iii.

:: when we sink the ships ::

June one-shot contest entry (2B)

Pairing: Massie & Cam (don't ready the torches, be calm)

Prompts: "It wasn't my fault.", sea-ships & miracles

*language, f word is said once... or maybe more

**format, fanfiction likes to wrestle, and sometimes it wins

When you wake up, you're disorganized. You don't quite know where you are; maybe you're experiencing one of those uber-realistic dreams Kendra's always talking about, the hot topic in all of her new-age magazines.

But when something warm, and oddly human-like, brushes against your leg, leaving it tingling, you know this isn't a dream. You're just waking up, that was just her comforter rubbing your leg, and sometime in between last night and this morning, Inez, her housemaid, on a whim, decided to paint your walls blue. But this isn't a girlish blue; it's a dark navy, reminding you of something just out of cognitive reach, someone's bedroom walls, perhaps? Alicia's? Claire's? No, not either of them. No one has that bad of taste.

"No." You suddenly sit upright, making the mattress sway a little. "No no no no no!" And sure enough, it's not your room, or Alicia's, or Claire's. It's a boy's room. Over there, a desk sits, piled with ancient papers and universal messiness, something a girl like you could never tolerate. And there! The two basic mahogany chests, that surely a mom would have picked out.

You stare, entranced, at a small painting of a ship on the wall for a minute, hardly breathing. It's a pretty ship. Very nautical. Very manly. This is a safe thing to look at.

Almost unconsciously, you reach down to see what's (who's?) next to you. And that's really when your world starts crashing down.

"You were both drunk." Claire said exhaustedly, palms flat against her forehead. Her voice took on a strange tone. "It's not any more his fault than it was yours."

"I was not drunk!" Massie insisted. "I had, maybe, two drinks at the most. And it wasn't my fault."

"Uh-huh? Then who was that certain brunette I saw with three drinks in her hand? You're nearly an alcoholic."

"Not me... and I'm not!"

"Sure." The blonde sighed. "Listen, I don't get why you're pissed off at me. It's not my fault."

"He's your ex-boyfriend"

"So?"

"So, I expected you to be mad!" Massie spat, crossing her arms. "Why the hell do you think I trekked all the way over here at ten am?"

"So you get pissed off at me… because you expect me to be mad?" Claire's voice reaches a new tone. Grim amusement. It's almost too much for Massie to handle.

"It's a defense mechanism!"

"Sure it is; keep telling yourself that, Mass. Maybe one day it will become true."

You honestly expected her to be madder. Why else would you have hiked all the way out to the guesthouse in the rain? You don't do rain.

"You know Mass, this could've been fate. A miracle, I'd say." Alicia Rivera said into the phone.

"I refuse to accept that guess. Try again."

"Do you not remember seventh grade? The halloween party? I thought you would have made a better couple than Kuh-laire. They only lasted what- a month?" Alicia giggled into the phone, recalling the event with a humorous glint in her eye.

"A year," the tinny voice of Massie Block filtered back immediately. "Do nawt remind me of that."

"Reverting to your old ways?" Alicia grinned, before realizing the low hum meant Massie had hung up.

The world's coming to an end, you're sure of it. First you ended up in bed with him, and now, none of your friends understand?

No, now it's definite. Your world really is coming down.

"This is not going to ruin your life." Kristen Gregory insisted. "Maybe it was fate."

"Are you kidding me?" Massie shouted. "This was not fate."

"A miracle?" The blonde's mouth curled up at the corners. "I bet. Hey, don't you remember that time in seventh grade-"

"Don't talk about it." Massie hissed.

"-"

"Don't."

Do none of your friends understand? You were in bed with Cam Fisher. Cam Fisher. This marks the start of the end of the world, undoubtedly. Or maybe not.

There's only one thing you know. It was not your fault, whereas, it was obviously his.

So you decide to give him a piece of your mind. With fingers not shaking at the least, you pick up your phone and you press send on a string of numbers that you may or may not have committed to memory.

"Hello?" He responds, and your face blanches.

"Mass?"

Click. You hang up.

That night, you dream of sea-ships. And they all look awfully like the one on Cam Fisher's walls.

Kendra ticked her tongue as she pulled the thermometer from her daughter's tongue.

"99 even." Massie ducked, and silently spread her fingers in joy. She could stay home!

"I saw you press that hot spoon against your tongue." Kendra said slowly, each word shattering Massie's hope further. "You're not sick."

"Yes I am!"

"You're going to school." Kendra said decisively. "I don't know what your trying to hide from, but you're going."

Thankfully, Cam doesn't go to your school. But all girls are hardly better. They've all heard, probably, and you really don't want to explain yourself. You declined the range rover carpool today, and now you're thirteen minutes late for assembly. Great job. Now everyone's going to be looking at you.

"Miss Massie Block." The principal clucked. Massie kept her head down, barely peeping up to find her seat. The PC always sat in the same row.

"Care to explain why you're late?"

"No thank you." Massie piped, and sat down. The room erupted into laughter, and Massie smiled with relief. Maybe they hadn't heard.

The relief evaporated when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Allie-Rose Singer.

"Hey, heard you bagged Fisher." Allie-Rose's lips curled into a smile. "Good job."

"How'd you do it? I mean, get him to break that virgin-until-marriage thing he signed?"

"Umm…" Massie looked to Alicia for help, but the beta was pretending to listen to the bird lady prattle about the new premium carpets or whatever. "I don't… really know."

It is the truth, after all.

By the end of the day, you're ready to cry from happiness. It's not that anyone's being mean. It's actually the opposite. You didn't want to sleep with Cam Fisher! You were drunk. But hey, that doesn't make as good of a story, does it?

You're so caught up in your own thoughts that you don't even notice it.

He's waiting by the fountain. Your glossed lips form a perfect 'o', and you stop in your tracks. You feel someone's hand on your back (Kristen's?) giving you a good-natured shove towards him, and you shuffle your feet over. You can't get out of this one, can you?

"Massie." Cam spoke, his hands ruffling through his hair.

"Cam."

"Are you going to keep hiding from me?" He laughed, "First you call me, then you ignore my calls?""

"Cam." She repeated, because nothing else was coming to her mind at the moment.

"If you want to forget this ever happened, that's fine." Cam's eyes retreated to the ground. "We can just say, I don't know, we were drunk."

"We were!" Massie cried in exasperation. "It was not my fault! Can't you understand that?"

"Were we drunk? Is that the only reason, Massie? Is it really?" His stare intensified, seemingly crucifying Massie right on the spot.

You don't like to try and remember parties. It never brings up good images, only bad ones. But you try anyway.

Nothing's forthcoming though, and you want to scream in frustration.

"My life is over." Massie whined, her face flat in the covers.

"Is it? Is it really?"

"Shut up. That was not funny, and don't even try to imitate him."

"Why? Because I'm not as good as the real thing?" Kristen's lips curled into a smile.

"Go away."

"No, really, do you remember anything?"

"About the night, the morning, whatever."

"Well, he has this painting of a ship in his room..."

"And that's important...why?" Kristen rolled her wrist, cracking the joint repeatedly.

"I think, I think..."

Now you remember. Of course you do.

"I like ships. Small ships! Big ships! Cruise ships!" Massie giggled drunkenly, leaning against the boy.

"My mom likes ships too."

"Really, why?"

"I don't know. She hung this ship... picture on my wall though. You want to see it?"

"What, that or your room?" Massie winked, almost loosing her balance for no explicable reason.

"Both?"

"Of course!"

You'll never admit it, but now, after a week of isolation, you're missing him.

"Well, have you contacted him?" Kristen rolled her toes on Massie's bedspread, marveling at the ruched pattern.

"No."

"Then, you can't expect anything." Kristen said decisively. "You already dispatched him once, and he doesn't seem like the persistent type. You do something if you want to talk to him."

"Like what?" Massie almost gasped at the words coming out of her mouth. She was Massie Block. She never made the first move.

"Call him."

"What?"

So you do. You call him, and this time when he answers, you manage not to hang up.

"Massie?"

"Cam?" You say slowly.

"So you finally broke down, huh. Couldn't bear not to see me?" You can almost hear the grin on his mouth.

"We need to talk." You spit out the words, trying to keep from letting your smile creep into your words.

"Well, absolutely, my dear lady. When?"

"Tonight?"

"I can't."

He has a date. This, this is perfect, you realize. He's out of your hair. Literally.

Let Olivia Ryan have him, you decide. He'll come crawling back to you. Probably.

But he doesn't. A day turns into a week as he continues to date the pathetic empty-headed faux.

You don't think you ever gave Alicia enough credit for coming up with Faux-livia.

"That complete asshole." Claire spat into the phone. "You know what? I'm going to go talk some sense into him."

"No, don't." Massie sighed, busy twirling the cream colored land-line cord around her fingers until they turned blue. "Let him date skanky Olivia. I don't care."

"Like shit you don't."

Massie chuckled grimly, releasing the cord with a twang of pain.

"Maybe it's better this way."

"I totally agree. I'll talk to him. I promise."

You guess it's not much of a surprise when you find out a week later.

Talked to him, she did.

And more.

"Listen, I thought you were over him!" Claire panted, trying desperately to keep up with Massie's long strides. "I-I-..."

"Save it, Claire." Massie's tone didn't contain an ounce of emotion. "I honestly do not care what you have to say. Believe me."

"He was with Olivia!" Claire said desperately. "He wasn't yours!"

"You know, Claire? I don't give a single fuck about you or your new love."

"He's not my love! He jumped me!"

"Sure; keep telling yourself that, Kuh-laire. Maybe one day it will become true." Massie mocked, rolling her eyes. "You two deserve each other."

When he shows up at your doorstep three days later, you really want to slam the door in his face. But you don't.

"I'm sure you've heard." You like this. He doesn't dance around the subject, like certain people do.

"Mm-hmm?"

"She jumped me, Mass."

"You do realize that's exactly what she told me?" You clap your hands together behind your back. "Did you guys have an excuse creating pow-wow or something?"

"I broke up with Olivia."

Almost unconsciously, you lift your hands and begin to slow clap. "Congratulations."

"Massie."

"Go away, Cam."

He doesn't go away. You didn't really expect him too, but still. His rough hands cup your face as he leans in for a kiss, and you ready yourself to feel nothing. You do feel something, though. But because you're a rational girl, you lift your hands and push him away anyway.

"You have two, probably more, girls right at your hands. Go be with them. Go choose them."

"But they aren't you, Massie. They aren't Massie Block."

"Pretend, Cam." You turn away, and it's not because you want to leave. It just may be because there's tears threatening to spill down your cheeks, or maybe because you're afraid if he says one more romantic line, you're going to run into his arms.

"But-"

"I hear Claire does a mean alpha bitch imitation." You say this with a grim chuckle, as you move to shut the door. Click.

"Massie! I need to-"

And it ends there. You don't get your happy ever after, your miracle. You don't get it, but Claire sure does.

You don't know how it happened, and you don't really want to find out.

Every week, you get a call from Claire. Straight to voicemail, since they all say the same thing.

"It wasn't my fault, Massie. He needed someone. You weren't there. I was. Talk soon?"

And exactly two months, three days & twenty-two hours after Cam was at your doorstep (you counted), a package arrives at your door.

Wrapped in a thin brown-bag cover, you scrunch your nose in half-disgust. It's not dirty, and it works, but brown-bag covers are so seventh grade science.

Unwrapped, the package is a whole other story. It's a painting. A familiar one. Of a sea-ship.

M,

I thought you may want this.

C

PS: Maybe it'll jog your memory.

-end-

And with an awful, predictable, non-climatic, awful (did I say that already?) ending, this disaster crashes to an end.

So, yeah, I'd love to hear feedback from you though! Were the prompts thrown in too randomly? Was the plot completely boring? Do you hate the theme with a passion?

You can complain all you want about the pairing (kidding!), but I gave you Clam fans that tidbit at the end, so unless you like Calicia or some odd pairing like that, you shouldn't be rioting.

I'd love a review!

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