If I thought that Sophie cried a lot on the day that the story about us broke, that was nothing compared to how much she cried in the days that followed. A seemingly never ending stream of tears rolled down her cheeks from the moment she woke up until the time she went to sleep, though it felt as if she rarely slept at all anymore. It didn't matter if it was midnight or four A.M., chances were that if I got up in the middle of the night, Sophie would either be running on her home gym's treadmill or obsessively reading articles about herself online. She insisted that she wasn't tired but the purple circles under her eyes told a different story. I didn't question it, though, largely because I wouldn't have known what to say if I had.

Sophie, on the other hand, never stopped asking me how I was doing and I never stopped telling her that I was fine. She didn't need to know that my email's inbox was full of hate mail or that the text messages coming through to my phone weren't from worried friends, but people who'd somehow found my number and shared it online. Sophie didn't need to know any of that, and neither did my mom who called three times a day to make sure I hadn't changed my mind about going home. I didn't feel like I was lying to either of them by keeping those things a secret; I was fine. In the grand scheme of things, did it really matter that I had to change my phone number?

I ended up going back to work on the same day that Sophie was called into the studio to continue filming, by which time Michael and Richard's agent had launched into full-blown damage control mode. They both seemed to agree that the most important thing was to downplay the cheating aspect of the scandal while maintaining the illusion that Sophie and Richard were happy together. Carefully worded press releases were sent out to magazines on a near-daily basis and the now-infamous couple never went anywhere except as a pair. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't understand the logic behind the strategy and told Michael as much.

"They need to have a clean break," Michael explained, while I paced around his office during my lunch break one day. "It hurts both of them if they break up right after a story like this leaks."

"But, why?" I asked, allowing myself to feel openly frustrated for the first time in days. "Pretending they're together is what caused all of these problems in the first place."

"No... Really?" Michael swung his legs up onto his desk and leaned back in his chair. With his hands behind his head, he added, "If I had a time machine, trust me, there's no way I'd tell Sophie to go through with it again. In fact, I'd kick myself for even suggesting it. Unfortunately for all of us, unless you know someone with a Flux Capacitor, that's not an option, is it?"

"Guess not," I admitted. I walked over to the bookcase in the corner of the room and began studying the collection of plaques on its shelves. Michael appeared to have an award for everything, whether it was to celebrate a career achievement at the agency or winning a charity golf tournament -- and I had to admit that I was impressed. The last award I'd received had been for having perfect attendance in the fifth grade.

"Like I said when we were at her house," Michael said, "there are only two ways to go at this point: ride this out and make the best of it, or go ahead and admit the two of them were never dating in the first place."

I turned to look at him. "Remind me why the latter would be so terrible?"

Instead of responding, Michael rolled up the sleeves of his shirt with precise folds. When he finished, he glanced at the clock hanging on his wall. "Well," he began, "it would mean admitting that we lied to a lot of people: fans, publications, clients... It would also raise questions about why we lied." He drummed his fingers on his desktop in time with whatever rhythm he heard in his head. "Sure, it was to drum up publicity for Kelly's movie at first but don't you think the tabloids would find a way to say that Sophie was only using Richard for jobs?"

"That's not fair, they both agreed to it," I protested, but Michael cut me off with a sympathetic smile.

"I've definitely asked you this before, but don't you think you're getting a little old to still think life is fair?" Michael picked up the paper weight on his desk and tossed it from hand to hand. "Besides, the fact of the matter is that not everyone likes Sophie. Simple. She's one of those celebrities that you either love or you hate."

"I don't get it, though," I said, shaking my head. "Richard's the biggest jackass I've ever met."

"Yeah, well, most people haven't met him," Michael countered. "Face it, if you compare the two of them, Richard's image is pristine. He's untouchable. Sophie's reputation, on the other hand, is, well..." He cleared his throat. "Don't get me wrong, she definitely grows on you, but if you didn't know them or all of the facts, I bet that you'd be supporting Richard, too."

I chewed on the sides of my tongue with my back molars. Although I wanted to argue that Michael was wrong, I knew that he wasn't. Picking up one of his tennis trophies, I traced a finger around the rim of its golden mouth. "Never mind," I muttered.

"Sorry," Michael said, shrugging. His expression softened slightly, and he paused before adding, "I'm trying my best to fix things, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. It's..." I tightened my grip around the trophy's base, unsure of how to phrase my thoughts. I could feel Michael's gaze trained on my face as he waited for me to go on. Eventually, I sighed and said, "Sophie's really sad -- like, sadder than I've ever seen her and I don't know how to help. No matter what I say, she just... Cries." I set the trophy back down on the shelf, careful to put it in exactly the same place, and stuffed my hands into my pockets. I looked up at the ceiling. "My mom's pretty worked up about everything, too. She keeps begging me to come home."

I glanced at Michael from the corner of my eye and saw him nodding. "I bet," he said, trading his paper weight for a pen. He waved the ballpoint back and forth like a wand. "To be honest, I'm surprised your mom hasn't already shown up on your doorstep to drag you home."

We both laughed, and Michael's pen slipped from his fingers and rolled onto the floor. "Whoops," he said, leaning over the arm of his chair to see where it had gone.

I watched Michael's arm flail around helplessly until I crossed over and picked up the pen. Despite its metal casing, I could see small imprints of what I guessed were teeth marks around its end. Making a face, I handed it back to Michael, who grinned.

"Appreciate it," he said, promptly beginning to chew on the pen's clip. "As for the, uh, crying thing, I'm afraid I can't help you. I usually take tears as my cue to leave."

I leaned against the edge of Michael's desk and rolled my eyes. "Thanks for your help."

"No problem," Michael replied with a small salute. "Maybe you should talk to Scott, if you're that worried. He's probably collected a lifetime of wisdom when it comes to dealing with crying women."

Frowning, I remembered the conversation I'd had with Michael's brother the day before. "Yeah, I've talked to him."

"And?"

I shook my head. Intrigued, Michael sat up straight in his chair, sliding his feet off the tabletop and resting them on the floor. "Lovers' quarrel?" he asked innocently.

"He kind of pissed me off," I admitted, ignoring Michael's teasing jab. I studied an odd-shaped smudge on my shoe and felt a slight pang of guilt. Even though I'd come to see Michael as a good friend, I didn't know if I was allowed to confide in him about matters concerning the Donahues' youngest family member. No matter what Michael may have said to the contrary, I knew his brotherly love for Scott ran deep; the last thing I wanted was to make him mad by saying the wrong thing.

"Trust me, that's a natural reaction," Michael replied, motioning for me to go on. "I'm glad you're finally seeing the light."

"He thinks everything that's going on is... Cool, I guess. He kept saying how awesome it is that I'm famous now, or whatever." Michael snorted, and a second wave of annoyance hit me as I recounted the other things Scott had said. "He also told me that, since our relationship isn't a secret anymore, I should convince Sophie to go to parties at the frat next year so more people attend."

"Scott's an idiot," Michael interrupted, "and it causes me deep emotional pain to know that we share the same genes." He paused, his expression growing contemplative. "But, at the same time, I don't think anyone can understand what you're going through unless they've experienced it themselves. Hell, I can't even relate and I've been working in the industry for a while."

I nodded while Michael checked his watch. Straightening his tie, he stood up. "Sorry, but I have to kick you out now," he said, reaching for the jacket slung over the back of his chair.

"Where are you going?"

"I've got client meetings around town for the rest of the day. I don't know if I'll be back before you leave." Michael began gathering things off his desk and dumping them into a sleek leather briefcase. He pocketed his phone and fastened a small wireless headset to his ear. "You're going to your apartment tonight, right?"

"Yup."

"Good," Michael replied, checking around his desk to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. It didn't take long before he snapped his fingers and reached into one of the desk's drawers to retrieve his wallet. "Don't talk to anyone you shouldn't."

"I won't."

"No matter what," Michael cautioned, and then, satisfied he had everything, ushered me into the hallway. He pulled the door to his office shut. "If you have an emergency, keep calling until I pick up. Otherwise, I'll see you tomorrow."

I waved and watched while Michael hurried down the corridor. From where I stood, I could hear him briefly stop to talk to Melanie at the front desk before continuing his mad dash to the elevators. Knowing that I still had a few minutes left of my break, I walked up to where the redhead sat in time to see her shaking her head.

"Hey," I said, coming up behind her chair. Melanie spun around to look at me. "What's up?"

"Oh, so now you want to talk to me? How long's it been since you came back? Like, two days?" Clucking her tongue, Melanie waved her hand dismissively. "Not interested."

Although I knew she was kidding, I didn't have the energy to go along with the joke. I rubbed my eyes until spots began appearing inside my lids. "Melanie, come on."

"Fine," she said. I opened my eyes as she got to her feet. "Let's go talk in your office. I haven't taken my lunch yet so, unless you have something to do, you've got my attention for an hour."

"Don't you want to get food?" I asked, but Melanie held up a finger to silence me while she called for someone to cover the desk.

I waited while she talked to the person on the other end of the line, though I didn't bother listening to what was said. When Melanie hung up the receiver again, she pulled a large Tupperware container out of her purse and gave it a shake, sending its leafy contents into a flurry. "I brought my lunch," she explained, smiling as a petite Japanese woman walked up to us.

I recognized the dark-haired lady as the assistant of the one of the upper-level agents and we exchanged polite greetings while I tried to ignore the judgmental look in her eye. Michael may have been right when he said I wouldn't get fired for dating Sophie, but that didn't change the fact that he and Melanie were the only people in the office who approved of my relationship with the actress. "Let's go," Melanie said, giving the sleeve of my shirt a tug.

We walked down the hallway in silence but once we were in my office, Melanie set her salad down on my desk and threw her arms around my midsection. "I feel so sorry for you," she murmured, patting my back the same way a mother might to calm her child.

Even though she was wearing heels, the fact that Melanie was so much shorter than me made it awkward to return her embrace. I crouched down but, between the uncomfortable angle of my back and the strange hold I had around her shoulders, I was thankful when Melanie stepped back to study me. Pity clouded her face and I had an oddly triumphant feeling that she'd give me the reaction I'd wanted from Scott the night before.

"How are you holding up?" she asked.

"Hold on," I said, closing the door to the tiny room before anyone could walk by and question Melanie about being there. For good measure, I jiggled the rusty lock until it latched. "Sophie's a wreck."

Melanie nodded. "I'm sure she is. I would be, too." She licked her bottom lip, wiping away some of the light pink gloss that she wore. "The thing is -- and I'm sorry because I know that saying this makes me a horrible person -- I'm not all that interested in Sophie at the moment, okay? I want to know how you're doing... And, please don't make me beg for a straight answer."

Taken aback by her directness, I opened my mouth to respond and burst out laughing. Doubled over and struggling to breathe, all I could think about was how much I loved Melanie -- I really did, even if I couldn't quite explain it. All I knew was that it was a completely different feeling from the love I had for Sophie or anyone else in my life. Since I was an only child, I wasn't sure if I could compare it to loving an older sister but I imagined it was something like that...

Then again, if Michael and Scott were any indication of how siblings got along, maybe that wasn't the best way to describe it either.

Regardless of how I tried to define it, the fact remained that Melanie was the one person in my life who I'd ever felt completely comfortable confiding in. Even as a kid, I'd only told my parents what they needed to know and never anything more than that; my friendship with Scott had often been littered with half-truths and efforts to make it look like I had everything together; even Sophie sometimes left me feeling like I was hopping through a minefield, and these days, that was true more often than not.

By the time I regained control of my laughter, Melanie sat perched in my seat, carefully drizzling a pre-portioned amount of dressing over her salad. "Where am I supposed to sit?" I asked, and she motioned towards the spare chairs I'd stacked in the corner.

I sighed, instead opting to sit down on the ground near my desk. Leaning against a metal filing cabinet, I brushed away a pair of dust bunnies as they hopped onto my pant legs. Melanie ran her tongue over the droplets that clung to the empty dressing container's plastic mouth before replacing the lid and chucking it into her bag.

"The floor works, too," she commented, beginning to toss her salad with a fork. Without missing a beat, she added, "I'm still waiting for an answer, by the way."

"I don't know how I'm doing," I confessed, amazed by how easily the words flowed from my mouth.

"Really?"

"Yeah," I continued, meeting Melanie's gaze. "I haven't had a chance to think about it."

Melanie couldn't have looked more disapproving if she'd tried. "Well, you should probably do that, then, shouldn't you?"

"I guess..." I trailed off and watched Melanie spear a tomato with her fork. "I guess I'm sort of in shock."

"Go on."

I picked up a paper clip that rested near my foot and began to twist it into different shapes. "I mean, there were ten paparazzi waiting for me when I came into the office today and probably close to forty when I went to lunch. It's -- it's insane that people care so much about me, you know? I'm not even famous."

Melanie started to reply but I went on, "My address ended up on some website, too, so I'm sure there'll be reporters waiting for me when I get home." I could feel the paper clip's metal weakening under the pressure from my fingertips. "The weirdest thing is how many emails I've received from people telling me to walk in front of a bus."

Staring at me with bug eyes, a strangled noise escaped from Melanie's mouth and she began to sputter. Realizing that she'd choked on her food, I jumped to my feet and delivered a series of firm whacks to her upper back. A thin spray of chewed salad coated my desktop and when her coughing slowed, I handed her the water bottle I kept next to my keyboard. I waited while she unscrewed the cap and took a long swig.

"That's horrible," Melanie eventually croaked. "Seriously horrible. Who does that? Who has time to do that?"

I shrugged. "Probably the same people who keep messaging me to tell me how ugly I am."

Melanie's eyes filled with water, though I couldn't tell if that was because she'd choked or if she was genuinely crying. She dabbed at her tears with the corner of her napkin and then set her mouth in a hard line. "You're not ugly," she said, voice still hoarse. "And I'll kill you if you even think about hurting your--"

"Trust me," I cut her off, "it's, uh, not something that's ever crossed my mind."

"It better not." Melanie cleared her throat and then quickly wiped away the pieces of salad that she'd coughed up. Obviously embarrassed, she mumbled, "Sorry, I'm so gross."

The redness in her cheeks reminded me of something else. "I forgot to ask," I said, sitting back down on the floor, "but are you feeling better?"

Melanie's eyebrows knotted with confusion. "Huh?"

"You were upset the other day, right? Are you feeling better?"

Astonishment flickered across Melanie's face, followed shortly after by disbelief. "Are you campaigning for sainthood or something? I can't believe you think that matters right now."

"Well, I--"

"Focus on yourself," she said, though a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "But, yes, I'm fine. Thank you for asking."

We soon lapsed into a comfortable silence while I watched Melanie eat the rest of her lunch. Lost in my thoughts, I didn't realize an hour had passed until she ruffled my hair and said goodbye. My legs had fallen asleep and a million needles pricked my skin as I crawled over to my chair and pulled myself up. The first thing I noticed when I looked around my desk was the change Melanie had made to my computer's background. Repeating rows of smiling puppies stretched across the screen and I chuckled at the Post-It she'd stuck to the side of the monitor. In her loopy handwriting, Melanie had written: KEEP YOUR CHIN UP... AND WATCH OUT FOR TRAFFIC!

Strangely enough, I didn't feel anything other than happy for the rest of the day.

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Long-ish A/N: Hello, lovelies! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. :) I've received some of the sweetest comments and messages from you guys recently and I want you to know how honored/happy/touched that makes me. I'm not always the best at responding to things right away (I blame it on a combination of severe ADHD and the fact that my life is generally hectic; I'm moving to Virginia in two weeks, ack!) but I truly appreciate everyone who reads this story. Whether you're a silent reader or a regular voter/commenter, I love you. :')

On a separate note, I am very close to finishing this story! Of the nine chapters remaining, I only have four left to write. I'm kind of nervous because it occurred to me that some of you might hate the ending, which would suck because I planned the last chapters before the rest of the book... Awk? My goal is to finish and post everything before I start law school next month.

Anyway, that's enough from me now. I have to go pack up my life for the second time in three months. -.-" Feel free to leave comments with your thoughts, predictions, hopes, and/or dreams! <333