Disclaimer: I don't own TDI. I really don't.

Author's Note: Takes place directly after Gwen sees Heather and Trent on the dock. I was having a pretty tearful day myself when I started this, so I think the mood fits. *I highly recommend that you read this while listening to 'Disenchanted' by My Chemical Romance. It's perfect.*

Tears come from happiness.

They come from sadness.

They come from frustration.

From anger.

From physical and emotional pain.

But when it gets down to it, I've realized that the most tears come from love.

I don't want to be crying right now, but there's really no other option. What else am I supposed to do, laugh? Heather's probably laughing right now, that witch. I ball my hands into fists and run, stomping on that pink love note before I go. Did Trent do this on purpose? Is this some kind of sick way for him to tell me that he's not interested anymore? I put so much trust in him! I opened up, let him see me. Not the Gwen that's dark and moody and forbidding, (though I am, I'm not denying it) but the one who's a personality, and an intellectual, and a person.

And the note was just so sweet! Sure, he misspelled the word 'hour' and wrote 'our' instead, but I figure that he was just thinking about, well, us. Ourselves. It's not so hard to forget an 'h' when you're busy thinking about someone you love, right? I'm not so sure anymore.

Then, tired of conjuring up questions that I don't know the answers to, I run. My boots strike the dark rock leading up to the dock, and I trip over a dent in the stone. My hands hit the ground and propel my body back up without a pause. The world in front of me is getting blurry at this point, but I don't make any effort to choke off my tears. I concentrate on picking out points a few hundred meters in front of me, passing them, and then picking out new ones, anything I can do to keep myself moving.

There goes the pine tree I spotted a minute ago. I look forward, and spot an overgrown patch of grass. I sprint until it's been trampled under my shoes. I blink through my tears and see a glimpse of sand and head towards it. I'd love to be all poetic and say that I didn't know where I was going until I got there, but I don't think that ever happens. If you don't know where you're going, then you don't know where you are when you stop. Somewhere inside of you always knows where you're headed.

But then I realize what I've just thought and decide to rephrase it: when you're running, you've always got destination. Now, my destination is the dock, the place where this horror began and where it will eventually end. I stare out at Camp Wawanakwa's sad excuse for a seashore and collapse onto my knees. The hard wood sends a shock through my body, and I feel little stones of sand poking at my legs through my tights. I suddenly realize that I don't care if anyone's here to listen, or if anyone has even noticed that I'm gone, and I wail. My tears flow freely as my fists pound at the eroded planks, my nails digging into my palms.

Trent hurt me. Devastated me. It's all too simple, really. Why are the easiest things to say always the hardest things to deal with? "I love you." "I need you." "I hurt you." If it all sounds so undemanding and basic, then why is it so difficult to understand? And then there are complex chemical formulas and theories of life that would be easier said as 'air', or 'treat others the way you want to be treated'. Why do people always complicate everything?

My mom always tell me that I've built up this big, metaphoric wall around myself, and I now see that she's right. But just a few hours ago, when Trent helped me flush out the skunks and retrieve my key, I thought that he was different. I thought that he'd be the one to break through that wall, and for those few hours, he had. But now, let me tell you, that wall is back up and it's twice as strong as it was before he cracked it.

I feel my sadness begin to morph into anger. Not so much at Trent, but at the world, or karma, or fate, or at whatever's caused this entire mess to happen in the first place. Well, actually no, it's at Trent too. There's only one place to go now; I shove myself off of the soggy boards and walk to the Confessional. I have a few thoughts that I need to get out of my head now. My hands slam the door shut and I'm left in the dank stall to push the button on the camera across from me. The red light blinks on.

"Jerk! Abuser! Cheater! Liar!" I scream at the lens as pictures of Trent flow though my head. The most prominent one includes Heather, all over him, arms wrapped around his neck. It fuels my anger.

"How could you do this to me?! What about this afternoon? I thought we had—," I pause to sniff, angry that evidence of tears is still in my system, "—A relationship! I let you in, and you destroyed me! What kind of person are you?!" My thoughts flow freely now, a whole month of frustration pouring out, flies my only audience. I gesture wildly at the camera, and a small part of me wonders how much of this Chris will decide to show the world. How much will Trent see? Will he even care that I'm angry? He obviously doesn't mind crushing my heart, so there's really no difference, I decide.

"I just can't believe you did this to me! How could you? If you didn't like me you could have just said so! I thought I knew you, but I was WRONG!" I pause to wipe my eyes, feeling the tears coming again. I punch off the camera before it catches me crying and then, to no one in particular, I mumble, "This s-sucks."

I wander back to the Gopher cabin and listen at the door for voices. I can't very well go busting in there, face wet from tears, while Heather's busy plotting to ruin someone else's life, or Lindsey's busy being stupid, or Izzy's busy being insane. However, I hear nothing, so I pull open the door and walk through, hearing it crash against the outside of the cabin, and then back to the doorframe. I glance around once more; the cabin really is empty. Everybody must still be out getting their keys, I realize. They didn't have help from… I cut myself off before I can think of him. I busy myself by ducking under the bunk above mine and curling up on the edge of the bottom mattress. I grab a pillow and cover my face with it.

I can't say how long I've sat here now, because time seems to have abandoned me along with the rest of the world. When it decides to return, I'm too busy sobbing to hear Leshawna's footsteps approaching the cabin. "What's up, girl?" she asks. I haven't looked up, but I know it's her. No one else would even care enough to ask me that question. Not anymore.

I look up from my yellowed pillowcase to see her standing in front of me with her golden key, covered in scratches. Ignoring her question, I ask, "How'd you get all scratched up like that?" I hate how strangled my voice sounds.

"Ha, you should see the crocodiles!" Crocodiles? Only Chris, I think. Only Chris. She twirls the key around her finger, looking triumphant. I become entirely certain that I look nothing like her as she sits beside me. "What about you? What's up?" She places her arm on my shoulder, full of concern.

"Well," I sniff. "You see, what happened was—" I take a breath and try to gather myself enough to tell her the story without bursting out into tears again. I don't have very much confidence in my ability to stay composed, but Leshawna needs to hear what happened. "My challenge was to get my key out of a skunk hole, and Trent helped me with water, and I kissed him, and he gave me a love letter telling me to meet him at the dock. So I show up when it says to and I see him kissing Heather!" My chest gets tight, and I struggle to continue. "So I ran, and Lindsey was in a tree, and then I yelled at him in the Confessional, and then I came back here, and—and—" I can't find anymore words.

Was that really all that happened? It doesn't sound like very much when I say it out loud.

Leshawna looks a little confused, but anger conquers her expression quickly. I realize that what I've just said doesn't make a lot of sense, but Leshawna must have decoded my hysterics and found the big problem. "Ooooh, you are NOT serious girl!"

I bite the inside of my mouth, and Leshawna gets that this isn't a joke. "I'm going to murder that girl! And that boy! Don't worry, hon. It'll be all right, just you wait. Those two are not going to get out of this in one piece!" With one more comforting look in my direction, she stomps out of the cabin, full of new purpose.

For a second, I think about asking her not to rip Trent limb from limb like I'm fairly certain she will, but she's already gone. I should go after her and tell her not to do anything too extreme, but I can't find the strength to get up off of my bed. Leshawna will fix this, I tell myself. She said she would. And then, with nothing better to do, I re-bury my face in my pillow and cry. Again.

And these tears? Yeah, they're from sadness. Frustration. And anger. And emotional pain. But where did all of that come from? Easy.

It came from love.

Poor Gwen. Sometimes the universe just has it out for you, you know? But, I'm a believer in karma and all that, so Gwen, don't worry. Anyway, I hope you enjoyd it.
If you have any other ideas or requests for specific character POVs (or fill-in-the-blank moments like my other story), let me know.

Questions, comments, complaints? Please review or PM.