A/N: First off, I can't express how terribly sorry I am that I've taken so long to update. I have had the most terrible case of writer's block and needed to get opinions on where to go in this one before proceeding. In addition to this being the most challenging chapter to write thus far, I've just been extremely busy with cosplay, and the semester having started (have I mentioned I'm a chemistry major? I take a lot of science and math classes, so I study a lot). But enough with my excuses.

Oh my God, I can't believe how wonderful all of the reviews I get are (': Not to mention some of the comments and conversations I've been having with certain individuals via messaging. You people are the best. Seriously. Were it not for the support I have received, I would probably have not come back to this fic.

So, quick update, I've decided to stick with the name "Senior Year," as I'm fairly certain I intend to extend this story into the end of their high school careers. So, without further ado, prepare yourself for the awkwardness that is chapter seven (warning, this one is pretty angsty too). Hope you all enjoy regardless. I'm sorry that for all the time I made you wait, it's not even a very long chapter. I will desperately try to get the next chapter up more quickly than I did this one, but once-a-week updates are definitely out of the question, so definitely expect me to be extremely sporadic. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me thus far!

Chapter 7: Nine Times Out of Ten

I gradually blinked awake from my wet dream to the sun shining down on me through the window by my bed. The light fell in thin little stripes through the half-open blinds. Yet another dream about Laney, leaving me with the usual case of morning wood.

I squinted my eyes shut as a hangover hit me in the most common form of a massive headache. I sighed and rubbed my face tiredly as my dick softened. Shit. What did I do last night? I glanced at the digital clock on my dresser that read in neon blue numbers; 11:47 AM. Knowing I had drank too much was an immediately unmistakable fact, but in addition, there was an ominously vague feeling of guilt hanging over me that I couldn't quite grasp.

I sighed in frustration at my inability to remember the details of the previous night and rolled over—almost into the peacefully sleeping figure next to me. I froze before coming into contact with the body and realizing that it was, in fact, Laney. Everything (er, almost everything) suddenly came back to me in a flash of somewhat obscure memories.

The party. The alcohol. I remembered having sex with Laney, but the vagueness of the pictures in my mind was still causing them to be perceived as if they'd only been a dream. I lifted the covers that were lying over me and immediately wished I hadn't. Upon the realization that we were both naked, in addition to the fact that we were lying in my bed together, my hesitant suspicion that I hadn't dreamt the things we'd done together was then confirmed.

Now, being the horny teenager I am, any other time, I probably would have been extremely aroused waking up to a naked, unconscious Laney, and would then unashamedly proceed to whack off right next to her. The constant threat of her waking up would force me to take precaution in my movements, and excite me all the same. Just throwing that out there.

Needless to say, now was not one of those times.

I felt a pang of nausea in the pit of my stomach as the realization sank in.

This can't be happening...

I sat up abruptly. How had I let this happen? I ran my fingers through my hair and held my head in frustration as I attempted to recall the chain of events that had caused my judgment to become so impaired that the instant gratification of her body was the only thing capable of satisfying my lust. I remembered her coming onto me rather strongly, but I had been so adamantly opposed to acting on my temptations. Why had I allowed myself to drink in the first place? I should have predicted that I would not have been in the right state of mind to take care of her.

Foolishly, I hadn't considered the way that I was going to make the mattress shift when I sat up so quickly, and all too soon, Laney started fidgeting and humming as she began to wake up.

I froze again. I hadn't even had time to think about what her reaction was going to be, nor what I was going to say to her in this quandary.

"Corey?" her voice cracked as she arched her back and stretched under the covers. "Ugh, I feel like shit." I turned my head slowly to look at her, her pained expression making it quite obvious that she was suffering from the dreaded hangover headache as well. Any other time, I could have gone on describing how pretty she looked regardless of her hangover and her bed-head, but in my state of worry, I hadn't the ability to focus on the aspects of her beauty. She began blinking and looking around, and I, being the pussy that I was, looked away quickly. When I didn't respond and she had come to more conscious senses, she spoke again. "What are you doing here, Corey?"

I took that as, what are you doing in the same bed as me? I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how much she could remember—that is, if she could remember anything at all. Don't just sit there, Corey! "Laney..." was the only word I was capable of forming.

The mattress trembled once again as she sat up. "What..." her breaths were short and shaky. I could tell without even looking at her that the delayed realization was finally hitting. I turned back around to see her holding the covers over her bare chest. Her eyes were wide and glued downwards. "What happened between us, Corey?" She looked up at me, and despite the obvious evidence supporting the facts, the frightened look in her eyes begged to give her good news, pleaded for me to explain to her that this was all some sort of misunderstanding.

"L-Laney," I stuttered before looking away again. I winced as another wave of pain hit my head, and I was immediately reminded why nine times out of ten, my hangovers usually aren't worth drinking in the first place. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to think through the pain and keep my mind on track. I couldn't bring myself to lie, to tell her what she so desperately wanted to hear. "I'm so sorry."

I had been expecting the worst, maybe even a cold hard slap for being the typically irresponsible, perverted guy. But she had no reaction to my words. It was like she had just shut down. I couldn't tell what she was thinking—I could only assume she was in some state of denial, most likely due to the fact that her recollection was clearly even more so limited than mine.

Once again, my gaze drifted back to her. I had never seen her like this before. I had seen her in tears many times, but I had never seen the light of life itself leave her eyes like this. I would have much rather her cried or hit me—it would have beat sitting here trying to read her mind.

Let's be honest—I had always wanted this. But not like this. For awhile now, I'd had this innocent little fantasy of us growing old together; me waking up next to her every morning. Nothing I dared take too seriously in this day and age, but admittedly, I did often think about it. More frequently, I considered whether or not it was an attainable goal worth pursuit. We were still so young and inexperienced, and the possibility of making a childish mistake in a high school relationship was far too likely. Hell, we weren't even together, and I'd managed to make a more immature mistake than most boyfriends. There wasn't even another guy to blame the situation on right now; for the first time, this was all me. I was beginning to have the most dreadful feeling that my innocent fantasy was a delusion that further confirmed my childish nature and only put Laney in a far different league than me.

Memories kept coming back to me in bright flashes, but one in particular hit me quite hard. I could clearly remember telling her that I loved her while she was underneath me. But the worst part of it all was that I remembered her saying it back. This was the only memory I wished could have remained foggy. I would have to live forever with the flashback of those tender words leaving her lips, followed by the constant reminder that she hadn't meant them. Things could never be the same again.

"I have to go," she excused herself as she finally broke the silence. I felt the mattress shift as she stood up. All at once, her gears seemed to set back in motion. She was so sudden about it, I hadn't quite snapped out of my memories yet. My heart dropped; for the first time, she was running away from me.

"Please don't," I meant what I said, but I didn't bother to look up as I could hear the rustling of fabric and cared not to make her feel even more uncomfortable by watching her get dressed. She didn't respond, and when the worst-scenario fear that this could be the last time I ever saw her hit me, I spoke again. "Laney," I love you. I struggled immensely to keep myself from saying those words aloud. It would have relieved a lot of built-up stress, but this was not the right time, nor place for that confession. When I was positive she was decent, I looked back at her. "Please," I begged. My heart was longing to reach out to hers, but she wouldn't even meet my gaze.

"I'm sorry, Corey," there came a painful, piercing feeling in my chest when she walked out of my bedroom door without so much as a glance back at me. It was like a bullet was digging its way through my coronary cavity in slow motion, and when the door clicked shut, it had finally made its way out through the other side, leaving a hollow space in its path.

I was shocked; my breath was caught in my throat for a good few seconds before the distant sound of the front door slamming shut reached my ears. I cursed and punched the wall next to my bed hard. It should have hurt like hell—my knuckles were red and throbbing—but it didn't. In fact, I wanted to do it again.

I didn't want to go downstairs. I didn't want to clean up. I didn't want to face Trina. I didn't want to face my parents when they came home tonight. I punched the wall again, this time leaving a small dent in my wake.

Everything hurt. Every part of me was aching in some way, shape, or form. Why had I gotten so drunk? I kept asking myself the same question, cursing my spur-of-the-moment decision. Nine times out of fucking ten, how does one forget something like that? Thinking about the fact that school would resume tomorrow didn't help anything either. I wondered if she would sit with me at lunch or during anatomy, or come to practice this week.

I had to get her to talk to me. But how could I expect her to? I had not only let her down, but in turn compromised our friendship. I felt like a rapist—I mean, I had violated her, for fuck's sake. Who would have thought that the one person so determined to take care of her would be the one to hurt her the most?