Courtney's view:

Sitting in the cargo hold, I breathed in the dusty air and let out a sigh. It was a good place to cry, this cargo hold. Like my grandmother's attic full of relics. I used to love exploring it when I was a little girl. Fingering my short chin length brunette hair, I wish that I was a little girl again. Just for a few minutes. When I believed that words could never hurt me and that nobody would ever try to.

About week ago Duncan cheated on me with Gwen, my friend. I remember throwing a fit in the lunchroom. I cried and screamed my throat hoarse. Duncan just ticked me off. No matter how hard I tried to make him realized how much he made hurt and how hard I tried to make him hurt, he never seemed too give. When I looked into his eyes all I saw was a hollow empty shell.

Seeing Duncan and Gwen together made me want to barf. One part of me wanted to tear them apart, kiss Duncan and have a sleepover with Gwen. Tell them how much I missed both of them. Another part of me wanted to chuck them off the plane, and make sure they were never happy again!

I took a couple deep breaths to calm myself. I had to say calm.

When the kiss happened, I thought everybody would agree with me. I mean they had betrayed my trust. I was the one that was hurt. I was the victim.

First, I noticed how the cast members still stayed friends with them. Duncan still had a level of authority in his team. And for some reason my team didn't hate Gwen. It was obvious that Cody still loved her. They all still liked them! I did too, but I didn't let it show.

Checking the fan sites like I always did, I thought they would agree with me. I know there are people there who I never want to meet if I want to live till 21. But surely they would agree with me. I was the victim.

All I was met with was hate. Short sayings like "Bitch deserved it" to long psychotic rants describing how much they hated me and exactly what they would do if they found me. Occasionally I would see a drawing of me being tortured while Gwen and Duncan kiss and laugh in the forefront.

I don't know why I kept looking at them. They made me sob and wail, but yet I still read them obsessively. They were my poison.

So I sat in cargo hold, breathed in the dusty air that reminded so much of my grandmother's attic and wept.