Author's Note ;; I don't know what I'm doing...? I just saw this morning during breakfast that this story had gotten a Favourite and a Follow! I raved like mad about it all morning, I'm sure my friends were annoyed with me. xD Anyway, here's this thing because my motivation has been partially kicked back into me!

Just a little thing I'm putting here to let everyone know that I will be referring to Douchebag as that name itself, the New Kid, and the name I gave my Douchebag. Dietrich "Dirk" Bowie. It just makes it a little less awkward in chapters like these where he's told people his name and they know it. This shouldn't change the any of the story lines whatsoever, I hope. I also hope giving him a name doesn't drive anyone away, I just wanted to make this a little easier on my wording.

With all of that being said - enjoy! 3

"You encouraged my desire,

then you put the arrow in my back."

- The Boy Who Murdered Love, Diana Vickers

It was believed that situations similar to these only happened in Hollywood movies. Couples running for their right to be together, caring for each other on their own, becoming adults at early ages just to love. They'd do anything for each other, fight, bleed. Die for one another. Stan had always grown-up thinking he'd never have his fairy tale story written like Cinderella's, or Romeo and Juliet's. He had always thought of himself settling down with Wendy, everyone accepting their relationship, then going off to have kids or whatever else came their way. It would be the usual husband and wife relationship, kind of boring, but he guessed that was how it always turned out. A life with Wendy could be exciting, being married to the girl he'd had a crush on since he could ever remember.

Eventually, he began to daydream about a big house with a white picket fence. Stan almost laughed at the time of how typical it was. Everyone had the dream of a house with the white picket fence, dog running in the yard as wife cooked dinner and husband did yard work. It was the picture perfect American dream, to have a life so settled down. He imagined coming home from work, petting the dog as it trotted over to him, opening the front door with the biggest grin, loosening his tie - that made him laugh too, he can't even tie one to begin with - and calling out to his loving wife, "Honey, I'm home!"

It took him a few moments to compose himself after that thought, thankful that he was alone to laugh about it all. While he thought it was completely ridiculous to think things would end up like that, he entertained every thought that involved him and his future. Stan gave a shake of the head, then turned his attention back to the daydream begging to be finished. He had it a million times and it was still nice to rewind every now and then.

The older, more attractive version of himself - as far as he believes - removes his shoes, remembering his wife can't stand allowing them on the clean, white carpet. He sets them to the side next to her...those weren't her shoes, were they? He scratches his head, wondering why in the place where his wife's cute little flats would usually reside, lay somewhat scuffed Converse. He took note of the change in scenery, but didn't linger on the detail too long before he was making his way through the hallways. There were pictures of him and his wife there before, one he liked especially where he had his arm around Wendy's shoulder and she seemed to be upset with him. That was gone, they were all gone. What the hell...? Again, he tries to shrug off that detail but takes a small mental note of it to carry onto the kitchen. He would surely find his wife making dinner, as usual.

"Wendy, I'm -" Stan rounds the corner, ready to throw his arms around the woman then spin her around in a great big circle. She's not there, nothing is on the stove. It's all blank, everything has changed. He blinks. A gulp, "Hey, I'm home!" He shouts, hoping for a response anywhere in the house. It didn't matter if it came from the goddamn bathroom, he just needed to know she was home and this entire thing hadn't gone terribly wrong.

The response he receives in return is downright unexpected, if you're saying it in the least terms. The shout back was a male voice, low, somewhat sick sounding. "I'm in the living room, fucknut!" Oh yeah, that definitely wasn't Wendy. He jumps from his place, instantly at alert and began to run towards the source. It sounds familiar, though he's sure it's not heard very often. Stan rarely hears this voice and in addition he's surprised whenever it's spoken out. Who in God's name was shouting back to him that wasn't Wendy if he heard it before?

"Did you bring food back? There's nothing left the in the fridge." There it is again, closer now. "Are you playing the mute-boyfriend game with me? That's my thing, Marsh. Cut it out." Mute. Boyfriend.

Fuck.

Reality smacks him with more force than his mother could ever dream of doing, making him sit up stick straight from his position in a cold, nervous sweat. That was...oh. Oh my God... He ran his hands down his face, gripping his bangs in the process and nearly tearing the hair he handled right out. Stan thought that this stupid little crush on his friend had gone away in the fourth grade! Right where it started, he thought he had managed to kill it... Ugh, fuck! Mother help me, I've been cursed.

"I have got to get over him..."