How to Steal a Happy Ending

•thirty nine• Je m'en fous

"Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."

- Rhett Butler, Gone with the Wind.

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Nate burst into my bedroom with a booming "Claire, are you crazy?"

"Oh my god, how are you not hungover? And why the hell are you awake at- " I peeked out of my blankets to check my phone. "Holy shit, TEN IN THE MORNING. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?"

My joints ached, my eyes were burning and it felt like I had sandpaper for a tongue.

Drinking is injurious to health, they screamed. I'm young and rebellious, I retorted. It was a tale as old as time. Yet, one I forgot as soon as the words vodka and shots  were thrown into question.

A hell of my own making...

"Get over it, we hardly drank yesterday."

"Hardly drank? Ha. You threw a Big Mac at your own car. But sure Nate, we hardly drank." I tossed a pillow at him. Flying in the near opposite direction, the damned pillow betrayed me. A fact that Nate underlined with an exasperated snort.

"Yeah, see, my hand-eye coordination is shot because of this mad hangover."

Instead of rolling his eyes and letting me fall back into the warm embrace of sleep, he pulled the most mom-like move I'd ever laid eyes on. The sheets were torn away from me and I was forced into a sitting position. The Sunday snooze fest effectively ruined.

Hands gripping my shoulders, he asked "Why in the world would you hand over the leading role to Sara?"

"That's it? That's why you barged in here?" Scowling, I shrugged him off.

"Okay, who are you and what did you do with Claire? Cause the Claire I know would never give up something that important. Please don't tell me this is because of Vince and Katie."

"Ew, no. What does that even- okay, first of all, I honestly don't care about those two. And second, I didn't give up the lead per say. I gave up Dorothy. See, I'm going to be the actual hero of Oz."

The blank look on his face could've been for either of the truth bombs I'd just dropped. Luckily, it was the one I knew how to explain.

"So...you want to play the wizard?"

"Hell no, he only has two lines. I meant the Wicked Witch." I flourished this with a grin, waiting for the light bulb above his head to go off and replace that dumbfounded expression.

It seemed to be stuck like superglue though...

"But she's not the hero in the Wizard of Oz...she's the bad guy. That's literally her name."

Resisting the urge to smack the sense into him, I took another stab at it. "No. See, that's what they want you think. But, really, Dorothy's the villain here. I mean the bitch dropped a house on the witch's sister. And then straight up stole the poor lady's magic shoes. Like, that's cold. My character is in mourning and she just wants some justice. Sort of like Liam Neeson in Taken."

He spoke slowly. "But you're fifth on the cast list now...that's okay with you?"

Normally, I wouldn't have been. Especially when Sara was now in my place as headliner. But for once, she was taking a thing I didn't care for. A thing I didn't even want. Hell, I was serving it up to her on a silver platter.

"Yeah dude, I asked for the change remember? The Wicked Witch is the one I want to play. It's way more interesting ." I took the eye roll he gave as acceptance and made some space for him on the bed.

One which he happily occupied.

"Wake me up in an hour though, I have football practice. Vince would kill me if I didn't make it. Especially with the playoffs coming up next Friday."

My throat was a slip and slide and my heart its reluctant participant.

"Friday?" The word was blurred by dread, hitting softly against his shield of cluelessness. Or was it indifference? My mind couldn't decide.

"Yeah, why?" He slipped his hands around a pillow hugging it to cushion securely under his head. Innocuous, my brain settled on.

"Nothing...guess you can't come with me to my dad's wedding then." Not that it's a big deal or anything. I could've added but somehow knew the weight of it would be too biting, too sarcastic, for our-or rather- his carefree Sunday to hold.

"Yeah but, I'm sure James will go with you. He thinks the game's stupid anyway."

I didn't bother with a reply. He didn't notice.

The one with lighter shoulders then drifted, clear of conscience.

And why not?

Nobody notices when I'm hurt.

No, that's not it.

Nobody cares if I'm hurt. They just assume I don't feel anything and go on with their lives.

The girl with high heels, and body shots, and cute guys doesn't give a shit. She doesn't break. She isn't like them. Not at all like them.

But she does feel. And feels so deeply that she thinks she must be crazy. Absolutely bat shit crazy. When every small snub or inconvenience is turned over and over in her head, morphing into something bigger, something monsterous. Eating at her insides, gnawing at every bone. Soon, somehow, it becomes her fault. She deserves that ache.

They don't say it first, not really.

It's her.

She lets them see that she blames herself and they let her believe it's true.

And true to my part, I pretended not to give a flying fuck. So good was the lie, that I almost believed my own deception. Almost.

Only I had a jigsaw for a soul and never knew which piece was missing.

The girl with the sleepless nights, and emptiness, and black clouds wondered why everyone cared so little while she cared too much. 

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A/N: I see a lot of new readers voting and commenting and it just lights up my day. I'm so sorry that I couldn't thank each of you personally the way I used to in the beginning, its hectic up here and I want to crack out the story as quickly as possible, BUT I SO APPRECIATE ALL YOUR SUPPORT YOU GUYS!

Also, I really want to know~ do you guys ever wonder if someone misses you? And then get angry over the fact that they probably don't ...