">And I need to pretend to date Pierre. Now it's not just my parents who want me to do it (and even more so now, but more on that later), Nancy wants me to do it. Nancy's my best friend and I adore her, but she's completely against Remy now--hates him. She keeps blaming him for Tyler's death which, yes, he did cause, but Tyler killed his best friend and Remy didn't mean to. You can't blame him. He's going to get his life taken away, and I'll never be able to see him. We're freaking <i>married </i>and he's going to be in jail. Oh my God. Not only that, but I'm going to have to date Pierre.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">My parents won't let up about it. My mom may be crying her eyes out because of Tyler, but my dad is too worried about this merger. Because of my idiotic cousin, the Prices are probably going to close a deal with the Montagues, in memory of Marcus...and because, you know, a Capulet shot him. Now the only possible way we'd be able to win that deal is to get Pierre on our side--Mr. Price kind of dotes on his son and Pierre...Pierre's interested. It wouldn't take much to get him to ask me out, but <i>Remy. </i>I have to though. I'll explain it to Remy, once I can find him. I have to date Pierre. My dad won't take no for an answer and he's even threatened to throw me out on the streets. He's serious, too. He may have been drunk when he said it (he gets that way at times), but he'd make my life a living hell until I'd run away on my own accord. So I have to do it. I have to. We're having dinner on Thursday. Oh God. </span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">I know this entire thing sounds bad, especially with the recent deaths, but my family...my family isn't big on family.</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09831653669000584290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1054925050806199143.post-33076124836090543652014-07-28T22:52:00.000-07:002014-11-30T21:02:38.100-08:00It's a Curse<span style="color: #cccccc;">I'm in shock right now. Utter shock.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">I was sort of happy about being married to Remy, I'll admit. We've talked about it and instead of getting it annulled, we're going to stay married. We were happy about it too, for the short time that we could be.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">I have (had) this insane cousin called Tyler. He's had a few anger management issues in the past. We sent him to a school in Manhattan to stay out of trouble and he went to some therapy--learned krav maga and fencing as some kind of coping method while he was over there. He's...involved in the family business and undoubtedly loyal. Loyal to the point where he absolutely hates any Montague he sees, on sight. He flew down to visit the main family for the summer and...I guess he saw me with Remy or something because when he next saw Remy, <i>he drew a gun. </i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">And Marcus was with him. I'm not quite sure what happened, but Marcus started talking crap and Tyler started waving the gun around, then Remy jumped between them and then...Tyler shot Marcus. He was trying to shoot Remy, but missed and shot Marcus in his abdomen. It didn't go in deep, just a flesh wound really, but he bled out and...apparently he blamed Remy for it. Oh my God Remy. He had to watch his best friend die and then blame him for it. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">That's not all of it though. Because when Remy found out Marcus died, <i>he </i>got in a rage and shoved Tyler who hit his head and...died. Benjamin, Remy's cousin was with them and told the cops and everyone what happened and now they're searching for Remy. I never really loved Tyler, but he was family and Remy...<i>killed </i>him. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">But he didn't mean to do it--he wanted to hurt the man who killed his best friend, and who could blame him? Oh God, Remy. They're going to send him to jail for life. We haven't even been married a full day, not really, and he's...oh my God. Oh my God <i>Remy. </i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">He's going to be fine. It'll be okay. It's all going to be okay. Oh God. Fate and fortune be with us. Maybe it's time to pull out the rabbit foot and horseshoe. </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09831653669000584290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1054925050806199143.post-8277553363606292242014-07-25T11:42:00.000-07:002014-12-01T17:23:04.910-08:00I'm Going to Die<span style="color: #cccccc;">Apparently I made a post last night, so you guys actually knew before me.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">I freaking got married.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">We'd joked about it earlier last night and after that...things are kind of a blur. I may or may not have been inebriated.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">I woke up today with absolutely no clue why I was in a white dress or why I had a ring on my finger until I looked at this blog. Holy crap I'm going to die. When my parents find out, they're going to stone cold murder me.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Here's what I remember happening:</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span>
<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="color: #cccccc;">Jokingly talking about marriage</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #cccccc;">Drinking a few shots</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #cccccc;">Nothing</span></li>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Nancy was apparently there though, and has no recollection of it whatsoever. We found a (giggly, loud, and really weird) video on her phone of Remy and me getting married though. In Las Vegas. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Remy's 18 so he was legal. I'm...16 though. I don't know how we got marriage papers signed since I'm underage. Even Las Vegas has restrictions against that. I don't even know <i>how I could get married. Oh my God Oh my God I'm freaking married now. </i></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Not freaking out. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">I'm cool. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">I'm cool. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Oh God. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">EDIT: I know how I got married. Brian Lawrence, Remy's father figure (and a cop that...helps both of our families) Apparently also a forger. He forged documents proving he was my legal guardian (and really quickly too. I'm sort of impressed.) Apparently he'd thought we were serious about getting married. I'm sort of happy I'm married now though, although it's still awfully ridiculous. Remy doesn't seem to really have a problem with it either. Who knows, maybe this was a good thing. As long as my parents don't find out, I should be fine. </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09831653669000584290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1054925050806199143.post-53620391238209987282014-07-24T19:01:00.000-07:002014-11-29T19:21:37.343-08:00WE'RE GETTING MARRIED<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
HAPPYHAPPYHAPPUYHAPPUUHAPOTHAPPYHPAPY WHOOOOPO</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09831653669000584290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1054925050806199143.post-31719242524702893082014-07-17T12:20:00.000-07:002014-11-29T12:21:47.128-08:00Hi?<br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Holy crap holy crap holy crap Nancy found out, I repeat Nancy found out. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Apparently she found this blog. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Crap. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Hi, Nancy? </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09831653669000584290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1054925050806199143.post-2978288310651864252014-07-15T11:22:00.000-07:002014-12-02T17:44:25.729-08:00Heart Over Head...Over Heels<div style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.428571em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;">So that wasn't the end of that.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;">I may or may not have run into Remy and may or may not have been meeting up with him for the past month. And by run into Remy, I mean I was at a mini party (but if anyone asks it was a study group, yes?) and I took a quick breath of fresh air out on the balcony. As Fate would have it, who walks by but the man himself. I don't really see or notice him at first. But then he calls my name, which means he <em style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.428571em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">knows my name</em>...which also means he has <em style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.428571em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">no </em>reason to call it.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;">But he does. Over and over again and he won't shut up and I'd been wondering about him.<br clear="none" />So I call down to him and I say:<br clear="none" />"Where are you? I may be fabulous but I can't see in the dark."<br clear="none" />I kid you not, those are my first words to him. SMH. Well at least they were true.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;">Here's how the rest of it went though:</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;">Me: What are you doing down there?<br />R: *Shrugs* I was taking a walk and, well, it's sort of hard to miss the loud music. And you're...kind of shiny.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;">Me: What? </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;">R: Your dress. It's unbelievably sparkly. It's like a sun and you're kind of blinding me. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;">Me: Oh. Sorry.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;">*Awkward Silence* </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;">Me: Should I come down? We should probably stop yelling, shouldn't we. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;">R: Nah, we're good. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.428571em;">I walk down anyways.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.428571em;">Me: Hi. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.428571em;">R: Hi We probably shouldn't be talking to each other, hmm?</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.428571em;">Me: What, because of our names? Trust me, I'd give the world not to be a Capulet. It...sort of sucks. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.428571em;">R: Can't say I don't feel the same way about being a Montague. Usually keeps me from talking to pretty girls. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.428571em;">Me: That wasn't cheesy at all.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.428571em;">R: What can I say? I try. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.428571em;">Me: Really? Let's hear some more. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 1.428571em;">R: Are you an </span></span><span style="color: #cccccc;"><span style="line-height: 22.8571357727051px;">angel</span></span><span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 1.428571em;"> because--</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.428571em;">Me: We've all heard that one.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;">R: You're the moon and I'm the stars and the moon never runs from the stars. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;">Me: Bordering on creepy and you realize the moon is pock-marked right. And continually changes. What are you trying to say?</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 1.428571em;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">And then we just really talked about random things. We didn't really mention the fact that our families hated each other again (but when you think about it, it's stupid, right? I mean the only thing our parents really hate about each other are their names. Names are random sounds strung together--how does it make any sense that that's what would keep two people apart? Ugh.) and we just talked through the night until--</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">R: Do you want to go out?</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Me: </span><span style="color: #cccccc; line-height: 22.8571357727051px;">(blushing furiously) I don't know...as a date? If we did it'd have to be out of town though. I think my parents would kill me if they found out I talked to you, much less going out.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc; line-height: 1.428571em;">R: How about 9 AM at the old church? It's a bit early, but it's the only time I'm really free nowadays and I have a friend at the church who could help us. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 1.428571em;">Anyways, since that we've just been meeting up in random places, deflecting suspicion </span></span><span style="line-height: 22.8571357727051px;">from</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 1.428571em;"> our parents, etc. No one knows except Remy's friend and he's a priest. Apparently Remy's father figure for the last decade or so--if we can't trust him, who can we trust? And I trust Remy. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;">I really like him. May even love him, even though it's only been a month. It's too soon to say that though. It is. It's way too soon.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;">Is it really though?</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;">Oh my God, it totally is. It utterly, absolutely is. I don't know though. He's sweet and reckless and passionate and he loves to talk. He's adorable when he gets excited, but sometimes he gets so sad it's hard to cheer him up. And here's a confession: sometimes when I can't cheer him up, f</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;">I may love him though. I really might.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(3)</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09831653669000584290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1054925050806199143.post-59970416705338262972014-06-07T09:41:00.000-07:002014-12-02T17:34:54.202-08:00A Love Born From Hate<br />
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.9999942779541px;">So I've discovered Mystery Boy's name. And it kills me. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.9999942779541px;">Cheerleading time: Give me an M-O-N-T-A-G-U-E. What does that spell? </span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.9999942779541px;">The family my family hates and the one that's trying to run us into the ground. </span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.9999942779541px;">I don't agree with half of my parents' business decisions, but...ugh. I have to admit, I do feel the tiniest bit guilty about doing this.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.9999942779541px;">After the party, I honestly didn't think I'd see him again, but Nancy, being the social butterfly that she is, knows everyone. And I mean everyone. So I may have stalked her Facebook friends list until I came across a profile picture that had Mystery Guy in it. Except, also in the picture was Marcus. In fact, it was Marcus' s Facebook account. The caption of the picture? "Remy being mopey and Marcus being awesome." Ignoring the complete obnoxiousness of that statement--</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.9999942779541px;">Remy. The only Remy Marcus knew--that anyone knew--was Remy Montague. </span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.9999942779541px;">Freaking heir to the Montague fortune and the Montague hatred for...us.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.9999942779541px;">Ironically, you know what my fortune cookie said, the day before I found out? "Love born from hate only ends in tragedy." Not quite sure what the connection is, but there's one somewhere in there. Thanks though, Fate.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.9999942779541px;">Dammit though, he's a Montague. Of all the people I liked and could possibly have loved, if we're going that far, he had to be a Montague? I mean, seriously, there are dozens upon dozens of fishes in the sea, and the one I dredge up and happen to like turns out to be poisonous. I can't even with my luck.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.9999942779541px;">Well. That's the end of that.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09831653669000584290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1054925050806199143.post-35896828232831847172014-06-06T07:45:00.000-07:002014-12-02T16:36:30.260-08:00Masked Mysteries<div style="text-align: left;">
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Well guys, things have turned as interesting as I'd thought it would. And by interesting, I mean sort of sucky. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">But you're going to need some backstory before I get into the nitty gritty.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">So my parents run a business, right? Right. And like any business (but particularly this one), we have competition, we have business partners--and then there are people we want to be partners with. Basically the people we suck up and give blinding smiles to. (We become masters of bs in front of them.)</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">There's this one...company we want to do business with. Importing and exporting in Europe, though mainly the France/Italy area. The head family's name is Price--undoubtedly ironic since they never seem to settle on a price. We've spent years pampering and flattering the senior Mr. Price's nephew who came here to inspect possible clients, but he's become best friends with our competitor's heir. We didn't give up hope, but every time Marcus says "I'll see what I can do", even an infant could tell you he's not on our side. And trust me, we've tried bribery (and I'm pretty sure the Montagues, our competition, have too), but he won't agree to anything. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Which may be part of why Mr. Price and his son Pierre decided to come overseas and assess their options themselves. I doubt they trust Marcus's judgement--and really who would? He's kind of a tool. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">You want to know what mom said when my parents found out that they were coming, though? "Make sure Pierre shows some interest in you. Make sure you show some interest back." In case you didn't catch that folks, she wanted me to basically seduce Pierre. A random 17 year old. My own mother. Here's the kicker though: "Rose's too invaluable to the business and we can't have her wrapped up in a guy or distracted by other duties." Yeah. There's Rose being Better Than Julia once again. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Thanks mom. I was tempted to do it just so that when we closed the business deal, I could claim credit and shove it in my sister's face. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">But...I didn't. Here's what happened: </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">We threw a party the night after the Prices arrived. Masquerade ball actually. (Sidenote: I had the most gorgeous ensemble: white dress, gold accents, and a half mask that was lined with feathers.) Everyone had masks so you could barely tell who was who. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Well, I mean, you could tell who the Prices and Capulets (my family) were if you got here early enough for the speech, but I digress. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">So everything's going well. I'm talking with Pierre here and there, but definitely not paying him as much attention as my parents want, and if we're being honest, he was kind of a bore. I mainly took refuge with my best friend Nancy until she went to do her parents' bidding and socialize. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Then. Then I fell in love. I swear to you it was love at first sight. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Lol yeah no. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">There was this one guy who wasn't taking part in the festivities at all--the kind of guy you notice too. Maybe the same age as Pierre. Gold mop of hair. Dazzling smile (and by dazzling, I mean <i>dazzling</i>). So who was I to resist when he comes up to me and asks me to dance? </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Especially when he called me "Angel". Yeah, I was pretty much swooning at this point. Or maybe a bit tipsy. Either way I ended up staying near him for the rest of the night and we talked about any random topic we could think of (at one point we ended up on the topic of religion. How strange is that?), and then...well I'm pretty sure he meant to kiss me. I sort of swerved and he ended up kissing my cheek. He was a quick thinker though; kissing my other cheek, he said ciao and started to leave. I figured I'd see him around sooner or later--after all, if he got into this party, he had to be someone important. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Then Nancy comes back from being a social butterfly, a strained smile on her face (I feel you, Nancy. I feel you.) and for some reason I just...don't tell her about him. I dunno, I sort of want to keep him as my secret, you know? For all I know I won't even meet him ever again. </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09831653669000584290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1054925050806199143.post-5321099540319311292014-06-01T19:16:00.000-07:002014-12-02T16:33:05.288-08:00Enter, Stage Right<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span><span style="color: #cccccc;">WELCOME! I won't bother with introductions since this is more for me than the audience (for once). If you're curious, though, you can </span><a href="http://uncrossing-the-stars.blogspot.com/p/meet-star-crossed-lover.html">find out more about me</a><span style="color: #cccccc;">! </span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">This blog mainly just exists because at this point, my life isn't really mine anymore. If anything, it seems to belong to my parents who are wrangling me into being their perfect daughter. I mean, you'd think they'd be happy with Rose who's pretty much the epitome of perfection. But no. <i>Both </i>of their daughters have to be straight-A, pretty-faced socialites dedicated to the family business. Seriously? </span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Honestly, it's always about Rose, even when they're talking about me. "Why can't you get higher grades like Rose?" "Why can't you get involved in the family business?" "Why can't you get your head out of the clouds?" "Rose is attending an infamous Catholic school and you want to go to <i>public </i>school?"</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">And in case you didn't catch that, yes<i>; </i>my parents <i>are </i>those white collared rich people.. You don't really need to know the details, but let's just say they're the CEO and CMO of a certain company. I'd rather not specify though, since being kidnapped and held for ransom? Not exactly on my bucket list. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Stay tuned for the drama of my life--in less than a week, there's probably going to be enough updates to cover 2 hours of straight reading. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">P.S. Yes, I <i>do </i>want to go to public school, Mom. </span></div>
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