Disclaimer: All songs mentioned belong to the artists mentioned and Lisi owns the Clique series, all the characters, blah blah blah (which belongs to Ke$ha! XD)

AN: Always wanted to do one of these. Sorry for all my "old" songs, blame the shuffler. Please, please review!

~3-Beginning, Endings, and Candles-3~

Song: Over

Artist: Lindsay Lohan

That was an impulse, is what she repeats over and over to herself over the weekend, the weekend without a single word from him since—the incident, what else could it be called? He didn't really mean it. She practices all her lines, she writes everything down, throws it all in the fire, and starts again. Because he's everything that she is, even if she doesn't believe it herself.

We rarely believe things like that till it's really over. Her eyes widened. "That wasn't anything! You know that, I know that!"

He turns away coldly and a chill as freezing as his expression runs from her spine all the way down to her toes. "Think about it. Is that really what you think?" He finally faces her. "Because that's not the way I saw it."

"What are you saying?" She says slowly, almost rhetorically. "You said that you were in love with me, what happened to that?" A rush of angry adrenaline rushes through her. "How could you do this to me? Don't think I don't know, don't think I'm going to be the last to know. Damn it, I'm Massie Block."

"Even if you're Massie Block," He trails off and shakes his head, not knowing how to let this crashing flight down gently. "Massie Block, I was in love with you. But I love Claire Lyons." And she's shocked. Not the kind of shock where surprise grabs you by the shoulder and shakes, the kind of shock where it's like he's electricity, and he's just landed a hard one straight into her stomach. "Then say it." Her voice breaks. "Honestly tell me; honestly tell me that it—that we're over."

Her heart soars into her throat and her stomach dips into an all-time low. "Tell me."

Song: I Won't Apologize

Artist: Selena Gomez & The Scene

Your smile wavers as his eyes continue to search a little after they've found yours.

You bite your nails when, in the middle of your comfy make-out, his phone rings and it's just so coincidentally her.

All these things come to you, and you come to an obvious conclusion, that you're a jealous fool with someone a few steps short of Prince Charming. You did come to an obvious conclusion, too bad it wasn't the obvious conclusion that you should have drawn, if you had just bothered to meet up with reality's price. One hard slap of pain across the pain for the evident truth. But who really has the guts to pay?

You can't stand it when similar memories resurfaces, similar because they all gravitate towards to that sharp point you're avoiding. Like when you were picking out a shade for your colored contacts, which were apparently a must for Skye's upcoming party, the theme being Make-Over & Make-out. You wince as his response hits you over again when you asked him what he thought the perfect color would be. I don't really know. Wait—how about that light brown color? What's it called again? Oh yeah…amber.

Hmm. You sarcastically wonder where he got that color from.

You loathe when you're compared.

But what you really can't stand it when you're always on the lower end of the scale, second best to her, unable to please him, and what you really, really can't take?

Is how you know this is never going to end happily for the two of you.

Song: The Cure

Artist: Jordin Sparks

"I can't." Her eyes squeeze shut, and even in this desperate moment, she still strikes you as adorably yours. How she's changed you is just so obvious, and without her—it's something you can't imagine, let alone fathom.

You tilt her chin up. "Look me right in the eye, Dylan." She manages to do so. "Look me right in the eye and tell me why." You're not trying to be a jerk, and you hope that she knows that. And really, there's no understanding clearer than when you're staring right into those beautiful emerald eyes, waves of knowledge and perceptive flowing into you both.

She shakes her head and a fat tear drops down from her eyes; what you can't stand. So you back down and you both sit back down on the park bench. You try, "Dylan, I know he hurt you. I know he broke you. I know that you don't want to love again, and I know that you're sick." Your voice cracks. "But I'm your cure."

"I love you." The words are foreign to your lips, but they slip through. For the first time, you've told someone that you love them. The wonder and awe of it rings through your mind.

But nothing is as shocking as the little whisper that follows. "I love you too." Both of you have already lost all your "firsts"—and neither one of you are ashamed of it.

But there's no doubt that this is the most beautiful kind of first. And when you take her limp body in your scarred, cut arms, you realize that the time that you decided to stop razing was the day that you met this bloodshot alcoholic that somehow captured your icy heart.

Song: Candles

Artist: Hey Monday

Massie sat alone at the table, her eyes feeling like they were going to be forever scarred with the red swollenness from crying. Obsessive crying. Compulsive crying. And it was all over him.

For the first couple of days, Massie had stared at the phone, feelings whirling inside of her that she refused to acknowledge. I'm Massie Block, I don't need any douche that obviously for some stupid reason doesn't love me. But what was the point?

He'd already said the words. And if she allowed to dig deeper into it, he was already putting moves on Claire—the exact same moves he'd put on her.

And when the school days come, she ignores the whispers and struts around as normal, claiming that she doesn't even remember his last name. But that's not what she's thinking, no, that's not what she's feeling when he comes around, or when he accidently bumps her in the hallways.

And that's definitely not what she's thinking, feeling, pulsing when she sees him—with her. But time heals, and Claire even pours her cherry coke on him just to show how much she loves you, which is much more than he loved you, and so much more than she loves him.

You can't help but let that easy smile spread across your face. Of course, that new Landon kid didn't exactly hurt with the healing either.

Song: How You Love Me Now

Artist: Hey Monday (Again?)

"Yeah, well, maybe I'll just go find someone else who can do a better job of appreciation." She hissed, finally feeling the buttons pop off from all that stress, all that trying to be what she's not, trying to become who she'll never be.

His lips were pressed into a frigid line. "Like you're one to preach about it." His eyes flashed warning, but her eyes flashed just plain war as she retorted seductively. "Then maybe he can be my teacher."

It had been days since they're argument, the very first one that she'd started. Sticking up for herself, how good that sounded in her head, and how infinitely better it sounded when she was actually saying it to the person who had been slowly pushing her down. And now here he was again, at her door, apologizing, but no, she knew that look in his eyes.

Even though she'd told him off that she hated the way he acted, that she knew about what he did sometimes on the weekends, and confronted every one of those smooth lies, she realized she hadn't told him what'd reality had finally told her. He deserved the sting.

Or a slam of the door in his face. She hissed. "I'm never going to be her." She remembered going to parties, with his eyes wandering around and settling only when he found a certain brunette. And then, how he'd just magically slip away to "get her a drink" and come back with lip gloss still hinting on his lips. Ugh, had she really stuck with him all this time when she could have been finding someone else?

All the time that she'd spent with him, the boy of those haunting eyes, had metaphorically cast them on her. Green for jealousy. Blue for sadness, for tears cried through the night, for depression and asking "why" to no one. He stopped the door with his foot.

"Where did you get that?" His eyes widened in shock and darted around nervously. "I love you."

"I'm no fool." She said. "And I don't love you."

Now let's find the real Prince Charming.

Song: Every Rose Has Its Thorn

Artist: Miley Cyrus (Originally by Poison)

Kristen walked through grass and cake remnants that had been left, her hands stuffed in her Yale hoodie pockets. Tears streamed down her face till they hit the ground. Splat.

This was her fiancé of two whole years and her boyfriend of seven. The nine blissful years together—how could they have ended up like this? The first mistake, she admitted had been hers, taking the job though he'd said not to. But he'd returned the favor and then she had too, like they were back in middle school, competing against each other on the lush soccer field. It'd gone too far and had become a tornado out of their control.

Then he'd come home drunk one night and she'd gone to bed that night on the couch with a badly bruised body and a beaten heart. Splat. But no matter, because they'd gotten over that.

She fast forwarded 730 days later. A picnic, her clinging happily to his back with the sunshine trouncing brightly for the whole day. The food untouched an hour later, the couple laid out on the grass together, her head on this chest. Then, she'd gotten on her feet…he'd gotten on one knee. She had brushed happy tears from her face as she hugged him with her small frame. Now, tears just from remembering. Splat.

But joy is always balanced with gloom. Arguments over topics on which they were both stubborn. He wanted springs creaking, the quiet night only filled with the sounds of them together—two hearts becoming one. She stuck back to what she'd been taught, to her beliefs that drove him crazy. And that's why what happened at the party happened. Splat. That's why she'd found him with her that night.

And that's how she had ended up here. Alone and by herself, doomed to watch him with her. This wasn't right. It should have been her outside-wedding's deserted ground that she was walking through. It should've been her lips that whispered "I do", her hands clasped to his, milky skin against tan. All those nights that she'd rested his head on his shoulders and his head on hers, whispers of amore making her shiver. All gone.

Because as of March 14th, the exact day that he'd proposed to her, another girl had become Mrs. Josh Hotz.

AN: Okay, so I know it stunk. Much harder than I thought, but please review to tell me what you think! Which one was your favorite? And what did you think the pairings were? ;) I'll dedicate the next one to the first person who gets it right…

! ! ! !,

~Ko (Chocó prep)