Stop for a second. Think back one hundred, one thousand, one million years. Think about a boy or a girl – much like yourself – and their family. Think about their home, their thoughts, and their lives. Think again about all those years that passed. Think about how it all could be buried right beneath your feet.

You could be standing exactly where someone else stood eons prior. In fact, you probably are. And that person cried tears, felt love, pain, loneliness…maybe even happiness. That person lived and died in a blink of the universe's eye. And nobody cares.

All the lessons learned the hard way, all the nights they stared at the sky wondering who they were and where it all came from. None of it matters.

That will be you, one day. One day, you will be a moment of wonder in a child's head. Maybe your name will be in a textbook. Maybe an old photograph of you will be hidden away in someone's attic. Your bones in the ground, soul locked in a box until eventually it's all dust.

But nobody will really know your story. Nobody will really care. People are inherently selfish that way.

Trust him, he knows.

And he sits in his chair, sips his water, refills his glass. Continues his story.

"Keep me under cover, in what could have been."

When he woke up x amount of hours later – fuck clocks, who needed time when heartbreak stopped the hands from moving forward and letting you go – he was still in the same position on his bed, the same person with the same problems and the same sadness. Casey's face was tucked into his chest and her hair was splayed from her head in limp pieces.

She was still a bitch, still dating Truman, still never going to be his.

He was still Derek.

Derek, who couldn't get it right. Who was still too backwards and broken to understand what love was like despite how he lectured Casey. Who wanted to have his cake and eat it too without paying first.

He knew the previous night had been a mistake. Or maybe not a mistake, because let's be real – Derek Venturi didn't make mistakes. But it had most definitely been a poor decision. He was already aware of the Casey demons eating his brain but adding in her breathy sighs and naked thighs just added fuel to the fire.

He craved her like a drug and he knew it, too. Which was why he was a fucking idiot. He was never going to get away and let her go if he kept turning around and stumbling right back into her bullshit.

He was the worst kind of drug addict. Sign him up for Intervention. His life would probably make a nice little episode, all the cold sweats and sleepless nights tucked neatly into 60 minutes plus some commercial breaks.

He knew it didn't matter, not really, how many times she shot him down or flipped her hair and walked away from him in the halls at school like she was some stupid princess and he was her bitch. It wouldn't matter if she was always his step-sister or if she dumped Truman and found an even worse dipshit to date. He would still love her. He would still lie awake at night and wonder about her, a million miles away from him. Holding his heart in her puny little fist like she had a real claim over him instead of some psychotic mental hold.

The sun peeked through the cracks in his curtains and kissed her face. It was easy to love her inside his four walls where neither of them could run away, where he was next to positive she would always keep his words safe. He could trust her to hold his heart and still let it beat.

She blinked awake, blue eyes like dusky sky staring right through him.

He would always love her. But he would never tell her again.

He thought idly of that one time they watched The Curious Case of Benjamin Button together. His warped theories about their lives intersecting and exploding like a hypernova – a brief love affair, his Benjamin to her Daisy – until the glow faded and they were forever moving away from each other.

She tried a cautious smile and he wrapped a tentative hand around her waist.

Him and her in the aftermath. Casey's bones where there should have been flesh. The ghost of her kiss wrapping around his mind like a shroud, choking him and driving him further into the dark. A hypernova of hope bursting in his ribcage.

His daisy. His. But never again.

He's nearing the end. The end that could make or break him, them, her, break everything into a

million

little

pieces.

Break his heart for good. It's tired of beating. He takes a shaky breath and continues.

Only for a little while longer.

The typical party animal he was, he heard about Toronto before anybody else. Except maybe Truman, but that douche somehow knew everything – he was just that creepy. He heard Casey panicking when he brushed past her in the hall: "What will I wear!" "What will I tell my mom!" "How will we get there?!"

So obnoxious he couldn't even stand it. Really, he couldn't.

His arm brushed her gently, completely on accident. She stopped mid panic attack and glanced at him. A strange flush colored her cheeks and a slight quivering of her fingers in his direction let him know she still remembered. He smirked and continued forwards, content that she always would.

He almost ran straight into Sam who was, incidentally, watching Casey and turned to him with a knowing look.

"D, what did you do," he deadpanned. Derek shrugged innocently.

"Not really sure what you're referring to."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Girls don't get twitchy like that over nothing."

Derek raised an eyebrow. "When did Casey become a girl? As far as I'm concerned she's a…a moldy shoe."

"A moldy…"

Derek winced.

"First of all, shoes don't mold. Naturally. Second of all, I didn't even say Casey's name, you brought her up first. So now I know something happened, and you have to tell me."

Derek clenched his fist. "Fine. We hooked up, it was stupid. The end."

Sam's eyebrows shot up somewhere in his hairline. Derek was the biggest fucking idiot in the world. He would never hear the end of this now. And how fucking old was he, thirteen? 'Hooked up'? Like he maybe kissed her neck a little bit and she fake-moaned and he promised he would call her? He and Casey did not hook up. They...

No. He wasn't gonna go there. He shivered a little. A little like a little bitch.

"When you say hooked up…"

Fucking shit dick, fire in his asshole –

"We had sex," Derek murmured.

He pictured the smooth curvature of Casey's ass.

Nope, definitely not cool in the middle of a crowded school hallway.

"You did not!" Sam stopped abruptly.

"Actually, buddy, I did," Derek corrected. Sam had the decency to keep any lewd remarks to himself and instead crossed his arms. A puzzled look crossed his face.

"She cheated on Truman. With her stepbrother. What are you guys going to do?"

Derek shrugged. He didn't know what to say. He had a nagging feeling that Casey wouldn't know what to say either.

"Bury it."

He let Casey find her own goddamn ride home from school and trolled around the local gas station for a while. He may or may not have chain smoked for a bit. He may or may not have felt like a badass chain smoking in his leather jacket.

But he definitely felt like something bad was going to happen, like the universe taking a giant metaphorical shit on his life for everything that'd been happening with Casey. He could feel the bad omens in the air like moisture after rain.

He had sex with his stepsister.

Who was in a committed relationship.

Who was also a neurotic, OCD psycho.

God, he was in so in love with her it hurt. So in love with her. In love. Love, love, love. Or.

Or maybe he was infatuated with her and that was it. Was he really going back to this argument with himself?

He thought of all the times he had thought of her hair as stringy or her eyes as shallow and murky. Her intelligence forced and desperate or her dancing pathetic. He thought of these things, but he couldn't force the thoughts to stick. He was just so done, 200 percent done with everything, he just. No.

When he finally got around to driving home he found Nora and Casey sitting in the living room. Nora was clearly wearing her angry pants and Casey was trying to negotiate…something. He sucked in a breath – the shit storm was about to start, courtesy of the universe, with a nice whopping side of 'fuck you!' from his conscience. He could smell the grimy, pre-party wind blowing from Toronto.

He tried to make a run for the stairs, and nobody could blame him for trying. But Nora was a tricky bitch.

"Derek, wait please," she called. He winced and turned back to face her. She had clearly tried to mask her annoyance with something sweet but she couldn't fool him. He was the master of foolery.

"Can't, I have homework."

Even Casey turned and gave him an incredulous look at that.

"While I appreciate the devotion to your studies, I actually have a favor to ask of you," Nora smiled.

Oh, hell no.

Casey blanched. "Mom, no – "

"Derek, do you want to go to a party in Toronto with Casey this week?" she interrupted.

Derek closed his eyes. Fuck it all.

"Sure, why not! I was planning on going anyway, why not take the family dog out to play too," he added snidely. He rolled his eyes at the way his heart lurched. He knew Casey and Nora took it as a sign of defiance.

"Asshole," Casey shot at him.

"Knock it off right now or neither of you can go," Nora threatened. They both shut their mouths.

Nora eyed them and left the room.

Casey turned to him.

"If you so much as TRY to ruin my night with Truman…"

"Please," he snorted. "Like you're that important to me."

She managed to mask her hurt impressively fast. He hadn't meant to say that, but sucks. He was unfortunately the type of person who didn't mean a lot of things.

"We'll leave tomorrow at 8. I don't want to be late, so no messing around."

She turned to leave and flipped her hair over her shoulder.

It was a typical house party. He was well versed in how to pick up the girls, get them to hike up their skirts when their favorite songs came on, get them to pour another drink. His mind briefly flitted back to a party, months ago, when Casey was drugged and he didn't realize what was going on with them. Which, although making his heart hurt, inevitably makes him think of Casey more. Which is exactly the opposite of what he wanted to achieve tonight.

His face was buried in some rando's neck when he spotted Truman and Vicky chatting away in a corner.

Vicky used to be cute to him, once. Because she looked like Casey. In reality she was…kind of a bitch. He was enough of an asshole himself that he didn't need someone else adding onto it. He didn't care for her either way, anymore.

But judging from the way Truman was staring at her, he certainly did. He wondered idly where Casey was, but instead tried to focus on the blonde grinding into his pelvis – Amy, Ally, Alicia, whatever.

But his eyes always drifted back to them, curious. Wondering just what would happen if Truman slipped a little closer. Wondering what would happen if Casey walked in and saw them, their bodies angled so intimately and Truman's eyes on her cousin so perversely. Wondering what would hurt worse – Truman and Vicky, or Derek and Unknown Blonde.

He looked up again in time to see their faces crash together. And he knew it was done.

He watched in slow motion, internal film reel slowing down to capture every single delectable moment as Casey magically entered the room at exactly the wrong moment – funny how life worked that way – and saw her boyfriend kissing her cousin. He expected to see heartbreak on her face, maybe some tears, but instead she somehow found his eyes and the blank look she gave him let him know she was mostly just…done. With Truman, with him, with herself.

He knew, with one look, that she didn't care. It hurt a little bit like a bee sting or the ripping of a band-aid, sand scratches on sunburn, but he knew that deep down she had always expected Truman to hurt her. She expected a lot of hurt in her life. It was something that had always made him angry.

She walked out of the door.

Derek moved towards Truman. If Casey wasn't going to give him a piece of her mind then he was. His heart was going to explode with adrenaline, he had been dying for this, aching and waiting for weeks upon weeks, Truman and his stupid comments about flowers and navy on the first date and Casey with her tentative smile and hopeful eyes, dancer's legs sitting on the couch but he couldn't touch, always about him Derek/Casey/Truman/love/lust/sex/hypernova -

He punched him in the face so hard his knuckle split. "Fuck you." Vicky squeaked and covered her mouth with her hands, kohl eyes wide but not exactly apologetic. Truman on the floor.

"You never wanted Casey. You never cared, and she's never going to speak to you again. You deserve the worst of what's coming to you." Like maybe an eighteen wheeler to the ribcage. Maybe fire in his heart or a knife to his heartstrings. Anything to make him fucking understand, to see. But Truman never would.

Derek stumbled through the throngs of people – guys groping girls wearing too much makeup and perfume, drinks sloshing – and found Casey walking in circles around a lamppost. A lonely moth of a girl aching for the light.

"Hey," he called to her. She looked over at him but didn't stop moving. He watched her face for a second before walking towards her. Something irreparable had been done here, but he didn't know how to isolate it. Didn't know how to help her. Which hurt more than he thought it would.

"I told Truman off," he said. Understatement. She snorted.

"Great. Do you want a medal?" He narrowed his eyes. Who the fuck pissed in her mixed drink?

"No, I was thinking more along the lines of a gold star. I'm more of a sticker guy."

"Screw you, Derek."

His hands balled into fists. After the nasty concoction of feelings he had just endured for her...

"What is the matter with you?" he asked. "I'm not the one that cheated on you with your cousin," he reminded her.

Casey scoffed. "Whatever. I knew it was coming. I knew he was an asshole. I should have walked away weeks ago."

"Then why didn't you?" Derek wondered aloud.

Casey finally stopped in her mindless pacing and stared at him.

"Because I was in denial."

Bingo. The denial club was accepting applications. He knew.

"He was a total dick, and you stayed with him, even though…" he trailed off.

She thrust her chin into the air.

"Don't act like you're so special, like you're so different. You're all the same. You would have done exactly what Truman did, sooner or later."

He pictured her face, soft and fragile and open underneath him. He felt the phantom planes of her skin underneath his sweaty palms, late at night in a moment that would never come back. He contrasted that girl with the one in front of him and it didn't work.

Derek watched her for a minute. And then he decided he would be the one to let go. He was going to be the first to walk away, because fuck – if she wanted to accuse him of being that guy, then he was going to be that guy.

So he turned on his heel and ripped his car keys from his pocket. It was time for him to go home and sleep this fucking nightmare off. Even if it took the rest of his life.

It only took a few seconds for her to realize what she had done. To realize the gravity of the unspoken decision she had forced him to make.

"Derek!"

He turned in his angry steps to see Casey, stupid bitch that she was, trailing after him in a loping jog. She looked incredibly awkward for a dancer and he snorted before increasing his pace.

"Derek, stop," she tried.

Oh, now she wanted to talk? Now she cared?

"Fuck off," he deadpanned. She was free to run back to her simpering shit dick of a boyfriend. Truman was garbage, and she knew it.

"He's not garbage," Casey spat.

"Oh, did I say that out loud?"

"Knock it off! Stop walking and just look at me!" Casey yelled.

Derek spun on his heels to see her seething face. He felt something deep inside his chest start to hurt and he recognized the burn of anger before he registered the words spewing out of his mouth. He always had been damn terrible with self-control.

"No, fuck you, I'm not going to stop walking away and look at you – you fucking ignorant child – because you don't deserve a chance to be heard out, I don't want to listen to your bullshit lies and your uneducated defense of that asshole. You're blind to everybody but yourself even though you think you're not and it pisses people off and you don't care."

She stepped away. He moved towards her anyway, just to make her skin itch, finger shaking in her face.

"You have no idea what it means to have somebody's back no matter what – physically, emotionally, it doesn't matter. You'd give anything for them because you always want them safe. You wouldn't care if they were ugly or fat or klutzy or had a knack for being an absolute fuckwad. Because you love them. You, Casey, have no fucking idea what love is.

"You're a shallow waste of space and I can't believe…" He chuckled darkly. "I can't believe I ever…"

He swallowed hard. He saw her eyes glassy and shaking but he ignored the regret.

"You don't give anything a chance if you don't understand what you'll gain from it. But here's a newsflash, you spoiled brat – not everything is about you. Not everything benefits you."

There was a weird buzz in his head that let him know he was dangerously close to describing himself. He watched her face, dumbfounded into silence for what must have been the first time in her life. He was sick with the self-hatred that he was beginning to feel from his own accusations.

"But you love me," she said blankly. Idly assuming in her ignorance that he would stick around after she had told him he had no reason to. Thinking that her silence and passing glances were enough for him to cling to in the aftermath of her leaving. But she had never really left, no, because she was always in his head – just like she always had been. So in a way she was right. But there was no way he was going to let her win.

And he had been telling himself for days, weeks, months, forever, that he was done with it, so done. How many words did two people have to spit at each other to make it clear they had nothing? How many words did he have to string together in his head to believe it?

He let out a puff of air into the silence.

"I did say that, didn't I? Funny how many things a person can say they don't mean."

A strange look crossed over her face – it was as if she wanted to feel sad but knew she didn't have the right to, not after the way she had treated him. He was lying to her, of course, but he would do anything for the vindication he desperately sought. Even break her heart like she had broken his.

The kicker: it didn't make him feel better. But at least it made him feel.

And that night, that was the end. He stands from his seat. His story was done.

Disclaimer: Music belongs to Digital Daggers. Copyrighted material not mine.

A/N: One last chapter after this. I don't know why it takes me half a year to update. If you're reading this then you are incredible. And patient.