Pleaaaseeee don't hate me! I know I'm a total bitch for not uploading this for so long, but you can totally blame it on Gossip Girl, Total Drama Island and a major author's block :S Well, I also know you don't deserve such a short chapter, but I needed to get rid of this in order to move on.

I have to thank all the ppl that are still reading this, even though I have about 5 months without uploading. Again, I am sooo sooo sorry, and I hope you stick to this nontheless.

Without further adittion, I'll shut up and let you read.

XOXO,

Andy

The Secret Life of Lonely Millionaires

How was she going to get out of there? She questioned herself. She didn't recognize the neighborhood at all. Standing outside that house, feeling herself uncharacteristic, wearing a pair of black Converse, with black tights and a white, baggy shirt... what could be less Claire? Well, while no one could see her like that, it was okay. When she began to walk, she heard the little squeak of the door and felt the air current when it turned open.

"C'mon, Cherry" John Bender said, with a smug grin and a pair of keys in his hand.

"I won't go anywhere with you" she stated back, crossing her arms stubbornly.

He ignored her and kept walking, opening a Mustang '75 door for her. The car had a dusty green color, and John motioned toward it glaring at her impatiently.

"Oh! What a gentleman you are!" she said with sarcasm.

"Look kid, I don't know (and don't care) if you like it or not, but you're going inside this vehicle right now. I won't let you wonder and get lost in this place..." she was about to protest and claim she knew exactly where she was, but he cut her short. "I know you have no idea as to where you are, so shut up and get in".

She had to admit he was right, but wasn't about to say it out loud. Finally and with a dramatic sigh, she decided to follow. It's the last time you'll see him she kept thinking. They drove in silence for what seemed like forever, neither daring to turn on the radio, or to speak for that matter. Claire couldn't deny it. Quick butterflies filled her stomach, as the window reflection provided her with the beautiful image of his delined profile, brighter every time, against the reddish, sunset light.

When they were close to her house, Bender couldn't hold the flashback that appeared on its own accord in front of him at the sight of that tree, the biggest one, that shadowed easily the marble statues decorating the front garden.

The glowing stars of the night iluminated the boy, sitting on of the branches of the large tree. His sight was fixiated over the big, white house, towards the balcony, waiting to catch something, even if it was just a glimpse, to catch sight of a certain upstand girl. His butt ached from beeing on that uncomfortable, stiff place for so long, but pain was a daily matter for him, so he had learned to ignore it. For how long had he waited now? Was it an hour? Two or three? And It wasn't even the first time.

He knew the path to this house like the back of his hand, since that one day after school when he had followed (yes, followed) her on her way back, three or so months ago. It was a torturous, secret ritual, which he did every once in a while, when neither the dope, nor the booze could calm him and the music in the parties simply wasn't loud enough. Finally, he saw something, besides the steady, little marble angels distributed across the flawless grass. There, on the balcony, stood the slim figure of the redhead he was there to watch. He felt like a stalker, but yet then he stared, charmed with her tiny frame all covered in a man's football shirt, too big for her, but as adorable as she could get to his eyes, like a child that holds herself under the protective embrace of her bed-covers.

There, hidden by the shadows, he told her within silent whispers every word he knew he could never say out loud.

The memory of her wearing that shirt brought back the recent image of Claire Standish on his shirt, but he quickly brushed it away.

It doesn't matter he thought. Finally they stopped in front of the mansion, and without thinking it much she laid a quick peck on the guy's cheek. It was an innocent, small goodbye, and even though her lips ached for more, she swallowed it all and hopped out of the car. However, when she began the walk towards the mansion´s gate, a husky voice stopped her in her tracks.

"It was great to see you... Claire" he finally said. She turned around, and with a nod and a smile answered:

"I'm gonna miss you John". With those last words, the engine roared to life and John Bender was gone, out of her life again.

Claire allowed one single tear to slide out of her eyes, slowly skating trough her cheek and moisturizing the base of her chin, but it was all. She cleaned the lonely water drop and avoided the rest from pouring out, and got inside that hell she called house.

Frankly, she wasn't expecting for her mother to be looking desperately for her missing daughter. She didn't even expect Mrs. Charlotte Standish to notice her daughter was missing. And, if she knew her mother, and she knew her well, the woman would be more preoccupied for the lost of the channel dress. Effectively, uppon arrival, Claire followed the chat noises that came from the visits living room, and spotted Mrs. Charlotte talking calmly with her society friends. The smell of good herbal tea filled her nostrils, the sunset-filled walls appearing before her. Standing at the door, the girl awaited to chatch her mother's eye, waving hello at her when she did. As expected, the woman shot her an horrified glare.

"Excuse me, ladies" her mom said, standing and walking toward the child, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her to the kitchen. "For Christ sake, Claire Victoria!" she said within whispers. "What are these?" she asked, directing a disgusted look toward her outfit. "Did someone see you wearing them?" the woman asked. "And what is that ugly stain in your face? Didn't I tell you that a young lady has to be careful? God! You're so clumsy! What's going on with you lately child?!"

Claire had been worried about the clothes, too; but hearing her mom saying it like that made anger course through her body from head to toe. In times like this she missed her father, the fights for her attention they used to share before the divorce agreements were finally started and her father moved out of the Standish household. What angared Claire the most was that Mrs. Charlotte's biggest concern wasn't about the bruise, about the pain her daughter probably felt receiving it. The only thing she cared about was the thoughts of every body else, the thoughts they could have about her 'clumsiness'. It pained her to no end, and it was enough.

"It's okay mother, it doesn't even hurt" she simply stated, before heading upstairs and toward her bedroom without a back glance. She entered her big, peach colored bathroom, and turned the water on, filling the tub while getting rid of her clothes. When the enormous tub was full, she stepped inside and allowed the warm water to calm down her skin, to relax her tense muscles. It helped a little, but it didn't work completely. So, then, she started to think about those hands, his hands, running along her tighs and arms. His lips hovering above her own and brushing against the curve of her neck. Claire knew that this was going to kill her, the knoledge of just having him a few hours ago, and being blank an cold now. But it didn't matter. Right now she needed it, she needed him, and so she allowed his memory to embrace her, though It would probably hurt later.

About three hours later, Claire Standish sat on her balcony, a glass of her father's old scotch in hand. She simply adored the slow way the amber liquid swayed in the transparency, and, lets say it, in some delusional masochistic way, she adored also the way it burned a fire line through her chest, or inside of it. Slowly, and as she did in very rare ocations (such as this one) she fell into an alcohol induced sleep, dreamless, as every time she drank the magic elixir.

Two days later, the morning found Claire on that same bed, as though days had never passed by. The annoying 'beep, beep' of the clock woke her up yet again, and she remembered with a sigh that yes, days had passed by, but the rutine was so sticked to her that she still waited in some uncoscious way to wake up in the confines of a darker, smaller room, full with graffitis.. It was silly. She didn't belong there. She belonged at school, where she had been the last few days, and with her friends... it didn't matter how annoying those girls could get.

Sighing deeply she slipped out of bed, and got ready as always, hiding her deception and her fading bruises behind the makeup and the spensive fabrics.

The day at school was as dull as the last two, she couldn't even remeber any of the themes in her classes, nor she wished to. Maybe the only thing she could remember where the few encouters she had had with Bender's friends, in the small halls where their uncommon wardrobe couldn't be ignored. But she had brushed them off, saying hi only to Allison, with whom she had crossed paths early in the morning.

She struggled not to think about the crap-stick she was living in, but it was hard as hell, and in her History class, while her friends talked about an upcoming party at someone's house, her mind traveled towards all the changes that had ocurred during this year. Claire had been a good girl for so, so long, that the latest behavior she was having shocked all the people around her. After the departure of John, which she blamed on her, and the simultanous divorce of her parents, her life began a destruction spiral. After all, going to those crazy parties was a way to forget about her reality, and allow the booze to take her into oblivion. It's true, the alcohol they had in those parties was expensive alcohol, Scotch, Cristal Champagne, Dom, wine, etc., but it was booze non the less. Drugs also swirled around her, but she hadn't fall so deep as to take them. Most of her friends took them, though, and her prim and proper clique had dragged her into the secret life of lonely millionare teenagers. She felt ashamed of herself sometimes, but only sometimes. Because in the lunatic world her consolation came around easily, and the ilusion of it being right because her friends did it made it all fell better.

Maybe she was the only virgin among them all, and it probably was because she couldn't picture other man's hands on her. It simply wasn't right. The only hands she ached to have on her body were... well, John Bender's, cetainly. But it would never happen, and it was time for other ilusions to occupate the spot he had left empty. As soon as that though came into mind, though, the flash of a white fist came again, and she fought to get the toughts out.

Her mind was trying to make her see who that fist belonged to, and bit by bit she was starting to form a hipothesis. But it was early to blame. Specially when she couldn't remember practically anything of what had happened that night.

Finally, the bell rang and freed the cloud of students, and Claire was dragged to the outsides of Shermer High. The sun was hidden and the cold was powerful, and if she had held into her brown leather jacket a bit tighter, she would probably have broken it. That day she was staying with her dad, which was a relieve because between both of her parental figures he was the most acceptable one.

Mr. Standish was late, and Claire was worried. While she awaited outside with one of her friends, Courtney, the wind became stronger, Courtney's complaints becaming more frequent.

Suddenly, a very familiar-looking Mustang stopped in the street, and Claire's stomach began to flutter.