So it's after midnight and I just got home from work and I know I SHOULD sleep, since I've been up since 6:30 this morning, but I can't seem to do it. So here's to insomnia!

Enjoy!

Music: there he goes again, take me to the edge again, all I got is a dirty trick, I'm chasing down the wolves to save you

"I guess we'll start with the job thing."

They were sitting in her room – she on the bed, he on her desk chair. He stayed silent and waited for her to speak. Hell, he'd waited this long – she'd taken the longest fucking shower he'd ever been witness to – he could wait while she decided what to say.

"I have no money." Now that was unexpected. But he stayed silent, and she sighed in annoyance. "My old lawyer… isn't too happy with me, so he's tying up all the paperwork for my mom's accounts. He's also trying to convince the insurance company that my mother got drunk and ran into a pole on purpose so they won't pay her life insurance. I'm supposed to have my trust fund, but I spent nearly all of that last summer trying to get away from her. So now I have nothing."

"Why don't you tell Sandy…"

"You don't get it," she interrupted, starting to pick at her nails. "Bills are expensive. This house… it uses a lot of electricity and I already fired all the help and I keep all the lights off unless it's completely necessary and I buy the minimal amount of food. But I have to pay the tuition for the rest of the school year, and I have car insurance on two cars, and homeowners insurance. I got rid of the cable, but I have to keep the internet, because I have to do homework, and then there's cell phone bills and lawyer fees and the funeral costs and it's too much. My trust will be completely wiped out in less than a month. So I got a job."

"Tell Sandy."

"So he can… what? Worry more that he can't get my old lawyer to back the hell off? Offer to work pro-bono? That's not fair to him. He can't do anything for me – he's already doing too much. I know he probably likes to think it, but he's not Superman."

"I know. But he can help with the bills and stuff. Like, get it sorted out?"

"I don't need your help."

Alright. He was done with this. "No, you don't want our help. You do need it."

"And what happens if I tell him? Then he'll tell Kirsten, and then all of Newport will know…"

"Kirsten's not like that," he gritted out, feeling the anger rise.

"It doesn't matter. You know what this place is like. The minute more than two people know a secret, everyone knows it."

He stayed silent for a while, because something was nagging at him. Something that seemed important…

"Why'd you fire your old lawyer?" Her head shot up in surprise. "Maybe if we can fix things with him, he'll drop the shit."

He watched her stiffen up and her face harden. "I refuse to fix things with him. I don't care if I need the money. I refuse to be someone's whore."

What?

She wasn't quite sure why she told him… everything.

Everything about McMahon – how he'd given her the ultimatum of bend over his desk or have her case be put last on his list. Everything about her financial problems - how she couldn't pay her bills. Everything about her new job – how she'd gotten thrown up on and that greasy wash boy.

She told him about the hollow ache in her chest, how it wouldn't go away.

She told him how she could barely keep down a meal anymore. He asked if she was pregnant, she told him no. He asked her again if she was bulimic, she told him no. He asked if she was sick, she told him just in the head.

That had made him laugh.

Now she was sitting on her kitchen counter with a tub of ice cream as he sat on the kitchen island with a spoon, leaning over every once in a while to steal some of her snack. It wasn't alcohol, but somehow, ice cream seemed just as good right now.

And she felt – for the first time in… too long – normal.

The ache was still there, but it wasn't as cold anymore.

She'd always thought that bullshit about sharing your feelings was just that – bullshit. But maybe these therapist people actually had something here. For the first time in her life, she told someone how she really felt and they didn't laugh.

He didn't laugh and he didn't tell her she was just being a whiny brat.

He listened to her; waited for her to finish speaking before adding simple, calm, logical answers or comments.

"Keep your head low," he was saying as he leaned over and dug his spoon into her ice cream. She pretended to glare at him like all the other times he stole some of her ice cream and he shot her a grin. "That way, no one will think to talk to you. It's amazing how people will ignore you if you keep your head low."

"But won't management frown on that? Aren't I supposed to be all friendly and helpful?"

"No. You're not a waitress, you just bus tables. If you see someone who looks annoyed or looks like they have a question, just duck your head and keep walking. And avoid babies."

"So how'd you get so knowledgeable about busing tables?"

"I've had a lot of jobs," he shrugged. She nodded and stared down at her ice cream.

"I think I'm gonna sell my mom's car." She flicked her eyes up to see his reaction, but he was just watching her with his steady gaze. "You know, cause of the insurance. And I don't need it."

"That's reasonable."

"And I think… I think I'm gonna sell the house, too."

"Why?"

She didn't answer right away, because he hadn't asked the question out of curiosity. It was like he was helping her sound out her decision. So she thought hard about her answer.

"Because, again, the insurance. And the bills. The money from the sale would be a lot and I could get a smaller house or an apartment and use the money for that. And… well, what am I supposed to do with all of this?" She waved her spoon in the vague direction of the rest of the house. "I'm only one person. I don't need… this."

"I think you should let Sandy help you with that."

He was on that again.

"I don't want anyone knowing. Don't tell Sandy. Any of this."

He nodded and put down his spoon, hopping off the counter. Apparently he knew a dismissal when he heard it. She saw him out, thanking him for letting her ramble.

"Promise me you won't tell Sandy," she insisted when he was standing on her porch. He hesitated for a second before nodding.

"Promise."

Then he turned and started walking. And when he started up his car and pulled out of the driveway, she shut the door and turned to her dark house.

Her giant, empty, dark house.

Stupid promises.

He should tell Sandy – he knew he should. But she'd made him promise not to, so when he got home and Sandy asked what had taken so long, he lied. He told Sandy Taylor had taken a while getting home – she was probably out doing whatever teenage Newpsies did – and he'd waited around to make sure she was alright. Sandy just nodded and continued watching TV with Kirsten.

One week. He wouldn't tell Sandy for a week.

If she got things under control on her own, he wouldn't ever have to tell Sandy. But if she continued on like she was, he'd break his promise.

He sighed and sat on his bed, digging his cell phone out of his pocket. He had a text message from Seth, asking him where he was, and two calls from home. And he had a voicemail, from Marissa.

Did he want to listen?

Not really, but he did anyway.

She wanted to have breakfast with him tomorrow, before school. Against his better judgment, he called her back and agreed to meet her at the diner.

She was a little surprised no one knew.

Honestly, she thought the entire school would know by now that Taylor Townsend was working in a restaurant because she was broke. But it was fifth period and not one single person had said anything. Apparently Ryan had kept his word and hadn't told anyone.

Good God, the Cohens were just so moral.

Not that she wasn't grateful, this time, but still. Couldn't they at least have one flaw? Just one, so whenever she saw one of them, she didn't get that cold feeling in the pit of her stomach?

There it was again.

Off in the quad, Ryan, Seth and Summer were walking. Seth made some grand gesture with his hands and Summer hit his arm while Ryan laughed.

She really hoped she didn't die anytime soon. She wanted a little more time before she had to see her mother again.

Because she would.

Because she was going to hell.

Envy was a sin, right?

"So she didn't really answer?"

Ryan sighed, leaning back on the couch. "I asked her point blank if she wanted to break up with me, and she just gave me that bullshit answer about the situation being too complicated for a black and white answer."

"That sucks."

Well, that was an understatement. He felt like he was in some sort of holding pattern – like he couldn't move forward or backward. He was just… stuck. In a relationship, but not.

Sometimes he wondered why it seemed so easy for Seth and Summer. Sure, they broke up and had fights, but that was usually them just being stupid and stubborn. Eventually they realized they were being idiots and got back together.

But with him and Marissa, it never seemed like it was stubbornness. They didn't break up angrily, like Seth and Summer did. They broke up… wearily. Slowly. There wasn't ever an angry breakup, where they hated each other.

Each time, they stayed 'friends' and they somehow got together again.

He wondered, sometimes; if he and Marissa hadn't stayed friends – if they'd broken up angrily – would they ever have gotten back together? Seth and Summer seemed to have this… magnetic force that kept dragging them back to each other, but he and Marissa kept coming together because they were… there.

They would be friends and then somehow, they'd end up kissing and they'd be back together.

Over and over again.

He felt like he wasn't moving at all.

"Taylor."

Marissa's surprised voice greeted her when she walked into the classroom. She set her binder down on the table and took her usual seat.

"Sorry I'm late," she apologized. Not because she was actually sorry, but because it was polite.

"We didn't think you were coming," Marissa continued, warily. "We started without you."

"Why wouldn't I be coming?" Everyone was looking at her, and she felt a chill run through her veins.

"Well," Marissa gave a small, wary, smile. "With everything that's been going on with you… the circumstances… we just thought…"

"That because my mom died, I'd want to curl up in the fetal position and never leave my room?" Her tone made some of the girls flinch, and she inwardly sighed. "As much as I'd love to do that, I actually welcome the distraction. So, we're planning for the winter formal, right?"

"Taylor," Marissa's voice was filled with sympathy, and she couldn't tell if it was real or fake. "Why don't you take some time off? We fear you may get overwhelmed with… everything." She opened her mouth to argue, but the other girl spoke first. "Don't worry, we'll handle everything. Why don't you give Shannon your binder, and we'll do our best to keep your ideas on track."

She looked around the table and realized that not one of these girls was going to argue with the social chair. So she stood up and handed her binder to Shannon – who averted her gaze – before heading out of the room.

Three years, Marissa'd been trying to get her kicked out of social committee. Looked like she found the perfect excuse.

Go figure her mother had something to do with it.

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