What did they talk about? Everything. When it was sunny out, they'd talk about everything, from work, or what crazy prank Chris had pulled off the week before, or what smack talk Eminem came up with that week. JC liked to talk to her, because she wasn't analyzing every little thing that he said, and picking it apart and dissecting like the media would do so often. She would listen, and give her advice or opinion, and not judge. That was one thing he had loved. When it was night, they'd lay there and look at the stars, and sharing a kiss every now and then.

She was very spiritual. She went to church, and she was good for him, he had to admit. She believed that you couldn't give back to God, because it was all already his. An interesting philosophy, he had to admit. Her looks weren't too bad either. Her blue eyes were always shining, and her lips parted in a smile. And for some odd reason, he liked to play with her long blond hair. It was a sanctuary, and something constant in his crazy life of the music business.

Their time together was heaven. But it was cut short when she was caught in the middle of something that she shouldn't have been. Just the wrong place at the wrong time. A stray bullet from a shoot-out in downtown Orlando. Who would have guessed.

JC sighed. It had been a month since then, and yes, he had cried all his tears, yes, he was ready to move on and try again. But you never forget your first true love, just like you never forget your first kiss, or your first date, or your first crush. He stared at the picture of him and her in his hand. "Our time was too short, Mel," he said. He stuck the picture in his back pocket as he stood up. "I had to give you back to God." With one last look, he walked back along the dirt path to the parking lot where his car was parked, and drove home.

With a yawn, JC leaned back in his bed, and opened his bedside table drawer, and pulled out the blue covered book that served as his journal. He opened up to the last entry and uncapped his pen. What he saw on the page frightened him so much he threw the journal across the room. He swore that that had not been there the night before. After a few seconds of being petrified, he got up and carried the journal back to his bed and read:

Remember, Josh, we cannot give back to God what is already his. He would be sixpence none the richer.