11.56 PM, SO RANDOM SET

"Here it is," Sonny Munroe yelped with exhilaration.

The television screen flickered as the portly talk show host waved his hand, cueing the video tape to ensue as Chad sat with eagerly folded hands – unaware of what the footage could've possibly possessed: a secret celebrity admirer perhaps? Preferably one with long, dark hair and a pair of lips that when grinning could light up the world around her. Funny would be nice too – as long as she wasn't funnier than him of course.

"So talk to me, Chad." Sonny's voice floated from above as the tiny beaded video camera shook with her every move. Though her face wasn't visible, her hands could be seen, moving with each exacerbated word. "Tell me the difference between Chad Dylan Cooper and who you really are."

Chad peered upwards from his seat atop his bed. Sonny had made sure to move him from the bathroom, from the tangled cluster of stuffed toys and tear stained tissues. His features compressed with macroscopic confusion as he idly scratched at the side of his head. "Why?" he questioned dubiously, blowing at the wisps of blonde hair before his eyes.

"Just humor me."

"All right, I guess – well, what'd you wanna' know?"

"I want you to tell me what sets you apart from Chad Dylan Cooper," Sonny asseverated.

"I'm not mean."

"Who's not?"

"Me – Chad."

"As opposed to," Sonny's voice trailed off into the distance, her fingers motioning for him to continue.

"Chad Dylan Cooper."

"How come you have to be mean?"

"Because that's what everybody expects me to be."

"Expects you or expects Chad Dylan Cooper?"

"What do they care – they think we're the same person," Chad muttered a bit despondently, shoulders slumping against the propped wall of pillows behind him.

"So give me an example of how you're not," Sonny offered gently.

Chad's eyes narrowed into a squint. "Why?"

The speakers crackled heavily as Sonny sighed directly into the miniature camera's microphone. "Just do it already, Chad. Trust me."

"Whatever, fine," Chad grunted with a glum little shrug, the tip of his tongue sliding across his lower lip in thought as his gaze raised towards the ceiling. "Chad Dylan Cooper doesn't care about anything but himself."

"And you?"

"I care about Madeline a lot – and other people of course," Chad said with quiet earnest. The camera hadn't been able to catch it but at that point a rosy blush had crept across his cheeks as his eyes had flickered towards Sonny for a brief moment. Across the screen ran the subtitles: "Madeline has been Chad's best friend since they were children."

"What about your fans?"

"I love my fans."

"And Chad Dylan Cooper?"

"Not allowed to even talk to them. My producer says they're like a disease. If you take a picture with one you'll spend the rest of your life in that same spot, taking pictures because they'll never let you go."

"Tell me about the stories in the tabloids."

Chad's pupils rolled as his nostrils flared angrily. "Half the time I'm at home when they supposedly see me out at a club, pushing people and starting fights or whatever It's all an image someone else created for me without letting me have any say at all. I just have to suck it up and go along with it."

"Why?"

"Because unlike most actors, I actually like my job. Losing it would suck a lot more than people think."

"And what do people think?"

"That I'm some spoiled little celebrity who doesn't know how good he has it. I do know," Chad insisted with hesitant sincerity. "And I'm beyond grateful."

Sonny beamed proudly as the television crackled with the audience's applause – the camera panning to the surprised yet pleased look upon Chad's face. "See," she boasted, nudging Tawni against the ribcage pointedly. "I told you he'd like it. Look," she quickly cried out, pointing at the screen. "See, I told you! Those, Tawni Hart, are the beginnings of tears of happiness."

"Yeah, that's great," Tawni dismissed, leaning in closer towards the television set with a pair of narrowed eyes. "Hey Sonny - didn't you say the video ended with him being all sweet and stuff?"

"Yeah," Sonny replied, throwing a fistful of warm popcorn into her mouth.

"Then what's that?" Tawni's finger was stretched, referencing the shift upon the screen.

Sonny froze. The video was over. The world had seen who Chad truly was – a nice, good person. Her job was done. She'd redeemed herself for all the treachery she had planned to put him through. No, she had something good instead. Her job was done. The video was done.

So why was it still playing?

"I told you, I can't eat."

"Yes you can."

"Not without wanting to puke," Chad suddenly howled. "Every day, every time, all the time. I don't ever get to be myself, Sonny. Never. I have to be what everyone else expects me to be every hour of the day and it makes me sick – literally sick," he snapped, viciously digging his fingernails against the skin of his arm. "This is not a pity party, okay?" Tears that had dried now sprang back into action, smothering his face like a cloud full of smoke. "This is me being tired of sobbing myself awake in the middle of the night because I know deep down, I have to be the jerk that everyone despises for the rest of my life. This is me being tired of throwing up every time I read some article about what a stuck up, chauvinistic male pig I am over something I would never say or do. But because the producers tell my publicist what to write, it doesn't matter if I do it or not. It's still out there," he said with a defeated, sardonic grin. "Can't take it back – and I am tired of trying, Sonny. I'm just tired of it all."

"Chad?"

Chad sighed. "Yeah?"

"You're not – you're not making yourself sick are you?" Chad shrugged, mopping the tears up with the hem of his sleeve.

"Doesn't matter."

"You really do hate yourself, don't you?"

"Yeah. I do."

Sonny watched with horror as Chad's face crumpled before her and millions of other viewers' eyes – color draining from his cheeks completely. Pasty and quiet, he suddenly turned – retching loudly over the popular late night host's feet.

Tawni paused, nose wrinkling as she tilted her head to the side.

"So tell me something Sonny," she started with a soft whistle.

"Yeah, Tawni?" Sonny responded with a mortified squeak.

"Was that supposed to happen?"