Sims 3: Athena Sparks 23

After my bath, I play around with Cupid for a while to take my mind off of the mess I’ve made with Wendell. 

 I find it hard to believe that Cupid still won’t let me pet or hold her.  Maybe I’m not spending enough time with her…I don’t know, but it sort of hurts my feelings.  She likes when I play with her though.

 The laser dot seems to be her favorite game.

 Exhausted, I crawl up under my lonely cold sheets.  If I keep turning men away the way I have with Wendell, I’m destined to sleep on cold sheets forever…not exactly comforting thoughts to have before falling asleep.

 As if she’s read my mind, Cupid crawls up on the bed and falls asleep next to me.  At least I have her to keep me company…if only she would allow me to touch her.

 I awake the next morning feeling the lingering feeling of regret; greeting me like an old friend first thing in the morning.

 For once I’d like to wake up feeling accomplished, instead of feeling like I’m responsible for ruining my own life.

Just to make myself feel even worse, I find myself in front of the mirror examining my newest wrinkles. 

 My mortality slaps me in the face; reminding me that I only have a certain amount of time left if I want to have that husband and child that I’ve been dreaming of for so long.

 “What have you been doing with your life?”  I ask myself out loud as I continue to search my face for new signs of aging.

 My growling stomach puts an end to my ‘what’s the meaning of life’ internal dialogue.  I take out the ingredients for waffles and begin preparation.

 I place the waffles in the oven and right on cue, Wendell pops into my mind again.

 I recall how conversation came so easy with him.  It was almost like I was no longer the shy person that I’ve been all of my life.  Then a question pops into to mind…

 What if?  What if I called him and apologized?  Was my slip up that bad?  Is it forgivable? 

 My series of questions come to a halt as the scent of burning waffles capture my attention.

I pull the unappetizing waffles out of the oven.  There’s no way I’m going to be depressed and eat burnt waffles on the same day.

I place the waffles on the table.  Why me God?  I ask myself. Why do I just insist on messing everything up?

 I prepare a bowl of cereal, because I don’t feel like attempting waffles again.  At least you can’t mess cereal up.

 After eating my not-so-great cereal, I throw the waffles in the sink.

 I sit down at the computer to at least try and get some work done.  My bank account has dwindled down to nothing.  If I don’t finish this book soon, I won’t be able to pay my bills.

 Cupid slinks over begging for a little attention.

 She looks up at me softly purring.  “Not now Cupid.  If I don’t get these chapters completed soon, there will be no more catnip for you and we’ll both be on the streets,” I say not even looking away from my computer.

 As if she understood, she walks away to occupy herself.  I read back over what I’ve written so far.  I’m not quite happy, but it’s the best I can do at the moment. 

 I submit the chapters to my agent and hope for the best.

I head to bathroom.  As if I didn’t have enough expenses, my sink explodes all over me as I attempt to brush my teeth.  Why me?  I whisper to myself once again.

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Sims 3: Athena Sparks 22

 Wendell politely remains outside with Cupid while I begin preparing lunch.

 I prepare a simple salad and Wendell finally comes in and joins me.

 I’ve spent so many days imagining a man sitting across from me at my kitchen table, but somehow Wendell is not who I imagined.

 Again, my eyes scan his tattoos wondering what’s the story behind them.

 I retreat back into my internal dialogue, the total opposite of the person I was moments ago, chatting away in the park.

 I don’t know why I’m suddenly uncomfortable around Wendell.  Maybe it’s because I invited him over, although I know nothing about him.  I try to think of something to talk about, so that I’m not being rude.

 “So what do you do Wendell?  Do you live here in Hidden Springs?”


He takes a bite of his salad before answering.  I can detect some hesitation.

“I just moved here a few weeks ago.  I’m currently between jobs…still trying to feel my way around the town.”


“Uh…what made you move here?  Are you trying to escape from something?” I’m ashamed as soon as the words leave my mouth.  I’m not immune to an occasional social faux pas.

“What are you implying? I haven’t escaped from anything.  I just moved here because I like it here,” Wendell answers clearly aware that something has changed in my attitude toward him.

 I’ve now made us both uncomfortable.  I excuse myself from the table to wash my dish.  As soon as I turn on the water, water begins bursting out of the faucet. 


“Damn!” I swear.


“I can fix that for you,” Wendell says jumping up.

 “No!”  I say with more force than I intended.  I don’t know why I’m being this way toward him.  He’s the same person that I was just talking to in the park, but now I’ve allowed my paranoia to take control.


Again, I have offended him.  “I’m sorry, I’ll just excuse myself,” he says, sounding slightly hurt.

 Wendell begins walking out the door, and I know that I should stop him and apologize, but I just can’t bring myself to do it.  Instead, I call up a repairman to come and fix my sink.

 He leaves and I feel bad about it.

 Stupid me, then goes to the computer and type his name into my search engine.  If he’s a criminal, surely his name will come up. 

 The repair woman arrives while I’m still searching my computer for Wendell Harding.

The only thing that I come across is a blog that he has created where he writes book reviews.

 I read a few of his posts and I’m instantly impressed.  Not only does he appear to be well read, but he’s a good writer.  His reviews are well written and nothing short of incredible.

 My heart sinks, because I realize that I’ve messed up a potentially good friendship.  Only it’s too late to do anything about it tonight.  I pray that I get a chance to make it right.

 I prepare a bubble bath; where I soak and attempt to shift through my thoughts.

Then it hits me like a ton of bricks…Wendell may be tattooed and mysterious, but he and I are perfectly compatible.  That type of thing cannot be faked.

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Sims 3: Athena Sparks 21

 I’m sitting there in my new found spot and from the corner of my eye, I see someone approaching.  My stomach does a flip, because for a moment there, I think it might be Desmond.

 I put my book away in anticipation, but as he gets closer, I realize that it’s not Desmond.  Who is this and why is he walking toward me?

  The guy walks straight up to the bench I’m sitting on, and in a deep baritone voice asks, ”Do you mind?” Indicating that he’d like to sit down.


“No,” I say, although I do mind.  I can’t understand why he chose this bench when there are plenty of  empty benches in the park.

 “Thanks,” he says before sitting.


I’m feeling nervous, because here I am in a near empty park with some strange guy.

 He sits and I scan him with the corner of my eyes.

 I am afraid for no reason.  He has done nothing to threaten me.

 I check out his arms.  He has tattoos all up and down his arm.  Could he be a gang member, a thief or an ex-con?  I know I’m being biased, but like I said before, I have an over active imagination.

 I take a chance and get a good look at him.  He has a nice face. He’s actually quite handsome.  There’s just the tattoos.  I sit there afraid to stay, but also afraid to get up and leave in case that offends him in some way.

 I take a chance and quickly stand, only he follows suit.  “Uh…” he says as if he has something that he’d really like to say, but he is too nervous.  I know that feeling well.

 “Well, have a good day…” I say in a shaky nervous voice.


“Uh…I’m sorry, but you seem really familiar,” the guy says, effectively stopping me from leaving.

 “Uh…my name is Wendell…Wendell Harding,” he says offering his hand for me to shake.

 I hesitate, but figure there’s no harm in giving him my first name.  “I’m…Athena,” I say.

 “No way!  I knew that I recognized you!  You’re Athena Sparks.  You wrote ‘Lonely Girl’!”  Wendell says; his voice full of excitement over his discovery.

 Now I’m no longer afraid.  It’s funny what being recognized for your work will do to you.  It makes you totally let down your guard. “You’ve read my book?”


“Of course!  It’s incredible.  I saw your picture on the dust cover.  You’re  even prettier in person!”

 “But it’s only been recently released.  How did you discover it so soon?” I ask.


“Oh, I’m an avid reader!  If it’s out there, I try to make a point to read it.”

 I’m impressed and intrigued.  Who is this tattooed man who reads?


Wendell seems to disappear into his own world for a moment.  “Oh man!  I can’t believe it!  I’ve actually met the actual author of a book I love!”  He reminds me of a child who has gotten what he really wanted for Christmas.  The only thing that’s missing is the jumping up and down.

 I’m flattered.  Someone actually read and enjoyed my book.

 “I’m working on my second book now…part two of ‘Lonely Girl’.”


“Oh I can’t wait!  It was amazing how well you captured Ebony’s internal struggle in the first book.  I cannot wait to see how she figures it all out.”

 To my surprise I find myself openly chatting now.  “I always thought the book would fall more into the ‘chic lit’ category.  I never thought that a man would actually enjoy it and get anything out of it.”  I say wondering if Wendell might be homosexual.


He seems to pick up on my thoughts.  “No, believe me…I’m not gay. ..not that there’s anything wrong with it.  And you really did a great job of making your characters accessible to everyone.  As a male, I could also relate to Ebony…and your male characters are so well thought out. A lot of female authors create these shallow dense males, but you really added a lot of depth to your characters.”

 “Well, it’s good to have such great male feedback,” I say, then without thinking I add, “I might have to have you read the first few chapters of the next book.”

 Wendell smiles. “I would be honored.”

 “Who are some of your favorite authors,” I ask.


“Oh, I read such a variety of books that it’s hard for me to limit my favorites down to just a few.  But I love anything by Jack Sims, Amanda Beasley, D.W. Craig  and Carmen Weems.”

 “I love Carmen Weems!  She’s my absolute favorite.  And that biography that she wrote about her brother…in-cre-di-ble!”


“Are you kidding me?  Her absolute best book was her very first.  It was pure and innocent.  I couldn’t put it down.”

 “Yeah, you got me on that one.  I’ve reread it at least 3 times!”


Wendell laughs.  “Now that you have me thinking about it, I may have to pull it out again when I get home.”

 “Oh…there’s this other author.  His name is at the tip of my tongue, but he is a must read.”


“Describe his work. I may know who you’re talking about.”

 “He is really great at writing stories about his growing up. Dang… my favorite book by him was…what was it…’Archie’s’…something.”


“You’re talking about C.D. Burns.  The book is ‘Archie’s Psalm’.”


“Oh God…yes!  Wasn’t that one incredible!’

 “That one hit really close to home.  It reminded me of my own childhood,” Wendell reveals.

 

 “I heard that he has other books out there that have not been officially released.”

“I heard that too.  I read his story online and apparently he had an agent that tried to make him write gangster literature, so he fired her.  That’s too bad too, because he’s such a great writer and I hate that thug literature that’s out.”

 “Oh God yes!  It’s like a bad rap video.”


Wendell laughs in total agreement.

 “I thought it was just me,” he says when he’s finally able to stop laughing enough to speak.


“No, not just you,” I say.

 “Oh man!” Wendell says, trying to calm himself after another burst of laughter.  “Oh!  It’s so rare to find great conversation,” Wendell says.


Great conversation?  I think to myself.  No one has ever said that I offered great conversation, yet here I am having a full blown discussion with a man I don’t even know.

 Before I have time to think, I say the unexpected, “Um…I was about to head home for lunch.  Would you like to join me?”

 “Sure.  I’d love too!  I could never turn down an invitation from my new writing idol.”

As we walk to my house, I begin to regret inviting Wendell over.  Just because we shared a good conversation, doesn’t mean that he is safe to be around.  Writing idol, is what he called me.  What if he’s a stalker?

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