I'm so sorry for the delay in this chapter. It'd been sat on my desktop half-written for a while now but school work got in the way and I couldn't find any time or inspiration for it. But here it is, finally! Hope you all like it.

Claire always slept in on Saturdays. It was her day of rest for the week; never mind the Sunday. After 5 days at school, she felt she deserved the time to recover so she always slept in as long as she could.

Her last Saturday's sleep had been interrupted by her father when he knocked on her door and woke her up by handing her a glass of orange juice, before breaking the bad news that she still had to go to her detention and he couldn't change that fact.

This week she was free of school commitments, though, and she planned to spend her day doing things that made her feel happy and took her mind off of all the nuisances in her life. Of course, by nuisance she meant John Bender and after a week from hell where he had made her feel like a stupid love-sick child, she was finally going to medicate herself for that.

Well, that had been the plan. But when she opened her eyes on Saturday morning, suddenly wide awake with the sun streaming through her sheer curtains and hitting her directly on the face, the clock on her bedside table read 6:05.

Clare refused to admit defeat and wake up so early. She turned her clock away, turned herself and covered her face with her bed covers, squeezing her eyes shut and praying she would fall back to sleep without too much effort. She tossed and turned countless times, finding it hard to get comfortable, then decided the problem was her curtains, so she got up and closed those tighter, but nothing seemed to help. She ended up lying on her back, staring at her white wall ceiling.

When she checked her clock again, the time read 6:12.

Claire buried her head into her pillow and let out an audible groan; it was going to be a long day.

After lying for as long as she could bear—which turned out to be seven minutes—Claire climbed out of bed reluctantly and set about her usual Saturday morning activities, as if she wasn't some four hours early on her weekly ritual.

She headed first to her en suit bathroom, sat at her beauty table and assessed the damage she would have to deal with today in the mirror. She was a lucky girl; while many of her peers had begun breaking out and, even worse, gotten acne, Claire—as in her father—could afford consultants for her skin, and used top of the line products to ensure that she would never have to face the woes of hives of the face.

Even without that worry, she always thought she looked awful in the morning. Her skin looked tired, the corners of her mouth drooped, and her short hair smoothed itself until it stuck to her scalp, causing her to look almost exactly like her brother. Worse still, the effects of a bad nights sleep caused purple rings under her eyes and a crease in her forehead as she strained to keep her tired eyes opened. She felt like her mother was staring back at her through the mirror instead of her own reflection.

Maybe that was why she kept up her skincare so religiously.

She applied an exfoliant, moisturiser, washed her face and behind her ears every single day, not even taking breaks at the weekend. But even that couldn't fight the features her mother had blessed her, or the curse of not being able to sleep at night anymore.

Claire was guilty of being a daydreamer. All her life it had been viewed as a problem by everyone but her. Her mother had always told her to get her head out of the clouds and pay attention, but then she never really liked it when Claire did this because then it meant she didn't stop talking. What her mother had really meant was to listen, but not open her brother had always told her the same thing, especially when he was a bratty teenager who was always a 'no-good mommy's boy'.

It had worked out, when her brother still lived at home, that Claire had always loved daddy the most, while Christopher clung to their mom. But once he left for University, the household shifted and Claire became the centre child, earning both of their undivided attention. That was when the competition began, and things at home had gone downhill ever since.

But Claire never expressed that often to anyone. Even if she tried, nobody listened or cared. Her girlfriends told her that she was feeling sorry for herself because her parents wouldn't buy her choice of car, and even Allison had laughed at her when she had been asked about it during detention. Talking to John was a bust, and Mai wouldn't say a bad thing about her employers for fear of them firing her. The only person that really understood her home life, and got where she was coming from when she cried about the strain it put on her, was her brother. He didn't tell her to stop talking or pitying herself, and he held her hand and made her feel like it would be okay again. But then he would go back to college, and she would be left alone as the main weapon in her parent's on going fight.

She focused on her skincare because it made her look less worried all the time. She took pride in her clothes because the hours spent shopping was time out of the house and away from the constant reminder that her parents weren't at home. She liked to go to parties and hang out around her friend's homes because it made her forget that the last time she spent time with her parents as a family, with no fighting, was two years ago. She used to find it easy to sleep at night, before her most recent troubles started, because they would tire her when she tried to settle their arguments, or run around trying to get a hold of them. And in the simplicity of her secluded, dark bedroom, no one could tell her to stop daydreaming.

But lately she couldn't ever get to sleep and was left to her own thoughts, so her sanctuary of a free mind at night had turned into some sort of curse. With her eyes squeezed shut tight, she had thought about anything and everything over the course of the week. She had thought about school, and her future, her life goals, her next meal. Typically, above all else, she thought about John, and how much she currently wanted to dislike him.

He was all she could think about, and she didn't even try to stop herself anymore. It was some sort of natural process. She would be staring into thin air, allowing her mind to wander, and it would all fall back to him. Sometimes it would make her smile, sometimes she wanted to hit things in frustration. She had contemplated at one point in the week going to her local record store and finding the loudest sounding vinyl she could and playing it to relieve the anger he sometimes sent through her. She often imagined how she would do things differently if she could replay the week over. She wondered if she had done too much, or too little, and if he was ignoring her now. It was on her mind constantly, and it was eating away at her.

Claire sighed, and her eyes swept across the table, unsure of how she would do her makeup today. She had all the time in the world and so much at her disposal; she had freedom. More than a lot of others, and that meant something. So she picked up a dark coloured lipstick, and began to run it across her lips.

At 7:30, Claire silently left her bedroom and headed down the stairs. Mai nor any of the other help around the house seemed to be about yet, so Claire walked around for a while, searching the kitchen for breakfast and switching on the television to watch the early morning cartoons. Eventually she settled for a bowl of cereal, and she took a seat on the couch to watch the kid's shows. She found them mindless and boring, as she always had, but there was nothing else she would rather be doing. When her breakfast was eaten and she couldn't take anymore slapstick comedy, she cleaned up after herself. It was something she preferred to do, finding it more logical to clean her own dirty dishes as opposed to get someone else to do it. If, one day, she found herself living without a house keeper, she figured she would be able to get on just fine, contrary to popular belief.

With that done, her watch read 8:01, and she was contemplating hitting herself on the head so she could at least knock out for a few more hours and spare herself the boredom.

John was back in her thoughts again, because, thanks to Allison, she knew he was in detention right now. She wondered if he was just as bored at school right now. Maybe there would be other kids there this week as well, other girls for him to make uncomfortable, other boys for him to threaten to kill. Maybe he would change their way of thinking, too, and all the events that happened last week would fade away into insignificance. It felt that way already. Everything was slipping away and Claire felt like none of it mattered anymore. Had she really been blowing off her friends all week for one guy? What had gotten into her? She knew she wasn't a great person, but she didn't want to be anything but herself. And herself enjoyed having best friends, and didn't need a boyfriend. Definitely not if that boy was John Bender.

Claire knew she was too good for him, without being conceited, and hoped that he had just chickened out of trying to get with her for fear of the rejection. Maybe he didn't want to seem like he cared. But she knew deep down that even if he didn't, she did. She cared too much about what he was doing, what he was feeling, who else he was seeing. The memory of Kim on Friday flashed back into her mind, and her brow furrowed. Maybe John was used to having the upper-hand in relationships and playing mind games with girls, but in all of her lifetime Claire had never been dumped or heartbroken, and she planned on making it through the school year without breaking her track record.

Allison had told Claire where to find John today. Claire just couldn't tell whether she had done it to be nice, or as a favour. Claire pondered the idea of Allison doing it in return for the makeover she had given her last week, the one that resulted in Andrew growing some balls and kissing her when they were all leaving. But then she remembered that the girl had barely kept it up, choosing instead to stick to her old habits despite how nice she looked with her hair back. And Andrew had barely noticed that fact, because he was still completely crazy about her.

"I have got to stop being so self-centred," she muttered to herself. That makeover hadn't been a gift, it wasn't a nice thing. It was her trying to take control over Allison, because that was what she did in her family and with her own friends. She manipulated and got her own way; it was all she'd ever known. She wanted Allison to look better, not because she thought it would help her, but because it was what she wanted. She wanted John to speak to her again, but it wasn't because she wanted to make sure he was okay, but so he could reassure her that she was okay and she hadn't done something wrong.

Maybe she wasn't done with John. Maybe he wasn't okay, maybe she wasn't okay, and she had to fix that. Maybe he did want to see her. Maybe he didn't, but either way he at least owed her an explanation, and an apology. Maybe she should explain her feelings, but she didn't want him to disappoint her. Maybe she should tell him everything she was thinking, from her insecurities about Kim to her problems and need for him. Maybe she should go see him today. Maybe he would like that.

So at 8:10, Claire made moves to leave her house and drive to Shermer high school, on a Saturday of all days. But then she recalled that John wouldn't get out until 4pm, so sat back down on the couch and felt herself droop down out of the boredom she knew waiting around would give her.

"Claire Standish, one of these days you're gonna go crazy. Allison Reynolds crazy."

John liked to sleep in just as much as the next teenager. In fact, if he could, he would spend his days sleeping and his nights out. He had always been like an owl, unable to rest when it was dark out, tired whenever the sun was shining. It wasn't that sunny this time of year in Illinois, so he often drifted in and out of sleeping during all times of the day.

When he walked into detention that Saturday, he found he was alone. He had smiled at the peace it would bring, remembering last week briefly, then settled into his seat and slept periodically, awaking whenever Vernon entered the room every so often to yell at him about something else.

He was pissed off about the essay Brian had written last week. He was pissed off about the mess in the library left by the teenagers. He was pissed off about the smell of weed still somewhat resident even now. But mostly, he was pissed off that he had to spend another Saturday with John Bender.

The bell that usually went off at 4 every weekday didn't ring on weekends, so Vernon had to come wake up John to send him home.

"See ya later, Dick," he said, as he bustled out the library so quickly that an onlooker might have assumed it was on fire.

Richard Vernon muttered something to himself under his breath and left to go back to his office to finish his paperwork, relieved that he didn't have to babysit the teenager anymore.

As John walked through the halls on the way to the front, he found that it took everything in him not to think back to last week again and, more prominently in his head, the fact that he had been standing extremely close to Claire Standish at this time last Saturday as he walked her to her father's car.

It was sickening.

So as he left the building, he sang to himself under his breath as a distraction.

"I wanna be an airborne ranger," he went, digging into his pockets to retrieve his packet of cigarettes so he could smoke them on the way home. He would walk especially slow today, because he really didn't want to be there right now or ever.

Once outside, he went to light up the cigarette dangling from his mouth, his lips poised ready to breathe it in. He refused to himself to look up or ahead, feeling as if it would make him feel like he had to start on his journey home. But once he had taken his first drag, he had no choice.

It was only then, upon looking up, that he saw Claire Standish standing across the street from him, her hands buried into her leather jacket pockets, safe from the cold.

Shit.

"Live me a life of blood and danger," he went on, as if he hadn't seen her and she wasn't there.

But she was. And as he walked down the steps, she stayed watching him the whole time. He crossed the street like he usually did, ready to walk through the local parks and right past Claire Standish, but something made him stop right in front of her to meet her glaring eyes.

"You're late for detention," he finally said to her, in a matter-of-fact way that could pass for something coming out of Brian Johnson's mouth, not John Bender's.

She sneered at him.

"I'm here to see you, dummy."

"How's that?"

"Why didn't you show up at school all week?"

That was right. The last time they had been together, he told her he'd see her around and then hadn't seen her since. He squinted, remembering the blow his dad had dealt him that night. He had a way of predicting these things.

He also knew this conversation was going somewhere he didn't want it to, so he rolled his eyes and carried on walking to get away from her, but she followed him as he went.

"Don't walk away from me, John, answer me! Where have you been all week? John, look at me when I'm talking to you!"

John didn't listen. Instead, he carried on, letting her hit him repeatedly on the back as he went.

"You don't want this, princess!" he said.

"What? Oh fine, fuck you then!"

Finally, he turned.

"Look, I'm not going to do this right now. We're not going to do this right now, right in front of school. So you can follow me and we can talk like people, or you can carry on gently slapping my back until I get home. I don't mind. It's kind of soothing, actually."

"Asshole."

But she followed him anyway.

"You not going to hit me anymore?"

"There's not point if it's not doing any damage," she said. John smiled, ignoring the slight pain his right eye brought him when he did.

It wasn't until they had walked further on, buried under the shade of the trees in the wooded area opposite the school, that either of them spoke again.

"John," Claire finally said, her hand reaching out to his and catching it before he could stop it. Once they were holding hands, he didn't drop it but looked back at her, finally acknowledging that he wasn't alone.

"I waited for you every day," she carried on.

"What?"

"Not right away. I didn't want to annoy you or suffocate you. But I looked out for you all the time, and then I started waiting in front of the school to see if I'd see you, but I didn't. I even went round to see your friends, to try and work out where you were. I thought you were avoiding me or something, like maybe I'd done something wrong. But I thought we were on good terms."

"You went to see my friends?"

"Yeah…I just got tired of waiting around."

"You missed me, huh?"

John hadn't expected an answer from Claire, who he figured would be too much of a brat to answer the question. But she surprised him when she replied:

"Yes."

Claire heard John sigh under his breath, then his eyes cast down as if he was contemplating what to do. Then he muttered "fuck it," and moved forward, his hands on either side of her face as he pressed his lips to hers hastily, making her feel like he had actually missed her too in his absence.

She felt like she was coming undone from his touch. As his lips moved against her own, she didn't know what to do with her hands, letting them go limp at her sides as he used her how he pleased. Pressed up against his body, moulded to his shape, his tongue in her mouth. But when she had managed to recover from her momentary frozen stature, she placed both of her hands against his chest and shoved him sharply, causing him to break away from her with a confused and slightly winded look on his face.

"That's not fair," she began, out of breath, "for you to not even explain to me what happened and then just do that and…wait."

Claire could finally look at him now that he was closer and looking directly at her, finally allowing the privilege. Now she could get a clear look at the purple marking surrounding his eye, the yellow undertones of a bruised face.

"What happened to your eye?" she asked quietly, already dreading the answer.

Immediately John's look shifted, his face scrunched up in anger in reply to the rejected kiss and imposing questions.

"That's none of your business," he said, then turned away from her.

"Who did that to you? Is that why you've been off school?"

"No, it wasn't. And even if it fucking was I don't need the Claire Standish pity party."

"I wasn't pitying you, I was asking you a question. But fine, I don't care about it. I won't ever ask again, or try to help you."

"Try to help me?" He glared over at her. "That's so rich, you know. Do you really think you could possibly help? What, buy me some bruise cream, slap it on my face and call me mended? You know what, why don't you just go home? Go home, Claire, because you don't fucking understand what's going on here and I'm tired of trying to make you try to get it. Your dad's pay check won't fix this and nothing you could ever do would, so just leave."

"Fine, I will!" She yelled back, beginning to pace away from him, stomping her feet to secure her mood. All of the anger that she had for him, that had built up during the week, was finally coming through. "You act like I don't understand you or try to understand you, but I do, I really do. It's you that doesn't get me, or where I'm coming from. You just assume that everything that comes out of my mouth is just mindless drivel about my rose-tinted world, but it's not and you know that because I've told you the truth about it all. So maybe I expect I deserve the truth, too. Actually, I don't care anymore. So don't try and kiss me again, or touch me ever again. If you're so desperate for some action, why don't you just go see Kim instead of bothering me for it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Kim, your old 'plaything', the one who courteously still hangs around with your friends,"

"Are you jealous?" His smile was back now, and Claire was the one who was glaring.

"No. So what if I am. She was rude to me and I want answers."

"About Kim?"

"About everything!"

John paused, pursed his lips.

"I already told you about the bruises. That's why I'm mad that you're asking again. I don't like to repeat myself. And I kissed Kim once in freshman year but never since, if that answers the other questions. I don't tend to go for high school girls."

"Unless they're drop outs, I'm assuming."

"Fuck off."

"I don't either, though. I guess I made an exception. And what a stupid one that was."

Now they were both no longer shouting and Claire had stopped walking away, they finally got a chance to look at each other without one making a move or yelling in the others face. Claire looked at John's swollen eye, but chose to ignore it after a few seconds of inspection. Maybe if she pretended it hadn't happened, it would go away. John in turn looked back at Claire, his eyes scanning her flushed cheeks. Even through a layer of makeup he could see how red she got whenever she was angry or whenever he kissed her, and he liked it a lot. Maybe he could make exceptions too.

"I cut school a lot. I go hang around with some guys I know instead of going in. I've never had to explain that to anybody before, though. Even Vernon doesn't get on my nads so much about it."

"Well, I'm not used to having someone to, you know, look out for at school."

"What, you've never had a little preppy boyfriend at the great Shermer high?"

Claire snorted.

"Not even close."

"Good to know that I'm the first to do this, then," he said, and he was kissing her again.

One of his arms wrapped around her waist as he guided her backwards blindly until she felt a tree against her back. His other hand placed against the trunk, just next to her head, leaving her encased against the wood and his body in front of her, her legs separating around his as he pressed himself further against her the longer that they kissed. She felt incredibly overheated, even on such an overcast day, but that didn't stop her from seeking more of him, holding his body to hers.

There was a pause in the kiss as he moved one of his hands to her neck, and she took the opportunity to quickly mumble against his lips.

"I'm sorry I asked and annoyed you," she said.

"Don't ruin the moment," he replied in a low tone, moving his lips away from her mouth to kiss down her jaw and onto the parts of her neck that were exposed.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled again, and he glared up at her.

"And don't apologise all the time. I know I'm an asshole, that's kind of the only thing that's consistent about me. Just… just don't feel bad over stupid shit like that, alright?"

"Are you actually being nice for me for once?"

"Don't tell anybody."

As he kissed her again, she felt his familiar smirk against her lips and she could no longer tell if he was being sincere or not. He was just too confusing for her.

When they finally broke apart, it was evident to Claire that it was time to go home. She hadn't got her apology from him, but she had got some form of relief for her curiosity and an amazing feeling in her stomach brought on from his kissing. God knows what else she would get if she stayed longer. She didn't want to feel too guilty when she went to Church with her parents tomorrow.

"I should probably head off… I don't even know what time it is anymore."

"Did you walk here?"

"I got a lift, but I'll just walk home now."

"You live far?"

"It's about a half hour walk."

"A bit of exercise won't kill us. I live further than that."

"Us?"

"You don't expect me to let you walk home alone? There are crazy people on these streets," he joked.

"You included?"

"All the more reason for me to escort you safely."

She smiled at him, and they both began to walk with her leading the way at first. Once John had gone about lighting himself up another cigarette in his usual 'walking home routine,' he caught up with Claire until they were walking side by side. He didn't even let go of her hand for the whole walk when she took his in hers again. In fact, when they had said goodbye on her street and he began back to his own, he kind of missed having her there to hold onto.