summary | Lying in a whitewashed bathroom, Massie examines the blood seeping out of her wrist, onto the tiles, and smiles. This place could use a little color, she thinks - for zee, bridget, rachel, jo, nina, elizabeth, and lauren! / massiederrick, angst

notes | this is for zee (skylight glory), bridget (splendeur), rachel (supernovas), jo (mystiques), nina (of jungle dances), elizabeth (Red-Jazz-Singer), and lauren (insanities), (: happy holidays to all of you guys! i've been meaning to write a fic like this for a while, where each of your guys' usernames is in one part of the story, but i just got the idea on sunday, so i thought about something that all of you guys might like - i hope that everybody likes massiederrick - and then i wrote this um hope you guys like this, (:

mirror, mirror
massiederrick

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Once upon a time, a child is born.

Her name's Massie Block, and her parents promise each other that she's going to be different than the rest of the other children - grow up to be truly fine, an elite member of society (and that's all that they ever will expect of her). It takes exactly five minutes for the dream to come crashing down - her mother dies giving birth, a late effect, the doctors say, and everything is ruined.

William Block stands helplessly above, and takes his daughter home. There are weeks of interviews with nannies and caretakers, reliable ones, who demand high salaries, and after weeks, he finds the right one to leave his daughter with. He can't look at her. She looks too much like Kendra, only a few days old. Massie is left with Inez and splendeur and diamonds and everything that a child could possibly ask for, except now she's almost an orphan, and there's nothing splendorous about that.

.

Massie is twelve years old when she admits that life isn't perfect.

She teeters upon five-inch Manolos to look slightly taller than Ahnna, if not just barely as tall as her alpha, just to be at equal level with the girl that's supposed to be her best friend. Everybody, in their little messed-up world of insanities, always loves Ahnna more - it's just a given fact, and Massie decides that it isn't Ahnna's fault that she has perfect blonde ringlets and a white, gleaming smile (without the braces). And then there's the truth - that Ahnna's a bit of a bitch.

She's never been that girl - the it girl - the one that everybody adores, and Massie assumes that it was her fault. It had to be.

Sometimes, she wishes that her father had died along with her mother - maybe in a fated car accident when she was thirteen years old, something that belonged in the movies, anything. Massie's watched enough classics to know that the situation she's in doesn't get much better - orphans fall in love with princes, and become princesses. The rich, snobby child with a parent who doesn't care enough about her (so he ran away, like a scared, little boy) gets cast away, thrown into the sidelines - and that's just how her life is.

.

Massie diets from the age of thirteen - it's not really unexpected.

Inez keeps on telling her that it's not the way to go; it's a diet meant for adults, the health instructor tells her. Massie just reminds them who's paying them, and it shuts them right up - she honestly couldn't care about whether she's going to faint in front of all of her friends at school or whether or not this will cause some sort of anorexia disease. She'll do anything for the publicity, for the spotlight to be on her, even if it's for all the wrong reasons.

She downs the glasses of spinach and kale and lemon juice, taking the herbal laxatives with a smile on her face because this is the only way to do so - she never ends up losing the weight, though. The juice sticks in her thighs and it bloats her stomach, until pressure on her ankle and the tilting of her neck to reduce a double chin is almost impossible - nothing seems to work.

The new stepmother of some sort - Kendra's her name - is a motherly sort of figure. She wears mom jeans and smells like peppermint and detox juices, with smiles and strict rules. She comes into the mansion, and makes it feel "homey", cleaning down the floors and talking to the staff as though they're her best friends. She treats Massie like her own daughter, and takes her out for spa trips. She sets a curfew, and gives Massie a limited budget for her weekly shopping spree, and cancels the limo service, so that there can be more bonding. She listens to indie music, that sort of reminds Massie of the type of music that Cam's parents used to listen to - it still makes her want to puke in all of this misery.

(Massie's really never hated anybody more - not Nina, not Alicia, not anybody.)

Her mother's dead. She killed her mother. This new stepmother of some sort, or anybody ever again, isn't going to be a proper replacement - she tries the usual tactics, anything to see this new Kendra fall off the face of the earth, but nothing. How about you try just eating less food? Instead of eating cookies, eat some kale? Instead of those LUNA bars from Dylan, how about you eat some of my fresh spinach rolls? Kendra comments; Massie doesn't want to hear the truth - it's as bitter as the spinach drinks she downs.

She stares outside of the window, blankly, examining the fresh green and how it bursts out of the snow, as if the cold months of winter are almost over, and fingers the liquid in front of her. It's green and slimy, bubbling at the top and overflowing a little - it looks like a mixture of spinach and green (she hears the hateful comments from Kendra and the thoughts from her friends as they examine Massie's chunky, stocky legs, and slowly fingers the silver spoon of antioxidants. Massie resists the urge to puke out all of the lumps into the sink, and remembers how she's supposed to be strong, supposed to overcome her overweightness and lose weight, and how this is the only way. The liquid falls down her throat, and she shovels the lumps, gasping for breath before it's all over, and she's never felt better.

It's almost a way to keep control - yet, Kendra and the rest of the staff leave in the afternoon, for one reason or another, and Massie can't help but steal a few vegetable chips from the pantry, or maybe one of those delicious candies, and suddenly, she's sitting in front of the television, watching a re-run of Gossip Girl's most heartbreaking moments, surrounded by piles of empty plates and containers, and crying for the completely wrong reasons.

(At least, at the beginning of it all, she didn't purge because of a boy - at the time, she wasn't that weak.)

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She meets Derrick Harrington at a bookstore, of all places - it's before she realizes how much of a complete asshole he is or the fact that he's the type of guy who can make you feel like a princess (or a worthless wannabe) - buried under piles of Eyre and Austen. Massie walks around the shop, inhaling the smell of secondhand books and fresh scrapings of pencils, and cloaks it with the shadow of Chanel No. 5, just hoping that these afternoons would be over.

Walking over to the farther side of the bookcase, Massie examines another series of classic novels - all from the eighteenth century, no doubt - and forces herself to look away from teen novels and bad influences. She tries to make herself like classics - classic novels like Pride and Prejudice and movies like Breakfast at Tiffany's - yet Massie still prefers Gossip Girl and Ten Things I Hate About You.

Grabbing for another book, by the name of The Great Gatsby, Massie places it upon the top of an already teetering pile, wishing that William would allow her to do anything other than community service, and watches it fall to the floor, crumbling underneath the stress of a life that could never be perfect enough. Moments later, a familiar figure appears next to her, picking up the books, and giving them back. You're Massie Block, right? You probably won't like that book.

Massie stands for a moment, thinking for an appropriate response, before settling upon a blank stare - some people just aren't worth her snappy retorts.

He smiles, All I know is that you would probably like books like Prom and Prejudice rather than these classics - just saying. It's the last Massie sees of him, for a while, and she thinks that's going to be a good thing. They've only met a few times, passing hallways in school, and he's not a good influence - that much she knows. He's not Prince Charming.

.

Claire Lyons, and the rest of the Lyons' family move into the guesthouse on the 31st of August.

It's one of those things that Massie couldn't possibly care about - she thinks that if her mother was still alive, she would have forced Massie out to welcome the new family into their home, with a warm homemade batch of cookies (that of course had been bought from outside, transferred onto a homey looking plane, with lots of chocolate crumbs scattered around to give an aura of kindness), and she could have made another friend.

Lying down on a whitewashed room, she stares out the window, boring holes into the sides of the walls - her father calls her down moments later, as if he's been here all along, actually caring about the wellbeing of his only daughter - heiress - and smiles, saying, There's Claire - she's your age. How about you introduce her to your friends at your little get-together tonight?

Dylan and Kristen and Alicia have proper, rehearsed reactions in which they pretend to be nice to the newcomer, but secretly think about all the obvious flaws (and there are a lot of them) and how they can expose these flaws in front of everybody at school, once it resumes in a few days, after the long weekend; the other guys nod at her, looking less than interested at the newcomer from Ew-lando (except they do look interested, and Massie just can't deal with it).

She purposely ignores the way that Derrick's eyes light up upon the sight of Claire, because it can't be possible that he likes this new girl more than his girlfriend of seven and a half months - it just can't be true (or can it be?). The two of them end up staring at each other for mere moments, but it feels like all of hell and eternity to Massie, who clears her throat, and then the two separate.

From the very beginning, Massie decides that she really doesn't like Claire Lyons - and there are no second chances on the Upper East Side.

.

Sharp sirens, a wailing screech follows moments later, pierce the otherwise bubbly ambiance of an upper east side street — remnants of an overnight movie marathon trail a penthouse, diamond chandeliers reflecting bloated, distorting images of oneself. Empty bottles of scotch are stashed away in the trash, hidden by candy wrappers and empty shots of tequilla, mere memories of another failed party, if Massie could even call it that.

She brushes a frizz of hair back, and sighs longingly at the back door, leading to a free fall of clear expanse ending at a secluded alley — flying away, it would just be so simple. Massie stands at the precipice of a gilded balcony, inching towards the edge; the jarring smell of rotten fruit and scotch shakes her out of a trance, and a doorbell rings, bringing her back into the much harsher realm of reality.

Lying down in a whitewashed room, in an expanse of sorrow and mistakes with the slightest taste of guilt in the air, Massie stumbles towards the porcelain - it calls her, ever so gently - and smiles into the mirror, at the monster she has become. The mascara is in place, and her cheeks look fuller than usual; her feet aren't completely mangled from the too high heels (so high that she can't see the world beneath her), yet everything's still wrong. Something always is.

A buzz echoes from her cell phone - regretfully, Massie presses the center button, and reads the text message.

(Hey Upper East Siders,

Looks like I've missed something - last year's Crane wedding. C, a girl who was just a little too intoxicated. D, a boy who wasn't sober enough to be held responsible for his actions. Best friend and the boyfriend, C? Classy.

Watch out, M - infidelity lurks in every corner.)

Massie just closes her eyes - she wants a life like in the television shows, that happily ever after ending, but not these parts, the parts that make her want to fall into the deepest pits of her stomach, and isolate herself from the rumors and the whispers, because, honestly, she's just sort of sick in this world. She stares up at the bathroom ceiling, and rinses.

.

Sometimes, Massie thinks that she still sees him.

It's her fault in the end - maybe, just maybe, if she had told Derrick the truth, that of course she loved him, loved him more than it was even possible for someone to love - because she had let her pride get in the way, just like usual. Sometimes, she stares into the bathroom, and imagines herself falling back into the cycle, the endless pit of despair and longing. Then, it wasn't as though Derrick was a complete saint, either. He had chosen one of her best friends - and snogged her in the middle of the bloody school - in front of flashing cameras and snobby, giggling girls. There's a ring from her phone, and carelessly, Massie picks it up, ignoring the caller ID of BLOCKED, and then hears his hesitant voice.

Shit.

She accidentally mutters that word out loud, and there's a booming laugh on the other side of the phone, and Massie resists the urge to hang up the phone - because, honestly, after everything he's put her through, she still cares about he has to say. I'm taking you out for lunch, today - I'll see you at twelve. He's the one to hang up the phone.

Massie walks down the staircase ten minutes after the deadline, and she ignores the malevolent smirk that forms on his face as his eyes roam over her disgruntled face. Can we just go, you idiot?, she mutters - it's already bad enough that he's forced her to miss important planning sessions with the pretty committee, but she doesn't even know what - it's just something about him that makes her want to cry and smile at the same time, which is way too far an array of emotions that should be caused by a boy who isn't even her prince charming.

The limousine ride takes ten minutes longer than expected. They pass by a collection of jazz singers, humming Christmas tunes, decked in all-red outfits (it's a little premature for the holiday), and Massie's slightly surprised when the destination ends up being a location on the Upper East Side, by the name of L'absinthe. The restaurant is covered with chandeliers and gold, the bastion of the blond-haired, blue-blooded elite for a reason — it's understated, elegant, and perfectly UES. Not bad, Harrington, she manages to say, in a much lighter tone than previously - Massie ignores the smile that forms on his face, and waits in an annoyed manner for him to open the door for her. He'll have to work a little harder than a nice lunch, even if it is completely non-Derrick Harrington.

Eat something, he murmurs, slowly - she just looks into his eyes, and sees the overwhelming pity. Massie thought that out of all people, Derrick Harrington would be the last to find out - after all, he was never good at understanding her before. I already told you, Derrick smirks, I can read you like an open book - all of your secrets aren't secrets, not anymore. She's never hated anybody more - the clear malevolence can be scene in the reflection of his hazel eyes.

Massie stares into the menu, in a faux pretense of studying the enemy. Can we stop this? She asks, slowly. I'm tired of pretending as though nothing happened between us. Derrick almost looks interested, and places his menu down, smirking as though the facial expression will never slip off of his hideous face. I've realized that the only way to get over you is to realize that we did happen - you and I loved each other. And then, you broke my heart.

The waiter comes moments later - she orders a caesar salad, hold the dressing, hold the vinegar, add on the lettuce, and he orders a plate of ravioli and a caesar salad, hold the lettuce, add on the creamy salad dressing and margarine, with a scoop of gourmet ice cream on the side. He hasn't changed that much, Massie notices, continuing to study the enemy - it may seem as though she's staring at him, but it's not in that sort of way; it's obvious that she couldn't still be into him, after he had broken her heart. She couldn't. They spend thirty minutes or so in amicable silence, checking their own phones, and pretending as though they have more important things to do in their lives when his inbox is empty and her phone has no new laugh out loud worthy messages.

When the food arrives, Massie bites delicately into her first piece, and Derrick stabs inwards, as if he's not going to live for another day - maybe he won't, judging off the hate glares he's receiving. Do you think that we could work out again - maybe, get back together? Massie brings up the thought, in an almost casual manner. Just a thought.

Are you serious? Derrick scoffs. I hate you - you've been nothing but horrible to Claire and I, and even though it's been three frickin' months, you can't seem to get over the fact that you're a high-maintenance bitch that nobody loves, no even your own father. I used to love you . . . when you were beautiful, when you held a certain value in society. Now? You're nothing to me.

Massie swallows a breath and excuses herself, going to rinse.

.

Massie sees herself in fluorescent lights, blazers tightening around her hands as cuffs, a prisoner in her own kingdom - she retreats back to a lonely bedroom, her tears muffled beneath pillows as she flops herself onto the mattress, and barely notices how it creaks under her weight, until she remembers. Until she remembers that this is her own doing - there's always a reason for everything, there always is.

That's what she's been taught in school - for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. She's not sure if her chemistry teacher was thinking about social suicide when he said that, but it's all a jumble in her mind now, angry thoughts seeping in under heartbreak and the realization that maybe, just maybe, the world isn't all about her - at least not anymore. The doorknob to her master bathroom creaks upon slightly, and Massie falls upon the floor, hugging a worn out teddy bear to her chest, as she walks through the doors, limping.

She doesn't want to fall back into this endless cycle of rinse-repeat-binge-rinse-repeat over and over again, until the cycle ends and there's nothing left in life but an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach, because Massie knows what's going to happen next. She can't help herself, though.

The creaking sound of the strain of water pipes can be heard from the bottom floor, and for a moment, Massie almost doesn't care if the neighbors next door can hear her - after all, desperation gets a reaction, doesn't it? - and she leaves the empty boxes of marzipans and exquisite petit fours from Daddy in France upon the sink, ignoring the wretched feeling inside of her.

It's not something that she does to make herself look better. Massie's already figured out that there's no natural way that she can become skinnier, prettier, maybe even in par with the rest of her so-called friends - and it's always been a competition, from the very start. It's been a competition since elementary school in who would be chosen first for the high school boys' Little Broncettes cheerleading squad. Life is a competition, even when everybody else thinks that it's okay to step back, and prepare in the shadows.

She thinks that she has too high expectations - perhaps, that's her fault.

When she was younger, Massie used to lounge on top of her bed, replaying favorite movies of some sort - she threw bibbles into the pond at dusk, under the constant supervision of an elder, of course (to make sure that the Block heiress didn't become deceased before having offspring of her own), and donned colorful bows in her hair, cheery. She dreamed of Prince Charmings and knights, and magic kisses. By the age of five, Massie had planned that she would have her first boyfriend at the age of twelve, and that she would be engaged at twenty, and become something.

Lying in a whitewashed bathroom, Massie examines the blood seeping out of her head, onto the tiles, and smiles. This place could use a little color, she thinks.

The next morning, Inez found her lying on the floor, a mixture of blood and puke forming around her head, wispy ringlets tangled into knots and an earsplitting crash was heard as the fruit plate was dropped upon the floor, mixing in with the rest of the glass shards and blood - a stinging odor filled the room, and the former queen lay unconscious.

.

There were visitors of course - everybody wanted to see Massie Block hospitalized, whether it was for the purpose that they were genuinely concerned, which was a small few, but mostly to spread gossip down the hallways of Octavian Country Day that its former queen could be easily replaced - yet maybe that if Massie Block, of all people, could have broken down so quickly, that it wouldn't be so long before they slipped down the social hierarchy, either.

William visited her - holding his precious daughter's hand, and realizing how much of a horrible father he had been. He promised that they would spend more time together, in whispers - he talked about how proud her mother would have been that her daughter had been introduced into society, and how he couldn't do this on his own. That he wasn't good at being a father - it was never a rule that he had grown accustomed to, but he promised that he would try harder.

The entire Pretty Committee - even the ones who had left for Florida and California, for a better life for themselves came back - and cried over their fallen leader, wondering how stupid they were to not notice the signs. The fact that Massie had been wearing the same size clothing since the seventh grade, or that the school uniform tennis skirt always dangled loosely off of her bony hips, or the fact that she ate less in front of anybody than even Alicia. They muttered everything that they had done wrong, all of their sins, dumping them out in some vain effort that Massie would get better - but it never really works.

.

Living in a white-washed room (three walls, one exit, two vents) with the only forms of entertainment being the constant alarms that were clinging in the distance, as a new individual was brought into the ward, or perhaps the one next door, and a limited set of DVD's - her eyes flutter open slowly, and Massie grimaces as she sees a familiar blonde figure, by the name of Claire Lyons, sitting on the chair next to her, weeping.

It's not fair of her - Claire can come here, and pretend as though she cares, but as soon as Massie might do something slightly bad (and it doesn't matter what happens, because stupid Claire can do whatever the hell she wants with Derrick, and she'll still be more popular), Claire can just fake a hurt expression with those doe eyes that attract unsuspecting football players and drama geeks alike, and run away to Derrick. Or to her parents - she has a family, a family who honestly cares for her and her little brother, no matter how much of a douche he can be, more than anything in the world.

She has nowhere to run to - her mother's dead.

Her father keeps on going towards those business trips - they must be good, she thinks, if he goes on them so often - to Paris, to Tokyo, to Rome, to everywhere in the world, running away as far as possible. William sometimes sends pictures back - random postcards, of supernovas and stars, something to look forward to - it's really not enough, though. She doesn't have a perfect, little boyfriend, or a perfect life. She doesn't have anything.

Massie takes a deep breath, and closes her eyes, pretending to stay asleep - she'd rather not have this conversation with Claire, not now.

.

Derrick visits on a Tuesday afternoon - Massie decides that she really hates Tuesdays, after their encounter.

He walks into the room, hands in pockets, unsure if this is even his place to be - Claire ushers him in, deciding to leave at the last moment; Massie immediately closes her eyes, and stills her breath, pinching her stomach to not make a sound. I know that you're awake, he mutters.

What do you want, Derrick? He stares at her for a moment, and she covers herself with the blanket to hide the tears forming in the sides of her eyes - she doesn't want to do this, but it's the right thing to do (then why does it feel so wrong?). Just leave, she mumbles, and sinks bank into the uncomfortable mattress, and tries to forget.

I was just wondering . . . if you could ever forgive me.

Massie scoffs, trying to keep some amount of dignity left - the old her would never have been weak enough to take Derrick back, but she doesn't want him to leave, no yet. Don't you get it, Derrick? I could never forgive you for what you made me do. Never.

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notes (cont.) | um i didn't really know what to do for that ending - happy holidays, again!