Thanks for the reviews/alerts! They're awesome for motivation. Sorry this one took so long...school caught up with me, and for some reason, this chapter didn't come as easily as the others. I hope it doesn't disappoint :D

Day 45, 3:16 p.m.

The fluorescent lights buzz and crackle over my head, the light pounding an artificial migraine into my skull. I rub my hairline and squint against the plastered advertisements and twenty different varieties of gum and tobacco. The clerk in front of me is not amused, and she huffs impatiently as if I'm holding up the line to the cash register, even though I'm the only customer in the store. I stand there a while longer, shuffling a few dollar bills together as I consider making a purchase.

She glances longingly back to the stained staff lounge room, and sighs in exasperation at my motionless state. "Can I help you?"

I blink, startled by the double meaning of her words. My eyes turn bitter, narrowed and focused on the floor. Employee of the Month looks at me like I'm crazy. I turn to leave, but then remember to throw something back at her between the slit of a slamming door:

"No one can help me."

The truth of these words wrenches my gut as I flee to the parking lot.

Day 24, 12:28 p.m.

"Let me exp—"

"Don't touch me!" I scream, jerking away from his grasp. "You lying, filthy son of a-"

"It was nothing, I swear! It meant nothing!" He keeps pace behind me as I stalk angrily through the vandalized alleyway.

"Nothing? You macking in the corner with some second-rate slut meant nothing?" I hurl at him, remembering the way her bare legs curled around his waist, and the sultry groans from his treacherous mouth. I want to claw his eyes out, slash his throat, make him beg for death on the broken sidewalk. But I also want to feel those arms around me again. I shake my head, angry prickles forming in the back of my eyes.

He grabs me, forcing my wounded eyes to look at his. "Please let me explain."

"There's nothing to expla-"

I am cut off by his kiss. It is frustrated and dominating, forcing my will to bend against his. He crushes me to his chest, and traps me between iron bars. "It didn't mean anything," he whispers against my cheek, his voice soft and persuasive, twisting my anger into weakness.

And like an idiot, I believe him.

Day 40, 10:38 p.m.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Jimmy's voice is a disbelieving drone in my ear.

I slowly roll my eyes to look at his as he half-carries, half-drags me up from the parking lot. The buzz I'm riding is nice, everything just the right amount of blurry around the edges; his intervention is a wholly unwelcome one. Rather than cooperate, I let my body sag like a garbage bag against his slim frame, my mouth slack in a lazy laugh that lacks any humor.

He gets me to my feet, and I stare defiantly back. After all, I'm just returning the favor.

That's when Jimmy throws the first punch. Not at me, but at Will, though I suspect my face may have flashed in his eyes right before he landed the blow. The high I'm tripping seeps down to the warped cement, and then I'm screaming.

I step between them as Will shoves back, and the pissed off shouts ringing through the air are mine. Jimmy curses and grabs me by the mouth, shutting me into silence. I stamp on his foot just enough so that his grip loosens, and aim my hours-old gum at his indignant face. I'm tossed away like a wasted cigarette butt.

Will takes advantage of the situation and drives him into the ground, fists unrelenting against Jimmy's sharp jaw line. The crowd is raucous in either encouragement or horror; I can't tell the difference.

I lose track of who has the tactical advantage as the fight flops along with my stomach; stale bile rises in my throat and threatens to erupt, but I choke it down, entranced by the horror unfolding in front of me. The wet scrape of flesh against asphalt echoes throughout the parking lot, skin peeling away to form crimson tattoos on both, mingling with the faded ink on snow white.

Someone steps forward, the only sanity in the mosh pit of noise and primitive anger. Arms are jerked away, fingernails clawing only at the empty air now, and then they're gone. And though I can feel the audience's gaze blistering my back, I feel more alone than ever before, surrounded by the pieces of a destruction that was really all my own.