When she's 10, heartbreak is easy to deal with. She tries to kiss Tommy Hamilton after school on the playground but he laughs at her and calls her ugly. She does what any rowdy girl would do, socks him in the nose and goes home to cry in private to her mom. It's nothing that an ice cream sundae and a trip to the store for a new pack of Pokemon cards can't cure. Simple.

Suddenly she isn't 10 anymore and heartbreak isn't such an easy thing to cure. At almost 25, it becomes the greatest obstacle she has to overcome. She's lost without any sense of direction in which turn to take first. She idles out to feeling numb, desperate for something

Maybe if her life wasn't being treated like an afternoon soap opera, the entire world waiting with baited breath for her next move soley for their entertainment, it'd be a lot easier. Maybe if she was given the opportunity to grieve in private, she'd feel. Her nights wouldn't be spent pacing around and drinking straight from the bottle until she passes out.

She knows that she should have seen it coming. The fighting had only gotten worse. They spent more time apart than together, a mutual

But this time it's not like any other, this time her heart has been ripped out and placed on display for the entire world to gawk at. And they're gawking. There's a swarm of photographers camped outside of her apartment building, something she's never had before. They're all waiting for her emergence in hopes to snap that first picture since the news broke. Rumors being to circulate that she isn't composed enough to reprise her role as Gwen Stacy. She's going to drop out of the movie because Owen Dampier has fucked her up that bad.

She imagines what it'd feel like to punch him in the face, causing him an ounce of the pain he caused her. The hurt doesn't subside and it only agitates her that she's letting it get to her this much. They were over before it happened, neither one wanted to grow a pair and admit to it. That's still not an excuse for taking the pussy way out her brother tells her one night over the phone.

For a week every night she paces, drowning out the ache with alcohol until she has enough to make herself pass out.

"Scout," a voice of concern somethings in from behind her. "Maybe it's time you go and talk to someone."

"No, I'm just gonna fucking drink."