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Christine's Pov

It's always hard adjusting to change and pain. Sometimes, fate cruelly wrapped them into one so you can deal with them at the same time—take both of them and experience twice the pain and agonizing wait for you to heal again.

I laid in head, buried in mountains of blankets and pillows, sounding like a dying animal as I dry heaved; the only thing you can do when you've ran dry of tears and anger, no longer wishing you could just punch a wall.

Times like that made me want a Mom…

…My Mom.

Seeing all those movies and TV shows about daughters and mothers working together through heartbreak and high school in general made me realize what huge hole was gaping in my life, and its shape and form. Rem was amazing—I couldn't have asked for anyone better. But she can only do so much to fill the void.

When lying there, shunning the world, that's what my thoughts were focused on. Everything depressing in my life just rose to the surface at my lowest point, mocking me as hard as a slap to the face.

With stiff joints, I rose to my feet, slippers shuffling out of my room and down the stairs as I tightened my comforter around me tighter. I groaned—never in my life had I found a trip to the living room so agonizingly slow and painful. (Earlier that week I felt the same about traveling the bathroom every day.)

I collapsed onto the couch a bitter handful of minutes later, legs already sighing in relief when I plant my butt down and try to reach the remote; I gave up with my fingertips a good inch or two away.

Boy did break-ups make me a mess. Not even being able to reach for the remote—even to me that was lazy.

Break-ups also turned a person abnormally bitter.

I felt kind of bad as I thought back to earlier that day when I came home from school, instantly blowing up at my father just because he asked how my day went; it wasn't his fault he didn't know about Chase's freaky demon split-personality.

Suddenly my phone started buzzing. With a groan I looked up from the pillow I stuffed my face into—then groaned again when I saw the caller ID.

I didn't hate Bree; I never could hate the girl that became my best friend on my first week of school. But talking to her wasn't good for me right now—talking to a Davenport would lead me to think about another one who I fell in love with…

With a simple shake of my head, I buried myself deeper into my comforter again; ignoring my phone and "shunning the world" someone could call it.

Rem whirred by a couple times, never once attempting to talk to me. I couldn't blame her—my sour mood and depressing aura was enough to flag a person away.

That's what I was hoping until I heard the doorbell go off. I groaned while slamming throw pillows over my ears. I waited—Rem never came by to answer whoever insisted coming over on the worst day ever, leaving me to do it.

I really hated people at that moment.

"What do you want?" I snapped bitterly as the door swung open. On any other day, the thought of being seen in my wrinkly pajamas, monkey slippers, and major bedhead, I would've slammed the door in their faces and left them there to wait until I was decent again.

But things change.

People change.

Hunter stood there, looking me over. "You should dress that more often," he teased, inviting himself in like always.

I was shoved aside, crossing my arms and glowering at the back of his head, mumbling insults along the line of, "famous ex-boyfriend idiot," and things much worse.

"I'll ignore them because of your pain," Hunter just replied with. He sat down on the couch. "Now, are you going to scream and yell at the top of your lungs like you always do?"

I frowned; he's been present for way to many of my break-up sessions.

"Too late," I said in mock sadness, pouting at him as I sit next to him. "You missed that the second day of my moping."

"It's only Thursday and you've had school," Hunter pointed out, "How much moping could you do?" Then, like tacking it on as an afterthought he added, "You have been going to school, right?"

I crossed my arms and stared straight ahead. "You don't go to college," I defended weakly, making a fatal attempt to dismiss his question. "So why should I go to school?"

Hunter rolled his eyes. "That was the worst argument ever," he claimed dramatically and I couldn't help but agree. "Besides," he added, "I'm famous—there's no time to go to school in my schedule."

"But plenty of time to bug me," I complained. I crossed my arms and frowned, staring down at my slippers propped up on the coffee table. "So why not throw some time to flip through textbooks in while you're at it?"

Hunter smirked, "There no fun."

"You know," I began, twisting to face him, "Hitting and punching you until you bleed seems like the perfect plan to make you leave right now." I sneered playfully. "I am broken-hearted; a lot of my emotions can go into using you as a punching bag."

Hunter's Pov

I never went for the same girl twice; repeating a relationship was like trying to remake something that you knew wouldn't work out in the end but going ahead and doing it anyway. I haven't dated many girls (most of them because my manager said to), but I knew enough to know that every girl coming out of a un-sparked relationship felt the same way I did.

But Christine was different.

The only reason we were so close was because we were born into a friendship already made by our parents meeting up with each other through school. So it was the typical cliché cycle of Best friends-boyfriend girlfriend-best friends all over again.

It was bad or rocky or complicated—just awkward. So we ended it, still closer than ever and still mutual about our feelings.

But I didn't catch on to the whole "dating other people" situation until Christine started doing so: Dating boys.

None of that was her fault. Christine knew what type of thing she was getting into; she was used to the brief month-slash-couple of week's thing since she was fourteen. So every time she moved, the mark of an ended dating game became the point of a new one.

Being the best friend I was to her, I sat back at her wishes of doing this alone, watching it all play out over and over again.

That didn't mean I liked it.

I especially didn't like the types she was attracted to: Bad Boys—or to a lesser extent, Detention Campers, I liked to call them. Somehow Christine found something oddly interesting in how they always played it cool in the worst problems they faced.

So you can imagine my surprise when Allan and Christine pack up and she fell for a geek (or nerd, I can't tell the difference between the two stereotypes).

Chase was pretty decent by the way Christine described him—you're corky, smarty pants type of high school who flaunted their intelligence at every chance they could; taking a beating from the jocks because of it.

"Chase just has that same pull as all the others," Christine had explained over one of our Skype sessions. "Except this one seems stronger—a bigger curiosity of him, you know? That one feeling you get in your gut that tells you that person you just have to meet. Get it?

Of course I didn't, but played along for her sake.

"I think you should just forget about him," I cut her off suddenly, shrugging.

Christine narrowed her eyes at me. "That's kind of hard to do you know—we've only been split for three days."

"Why remember something that breaks your heart?" I urged, turning to face her even more, staring right in to her big brown eyes as they looked off distractedly.

Her eyes darted down to her lap quickly, her hand fidgeting with the belt of her robe. "I think of my mom a lot," she whispered, distractedly, her head shooting up as her eyes bounce around the room. "Especially now…"

My eyes widened and I thought I nearly lost her. Christine's only had these types of moments three or four times before—they weren't anything too major, basically her spacing out because of thinking with her mom. The longest I've ever been around to see her gone was at least four hours, just sitting on a chair while staring straight ahead…

…Unblinking.

Allan's only taken it to professionals once or twice—this was her relief, they claimed. Leave her be and she'll be fine.

So that's what we did.

Fortunately, there were ways tell measure how bad the space-out would get. A certain look Christine would get in her eyes; blank or vacant—not as similar as people would think.

I never knew how to snap her out of it exactly, so I did the first thing that came to mind.

"What are you doing?" Christine shrieked in shock, jumping off the couch and stumbling backward to the wall, staring at me with wide eyes all the while. "How to heck is that supposed to help me?"

I jumped up too, making my way toward her and watching as Christine shook her head back and forth, shoving off the wall and scurrying quickly toward the kitchen.

"I was trying to make you realize what I feel about you!" I protested, trying to make her understand—dig down deep enough for her to see what I still felt for her.

"By trying to force me into something I don't want?" Christine argued. Her knuckles turned a shaky white as she gripped the counter in her fists. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, repeating it until she felt calm again. "I think you should leave," Christine requested lowly, "Before you do something you'll regret."

I gaped at her in shock. "What? Why?"

"Just leave," Christine said tiredly, suddenly looking worn out. "And maybe we'll sort this out later, and if not later—"She shrugged as if not knowing how to finish her sentence and gesturing toward the door.

With a heavy sigh and regretful, guilty look shot toward her way, I made my way toward the door.

What did I just do?

Chase's Pov

"Are you sure this is going to work?" I asked again for the millionth time. Maybe I stressing this little 'plan' more than I should be, but I couldn't help it. Anxiety gnawed at my insides with butterflies whipping around my stomach as I wrung my hands nervously.

Bree groaned, shooting a glare toward me. "I swear," she hissed in annoyance, "You ask one more time and I'm slapping you upside the head."

"Do it," Leo snorted as he rolled his eyes. "I bet it will knock some useful sense into that big head of his." He turned to looking at me. "I mean seriously dude, you're always bragging about that big brain of yours—use it for something normal for once," he added while wagging his finger at me as if scolding a small child for taking candy without permission.

I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest; he couldn't talk when I knew more useful things that he did, whether he thought so or not.

"Comic geek."

"Brain head."

"Seriously, that's the best you got?" I looked at him in dismay.

Leo frowned, "You caught me at a bad moment, okay?"

"Focus you idiots," Bree snapped at us, scowling at us as she turned away from spying around the corner. "Do you want a girlfriend or not?"

I snorted and stared her down. "You're one to talk; you don't even have a boyfriend yet and I'm younger than you."

Leo clapped me on the shoulder. "Not something you want to be blurting around, dude," he whispered to me as Bree set her jaw.

"Thin ice," Bree warned with a glared, "Thin ice."

"And it's not like buff and blond is going to love seeing Chase walk up to him," Leo said thoughtfully, "Especially not after that awesome beat down Spike gave him!"

I looked around warily, watching out for anyone over hearing. After seeing the hall was clear of any spying students—just because they were called off doesn't mean they still didn't do it—before smacking Leo's shoulder hard. "Could you be anymore louder? I don't think China heard you?" I hissed to him as he rubbed his shoulder. Wimp—I didn't attempt to hit him as hard as I could him. He'd live.

"If you two ninnies are down with your yapping, Callan's at his locker. Move!" Bree shoved me from our hiding spot and I stumbled toward the aforementioned blond at his locker. I slammed my hand on the locker nearest to me, making me presence a lot angrier than what I really felt; embarrassment and annoyance that Bree was actually making me do this.

He jumped, nearly dropping the book in his hand. "Uh, hey Chase," Callan said awkwardly, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. I've never been one to take note of a person's body language—if they were feeling something, people had to make it more obvious than just standing there in a certain way, that's my theory anyway—but I could tell he was anxious to get away from me, fearful of another punch.

Who wouldn't be? Spike left a pretty impressive bruise from the last attack.

"Hey," I said back. I tried not to show it, but I was as uncomfortable as he was. But someone had to be the bigger person and his attempts at doing that were clouded by fear.

So that left me to do it.

Just. Effing. Great.

I was so killing Bree if the awkwardness of this situation didn't get to me first.

"Is this going to long?" Callan asked nervously. He looked down at the textbook in his hands—I would be to. "I kind of have class soon."

I looked to the clock; we had ten minutes until next period and the next period was lunch. He didn't need to be anywhere, but I don't think he knew I knew that. But instead I played along for his sake, muttering something along the lines of, "Yeah, but can you just tell Christine something for me?"

Callan finally looked up, but not at me. Instead he just looked at the locker's chipping paint on its vent. "I haven't really seen Christine. No one has, really."

Like I didn't know that before, I mused, running a hand through my hair. I'd been on the hunt for Christine all week—hanging around her classes when they got out and keeping on the lookout for the sight of her at lunch. As stalker-ish as that made I sound, I really was a desperate, pathetic teenager pining after a girl how hated his guts now.

Have I mentioned how freaking great my life is right now?

"Just give her this," I mumbled, digging into my pocket and shoving at folded piece of paper I'd written on this morning before leaving for school. This wasn't what Bree wanted me to do, but I really hated having to stand in front of the guy I accused my girlfriend (or Ex, as I know have to get use to saying) of cheating on me with. So thinking quickly, I had written done what she had coached me to say and just planned to have the note do everything.

Before Callan could ask pressuring questions, I dodged him altogether by quickly walking away with my head down.

"What the heck was that?" Bree exclaimed angrily, yanking on my arm in frustration. "You were supposed to talk to him you idiot!"

Oh please—she was acting a bit more dramatic about this than I was. And I was that one that was dumped in the first place. "Lay off Drama Queen; what's your problem anyway?"

"I thought we had already gone over this; your relationship goes down the toilet—my chances of being the Maid Of Honor go down with it. And I need to be the Maid Of Honor and rub it Rachel's face!"

That was a horrible ending, but I really needed to get this done for you guys.

Sorry for the late, late, late update, but between my family hectic behavior, the death of someone very close to me, and all the drama that came along with that—boy, I just can't find the time to stay focused anymore.

Please leave a review and tell me what you think of the chapter so far.

P.S.: If you even read this A/N write the word "PicklePeas" in your review. Thanks! :)