I am staring up at my bedroom ceiling, absentmindedly spinning the cheap band wrapped around my ring finger. My heart is continuing to beat out of my chest despite the hours that have gone by since I did the most foolish thing I've ever done in my nineteen years on this earth. And let me tell you, I've done a lot of stupid shit in my day.

But marrying my step-sister has got to take the cake. I have always been irresponsible, but just when I thought I couldn't get any worse…

However, there she was, challenging me like always. That is one of the things I like most about Casey – the only thing really.

She fights back. She refuses to allow me to walk all over her, and I admire her for that. I really do! Surprising, I know. Me? Admire Casey?

Even when we were kids, I'd get this weird knot in my stomach every time she bested me at my own game; that look she would give me before turning around and walking away. I never knew what in the hell those bats flying around in my stomach meant, and to tell you the truth, I still doubt I do.

Okay, maybe I shouldn't have suggested marriage as a bet. But after nearly four years of constant battles between the two of us, I'm finally running out of shocking material. Nothing I say anymore makes her freak out and lecture me on the importance of ethics and morality. So, sue me if I admit to missing those classic Casey moments just a little bit.

I suggested something so crazy that there was no way in hell she would go through with it. Marry me? She hates me!

We can't stand each other. We're like cats and dogs; toothpaste and orange juice.

I thought she would freak out, call me disgusting, and that it would be the end of it.

I could have sworn she would write my two measly term papers and throw in the towel. But no. Once again, she couldn't force herself to back down, and look where it's landed us.

I turn on my side with a huff, gazing at the clock on my nightstand.

2:54.

I've been tossing and turning for the past three hours, and I'm not even close to falling asleep yet. My brain is refusing the shut down for the night. All I can think about is that fucking bet I came up with on a whim and the unbelievable outcome.

All I can think about is the girl across the hall, wondering if her mind is endlessly reeling as much as mine is.

It's hard to believe that I'm a legally married man. Me! Derek Venturi. Only two days ago, I was hooking up with the girlfriend of one of my hockey team mates, and now I am hitched to the one girl I run from every time she tries to hug me.

I'm screwed.

I swore to myself I was never going to take that particular plunge…or not until I was well past thirty, anyway. But here I am, not even out of my teens and married to the one girl who grates on my nerves every second of every day.

Okay, maybe not every second. She has her moments, but they are few and far between.

I give my tenth heavy sigh of the night, flipping over to my other side, and staring blankly at the wall once again.

This is never how I imagined spending my wedding night; separate bedrooms and counting down the days until we can end this and file for an annulment without our parent's ever finding out.

At the thought of our parent's, I begin to think of Nora. I groan audibly, placing a hand over my entire face. If Nora ever finds out what I've done, she is going to kill me. Casey is the worst liar ever, and I can only imagine eating Christmas dinner one year, enjoying my turkey, and her blurting out that we married each other on a bet. Essentially, I'm a dead man walking.

"Agggggh," I let out in a half groan, half scream, kicking my blankets violently until they relent and release me from their constricting grasp. I give up on this whole sleep thing because there is no way in hell I'm going to get one good second of rest tonight.

I leap out of bed, running a hand through my hair, not bothering to put on a shirt before heading to the kitchen. I flip on the light when I reach my destination before swinging open the refrigerator door and peering inside. It only takes me a second before pulling out the left-over fried chicken that I was forced to pick up last night after Casey locked herself in her bedroom and refused to come out and make me dinner.

Typical keener.

Fucking wedding night and I don't get sex or food.

Not that I want sex! You know…from Casey. But I'm still a guy and it would be nice to know that I have options. But in this case, I don't.

I reach to grab a beer, kicking the fridge closed with my foot. Setting the container of chicken on the counter, I grab the bottle opener to pop open my beverage, not caring when the top loudly clinks it's way across the kitchen surface. Instead, I bring the cold beer to my lips, downing half of it within seconds.

"Fried chicken and beer at 3am?" I hear, pausing mid swig.

I draw my eyebrows together as I peer over my shoulder, and sure enough, Casey is peeking around the corner, one hand resting against the wall as she gazes in my direction. Her hair is a mess and clearly, she didn't bother taking off her makeup before going to bed because her mascara is smudged underneath each eye, giving off a racoon-like effect.

"Yikes," I say, leaning against the counter with one hand, crossing one foot over the other. "I didn't realize Night of the Living Dead was casting for a remake."

"Derek," she hisses out a warning, giving me 'the look.'

Oh, right. The 'be nice' clause prohibits me from being a total ass. How in the hell am I supposed to change my entire personality over night? I breathe deep, remembering it's all for a bet. Two weeks. I only have to make it two week and then I can go back to torturing the living hell out of her.

"Sorry," I mutter, grabbing the fried chicken off the counter and holding it out towards my step-sister, turned wife. "Chicken?"

She gazes at the red container in my grasp, hesitating briefly before fully emerging from around the corner and shuffling her feet towards me, bunny slippers and all. I try not to smile at the sight, but it's so hard when after all these years, she's still attached to those damn furry things.

More surprising than anything, however, is when she takes a drumstick from the box, bringing it to her lips to nibble lightly.

She must be just as stressed out as I am, because in the almost four years that I have known this girl, I've never seen her get the late-night munchies, especially with something fatty and unhealthy.

When she catches me gazing at her with surprise, she turns around and heads to the island, sitting down carefully before taking another bite. "I didn't have supper," she says softly, devouring the cold piece of chicken.

"I know," I reply, taking a bite of my own. "I didn't see you eating breakfast or lunch, either."

At my surprise observation, Casey grabs a paper towel from the holder to her left before sitting down the bare bone in her hand. I can't seem to stop myself before the next words come flying from my lips. "Are you okay?"

Casey's gaze rises, a cautious look in her eyes. "Are you asking me if I'm okay because you care, or because you have to be nice?"

"Oh, oh, the last one," I immediately reply, cursing myself for even asking how she was feeling. It takes me back to the time in high school before she dumped Max because she was 'allergic to him.' It just so happened to be at the exact moment when my dad made me pay a buck for every single insult I threw the families way.

Sometimes, I think my dad is lamer than Casey. I was in rare form that week, and by rare form, I mean hilarious.

Folding her arms, those blue eyes lowering so that her lashes nearly brush her cheeks, she bites her bottom lip before choosing to speak. "My conscience is eating me alive," she says, burying her face in her hands.

I chuckle, unable to stop myself. "Relax, Case. In two weeks, this whole thing will be over with and you can go back to being a goody-goody princess. Unless…you want to admit defeat so that I can declare victory?"

"Never!" she exclaims, popping her head up at my suggestion. "Besides, I already went through with it. We both "won" I guess."

"True," I say, nodding my head in agreement before taking another sip of my beer and pointing the bottle towards Casey. "But we both went through with it. Sure, we can say we both won and call it a day, but we might as well keep going and see who breaks first."

"Breaks first?"

"Mmhmm. We're supposed to make it two weeks. But who knows?" I shrug, putting forth my best cocky persona even though my own mind is less than confident right now. But Casey doesn't need to know that. "Maybe one of us will demand an annulment before the time is up. If that's the case, then the bet is still on."

"Have you ever thought about the fact that we can just ignore one another until the two weeks are over?"

"Some may consider that cheating," I say with a smirk, leaning over the lower half of the island with my gaze pinned on the girl in front of me. "You did say, no dating and no being mean. If we go an entire two weeks without talking to each other, it kind of makes both points invalid, don't ya think?"

With a soft sigh, Casey gives me a weary gaze, and I can still see the guilt of our current situation etched on her face. "I guess you're right."

"Of course, I'm right. Now if you don't mind," I turn my back to her, going about my business. "I'm in the middle of enjoying my last moments of peace before you and I become attached at the hip."

"Wait," Casey says, leaping off the stool and shuffling her slippered feet close to me. "Just because we agreed to not ignore each other doesn't mean we have to spend copious amounts of time together."

"No?" I question, peeking over my shoulder. "That's exactly what it means, Case. Otherwise, it would just be you and I going through life like normal. Passing one another at mealtime while arguing along the way. You said so yourself, husbands and wives are supposed to be nice to each other. On top of that, husbands and wives are supposed to spend time together."

"But…"

"Or I'll ask again," I turn around sharply, leaning down far enough that Casey jumps away from me. I begin walking towards her, her feet continuing to inch away with every step I take. "Are you ready to accept defeat and ask for the annulment right here, right now?"

Her blue eyes suddenly narrow, her steps stopping. I'm directly in front of her now, her face so close to mine that I can feel sweat beginning to form on my brow. Too close. Way too close

"Never," she says, her gaze momentarily dropping to my lips before once again, biting her own. I fucking hate when she does that.

"Game on, Venturi," Casey threatens, backing away, allowing to me to breathe for the first time in what seems like forever.

And with one last glance in my direction with the same look she would give me all those times in the past when she felt that she had gained the upper hand, she disappears back down the hallway, her bedroom door slamming in response.

"Game on, McDonald," I can't help but smile.

He makes me so mad!

So much for the 'be nice' clause. Sure, Derek had restrained himself enough and only threw one insult at me, but he's still trying to get my goat. It's not fair!

This whole mess is his doing anyway. And now he wants to spend time together just so he can break me into asking for an annulment before our trial period for this farce of a marriage is set to be over with. But this isn't just a 'trial period,' though. No matter what happens, Derek and I will abolish our wedding vows one way or another.

I cannot wait until I can tear our marriage license to shreds and celebrate.

But there is just one thing that is continuously eating me alive. I didn't necessarily grow up religious, though I do believe in God. But after watching my parent's go through a divorce, I swore to myself that I would never allow that to happen to me.

I decided then and there that I do not believe in divorce.

I know, I know. It will be an annulment, not technically a divorce. We got married under false pretenses and there is absolutely no way, under any circumstance, will we ever consummate our union. I'd rather shove a rusty nail in my eye than let Derek touch me that way.

But we did say vows to one another, and we are legally man and wife. In my eyes, there really isn't much of a difference between a divorce and an annulment.

In defeat, I fall onto my bed, my arms outstretched as I gaze up at my ceiling.

I heard Derek walk into the kitchen, and while I had shut myself away ever since coming home from City Hall, aside from a few bathroom breaks, I couldn't stop myself from following him. There he was, his back turned to me, eating and drinking; the two things he knows how to do best besides being mean to me.

And I can't explain it, but seeing him shirtless in the middle of the night had almost made me feel…nervous? It's not like I haven't seen him without a shirt on before. We've been living together non-stop since we were fifteen years old. I've seen the guy in nothing but a towel before. Sure, I took off running at the sight, but I still saw him.

Not to mention the times he would burst into the bathroom and try to relieve himself while I was clearly standing at the bathroom mirror, putting on my makeup. High school Derek was crass, rude, degrading, sexist…well, you get my drift.

College Derek is all those things, but maybe a tad milder. He doesn't barge in when I'm in the bathroom anymore…well, except for that one time when he had a hang over and I was in the shower. From drinking so much the night before, his bladder was about to explode, and he threatened to relieve himself on our balcony if I didn't let him in.

What would our neighbors have said?

But anyway, seeing Derek shirtless now is a bit unsettling. In high school, Derek was a Hockey god. He was a little scrawny, but nobody could touch him on the ice, and he knew it. But soon after starting the first semester at Queens, he quickly realized how unmatched he was with the other guys on the team. They were beating the living daylights out of him, and though he refused to admit he was intimidated, he started working out the second he realized it.

I'm not sure Derek had ever worked out a day in his life aside from practice, up until that point.

And despite it only being six months, the muscles in his back were more defined and his stomach had the outline of six pack peeking through. Not to mention the way his sweats hung low on his hips, so it was impossible to miss the progress he has made in such a short amount of time.

Needless to say, Derek was no longer the scrawny runt on the team.

Breaking myself from my thoughts about Derek and his back muscles…Derek and his hard chest…Derek and his hard abs…

I grab my pillow, throwing it over my face before screaming as hard as I can into it.

If Derek wants to break me, then I am just going to have to beat him at his own game.

If Derek wants to spend time with me, then quality time is all he is going to get.