A/N: So, I decided to write up the final three chapters together and then post them on set dates. Something to just make sure that this actually gets finished this year and not... well, next year. SO, my dear readers, from this chapter we only have two more to go! We're nearing the end and I am just so happy to finally be saying that - especially as I can focus on my other works that are slowly gathering cobwebs and dust...

That being said, look out for any updates on any works that have been sitting there, slowly collecting dust. I may just update them in the next few months ;)

Guest - You're close in your guess with Courtney. Very close. I won't reveal any more ;)

Till next time,

D.L.D

~Heather~

Courtney has crossed a line. I know it, she knows it, and now is the time that karma comes to bite her in the ass.

Stone-faced, emotionless, I sit at my desk, scrolling through the School Feed. True to Sierra's earlier predictions, Gwuncan vs Duncney was still in full swing, many accounts and group chats flickering with debates and arguments and research. Everywhere, everyone, was filled with the fascination of knowing more about this situation. Countless students, endless accounts, were reading into the scenario, picking sides and pitting themselves against those who supported their opposition.

Just as Sierra predicted, this scandal was drawing all the attention. Everyone was busy watching Gwuncan vs Duncney. Everyone was busy with the effort to stay up-to-date. The perfect time for me to launch a new bombshell into the field.

Vibrating breaks me from my scrolling. Immediately, my eyes dart from the computer screen to my phone, spotting the name of my newest distraction: Alejandro. Lighting up my screen, with the stupid picture he'd chosen for his contact, was his name. A name I didn't want to see right now. Not after what happened this afternoon. Not after everything that we have been through in this past week alone. Alejandro, Ale-anything, was something I wanted to avoid.

This afternoon, I was a mess. Too many things were going on around me, too many thoughts and feelings and scenarios, and my brain couldn't take any more. I was overwhelmed, stifled, and I never did like the feeling of being bombarded with a million expectations and requests. Middle school made me sensitive to big crowds. My brain, my soul, couldn't take too much attention. Sure, I could take the superficial attention, being looked up to, people being jealous of me; I just couldn't take the watching, the waiting and the judgement.

Today, Sierra and Alejandro had judged me. Two people who I see as safe people, people I can almost trust, had judged me. That affected me. That... hurt me.

Then there's Courtney. Courtney, Courtney, Courtney... Today, she had made me think that she was my friend. When I was alone, breaking down into the weakened husk that is my middle school self, she had been there to help me. Like a true friend, a real friend, she had stayed behind in the bathroom and convinced me to come out. She didn't judge me for crying. She didn't... make me feel weak. And that made me feel good. That made me trust her.

But then reality hit in, as it always does. Courtney wasn't my friend. Courtney didn't like me. Courtney was just like everyone else: an opportunist. She saw the opportunity and didn't look back. She didn't care about Heather. Not poor, lonely Heather, the girl who cried her eyes out in a bathroom stall. No-one ever thinks about Heather: not Sierra, not Alejandro, not Courtney. No-one. No-one ever does.

And I've grown used to it.

Muted vibrations still echo around my room. Bright, vibrant, my phone still projects stunning blue light onto my ceiling, illuminating its screen and displaying Alejandro's name once more. Alejandro. The traitor. The snake.

Sniffing, I turn away from my phone and wrap my arms around my fragile body. It's been hours since I felt like I was breaking, but I still feel like I could shatter at any moment. After all these hours, I'm still sensitive; after all these years, I am still delicate. After what happened this afternoon, after the whole breakdown I had, I didn't want to associate myself with Sierra or Alejandro. I didn't want to be around anything that would remind me about all the weakness I had displayed today. I just couldn't.

Yet, like I am trying to do it all to myself again, I find myself here, staring at my computer screen, flicking through the School Feed. Comments blur into black bars as I scan them, pictures few and far between as I try to ignore my phone buzzing away on the desk. A million voices buzz in my skull. Endless scenarios and fights and debates play out before my watching gaze. They are easy to get lost in, easy to lose yourself in. If only I could do that right now.

Buzz. My hand tightens on my forearm. Buzz. My teeth sink into the corner of my lip, my eyes forcing themselves to focus on the computer screen. Buzz. A sigh is released. My eyes flicking back to my phone as my greedy hands scoop it up.

Fuck it - I'm doing this. If I want to prove to everyone that I am no longer weak, I have to face my problems head on. Strong people didn't hide; weak people, cowards, hide.

"What do you want?" I snap, not trying to hide the irritation in my voice. Really, I am hoping that it hides the fear, the anxiety, that squirms in my veins as I await his response. "I thought it was best if Sierra 'looked after me'."

"You know I didn't mean it like that, mi vida," Alejandro responds smoothly, not at all phased by my snappy tone. Behind the screen I can picture his smile, feel his laughter as he grins at me with those bright green eyes. He continues, "You just needed to calm down a bit."

"Yeah right," I scoff, rolling my eyes. Pettiness, bitterness, replaces the deep hurt that engulfs my heart and soul. A perfect shell for my fragile self. "You don't care that much. I thought you liked seeing me riled up?"

Silence sifts between us, a patient kind of silence that is coated with thoughtfulness. At least, I believe it is on his end. For me, the silence is filled with anxiety and anticipation, my nerves racing with the possibilities of what could happen next. This afternoon didn't end well. This afternoon was a prime example of how I can make good situations flip into horrible, chaotic ones. I know that and I think Alejandro knows that too. Maybe that is why he takes so long to finally respond.

"Sometimes," He eventually admitted, humming lowly. Again, I can see him, this time holding his hands up as if caught in the middle of a crime. There is no malice, no ill-intent. All that exists is the desire to seek forgiveness. "But not when someone like Courtney causes it. She doesn't get the right to treat you the way she did."

"Is that why you told me that she did it?" I ask, still snappy and abrupt. My hand tightens around my phone, ignoring the calm voice of Alejandro. There must be an angle to this. There must be some sort of ill-intent. There has to be! "Did you just want to prove to me that I wasn't in full control? To show me that she wasn't really a friend?"

"No," Alejandro answers, calm, collected. He sounds like he did this afternoon, remorseful, melancholic, and it jars me even more. Confuses me. He sighs. "You know I wouldn't do that. At least, I wouldn't do that now."

Not a lie. Recently, gradually, the Alejandro that I had known had shifted. What was once a manipulative and conniving soul, had morphed into a much more tamed and up-front person. Sure, he was still conniving and deceitful - he would never fully drop those parts of his personality - but Alejandro also wasn't as horrible as he once was. Something changed him. Something made him more humble, more mature. But for the life of me, I don't know what did. Or maybe, just maybe, I don't want to believe that it was me.

"So why?" I ask, breathless as I stare at the computer screen once more. I go onto a fresh tab, typing in the login details for my gossip account. "Why did you tell me?"

This answer will determine what happens next. If he is involved, Alejandro will sink with Courtney and her burning ship. If not, I will make sure that he is never linked to whatever happens next. I will make sure that I never drag him into my problems again. Ever again.

Seconds tick into eternity as I sit there, staring at the blank text box on my computer screen. Alejandro was silent on my end of the phone, most likely thinking, and I find myself thinking about how the silence has turned anxious once more. Again, I am waiting from him. Again, I am waiting for an answer, metaphorically biting my nails in anticipation, as I stare at my computer screen. I feel like I am in middle school again, waiting for the bullies, waiting for the comments. Something pricks at my eyes; my veins heat with irritation.

I paste everything into the text box.

"Because I know that you will make it right," Alejandro finally responds, sounding confident. His voice breaks me from my thoughts, dragging me out of my brain. I can see the knowing smirk on his face, the way he would be proud of my actions. "You'll make her realise what a mistake she's made."

"How?" I ask, still staring at the text box. Is this right? Is this how I'll make Courtney realise her mistake? Or will it just make everything worse?

"By saying sorry," Alejandro says, calm, collected. He then laughs, a small snort escaping him. "And then giving her the biggest surprise of her life."

~Courtney~

I know I am a bad person, but what did I do to deserve this?

Anger burns in my veins as I glare at my phone screen, reading through the hundreds of texts sent to me on the School Feed. Contrary to what I thought I should feel yesterday, pure panic and rage coursed through my veins. When Duncan had come to check on me, when he had hinted at how bad the posts were, I thought that it wasn't much to worry about. Foolishly, naively, I had thought that he was just looking for an excuse to talk to me. A way to show he still cared.

Duncan's unexpected care, his lack of hatred, knocked me off course. Instead of checking my social media feeds, instead of looking out for Heather's incoming retaliation to my post, I spent last night hoping and dreaming. Hope filled my thoughts last night. Hope about Duncan, hope about my friends, hope about returning to normal. Unknowingly, innocently, Duncan had made me let my guard down. He made me undefended. Now it was too late for me to prepare.

In bright bold, posted all over the internet, were my deepest, darkest secrets. All of the secrets, from my fear of jelly, to my smoking habits, had been posted up on the School Feed by an anonymous account - which was pretty much known to be Heather's anyway. The Binder of Secrets - the person who posted gossip about everyone who crossed Heather - had dragged my name through the dirt. And I had been unaware of it.

"That bitch!" I seethe at my phone, my hand tight around the object. With how forceful I was, I'm shocked that it didn't crack. "Why would she even- "

I stop my own words. I know why she would. I posted that cat video. I was someone who was stupid enough to cross Heather. Of course, even though I was careful to cover my tracks, she would eventually come back to strike me down. That was how it was with Heather. That was just how she was. Yet, a part of me couldn't help but feel betrayed by the post. Part of me just couldn't believe that she would throw me under the bus like that.

Yesterday, in the public bathroom of this school, I thought that we had shared a moment. Yesterday, when I hadn't left her to cry, when I decided to try and comfort her, I thought that me and Heather had shared a true moment. Just like when we'd smoked in the rain, just like when we had revealed our weakened, imperfect selves, I thought that we had reached an understanding. I thought that we were... friends. That is what she called me, right? A friend.

So why would Heather do this? Why...

Hot tears prick at the corners of my eyes but I roughly sniff them away. There is no time for tears. There is no time for self-pity. I did this to myself. I made myself the way I am and now I must accept myself for it. I must embrace the loneliness that comes with being a Heather.

"Hey Courtney!" I brush past Justin, not at all caring for whatever he had to say. He knew. Yesterday he saw it all, he knew about it, but he didn't tell me anything. He didn't say shit. Not even the smallest warning left his lips, just an empty promise about sorting some stuff out. My mind scoffs at the memory. Duncan was right: at least he was honest. At least Duncan warned me. Justin knew and he didn't say anything. Justin ran away. Right now, I don't want to know shit from him.

"Fuck off, Justin!" I call over my shoulder, determined not to be held up in any way. Heather was going to pay. She was going to pay now. Not only did she strike me when I was already down, not only did she convert me into this horrid monster, but she also ruined my semi-blissful daydream. She burst the bubble that was Duncan still loving me. She ruined my epiphany. She reminded me that in this world I am truly all alone.

Countless whispers and eyes followed me down the hall, watching and waiting to see what would happen. Here at Wawanakwa, I was famous for my rampages. Everyone, even the Freshmen, knew that I had a horrible temper when someone sparked it. Tempers, rages, were my fatal flaw. They made me see red, they clouded my usually crystal clear logic, and they made me act like a complete animal. Whenever I got angry, whenever someone pissed me off, everyone knew; everyone knew that there would be a fight.

Barging my way through the crowds, I stomped down the halls. This was going to end here and now. No more hiding behind screens and crossing each others' backs like scared, little cowards. Today Heather and I were going to sort this out face to face. I was going to prove to her, to everyone, that I was better than her, that I had not stooped down to her level. Because I haven't. Even though I did post about her, even though I have dropped in integrity, I am not on Heather's level. I never will be.

More people form around me, following like schools of shiny sardines as I stalk down the halls. Backpacks get dumped on floors; conversations halt and people turn; lockers slam in the hurry to see what was going to happen. Everyone, everything, was fixed on what I was going to do next. All of the school, a pair of a million watching eyes, were on me and me only. And oh boy was I going to give them a show. A hell of a good show.

"Heather!" I throw open the heavy double doors of the library, knowing it to be her prime hideout spot. Quiet, safe places like the library were always her chosen spot to wait out the shitstorms of her meddling. Usually, on a better day than now, I would commend her great planning. Usually, I would credit her for being smart enough to hide out in a place with a high student to teacher ratio. Unfortunately for her, today was not like usual.

All heads swiveled to face me in the library, books and pencils falling as I made a beeline for Heather's table at the back. All around her, like a cult, flocked her cronies and followers, bright pastel colours and expensive bags sticking out against the darker tones of more studious satchels and itchy jumpers of the nerdier and geekier students. From beside Heather, Lindsay and Dakota flashed me sympathetic looks. Across from her, grinning as she winked at me, Anne-Maria sent me a coy smirk. She knew what was up.

"Oh, hey Courtney," Heather flashes me a kind smile, her chin resting on top of two folded hands. Red nail polish glints in the light. She repainted her nails. "We were just talking about you. Have you seen those posts circulating about the web?"

"Of course I have!" I snarl, restraining myself from punching her square in the nose. There was a time and place for violence, a time and place for justice, right now would not work. Punching Heather now would do nothing but land me in detention, maybe a possible suspension. That means I have to play this smart, cool. "It's everywhere!"

Again, the group appears to send their sympathies, their regards, as if my social life were some poor, deceased friend. With grieving eyes, with gentle frowns, they all communicate their silent want to comfort me. But none of them do. None of them do anything to oppose their leader Heather. Why would they? I am not their friend. Unlike them all, I was only part of the group for a short period of time. Close friendships, tight bonds, were something I never formed with these girls. I didn't know any of them.

Well, any of them expect Anne-Maria. But even she was silent.

"Well, that is terrible," Heather sighed a little, shaking her head. I catch the twitch of her smirk, the way she forces herself to tone it down as she looks at me. As she shrugs, her grey eyes gleam with triumph. "But that's just how it goes for us popular girls. One moment you're safe, the next some weirdo posts all your secrets all over the web."

Fury would not describe what I am feeling. Ire would not even be close. My fists close at my sides, my nails breaking into the skin of my palms. I'm pretty sure that if I stay like this, if I hold it in any longer, my blood vessels will pop and I will spontaneously combust - no, spontaneously implode. Exploding would not be enough. It wouldn't ever be near enough to the level of anger, of betrayal and fury and pain, that I am feeling right now. I don't think imploding ever will either.

"That's bullshit and you know it," I hiss, ignoring the outraged gasps that echo around me. No-one is used to hearing me curse. No-one is used to me being so mad, so infuriated, that literal steam is evaporating from my face. But they will have to get over it. I am mad, I am angry, and I have been feeling this way for a lot longer than I had originally thought. "I want the truth Heather and I want it now," I step closer to her, my brain brimming with violent thoughts. "Tell me who posted that slander about me online."

We're face to face now. We're so close that I can see a faint scar across her nose, small speckles of scars that are left from countless pimple popping sessions. They are tiny nicks, tiny scars, but they are imperfections. Imperfections that Heather has. But even those tiny things, those scars on her face, are hidden by concealer and blanketed with powders and creams. Even scars, even natural imperfections, are hidden with Heather. She can't ever let herself be imperfect.

"You don't scare me," Her voice doesn't waver, but I see uncertainty in her eyes. Her nose twitches a little; so do her brows. But I don't say anything. All I do is stare, stare at her with my infuriated glare, my fists curled at my sides.

"I don't need to scare you," I respond, my voice low so that only she can hear me. Bitter laughter leaves my lips, fueled by my fury. "I know much better, much more effective, ways to get under your skin."

"Yeah right," Heather scoffs, rolling those smoke grey eyes of her. But like smoke, they're deceptive. They hide the true fear she feels, the pure terror, that her body language conveys as she folds her arms across her torso.

"Try me Heather and find out," I warn, calling her bluff. I feel my face twitch. "I'm much more surprising than I seem."

"Is that you flirting with me?" Heather asks, a sly grin forming on her lips. Smug, confident, she looks at her cult for backup as she continues. "Because if you swing that way I have the perfe- "

Slap! My hand flies out before I can stop it, striking her right across her pale face. Red, ugly, a hand-print is wedged into her porcelain cheek, marring the clear skin and rising with her high cheekbones. Long finger-marks stretch across her face, reaching over her pointed nose, joining a large palm. It looks painful. It looks swollen. No doubt, she will have a grotesque bruise across her face for the next week - even with some ice to take down the swelling.

But I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. She deserved that. Heather deserved that slap.

"Don't you even try to pull that crap with me!" I scream at her, seething from the very bone. My hand hurts, red from the impact of my slap, but I don't bother to cradle it. Red heat, scorching waves, roll off my skin and I am too busy being angry to feel the tingles travelling up my sore arm. All I feel is pure outrage, scandal. "I wouldn't even bat an eye at you. Don't even try to flatter yourself! You may be used to commanding everyone else with the flick of your wrist, but you can't do that with me Heather. There's no way I'd ever bow down to you. You disgust me."

"I disgust you?" Heather echoes, incredulous. Red is spread across all of face, making the slap-mark even more prominent. Another scoff, this time a puff of a laugh leaves her. "Big talk coming from you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I raise a brow, my foot tapping in agitation. This time I bite back the urge to hit her. If I do, it would do no good. She's goading me, egging me on. I won't stoop to do as she wants, nor do what she predicts.

Nevertheless, part of my brain itches with anger at her words. Part of me is sensitive to what she thinks, to what others think, and how they perceive me. My own self-image is distorted. My own reflection of myself has become warped and clouded and twisted as the days passed on by. Gradually, smoke and mist had filled the room that contained my self-image. Now, a week into the future, I cannot recognise myself. My past self, my old self, would never believe that I am the monster I have become.

"You know exactly what I mean, you loose wreck," Heather sniffs, that smug grin still on her face. Triumphantly, she leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. Coy, condescending, she looks down on me. "All it took was me telling you that your best friend kissed your boyfriend for you to unravel. I didn't even need to tell the full truth. I didn't even need to give you evidence to get you on my side."

A strong hit. It winds me, reels my anger back in. My hands shake with repressed rage, cooled wrath, as I glare at Heather.

"Y-you're lying!" I stutter, the air knocked from my lungs. It's not true. It can't be. Back then, when this journey started, I had proof that Duncan and Gwen had wronged me. Tyler told me that they had kissed. Tyler gave me all the proof I needed. "You gave me proof! Tyler told me- "

"Tyler told you that they kissed," Heather responded, quick, certain. That catlike smirk is still splayed on her lips. Still, she sits there, legs crossed and arms folded, smug smirk still fixed on her triumphant face. "But he didn't know everything."

No, Tyler didn't. Tyler was a fool, an idiot. Like Lindsay, his girlfriend, Tyler was someone who saw things through tunnel vision. Sometimes, he would get confused. Sometimes, just sometimes, he would misinterpret things. Heather knew that. I knew that. Tyler wasn't always the most reliable messenger. Often, Tyler managed to jumble up the events of his day when recounting it to someone. Who's to say that he didn't confuse the kiss? Who's to say he even saw Gwen and Duncan kiss?

Something twists in my gut. My blood runs cold. No. I know that Gwen and Duncan kissed. When I hinted at it, Gwen had been guilty. Gwen had raced to explain it all to me. And then, recently, I had exposed the pair. None of them had denied anything. None of them have said anything to brush away the claims about a secret relationship. That means Tyler saw it happen. That means Tyler was right. Yet, he still might be wrong.

He may not have actually seen them kiss...

"Did you really think that Gwen would do that to you?" Heather asked, now standing up from her chair. She raises a finely primed brow, her arms secure under her pride filled out chest. "Or Duncan?" She pauses. My silence makes Heather shake her head. "God you are such a train wreck."

"Shut up!" I screech, violently shaking my head. Heather's doing this on purpose. She's messing with me on purpose! I know that they kissed. I know that Tyler saw it happen! What I know must be true. It has to be because if it isn't...

Vigourously, I shake my head, wipe away the stinging tears that form in my eyes. "Stop trying to get into my head!" My throat feels tight. I try to tell myself to stop crying. I try. But the tears keep on coming, hot and salty and fast. "You're lying! You have to be! Y-you told me - you told me that- "

"That what?" Heather questions, her voice calm, cold. She no longer wears a smile. She doesn't even frown. Instead she is nothing, plain, her smokey grey eyes being the only trace of emotion on her face. "We were friends? Oh, Courtney..." Heather sighs, tutting solemnly. "The only reason I told you about Gwen and Duncan was to get you on my side..."

~Courtney~

Hot anger, hot tears, burn through my system as I flee from the library, shoving past crowds that eagerly follow my path. I know that I am a bad person. I know that I am no longer good, pure, like I once was. But what did I do to deserve this? What, just what, did I do to ever deserve the life I have. Is it to do with something I did in a past life? Is it because I am just collateral damage in the world's attempt to expose Heather's true evilness? Or was it something else? Was it... me?

Gasping shakily, I skid around a corner and duck into the empty girl's bathroom. Just as I slip through the door, hoards of students rush past, their footsteps a cacophony and chaos and discord as they all pushed and pulled against each other, urging the current of their raging rush to continue. Inside my chest, my heart thumps dangerously. The sight of it all does nothing to calm my nerves. Living this reality is much harder than I thought.

Releasing a shuddering sob, I collapse on the dirty floor, not caring about all the potential germs and bacteria lingering on the surface. Heather had used me. Heather had been toying with me. From the beginning, from the very first moment she had thought to 'befriend' me, she had the intention of using and dumping me like a tissue. Crumple me, rip me, throw me away: that's what she had planned to do.

And I let her do that. Like an idiot, like the fool I am, I let Heather use me. I let her corrupt me.

Moments pass in the dim atmosphere of the girl's bathroom, my tears met with an equally melancholic silence. There is no-one here to dry my tears. There is no-one here who will care for poor, little Courtney, lost and afraid and oh-so-tired. Oh-so-tired... Right now, I wish that I could just evaporate, fade away, and never come back. Like mist, like steam, I could just poof and go to some other place, some place far, far away...

Silently, the door swings open. Two sets of shoes meet my teary eyes, one a pair of deep burgundy heels and the other bright green pumps. Easily, they head toward me, growing more detailed and more distinct despite my blurred vision and teary eyes.

Before I know it, two faces are on level with mine, one pair of dark brown eyes and another pair of brown so dark they looked almost black. Long, thick eyelashes surrounded the second set of eyes along with eyebrows lined with charcoal pencil. The lighter eyes also had thick eyebrows, but they were natural, as well as the thinner eyelashes that blinked as the eyes softened. A hand reaches for me, one with bright orange nails, and it softly squeezes my shoulder.

"Pick yourself up," Anne-Maria speaks, breaking the silence between us. My breath hitches at her voice; my eyes widen. Carefully, she pulls me up, smirking, "We're getting back at the bitch."

Speechless. Wordless. What do I say in this moment? I thought that no-one would care. Just now I thought that the world would happily watch as I cried myself away within the confines of a dirty girl's bathroom. But clearly I had been wrong. Obviously, someone cared. Two someone's cared. And that seemed to be astonishing to me, mystifying. After all, how could someone, anyone, want to comfort someone as horrible as me?

"B-but how?" I finally say, my brain still boggled from Anne-Maria's help. She and Sierra are still looking at me, kindness on their faces, brave determination burning in their eyes. My shoulder tingles from Anne-Maria's hand. My heart thuds erratically in my chest. "W-why? Why would you both come after me? Why - "

"Because we want to help you," Sierra quickly answers, flashing me a broad and enthusiastic grin. She pulls me into a tight hug, squeezing the air from my lungs as she clutched me close to her gigantic frame. "You deserve it, Courtney. Heather deserves it."

"B-but how?" I ask, my voice trembling with emotion, confusion. Gently, I pry myself from Sierra's grip, too stunned to even smooth out my hair and clothes. All I can do is gawk like a clueless idiot. "How do you even know..."

"I'm close with Izzy," Sierra quips once more. That smile never fades from her face. Not once. Eagerly, she winks at me, lowering her voice to a very loud whisper. "Just know that you have someone on the inside."

Static runs in my brain. Scratchy, noisy static that refuses to settle even just a smidgen to allow me to focus. It's like being trapped in a room, filled with a million distractions, all of them boisterous and clamoring and brutish, vying for your attention. There is no chance of concentration. There is no chance, no space, to think. At all. That is how my brain feels. That is how all of me feels as I stare at Anne-Maria and Sierra, considering their preposition.

Heather does deserve to suffer. Too cruel, too heartless, she uses and abuses and tosses away. People are just tools to her, things that she can use to build her empire and then easily toss away without any second thoughts. Compassion doesn't rest in Heather's heart. Human emotion, human feelings and thoughts and actions, do not rest in her stony and icy heart. Being human is something Heather has never experienced; Heather is made of perfect stone.

But - my brain interjects - I know that is not true. Heather, as cold and as icy as she can be, is still human. Beneath her rocky exterior, beneath her heart of solid stone, there is something vulnerable, something soft, something human. Hidden deep within the many walls and defenses of her mean girl ways, Heather hides a heart filled with open sores and scarred wounds. There is more to her than people think. She is more complex than I want to believe. That thought, that fact, leaves me hesitant. Unsure.

Payback is a dangerous game of back and forth. This whole situation started due to a back and forth between me and Heather. Continuing it is a sure path to an endless rivalry. Letting this problem grow, going so far that none of us can name what started this disagreement, is what will happen is I retaliate. The best thing to do is nothing. I should forget about this. Forget about Heather.

But then, there is the anger. The burning, seething anger that refuses to leave my veins.

I douse it with cold, icy logic.

"This isn't right..." I find myself saying, sniffing as I wipe at my teary eyes. My sleeve comes back stained with black streaks - my makeup smeared on my blouse. I shake my head. "We can't do this."

"Yeah, but Heather did it to you," Anne-Maria responds, folding her arms across her chest. There is no malice in her voice, no trace of manipulation. There is only fact. Reality. It rings in my ears, jars the static in my brain. "Don't you want her to hurt like you?"

'Do I?' I ask myself. Do I want to hurt Heather? Not often does that thought occur to me. Rarely do I think about whether Heather could be hurt by my actions. Like everyone else, I forget that she is capable of being hurt, capable of being human. But I am being reminded of it now. Right now I am being told about what could happen, about who I could hurt. What it could do to her.

A shudder travels up my spine. Damaging Heather would do a lot - maybe too much. Do I want to be responsible for that? I bite my lip. No. I don't. I never wanted to be the reason why she crumbled and quaked into fine cookie crumbs.

"Yes, I want her to feel justice, but..." I shake my head, trying to clear the raging static in my brain. Growing worse, it gnaws at my thoughts, scrapes at my ears. My racing heartbeat just barely combats its noise. "Heather's a complicated person. This might send her over the edge."

"Yeah right," Anne-Maria scoffed, rolling her eyes as she unfolded her arms. Two sets of hands now rested on her hips, a brow being raised sharply as she placed me under the spotlight once more. "I'm gonna ask ya once more, kiddo. Are ya in or not?"

Am I in? The question echoes in my brain as I blink at Anne-Maria's critical stare. So far, Anne-Maria hasn't steered me in the wrong direction. Sierra has also tried to help me as well. Both of them, like real friends in a way, had tried to look out for me. In their own weird ways, they had both looked out for me, tried to nudge me away from the twisting maze that was Heather's complicated life. Sierra knew about firsthand; Anne-Maria was living it.

In the past, I had not listened to them. In the past, I had been ignorant and thought that they did not know anything about me in the slightest. Boy had I been wrong. So, so wrong.

"Alright," I crack a small smile, reaching out to shake Anne-Maria's hand. Immediately, she takes it, matching my grin. "But only this once."

~Heather~

Sorry. All I have to say is that one word, that one small apology, and I can fix this all. Sorry. Sorry Courtney. Sorry for everything I have done to you, everything I have put you through. I am a shitty person, a shitty friend, and you didn't deserve to go through this. Sorry. That's all I have to say. One silly, little sorry. A sorry with no meaning. A sorry with no true reason to be sorry for. But then, when I remember that, I know why I can't say sorry: Courtney doesn't deserve it.

Apologies go to people who are truly good. Good people, kind people, received apologies because they didn't do anything wrong in the first place. How do I know that? Well, surprisingly, I had once been on the side of the apology spectrum that was the receiving end. Middle school was the time where I received little apologies - near none - but when I did, I knew that they stood for something. Guilty people, merciful people, would see me cry and apologise. By only once. And I doubt they ever meant anything.

Many years later, oh-so-many years later, things haven't changed much. Apologies are shallow, fake, used to further one's social status or cleanse one's dirtied conscience. No-one likes to apologise; no-one likes to feel like they were in the wrong. Therefore, getting anything like 'sorry' out of me requires meaning, substance. Unless you truly deserved it, unless you were really a kind and sweet and lovable person, good luck getting a sorry out of me.

Especially if you planned to betray me.

Angrily, I take a large bite from my sub. Yes, I'm eating a sub today. Usually, I would avoid greasy food like the plague, but since I'm feeling shitty, dirty and greasy already I figured that one meatball sub wouldn't kill anyone. It's not like reputation could be anymore damaged than it is already...

Nevertheless, everyone watches me with intent eyes. Like I'm some sort of celebrity, as if I'm the freaking queen, they all watch as I chomp into my lunch. Normally, I would humour them. Normally, I would give a mock wave of appreciation. Today is not normal.

Sitting across from me, glaring daggers into my face, is a seething Courtney. Roughly, she pokes and prods at the leafy greens of her salad, her bottom lip trapped between gritted teeth. Filled with tension, her hand chokes her fork. I'm pretty sure I even saw it bend when her eye twitched, a lettuce leaf ferociously stabbed with the utensil.

Hours have passed since I dropped the semi-truth bomb on her. Many lessons have started and ended since she had slapped me in the library. Part of me winces at the memory, aware of the bruise that was now on my cheek. Now, for the next two weeks, makeup would have to be my best friend. My only true best friend.

In tense silence, we both sit at the table. No-one has dared to sit with us, reading the tangible tension between us as we both took our aggression out on our lunch items. Instead they all watched, stared, hiding away in the safety of their groups and tables, gossiping behind hands and pulling out phones. No doubt they were all anticipating a round two. Unsurprisingly, the school's food chain was bustling to see who would become the next apex predator.

Life has a funny way of filling up spaces. When you lose skin, it patches itself back up. When it rains, water evaporates from lakes to fill the clouds. Here, the school food chain is no different. When one person moves up in social status, someone must move down and everyone else scrambles to fill up the remaining empty space. For many years this has happened. Ever since I've been here, that cycle is all I have ever known. I learned to survive its unforgiving rule.

So that is why I know - even though I do not truly want to - apologising to Courtney will ensure that my space is safe. Even if I don't mean it, even if it's all a lie, it will save me. Apologising will keep me safe.

The only problem is I don't want to.

More seconds pass between us, Courtney still glaring at me. part of me wants to wince under her intense glare, hide. Most of me is fuming, seething, outraged that she would even think to look at me in such a heated way. But then, I suppose, she has a right to be angry. I did ruin what little was left of her social life.

"Sorry," I mutter, finally breaking the ice as I swallowed the last of my sub. A halfhearted smile is joined with the half-felt apology, hopefully selling the image of remorse much better than my words. However it doesn't appear to have worked as Courtney grimaces, rolling her eyes as she tosses her fork onto her tray.

"I don't want your apology."

"Well too bad," I snap, rolling my eyes at her. I fold my arms across my chest, shaking my head as she pulled an even deeper scowl. "It's non-refundable."

Silence greets me - just as I'd expected. Courtney was always a stubborn mule, an unrelenting cow. Why would she ever change now? Why would she ever believe my words again after what I'd just told her? Honestly, she was justified in her choice to ignore more. I have caused her more pain than is necessary; I have led her down a maze of dark paths, each trail making her more and more monstrous the further along we went. Courtney's right to not like me. Courtney should hate me.

Yet I don't think she hates me. No, there is too much in common between us for her to hate me. Both of us are damaged. Both of us are crippled and misunderstood and overlooked. Our cries for attention go ignored; we have no true friends to rely on. We are alone. Broken and scared and alone. And the only way we know how to deal with ourselves, the realities we have been given, is acting out. Causing chaos.

"Look," I sigh, shaking my head. I know I have to be partially real with this. I have to open up. But that is hard to do. Opening up, trusting someone, is something I never do. Never ever. "I'm shitty at this, ok? I don't have many friends," I bite my lip, correcting myself, "I've never really had friends. I'm not good with this being emotional and friendly crap. I'm used to people using me, and me using them. Friendship, being friends, is all new to me. So when you... when you acted like my friend yesterday, I didn't know what to do."

"Yeah right," Courtney scoffs, looking just as unbelieving as I'd expected. Even more so.

"Do you really think I'm lying?" I raise a brow. Now I'm in disbelief. Hurt. I've opened myself up, exposed myself, and now she is judging me. "Tell me Courtney, what would I have to gain from lying about this? Even if it were a lie, why would I lie about my past? You know how life was for me. You've heard bits and pieces about how I used to be. You know I'm not lying."

"I'm not worried about you lying," Courtney responds, her voice cold. "Trust me, I'm over it."

"Then what's bothering you?" I fire back, raising my voice a little. I look her directly in the eye. "What have I done to you?"

For the first time today, something other than anger twitches on her face. Something small, something sad, worms its way onto her features, softens her eyes, tugs at her mouth and makes Courtney look... delicate. Fragile. As if, like me, she would break if even just one gentle hand decided to tugged at her at once.

Suddenly, a sense of guilt washes over me. Well, I believe it to be guilt. Otherwise the choking feeling in my throat, the squirming in my gut, is all due to the anxiety I get from everything else in my life. Plus, it would be nice to have a normal reaction for once. A human reaction. And it feels like it is human. From how I look at how, from how I recognise the sorrow, the fatigue... the resigned anger, this must be a human reaction. This must be guilt. Right?

"You've done so much," Courtney eventually sighs, shaking her head. Tears shimmer in her coffee brown eyes, wetting her eyelashes. She sniffs. "So, so much."

"And I said that I'm sorry," I snap, now losing my patience with her. What else did she expect? What else could she expect? I'm a person with baggage, someone with emotional issues. I'm not made to be the perfect friend. "What more do you want from me? I'm broken, I'm damaged, ok? And I don't know how to fix myself, let alone the mess of our semi-friendship."

Now I'm feeling emotional. Now tears - tears that I had vowed to never shed - are now stinging at my eyes, melting my mascara and eyeliner. I came here hoping to manipulate Courtney. I apologised hoping to make her feel wrong and weak. Now I am here feeling weak. Now, as if she was manipulating me, I am doing the very opposite of what I had anticipated. Tears are forming in my eyes, true tears. I don't know what to do with them.

"Then leave it broken," Courtney says calmly. Subtly pleads with me. Her hands tighten around the sides of her lunch tray. "Don't try to fix what is already broken." She then starts to get up, ready to drag herself and her tray away. Panic grips me.

"No!" I stand up, shaking my head vigorously. Instantly, she pauses, wide-eyed as she stares at me. "No, I won't do that."

"Why not?" Courtney asks, raising a brow. Carefully, she sits back down, her lips pressed.

"Because," I falter, making myself come to a pause. Could I admit this? Could I say this? Revealing this would expose my vulnerable side. Saying this would change everything forever. Carefully, I glance at Courtney. She is expectant, waiting, frozen in her position. I release a heavy breath, "Because I do consider you a friend, Courtney."

Her eyes widen, "Really?"

"Really," I nod, smiling a half-smile at her.

Calmness settles between us - much like that moment we shared in the rain, smoking all of our troubles away. No, not even just like that. There were more events, more times, when I had shared moments like these, moments of brief clarity and emotional fullness, with Courtney. When I was crying yesterday, when I advised her, when we had driven to Lindsay's for the sleepover... small moments of calm were all over our brief friendship, not just when we smoked.

Honestly, we got each other. Both of us, somehow, someway, understood each other. We got how the other worked and never questioned it. Never even tried to judge.

Maybe that is why I can think of Courtney as my friend...

Buzz! Raising a brow, I pull my phone out of my pocket. Immediately, I spot the new notification, a gasp leaving my lips. All I see is red. All I feel is intense rage and betrayal. Next thing I know I'm standing up, teeth grit and tray in hand. Then my tray is dumped on Courtney's lap, greasy meatballs and their sauce staining her skirt. Not missing a beat, I turn on my heel and stomp away from the scene, heading for the cafeteria's exit. I don't even bother to look back at her.

"Hey!" Courtney's shrill voice rings out from behind me.

"Next time you post about me, make sure I'm not around," Is all I respond with, more or less roaring it across the room.

She yells to match me, "Bitch!"

"From one to the other," I scream back, yanking open the door and slamming it behind me.

Now it is personal. Now this is war.