Okay, here is the second part of this story.

I hope you guys like it!


After my little talk with Derek I couldn't seem to turn on my music. It may seem stupid, but I left it off, and sat on my bed in complete silence.

I tried not to over analyze what Derek had said to me. Over analyzing usually messed things up, at least when it came to me. I'd think about something way too much. It could be the smallest thing, with the simplest of solutions, and I could over analyze it to death until I've got an answer that is way too complicated, and I screw everything up.

But I couldn't stop thinking about it. I imagined what I wanted him to mean. I wanted it to mean that he payed attention to me, and that he cared. Maybe the same way I care for him. But then, knowing Derek, I think that he was only saying sorry because he felt bad, and because he felt bad, he didn't want to be rude and tell me to shut off my music, so he told me like that.

I was really confusing myself.

He said he was there to talk if I needed to. And I think he said he cared, sort of. That didn't fit into my second conclusion very well. Then again, most of what Derek had said was completely un-Derek like to say.

I wished that I was brave. Because if I was brave, I could go right up to his room, knock on the door and ask him what he had meant. Maybe even tell him how I felt. But I knew I wouldn't. I knew I couldn't. All I could do was sit around and sulk and ponder.

It was nearly midnight, and it was Saturday, so I wasn't worried about how late it was, and I still wasn't the smallest bit tired. But I was tired of being in my room. I quietly went and opened my door, closed it, and tip-toed down the stairs. Once on the first floor landing, I wasn't quite sure what to do. So I headed toward my default option, the kitchen, like always.

The only light on was the small beam coming from a plug in air freshener. That was enough for me. I didn't want to turn on the kitchen light. I didn't want to wake anyone. Or have anyone know that I was up. I walked around, wandering what I should do. I wasn't quite hungry, and didn't feel like eating. But I was a little thirsty.

I leaned down to a cupboard cabinet that was at the bottom of the island in the kitchen. I thought I had opened the one that held my cups. The ones I had brought from Toronto that my dad and I had gotten on small day trips to nowhere. I kept them in the island to keep others from them. But when I opened the cabinet I didn't find my cups, but bottles of liquor. Bailey's Irish Cream, Champagne, Amaretto. But none of my cups.

I must have opened the wrong cabinet. I thought as I began to close the cabinet. But something made me stop. I reopened the cabinet and looked at the bottles. And something irrational inside of me began to thumb at the labels. I hesitated, but only slightly, before reaching out and taking the Irish Cream, and then closing the cabinet. I sat on the floor near the cabinet, with the bottle in my hand.

I remembered a time when my mother had let me take a sip from her glass of Bailey's. It had been very good. I knew that this wasn't like me, but that was the only thing I allowed myself to think before I blocked my mind from complication, and took the top off the bottle, which had been previously opened, and took a drink straight from it. I just didn't want to think.

I felt a slight sting of the alcohol as I swallowed, and then a strange warmth rushed through my entire body. A warmth that I really liked.

I lifted the bottle to my lips again. Then again. And again. Letting the satisfactory warmth spread through every part of me, until it no longer stung. Until it felt like nothing.

I let myself lean against the bottom of the counter, and I tried to keep myself sitting up straight as I slid down from tipsiness. I looked down at the bottle that I had been carelessly taking drinks from, and heard myself childishly giggle when I saw the drastic drop in the level of the liquid from when I had began. Things were a little fuzzy, but I think I had drank almost, maybe more than half of what had been in the bottle.

I shrugged and tilted my head with the bottle, letting the liquid flood down my throat. I shivered from pleasure. Pleasure of not caring. Pleasure of not worrying, or thinking. Or wanting. I wasn't thinking about music, or stupid Sam. Or Derek. I was only feeling the liquid.

I tossed my head back again, letting the liquid flow from the bottle and to me, but I slipped down again and my head hit part of the counter. I heard myself say, "Ow." and rubbed the back of my head with the hand that wasn't gripping the bottle. I slid some more, and this time laughed, as I pushed myself up, then covered my mouth with my hand, giggling into it, knowing I was being too loud. I found it hilarious. Deep in the working crevices of my mind, I didn't understand why I was laughing. Then I drank deeply from the bottle again, and remembered that I didn't care. I didn't have to care. Not now.

My head lolled from side to side against the part of the counter I was leaning against, every once in a while, which was probably every two or three minutes, I would take a small sip from the bottle.

"Fuck." I heard someone whisper, as the kitchen light was switched on.

I grimaced, and shut my eyes from the light that flooded into the room, making my head hurt. When I opened them again,squinting, then blinking a lot to get used to the light, I saw Derek standing in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at me incredulously.

"Oh, great." I had only meant to think it, but it seemed to slide past the thought command and straight past my lips.

"Casey, what the hell are you doing?" he asked me, his brow furrowed.

I smirked at him, and held up the bottle, letting its contents slosh around, some spilling onto my pajama bottoms. I looked down at the wet spot on my leg. The pattern on my pants seemed like polka dots, but I couldn't be sure, because after a second the pattern seemed to begin to mix into itself. I looked up at Derek again, still smirking.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm having a party with Mr. Irish Cream, first name, Bailey." I let out a snort, and then a laugh that made me sound like a donkey. It only made me snort more.

"Casey, be quiet. You're going to wake everyone else up!" he said, kneeling onto the floor next to me. "You're lucky it was me who came downstairs."

"Oh, yes. I'm just so lucky. So lucky you're the one who found me. So lucky to live in a house with such a "popular God"." I held up my fingers into quotation marks. I giggled again, then I took another drink.

"Give me that, Casey." Derek said, reaching for the bottle.

"No!" I said loudly, pulling it out of reach, causing more of the liquid to spill.

"Damn." I sighed, looking at the small puddle of liquid on the tile floor.

Derek took this chance, when I was focusing my attention on the floor, to reach out and grab the bottle from my unsuspecting hand. He quickly capped it, and opened the cabinet next to him.

"Give it back!" I demanded, reaching for it.

"Shush, Casey." he whispered to me, pushing my hand away with one hand, shoving the Bailey's into the back of the cabinet with the other. He closed the cabinet, and turned to look at me.

"Get up." He said, standing up.

"Hell no. You don't control me." I said. I tried to reach for the cabinet, but Derek leaned down and grabbed my hand. He got really close to me face. "Please, Casey. Get up. I need to get you to bed."

Knowing the chances of Derek letting me have the Bailey's back were slim, and also feeling tired, I stifled a yawn and glared up at him. Then I struggled to lift myself up. Derek reached out a hand for me to take, but I pushed it away.

"I don't need you're help. Leave me alone." I said, angrily. Except I wasn't really angry at him. I was angry at myself for being so close to him, and still knowing that he was farther away than the Earth's core, to me.

He seemed patient, and put his arm out for me again. I looked at it, not wanting to take it, because it would mean giving up, but desperately wanting to take it, if only for a second of his touch.

I reached up and took it.

He grasped my hand, and helped pull me onto my feet. Once he let go, I felt shaky like I was going to stumble over, but Derek reached out and grabbed my hand again, steadying me.

"Let's get you to bed, Case." He said, and then he began to lead me from the kitchen.

He stopped and turned off the kitchen light, before beginning to lead me again. I turned back to see the small beam from the plug in air freshener, before Derek led me around the corner. He gently helped me up the stairs, catching me the few times that I began to stumble. When we got to my door, he opened it quietly, and led me inside, and then closed the door. He didn't turn on the light. There was a soft glow of moonlight lingering in through cracked blinds on my window, giving just enough light for Derek to lead me to my bed.

I let myself bounce onto the bed, and threw myself back, my head on a pillow. Derek stood next to the bed, looking down at me. He almost looked concerned. Ha. Yeah. Derek. Concerned about me. Like that could happen. I turned my head away from him, and looked toward my window, studying the slits in the blinds, observing the moonlight and where it cast its shadowy shimmer.

He crossed his arms, only to reach a hand up and rub his head, and then cross his arms again. He sighed heavily.

"What's going on, Case?" he whispered. It almost sounded like he was talking to himself, but he said my name.

"What's got you crying, and hiding, and trying to numb yourself from reality?" he whispered.

I turned my head toward him. I looked into his eyes, not sure of what I was seeing.

I closed my eyes and took a breath.

"You." I whispered. Then I felt myself being lifted into sleep. Lifted into my dreams.


I blinked several times as my eyes opened to glaringly bright sunlight streaming into my room through the blinds. A headache was pounding through my head like a giant had stepped on it. I sat up, and squinted at the window, slightly remembering moonlight having streamed through those blinds, it's light lingering, spread over my room like a glimmering dust. I tried to remember the night before, but it was all blurry and fuzzy. I got nothing farther than Derek coming to my door around nine.

I turned and looked at the clock on my bedside table. It was blinking 12:16. 12:16? I never slept in that much on weekends. What the hell happened last night?

I got up, slightly wobbly, and made my way from my bedroom, and downstairs. I looked around, but I couldn't find anyone. Then I saw Derek on the couch in the living room. He was watching Tv.

"Hey." I said.

Derek turned around and saw me. "Hey."

"Where is everyone?" I asked.

"My dad and Nora took them to lunch. They asked me to stay, so that you didn't wake up to an empty house." he answered me.

"Oh." I said. I was about to turn and wander somewhere else in the house, but Derek spoke again.

"Have you yakked yet?"

"What?" I asked.

"Thrown up. Have you thrown up yet?" He asked.

I walked closer to the couch, then leaned up against the back.

"No. Why would I throw up?"

"Wow, you must be really smashed if you don't even remember." Derek nodded at me.

"Wait. What are you talking about?" I was completely confused.

"Last night. When I found you on the kitchen floor with a bottle of Bailey's. You gotta at least have a headache with all that you drank."

I rubbed at my temples as things began to come into focus. The Bailey's. Derek finding me. Derek leading to me to my room. And then it hit me. What Derek had asked me. Something about, why I was hiding, trying to numb it away. I had said the reason was him.

Suddenly I did feel like I was growing to throw up. Did he remember that? Had he even heard me. If he had, he wasn't showing it. Maybe he hadn't taken me seriously because I was drunk. Or maybe he had taken it a different way. Like he thought I meant I cried because he was mean, I hid because I didn't want to deal with him. I drank to numb his cruelness. I thought it was a good cover. If he thought that, then I was all good. If he didn't, it would be a good thing to say.

"Oh, yeah. Um, thanks for getting me to my room." I said quietly, more to my feet than to him. I began to turn away again, but he stopped me again.

"Hey, Case?" he asked.

"Yeah?" I turned back around.

Derek got up off the couch and walked to me. He reached out his hand, and for a second it looked as if he would pull it back, but he didn't. His hand slid across me cheek and into my hair, as he gently pulled me toward him, as he inched closer to me. And before I could process anything, or even take another breath, Derek had leaned into me, and pressed his lips against mine tenderly, like I was delicate, and precious. It was gentle, and caring, and completely took my breath away. There was no talking about what I had said, or how he felt about anything. I didn't need to know. Not then.

When he pulled away from me breaking the kiss, he kept his hand entangled in my hair, and looked me in the eyes.

"I've always seen you Casey." And he pressed his lips to mine again.

And right now, I'm perfectly content not knowing what the hell is going on.

Especially if he's going to keep kissing me like this!

Okay, the end!

I really hope you guys liked it.