A one-shot I came up with as soon as I logged off the computer last night. I think this is my first story so far that doesn't involve Taylor! Umm...I don't own F29DWN, don't claim to, blah blah blah. And if you're scared of the F-word, turn back now.

Melissa glanced down at the scrap of paper in her hand and then back at the dumpy "hotel" before her. She was still in a state of shock, and almost didn't want to go in. Not because of the fact that she was sure, so sure she had the wrong address, but also because she was scared to death that maybe she had the right one.

Her nose wrinkled in disgust as she looked around her, climbing the stairway. The place was smoke-filled and dimly lit, couples shouting in one room, teenagers partying in the other. It was all just too much, and she found herself wishing over and over, please don't let it be her, please don't let it be her, until finally she reached it. The hotel room that she prayed belonged to someone else. A drug dealer, a broke musician, the President of the freaking United States, anybody but...

"Oh, my God." Melissa entered the room, and slowly brought her hand up to cover her mouth. "What the hell happened to you?" She stepped inside, set down her purse on a cluttered bereau, took a deep breath, and sat down to listen.

FLASHBACK

It all started after high school, and it could probably be labeled just another story of a spunky redhead going down the wrong path and screwing things up.

Things started out small, nothing really. It was just that something inside Daley Marin just wasn't right. It made it difficult for her to, well, to deal.

Senior year in high school was fine, but after she graduated and discovered she had to face the world alone, she panicked. Little things, like not having fruit to ration, a fire pit to tend to, or a Nathan to boss around and peck on the cheek, gave her little tremors in her pale hands and tiny green spots that crowded at the edges of her eyes. But do sunspots and hand tremors make you drink? Befriend cocaine? Sleep around? Party almost every night?

Daley was not stupid in that respect. She knew what was going on inside of her. She just couldn't bring herself do deal.

END FLASHBACK

Melissa couldn't move, couldn't think, could only stare at the woman, the girl, before her. She took in Daley's hollow eyes, sunken cheeks, smeared make-up, less-than-invisible track marks and wrist slashes. But the saddest detail of all, in Melissa's eyes, had to be Daley's torn clothes hanging off of slumped, bony shoulders, making a great deal of grey, mottled body exposed.

"What do I do, Mel?" she whispered.

Melissa shook her head and got up, turning on her heel to go.

"Mel!" she actually spoke this time, her voice harsh and raspy.

"Daley."

"What do I do!?"

Melissa waited until Daley's breathing had regulated and her nervous, darting eyes came to rest on Melissa's face once more before replying.

"Daley, you fucking deal." she said calmly.

Daley's brows knit together in apparent confusion.

"Daley..." Melissa began slowly. "You asked me a long time ago if you could count on me. I never really gave you an answer." She paused, tears stinging her eyes. "Until today."

Daley's eyes overflowed as slow realization dawned. "No." she whispered. "NO!"

Melissa turned around once more.

"NO! Melissa, DON'T!" Daley went crazy, collapsing into sobs, throwing her beer bottle against the wall, tearing at her own hair. "You're all I have left, DON'T LEAVE ME!"

And even after Melissa did, still Daley cried. And slashed at the air in which Melissa had stood, and clawed at the door through which she had left, and cursed the God that had taken her away, until, finally, she curled into a tiny, pathetic little ball on the floor and gave up.

Because she never could fucking deal.