Sorry to keep you waiting again, guys! I've got a lot going on right now. And I've been a horrible fanfiction'er lately as well. I don't think I've read any fics in about two weeks. I miss it.

And since I haven't read any fics, I haven't heard your opinion on the last episode of Sonny with a Chance. Love it? Like it? Hate it?

I absolutely adored the part at the hospital, when Chad was all, "I love...I love..."

That was seriously amazing.

The singing part kinda creeped me out though.

Alright, enough with my talking to myself. Well, you guys, but right now, it's myself.

ANYWAY, on with the chapter.

Mmm…what happened last night?

I feel like crap. No, that's an understatement.

Imagine how you would feel if someone took a dull knife, cut your head open slowly, and placed one-hundred pounds of white hot coals inside your head. Then, they placed the speakers of a very large music system right next to your ears and played the music you hate the most at a volume of one-thousand.

Think that sucks? Oh, it gets even better.

They then took two dull sticks with thorns on them and jammed them into you eyes and twisted them around. At some point before you woke up they placed about ten gallons of the most vile smelling vomit in your bed.

Now to the stomach. Imagine you ate a plate of three day old sushi that had been sitting in the sun, washed down by lukewarm buttermilk.

You know how gross and bitter child's medicine tastes, correct? Imagine having that taste

Lovely, right?

Not.

That's how I was woken up.

Well, that, and my louder-than-usual alarm clock.

My dreams were interrupted with a beeping so loud that I thought my head was going to explode. It interrupted my shaky yet peaceful dreams with its blaring siren.

Okay, usually, alarm clocks are annoying. Everyone knows that. But this time, it was so unbelievably and unexpectedly painful that it was ripping my head open.

Stiffly, I moved my arm to hit it as hard as possible so I could shut it off.

Sitting up, I groaned. So this is what a hangover feels like. I guess people weren't being overdramatic the day after drinking large amounts of alcohol after all.

Which is pretty much all I remember. Me drinking. Then it gets fuzzy…and then it just stops. I have no idea what happened last night. I could have married the president's wife for all I know.

My head was pounding and my stomach was doing summersaults. The taste of pennies took over my mouth.

Oh, crap.

Forcing my body to move, I ran to the bathroom and clutched the toilet as my insides were forcing their way out of me.

It's official: I am never drinking again.

I whined to myself in disgust as I wiped off my mouth and began to brush my teeth. Not just disgust at the obvious, but disgust at myself for drinking so much. My mom definitely taught me better.

Ugh, if she could see me now…she'd be so disappointed. She'd tell me that it was stupid to risk my sanity for her. To submit to my cheating ex-boyfriend. To get wasted at a Hollywood party, and whatever other crap I've done while intoxicated.

Speaking of, there still hasn't been any bad news from the doctor, so I guess that's a comfort.

Only one more week…

As soon as I set one foot outside of the bathroom, I noticed something majorly off with my room. It looked abnormally clean, and I'm positive that I didn't do it.

My dresser was seriously wiped clean of all makeup, jewelry, tissues, everything. My closet door was wide open, revealing empty racks where my clothes used to be; including the ones Elyse gave.

Quickly, I scurried to my dresser and checked the drawers.

Sock and underwear drawer? Empty.

Pajama drawer? Empty.

Random-stuff-that-I-threw-in-because-I-couldn't-find-a-place-for-it drawer? Empty.

Have we been robbed?

Suddenly, my eyes landed on the neat stack of gray suitcases arranged at the corner of my room. I eyed them suspiciously before ripping the top one open to find my folded clothes.

I picked up the purple t-shirt and held it to my chest. What the crap is going on?

Chad.

Infuriated (which didn't exactly help my already pounding head), I impulsively bolted out of my room and down the steps, ignoring my aching body. I could feel a few bruises on me and I had no idea how they got there. I had a negative-two-percent recollection of the night before. I wanted to lose control for a night, but apparently I lost so much control that I just don't know what's going on. I'm so confused.

Thankfully, I have a feeling that Chad knows what's up. And speak of the devil, there he is, sitting down at the kitchen table, pigging out on pizza and soda.

"Chad…" I started, approaching him apprehensively, holding my head. Without even looking at me, he replied.

"About time for you to get up." he grumbled impolitely, glancing at his wristwatch.

I really don't have time for his attitude. I don't think I even care about his mood swings anymore. It's just too much drama.

Let's cut right to the chase. "Why are my bags packed?"

Now, he looked up. My eyes locked with his deep, cold blue ones. A shiver ran down my spine. Out of fear? Out of anger? Out of annoyance? Out of…dare I say, attraction? Or something even more than that?

Smoothly, he reached for his soda and took a nice, long, taunting sip before he answered me.

"Because you're going home." he replied simply with his hands folded.

"What?" I exclaimed incredulously, feeling my tongue stress the letter t. "Why would I be doing that?" Briefly, my mind flashbacked to the hell of a state I call Wisconsin. There was no way I'd go there any sooner than I needed to. And it had only been a week. I must be hallucinating or something. "I need to sit down…" I muttered to myself, feeling my hangover symptoms worsen. I sat on a stool near the counter and rested my head on the top of the brown, marble texture.

"Because you're fired."

My hands slapped the counter and my head sprang up immediately. The dead look in his eyes told me that he was serious.

"What? Why? What did I do? I have a week left. This can't be happening. You can't do this. You can't, you can't, you can't. No. Crap. I feel sick…" I blubbered, clutching both my stomach and my head at the same time as my body tortured me. A whole new reality entered my head that I had never anticipated: me going home. Is this how the people on American Idol feel when they're sent home? They had plans. Dreams. And then all of a sudden, they're gone. This can't happen to me. Strangely enough, this place is keeping me sane. Well, as sane as I could be. And this not only helps me, but my mom too! He can't…just…kill my mom. And weirdly enough, it feels like I have some sort of sick purpose here, and I haven't fully fulfilled it yet. I have to stay.

"Drink this," he offered, pushing a cup to me. I didn't break eye contact with him and gave him my best pleading look as I gripped the glass cup. I looked down. It was some weird green concoction, and I was surprised it wasn't bubbling.

"What the hell is it?" I asked angrily.

"Just drink it," he commanded dryly, accompanied by an eye roll.

"No! Tell me why I'm fired!"

"Drink it."

"Stop screaming!" I wailed, shielding my ears. "Tell me!"

"I'm not screaming!" he yelled. "Well. Now I am. Whatever. Drink." he said, torturing my eardrums.

"Tell."

"Drink."

"Tell."

"Drink." he said forcefully this time, pushing the cup even closer to me. I looked at him suspiciously before downing it. A part of me thought it might be poison, but if that was the case, I don't care if I die anymore.

It tasted awful. It had to be poison. It took all of my willpower not to throw it back up.

"You trying to poison me?" I accused, wiping my mouth, hoping that the horrible taste would diminish.

"It's a remedy for hangovers." he explained. "Nasty, but it works."

I looked at him, and then the cup, and then him, and then the cup, and then him. How could he drop such a bomb on me and then give me this crap, and talk to me like everything's perfectly fine?

Reluctantly, I sipped the cup; slowly this time. Surprisingly, I must have gotten used to the vile taste, because I finished the whole thing under his watchful eye without gagging.

"Now," I said, my head spinning from the news, but healing from the drink. "Why exactly am I fired?" I exclaimed a little louder than I intended to.

"You know why," he snarled, walking away.

"No, I don't," I said, following him into the living room which was still trashed from last night.

"Whatever, Sonny. Look, I don't have time for this. Just go." he ordered, waving me off as if I was a cloud of flies.

I let out a dry laugh. "No way. You should at least have the decency to tell me why you're firing me. Because I'm pretty sure I did everything right. I dusted your pool, cleaned your room, picked lint off the carpet," I listed with my fingers. "All of the idiotic tasks you had me do, I did them. So why?" I ranted, feeling tears spring to my eyes.

For a moment, he didn't answer. The air was tension-filled and I was impatiently waiting for his explanation. We both just stood there for what felt like hours, staring at each other expectantly. As of now, whatever happens, happens. Like I said, I don't care anymore. I just want my mom to be okay.

Finally, he replied. "Last night." he snarled.

"Care to elaborate?" I prompted. "What exactly happened last night?"

"Like you don't know," he scoffed. "Don't try to play that whole innocent doe-eyed trick. Not gonna work this time."

"Chad, I'm serious. I don't remember anything. What did I do last night that was so bad that you'd fire me? Did I step on the mayor's foot or something?"

Again, he didn't answer right away, as if he was trying to collect his words. That didn't seem to work out for him though, because he uttered only one.

"James."

And at that exact moment, I got a major dose of dejavu. That name came out of my mouth recently. The feelings I must have had when I uttered it last came rushing back to me. It made me scared. It made me want to curl up in a ball. It made me want to run away.

"Wait…" I said, holding my head. But this time, it wasn't because it was throbbing. It was because my memory was slowly but surely coming back to me.

I remember talking to the bartender…Mike. That was his name. Mike. And then a guy came over to me and asked me to dance…the next thing I remember, I was in a room, we were making out, he was on top of me…

**

Flashback:

I recognized the face. "James!" I yelped, surprised. All he did was smirk and continue touching my body. I tried to get up. I tried to head for the door. He stopped me. He grabbed my wrist and pushed me on the couch.

"No…I don't want to…" I said weakly. The alcohol was still taking its toll on me.

"Should've thought about that before you came in here with me, huh?" he pointed out. I didn't say anything. "Once a tease, always a tease, I guess." he said while he positioned himself over me. I screamed. He silenced me by kissing me. Hard. He forced his tongue into my mouth. I tried to push him off; tried to fight back. He was stronger than me. I tried to scream again. He slapped me.

"Just lie perfectly still…" he cooed. I didn't have a choice. Even if I wasn't intoxicated, I wouldn't have enough strength to fight him off. Maybe I should have taken karate like my mom suggested.

And then, somewhere after that time, Chad came in. I rolled off of the couch and onto the floor. Chad was mad. He made James leave.

I was on the ground, I was holding my head, I was scared.

But I was okay.

**

"You saved me…" I whispered, gazing at him unbelievingly. His marvelous blue eyes squinted in confusion.

"You still drunk?"

I shook my head slowly. The realization was still coming over me.

"You stopped James." I stared at him in awe.

"What?" he scoffed. "I didn't stop him or save you from anything."

"Yes, you did." I pushed.

"No." he said, stopping to stare at me for a few seconds. "Wait, are you trying to say that he was like raping you or something? Don't pull that card, Sonny. I was there. You were just as willing as he was." Bull! He must have come in before the struggle.

"No, that's not what happened. Not at all." I said slowly. He didn't regress. He stayed in his firm, disbelieving stance, glaring at me with doubt. My hands snapped to my side and I said with attitude, "Really? You don't believe me? Really?"

"Don't steal my line!" he spazzed.

"I'll use your line all I want! I'm fired, anyway! You can't tell me what to do anymore!" I yelled.

"Well then, you're not fired! But you are! Well, not until you leave this house anyway!"

"You can't make me leave just because of that, Chad! Even if I did sleep with James willingly, what's the big deal? What are you, jealous?"

He scoffed ridiculously. "Psh, no. Why would I be jealous? I'm just sick of the emotional struggle you put me through!"

"Emotional struggle?" I repeated, using air quotes. "Really, Chad, really? Sounds like something you'd hear on one of those lame talk shoes. Plus, one has to actually care about the other person to be put through, quote, emotional struggle." I argued. Part of me wanted it to all stop right there. Part of me wanted him to soften; to say, "I do care." and for us to pick up right where we left off.

Yeah, right.

Then, he calmed. "I do care." I felt myself grow hopeful and my heart beating erratically. And as cliché as this sounds, I heard music; beautiful, beautiful, music.

"About my friends. I didn't bring you here to get laid. I brought you here to work for me. Not to sleep with my best friend."

It all stopped like a train wreck. So much for that.

I folded my arms against my chest angrily and defensively. The fabric rubbed up against them, and it finally clicked that I was still wearing my dress from yesterday. "For that last freaking time, Chad, I didn't sleep with him. I didn't want to sleep with him. I almost did though. It wasn't willingly." I looked up at him, feeling the tears start to flow now. He still wasn't convinced.

"Prove it."

"You want details? Fine. I did go in the room with him willingly, yes. I made out with him. I was drunk, but I still had no intentions of going farther. He tried to undress me but I told him no. Then it was okay…until I recognized him. I told him to stop, but he didn't. I ran for the door, but he stopped me. He pushed me on the couch. I tried to fight him off, but it didn't work. He hit me and told me that if I just stay still, it will all be over sooner. I was too weak so I listened to him. I guess you walked in shortly after that."

Chad was silent. I gaped at him with watery eyes. I fiercely wiped my tears away so I could see him better. His demeanor was hard and cold and unreadable. At this point, it could pan out either way. Both of the situations were horrible, but one would at least turn out good for someone else: my mom. I waited, and waited, and waited. It felt like an eternity.

Finally, he replied. He started off stuttering, as if the words were still processing. "I…you…"

"Me."

"You…I don't know what to believe."

I thought for a few moments; digging in my head to find the right words. Suddenly, it clicked.

"Chad...you're an actor." I started. "You've worked with other actors. You know when they're acting and when they're not by just looking at them. You told me a long time ago that you can tell when the people you've been with the most are lying by doing that too." I reminded him. "Now look at me. Do I look like I'm lying?"

He took my words in, then scanned me very slowly. His eyes were squinted so narrow that they were practically slits. It didn't have to put on a convincing face or face my body in any certain way to make myself seem more believable. I just stood there was I was, arms across my chest, leaving only to wipe the wetness off of my face. With each increasing second, his eyes widened a bit more. I tried to keep eye contact with him the best I could, but I swear, his now fully opened ice blue eyes were all over the place.

"You don't." he said, breaking the silence. "You're not lying…" he sighed, brushing his blonde bangs back. I shook my head.

"Wow…okay…" he plopped down on the couch, blown away, overwhelmed.

"Yeah. Okay." I sighed, sitting at the other end.

"I guess…you can stay." he breathed. I felt a burst of hope ignite in me.

"Thanks." I acknowledged.

And that's all that needed to be said. We sat in a comfortable silence, just soaking in everything. We stared straight ahead at his intricate and modern design and the mess decorating it. I knew that I had to clean it up eventually. I knew that soon, I had to unpack all of my stuff and arrange them back in my room. I had to hang up all the clothes, put back my amenities, and worst of all...clean toilets.

But for now, the drama was over. There was this weird sense of harmony surrounding us. It was the peaceful calm after the destructive storm.

I couldn't help but look over at him. Why did he get so mad about it? Why would he be willing to fire me for something that shallow? His explanation didn't make sense. Was he jealous?

Without warning, my stomach erupted. I threw my hands over my mouth and began to dash for the bathroom. So much for Chad's oh-so-brilliant "remedy."

"I'm going to be sick…"