A/N: So... there's an extra chapter now. I ended up writing so much that I had to split this one in half. So from this chapter onward, there are THREE chapters left! (and I have like half of the next one already typed up).

Anyway, that's all from me. Till next time,

D.L.D

~*O*~ ~*O*~ ~*O*~

~Courtney~

How can I help someone like Heather?

Like an impossible riddle, the question ticks away in my brain as I stand in the girls' bathroom, leaning against the sinks and listening to her soft sobs. Break had finished well over five minutes ago and everyone had cleared out since. With them left all the noise and chatter, smoke and perfume and vomit being flushed and taken away with the scramble to make it back to class. Originally, I had only come here to freshen up. I had no intention to stay.

Now I am here, much longer than I should have even been here for, leaning against the sinks and having an internal debate. Two sides of me are at war, firing every feasible argument at each other. One side screams to act, to do something; the other is nonchalant, uncaring, her voice cruel and cold as she whispers for me to ignore it.

Heather is crying. Almost silently, painfully, she is bawling her eyes out in a public bathroom, most likely curled up on the cold toilet seat. No-one has come to check on her. I don't think anyone cares enough to check on her, even though it is obvious that she is upset. High school can be like that; high school can be a placed filled with self-centered pricks who never care about anyone but themselves. Some people just don't care. Some people choose to walk away.

At the moment, I am questioning if I am that type of person.

Sighing, I lean my head back and close my eyes. Heather is a person who has gone through a lot. Sure, she does not share it, and yes, she definitely shouldn't use her past to justify her actions, but I think she doesn't know any better. Heather hasn't told me anything about her past. Not a single thing. Yet sometimes, when she lets her guard down a little, I catch small snapshots of who she used to be. Like an elusive ghost, like a lost little girl, they shyly tug at me, showing me that she is there. She exists.

Smoke passes behind my eyelids, a mixture of tobacco and weed. Together we had smoked in the rain, sharing an imperfection as we laughed bitterly about our crappy realities. That was the first time I had seen a real imperfection in Heather; smoking was something that linked us together through imperfection.

Everyone is riddled with imperfections. Everyone is imperfect. But Heather keeps them hidden. I also keep them hidden. However every now and again, when we are worn down to the bone, when we are tired of striving for perfection in an imperfect world, we allow someone to see our flaws and mistakes. For Heather it was in private, hidden within the mystery and illusions of smoke breaks and bathrooms; I still don't know where I admit my flaws. I don't know if I can truly accept that I am flawed.

Another sniffle. She doesn't seem as if she will stop any time soon. But here I am, still leaning against the sinks, wondering if I am a good enough person to ask Heather if she is ok. After all, how can I help someone like Heather?

'Talk to her,' A little voice says, whispering in my ear. 'Talk to her like a friend, someone who will give her the advice she never had.' But I can't do that. Advice is something I suck at. Advice is something I am too selfish and twisted to ever give correctly now. Ever since I decided to work with Heather, I went against my own advice. I didn't listen to anyone, not even myself, when they warned me about how I would end up different.

So, for the sake of both her and me, I should turn away. Silently, wordlessly, I should turn on my heel and walk out of this bathroom, pretending that I had heard nothing. It would be for the best. It would be better if I didn't interfere.

Yet that voice still rings in my head. Like an annoying drone, like a pesky friend, it picks at my brain and pokes at my ears. 'Be there for her,' it says, 'try to be her friend'. But I can't be Heather's friend. I can't be anyone's friend. People are tricky and people always try to use. Heather and I have a partnership that is based on us deceiving each other. Heather has her secret agendas and I have my own. I want to sink Heather's ship; Heather wants to burn mine.

Trying to be Heather's friend would only hurt her more. Being there for her, comforting her, would be like placing a plaster over a gaping wound: useless.

I find myself moving, find my legs moving, my steps echoing off the empty walls of the bathroom. Heather's sniffling hasn't stopped - she hasn't noticed I am here yet - and that makes a twinge of guilt pang in my heart. Then I am standing before a cubicle, my hand frozen in the air as I bite my lip and stare at the door. This is it - this is my choice. What I do now will be because of me and no-one else. This is part of none of my plans - this isn't anything personal.

My hand knocks at the door.

"Heather?" The words leave before I can think, soft and gentle as it echoes around the room. "Are you ok in there?"

Abruptly, all sniffling stops. For a moment, all that hangs in the air is the stone cold silence between myself and the school's Queen Bee. Thick, like viscous syrup, it runs between us as I wait by the cubicle, breath held and hand still resting against the door. In front of me, on the tiled floor, I spot the shift of her shadow. A quick dart of black that moves against the cheap florescent lights of the school building.

"I'm fine!" Heather answers quickly. Too quickly. Another sniffle escapes her. Her voice is thick with emotion. Nevertheless, she powers onward, pushing down her feelings and maintaining her unshakable confidence. "Don't worry about me. Just go away."

Bull. I know it is complete and utter bull. And as much as I want to just take her bullshit as a genuine answer, as much as my brain tells me to just turn and walk away, I can't. I'm rooted to the spot, my conscience oddly determined to see this act through.

"Are you sure?" I ask again, cringing at the way my voice wavered. Do I always sound that uncertain now? Did I always seem like I was lost? Like I was clueless?

"Yes!" Heather responds sharply. Again her response does little to hide the obvious, followed immediately by another sniff.

I know that Heather is lying. All Heather ever does is lie - even if it hurts herself more than it hurts others. Back in Freshman year, I had caught onto it quickly; as we got older, I only gained more evidence. So if you had told me about this, told past Courtney about now, she wouldn't have believed you. In the past, I would have left by now. Just about a week ago, if you placed me in this scenario, I would have rolled my eyes and walked straight out of the room.

Yet now, in the present, I am doing something unprecedented. Something strange. And oddly enough, I feel right doing this strange act. Part of me feels... complete at having decided to try and do this.

A smile edges onto my lips, a dry chuckle joining it, "You're a terrible liar, you know," I shake my head, still laughing as I leaned against the locked cubicle door. Silence meets me. Not at all surprising. So I tone down the laughter and sigh, "I'm not leaving you alone to do something stupid, Heather. Talk to me. I want to help you."

"Help me?" She scoffs. Instinctively, I flinch from the way her voice echoes, scuffing off the bathroom walls. "And why would you do that?"

'Because I consider you as a friend,' Part of me thinks. Deep down - deep, deep down - I see Heather as a friend. Yes, I, Courtney, deep down within her, can see Heather, this Heather, as her friend. The Queen Bee of this godforsaken hell. Despite the many ways in which we clash, despite how often I find myself disgusted with her actions, I can see myself being friends with Heather. Somewhere. Somewhere deep, deep down.

I can see the damage that has been done to her. Now, I can see how she has clumsily patched herself back up, slowly sealing the cracks and sanding down the walls. As best as she could, Heather had tried to mend herself. Heather has tried to strengthen herself. But she had done it all alone. Being alone, mending yourself by yourself, can be a harrowing and life-changing experience. I know because I've lived it; I am still living it.

And that's when it hits me. That's when I realise why I just couldn't leave Heather to cry:

I understand what she is going through.

Yet, as much as I want to reassure her that she is not alone, as much as I want to make her feel better, I remain tight-lipped. Telling Heather that I view her as a friend would only turn out to be a mistake. Heather and I were not made to be friends. Heather and I did not work together to become friends. Both of us are just looking to gain from the opportunity. Both of us are monsters feeding off each other's work.

"Don't act like you forgot," I roll my eyes, ignoring the hard way that I swallowed. My throat hurt. "It's because we made a deal, remember?" A short laugh joins my words, matched with the new smile I had perfected over the week. Two things that Heather had taught me to use.

"Thought so," Heather responded, her voice oddly bitter. Sharp and cutting, her words pierce me through the cubicle door. "No-one really sees me as a person anymore, do they?"

Another pause fills the air. Does anyone see Heather as a person? To be honest, I don't think anyone does. So used to her flawless image, so used to her cold and calculated manner, everyone had forgotten about the human aspects of our resident Queen Bee. Even I, someone who tries to ensure that I remember that everyone is a person, forgot that Heather was a person with feelings and a heart and a soul.

Even if she acts as if she doesn't care about those things, Heather has them. Like us, like me, Heather can be damaged by spiteful words and hateful comments. Heather isn't the impenetrable stone statue we all perceive her to be. Heather isn't a monster. And I only knew that because I trod a similar path to her. I took the same dark, twisting paving stones that led to a lifetime of ultimate hatred and monstrosity. And, just like Heather, I lost myself along the way.

Something heavy settles into my gut. I forgot what it is like to lose sight of yourself. I doubt I have even found her yet.

"Sometimes," Another pause. Hot tears stab at my eyes. I take in a deep breath. "We lose sight of ourselves. And when we do, no-one else perceives us as ourselves either." My hands shake as I stare at the foggy mirrors of the bathroom, gum stuck to the corner of it. Within it is my reflection, a warped reflection, my nose long and my face flattened by the perspex glass. Blonde streaks ruin my once mocha brown bob. "I don't think you're a monster Heather. But what you are depends on how you see yourself."

"Well, monsters never see themselves for what they are," Heather comments, petulant as ever. I spot the corner of her shoes, a glimmer of red against the tile of the floor. "Everyone else does it for them."

"Then ignore everyone else," I respond, surprising myself. My reflection stares back, her own eyes wide. Nevertheless, she smiles, her grin wide and voice confident. "Girls are bitches by nature anyway. Guys aren't much better either. Who cares what any of them say?"

"I guess..." A pause, her voice humming over the silence. "You're right, Courtney." Two red shoes are now on the floor, the cubicle door clicking open as Heather swings it open. Proudly, she stands there, her long hair hung over her shoulder and her skinny body leaning against the door frame. When I catch her piercing grey eyes, she smiles. "Thank you, Courtney."

Her words stun me. My eyes widen, "For what?"

"For being a friend, I guess," Heather shrugs, a bemused expression on her face. "How else would you describe it?"

~*O*~ ~*O*~ ~*O*~

~Heather~

"We're posting everything today."

The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, blunt and forceful and emotionless. Right now, all of the alarm bells are ringing in my brain. Everything is in panic mode. Everything is trying to enact my damage control protocol and that means mopping up anything that could incriminate me in a bad light. When anything bad gets out, I have to quickly undo the damage it causes. After being trained for this role, after living this life for years, it's all a reflex action for me. Something I do unconsciously.

"Are you sure, Heather?" Sierra raises a brow, her eyes wide as she swivels her chair toward me. Tense, tight, her arms rest on the chair's armrest, her bubblegum pink nails digging into the plastic material.

"Won't she figure out that you were the one to post it all?" Alejandro stands beside me, looking equally as shocked. He stares at me, countless thoughts and questions passing through his eyes. "She's not like your usual targets, Heather. Doing this would be a risky move."

"Like you really care," I scoff, rolling my eyes. Frowning, I jab him in the shoulder, making sure that my nail dug into him. "I wouldn't be surprised if you helped her to find that video."

"As if I would stoop that low!" He wears his own glare now, full of disbelief. Much bigger than mine, his hand captures my own and forces me to stand in a closer proximity to his dangerous glare. Outrage burns in his mint green eyes, mixed with something else I could not fully decipher. I'm not sure that I would want to decipher it. "You know as well as I do, Heather, that I cannot stand the idea of Courtney seizing power here. If she takes your place then that gives room for... Justin to take mine."

We're never usually this close. Not even in private. Between the pair of us we have this weird dynamic, this inexplicable relationship, which relies on one of us pushing the other away. If I get too close, Alejandro sets the boundaries. If he pushes too much, I make sure to stop pulling. We balance it out. We stop each other from ever getting close enough to spark any flames of passion or desire. I doubt any of us even want passion or desire to flourish between us. It would just be... no. Not ever.

But even so, in this close proximity, with the outrage filling his face, I can find myself growing happy. Content. I had always loved pissing Alejandro off.

"Oh, you would love to dethrone me," I laugh, my voice venomous and petty as I yank my hand from his. Heated anger, powerful triumph, courses through my veins. "I know you would love to make me helpless. So it wouldn't be surprising if you nudged her in the right direction. What was it you said a few days ago?" I raise a brow, my hands on my hips. "Oh yeah, 'Believe what you will, Heather'. Not very smart of you to hint at your plans, Ale-dumbass!"

Something ripples through his face at my accusations. Something small and unexpected and subtle flickers through him for a millisecond. But only for that millisecond.

"You're only speaking that way because you're hurt," Alejandro shakes his head, a hefty sigh dropping his shoulders. He glances at Sierra, something unspoken passing between them before he continues. "I can see that me being here will not benefit the argument. Take care of her, Sierra."

"I'll try," She nods at him, humming. Already I can hear the squeal that is dying to escape from her grinning lips. She must be loving this drama between us. Her reporter brain must be soaking in every detail, absorbing every little facet.

Nothing more said to me, Alejandro leaves the room. In sure, certain steps, not a trace of hesitation, he opens the door, doesn't glance back, and closes it. He locks himself out of my life, my plans, once more. And I should be happy that he is. I should be happy that he is gone. However, lingering dread instead swarms my gut. Terrible dread that builds and builds as I turn to look at Sierra, my heart thundering in my chest.

"What was that about?" I finally ask, my voice much quieter than it had been moments ago. My throat hurt. Was I shouting?

Sierra bites her lip, nervously fidgeting in her chair as her grin drops. "You're not gonna like it."

"Oh, I know I'm not gonna like it," I scowl, frowning at her. My fingers flex, my brain telling me to calm down and not get angry. Anger is beneath me. Anger is something that Courtney always expresses. I am not an emotional fool like Courtney. "I know that you have drawn your line already, ok? I know that you don't agree with my plan anymore. You made it pretty damn obvious the last time we were here."

"I know," Sierra responds gently, not betraying any other emotion.

"Yeah, I know you know," I exclaim, incredulous. A hand reaches up into my hair, running through it - a nervous tic. Usually, when I got like this, I would take a smoke break. Usually, I would find anything but the hair fiddling to calm my nerves; I haven't done it in years. "I know that more or less everyone knows everything about how wrong I am. I know that no-one agrees with my point of view! But for god's sake Sierra, I'm only asking you to fucking post the rumours."

I'm hysterical now. Pacing, panicking, I walk up and down a few steps, circling back on myself as I pull at my hair and try to take in deep breaths. Every breath is hard. Every intake of air, every attempt to stay alive and breathing, is hard. Right now, everything is crumbling before me. Every block I had placed, everything little brick I had taken time and effort to plan and stack, was slowly falling and tumbling to the ground, cracking into fine dust.

It's a horrible feeling. It's a harrowing feeling.

My hands shake. I need to smoke.

"I know that Heather," Sierra, calm as ever, responds. Her eyes watch me, not betraying anything. She just watches. She just watches. Why can't she do anything else but just watch?

"Of course you know," I scoff, shaking my head. Hot pricking stabs at my eyes - tears - and I know that if I do not wrap this up soon I will break. I will break in front of her, just like I did years ago, and nothing will ever be same. "All you ever do is know. All anyone ever does is know, but they never actually try to fix anything!"

"What do you want us to fix, Heather?" Sierra asks, still calm, still collected. She doesn't show any concern. She doesn't show anything. She's just sitting there. Just sitting there. Watching me, watching me with this weird look in her eyes.

"I don't know! Shouldn't you fucking know that!" I turn on her, my face twisted with fury as I snarl. She should know! Everyone should know! They all know what's wrong. They all know what is missing and broken and malformed. Yet none of them, not a single person, seems to want to fix it. Everyone is so focused on pointing out the imperfections, on spotting every little mistake, that they don't see how they can fix them. They can't see who they need to fix.

Silence overwhelms Sierra. Not a peep leaves her lips as she continues to stare. Continues to watch. Watch, watch, watch - she knows how much just watching irks me. She knows how much that just sitting there, just staring at me, gets under my skin. Yet she does nothing to break her constant stare.

"Shouldn't you know, since you know everything else?" I ask again, ignoring the hot liquid that seeps from my eyes. My vision blurs as I ball my fists, verging on the edge of blind