Disclaimer: I own nothing but the one OC.

Author's note: Sorry, still figuring out some of the formatting of the site. Just including in this note what I tried to in the last one. James is not a Gary Stu, trust me here, it will pay off. He is inspired by some of the backlash Simone Biles faced this year in the Olympics. This chapter is angsty and has some mature themes.

Also, there is a musical cue. I'd really recommend listening to the song when prompted. Please enjoy.

Darkness.

Suddenly, light. His eyes opened slowly. While he prayed to be anywhere else, the most cursory look told him he was exactly where he fell asleep. Same run down bed, same solitude, same ch-

Ignore them. Can't change their presence. There will be food in a few hours because, if nothing else, his host was a very punctual person. Until then, he was free to think as he liked. Couldn't really do much else here anyway.

He thought back to a week prior. Getting a milkshake with a girl who had an obvious crush on him. He was a gentleman so he thought he owed her at least one date before turning her down, politely of course. His schedule was too busy for him to accommodate anybody else. The real highlight of the "date" was the milkshake. His favorite flavor, cookies 'n' creme.

Bad idea. The thought of the treat made his stomach grumble, and he'd already acknowledged that food was in a few hours. He could sing, or think about anything else. He latched onto a memory from the park, when he was still a kid. No responsibilities. No fame. What a time to be alive.

Footsteps pounded. His head jerked up instinctively. Footsteps this early? Not good. Not good at all.

"No, please, I've been good", he croaked from a voice that hadn't been touched in days. He started to cry. "I'll do better next time, please, just please give me another chance"...

He continued to babble as the footsteps got closer. They stopped outside the room. And then, with a bang, the door swung open and

"MMPH!"

James bit his hand to stifle the scream. Nightmares were one thing, screaming nightmares were another. His new bunkmates wouldn't have appreciated the noise, either. Lying in his bed on Boney Island, he sighed. It was that dream, meaning no sleep for the rest of the night. Shit.

Hopefully it was close to morning. He flicked at the glow-in-the dark dial of his running watch, which was of course top of the line, only the best for the future Olympic champ. The watch impassively read 1 AM. Double shit. In the light of his watch he caught a glimpse of his right hand and saw that he'd drawn blood earlier. In a new world record, triple shit.

He slipped on his shoes and shirt and headed outside. At the very least, he could get some exploring done. Chris had the cabins dug out of the wilderness in the middle of the island, with the giant Skull Mountain looming over the cabins from the north. Anyway he walked he could find something interesting to look at.

Wandering aimlessly, he began to think. He'd been slightly surprised by how passionate he sounded about nature when talking to Gwen. Was it really that much of a surprise, though? The great outdoors were basically one of his two friends growing up. He'd long figured out that he related to nature's serenity on the surface but turmoil at the core. Add in some pretty sights, and nature gave him more than he could ask for.

As he rambled further on, he heard a low keening noise. Diving into yet another bush, he racked his mind to figure out what animal could make that noise. A fox? No, that was a more violent scream. A bobcat? Nope, a little too high pitched.

Looking down, he found footprints. They were entirely human in nature; whose, he couldn't tell, but definitely human. Fearing that the person might be hurt, James followed the trail the prints created. They led uphill, so he stalked along until he came to a little opening at the top of a cliff. With a quick breath, he peeked around a boulder to see who was making the noise.

It was Heather. She was perched precariously overlooking the forest and cabins below with her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms covering her face. He could tell by watching her back spasm that she was crying. This was not what he expected.

He decided to approach carefully. "Heather? It's James. Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

She gave a half-hearted look back before going back to her crying. To hell with it. He walked slowly towards her before sitting down to her right. Sitting on his butt, with his knees drawn up and his hands on his knees, he settled in for what could be a long night.

"Please, Heather. Talk to me. What's going on?", he pleaded.

"You just hate me like all the others."

James shook his head emphatically. "I can't hate you, I still don't know you. You need someone to talk to, and I'm awake. Please, tell me."

She sniffled a bit in an effort to clear her head, but the tears continued, muffling her voice. "They all hate me. Alejandro, the campers, the people at school, the whole world, my fuh-fuh-family…"

Her voice hitched badly on "family". That hit home for James, and he winced. He'd seen during his research phase for the show that Heather had a bad breakup and that it seemed that the media took Alejandro's side. A lot of Internet hate had been sent Heather's way, even more than she normally got.

She continued, "I came back to tr-try to make a friend, but they can't even look at me. I hate myself. I want to fucking die…"

"Don't say that", James admonished. His tone surprised both of them. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you. Keep going."

"I just feel so alone. Like nobody wants to be with me. I don't want to be famous, I just want a frih-friend. I hate myself so much."

That's a difficult statement to say, and it only ignited another round of crying. James sat in silence for a few minutes, deliberating, before deciding on a plan of action.

"I know how you feel."

Heather wiped a few of the tears from her face. "You-you do?"

"I've been famous since I was six. Fame isolates, simple as. I was media-trained before most kids could tie their shoes. Training to be [in air quotes] 'Canada's Pride' took most of my time so I couldn't make any friends. My neighbor was Izzy, so that was cool. Other than that, nothing. My parents treat me like a money-making object instead of a son."

A verbal dam broke. "You know how crazy fans are? You think you do but you have no idea. Two years ago, I had a bad race before the Province championships, and it worried someone. Heather, I got death threats. They called in a bomb threat at my school." His voice started to break. "I almost died, Heather. I almost died because of a few seconds on an oval. I don't want to be famous. I want my parents back, I want my life back. And then when I was 14…" He closed his mouth. Nobody other than Izzy and his parents knew about that one.

Heather looked at him curiously. She wanted to hear that story but it hurt too much to tell.

"I'm sorry, I'm not ready to talk about that one. Some other time, maybe."

Heather regarded the guy beside her. He never once looked over to his left while telling his story, almost as if the slightest distraction would send him into tears too. His voice started to tremble more as he began to speak again.

"Point is, you're not alone. I'm miserable too. I'm not on this show for the money or the fame. I'm here because I have anxiety, and that anxiety's been fucking up my races recently. Something about representing an entire country on an international stage and all that. I tried to run a tune-up race two weeks ago and couldn't even make it to the start line because I was too busy throwing up in the bathroom. My parents thought that if I could survive a summer under Chris, I should be able to win an Olympic gold. Great point, right?"

Heather laughed ruefully. "At least your parents are involved in your life."

A cloud passed over James's face, causing Heather to wonder if she had gone too far. "Trust me, I wish they weren't."

[For best experience, play Flight of the Navigator by Childish Gambino here]

They sat there for a couple of minutes before James broke the silence.

"I gotta say, this is hands-down the most depressing date I've ever been on", he remarked sarcastically.

Heather giggled in spite of herself. "And what makes you think this is a date? I hope you're not trying to get to first base."

He turned towards her for the first time since he sat down. "I'm having a deep conversation with a beautiful girl, under the beautiful moonlight, at 1 in the morning. I'll take what I can get, trust me."

She blushed a little. "Tha-thanks for talking to me. I didn't mean to wake you up."

"No problem at all, I woke myself up with a rather lovely nightmare." He scooted closer to her until they were just inches from each other. "One in the morning is the loneliest time of day. I know it's cliche but it really is darkest before the dawn. Chris is probably gonna have the wake-up call at 7, so we have six hours. I'll stay right here with you for as long as you need me."

It was a bit chilly in the predawn darkness. Heather started to shiver, so James took his shirt off and wrapped it around her thin shoulders. As his arms surrounded her, she noticed scars up and down his body. They looked like cuts, and some had only recently scabbed over. While she hoped they were from getting his wooden head, their placement near his wrists told her the worst. He put his left arm around her, and she put her head on his chest. He wouldn't get the chance to try anything, even if he wanted to, because she was out in a matter of minutes.

James glanced down at the girl sleeping peacefully on his chest. His heart started to flutter a bit. Maybe she's the one. He subtly snuck a glance at his watch, which was on his left arm. 1:45.

He still had hours to go, but at least he had someone with him to spend those hours.

For the first time in a long time, he felt happy.

Love it? Hate it? Please, please, please let me know. Any feedback you guys have, give it. I have some cool things planned but I'm always open to ideas.