Eli's P.O.V

My mind is racing. Pounding. Throbbing. Exploding. Emotions are no longer under my control.

Where are they?

In my night stand? Nope.

Under my bed? Nope

In my suitcase? Nope.

Closet? Nope.

Where is that little pill? That little fucking pill that takes the paranoia away!

The rage. It's early this time…

I begin recklessly throwing things, left and right, up and down. Clothes, books, anything my hands can grab.

I feel it: the urge. The burning sensation that yearns for an act of violence. Smashing, crushing, ripping, I need to destroy something, anything.

As I raise my fist and begin to thrust it against the wooden door, a tiny voice whispers in my ear, "But what about her?"

And I freeze.

Her. The blue eyed beauty. If I plummet my fist into this door, I would get kicked off this stupid, yet wonderful, show, and I would never see her again.

Slowly the urge fades away, leaving me startled and confused.

How is it possible? Hundreds of tested medication and a little 'crush' can melt away the anger? Okay, that is an exaggeration, nowhere near a hundred, but certainly a lot.

It can't be possible. My wild mood swings will resurface; I am counting on it. They will contain uncontrollable outbursts of anger, gallons of tears, and extreme paranoia. It will appear when it is least wanted and I will make a complete fool of myself in front of nineteen douchey men and the woman I admire dearly.

"Gentlemen, you have fifteen minutes before we leave, along with Clare, to the Santa Monica Beach."

I must find those Goddamn pills!

Clare's P.O.V

I hate the beach.

I always have and always will.

The sun is scorching, the sand gets everywhere, I look terrible in swimsuits and I burn as red as a tomato.

So why did I agree to be the referee to a beach volleyball match?

Oh yeah, that's right; I didn't.

The executive producer of this show, Reese, aka my arch nemesis and my dad's best friend, thought it would be a great idea to have a group event with all the guys, in a location that would expose their 'fantastic' bodies.

Anything to put on a good show, right?

If anything, it makes me feel overly self-conscious because Reese forced me into a skin tight bikini. Only to make matters worse, this will be broadcasted across the entire nation.

So here I am sitting in a really high chair, sucking in my gut and sipping raspberry lemonade while watching men rally a ball.

I'd rather be curled up on my bed, drinking green tea and reading Chuck Palahniuk's Invisible Monsters or Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.

At least the lemonade is good.

Then I think of why I'm really here. I suppose to be finding love within the twenty boys around me.

I look from left to right, examining the guys in front of me.

Some of them are very kind. They are sweet, caring, and what's the word I'm looking for? Oh yeah, Normal.

But to me normal is a synonym of boring.

The last guy that I gaze upon is Mr. Elijah Goldsworthy. Not participating in the madness at all. In fact, he was sitting a little away from the crowd, reading none other than Chuck Palahniuk's Invisible Monsters.

Oh how I envied him.

I began to study the character in front of me. His posture, his appearance, everything and anything about him.

Although we were on a beach, he still managed to have a dark façade. His attire, which consisted of sandals, swim trunks and a towel, were all a heavy black, which made him stand out from the other boys' bright greens and blues. The nails on his fingers, which seemed to be colored by none other than a sharpie, slowly tucked a strand of his ravenous hair behind his ear as he gazed upon his book with such intensity. As he read, his feverously tapped his fingers along the pages of the book, and I couldn't help but think he was anxious. Anxious about what?

I then moved my gaze to his face. I was never one to judge one's appearance, but he was definitely good looking, to say the least. His jaw bone was aligned in such a way that looking at him from any angle made his face look stunning. His pale complexion was scarce of any flaws, and accented his dark tresses. Lastly, I gazed upon his eyes which were coloured such a unique forest green, that it made his appearance unforgettable.

As I was staring at his face and deep into his green orbs, I was startled to realize that those precious eyes were staring back at me.

I blushed deeply, as I realized how crazy I must have appeared to him, to be staring so passionately, but he seemed to be pleased because a smirk spread upon his lips.

I then propped myself up from my seat and began walking over to the isolated man who I was previously gazing upon.

"Good afternoon, Miss. Edwards." He said with a jolly tone.

"Why, good afternoon Mr. Goldsworthy. Would you mind if I sat here?" I asked, mimicking him.

"I'd be delighted to obtain your presence."

"So what has you sitting isolated from the crowd? Do you not enjoy sports, the beach or the other contestants?" I asked, almost as a joke.

"Well, I had to distinguish myself from the crowd, so that a certain blue-eyed beauty would notice me. It seems as though my mission was accomplished." He replied in a humorous tone.

"Actually, I'm just not feeling very well." He continued. "But for the records, I don't enjoy sports or the beach, or some of the other contestants for that matter."

Eli's P.O.V

"Not feeling well?" She asked, with concern seeping through her angelic voice.

"Yeah, just a headache, nothing to worry about." I tried to reassure.

That was technically the truth. I mean my head did hurt. But that is just the lack of medication, and I couldn't tell Clare that without telling her that I'm bi-polar. And I could tell her I'm bi-polar without her thinking I'm crazy. And if she thinks I'm crazy, she will stop liking me, kick me off the show and well, end up with someone like Jake. And I am not going to let that happen.

Is it just me or do I sound paranoid?

"So, we've have talked for numerous hours, but I never got the chance to ask you, what do you do for a living?" Clare asked.

"Well, I dream to become a writer. But I am currently a teacher at Degrassi High School, in Toronto. I teach English, Drama and Creative Writing Class."

And it was at that moment that I realised that I knew nothing about a girl that I was head over heels for.

"A teacher? I would have never guessed. No offence. Writer seems more like a fitted title. Why are you putting you writing dreams on hold?"

"Well, I was never given an opportunity to take my writing further. I would write and write and write, but kept getting declined by publishers. They always gave me a different critique or excuse as I would say. My writing was too gory, then too raunchy, then too depressing." Never good enough. I added in my head.

"And never good enough. That why you went into teaching. Because you were tired of rejection, and instead decided to feel like a superior, in a classroom full of students." She stated, almost as though she read my mind.

"How did you-?" and before I could ask my question, it was answered.

"I am working towards my bachelor's degree in psychology. I find humans fascinating. And I say that with the littlest amount of oddness as possible. I just like understanding what people do and why they do them. I like having answers. Like why a person would go crazy. Or why a person would kill themselves." She explained and I found a new reason to like this girl. She was so peculiar that it got my adrenaline rushing.

"Or the mind of a bi-polar patient." She continued and my mind froze. "It would just be fascinating!"

She wants to understand the complexity of a bi-polar patient. This is my chance. I should tell her and tell her now. She would be the first girl to understand my problems. I could confide in her. Eli, build up the courage!

I thought to myself.

"It must be your lucky day…." I began, before I was rudely interrupted.

"Hey hot-stuff, we still need a referee!" Jake yelled towards Clare.

"Why don't you ask the lady what she would prefer to do?" I stated in a polite manner.

"Why don't you shut the fuck up?" Jake retorted.

"Clever comeback. You should write a book!" I joked and I stood up to face the man.

"You callin' me dumb? At least I have the muscle of a man." He said as he shoved me back.

"Look, I don't want to fight you-,"

"That's because you know you'd lose!" he interrupted yet again. And I heard a few snickers from the other men.

Anger began to build.

"No. I don't want to fight you because with the presence of a lady, that would be unacceptable. I don't want to fight you because if I hit your head hard enough, you might lose some brain cells, and you've already lost enough. And lastly, I don't want to fight you because unlike yourself, I am not an animal that has to resort to violence to prove a point."

Any other day, I would have possibly won this fight.

Any other day, my mind would have been perfectly stable.

Any other day, I would have been able to block a punch.

But because he chose today, the day my medication went missing, to throw a solid punch at my face, my mind failed me, yet again, and I wasn't prepared.

And then everything went black.

A/N My sincerest apologies for not updating for almost a year. I have no excuses, except that time got away from me. I will try to update all of my stories as often as possible. Thank you for reading, and if you could take a moment to review, even with criticism, I would greatly appreciate it.

Regards,
PuReLoVe99