Inspired by the song "Love Crime" by My Darkest Days. This is a one-shot.

Disclaimer: I don't own My Candy Love or the characters. Lyrics and inspiration used from the song "Love Crime" by My Darkest Days.

"I payed the price

So she could go and make another victim of a love crime,"

-My Darkest Days, Love Crime

Who did she think she was?

Amber had never felt such a burning sense of utter, absolute hatred; the fire in her chest twisted in a sick, merciless inferno, the venom bubbling up her throat and leaking radioactively through her words consuming her so completely that the duo of emotions was making it hard to breathe.

Who did she think she was?

Prancing in here like that! Flipping that shit brown, coarse, frizzy hair around, dressing like a pirate-hooker hybrid, batting her eyelashes and using her big sweetheart eyes to get what she wanted. Now Amber was the queen of that, but she had a much more meticulous way of doing it. She didn't just play the sorry card, or the sweet one for that matter—she played the whole damn deck, thought out the details before her, made sure she always was one step ahead.

She omitted the fact that, often, she was too narrow-minded to consider more than the black-and-white possibilities, and her opponent was usually walking in the opposite direction.

Then again, that was how Sucrette had always beaten her to the punch.

Brushing aside the fact, Amber reminded herself of the argument said girl had recently engaged in with her beloved Castiel. Although she was too far away to hear the exact details down the hall, she knew her fears of the two—she shuddered at the line of thought—getting together were now irrational and the possibility extinguished. She preferred blind optimism and blissful ignorance, something she (and often, her brother) had lived by indefinitely.

But she...that ugly, skanky, attention-seeking little brat, that Deborah...she hated her more than anyone. Anyone.

She would never admit it, but truthfully, deep-down, Amber was no idiot. The insanity of love was not a foreign concept to her. She knew Castiel had once been head-over-heels for this two-faced vixen, and she knew that the feelings still lingered. And that drove her bat-shit-crazy. As a matter of fact...it drove her to tears.

If she was being honest with herself—with anyone—Castiel's blatant disregard of her obvious, and admittedly sometimes overwhelming feelings, had driven her to tears many times before. She had admired him since the third grade, a dumb, festering virus of a crush that developed into an insatiable passion over the years. If she could have helped it, she would have destroyed that passion long ago, but she didn't have that kind of willpower. She never let anyone see the pain she really felt, the aching hole in her heart, the loneliness, and even the rare desire to change, somehow, and make him see her when he has never before. She truly was in love with him, she had no doubts, although how she had managed to fall from a distance was something she would never understand. She hated feeling the tears burn at the back of her brilliant teal eyes, because she knew she was disappointingly incapable of repressing them. They spilled over every time, and every time was accompanied with a gruesome, unflinching barrage of unbelievable pain, one that she would trade for a thousand beatings any day.

She loved him so completely that it absolutely killed her. It was murder, the coldest, most merciless kind.

And Deborah...

She murdered Castiel with every flick of the wrist, every sweep of her eyelashes, every flip of her hair, every smile, every sultry look, every damn anything. And it was all just a game to her. Amber was not usually empathetic, no, but the very idea of anyone doing such to that perfect, perfect boy made her want to scream until her throat was scalding and to claw the perpetrator's eyes out. And worst of all, knowing that she could not protect him with all, or any, of her love not only killed her again, it dragged her down to the deepest depths of hell and pinned her in its darkest, most hollow corner, where she did not have the strength even to lift a finger. She was powerless. Dead. And was murder not a felony?

These thoughts never left the deepest recesses of her mind. They stayed in the dark, in that cold, secluded, ungodly corner. Now and forever. In the more unreliable, lighter parts of her mind, she mused to herself that Sucrette would pull off some idiotic but effective plan she concocted, Deborah would leave or otherwise have her plans foiled, things would go back to normal, and finally, finally Castiel would realize his love for her, and they would be together, from then on and always. She relished in these fantasies, for did she not live directly in bliss, and only bliss? Yes, she could brush off those dark alternatives easily; after all, if you put your mind to it, you can convince yourself of anything, and rationalize it completely.

And that dark side of her rose up briefly, screaming that they would not be rational for long, caused by one instance or another to disperse and for reality to set in. It told her that in more than one way, she had become the victim of a love crime, she and Castiel both.