A/N: Well, it seems this story has completely derailed from my rewrite plan train... Typical. Just typical. ANYWAY, I'm back with another addition - hopefully good enough to make up for the late update time. I'm aiming to try and finish off all my stories by the end of 2024 because DAMN have I got way too many stories that have been on life support for like... two years.

Anyway, one story is nearly done (thank god) and I'll be able to shift focus onto this one and the others. (Honestly, I'm banking on my other stuff being finished before this one). Hopefully, oh so hopefully, I'll get back to my constant update stream of covid era and pre-covid era. Weekly updates were lovely, weren't they?

I'll cut my rambling short now lovelies. Till next time,

D.L.D

Responses to reviews:

Gucci Mane LaFlare - This version is definitely a lot cleaner with its callbacks to the original series. I'm trying to flesh out the characters a lot more, including their domestic lives, so I'm glad that I managed to convey Duncan's relationship with his mother well. Also, hopefully, I've done the party justice in this chapter. It was definitely one of the harder chapters to write up so far.

Guest - Glad you love it :)

Face the Truth

Gwen's P.O.V

Going out of the house is something that I don't do often. One thing I remember distinctly is my mum getting worried the older I get, fretting about me becoming a hermit because I simply hate going outside. People... there are a lot of things that I don't like about people - both back then and now. Parties aren't something I'm particularly warm to, especially with my own age group. Social events in general are just a no-go for me.

Yet, tonight, I find myself planning to go to a party - thrown by one of the most social members of my grade. This should be my worst nightmare. Right now I should be thinking about a million ways to run away from this event. But, oddly, I feel pretty calm. Maybe it's because I've been dragged into this idea by my best friend, who promises that it's exactly what I need to get out of this emotional slump of mine. Maybe it's because part of me wants to see other people. Maybe I'm getting tired of coming up with excuses.

Whatever it is, it makes me feel... different. But the good kind of different. The kind of different that makes you hum as you hop into the shower and scrub extra well at your skin and scalp. The kind of different that makes me smile at my reflection as I actually manage to draw matching eyeliner wings on my pale face. Different doesn't always have to be a bad thing; slowly I've learned how different can be good.

Now I'm waiting, staring at my phone as I charge it up for the night. Getting dressed up is a byproduct of my boredom; originally I'd planned to just show up in ripped jeans and a random shirt, calling it a night as soon as I felt even remotely tired. I haven't exactly strayed from that original idea - no, jeans are my best friend right now - but I've attempted to brush up a bit. Even my hair has gotten good treatment.

Fluffing out the dyed locks for extra-good measure, I examine my reflection. Definitely an improvement - although not by much. Good.

Making me jump, my ringtone suddenly fills the air. Instantly, I grab my phone, disconnecting it from its charger.

"Hello?"

"How's my favourite hermit doing?" Duncan. Just as insensitive as always. Even the smirk can't be contained over the phone, its humour not at all missed by me as I can only shake my head. Some things never change.

"Surprisingly, I feel excited," Deciding to admit the truth, I bite into my lip as I stare out of my bedroom window. Even though I'm alone, I can feel a blush burning at my cheeks. Normally, I wouldn't even admit that much; Duncan would have to pry the truth from me. Darting my gaze back to my reflection, meeting my own uncertain eyes, I frown, "Although, I am having second thoughts. You didn't invite me because you were looking for a pity bang, right?"

"Wow, is that what you think of me?" Duncan is sent into a small fit of hysteria. Exactly as I thought he would. If there is anything we could do to change the mood, to make the other lighten up, then it was to crack a joke. Jokes never fail to clear the air between us - especially when we feel uncertain about where we stand with each other. Tsking, Duncan continues, "And to think I trusted you with everything."

"What can I say, I'm a stone-cold bitch," Now I'm laughing, shaking my head. Smiling can't be helped, especially when I know that I have a whole evening ahead to spend with him. An entire evening filled with jokes, laughter and shared mistakes. "You should've known better."

"I really should have," Duncan agrees.

For a moment, silence sifts between us. Usually, they are comfortable, filled with the normal currents of a friendship made strong by years of shared embarrassment and secrets. With me and Duncan, words aren't always needed. Sometimes the silence speaks more between us than words ever could. But tonight, staring at my reflection, lip chewed by anxious teeth, I can't find solace in the silence. Both of us are hiding something in the silence.

Something is going to eventually break it.

"So where are you now?" I ask, getting up to search through my closet for a suitable jacket - just to keep my mind occupied. September tends to be quite mild in the evenings, with drafty winds but still semi-warm air. Bringing a winter jacket would be like wanting to boil alive; bringing a thinner jacket would be like condemning myself to sitting in a freezer. Eventually, I settle on an old bomber jacket, the black fabric embroidered with white spiderwebs across the shoulders.

"Right outside your house," Duncan answers me, his car's engine cutting short in the background. Glancing at my phone screen, I read the time and smile: he's right on time - just like he'd said he would be.

Shrugging on my jacket, I hang up the call and grab my shoulder bag - which is something a girl should never go without. Always carry a bag. Trust me, it will save you when you least expect it - well, it always has for me. No matter where I go, random crap in my bag or purse always ends up being a lifesaver. Bags sometimes - no, always - can be that fine line between life and death in a late night situation.

Throwing my bag's strap over my shoulder, I pull open my bedroom door and practically fly down the stairs to open my front door. Thankfully, my brother is much too occupied in his room to care about the sudden late-night visitor. My mum, on the other hand, is just about to answer the doorbell when I arrive to take over, sending her a smile that more or less translates to 'I've got it covered, so don't worry about it.'

Opening a front door has never felt so easy. Nor has it ever felt so awkward. Thumping in my chest, racing at a million miles per minute, my heart is having palpitations. Even once the door is open, revealing a grinning Duncan, hands buried within the pockets of his jeans, converses scuffed on the doormat, it doesn't calm down. At all. If anything it has increased, making me feel heated as a strained grin spreads across my face.

"Ready to go, Pasty?" Nodding toward his car, engine off for once, Duncan raises a brow.

Am I ready to go? After so long, so many excuses used just to avoid being around my own age group, am I ready to finally try and be around them? Would tonight be my first step toward real normalcy? My first real step toward getting a confession out - maybe - before everything just crashes and burns before my very eyes.

Whenever Duncan smiles at me, I would usually just say 'yes' automatically. There is something about his smile, something that lights up his eyes, that makes a girl just want to go along with whatever shenanigans he has planned. In the past, I'd allowed myself to believe that those eyes signaled adventure. His smile is the sign of a new beginning, a new story to tell. Tonight, it is no different. How could it ever be different?

Oh yeah, I am on my doorstep, chewing my lip, pondering whether to say yes or not. Whether to say yes to time with Duncan or not. Was I... crazy or something?

Taking in a deep breath, I tell my heart to stop freaking the fuck out. Freaking out is for perfectionists and nerds - I am none of those. Tonight I am Gwen, an ordinary teen with an ordinary life, trying to enjoy an ordinary night with her ordinary friend.

"Yeah, I'm ready," Nodding, I let out a heavy exhale as I give another smile. Stepping out into the drafty September night, joining him on my doorstep, I find myself nudging Duncan in the ribs, "As long as you can keep up with me, grandpa."

"Grandpa, huh?" Amusement twinkles in his eyes as he nudges me back, a gentle blow that tickles my ribs more than attacks them. "Back in my day, I was the reigning champ of Truth or Dare. You're talking to a legend, Gwendolyn."

"A legend that is still old," Smirking, I get the quip out with ease, already hopping down the front steps of my tiny porch. Thank God I have the sense to wear comfortable shoes instead of the stilt-like shit that people call high heels. "So let's get going before it's your bedtime, Dunk. I'd like to at least get a good hour in."

"That's what she said," His snicker couldn't be helped as I tsk, shaking my head as he unlocks his car. However, soon I'm joining in, the pair of us laughing with each other as music filtered in the background, falling on deaf ears filled with amusement. Amusement that may have had the effect of a full round of drinks, making us merry and definitely giddy as we begin to pick more fun at each other, completely sidetracking from the matter at hand.

But even then, through it all, I could tell that Duncan is right to invite me out tonight: getting outside is something I needed to do to keep my mind sane. Often, so wrapped up in my own thoughts and feelings, I find myself forgetting how refreshing it is to just live in the moment, laughing along with your best friend in the front seat of his car as the world rolls on by. And, in that moment, laughing along with my best friend in the front seat of his car, I find a piece of the old Gwen coming back. The Gwen that once had the courage to tell others how much she needs them.

Geoff's P.O.V

Everything is looking to end with a good night. If there is anything I know from all my years of experience, then it's how to recognise a good party. Music is the first sign. Vibrating through the walls, a regular thump that fills your eardrums as you sway to the beat, a catchy song always gets things started. Then comes the cheers, the shouts and yells competing with each other as games kick-start and duos meld into trios which meld into groups.

Ragers are always recognisable from the overwhelming amount of noise pouring from them. Those parties lead to silly string and party poppers and all sorts of other things making their way in. Ragers, like a virus, spread through the air. From person to person, room to room - sometimes even house to house - it all bleeds into one large beacon of music, noise and glittery objects thrown about the street.

Anne-Maria is known for her ragers. Extended over the weekend, planned for four day spans across the vacations, Anne-Maria is a world-class vet when it comes to throwing a rager to remember. Even Heather, with her all money and connections and high-profile guests, couldn't compete with Anne-Maria's knack for getting everyone together in one spot.

Parties with Annie-Maria are all about the fun to be had. Doesn't matter who you are, what you wear, what you thought: as long as you want to have a good time, to join the crowds moving as one throughout the building, she doesn't mind. Like me, Anne-Maria believes that a good party comes with a sense of community; excluding people just because of who they are, means that you are being a total dick.

"You aren't winning this time, Geoff!" Anne-Maria, a determined smile tipping on her lips, points a wobbling finger toward me. In her left hand is a plastic cup - unlimited in its contents due to her family's supply in the restaurant storeroom. "I'm telling ya, this year's my time to shine!"

"We'll see about that, Annie," Grinning, I accept her challenge, knowing fully well that she's going to give me the worst one possible. There's a reason why I'm the one to call when you want a good time. There's a reason why, at every social event, I'm surrounded by a ton of other people, all of them clamouring to start a new game, set a new limit, break a new record. Anne-Maria's been looking to steal my title for years; she's never succeeded yet.

"Yeah, we will," Taking a confident swig of her drink, Anne-Maria nods as she falls into silence.

Truth or Dare always is a minefield. Everyone has their own agendas, their own reasons for choosing to join the game. Party legends all the way to eager newbies can be found within a single Truth or Dare circle. Gwen, surprisingly, is in the circle today, quiet as a mouse as she taps her fingers against her cup. Nervous. Anxious. All night Duncan and I have tried to get her out of her shell; it seems this is slowly working. Slowly and oh-so-surely.

"You think it's wise to challenge, Geoff?" Leshawna barks out a laugh, shaking her head as she flicks her hair over her shoulder. Tutting, she simply rolls at her eyes at Anne-Maria from her side of the corner, a hand planted on her hip, "Annie, honey, he's been the Dare King ever since his first day in Wawanakwa - joint only with Duncan."

"The only one crazy enough to run through town naked," Gwen pitches in, shaking her head at the memory.

"SO?" Anne-Maria raises a brow, liquid spilling over her hand as her arm jostles violently. Placing her free hand on her chest, as if to emphasize her status, she holds her head high as she flashes a wicked smirk, "It's about time someone stole Geoff's title as Dare King."

Now things are growing tense - a little friendly competition fueling the game. Not that I have a problem with it. We're all here to enjoy ourselves, to kick off the new school year with a bang that would surely echo into the next. Even now, as Anne-Maria glares at me with a friendly ire, I couldn't help but grin back, adjusting my trusty cowboy hat as I signal my silent admission to her challenge. Whenever he's needed, Geoff will always deliver.

"Alright, alright, get the dare out already!" Duncan, looking antsy from the exchange, rolls his eyes as an agitated grumble leaves from his system, "The night's not getting any younger here."

No. It isn't. The crowd that has gathered hasn't gotten any smaller either. Everyone is waiting to see what would happen, if Anne-Maria would finally end the long reign of King Geoff.

"Ugh, fine," Letting out a prolonged groan, Anne-Maria rolls her eyes as she sets her drink to the side. Then, cricking her neck, she gives another malevolent grin as her gaze focuses on me, razor-sharp and filled with a desire to win. "Geoff. I dare you to ask the question."

"The question?" Instantly, I gulp, freezing on the spot. That question is something private, given to me and only me within the quiet corners of a party last summer. No-one's supposed to know about it. No-one's supposed to bring it up. As his best bro I'd promised Duncan that I wouldn't tell another soul about his dilemma; the only person I've ever told is Bridgette. She's the only person I could tell.

Scratching at the back of my neck, I let out a sigh, "I don't know about that one, Annie," Turning to the watching umpire (Noah, sober as a judge and just as critical as one), I raise a brow, "Is that move legal, Noah?"

All eyes fix to the bookworm, nose buried within the pages of some encyclopedia that had been recommended to him. Beside him, Izzy is bouncing on the spot, coked up on sugar after snorting about a dozen lines of the stuff. Someone told her it was cocaine; no-one bothered to stop her when she actually went to sniff the stuff off the tabletops. Now she's bouncing about the place, muttering gibberish about pretty, pot pigs and tickling people's ribs.

"Dare's a dare," Noah shrugs, not even glancing up from his book. Instead he pauses, taking a long sip from his clear cup of water. "She's within the rules."

"Damn," Cursing under my breath, I can't help but feel the sweat pile under my brow. Truth or Dare rules mean that I have to ask the question. Best bro rules mean that I'm not supposed to tell anyone about that question. People would connect the dots; the truth wouldn't be hidden anymore; Anne-Maria knows that. She's putting me into a tough situation - an impossible moment where I have to make a choice.

Everyone is watching. Silent, letting the music sift through the air like something dramatic is going to happen, they're all hanging on to every second. Anne-Maria, sure that she has won, is getting ready to wear her signature victory grin. Noah, unbothered, continues to flick through his book, ignore Izzy's not-so-quiet whispers about how she thinks I'm totally going to choke. Everyone else is just there. Waiting.

"Don't worry Geoff, you don't have to do it," Bridgette, squeezing my hand within hers, shoots me a soft smile. Aside from Anne-Maria, she also knows about the question. All of us know what it would unleash. We know what trouble would follow. But clearly Anne-Maria hasn't considered that in the rush of opportunity that has entered her mind.

"I've gotta do it, Bridge," Squeezing her hand back, taking in a deep breath, I walk into the middle of the circle. Duncan is gonna give me an earful after this; but, to keep us all safe, I have to keep this going. Once Duncan's standing is gone, mine would be the only thing keeping us safe from Heather and whatever scary tactic's she's gonna throw our way. "It's the only way."

"Ask away, party boy," Anne-Maria, definitely too drunk to even comprehend what she is truly saying, staggers toward me. Rolling off her in fumes, the strong scent of alcohol fills the air as she totters on her heels. Raising a brow, she places both her hands under her armpits, flapping them like wings. "Unless you're chicken?"

"Chicken?" I echo, eyes wide as I take in her comment. "The only chicken I know is chicken nuggets. So yeah, I'll ask it."

Swallowing thickly as I scan the surrounding crowd, I take in a deep breath. Conversation has picked up now, some people drifting from the watching groups and others starting another game on the other side of the restaurant. Less eyes are watching now. For once that is a good thing.

"Guys," Closing my eyes, I let out a sigh. "You gotta answer this truthfully, say their name and take a shot. Did anyone here ever crush on their best friend?"

Instantly silence swallows up the room. Everyone has their suspicions. Everyone has their own conclusions as to who the question is targeted at - who it has always been targeted at whenever we circle back to it. Even if that theory couldn't be farther from the truth - because there is no truth behind it. Nothing. Zilch. Nada. But Anne-Maria has reignited it, back from last year, back from when Gwen had freshly broken up with Trent.

"No opt out," Anne-Maria reminds, a snarky, smug voice as she takes her own shot. "Mine was our resident movie starlet, Dakota Milton."

"She can't legally do that," Gwen, incredulous, stares at Noah with a jaw hung open with complete shock. Hand balled, scrunching the material of her jacket's sleeves she frowns so deeply that her forehead wrinkles, "Can she do that?"

"It's a legal move," Noah sighs, again not even sparing a glance. Instead, sardonic and in a deadpan, he continues his brief explanation, "An extension dare. We all answer or we take a drink."

Now the pressure is definitely on. Everyone is shifting, nervous or uncertain, as Anne-Maria grins like the wolf she is, soaking in the victory. Only, I couldn't let her have that moment for too long - not when this moment is meant to be a joyful one, looked back on with pleasant memories.

"Bridgette Knowles," I declare firmly, placing down the now empty cup I have. Nodding toward the next person beside me, Bridgette, I signal for her to continue to the trend. No-one is going to die of embarrassment tonight. At least, as long as I could help it for.

One by one, we go around the circle. Smoothly, as if we'd already practiced, everyone lists off their name, tips back their head and takes a drink. Only at Gwen do we pause, a nervous, lip-biting pause, as she can't even bring herself to look anyone in the eye. Instead, in a low, mumbling tone, she lets out the name, swallowing the contents of her cup.

"Trent Thompson."

For a moment everyone is silent. Not the answer they've all wanted. Not the answer they've all been anticipating either. Everyone had expected Duncan Carter - Gwen's best friend ever since she could toddle around in diapers. But Gwen is much smarter than many give her credit for. Trent had been her best friend; Trent had slowly become her boyfriend. We all know what happened after. Especially Duncan.

"Hasn't happened yet," Duncan gives a wolfish grin, lifting up his cup and downing its contents anyway, "Nice try though, Annie."

And, after that one tense moment, everything becomes easy once more. Everyone keeps talking, Truth or Dare comes to an end and Anne-Maria excuses herself to try and freshen up after the intense round of questions. But, in the background, Gwen and Duncan are awkward and tense messes. Unlike everyone else they couldn't sink back into the background of the party because the bubble has finally popped.

They both couldn't pretend that the truth isn't there anymore.

Anne-Maria's P.O.V

Fuck, I feel terrible. That is all I could even think as I puke my guts out into the porcelain toilet bowl of my family's personal bathroom. Too much has definitely been drank. Too many thoughts and too many schemes have definitely flitted into my mind over the past half hour. Challenging Geoff shouldn't have even been a thought, but I need to get Heather off Dakota's back. Originally I was going to bring up last summer, the time he'd been spotted a college party an hour away from town. But, when I saw Gwen and Duncan arrive together I seized my chance.

Pinning Gwen and Duncan had seemed easier than any other option. Heather always likes to target Gwen, and although I don't hate her, she isn't exactly my friend either. Dakota needs the time off more than her. Dakota needs to sink into the background, slip into the buzz of every other student, so that she could get away from Heather's nasty snares. But, of course, my plan has backfired. Tremendously.

I just had to go and open my big mouth...

"You know, Heather's got us all fucked. We all think that we can escape it but we can't," I groan out, shaking my head as I glance up at Dakota, currently holding my hair back. Burning on her face, a bright blush gives away that she's heard my confession, babbled to the watching audience as I tried to trump Geoff Calvert - a sign of just how formidable I could be. How much better than Heather I could be. Only I made myself look like a complete and utter fool.

"Annie..." Dakota sighs, seeming like she wants to say more but couldn't. Instead she bites into her bottom lip, turning away from me as she keeps my hair away from my face.

"I tried, Koats," Gagging, I have to pause as more gunk ends up in the toilet. Instantly, I flush it, recoiling from the sour smell of vomit and toilet water. "I really did try. But all this glitz and glamour, the big ass party, it's a plaster over a gaping wound."

Heather has done more damage than any of us could ever quite say. Wawankwa itself has damaged us all much more than we would ever admit. Even Heather herself, filled with her poison and thorns, is damaged on the inside. None of us here, not a single person, could call themselves whole.

"We all think that we can be independent," I turn away from the toilet, trying to banish all nausea that wants to rise in my chest. Dakota still does not face me, she doesn't even engage, instead turning on the tap and washing at her already clean hands. "I won't ever admit this sober, but we can't be independent, Dakota. Heather, she's got us all under her thumb. That bitch, trying to help Chris out with his stupid agenda, has molded us all into the characters they want us to be."

For too long Dakota is silent. All that fills the air is the steady gush of water leaving the faucet, swirling around the sink before it disappears down the drain. Dakota, stood at the sink, simply continues to wash her hands. No doubt, as she does, she feels the pressing heat of my stare, the thoughts that swarm into my head and want to be said out loud but could only remain in there; I don't want to scare her off.

Eventually, turning off the faucet, Dakota sighs again, "No, Annie- "

"I know what I'm saying," I couldn't help myself. Deep down I know that she is passing it all off as drunk ramblings, stupid musings from my intoxicated brain. But I know better. I feel better. All of this, the sudden dread and shame and regret that floods my system comes from somewhere. That somewhere is Heather. "What I'm telling you is that you need to act like it doesn't bother you. To keep yourself safe, to keep your friends safe, you act like shit can't touch you."

Because if you do, you begin to crumble. You become weak. Heather snares you up once more, trapped within her strings and forced to perform in her stupid puppet shows. Dakota can't end up like that; I'll die before she ends up in that position once more.

"Is that why you threw Gwen and Duncan under the bus?" Dakota cries out, her eyes red in the glow of the bathroom light. Tears pour from them, slipping down her tan cheeks as she looks at me, filled with something that I'll always recognised: disbelief. Horror. "To protect me?"

"Yes." Always.

Again the silence swallows the room. Dakota finishes with getting herself composed, sniffing and wiping delicately at her face, before helping me to adjust myself. Not that I'm not already a mess before barging in here, ready to puke up a storm. But, even with all the tension in the air, Dakota still manages to help me out. Smoothing out my hair, wiping at the weird splotches on my face, she makes sure we are both presentable before we leave the bathroom.

"Oh, hey ladies," As soon as we get into the hallway, we more or less collide with Lightning. One of the last people most people would have wanted to see after a drunken babble. But not me. No, I know how to flip this moment on its head, erase the pain of reality into a brilliant blaze of the present.

"Lightning, just in time!" Instantly, I perk up, slipping back into character - the Jersey Shore reject - as I sling my arm over his shoulder. Bumping my hip into his, I grin as I wiggle my brows, "I was looking for a candidate to help me zip up my dress. You think you're fit for the job?"

"Course I am, I'm sha-mazing," Lightning, just as I know he would, easily slips into his role. Because we are all hard-wired that way. Like machines, those weird robot thingamajigs, we all know how to slip into our programmed roles: I am the Jersey Shore Reject; Lightning is the jock; Heather is Queen Bee. This is how it is. This is how it always would be.

"That you are," I nod. Turning toward Dakota, staring at me with a worried look - the sort that pinched at her brows and face - I raise a brow, "Oh and Koats?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't tell anybody what I did for you tonight," I say, already heading off with Lightning. The perfect way to cover up. The perfect way to get back into my old self: unfeeling, cold and built up like the many layers of hairspray I spray on my poof. "It'll be our little secret."

Because I already know the truth: she doesn't love me and I was never meant to be hers. So why not continue to live the lie? A Jersey Shore Reject like me can only ever wish to become Queen Bee.