this was going to be angsty, & a massington. then i realized i can't write angst for shit, & clairington is where my heart is (: claire's mom is a movie star, claire is a bit of a queen bee, derrick's a bit of a rebel, & cam's a bit of an asshole (whoops.) enjoy.

i. denial

Your mom always tells you (in those small instances where she finally remembered she had kids) that there are two truths to every story. One of them is the real, whole, nothing-but-the truth that should be kept to yourself and only yourself. The other is what you tell the paparazzi. It's not lying, it really isn't. It's kind of... padding.

So, you decide as your breath hitches in your throat and you start drowning in chocolate, if anyone is to ask what you were doing with a certain Derrick Harrington (even though you have one of the sweetest boyfriends in the world and you are frequently caught saying the words, "I fucking hate Derrick Harrington.") in the back of the library, you would shrug and nonchalantly say, "Studying."

Because that's what you were originally doing, and had been doing, until Derrick Harrington had plopped his rebellious, rule-breaking, annoying, cocky self down onto the seat next to you and said in a sultry, low voice, one word: "Hey."

To which you had promptly said, "Fuck off."

Then there was more bantering and a few innuendos, and, BAM. You're suddenly breathing in his cologne and his hand is resting on the back of your neck and you have no idea how that's happened but you really, really want to close your eyes and melt into the kiss he's surely about to steal from you, even if you had proclaimed Derrick Harrington your sworn enemy in kindergarten when he poured mud down your new shirt.

Your eyelids start to close, but then that same sultry, low voice remarks, "Don't you have a boyfriend?" And pulls away from you, and your eyelids fling open and blood rushes up to your neck and cheeks, and you clench your fist and hit yourself on the head mentally for being so fucking stupid because he's Derrick Harrington and you hate him and you always have yet you almost kissed him and now he's looking at you with a knowing smirk on his face, probably preparing to go and tell everyone.

You gape at him with an open mouth as he scrapes back his chair and slips you the smallest of winks, leaving you dumbfounded.

Later, Massie comes up to you with a hand on her hip with one perfectly threaded eyebrow raised. "Kuh-laire," she says. "What were you doing in the library today with Derrick Harrington? Because I just heard from Alicia who heard from Josh who heard from Derrick himself that Cam may need to watch his heart." Her amber eyes flash.

You press your pink lips together as you look at your best friend. It's not lying, it's padding, you tell yourself, as you shrug and nonchalantly reply, "I was studying."

ii. anger

The next day, when you open your locker, a note flutters out. You catch it before it hits the ground, and turn it over. An angered expression crosses your face as you read it, and you storm off in your Gucci boots, ready to find and kill Harrington.

You see him leaning against the lockers, talking to Josh Hotz, and march up to him, shoving the note in his face. "What. The. Hell."

violets are blue and roses are red
i wouldn't mind if you gave me head

A smirk appears on his lips as he reads the poem. "Classy, Claire," he says, raising an eyebrow. "But didn't we talk about the boyfriend thing yesterday?"

Josh laughs at this but you throw him a deadly glare and he mutters something about being late and leaves. You turn back to Derrick. "Why did you leave me this?" You demand, anger shooting up through your body from the floor. It feels like it's engulfing your veins, making your blood boil.

"Who said I left it?" He asks, beginning to walk down the hall.

You follow him. "Well, you're kind of an asshole and this is a very asshole thing to do, so I just connected the dots," you shoot back, tearing the poem into pieces and dumping the pieces into a trashcan.

"Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart, there are girls just as hot as you at this school who would appreciate pieces of art like that," he says, going up the stairs now.

Irritated that he called you sweetheart, yet flattered that he called you hot (but not really), you catch up with him again. "Art? That was totally vulgar!" You exclaim, crossing your arms over your chest. "Ugh. Whatever, Harrington."

"See you later, Lyons."

iii. bargaining

"Yeah!" You cry out, as your boyfriend kicks the ball into the goal swiftly. You punch the air like the good girlfriend you are, grinning broadly. Then, the grin abruptly leaves you face as the smell of cigarette smoke enters your nostrils. Annoyed, you turn around. "Could you like, go spread lung cancer somewhere-"

You stop when you see who has the cigarette sticking out of their mouth. Floppy blond hair, eyes that seem to always know what you're thinking. "Yes, Claire?" Derrick asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Never mind," you mutter, turning back around.

Derrick slides down one level on the bleachers, seating himself too close to you. "What were you about to say?" He asks, the cigarette still between his lips. Smoke floats into your face.

"Smoking gives you lung cancer," you reply numbly. Then, you mentally slap yourself and talk to him more firmly. "One day, you'll get it, and you'll die. And I won't be sad. At all. I might even laugh."

Derrick's eyebrows knit together. "Is this your subtle way of telling me I should quit otherwise you'll be happy? Which, of course, can't happen, because you know my only goal in life is to annoy the shit out of you," he says, holding the cigarette between his thumb and index finger. You blush. He looks smug. "Or, you actually do care about my physical health" - you scoff - "in which case, I'll quit if you sleep with me."

You're shocked, but recover quickly, hitting his side. He barely winces. "In your fucking dreams, Harrington," you sneer.

He looks unfazed. "Not even a kiss?" His face is dangerously close to yours again.

Using a lot more willpower than you want to, you push him away and turn away. "Hell no."

He shrugs and stands, preparing to leave. "Whatever." He turns, then pauses. "But, while we're on the topic of who you're kissing, I'll quit if you're willing to go through your boyfriend's phone."

You stare.

"I'm just saying, you might find something interesting."

iv. depression

"You look so down, Clairebear," a voice says the next day while you're picking apart your salad the next day, supporting your head on the back of your hand. As Derrick slips into the seat across from you, you let the fork drop, metal clanging against a plastic tray.

You look up, your eyes feeling dry because you probably bawled out all the moisture yesterday.

Derrick studies you for a few moments, then reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out an almost-full pack of cigarettes and a plain black lighter, setting them down, the lighter resting on the white box, sliding it down to the end of the table. "I'm guessing you found something interesting."

"Very interesting," you mumble. "How'd you know?"

"Cam's a bit of a bragger in the locker room," Derrick mutters. "Very proud of his achievements."

You sigh. "I'm sure he is." Your memory flashes, you remember all the names, scrolling through all the messages filled with innuendos and winking faces. To think you had felt guilty over sitting with Derrick in the library.

"Have you talked to him yet?" Derrick asks. You shake your head. "Would it make you feel better if I said if I wasn't already on disciplinary probation I would totally kick Cam's ass for cheating on you?"

You try to hold back a smile. But it fades quickly when you see the heterochromic asshole himself. Derrick flicks a glance behind him and gets up from the table. "Good luck," he murmurs, slipping you a small smile.

(You don't even feel bad as you dump Cam's ass.)

v. acceptance

"I, um," you stammer, as you walk up to Derrick. Your palms are sweaty, and you wipe them on your jeans nervously. "Uh, thanks, you know, for telling me." You nod, the silence awkward.

Derrick closes his locker. "I felt like you deserved to know."

You nod again. "Right. Yeah. I did. But, thank you. Really. I mean it. I - I don't know, it's just, I can't believe how well he hid it from me and -" you stop. "Yeah. Just wanted to say thanks."

Derrick frowns. "Um, anytime." He doesn't elaborate, and we stand in an awkward silence again.

"Okay. I'm going to go," you mumble, turning away, before you hear an exasperated sigh as a hand grabs your arm and keeps you in your place. You turn around, pressing your lips together in anticipation.

"That's not the only reason I told you," Derrick admits slowly, his grip on your arm loosening but not letting go. You bite your lip. He lets out a bit of a laugh. "You know, it's kind of irritating having the girl you've liked since eighth grade screw around with a total prick?"

He pulls your body close to his while you try to resist the seemingly magnetic force between your lips and his.

His eyes seem to search your face, and his mouth his just so close, so finally, you get tired of waiting and wrap your arms around his neck and say, "Oh my god, kiss me already."

He smiles and obeys.

don't mind the title; i was listening to that song when i wrote this... so... yeah. probably didn't follow the 5 stages as well as i wanted it to. meh. but other than that i thought it turned out pretty okay.

review?