So, this is how it could be:

White dress, a hairdo that looks like she'd spent hours with it and she's smiling like a mad woman.

Which is truth be told only accurate as she's a maniac by nature. Yup, one of the traits you're apparently into. Pretty damn bad even.

So, she's standing there in all her white-vested glory and you're in front of her. The place you belong, right. And you're smirking like the pervert you truly are (but would deny at court) as you imagine all the things you're going to do to her precious little body tonight and of which her mother wouldn't want to know. But hell, the whole room knows what's gonna happen so the smirk stays.

There's nothing to hide as she's grabbing your hand and yeah, you're not giving shit that's considered PDA. PDA's freaking awesome right now. Everyone fucking knows and it's perfect as it gets them to back off. Yup, you're possessive (as long as she allows you to be, but you're not telling) and this girl's yours (you're whipped) – it's happy ending time or beginning.. or whatever, fuck semantics, you know what you're talking about. You both worked (Ifuckinghateyousobad!) hard (Youruinedmylife!) for this and you deserve each other („She looks like she might kill him..") - in the best and the worst way possible. And she's sticking her tongue out for you and you're pretty tempted to bite it. Yup, neither of you really changed.. except for the better maybe – and who needs mature behavior anyway?

But here's the thing.. That's not what's happening.

And you did change. A lot.

You're 26 and the only thing in front of you right now is your mailbox. You haven't seen her tongue in a couple of years... or anything else of her to be more precisely.

There's your outstretched arm, holding a goddamn envelope you don't really dare to open. There's reality and printed bells on beige-colored paper and her name, written in a squiggly script and connected to another one that isn't yours. It looks just as wrong as it's bound to be.

And just as your left hand reaches out to rip this stupid prank (because yeah.. what else could it be?) apart you notice that... but maybe we should just wind back a little.

It begun when you were 15.. on paper at least. Maybe it started before. Maybe you've just waited your whole fucking life for her to step into yours and freaking turn it upside down.. but maybe that just sounds a little too much like fate.. and maybe that's just something you want to believe.

But that's not the point.

So.. you were 15 and your Dad had been dating this woman for months and decided that she's the one for him and yeah.. brady-bunch up the whole family because being the four of you just wasn't enough for him. Not that you really had a choice in that matter. And it sucked. Of course it sucked and you were 15 and had endured enough change for those short years of your life.

But you stood back for your father's happiness because you're simply not the kind of asshole they'd all claimed you to be. Not that you'd be willing to admit that. You had a reputation to keep.

But you stood back nevertheless. Buried Operation Disengagement and welcomed them as halfheartedly as possible... because you just didn't do emotional. And so you tried your best to accept them.. accept her, with all the girlish trouble, the vanilla scent, the drama and the wannabe-family-feel-good-moments. For the 'greater good' as you liked to put it in your head. And you couldn't even bring yourself to regret it.

The first time you met her was procrastinated. As if they had known about all that was about to come right from the start and tried to postpone it as much as humanly possible.

"She's.. different from you." Had your father told you, as he examined you thoughtfully and "the two of you will probably clash violently.", "Pah," You had simply answered in all your adolescent foolishness and turned your attention back to the TV, "Chicks dig me."

If things would have just run as smoothly as you'd imagined them.

"You're gonna hate her." Your brother told you, the morning of the dreaded day that would put and end to the life you used to know, his face paradoxically carrying an expression of utter excitement. You just rolled your eyes at him, muttering an annoyed "Whatever, bud." in his direction as you munched on your breakfast and made your way outside.

Marti had called her a princess.

She believes it's the right thing to do but she's no idiot.

Her brown curls, cut at shoulders length and she remembers that you liked it better when her hair was longer. She can even imagine how your face would scrunch up and how you'd tell her she looked like a boy. Even though she hasn't seen you in a couple of years. If she was completely honest she'd say is has been exactly three years, two months and eleven days but that'd sound obsessive and although that's utterly true.. with you she's not allowed to.

She shouldn't be able to perfectly recall the sound of your voice or the way your eyes used to lighten up in excitement. She doesn't know that they haven't in a couple of years. Exactly three years, two months and eleven days if you'd be honest. Which you aren't, because there's that part that 'honest' makes feel itchy; Which she isn't, because she believes it's the right thing to do and 'honest' might just tell her that there's no security in believing. But she's no idiot and she's looking at Jeffrey, curled up next to her, whose hand just fits right into hers (not perfect; not in the life-changing kind of way, but alright is good enough.) and she's pretty damn sure (absolutely – but that just sounds like too much meaning.) that no matter how much she believes it's right, she just wants you to prove her wrong.

Maybe she's just a bit too rational for this kind of thing and maybe that's why 'honest' is attention-seeking and puts a question mark behind every 'I love you' she'd whispered to the sleeping man beside her. She doesn't allow 'honest' but it's trying to break free.

And yeah, there's still that little voice inside her head that tells her that she deserves more than good enough (it sounds strangely like yours, but she's not telling.)

Jeffrey's arm pulls her closer and she's putting her head onto his chest, breathing in his scent that's familiar and good and almost secure. And she's pushing 'honest' far away and tries to snuggle into him, even though that's not humanly possible. Because Jeffrey's a good man whom she loves(?) and she's not 15 anymore or 23 and there was a time (three years, two months and eleven days ago) when the part of her, that thought there could be more to life than good enough, had been ripped out of her and taken away. And she has done a lot of growing up, isn't a teenager anymore and has built a new version of herself.

(You'd call it damaged – but you're not here to tell.)

This is settlement and she knows it.

Jeffrey isn't Prince Charming, but he's a good man and she thinks 'maybe', someday when she'll be finally able to burn and bury 'honest' once and for all, he could be.

It's just that her perception's a bit askew, she thinks – it's a mere leftover of her youth; Growing up needs time ( three years, two months and eleven days) and she's just not quite finished yet.

(That's not it, it's a part of her – but you're the only one who knows.)

After all, since when wears the fairy-tale definition of Prince Charming leather jackets?

'It's 'cause you're insane.' Your voice says inside her head and she's not smirking. Not at all.

('Honest''s gone for now, remember?)

You're 26 and by now you should have learned to be responsible but there's this girl, Cassie, sleeping next to you and you don't really remember how to be fair.

She's 19, barely legal, with chestnut-colored hair and green eyes and you don't recall the way you've met but now she's sharing your bed almost regularly, visits your games and calls you her boyfriend.

You haven't been a boyfriend in awhile and somehow you think it should mean something to you, but you're no idiot and even though she's fun to be with and quite good in the sheets, you know she's not even a proper distraction.

Sometimes you think you can't be distracted anymore and sometimes you like to pretend.

In the night, when she's on top of you and green and blue almost look the same and you just stare at the way her dark curls whip along with every movement she makes.

You like to pretend and say her name a little differently. She never notices and you never tell.

It's a bit insane you know and there's that face inside your mind that looks nothing like the girl next to you, no matter how often you try to make yourself believe and it's rolling its eyes at you.

'It's wrong.' that voice says and you know even though it's one of those moments you try not to.

Because you're no idiot. (No matter how often someone used to tell you otherwise.)

The moment you laid eyes on her for the very first time wasn't as dramatic as you would have imagined based on your family's talking. Granted, she stood a couple feet away and had her back turned to you but no horror-movie music arose, her arms didn't look like they could rip a full grown man apart and the people around her didn't seem to suffer from air pollution.

From a good 10 feet distance she looked fairly.. normal. And so you waited for her to turn around and show her face so you could experience the moment you knew would come. The moment your eyes would meet and you'd feel instant hatred like you expected. When she finally did it wasn't exactly hatred that rushed through you; for a brief second something dropped inside your chest and strangely enough it was not what detestation was supposed to feel like. When her eyes met yours you felt instant-something-entirely-else and you couldn't really put your finger on it but it was confusing and weird and felt like it fucking belonged and you were a rebel by nature and there was nothing that should belong, because you wanted freedom and chaos (and that's something else she'd roll her eyes at.).

So you avoided and stared and pretended it wasn't you she was supposed to meet.

(You paid Ralph 20 bucks and it's irrational.)

You couldn't hold back for long and the first thing you did was insulting her. She was supposed to be your step-sister and that was the only reason it was bothering you that Ralph just kept on hitting on her. (Really.)

You imagined your mother's frown at you because youshouldn'ttalktoagirllikethat and you knew (god-fuck-yes-you-did!) but there were a lot of things you would have done if she'd been allowed to be a girl in your eyes and you were only doing this for your father and this was really the first time in your whole fucking life you didn't know how to act.

(And yeah, it killed you.. but that was inappropriate and this time you cared.)

So this was Casey and not a girl and you would learn to hate her.

(You were meant to fail from day one.)

You don't remember your first kiss but the first girl you slept with was a blonde and it happened after a rather nasty fight with a certain step-sister you were not supposed to view as female.

It was a Friday-night party and you were drunk and it was messy and awkward and you called her the wrong name, but she was just as wasted as you were and didn't seem to notice.

(And it just happened because you had forgotten hers. Really.)

When you came home it was far after midnight and Casey was asleep on the couch and you tried very hard not to notice the dried traces of whatever on her cheeks. You didn't tug the blanket around her motionless figure (Really. Suddenly it was simply there.) and you didn't stare at her face for 20 minutes. (The watch had got to be broken, that's all) And when you fell onto your bed, still fully clothed and nauseous you didn't feel like crying at all.

(There was just something in your eye. It happens.)

She's sitting on the floor of their living-room with photographs of her youth scattered all around her and she's waiting for Jeffrey to ask as he's studying the Christmas-pictures from her first year at Queens. It's a Snap-shot her little sister had made of her sitting next to you, exaggerated smiles on both of your faces and she remembers her step-father forcing the two of you to remain civil for at least a single picture. It's not her favorite but it makes Jeffrey grin as he's holding it up her face.

"That's cute." He says and she wants to correct him how there is absolutely nothing cute about it.

How this was just a couple days before all hell broke loose and.. she stays silent instead and just holds his gaze.

"When was it taken?" he asks and it sounds casual but she knows him well enough.

"First year of Queens. I was home for Christmas." And she knows it's not enough of an answer, that this isn't all he is asking for and she can't blame him. No matter how forced the expressions – she's able to see it too.

"Who's the guy?" He finally asks – just as casual. (Fake. But she can already taste the denial on her own tongue and she understands.)

"George's eldest son." She finally says – casually of course – and the worried look in his eyes vanishes and his forged smile turns honest. (She's better at pretending than he is.)

"Your step-brother? Howcome you've never mentioned him?"

That's the moment; And 'honest''s back, trying to push itself up to the surface and there are the million things she should tell him rushing through her head but she simply shrugs instead.

(She's not trusting her voice and there's your amused face smirking at her.)

He's not buying it; Of course he isn't.

Jeffrey's a smart man and that's one of countless reasons she's going to marry him.

Smart man and smart woman. Not an idiot. (This has nothing to do with you. Really.)

Jeffrey's grin turns wider.

"Oh, come on!" He says and she stares at him "Give me a bit more than that. Is this some kind of a huge family-secret I don't know about?"

'You have no idea.'

"Not really," She says and suddenly his nose turns rather interesting (But it's okay. It still seems like she's looking at him.)

"He's somewhat of the black sheep of the family an I didn't think it's important."

She's almost surprised at how easy these lies are coming out of her mouth. She shouldn't be. She's used to it. (She learned from the best after all.)

"Not important?" Now he's laughing and she can't help but think there's nothing funny about it.

"Come one, now I'm curious!"

"There's not much to tell.." Your voice inside her heard starts laughing as well, but it sounds sardonic and she almost wishes (almost. Except she'd rather jump out of the window.) she could tell him the truth.

"He was the black sheep and now he's gone."

"Gone?" He stops laughing. "He's dead?"

For a moment it feels as if her heart stopped beating.

"No!" She says and it sounds a bit too eager. "I meant gone from my life."

She doesn't want to think about the 'otherwise'-part.

"He broke off contact to concentrate on his career."

She makes it sound like you're the bad guy, but it's okay. It's easier. You'd do the same.

(It's wrong and she still remembers the look in your eyes.)

Jeffrey looks sad and she has a hard time keeping up the facade, but she manages; she's used to.

"Where you close?"

She almost smiles. "We used to hate each other."

(Among other things, but he doesn't need to know that.)

But Jeffrey's a smart guy and he's frowning at her.

"The picture could have fooled me." He says and she's glad he didn't see the stash she's been hiding in her old bedroom. The one she should have burnt years ago.

He tries to catch her sight and for a moment she thinks he knows.

(But he doesn't. He can't. There's nothing to know.)

"Are you sure that's all?" He asks and for once she wishes he could be a bit more of an idiot.

(It's not the first time but the reasons are different.)

"Did you invite him to the wedding?" He starts pushing and she's averting her eyes and takes the picture out of his hand. That one forced picture she had forgotten to take out of the stash in front of them.

"Of course not," She snarls "He wouldn't want to be there."

(You would. But the background's all wrong.)

"Princess..." Jeffrey starts but she's cutting him off – in the childish kind of way – with her hand shoved in his face, covering his mouth and his eyes widen.

"Don't call me that, Jeffrey!" She shrieks and pushes herself off the ground. She doesn't look at him as she's stalking out of the room, leaving the mess of photographs and unanswered questions behind and closing the door with a bit more strength than would be needed.

He doesn't know her like that, she thinks and shakes her head as if it could wipe out all these images that start to appear inside of her mind.

That one picture's still clutched in her hand and for a moment (a short meaningless moment that doesn't really happen) she's staring at your face.

Her eyes don't burn as she's ripping it apart.

(He's not supposed to call her 'princess'.)

It's about 8pm when your sister calls you.

You're in the bathroom, your girlfriend's picking up the phone and for a moment you feel sick as you notice they're almost the same age.

"Honey, there's a Marti on the phone." You hear her calling from the other side of the door and you can't help but notice how jealous she sounds. You simply nod at her as you leave the bathroom and take the speaker right out of her hands.

"Hey Smarts." You say and ignore the daggers she's staring at you.

"Hey.." Your sisters voice replies and she sounds amused.

"Cassie – huh?" You can almost see the smirk you know she's wearing.

"Mere coincidence." You answer and suddenly you're not able to sound as indifferent as you'd like to.

"Of course, what else could it be?"

She knows you too well. (And well enough to let it slide.)

"How's life, Smarts?" Avoid. (What else is there to do anyway?)

"Peachy. School's a bummer but it's not for long anymore and my math-teacher is hot."

You roll your eyes. "Sometimes you disturb me."

"Oh well, a girl gotta entertain herself somehow, right?"

"Please stop talking.."

She's laughing. You force a smile.

"Swipe that fake grin off your face and tell me what you've been up to."

(She knows you well indeed.)

"Not much. Season's off for another month and besides practice and a couple of interviews there's nothing to do." You trail off. You can almost hear her frown.

"You know what I'm asking for." She sounds stern and you stare at the floor.

"Did you get mail?" And you nod even though if you were rational you'd recall that she's not able to see it.

"So you did." And there's just a tinge of pity in her voice. "Did you call her?"

(You did. Three years, two months and eleven days ago)

"I've got no number.." You answer after awhile.

(And that's not it, you both know. This couldn't stop you.)

"Oh, you got something to write? Or I could text y.."

"Smarts!" (You never told her.)

"..I really think you should.." ( Stop her?)

But you've got her number memorized, the online-print of her graduation-picture in your nightstand, a bottle of her favorite perfume in your bathroom and a drunken act of stupidity permanently inked to your chest and you never told Marti.

(But Marti knows.)

You cut her off as she starts speaking again.

"Goodnight Smarti." Your hands are moving on their own.

"Contact her, Smer.." Fingers pushed to red and the line is dead.

(She won't be angry. She understands.)

"Who was that?" accusing snarl, crossed arms and an angry glint in her eyes. With her it's not appealing and you're rolling yours.

"My sister, Cass, my baby-sister." You're too tired for this.

"You have no sister!" She shrieks and stomps her foot to the ground and you see the humor but it doesn't reach you. You frown at her.

"As a matter of fact, Cass, I do – not that it's any of your business, but I happen to have a rather large family."

She's pouting at you and you just turn around and walk away, your fingertips absent-mindedly tracing the single letter above the place where your heart should be.

(But it isn't. It's just a pumping muscle instead.)

When Marti was 12 years old she decided she wanted to be a photographer. She had always been a strong-willed young lady (some might have even called her stubborn) so it didn't take much persuasion to get your dad to enroll her into the local high schools photography-summer-program and just as she was the youngest, she was also the best.

"She's really capturing the moment.." Casey said in awe as she sat next to you, Marti's newest work in her hands and you were close to her (so close) and you were in awe too. (But you weren't looking at the pictures.)

You weren't holding her hand because Derekwecan't and you didn't say a thing and no one knew a thing and you heard the sound of your sister's Camera and adverted your eyes just a little too late. Marti smiled and Casey smiled and everything was simply fucking perfect. (Except it wasn't because you had to pretend, but you didn't need perfect; You just needed her.)

A month later Marti had won a prize and there was a picture in the mail with your faces on it.

Marti never told the theme and you never showed Casey but Google was your friend and you knew.

(You still keep it in your wallet.)

The day she had accepted Jeffrey's marriage proposal had been a rainy one.

It was a Saturday and she had spent all morning chatting reality away, in that cute little café on 2nd Street with one of her co-workers, when it caught up with her.

The umbrella tightly gripped in her hands she stood in front of the magazine stash of some shop she usually wouldn't bother to go into and there was honesty and reality and you on the front-page of some gossipy magazine she usually wouldn't care about, but somehow did and so her wallet lost 2$ and her mind its ease.

'The rising star of the Toronto Maple Leafs' She read once the door of her flat had closed and she had made sure her boyfriend was gone.

The living-room was empty, tidy and silent and the forged smirk on the cover made her nauseous.

'An exclusive insight on the private life of Toronto's hottest bachelor.' Was written underneath that face she knew just a bit too well for her own liking and she flipped to page 27 and started to read. She didn't look up until the last line. (Was there ever a girl you loved?)

She didn't stare at the last word for 15 minutes. (No.)

And when Jeffrey took her out that evening, dressed up, expensive and oh-so-perfect she smiled at him and accepted.

It was a bit childish and twice as wrong but a part of her always dreamed about that moment and she was really (almost) happy.

(She didn't know the reason you declined was the past tense.)