You can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Your car is parked in the same old spot, and by now your body assumes a familiar position, poised at the perfect angle to get the money shot. It doesn't get old. It's just your routine.

Lately you've tried to avoid the Camelot Motel. But this client, a rich businessman (aren't they all?), is willing to pay a small fortune to unearth his most recent wife's infidelity. And you want a new iPod; your old one is scratched up.

Click. You are finally able to capture it; that incriminating, vulnerable moment is now saved forever on film. Sometimes you feel guilty about always being the bearer of bad news. But not today. Today, you're just tired, and you want to go home.

You pack up your camera, always keeping one eye on the dark window of the room. You study the door; the paint is chipped, one number is slightly crooked. You have never understood the romance of such a place. Maybe you just don't think like other people.

Suddenly, without warning, the door opens, and out steps the businessman's wife. She's young and pretty, but now her hair is slightly out of place, her make-up smeared. Nothing is particularly out of place for a torrid affair. But something else catches your eye, before the door completely shuts. You see a face in the room that you don't want to recognize. Your stomach twists.

When the woman is safely out of sight, some strange, invisible force drives you to exit your car and knock on his door. He answers promptly, not even asking you to identify yourself. The look on his face when he sees you would be comical in any other situation, but right now, you can't focus on humor.

"Logan, what the hell are you doing? Do you know who her husband is?" you hiss.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking. And you?"

"I'm serious. God, what are you thinking? Do you have a thing for trophy wives or something? Is she really worth it?"

"Are you trying to protect me?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I'm just…I'm just trying to make sure you don't get yourself into another stupid mess," you explain hastily.

"So you are trying to protect me." He says it more as a statement than as a question.

"It's not like anyone else is going to."

He doesn't argue with that. You both are silent for a while.

"We've been here before," you mutter.

"Would you get over the Kendall thing already?"

"No, I mean…we've been here before." You gesture at your surroundings for emphasis and he exhales sharply, understanding what you mean.

And then, right on cue, his lips are upon yours, and you doubt you could ever pull yourself away. He's like quicksand.

You're kissing Logan Echolls outside the Camelot Hotel, but you know he'll never be your knight in shining armor. You say it's like you and he are on a carousel, but it will never slow down long enough for you to jump off. So you keep turning and turning, forever in your downward spiral. You fight, you cry, he drinks, you kiss, rinse and repeat. Every time, you tell yourself it's different, but it never is. You spin until you're dizzy, so dizzy that you fall.