Wow. This is full of so much angst. Well, I guess that's what you can call it. I started this, and never stopped. If you don't understand the brackets with no spaces, tell me and I'll explain or fix it. Important note at the end. Hope you enjoy!

You know that he loves you.

After all, he tells you he does at least five times a day and he looks at you like you're the only one in the room and holds you like he never wants to let go and kisses you as if it was the last thing he got to do on earth. Of course, you convince yourself of these things. This whole time you try to ignore the burning sensation eating away at the pit of your stomach telling you different. Telling you when he tells you he loves you that many times, he's actually convincing himself. How you're the one lingering and clinging to him, not the other way around. You secretly know that he could never love you. But, all the same you decide to toy with fate, and tread along the thin lines between hope and reality.

Hope: He loves you.

Reality: He loves her.

Her being your best friend. The one who you tell (almost) everything to and you know all her (dirty) secrets. Little miss sweet and not so innocent, who watches her friends crash and burn all around her. The one who broke his heart. The one who had his heart.

(thoughyoudeserveditevenifyou'llneverevereverhaveitandshealwayswillnomatterwhat)

You ignore it.

You ignore it when you see them walking out of the closet at his CD release and out of the storage room at the press conference and the dressing room, backstage at his concert and from a VIP booth at your 21st birthday party (happybirthdaytoyou!). After all, he loves you. Right? Clearly you're jumping to conclusions. There are plenty of things they could've have been doing in the closet, or the storage room, or the dressing room, or even the VIP booth. But, it really kills you. The truth, that is. Because you know what they were doing, and the feelings of rage and guilt and remorse eat you alive. Even though you knew it was happening, and it was partially your fault because you were too selfish to even give a damn how he felt.

When he comes over and wraps his arms around you, you ignore the stench of her sickening sweet perfume (justlikeher), and you ignore the glances they give each other across the room (you'vegrownacustomedtoit), and you ignore his alcohol ridden breath at the end of the night (everysinglefuckingtime).

After all, sometimes if you ignore something long enough it will go away. So when checking your makeup in the mirror, the pleasure moans you hear act as your official wake up call. He loves her.

(thoughyoudeserveachanceatlovesososomuchmoreshestillgetsthehappilyeverafter)

He says you need to talk, and you know what comes next.

You nod slowly and squeeze your eyes so tightly the hurt and hope it's all a dream and silently wish you were wrong. He opens his mouth to speak. Here it comes, the big one ladies and gentlemen. His voice drones on and on as you promise yourself you won't cry. You take it all in; absorb the words that leave his tongue as poison. This was so expected, and still so surprising, and still so relieving, but then again so agonizing, and so wonderfully heartbreaking (isn'teverythinglikethatwithhim?).

But then, one certain sentence knocks you down. It fulfills your worst nightmares, your reality kicks in.

"I love you, but I'm not in love with you."

If he loved you so much, he wouldn't be doing this. He wouldn't be breaking your heart, even though you knew this was too good to last. You knew he didn't love you, he never did. And it hut like hell. It's then you finally realize that the feelings you had were right. Rage and irritation and sorrow and joy and lament and love and revulsion all bubble up inside of you at the same time and you feel like screaming or throwing up or crying or hitting him or doing all of it at once. But instead you sit silently. A couple of tears fall. She was his world.

(thoughyoudeservedthatandnomatterhowmuchyoubegprettyprettyprettypleasehestillleaves)

Time flies when you're broken hearted.

It's been sixty-four weeks and three days and twenty-two hours and seven minutes and thirty-eight seconds since your breakup. Not that you counted, or cried every night, or threw yourself a pity party, or even cared that he moved on, in a week you may add. Leaving you for your 'best friend' in the whole wide world. The same one who broke his heart. Nope, you didn't care. Since you were always second, and were always the rebound girl. After all, who can out shine the voice in his head? She's not the only voice in his head, you decide. It makes you feel better. Thinking about how stupid he is to choose her, or how hideous he is with his bulging biceps and those gorgeous almond eyes, or how denoting it is when he lets her hang off his arm like some kind of trophy, while she smirks a 'told you so' 'I won' 'in your face' smirk at the camera. At you! You know it is. While you sit at home in front of the television, with a disconnected phone and boxes of tissues. Oh, not forgetting your boyfriends: Ben and Jerry.

You think you should've gotten over it by now; it was such a clean break. But, no matter how hard you try to forget, you remember everything.

Every single stupid word that left his mouth. Every single stupid song you sang together in the car. Every single tear or smile while with him. Every single thing you swore to him you would always remember, or every single thing you swore to him that you'd forget about, saying it meant nothing when it meant everything. And every single time you remember, you remember how much it hurt the first time, and it hurts that way all over again. Just when you thought you had gotten over it! You even threw out all the clothes you wore on your dates, and the priceless dresses and jewelry he brought you for events, and all the love songs you mixed that he claimed he wrote about you (even though most of them had to do with being sorry and re-linking after a break up), and all those CD's you listened to, and those stupid roses he sent the first time you had a fight that were moldy and crisp, and you deleted all those stupid, stupid, stupid text messages and emails and voice mails that he left saying how much he loved you and how he hoped one day he could have a little girl with your hair and smile like he saw walking in the park with her daddy.

(youdeserveittruelybutnowhecanhaveitallwithyourveryveryverybestestfriendinthewholewideworld)

You don't know how it got to this point.

But, here you are, sitting in front of a fire place in the middle of summer tossing pictures into the smoldering blaze and watching them burn to nothing andlistening to your all time favorite Avril Lavigen/Michael Jackson/Alanis Morisette CD you burned and cursing his name, all at the same time. What a multi-tasker you are!

But you bet anyone else would do the same if they found out their best friend and ex-boyfriend moved in together, after just under three months of dating. Three months! You moved in with him after two years of dating. And then he decided that living with you wasn't right for him. It 'crowded his space'. What the hell did he live in, a bubble? You were so angry; you couldn't help but take out all those stupid shoe boxes stuffed under your bed, full of photographs taken of you and your friends since you were about fifteen.

Oh look:

Best Friends Forever.

Silly caption. Now you watch it burn.

Another one:

Friends forever, boys for now.

My, how the tables have turned.

You pile through box, after box, after box, until one picture caption catches your eye.

The look of love.

It wasn't in your hand writing. The picture wasn't even of you. It was her with him. 'The look of love.'

(andyoudeserveditbutevenwhenhesaidforeverandeverandeverheneverlookedatyouthatway.)

It's your first time being at an event for five months after the break-up.

You have on the most beautiful, low cut dress and heels and make up and your hair is done up beautifully and a smile is plastered on your face. After all, it is your best friend's CD release. Even though she didn't even invite you. No. Why would she? She swore she put you on the list. She swore it was a mistake. She swore so many things you lost count. But, it doesn't really matter. Bottom line, she didn't invite you. He did. Your once-upon-a-time best friend from when you were at camp. The one who had stupid nicknames for you, even when your beloved ex-boyfriend didn't. The one who held you while you sobbed, when your ex-boyfriend didn't even realized you had been crying. The one who always knew what to say. The lanky, got-your-back, best friend. Except now he wasn't so lanky. In fact, he was actually quite good-looking. But, you're too blinded by the main man of the hour that your 'best friend' is hanging off of. You knew he was going to be there. So you really don't know why you're so surprised when he's standing there. He sends you a small smile and you turn the other way, pretending you didn't see it. The cold shoulder always works, right?

Once inside, you spend the night being questioned on why people haven't seen you in ages. You just shrug and respond that you've been busy. You're not-so-lanky best friend stands by your side the whole night. Not that you noticed.

Finally, when it comes to the after party dinner, you are forced to sit next to your beloved ex-boyfriend, thanks to your beloved 'best friend'. Was it a cruel joke? You decide it must be. He says hi, and then spends the rest of the night starring at the well loved person sitting on the other side of him. Finally, you can't handle it. You say you feel sick, or something like that, and make a quick exit.

How could he notice you? What were you thinking? Notice you? Never. Not when little-miss-perfect is sitting there. You let the tears fall freely as you sit cursing yourself on the side of the road, slinging your shoes across the road, waiting for a cab. You don't even notice that someone is stroking your back, whispering comforting words. You were too busy wishing you could have someone look at you with undivided attention.

(youdeserveditfarfarfarmorethanastupidbitchwhoactssoinnocent.)

You knew what you saw.

You gather up the courage and dial his number for the first time in almost a year and hold your breath when he answers and share greetings and then proceed to explain everything. You almost feel bad for telling him. But, you know you need to. She was cheating on him. That's a big no-no. So when you tell him, you can't believe him. He laughs! At you! He's evidently in denial, you decide as you bid goodbye and hang up the phone.

The second time you see her is at the studio. She comes out of an office, her hair disheveled, lips swollen, and makeup smeared. You don't want to be a tattle tale. Honest to God. But, all the same you call him. You don't know what opted you to do so. But the feeling is riveting. This time he just makes up an excuse. Evidently, she was at the studio because she was supposed to be recording. Yeah, a sex tape.

Every time you call, he makes up a new excuse. You suppose love is blind. I mean, it has to be for him not to see.

You call again. It's the seventeenth time. Not that you counted. But this time, it's different. This time he doesn't make up an excuse. This time he claims that you need closure. Closure! You can't believe your ears. You do not need closure. You got over him. Right?

You hang up on him, and soon burst in to tears.

So next time you see her walk out of someone else's house, you decide you just need closure, so you don't call. I mean, after all what excuse does he have for that? She was cleaning his house? But it makes you so angry he would believe her. You hate him. You hate her. You hate this. You hate life. You hate everything. And it feels like you're stuck in some type of movie.

(youdeservetobebelievedbuthebelievesherandyouwanttoscreamliarliarliarandsetherpantsonfire.)

Engaged? Would you be the Maid of Honor?

Your first instinct is to scream no and throw the phone across the room and sob for hours and curl up in a ball and go back into seclusion. But, instead you agree. After all, you are her best friend. So you stay on the phone, eyes closed and silently crying while she chatters incomprehensible words of excitement, which makes you even angrier because she knows you love him.

How you say you have to go is beyond you. How could you speak? You then hang up the phone and silently sit there before throwing the closest object across the room, which to you is quite the accomplishment, being that the other option was paying an unexpected visit and throwing her across the room.

The months blur together, and the day comes. You stand up to toast and say your speech. As the Maid of Honor and 'best friend' it's your duty. You babble on about how you know they're destined to be together (lie), and how they'll be together forever (lie), and how you've never seen people more in love (lie), and how she's marrying the love of her (your) life, and how you wish complete happiness to the couple (lie). Clapping fills the room, as you take your seat. You get sympathetic glances from several people. How would they know?

When you cry yourself to sleep that night your 'best friend' and lover boy don't understand why. Your not-so-lanky new best friend does. And so does your not-so-mean friend and her bird-loving boyfriend.

You decide love is sickening. And when you curse against it, you swear you see realization cross lover boy's face, and a smirk cross your 'best friend's'. But, it was quick, so you'll never really know.

(youdeserveloveandyoutrulytrulytrulyadorethefeeling.)

It burns when you breathe, as if you had just run a marathon.

It's like someone kicked you in the stomach and ripped out your heart and pulled out your hair and left you there. Like your world was toppling down around you.

It was positive. Positive! A baby. They were going to have a fucking baby. You pick up the phone you dropped, and respond to your 'best friend' who asks if you're still there. She says how thrilled she is. How excited. She can't believe she's going to be a mother. She even wants to name 'it' after you. Well, woo-fucking-hoo. That's when you hang up on her.

Later that night, you still feel like you can't breathe. But this time, it's for a different reason. Your throat burns. But by now, you don't care. You swig the burning liquid and feel it travel down your esophagus.

Swig: For him.

Swig: For her.

Swig: For that baby.

Swig: For yourself.

Swig: For all those people suffering.

Swig: For no apparent reason.

You don't know when he finds you. But he does. He takes you home, and holds you through the night shushing you as you cry and empty the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl.

The next day he listens intently as you confess all your problems, and reasons with you saying that you should call her back.

You do. You claim that your phone broke. She believes you, and then proceeds to explain every last detail of what the nursery was going to look like. It made you sick all over again.

(youdeserveditandallyouwanttodorightnowisplugyourearsandyelllalalaobnoxiously.)

He claims he knows how you feel.

He feels broken and used and torn and guilty and angry all at the same time. You wonder how in the hell could anyone know how you feel. But then you realize you have something in common. Both of the people you loved happen to leave each of you for your 'best friends'. Poor him, what a blow.

You bond over this, and it's a wakeup call. And before you know it, you feel as if you're falling in love all over again.

Except this time, you have his heart. And this time you get your chance at love with a happily ever after. And this time you don't have to beg, because he promises he'll never leave. And this time, you can believe it because you know he wouldn't lie to you about something so important. And you can have it all. And you can believe in forever, while he looks at you lovingly. And you have so much more than what's-her-name who cause you so much pain. And he believes you. And you adore the feeling.

Because now you know you weren't actually in love before, and realize that maybe it's not so bad after all.

(youdeserveitandthistimeyoureallyreallyreallymeanit.)

Did you like it? I think it started off strong, and got weaker. It's kind of intended for anyone you want, but I think it is also very distinct on who I was thinking of*! Very suckish, and terrible ending.

Please review and comment! Constructive criticism is welcome! Earn a cookie!

-NOTE-

Sorry for the lack of updates. I am having computer difficulties, and this one was typed secretly on my daddy's computer. Shhhh, don't tell! I am working very hard, and hopefully one-shots will be posted this weekend (?).

I don't know though. Depends. Laptop needs to be fixed! Urgh, it's annoying.

-End of Note-

*due to confusion I was thinking of: Caitlyn voicing this, Shane being the first boyfriend; Mitchie being the 'best friend'; Nate being the not-so-lanky friend turned lover.

Hope that cleared things up!