Author's Note: Some general T-rated-ness in here. Swearing, mentions of that baby-making act. Nothing explicit. Don't like, don't read.

Disclaimer: (See first chapter for general disclaimer.) I don't own the song lyrics, Massie's come from "Between Love & Hate" by The Strokes; Cam's come from "What Ever Happened?" also by The Strokes, which is definitely my favourite song from them. Just so you know. Derrick's tattoo comes from a Beatles song.

CHAPTER THREE: THIS AGAIN

000

Am I wrong?
Don't sing along with me.
I said I was fine, it's just the second time.
We lost the war.

000

I've changed out of my stage outfit and into a more user-friendly ensemble. A pair of low-riding jeans, white tank top. I pulled my hair into two buns on either side of my head. Derrick called me Princess Leia when he saw me. I stuck my tongue out at him. He just winked. Bastard.

If you don't mind my extreme sarcasm, this is quite a cozy little set-up here. Cam and Claire, looking like they just strolled out of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue to get here. Me and Derrick, looking altogether too much like a couple. His hand keeps snaking its way around my shoulders. I shoot him my patented death glare. Another wink. Good God.

"So, Golden Couple." Derrick's smirk seems to be painted over his face. He's grinning ear-to-ear and making Claire blush so hard it looks as if she could spontaneously combust any second now. "What brings you here?"

Claire beams. "Massie invited us. She's my sister you know."

"Oh, believe me, we know." Sarcasm drips from my every syllable, but Claire just looks hopeful. She nods at me. Nods? At me?? Since when have we ever gotten along? Since when have I been blessed with a nod from The Great Claire formerly-of-Lyons now-of-Block?

If you want the whole sordid, boo-hoo sob story, go check out PR's E! True Hollywood Story. I'll give it to you straight, though. No sugar-coating. My dad was cheating on my mom with the wife of his best friend from college, Judi. My mom caught them…in compromising positions and moved the two of us out of the house. Not long after that, dad's lawyer slapped mom with a loverly settlement deal. A couple weeks later, ba-da-boom-ba-da-bing, my dad's remarried and I've gained two darling stepsiblings.

I don't want to admit it. Can't admit it. But Cam looks kind of...attractive...in a completely non-romantic, third-party way. His hair is all tousled and his face is one hundred percent free of a Derrick-esque smirk. I feel a blush rising up my cheeks. Shit. Don't put yourself in this position, Massie! Damnit.

"Damnit," I say out loud. Within seconds, a shot glass (of tequila? Something stronger? Do I even care?) has been deposited in front of me. Down the hatchet. It sends tingles down my spine and I half-heartedly raise my pointer finger for another. This is gonna be a long night...

000

I wanna be beside her.
She wanna be admired.
You say "please don't make this harder."
No, I won't yet.

000

An hour and four tequila shots later, and Massie is a completely different person. A giggly person. A giggly, flirty person. A giggly, flirty person with frizzy hair. Claire wouldn't be caught dead looking like her sister. In jeans and a white tank, with her hair spilled over her top, Massie Block looks kind of...normal. As in, not the type of girl who's featured in Seventeen and COSMOgirl!

"Isn't he cute?" she's saying, pointing to a smirky Derrick Harrington. She's sitting on his lap and laughs at everything he says, tossing her hair back. Her eyes are glazed-over and her wine-red lip stick has all come off on the cocktail napkins, but she doesn't seem to care. Moreover, Claire keeps trying to insert herself in the conversation, but Massie speaks in short-hand. Every other word is an inside joke. Worst of all, Claire doesn't even know she's being blatantly ignored and excluded.

Not that Massie is exactly begging to hear my opinion on the presidential election or anything.

In fact, ever since she met up with us, she hasn't spoken one word to me. Occasionally, I think I catch her looking at me, but then she looks away so fast I wonder if it was just a hallucination.

Does she even remember me?

"Yeah..." Claire replies, batting her eyelashes at warp-speed. She attempts a come-hither look. It's highly entertaining to watch Claire flirt. She does this whenever I'm not paying her enough attention. She just finds some random guy and pouts her lips and bats her eyelashes and twirls her hair around her fingers. Kind of like the " slutty best friend" type in a romantic comedy.

Not that I've ever seen one.

Okay, so I have. But that's only because Claire adores them. Cliche, happily-ever-endings are her favourite. While I'm pondering this, Massie's yawns become more frequent until her amber eyes have closed forever, denying the world view. Derrick gives her a look. Not a smirk. A smile? Something like that. I hate him for that and I don't know why.

Okay, I do.

Because she was mine first. And I didn't want her.

And know that I do, she's his.

He picks her up, fireman-style, salutes the two of us goodbye and carries her off to God knows where.

"They make such a cuh-yute couple, don't you think?" Claire swipes one of Massie's half-empty shot glasses. She takes a tiny sip and wrinkles her nose in disgust at the taste. "Ew."

She said a mouthful there.

000

P.S., if I may ask why,
When will they get tired?
We've stayed up
All night tryin' — Tryin.'

000

"You sure you want to do this?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

"Nice enthusiasm, Mass."

"Do not call me Mass, Harrington."

"Fine, Block."

I can't see anything. If I could, I would see Derrick's hotel room which always manages to be better than mine. Possibly because Missy The Cougar has a crush on him the size of Tom Cruise's ego. My shirt is somewhere on the floor. My jeans are still hanging on to my hips. I can't quite tell, but I bet my hair is all matted to my face with sweat. Gross.

There's no light in the room and when Derrick starts kissing me, gentle at first, I pretend it's someone else. Not Zac Efron or some eye-candy of the month or whoever like some girls. I have no clue who this imaginary someone is. But he's skinnier, taller than Derrington. Paler. Without the tattoo on his shoulder that says "Golden slumbers fill your eyes, smiles awake you when you rise..." With darker, longer hair. With different-coloured eyes...

I jolt awake.

Shit. What time is it? Upon finding myself naked, I'm vaguely aware of Derrick's snoring form beside me. He's stolen all the bedsheets as per usual. Shitshitshitshit.

What hath I done?

Did I really think about my sister's boyfriend during sex? Yes.

Am I really this much of an idiot? Definitely.

Where are my fricking clothes? Who knows?

You can't answer a question with a question. You're the one who keeps running dialogue WITH YOURSELF.

I pull on my underwear, bra, my jeans. Still can't find my tank top. But whatever. I glance at the clock on the wall, through squinted, hung-over eyes. 5:06. Presumably in the morning. Who's even up this early? Besides, only in a teen drama would I leave the hotel room in a bra and pair of pants and find —

"Cam?"

"Massie?"

"Claire?"

"Massie?"

000

Whose culture is this and does anybody know?
I wait and tell myself, "Life ain't chess,"
But no one comes in and yes, you're alone.
You don't miss me,
I know.