A/N: Hi guys! I'm back (obviously). It's summertime, so I no longer have a life to which I can devote my time. Pretending I had one to begin with. Hehe.

Anyway, this story is pretty much pointless. It's Derek PoV and I can't decide whether or not it's oneshot material. I don't think it is, so it might turn into an actual story. Or maybe just a 3-parter. It depends on what you guys think.

Regarding other matters: I'm reposting all my old stories on here. "So Wrong, But So Right" will be up soon, as will it's sequel. I think the only Instant Star story I'm bringing back is "Hurt," because reading "Broken Road" hurts my eyes. :shudder: Sorry for exposing you to that atrocity.

This came to me randomly, and, like I said, has no point for existing. It just wouldn't go away. Oh, well. It's out now. :)

R&R-Enjoy-R&R-Enjoy-R&R
Shannon

"What do you want, Derek?" she asks, fixing me with a penetrating glare. I would say I'm proud of her, because she never could pull that look off before me, but this isn't a good time for things like that.

"I want to talk to you about something," I reply, returning her look with my own glare that I'd mastered since the age of twelve.

"Well, duh, Derek. I figured as much. Could you be a little less vague?" She's getting irritated now. I should hurry before she breaks out that scathing wit of hers.

"What if I don't want to? What if I want to be the one with a little mystery for once?"

"Now you're just being difficult. Get out of my room, Derek. Your face is making my stomach churn." It's official. I've screwed up – and royally, too. I mean, it's not like I wasn't pushed into it. She's so bitchy sometimes I want to strangle her. But I guess that's no excuse for what I did. What I'm doing.

"Fine. Whatever, Casey. I'm tired of this shit, anyway," I say, turning and waving my hand dismissively as I walk out the door.

It's always the same thing with her. If I'm not currently doing something of the not-so-ethically-correct variety, then I must have already done it or I'm concocting a plan to do so. Like she's so perfect. Please. She's done plenty wrong. It's just that I can never think of any when the time calls for it.

I storm into my room and slam the door. I am in need of some serious angry music here. Unfortunately, Dad finally kicked his parenting into gear and grounded me for not doing well in school. Took away my stereo, computer, the works. I don't get the point of grades, anyway. All they do is give the teacher's pets a reason to gloat over the not-so-academically-gifted students. Talk about superiority complex. Jeez.

Unable to listen to music, I angrily sit down on my bed and brood.

That's another thing Casey has a problem with. She says I'm always moody about something. Well, if she wouldn't give me a reason to be moody then I wouldn't be fucking moody! But, no, she always has to have something to bitch about. What is it with females and the constant need to be complaining about something? And, oh, believe me, they do. This is all wrong, and that wasn't done right, and nothing is ever good enough for her!

I try. Oh, believe me, I try. I try as hard as I can to please her. I no longer torture her as much as I used to (you can only cut back so much; she just makes it so easy! ...don't judge me), I don't call her Klutzilla -- I even got people to stop doing that. I doubt it even crosses their easily-swayed minds anymore. She didn't even say thank you. And I know she knows that it was me who got them to stop. Who else would've done it? Certainly not that whackjob boyfriend of hers. Ugh. Don't even get me started on him.

What more could she possibly want from me? It's like she can't comprehend the possibility of me ever doing anything decent for her. The thing is, I do nice things for her all the time. Sure, the torturing thing toning down and the whole Klutzilla deal, but those were mainly done due to a guilty conscience. No, I do tons of good stuff. I help out around the house so she doesn't have to do as much and Nora doesn't pin it all on her (you know how it is; she's too afraid that Dad might yell at her if she yells at me so she yells at Casey). I actually turn my music down when she asks, I don't take so long in the bathroom (even though it's hilarious thinking about her doing the "Bathroom Dance," if you catch my meaning) in the mornings, I drive her to school and let her change the radio station. Now, if that isn't nice then I don't know what is.

My point: I am small and insignificant in her eyes, no matter what I do.

And, yes, it's depressing, but that's why I brood. Which makes her complain some more. Which, in turn, makes me brood more. It's a vicious cycle that does not seem to have any possibility of ending.

But, God, how I love her. I just wish she could see that. I mean, it's pretty obvious, what with the radio thing and all.

I don't think she hates me, though.

"I hate you, Derek!" I hear her shout as soon my door slams. Ouch. Maybe I was wrong.

"Love you, too, Case!" I reply. But whatever. I'll get her someday.