Before my eyes, I'm six years old again, and we're being separated. Sammy tries to explain that we need to stay together, but no one listens. They pull us apart and put us in different cars, taking us to different homes. I don't remember much from the time I spend there, but I know that it ends in flames. When the house is left in ashes, they finally understand that they can't take Sammy from me.

But they forget again. We're almost thirteen now, and they want to put me in a juvenile detention center. They want to separate me from Sammy again. And she's so mad at me that she isn't even trying to explain. She's telling me I need help, and maybe if I go, they can help me and we can actually have a home. Sammy never gets it. None of these other people matter. They'll all forget about us or leave us or use us. We're the only ones that won't do that to each other. But she doesn't listen, and neither does anyone else.

Both memories cut out suddenly as oxygen floods the room again, and before I can think or control it, flames engulf everything. Over the roar of the fire, I can hear screams, but none of them are Sammy. I stalk through the house, not worrying about the way the blaze rages, because I know that Sammy will be safe. But Sammy isn't here. I search the entire place, but she's gone. They've taken her from me again. Their mistake.

The house is an inferno now, and I sit down at the base of the stairs to watch it burn. I hear their screams, their desperate attempts to save themselves. They're too stupid to realize any chance they had for survival ended when they took Sammy from me. I smile as they beg for mercy, and laugh when they try to run. I'm no longer controlling the fire. It has a life of its own now, following them when they flee. Sammy hates when I solve problems this way, but her way didn't work this time. Her way never worked, and maybe when I get her back, she'll finally listen to me and understand that.

Sometimes, no matter how perfect life is, doubt still manages to creep in. It's like mold that way. Once the spores have had their chance to settle in, it becomes impossible to get rid of. You can scrub and scrape, but it will still come back at some point.

Sherry knew it was a matter of perspective, and that her own feelings on the matter were prone to changing based entirely on what mood she woke up in. Some days, she woke up certain that she was where she was because it was what was meant to be. Jake had only needed time and experience to realize that.

Other days, she woke up with a distinctly different feeling. One that questioned if she was only there because she was convenient. She didn't doubt that Jake loved her. She knew for a fact that he did. And she never believed that Jake was using her. At least, not intentionally. But there was no denying how much Jake hated to be alone, and she had come back so easily. Even openly pursued him, despite her dignity and her fear of being hurt again.

Some days, she woke up wondering just how desperate and pathetic she must have looked to everyone around her.

Some days, she woke up wondering if the only reason she was waking up next to Jake was because she had shown up just when he was ready to rebound from being cast off by his true love.

The doubt was a mold, always hiding under the surface, ready to spread at the slightest bit of bad emotional weather. And once it did spread, it was an uphill struggle to scrub it away again. She counted herself lucky that Jake understood she simply had her moods, and that some days, she was just depressed and needed to be held without talking. He was always so quick to comply, and while he would give her that worried look, he never did push her beyond what she was willing to discuss.

Most of the time, that alone was enough to make her doubts recede. She would remember that she was entirely too difficult and moody to ever pass as a convenient girlfriend. Jake was with her because he loved her, and because he wanted to be there. He was her friend, and he knew how humiliating it was to be humored, or to be second choice. He would never put another person through that.

To cover the days when that wasn't enough, she met with Dr. Lindley. It was only once a month, always on a different day and at a different time. As understanding as Jake generally was, she just was not ready to explain this to him. It was her own personal problem, but she knew that he would feel guilty and would internalize it if he found out. She did not want that, not now, when she had finally figured out how to make things work.

Mold was a bigger issue than any one person could handle alone. Especially if they weren't trained in the ways to deal with it. She needed an expert's help, and bit by bit, it was proving worthwhile. The bad days were growing fewer and further between. Someday, they might even be entirely exterminated.

Gabe hated the dark. Like all of his fears, he kept this fact to himself. he had no interest in dealing with anyone mocking him for retaining such a childish fear. The thinly veiled ridicule he had received when it had been discovered that having anyone else cut his hair terrified him had been more than enough to remind him why he kept his fears to himself.

The fear was easier to cope with when he had someone by his side, but when that person felt as if they were a million miles away, the darkness became only that much more oppressive. Gina's back was to him, and he could only barely make out her silhouette. Not that he needed to look at her to see her. After spending five years together, during which they had never spent more than a week apart, Gabe could picture every detail of her body with perfect clarity. When he closed his eyes, he could see her on the day they met, bathed in the light of the sunset, her loose curls blowing freely around her face. He could see her under the moonlight, laughing and stripping down as they raced towards the ocean. He could recall each fleck of gold and green in her hazel eyes, and the soft way her lips curved when she smiled.

Gabe wished that he could live in those memories. He wished that they were the only ones that he could remember. He wished that the dark and the silence of the night didn't make the images of tonight so much easier to recall.

"Guys, c'mon. The keys are in my fuckin' pocket. Don't knock and wake her up."

Gabe reached for his pocket, but even that little shift in his weight and attempt to support himself nearly sent him tumbling towards the ground. He was saved only by a quick move on Scott's part, catching Gabe's arm and hoisting it back around his shoulders.

"You know damn well that she isn't asleep anyways." Greg muttered from his other side, where he supported the left half of Gabe's weight. He glanced sideways at the battered man, then refocused on the front door again. "Thanks to you, none of us get any sleep anymore."

Gabe fell silent at the judgment. He would have pressed his lips together, but breathing through his broken nose was still out of the question, and besides, the pressure of allowing his cracked and swollen lips to touch would have been beyond excrutiating.

"Greg."

Scott's tone was firm, and Greg left off on his lecturing. Greg wasn't intimidated by Scott in the slightest. Greg wasn't intimidated by much of anything anymore. But he was wise about picking his battles, and this one clearly wasn't worth fighting. Gabe knew the lecture by heart at this point anyways.

The three men waited in silence, Greg and Scott holding Gabe up on his feet. The fight that had left him so mangled had been pointless. He had known that even at the time. He had known that he would have no chance in hell against Duane in a straight up fight. But his temper had gotten the best of him, and he had flown blind with rage.

It seemed to happen more and more these days. He rarely had control of his temper anymore, taking even the slightest of baits that he knew he would have laughed off two years ago. When he looked in the mirror now, he often felt as if he didn't even know the scarred man looking back at him.

The worst part was that he knew damn well that when Gina looked at him, she felt the same way.

He avoided looking at her when she answered the door, allowing Greg and Scott only to help him as far as the stairs. From there, he clung to the banister and pulled himself up the stairs to the bedroom. Muted and far away, he could hear Scott explaining to Gina what had happened. It would be followed by Greg reassuring her that he looked much worse than he actually was. Then they would leave, and Gina would come upstairs. In that quiet and neutral tone, she would ask him if he needed anything. When he said no, she would climb into bed, but would hold to her side. Some offenses earned him sympathetic affection. Injuries born of sheer egotistical stupidity earned him a cold wall.

Gina kept her back to him, but he didn't need to be able to see her to know that she was crying. Laying there in the dark, he could feel her misery just as sharply as he could feel his bruised ribs. In that black silence, everything was magnified, and he hated it. She had deliberately laid down with space between them, but she was still there. That had to mean something.

He turned his head to watch her still form, hating the distance and darkness between them. He knew that it was his fault. But if it was his fault, then maybe that meant that he could fix it. Even after five years, he could never be entirely certain about how Gina would respond to him, but he was certain that any response would be better than the silent distance.

Closing his eyes against the pain, he inched over to close the gap between them, cautiously slipping his arm around her waist. When she didn't flinch or pull away, he nuzzled into her hair and whispered the only words he seemed to say anymore.

"I'm sorry."

"Mon, chill. You're probably just late. It happens."

"Not to me, it doesn't!"

Nicole winced and covered her ears at the shrill tone Monique's voice had taken on.

"Ok, then you're clearly pregnant. Congrats, mamacita."

Monique scowled and threw the pregnancy test box at the blonde's head.

"Nik, do me a favor and not be a smartass for like ten seconds. I have to go pee on a stick now."

Nicole just shrugged and stretched out across her bed, while Monique vanished into the bathroom. She had come over to Nicole's house to take the pregnancy test, claiming it was because Christina and Greg would be way calmer if they found out than her own parents would be. Nicole liked to believe that it was because Monique secretly appreciated her brand of humor and found relief in it, even if she would never say as much. If it turned out that Mon actually was pregnant, she knew she would go running to Katia. Katia was good at the whole touchy-feely comforting empathy bit. Nicole was good for maintaining a sense of humor in a crisis.

Not that it was Nicole's crisis. Mon being pregnant wouldn't really have much effect on her life, beyond that Mon would get fat and crazier than usual, and she would have to deal's with Mon's vaginal parasite whenever she wanted to hang out with her.

Really, the whole thing wouldn't even be an issue if Mon hadn't taken up fucking every halfway cute guy that smiled at her. Mon and Dee both had a frightening lack of standards. Dee had even fucked Scotty, for christ's sake. And yet they labeled her the crazy one?

Personally, Nicole didn't see what all the hype around sex was about anyways. She'd let Anthony stick his hand down her pants once, and it had just been totally awkward. Mon had assured her that it was just because Anthony was an inexperienced retard, but Nicole had gotten her fill of uncomfortable groping for quite a while, thank you.

Besides, her total and utter lack of interest in letting some overexcited boy stab at her with his genitals meant she got to avoid pregnancy scares, which left her free to laugh at Mon's panic without the slightest bit of hypocrisy. Now that was awesome.

"Hey Mon!" she yelled, pausing for a moment to see if Monique would respond. When she didn't, Nicole continued on anyways. "I know you're seventeen and all, but can I still sign you up for Sixteen And Pregnant? It'd be national exposure. Great publicity."

Monique stuck her head out of the bathroom door and glared at her friend.

"I hate you. Just so you know."

"That really doesn't answer my question."

Monique disappeared back into the bathroom, then reappeared with the pregnancy test in hand. Nicole had just enough time to duck before the plastic stick flew at her head.

"Ok, ew. Throwing your pee stick is totally not necessary."

Monique flopped down on the bed next to Nicole.

"No, actually, I think it was. And sorry to disappoint you, but the test was negative."

Nicole sighed. "Damn. And I was totally going to get MTV famous being your psychotic, self-righteous friend. You just ruin all of my fun."

"You know, somehow, I think I'm ok with that."

So the situation was a little unconventional. Desiree was unsure as to whether the rule about not fucking your best friend's ex still applied when said best friend hated you and possibly wanted you dead.

Which was only the beginning of how warped things should have felt. After all, Desiree had played no small part in Alissa and Chester's breakup. Had she not said something, Chester and Alissa would undoubtedly still be together. Instead, Chester was snoring next to Desiree, while Alissa was god only knows where. Probably alone in her penthouse apartment, hating everything, as was her default in life.

Desiree knew that Chester had loved Alissa. And she knew that Alissa had wanted to love Chester, and had played the part for a very long time. She just wasn't sure if Alissa had ever been capable of actually loving anyone. Including herself. Alissa was damaged goods, hurt by too many at too young an age. Which wasn't to say that Chester wasn't also equally damaged. It was part of why the two of them had seemed like such a perfect match for so long.

The difference that Desiree had always noticed was that, over time, Chester changed. Not so much so that he wasn't still Chester, with all of the connotations that name brought to those that knew him, but Desiree did see him soften. The same could never be said of Alissa. If anything, she had only grown colder and more selfish. In the end, Desiree hadn't even recognized her anymore. She could no longer be excused as just a scared little girl hiding behind defense mechanisms. Alissa was a frigid old bitch.

Desiree hadn't told Chester about Alissa's betrayal with the intention of destroying their relationship. Over the years, she had just grown very fond of Chester, and felt that he deserved better than to be lied to. For the entire thing to end with him in her bed was not an outcome she would have ever predicted.

She wasn't so naive or oblivious that she had never noticed Chester's attraction to her. But plenty of guys were attracted to her. She was hot, a MILF, whatever stupid label someone wanted to slap on her. Hell, she had made a living off of that fact for over a decade. She just had always figured Chester as the "kill the messenger" type. She had been pretty certain that, after she told him what Alissa had done, she would never see him again.

And then he had shown up. And moved in with her. And kissed her. And was now sleeping in her bed. He never shaved often enough, and he always had alcohol on his breath. His manners were almost non-existent, and he snored. He was her ex-best friend's ex-longterm-boyfriend.

Desiree always had known how to pick them.

It was commonly believed that Steve spent much of his time plotting mayhem and mischeif of some sort. This was untrue. Sure, it happened on occassion, but for the most part, Steve preferred to live in the moment. He took every opportunity that presented itself to him, striving to make the most of each second of his life. This lifestyle directly contradicted the idea that he planned his deviations.

The other popular theory was that Steve lacked any sort of impulse control. This theory was also incorrect. A lack of impulse control was indicative of an absence of comprehension of consequences. Steve understood consequences, and cause and effect, quite perfectly.

Steve just did not give a fuck.

Which wasn't to say that Steve had any particular interest in dealing with consequences. This was why he was currently running at somewhere near his top speed. Very few people could navigate urban obstacles the way that Steve could. He didn't waste time running around the bus bench, but simply leaped over it. Why would he concern himself with figuring out how to climb a brick wall, when there was a perfectly good dumpster that he could use as a step ladder to swing up to the fire escape, thus allowing himself to jump over said wall? That he managed these moves with grace and ease while toting a backpack holding all of his life's possessions of course warranted no mention.

Today's offense had clearly been completely overblown by the cops anyways, but authority did seem to like to waste their time sweating minor crimes. Steve's theory was that this was due to the fact that they were both impotent and apathetic towards anything that actually mattered. But then that was Steve's general opinion about all government. He wasn't so naive as to believe in anarchy, though. After all, anarchy would require a selfless society to function properly, and the vast majority of humanity was anything but selfless. There was a reason anarchy always ended in tyranny.

Steve's politics had no label, because all Steve really believed in was the possibility of something better. A world where medical care, healthy food, and clean water were freely available to all. A world where wars were only fought until equality was established. A world good enough that no one felt that the only way to cope was with mind-altering substances.

And hey, if it could also be a world free of toxic advertising, he would not complain.

The cops were really overreacting. He hadn't added anything to the billboard except a bit of extra definition, to clarify things for the viewer. The model was emaciated. He had simply brought that out, even being careful to select his color pallette so that it looked authentic. And it wasn't as if the text he had added was in contradiction to the image being portrayed. An anorexic model posing for an overpriced brand name sent a very clear message to him: Starve yourself. Spend all of your money buying our product. Maybe then, you can be a hollowed-out, lifeless skeleton too.

Sure, it wasn't the catchiest of slogans, but it wasn't as if he had chosen the imagery. That error was on Prada. He was just making sure that everyone else understood what was being promoted as clearly as he did.

Unfortunately, cops never seemed to grasp these things. And, being too lazy and powerless to effectively solve any of life's real issues, they persisted in pursuing him. It was alright with Steve, though. The fatasses needed the exercise. He was simply providing another much needed public service, entirely free of charge.

Jeff left "home" on a Friday night. Friday was Jon's busiest night, so it was easy to get out. He agreed to make the skeletal tweaker's liquor store run, and Jon let him go.

"Get your ass back here in 20 minutes. And don't even fuckin' try to shortchange me."

Jeff knew that the spun out asshole had no concept of time or how much anything beyond a gram of cocaine or a rock of crack cost. He was a paranoid junkie alcoholic. No matter when he came back, or how much change he returned with, it wasn't going to be right. The raised welts across his back that ached even at the gentle brush of his threadbare cotton t-shirt reminded him of that much.

He had $10 in his pocket. He was supposed to go down the metal grating stairs, across the cracked street, and into the neon-lighted liquor store for Cheetos and Slim Jims. He hated Cheetos and Slim Jims. Most fourteen year old boys could live on Cheetos and Slim Jims until they died of malnutrition, but Jeff would sooner starve to death than eat either brand of shit.

He made his way down the rusted metal stairs, ignoring Mrs. Murad yelling at him to quit running up and down the hall. He was glad Mrs. Murad was so fucking old. It meant that she was that much closer to dying, which in turn meant she was that much closer to rotting in hell. As far as he was concerned, that was exactly where the pathetic hag deserved to be.

As his worn-out sneakers hit the sidewalk, he made the choice. He crossed the street, but didn't stop at the liquor store. He didn't pause, and he didn't look up. He heard that fucking crackhead Randy yelling, asking him if his daddy was home. Jeff didn't respond. More than anything, Jeff hated anyone that called Jon his father. Jeff was happier being a bastard than letting anyone make the mistake of believing Jon was his biological donor. Randy could go fuck himself. He hoped that the piece of shit got AIDS from one of his fucking dirty needles, and then had a fucking orgy with his mother and Jon and everyone else in the piece of shit neighborhood with it. He would have a party and piss on each of their graves when it happened.

Jeff left "home" on a Friday night, with nowhere to go and nothing but $10 in his pocket. When he reached the edge of the neighborhoods he knew, he didn't even glance back. For the first time that he could remember, Jeff had nowhere to even pretend to call home. And nothing had ever made him happier.

Dark, slender fingers wind themselves into blonde ringlets, playing with the tight curls, the slightest smile flickering at the corners of her mouth. It's all perfectly innocent, of course. Eve sits in front of Tara, allowing her to braid her hair back. Normally, Tara has no interest in anything as girly as braiding someone's hair for no reason other than the joy of the act, but for Eve, she makes an exception.

The irony that the girl who is the source of unending temptation for her is named Eve is not lost on Tara. She hasn't decided if it's humorous, or simply ridiculous. It's probably a mix of the two. And an undeniable result of being a Harris. Their luck always has run towards the strange and unbelievable.

Eve sits quietly, comfortably relaxed against Tara while she continues to play with her hair. Neither feels the need to chatter, or to move from where they rest on Tara's couch. Eventually, Tara grows bored of winding and unwinding Eve's hair, and her arm drops to wrap loosely around the other girl's waist. Eve's smile widens ever so slightly, and she settles back just a bit more against Tara's chest.

It isn't cheating. Not really. The actions are innocent. Tara feels certain that her interest is returned, but she doesn't act on it. Just as she hasn't acted on it for the past several months. She wonders sometimes if Eve actually does know how she feels, or if she really is just that oblivious and comfortable with her. Other times, she wonders why Eve never says anything to prompt or push her.

When Eve finally leaves, she wonders what Alan would say if he knew. She also wonders if maybe Alan actually does know. She still lacks the strength to just tell him, even though she knows that she should. She rationalizes that he's been through enough lately, and that she can handle giving him a little more time to recover from one heartbreak before she throws another at him. She has at least quit telling herself that she's stalling in case the feelings pass.

She wishes it was as simple as merely being more interested in Eve. If that were the case, she could at least honestly tell him that it wasn't anything he did, simply an unexplainable change in herself. But she knows he will see through the lie. She knows the confrontation will be painful, and that it will probably be loud, and it will undoubtedly be ugly. She knows it will hurt him much worse than it will hurt her.

She goes to bed feeling heavy and drained. She has to speak up soon. It's unfair to Alan, Eve, and herself to continue carrying on like this.

She closes her eyes, and moments later, she drifts off to dreams of blonde curls, the faintest of smiles playing at the corners of her lips.

Bonnie isn't exactly ashamed of any aspect about herself. That isn't the right word. I'm not certain embarrassed is, either, but it's the closest I can come up with. More than anything, she's very self-conscious of the perception many people have had of her. I've caught her pausing a couple of times, at least mentally, and starting to feel like she wants to go on the defensive, but being so generally relaxed, she opts to let the offenses go, assuming that whatever was said wasn't meant how she took it.

One instance I can remember is a comment that was made, and I don't remember the exact wording, but it had something to do with referencing the fact that she's clearly considerably more experienced than Zac. And on one level, it felt like a subtle jab saying she's easy or a whore, but she knew logically that Zac wasn't the kind of guy that would ever say that about her, so she just let it go. But the self-consciousness is there. She's the sort of girl who, if she feels someone is perceiving her as slutty, suddenly she'll pull her hoodie around to cover herself more, and will feel incredibly exposed and judged. I honestly wouldn't say that Bonnie is easy or slutty. She will fall right into bed with a guy, but only if she feels genuinely attracted to and connected with him. And there are infinitely more guys she doesn't feel that about than ones she does, and she very clearly expresses when attention is unwanted.

But to go back to the original point I wanted to cover here, one of the biggest things Bonnie is self-conscious about is being perceived as white trash. She came from a very backwoods town in rural Tennessee, where Daddy was an alcoholic, Mama was a chainsmoking housewife that spent more time playing bingo than doing anything constructive with her life, and she ran away from home with her big brother because her convicted pedophile uncle was moving in with them. If she needs to drive anywhere, she has to borrow her brother's old beat-up Ford truck. She has about the heaviest and thickest accent a girl can have while still being understandable. And as far as academic intelligence goes, she's not the brightest. She can fix a busted sink, change her own oil, and build furniture, but she probably couldn't solve more than basic algebra or spell most SAT words. To top it off, even now, they don't live in a very great area. Bars on the windows aren't uncommon in her neighborhood. So she is very conscious about possibly being seen as white trash. Enough so that any kind of legal trouble really embarrasses her, because she feels like it will just be seen as something to be expected. Oh yeah, what a shocker. That dumb chick with the hick accent got arrested. Just chalk it up as another episode of Cops.

Actually, the hick accent thing reminds me. I think she was actually teased pretty heavily about her accent when she first moved. I mean, that's what teens do. They find something different about a person, and they mock it mercilessly. Add to it that she can be a little airheaded, and she got a little used to hearing that she was just a dumb hick. So it's a perception that she's keenly aware of. For a short while, she actually tried very hard to repress her accent and change her speaking patterns to blend in, but had about zero luck with that, and hated feeling like she was ashamed to just be herself, so she stopped.

I think dating Zac has been a little bit of a surreal thing for her. She really likes Anton and Danni, but they also intimidate her. They're people that are so incredibly intelligent, and so extremely wealthy and powerful in their own respects that she always takes a minute to register that they're even acknowledging her, much less seeming to actually have any interest in her. I think she is actually prone to getting a bit quieter and more uncomfortable whenever she goes over to Zac's place. She feels like she doesn't belong anywhere so classy and rich. As for Zac himself, she loves the boy. He's so sweet, and so open, and so incredibly accepting and understanding. She doesn't really know why he never went after a girl in his own class. She's not going to question it, because she adores him and would be crushed to lose him. But she is keenly aware of the economic divide between them, as well as the social background differences, and whenever something happens that could bring either of those matters into focus, she does get incredibly self-conscious and desperately wants to hide her own shortcomings. The relationship is still new enough that she still quietly worries from time to time that he's going to suddenly wise up and see he's dating a girl that most write off as stupid white trash, even though she logically understands Zac is not the kind of person that could see someone that way.

And also, since I'm on the topic of Bonnie, the actress Annie Clark from Degrassi is probably the closest match I've found for her, except that Bonnie's hair is naturally straight. It generally looks curly because she makes regular use of curlers when she's sleeping alone, but it is a naturally straight, and dyed black. But her face, especially the softness of her features and the eyes, are a strong match for Bonnie.

I don't believe I ever mentioned this before, but I remembered it again tonight. While JT is very much so the bitter athiest/agnostic after their childhood, with the mindset that there cannot be a benevolent God if shit like what they went through and what millions of people go through every day is allowed to exist, Brandon actually is still quietly a firm Christian. Even in 3.5, on his free Sunday mornings, he has a church he goes to on his own, he reads the Bible, and he actually does wear a small gold cross necklace tucked under his shirt.

Brandon has never blamed religion for the way his parents treated him and JT. He recognizes that his father was a sick man, who would have used any means to obtain power and an unquestioned position of control. Religion was simply the most convenient path for him. Unlike JT, who grew to deeply despise all religion, and can be prone to mocking people who put their faith in anything they can't prove, Brandon's faith is what allowed him to survive the abuse he went through. He was certain that if he prayed enough and just kept watching and waiting, he would be shown his escape from their parents, or maybe even his parents would have a change of heart and stop the abuse entirely. He never says as much out loud, because he knows JT would laugh at him and most people outside of the church would look at him like he's crazy, but he firmly believes God sent Jeanae to JT to answer his prayers that JT would find good influences to clean up his act, and to also answer the prayer that God would get Brandon out of his suffering. When he says he thanks God for something, he fully and literally means it.

It's simple faith for him. He doesn't expect anyone else to adhere to his beliefs, and he doesn't discuss his religion unless directly asked about it, but that strong, unshakeable faith is definitely there. It's the only real point of contest between him and JT, but because neither wants to lose what little family they have over something so personal and ultimately inconsequential, they leave the issue alone. Brandon is very much so the brand of Christian that is fully accepting of all people and their decisions in life. If they want to know what Christ had to say on a topic, he'll happily share. Otherwise, he leaves it alone. It's not his place to judge anyone.