Disclaimer: I don't own Danny Phantom. Never have, never will.

Author's Note: This was just written on a whim, horrible and crappy. So, don't mind it and review to tell me what you think. All feedback/comments are greatly appreciated.

Note: No, I haven't abandoned 'Ten Things a Sweet Guy Will Do'. You should know better! Tsk, tsk. I've begun writing the next chapter, but it's going to be a while since this next chapter is going to be a doozy.


"It's like I'm lost

It's like I'm giving up slowly

It's like you're a ghost that's haunting me

Leave me alone

And I know these voices in my head are mine alone

And I know I'll never change my ways

If I don't give you up now

It's like I can't breathe

It's like I can't see anything

Nothing but you

I'm addicted to you

It's like I can't think

Without you interrupting me

In my thoughts, in my dreams

You've taken over me

It's like I'm not me..."

'Addicted' by Kelly Clarkson


Things are getting harder and harder. I know that love isn't all candies and flowers, unspoken promises and kisses, tender touches and heated nights. I know the agony and the misguided hope that lingers around me, softly taunting my every action, my every move. Whenever I am near you, I feel my temperature spike and my face flush. This admiration is becoming too hard to control, too hard to maintain under wraps.

I don't know if I'm kidding myself, here. I feel your eyes on me every now and then, I feel that warm hand on my shoulder, trying to soothe whatever storm going on in my head. You are always there to help, and that is the hope that has stayed in my mind, the hope that has urged me to move forward with confidence every day, to do this. However, there is just a little bit of fear–hell, there is a lot of fear that holds me back within an arm's length of you at times. The fear that runs through my veins at the very thought of telling you these emotions I've kept locked in my heart. Oh, the temptation to jump you where you stand is overwhelming; what kind of lady would I be if I did that?

You watch that Hispanic goddess all the time. It's not like you'll die if you look away for a second, yet you continue to stare, despite the fact she doesn't care that you exist. Do you know that? Do you know that she'd rather walk around with some incurable disease than date you? I don't know what's got her so high and mighty, but you need to realize what you need has been in front of you your entire life. I've been here, waiting, for you to wake up and smell the coffee; what could she give you that I couldn't? Who is she to take you away from me? I've been there throughout your hardships, your pain. And yet, you don't even realize I do what I do for a reason.

I have to stand by, day by day, and suffer through the endless praises of her beauty and talents. Even if I manage to prove myself worthy of compliment, you compare me to her and somehow make her seem like the all-mighty Lord himself, do you know that?

Do you know how badly I want to scream whenever that tramp's name is uttered in my presence? Do you know how much resentment I hold towards her... just because you can't get enough of her? Sure, I never liked her in the first place, but I now loathe her because of how infatuated with her you are.

I don't even bother coming up with a quick-witted retort to prove how nasty she is. I don't even bother anymore! Do you know why?

No one listens to me.

Even though I can't stand to watch you swoon, I know I'll never leave you. You, somewhere in that thickly-settled head of yours, know that, too.

A reason for my pathetic hope is that sometimes you look my way. Sometimes when she's not around, and you're alone with me, you defy everything I've set against you and somehow make me feel special. I don't understand (and I don't think I want to) how you have me wrapped around your ghostly finger. I can just feel your ego boost with that thought.

You don't know how many sleepless nights I've laid in bed, thinking about you being here with me. The times I allow my hand to creep underneath the covers, roam it over my own body, and imagine it's yours. You don't know how dangerously dependent I am on you, even though I claim I only live for me. I live, and love, for you. Only for you.

I stare blankly at my dark ceiling, placing together complex fairytales of love, lust, and happiness. Yes, lust. There are times where I imagine you holding me as we fly in the starlit sky, the calm, summer breeze flowing soothingly through our hair...the way you'd hold me tightly to your chest, afraid of ever dropping me; but, I knew you would never do such a thing, for I was safe in your arms. We'd fly to a remote area and never worry about how loud our moans and sounds of passion would get as we succumbed to our greatest desires.

No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get you off of my mind. It's some illness that I can't shake. I don't think I'm trying hard enough to shake it, though. Do I even want to, really?

It's needless to say I don't get a lot of sleep anymore.

Sometimes when I think about you, I can practically feel your presence in my room, watching over me and my every movement. Even though it could possibly be you, I don't stop.

I can't stop.

When we're together, I am an unreal actress. I manage to pull off the greatest feat, showing that I am only your friend and nothing more. One day, I hope you'll be able to look into my eyes and see who I really am and what you've been missing out on.

I see it in your eyes, too, sometimes. I don't like to give myself the luxury of knowing you feel what I feel, so I, once again, manage to cower back into my fantasy world.

What makes me hate myself for it, it the small fact that I've tasted what I want. I've kissed those lips of yours many a time before, even though every time it was claimed to be 'fake'. Emotions such as those that I felt could hardly be fake. And, if they were fake, you're a damn good actor yourself–just, not as good as me.

Recently, though, you've been starting to stray away from the possibility of a relationship with that shallow bitch, Paulina. It seems like you've had some sense smacked into your head (by my little friend, Mr. Boot on occasion) and you're starting to see things a little more like I do.

Even though you call it your calling and your curse, becoming a ghost is what has made you mature over the years. It's not like you wouldn't have learned maturity on your own and in your own unique ways... just being forced to deal with everything on a regular basis has been a great wake-up call. You tend to be a great procrastinator. So can I. I've put off writing you this letter for some time, and I've finally come to terms with everything.

I hope you don't hate me forever because of this. I hope you see what I see, and don't abandon me for acting this way.

I love you, you idiot.

You're my addiction.

You're my drug and anti-drug.

I know you know that.

I lied when I said I'm a good actress. I fail miserably when I try to hide my feelings for you.

You're the real hero, Danny. You're my hero, believe it or not. You always have been, from when you rescued me from the bullies the first day we met, and from when you save me day after day from a ghost hell-bent on revenge. You've always been there for me, and I'm forever grateful.

I'll say it again...

I love you.

Forever yours,

Sam

P.S. - Disregard the blotchy smudges on the paper... I'm not crying. I'm not.


End note: Well, what do you think?

Plus, I'd like to thank all of my reviewers for my other story–when I get to 200 I'm going to go on overdrive to complete the next chapter! Just a hint-hint to people who haven't reviewed; your review is crucial!

-A