WARNING!

1.)This fan-fic contains violent language and mature themes such as: mentions of rape and abuse. If you are offended by it, don't read it. Don't report me or flame me for it, this warning, and this story's rating, is here for a reason. Please and thank you.

2.)Yes, this is based off a book called 'Still Missing' by Chevy Stevens. I do not own her work- she does. She has the rights to all her characters, and the Total Drama creators own all of the characters of Total Drama that I have used.

3.)There is Duncan/Gwen in here for a bit, as well as Courtney/Trent. Only a little bit, and that changes after Courtney comes home. If you have a problem with these couples as well, don't read this story.

4.)Updates. I don't know when I'll update... I guess it will depend on the reviews and if I can think of good situations for this story.

5.)This story starts with Courtney talking to her therapist, Lindsay. Throughout most of this story it's going to be like that. Lindsay will never directly talk to Courtney unless I think up a situation where it should happen, just so you kow/get a basic idea of this...

6.)I love you.

Enjoy~~~~ Ashleygirl

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Still Missing, Courtney's Tale

So it's our first session already, huh? Wow. Time flies- it was only a week ago that I set this up, and I'm already regretting it.

You see, Doc- I'm going to call you Doc. No first name bullshit- we're not friends, here. There's no cuddling up with me and stroking my hair- and I swear to God if you even think of asking me how this makes me feel, I'll be out your door and you'll have one less patient to deal with.

Besides, you already know everything- well, at least the main story. The whole I-got-kidnapped-by-a-psycopath shit that everyone refuses to let go. Yeah. I'm a great patient already, huh?

If we're going to do this, we're going to have some ground-rules here.

Number 1: No interrupting. You let me tell it my way, or I'm gone. Number 2: No telling me what to do about this shit, how to handle it. Number 3: No asking me 'how it makes me feel', like I said. Number 4: Refer to numbers one through three.

Got it? Good. I like you already- which is big for me, because I don't like people anymore. People used to be ok, they used to be fun- now? No way. I'm not stepping into that fucking bubble and getting lost again. But you? You're a bit ditzy. More of the stereotype that people think when they think of blondes- and you seem to know where your place is. I like that.

I'm also glad that your office is on the first floor. If it was on a second floor, high up, no exits- I'd be out that window before you could even shake my hand and tell me your name- Lindsay, right? Blond name. Fits you well.

My name's Courtney Hale- but you already know that. Everyone does- you can't go near Canada anymore without thinking,"Hey, isn't that where that Courtney girl was kidnapped for over a year?"

But here's some things you need to know before we get started here, Lindsay. Things that you're going to have to fucking accept if you want to get any information out of me. Maybe I'm confessing to make myself feel better- I've already fricking explained the story enough times, but every time I say it... I can't stop picturing his face.

Number 1: I sleep in my closet every night with my dog outside the door. Every. Fricking. Night.

Number 2: I killed someone once.

And no. I wasn't always such a bitch.

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It started with my first big case- the one where that girl claimed she was raped by that one guy? Yeah, that case was mine. I won it, too- should've made me happy.

On the way back to my office, I had stopped off at a little gas-station to grab something for dinner- I take it you don't like gross food from the gas-station, you're face just scrunched up. Anyways, I was waiting for the cashier to ring up my stuff and I caught sight of this flier.

It wasn't anything that would've immediately caught my attention- just a picture of some missing girl that some family wanted found. I know, ironic, right? I remember wondering how this one flier caught my attention, but I felt nothing. I didn't know that girl, I wasn't her family- I did want her to be found, though.

Once I got back to my office, the day was nearing its end, and I was back at my office shuffling papers when the janitor walked in- long straggly red hair, green eyes, a face that wouldn't necessarily stick in your head.

"Just cleaning up," he rasped- must have had asthma, I guessed. I nodded- the janitors here never bothered me, after all. They usually came in a started cleaning up without acknowledging me.

For a few minutes, it was quiet, and then he lumbered on up to me- the action caught me off-guard, until he smiled. He had a nice, friendly smile. One that made me relax.

"You're a lawyer, right?" his raspy voice came out, and I quirked an eyebrow at him and nodded,"Yes, why?"

"A friend of mine is in a situation, and he needs a good lawyer- I was wondering if you'd want to consider taking on his case?" he asked, and I thought it over- I loved winning a case. It was in my blood- my dad won some of the most talked about cases up here in Canada, and I was right on track to follow in his footsteps.

"Sure, I'd be happy to help, is there any way he could meet me sometime? I'd need to discus his case," I replied, nodding as I threw my purse on and tucked a strand of my mocha-colored hair behind my ear.

He nodded and blushed like I was the most charming thing ever and asked,"Well, if it isn't too much trouble, I'm supposed to meet him and his girlfriend for dinner- if it'd be alright with you, I could take you with me and we could discuss his case over dinner."

See, looking back now- it should have put up alarm bells in my head. I should have had an instinct on whether or not this guy was an okay guy- but here's the thing:

He was like a puppy. Eager to please with a killer smile and a persuasive, confident sense of self. People like that are easy to trust, huh? Everyone's easy to trust when you first meet them.

So I said yes and we walked to his car- a big-ass white van filled with cleaning supplies.

As soon as we got a few feet from it, I felt an odd sensation of my lower back, and as I looked up at him, a smile twisted his lips and he leaned over like we were the best of friends and said,"Do as I say and get in the back of the van, and you won't get hurt."

See, now, my first instinct was obviously to fight back- maybe I could drive my hand up and shove his nose back into his brain, maybe I could kick back and dislocate/break his knee-cap.

But he had a gun against my spinal chord. If I tried, all I'd get was a shot through my spinal chord that could render my legs absolutely useless. I'd probably bleed out and die- no one else was around. It took me too damn long to realize that, and we didn't have any cameras in this building.

I was still at the bottom of my league- granted, after this case I probably would have been promoted to a much nicer, safer building, but that wasn't what had happened, so I was stuck.

I did as I was told, until he had me open the back doors- and that's when I started to try to plead with him.

"Please," I gasped as he shoved the tip of his gun right up against the lower part of my spine,"I'll do anything... you want my money? Take it. I-if you're going to rape me, please... just knock me out first and leave, I promise not to tell anyone, I swear-"

He rubbed his hand up my arm, sending shivers all throughout me as he practically snarl-rasped in my ear,"Now, now, Courtney- no need to get upset. We're just going to go for a nice, long drive."

He shoved me in, had me get on my stomach, and felt up my legs.

It was then that I realized that I was crying- hard, gut wrenching, shaking sobs that had no sound. I'd never cried like that before- not when my dad died, taking my sister with him. And certainly not when my mother started drinking.

I tried to talk again, but he snarled from behind me and jabbed the gun into my spine harder than before, shutting me up instantly.

And then I felt a prick in the back of my right leg, and everything went black.

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I can see the way you've tensed up, Lindsay. It's rather amusing how obvious people are about not liking something. The first therapist I saw when I came back was a lot different from you- and he didn't hesitate to blab about me. I left as soon as I could, and it took me nearly three months to start thinking about taking therapy sessions again.

It makes me wonder what you'll do. This sounds rather sick, but you remind me of The Freak- that's what I called him, now and then, though he never knew. You remind me of his good side- the one where he had a puppy-like air about him. Innocent.

But you don't wear a mask. It's funny- after how long I was kept away from society, now, I can see people's masks really damn well. I can read facial expressions way better than I could before I was taken.

It also makes me wonder what you'll be like once I get to... those parts. The parts that are what keep me up at night, what keeps me locked in my hallway closet every night with my eyes wide open and my ears tuned in to every little sound. It makes me shy away from people- makes my guard go up whenever anyone- even a little old lady- is near.

Lola- my husky-malamute mix- thinks she's protecting me by laying outside my door. She seems to be the only one that I want to be around, nowadays.