Poor Lizzie. Well, and Charlotte. I desperately needed to vent out all the fear and anguish the news had caused me, but I couldn't tell Trisha, let alone Amy. So poor Lizzie was my ghostly shoulder to cry and ramble and wind out. Those two weeks were the longest in history, and I had to fight back my urgency to throw everything out the window and go to Los Angeles. I was actually about to do it three times.
Especially after I heard Brandon losing it a night that he found Cake talking with me over the phone. I kept quiet and he didn't find out it was me at the other end of the line. He'd lost so much vision, he couldn't make out my face on screen. But he got so mad, suspecting Cake was talking about him, he didn't only threaten the big man, but snatched the phone from his hand and smashed it on the floor, stumping on it until it broke.
