A BIG thank you to Ramona (miss_heathen - their Ao3 acct) for beta reading. Without their inspiring presence, this series would not have been revisited. I hope everyone has a restful holiday season, enjoy!
Losing Sight of After Playlist:
1) Genesis by Armors, 2) Ghosts by BANNERS, 3) Got The Time by Joe Jackson, 4) I Miss the Misery by Halestorm, 5) A Little Less Conversation - JXL Radio Edit Remix by Elvis Presley, Junkie XL, 6) Trouble by Hamish Anderson, 7) Goodbye by Bo Burnham, 8) The World At Large by Modest Mouse, 9) Help I'm Alive by Metric
She didn't sleep. She tossed, turned, did anything but sleep. It was unnatural being on display even at night. The stars were calming, although subdued due to the chemical excess from prior seasons. When the stars begin to fade into a light blue sky, Courtney was fed up. But when her hair whipped into her face from huge gushes of wind, she was ready to explode.
Above the campers was a helicopter, lowering Chris within earshot.
"GOOD MORNING, CAMPERS," Chris shouted through a speaker. Inaudible groans were shared among the contestants. It had been a while since she had been "awoken" so shockingly. She had gotten used to waking up before the sun rose and staring at her phone for hours, eventually managing to fall back asleep for a little bit. Despite being familiar with sleepless nights, it didn't make them any easier for her. Especially when they turned into early mornings with a maniac grinning down at her from a helicopter.
"RISE AND SHINE," Chris continued his obnoxious shouting. The helicopter swayed dangerously, earning screams from the rest of them. Eventually, it landed on the campgrounds from an extremely unsafe distance. The helicopter blades slowed to a stop, but that didn't stop Chris from using the speaker. "HOP ON BOARD, YOUR NEXT CHALLENGE AWAITS."
"God, what I would do to be a viewer who could mute this man instead of actually being here," Gwen groaned, pressing her hands to her ears.
"Man? I think you mean child," LeShawna grumbled. "Or demon."
Interns were throwing the campers' bags haphazardly into the helicopter. Courtney took that as a sign to speed up her pace, so she jumped from the top bunk to the ground. Her usual pajamas were replaced with a baggy t-shirt. She resented Chris always, but it was extra strong this morning since she couldn't apply concealer before cameras were shoved in her face.
"I swear to God if you touch me, I will sue," Heather snapped at an intern hurdling the contestants onto the helicopter.
"Hey, that's the princess' line," Duncan quipped. Her stomach lurched. She knew this was a mistake.
"Literally no one was talking to you, prison bait," Heather whipped her head towards Courtney's ex. Courtney's throat loosened up at Heather defending her. It was rare that she felt the support of one of her costars, and the fact that the support was coming from Heather … well, it made her feel like the badass Heather claims she is. As such, she couldn't hold in the laugh that came out.
Duncan turned towards Courtney, his eyes narrowing. "Do you have something to say? Last I checked, your prissy ass couldn't string two sentences together unless she was ordering us around."
"No," Courtney mustered up a fake laugh, trying to maintain the façade of aloofness. "Unlike you, I don't hang on every word you say."
"Oh, good one." Duncan rolled his eyes as Heather snickered.
Chef came up from behind the group, herding them inside the small aircraft. Courtney saw how her competitors were confused. Mumbles were shared among the group, everyone trying to figure out why they were moving locations. She was as in the dark as her peers, figuratively and literally as the door slammed shut leaving them all soaking in the musty air of the tiny area.
Everyone eventually sat on the ground, no one was surprised by the lack of seats or any safety equipment on board. It didn't take long for small circles to be formed, everyone separating so they could pass the time with each other. Except for Courtney. She was sitting uncomfortably by the wall, observing. It seemed so easy for everyone there just to coexist. Meanwhile, it had only been barely 36 hours since her arrival, and she felt like she wasn't there.
She heard the laughter and saw their smiles, but it felt like she was one of the viewers on the outside looking in. Somehow in the past year or so it felt like a part of Courtney had expired, whatever part that is necessary to connect. Her strict personality had made it difficult for her to click with others her whole life, but now it felt impossible. As if any personality had been wiped away and she was a blank slate, only there to mirror others to the best of her ability.
"You look lost," someone said to bring her back to the present moment.
She turned her head to see Tyler staring at her. A comfortable silence fell between the two of them. Courtney scanned the group of teenagers, taking in the ease of their conversations, the light behind their eyes, the weightless air among them. Turning back to Tyler, she admitted, "I think I am."
…
They were back on the set of Total Drama Action, everyone looking up to Chris on the amphitheater stage. Luckily, no one had to jump out of the helicopter to get here, but they still had a rough landing. It felt unnatural to be here with every contestant; there were too many of them and it was suffocating Courtney.
"Welcome back to the set of TOTAL. DRAMA. ACTION," Chris announced. "I'm sure you all were shocked this morning when we moved you."
"There is literally nothing else you could do at this point that would shock us, Chris," Heather interrupted while filing her nails.
"Yeah, actually I can't remember the last time I felt surprised by the show," Trent added. "Well, besides it getting renewed for another season."
"Of course it got renewed, I'm here, aren't I?" Justin joined the conversation. His confidence was unwavering as he primped in his handheld mirror.
Then, Justin was hit in the head by a flying object falling off the back of the bleachers. Chris had thrown a box of gilded Chris trophies into the bleachers with contestants earning a collective gasp. Bridgette rushed up to the top of the bleachers to look down at a somewhat broken-looking Justin on the ground with his now-broken mirror.
"What was that about not being surprised?" Chris snarled.
"Holy shit," Duncan muttered, followed by laughter. "That was fucking hilarious."
"Duncan, shut up! He could be seriously hurt," Bridgette yelled. "Courtney, don't you have first aid training?"
Silence followed.
"Courtney?" Bridgette pushed.
"Huh," Courtney turned to face her, not realizing she had been addressed. She felt like she was living at a slower speed than others, still processing what was happening. It just registered that a gilded Chris had barely missed her head.
"Can you help with Justin?" Bridgette asked again.
Chris held his microphone by a speaker earning a shriek of feedback from the sound system before Courtney could answer. The contestants all covered their ears, waiting to remove them to make sure he wouldn't do it again.
"Justin will be fine; Chef is already going to take care of him. Now, shut up and LISTEN."
It was safe to say the group was shocked to silence. Chef prancing by in a striped nurse costume only intensified the silence.
"Throughout this season, there will be a lot of travel as we cycle through old challenges and old locations. You will be worn out. I don't care," He took a beat, almost as if he was expecting someone to interrupt him with an annoying quip. No one did. "We bring you back to Total Drama Action's set for the rendition of 'Riot on Set.' I've taken mercy on you all and will not be requiring you to build a stage. Instead, you will perform here on this stage something you create. You are given no script and no materials, anything you bring on stage—words or props—is entirely up to your team. Not everyone on your team has to act, but whatever you perform must earn a reaction from Chef. Those who get the most emotion out of our beloved hardass will win immunity this week. Any questions?"
"Yeah, actually, what do we—" Cody started.
Chris interjected, ignoring the contestant, "None? Great! You have two hours."
…
"This feels… unnatural." Bridgette stood in front of the Bass' practice stage with her arms crossed. "There's nothing on stage! Isn't Chef going to be bored?"
"Yeah, man. I feel like this is a big risk dude. Like, where's the cool stuff?" Geoff stroked his chin. "Like explosions!"
"Oh, yes, dude!" Duncan fist-bumped Geoff. "In prison, I was shown this awesome—"
"Could you two be any more destructively stupid?" Courtney snapped. It was bad enough she had no creative energy to actually contribute to this competition; now, she had to trust her—quite frankly—incompetent teammates. Her entire life her parents took her to award-winning performances, she should be able to understand this. But she didn't. It all seemed out of reach. What the hell does a black box contribute to a performance?
"There she is! The CIT from hell," Duncan retorted. It received little more than an eye roll from her.
"Guys!" Harold shouted. "The whole point is for there to be nothing, gosh. It brings the focus to the actors."
"Not to mention, it's a lot less work on all of us," DJ reasoned.
"Thank you! Now, can we please start thinking about what we're going to do?" Harold pleaded.
Silence ensued. This was ridiculous. How could they all be having so much trouble considering they've literally done these challenges before? She was fed up! Duncan won this competition already the first go-around. It seems like his talents only existed if someone fed him the lines.
"Well, if we want less work—which is the coward's way, if you ask me—" Courtney started.
"No one asked!" Duncan snarked.
"Oh, just shut up! As I was saying, why don't we just make D-Duncan do another rendition of grandma turned criminal?" she suggested, tripping over his name. For years she had refrained from using his name as it alone was enough to make her throat constrict. More than that, having to admit he may be their best chance of winning made her want to jump off the fake cliff on set.
"Hey, that's not a bad idea man!" Geoff seconded her idea.
"I have to agree, then the rest of us can help with script writing, lights, and makeup!" Bridgette echoed her boyfriend. Courtney was just thankful the two had become capable of coexisting in the same space without sucking each other's lips off.
"No fucking way," Duncan objected.
"Yes fucking way," She spat back, earning a gasp from her teammates. Of course, it's ridiculous for her to show any semblance of anger, but her ex could light a house on fire, go to prison, and worse while still maintaining his friendships on the show. It was frustrating how simple gasps could lead her to spiral. Because of those gasps, now she's reminded how regardless of any change—positive or negative—she will forever be constrained to the CIT mold set for her by their first impressions. There were no second chances, just too many seasons of this cursed show. "Listen, as much as I hate to admit it, you're the only one of us who has done this and done it well enough to win. It doesn't even matter if you have the wrong script—or any script for that matter—you can somehow rile up Chef enough to react. Now, stop being a useless appendage of this team and actually do something!"
The team stared at her as if she were hazardous and they shouldn't dare to get too close. The team, minus Duncan. He took it upon himself to stomp forward into her personal space.
"Listen, princess," Duncan sneered, the nickname caused Courtney's stomach to lurch. "In case you forgot, I don't answer to you. Never have, never will. What ever happened to the whole 'I'm not gonna acknowledge Duncan's existence,' because I sure as hell would love to go back to that!"
"Oh, that's rich. Way to make everything about you, as always, neanderthal. Let's not forget who was basically crying in the confessionals about how I wouldn't give you the time of day. Now, try to move past that gigantic ego of yours and realize that this is about the team. Not. You."
"Oh, no, no, no. This isn't about the team or me. This is about you being a tightass! You never stop ordering everyone around. Last week, it was you who told everybody what to do—"
"And we won!"
"Winning isn't as fun when we have to listen to you."
"Oh, so you speak for the entire team now?"
"GUYS!" Bridgette shouted. Courtney and Duncan stopped, mouths agape. They were too close for Courtney's comfort. She immediately stumbled backward, almost falling. "We really don't have time for you two to fight. There are only 45 minutes before the performances."
"Hold up," DJ cut in. "Maybe them fighting is exactly what we need."
"Excuse me?" Courtney guffawed.
Duncan didn't agree either. "I can tell you what I need: a fucking break."
"I don't know about the rest of y'all, but when those two get each other riled up I want to reach for a bag of popcorn," DJ explained, Courtney was glad to hear that her distress was entertaining. At the very least, she could always argue she was interesting as long as Duncan was paying her attention. How comforting. "And I bet Chef feels the same way."
"The big wimp has a point," Eva shouted. "When you guys throw fighting words, I can't help but wonder if you're gonna throw down or jump on each other."
"Barf." For once, Duncan and Courtney agreed on a matter. It's disappointing that all their coexistence has chalked up to was sexual tension. Sex sells, she supposed. But, God, couldn't she exist as a female without being expected to subject herself to men's sexual fantasies? Sometimes anger was just anger.
"OMG, this is like that one show we watched Sadie!" Katie jumped up and down. "What's that show? You know the one where –"
"Please, can you two airheads focus on something for more than five minutes?" Eva groaned.
"Enough, gosh! It's decided. Following our minimalist theme, why don't we put those two on stage and let them improv an argument?" Courtney felt like she might throw her PDA at Harold if he suggested one more "creative" idea. But her teammates—minus Duncan—obviously didn't feel the same. Bright faces were focused on the two of them.
"That's actually a really good idea." Bridgette commented, "Arguing can't be hard. You guys disagree on everything."
Tyler looked uncomfortable, he had been making deliberate eye contact with her ever since their "heart-to-heart" or whatever you'd call that talk. "I don't know, guys… Shouldn't we let them have a say? It doesn't seem like the easiest task for the two of 'em," Tyler disagreed. She was relieved that someone else here at least sympathized with her dread of being near her ex. With her fingers crossed, she hoped and prayed that her teammates would let her out of this one.
"Why don't we put it to a vote?" DJ replied. "All in favor of improv?" All hands raised, except for Courtney, Duncan, and Tyler's. "All opposed?" Just the three of them. "It's decided! Let's spend the next half hour deciding what their topic could be."
"Ooo, what about that whole Gwen thing?" Geoff answered, earning a slap on the head from Bridgette.
"I'm not dealing with this. I'll be back before the competition starts." Courtney felt her cheeks flush.
…
The amphitheater seemed larger than before. Courtney sat on a black box facing Duncan. She watched his Adam's apple bob up and down, his converse were creasing as he tapped his foot, he had his arms crossed with his hands squeezing his biceps; he looked small, never managing to look her in the eyes as they sat together; they were close enough for her to smell his body spray but yet the two couldn't engage in their scene. At least two minutes of silence had to have passed of the two silently observing each other. Courtney rubbed her hands on her thighs, wiping the sweat away. She never thought she would hope for Duncan to talk, but here she was. Time stretched, extending her discomfort.
"BOO, say something!" Chris shouted throwing popcorn towards the stage.
Duncan's eyes cut to Chris, the ice blue piercing through the air. He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward on his knees, turning his cold stare to her. "Yeah, what's the issue here? You seemed to have plenty to say earlier."
"There is no issue," she answered plainly.
"Oh gee, how perfect," Duncan threw his hands up. "The one time you don't have something to complain about it actually hurts our team. You know, you sure do talk a lot of shit about helping the team, but you never really do shit do you?"
"What is that supposed to mean?" Her eyebrows furrowed, confused by what he was getting at.
Duncan rolled his eyes, "It means you're fucking full of it! You sit there and talk this big game about knowing what's best for the team, for me, for everything, and you don't know anything!"
"What does me trying to help the team have anything to do with you?" Courtney was struggling to keep up with this conversation, it felt like she was missing something.
"It doesn't."
"But you just said 'for the team' and for you."
"I know what I said!"
"God, do you ever think before you speak?"
"Not all of us need five years to register someone talking to us, babe. What the fuck is wrong with you? It's like you're not even here!"
"What? Duncan, you're making no sense. I'm here."
"Bullshit! Before, you would be everywhere. And now, it's like—"
"Like what?!"
He stood up so quickly that his box toppled over. He began to pace his side of the stage.
"Duncan?" She remained sitting on her box, confused about how or why he was reacting so strongly. Maybe it was for show—they were trying to get a rile out of Chef after all.
"You know, I hated how you rode my ass when we were together. And I hated how you ignored me after. But at least then you were there. There with me, acknowledging my existence. I don't even recognize you now."
Is her Now really that different than her Before? She thought she had been in character for the past day.
She refused to believe him. To believe what he was saying would mean accepting that Now is worse than Before. To accept that would be to continue believing it just gets worse from here. She couldn't take another reason to believe After wasn't worth seeing. "I—you have spent the past day going on and on about how I'm my usual CIT self. You're contradicting yourself to the point that I can't keep up."
"God, it's not that difficult. You've changed. What the fuck happened to you, Courtney?"
She laughed. Cynically. If she had to admit she had changed, she would do so in a blaze of fire. "Is that a rhetorical question? Are you serious? This show happened to me, Duncan. You happened to me. Life happened. Believe it or not, my existence and the sum of my parts are not limited to what you see here." It felt like her ribs were shrinking. "I'm so sick of people's perceptions of me being limited to what you and this show have chalked me up to be. I am so much more than the 'CIT from hell.' Do you think life pauses for all of us while you're locked away in prison? People change, Duncan. Grow up."
It was small, but there was a shift in his demeanor. He stepped towards her, not close but no longer distancing himself from her. A ghost of a smirk found its way to his face, annoying her that he was getting pleasure from this. "Me grow up? You are such a fucking dramatic know-it-all who is trying to act as if you're any better than before but, deep down, you and I both know you're not. Why would you be here if you were?"
She opened her mouth to take a deep breath in, trying to clear her throat of the imaginary phlegm choking her. Was he right? Was she so much worse than before that she couldn't even fake being ok? Even after therapy, after medication, after so much fucking talking with her parents, nothing had gotten better. Nothing would get better. Why would it? Anything she could possibly look forward to had lost all of its meaning the first time she realized life wasn't worth it. Her hands dropped from her thighs to the edge of the black box, her fingers clinging to the side. She had to calm down. She could barely breathe. Her vision was shrinking, her breaths became shallow and fast. What the cameras could see was Duncan continuing to shout at her, but a new desperation infected his voice. Almost as if he was begging for Courtney to respond. He hesitated but eventually rushed forward to grip the sides of her shoulders. Shaking her, forcing her to attempt to make eye contact with him.
She couldn't register what he was saying, there was only ringing in her ears. Bile rose in her throat. Duncan flipped off the camera crew and slid his arms under her armpits, forcing her to stand up. Tripping only a couple of times, Duncan made it off the stage with her.
Chris and Chef shared an awkward glance, their reaction was no different than everyone else's: pure discomfort.
Harold rushed to the front of the stage, "And scene."
…
The warmth of the campfire was very much missed as Courtney was surrounded by her cold teammates. They lined the bleachers in front of the stage. Their performance earned 0 points from Chef who deemed it "unprofessional." It was a great time for Chef to start caring about professionalism. Courtney was sure she was going home. She was the one who blew it and didn't engage in the black box argumentative performance. Then, like always, she just completely blanked. She ended up throwing up after, earning a concerning yet also angry glare from Duncan—whom she was ashamed to admit had to hold her hair back for her. Yeah, she was going home.
She didn't bother to listen to Chris' speech or who got the gilded Chris trophies that followed. That is until she realized it was down to the final two—her and Harold.
"And the last gilded Chris goes to….." Chris wielded the trophy in the air, switching between Harold and Courtney from afar. The silence grew, Chris a fan for dramatics. "…Courtney!" Gasps from both Courtney and Harold were let out, the trophy flew through the air; it hit Courtney in the head, knocking her backward into Bridgette's lap.
"Are you okay?" Bridgette exclaimed, gently touching the already growing bump on Courtney's forehead.
Courtney sat up slowly, rubbing her temple. "Yeah, thanks."
"How am I the one being sent home when it was Courtney's fault we lost?" Harold argued. Courtney had to agree, how did she make it past this?
"Will any of you ever just go quietly…" Chef groaned, picking up the nerd by one arm and carrying him off the limousine.
He went kicking but eventually was thrown into the limo. The remaining Bass team members filtered out, all but Tyler.
"Was that a panic attack?" Tyler asked her bluntly.
"I guess," she shrugged. She had never mentioned them to her therapist because she couldn't deal with another diagnosis. "That was the first time I've thrown up during one. I'm not really sure what counts as a panic attack if I'm being honest."
"It seemed like it was uh—debilitating."
"Yeah, I don't know what happened."
"What happened was Duncan being a jackass. It was so uncool how he went about that. I'm sorry we put you in that position, dude." Tyler had started tugging at the side of his sweatband, frustration evident in his furrowed brows.
"It's not your fault. Or anyone's. I'm just shocked you all kept me after Chef disapproving of our performance."
"Yeah, about that. You may want to talk to Duncan."
"What does Duncan have to do with this?"
"You'd be surprised." Tyler annoyed her with his vagueness, but she didn't pry. "You should go get some rest; our beds are actually in an enclosed space tonight."
"Yeah, I think I will." She stood up, unclenching her fists not realizing her nails had been digging into her palms the entire awards ceremony. She hoped no one was left in the washroom and made her way to the showers.
…
She was alone. Finally. The shower had been difficult. It felt like her wrists had weights attached to them as she washed her hair. She was trying to think of a 'bright spot' of her day because gratitude exercises were supposed to help when she felt like she had this weight on her chest. But most of the time—including this time—it just left her feeling like an ungrateful bitch. The day had been awful. When she had so many bad days in a row, it made everything worse. She felt like she needed to cry, all she could muster up were a few tears as she let the shower water rinse away the remaining grossness from her episode. Reaching out, she turned the warm water off and let the cold water shock her into not crying anymore (a trick she picked up on during her first semester of junior year). Quickly, she turned off the cold water.
"How much longer are you going to be?" Duncan's gravelly voice rang through the bathroom.
She froze. What the hell is with people interrupting her one moment of alone time? In the girls' bathroom, of all places. "Duncan, you are not supposed to be in here!"
"Yeah, yeah. I need to talk to you so get out here." She could hear his eye roll.
Carefully, she reached out and grabbed the towel from the hook making sure not to reveal any more than her hand. After drying off in the stall, she came out clenching the towel that was tightly wrapped around her. She noticed Duncan falter before he took on a flirtatious look—one brow, or half of his eyebrow (it never seemed to stop growing into a unibrow) tilted upwards.
"What do you want?" she snarled, not wanting to be around anyone—especially him—at this moment.
He scoffed. "Is that how you treat someone who held back your hair while you vomited?"
"That's how I treat someone who makes me need to vomit."
"Touché," he shrugged. "I came in here to talk to you about something, but, first, I wanted to see how you were. I've never seen you like that before."
"You've never spoken to me like that before," she quipped, not wanting to entertain this conversation any longer. She yawned, suddenly growing uncomfortable that her dark circles were showing. Maybe that's why Duncan faltered earlier. Or maybe it was her collar bone protruding from her shoulders, that was different from before. Maybe he was right, maybe too much had changed.
"I—yeah." Duncan seemed at a loss for words, he leaned against the counter watching her brush her hair. She stared back at him through the mirror, noticing how his jaw was clenched. He was never one to apologize, but his body language seemed to indicate some remorse. Or maybe Courtney was reading into things for him.
She stopped brushing her hair, waiting for him to say something. Silence stretched too long, so she dropped her brush and turned to him. "Why didn't I get sent home tonight?"
"Why do you think?" Why was he incapable of answering a question? Maybe that's how he avoided any serious punishment from his crimes, he must've gotten really good at exercising the right to remain silent.
"You really think I'd ask if I knew?"
"God, humor me, princess." This was exhausting.
She took a guess. "I don't know, clearly someone helped swing the vote."
"Yeah, guess who."
It couldn't be him. He had nothing to gain by keeping her here. "Oh, God. You?"
He took on a smug smile, apparently proud of this. "Yes, me. If you haven't noticed, I'm pretty good at this shit gameshow. Since the winning pot is a fuck ton bigger this time, I'm playing to win."
"Shocker. So are the rest of us, Duncan." It must be nice to only think about winning on this show, or in life. To have a clear-cut goal ahead of you. Why can't she just be like him?
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Anyway, after dealing with everyone, and working with some of the other annoying contestants, I wouldn't place my bet on any of them."
"Okay?"
He stopped leaning on the counter, seemingly growing a few inches in height as he came closer to her. "But I never stopped betting on you."
To be completely honest, the first words that came to Courtney's mind was "the fuck?" but she wasn't one to partake in such responses. How was she supposed to react to something like this? After today, she wanted to be able to react as she had in the Before. But she couldn't bring herself to imagine what that would have been.
So, she settled for a quick insult. "Quick, you better shove soap in your mouth before you start actually sounding genuine."
His shoulders fell a little. "Ha. Ha. My point is, I know I can win this. But I also know you can too."
"Obviously." She didn't need his validation.
He rolled his eyes. "So, I want to make a deal."
"I can't offer you the kind of deal you're interested in." Her nose scrunched up in disgust.
He threw his hands up in the air—he did that a lot around her, she noted—falling back against the bathroom counter. "God, could you shut up for two seconds?"
"I don't know, could you finish this monologue already?"
"What the fuck is a monologue?"
"Jesus Christ! We literally just finished a theatre competition."
"What does theatre have to do with this?"
"Forget it, could you get to the point already?"
"If you would let me! Anyway, the deal: you. Me. Final two."
The fuck?
She couldn't even begin to comprehend why Duncan would want to stay in this game with her until the very end. They would rip each other's heads off if their previous record indicated anything. There was no way she would ever agree to this. The Before her would never agree to work with her cheating ex-boyfriend that triggered another depressive episode. "As much as I'd love to keep your company until the very end, I have to ask: what's in it for me?"
"Ah, you always were a smart girl." He winked.
"You literally make my skin crawl."
"I've done plenty of things to your skin before that you didn't complain about." His smile stretched, a familiar lightness taking over his demeanor. A lightness her Now could not bear to remember.
So, she wouldn't. "Ew. That was clearly a momentary lapse in judgment, could we never talk about that again?"
"Oh, I guess you had countless momentary lapses in judgment then. Remember how you'd pu—"
She gripped the bathroom counter, the familiar blackness framing her vision. She swallowed and managed to get out her words, "Seriously, stop."
"Ok." She was thankful he knew to actually drop the joke.
"Whatever." She was desperate to change the subject. "Just tell me what makes you think I'd say yes to this?"
"We split the money. Winner gets 80. Second place gets 20. Think of how many semesters of college you could pay for. We both know McGill ain't cheap."
He remembered where she wanted to go to college. Why the hell would he remember that? Why the hell would she care about him remembering this? It's not like she actually believes she'll make it to college. It doesn't matter that he remembered.
"And we both know that we don't work well together."
"Oh, I think our sex life would beg to differ." Holy shit, could he drop the intimacy?
"Please, don't remind me that I actually slept with you."
"Oh, princess, I'm sure you don't need me to remind you. Your dreams do that all on their own."
Anger was replacing the annoyance for her. "Could you be any more of a sleazeball?"
He let out a bark of laughter, seeming to enjoy the return of their antics. "Sleazeball? Wow, you're losing your touch."
She started pushing him with one hand, clutching the towel with a death grip with her remaining hand. "Whatever, just get out!"
"Oh, come on," he whined. "You didn't even respond to my offer!"
His offer? His offer was stupid. It betted on her making it to the finals, which she couldn't even imagine making it through the next two weeks at this point. With this being her second day? How could she imagine making it that far? It was so annoying to see how easy it was for him, for Heather, for everyone here to believe they could make it that far. She was so fucking jealous of them. She couldn't imagine what it was like to live a day looking forward to another one.
But instead of unloading that unto him, she just settled for, "I told you, we don't work well together. I'm not going to hedge my bets on us. It just—it doesn't work, Duncan."
He let himself be pushed closer to the door. "Wow, so typical of you to write me off just because of a few—"
"We really don't need to rehash every detail of our past." She stopped pushing.
"Fine."
"Fine," She stood there waiting for him to leave. He didn't. "Aren't you going to leave so I can actually get dressed now?"
"I will, but I just wanna say that I think there's an 'us' that does work. Ya know, under the right conditions."
There isn't even a Courtney that could work under the right circumstances, so she knew that wasn't true.
"Listen, I'm not in a place where I feel comfortable making this decision. Today was overwhelming, to say the least. I will tell you that I most likely will not agree to this, but I'm willing to think it over for a day or two."
"Ok, but it will be your loss if you don't, sweetheart." He made his way to the door, saluting her as he opened it.
Author's Note: If you or your loved ones are having suicidal thoughts, please please please reach out to someone. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline can be reached at (800)-273-8255. If you are interested in supporting prevention efforts, please check out the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention for ways to get involved.
I have drawn a fanart of a moment in this chapter. Please take a look at my tumblr-uncorrelatedideas-to see it. As always, favorite and review!
With much much support,
RCR