What We're Made Of

Disclaimer: I own nothing

1. Dammit, Blink-182

Derek sighed. Another fight with Kendra. He knew she'd been cheating all along, he just hadn't wanted to come to terms with it. So called "great Derek Venturi." Falling back onto his bed, he found himself missing the days when relationships lasted a week and never got past first base. The only thing 'long-term' initiated was a whole lot of bullshit.

And despite this he'd stuck with her and tried, Jesus he'd tried, to make it work. For what? To hear her say "it was nothing, Derek" for the eightieth time and slam her door in his face? To listen to his friends complain about how she jerked him around, and when he tried to defend her he'd be left speechless? At least he'd ended it, and this time, for good. There was a knock on his door.

"Come in!" he called. Casey walked through the threshold, with a gallon of icecream and a spoon in her arms. Sitting next to him, she offered him the container. Despite the situation, he raised his eyebrows.

"You know this stuff only works on chicks, right?"

"I wouldn't be so sure," she replied.
Sighing, he grabbed a spoon and dug in.

"I guess this is growing up."

2. Feeling This, Blink-182

Derek pushed her up against the wall, pressing her lips to his. He felt her hair in his hands, the burn of her skin. He lay kisses down her neck, rough, passionate, and his blood pounded as she whispered his name. The air was steamy—he could taste it—he could taste her—only a towel separated their skin. He could feel the moisture. He pushed her to the floor, pulling her on top of him, feeling the cold tile on his back and the smell of her face, hands, hair—

Derek sat up in bed, heart still pounding, still feeling her strewn out across him. But she wasn't. He fell back on the pillows and buried his face in his hands, trying to memorize every detail of the dream before it slipped away. She was asleep in the next room and he, he was wide awake again.

3. Wonderwall, Oasis

Beep. "Sixteen-year-old white male sustaining head lacerations and severe internal damage"—"Derek, please wake up we need you—Beep. "—in a comatose state"—"Derek fight- I know you can-"—Beep. "—apply 24 milligrams analgesia"—"Derek don't you dare die on me"—Beep. "—unlikely to wake up"—"I love you."

Her voice. He opened his eyes.

4. I'm Ready, Jack's Mannequin

George watched from the window as she slammed the front door, as she packed her suitcase in the car, as she drove away. As she didn't look back. There was so much he was still fighting to say, to save their marriage, to get her to stay. God, the kids were so young! Marti was only one. How could he raise them on his own? How could he raise them when all he could think about was her, and her final goodbye? And how the words seemed so sincere still her eyes were blank and cold. He wanted nothing more than to break down, fall apart, when Edwin asked when mommy was coming home or when he saw Derek still watching the street, tears silently slipping down his face. But it was now that he couldn't.

And in spite of the gnawing pain in his chest, and the constant beating of his heart reminding him he was alive, he was ready. She had left, and taken a piece of him with her, but he knew he could get by—he had to get by—and he would. She was gone. He picked up the phone and dialed the number so well worn that the keys were fading, He said only two words.

"Don't call."

4. Soar, Christina Aguilera

Lizzie grazed the brush across her face. The blush stained the apples of her cheeks a pale pink. She examined the reflection in the mirror with distaste. Plain, boring, ordinary. She smeared some lip-gloss across her lips. It felt strange and sticky, but was a small improvement. Unscrewing a Casey's mascara she winced as she brought the wand up to her eye and unsteadily touched her lash with it. She tried again, but her shaking hand veered off course and she stabbed her eye instead.

Lizzie yelped and dropped the wand squeezing her eye shut and cringing forward as it watered. When her eye stopped throbbing, she examined the damage. Her eye was red and irritated, while the surrounding area was stained black from the makeup.

"I can't do this!" she shrieked, throwing down the makeup in frustration.

"Then don't."

She spun around and saw Edwin standing in the doorway, looking abashed. He shrugged, and said,

"I think you're pretty enough without it."

5. Dance Hall Drug, Boys Like Girls

Emily parked her car and flipped down the mirror. She touched up on her mascara and reapplied a bit of lip gloss, before leaving the car. She could hear the music even from the street. Heart pounding with excitement she walked up the drive and into the house.

The music pulsated, and in it sound came from all around her: people talking, laughing, heaving… From behind her someone tapped her shoulder. She turned around and found herself gazing into deep blue eyes. The boy was gorgeous—if she were Casey, she would call it love at first sight, but she didn't believe that sort of thing. But she was sixteen, and ready to take a chance. He didn't say anything, not that she could have heard it over the music, only gave her a beer and took her hand.

They were upstairs—how did they get there?—and he was kissing her and then—where did the clothes go?—and suddenly—to say no?—and his body was on top of hers—and she felt him—

She woke up the next morning, alone. And even her headache couldn't hide the memories.

6. Check Yes Juliet, We the Kings

She woke up in the middle of the night to a faint tapping. Groggily, she sat up and searched her room for the origin of the noise. Something rapped against the window. Confused, she staggered out of bed and over to the wall, opening her window and poking her head out. A smile crept across her face as she recognized the messy brown hair and dopey grin of the silhouette. Derek. She ran out of the room, downstairs, and outside, where she wrapped her arms around him and placed a kiss on his lips. He returned it, running his fingers through her mussed hair. She held him tight and whispered,

"You know your room's only next-door."

7. All That I've Got, The Used

He stamped out a cigarette and lit a new one, sucking on it and letting out a puff of smoke. He hadn't even seen it coming. One week everything was fine, and the next, she was breaking up with him. And for no good reason at all! She needed "space," and "time to figure herself out." Ha. He only tried to buy that bullcrap because it was better than considering the alternative. But he'd be just fine. He'd known all along that Casey was never his girl. She was always Derek's.

And he somehow seemed relieved, to be breaking it off. Maybe then she'd stop haunting him. He'd be just fine.

"Screw you, Casey Mcdonald," Max muttered, throwing the cigarette to the ground and leaving it to burn.

8. Nobody's Home, Averil Lagvine

The tears dripped from her eyes as she took another gulp. The vodka burned her throat but she didn't care. She couldn't erase Derek's face, after he'd seen the needle—the look in his eyes—it hurt so much but everything else hurt more. She'd tried to explain, but he'd only cut her off.

"Save it, Mom. Do you think you can give a legitimate reason as to why you're on drugs? Just stay away from us now."

The loathing and bitterness in his voice, the jagged edge—she wanted nothing more than to hold him again like when he was little, but there was nothing left for her. They were so happy together, like a real family, like a family that she never had. She'd struggled so hard through the years to try and quit, but then she'd see them, and it was like she had no place anymore. And it hurt, that she was never needed, never wanted. She remembered when George had filed for a divorce after she'd come home drunk and slapped one of her children. She'd wrapped the scarf around her neck, knocked the chair over, felt it tighten as she strained to breath, as her head swam, as her vision blurred…

But she hadn't died. And now she wanted nothing more than to go back to that feeling of letting go. But here she was again, hated by her children, abandoned by her husband, left by her family. Utterly alone. On the bathroom floor again.

9. Reason to Believe, Dashboard Confessional

He sat beside the bed like a statue, unable to even look at her. He couldn't stand seeing her like this. She was so beautiful, and it showed, even through the cuts and tubes and wires. The machines hooked up to her beeped steadily. He took her limp hand, unsure of what to say.

"Hey Case," he whispered shakily. "It's… Derek. Listen, you're going to be okay. You will, Case, I promise. You just need to breathe. Wake up. Come back."

He stroked her bruised face, tucking back a tendril of hair. The walls were so white.

"Please Case, breathe. I know you're the reason I do."

10. Stolen, Dashboard Confessional

They had never needed words. They used them all the time, bickering, discussing, playing, conversing. But they were never needed. He liked it better that way, when she would crawl into his bed at night and curl up in his arms, laying her head just below his chin. He'd slowly stroke her hair, and breathe in her scent, until they both fell asleep. When she danced, she'd spin around in her heels and he'd watch her, and she didn't need words. He could already tell.

And even when they'd tell each other they loved each other, it wasn't needed. He couldn't find words to describe how he felt when he looked at her, held her, and even she, being so articulate, couldn't really find a way to say it either. But she didn't need to. Just looking into her eyes was enough.

Fin

Read & Review guys, my first fic!