A/N: Settle in guys, because this is a long one and we've finally reached the moment of truth. And to those of you who have read Better Than Revenge, yes, there are significant changes to this chapter as well, all for the sake of building a better character that doesn't deserve to be locked up for what he did.

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Chapter 27

She didn't say anything. Sophia stood there and stared at me like I'd finally lost it, like I was about to pull a Britney and attack her car with an umbrella after shaving my head. By the horrified look on her face, I figured she thought I was going to shave hers, too, and maybe Blake's and Tori's while I was at it.

God, why had I said it? I should have kept my damn mouth shut. And honestly, "Because somehow, my annoyance with you turned into something else." Could I have sounded any lamer? What kind of a confession was that? I was losing my touch.

When she did speak, all she said was, "What?"

"I don't know what happened, but I care about you," I continued, trying my best to sound sincere without completely scaring her off. I was balancing on a fine line, one that could break at any moment. "I care about you a lot, Soph, and to tell you the truth, it scares me a little."

She went quiet again, and the more I waited for her to say something, the more it pained me. I couldn't help the expression that crossed my face; it was one that probably communicated exactly what I was feeling. Hurt and terrified, because I had a feeling she was about to rip my heart out and stomp on it.

I just needed to hear her say something – anything. Even if it was something about my face breaking a mirror or reminding her of an exhibit at the zoo. Even if it was at my expense and she caught it on video and uploaded it to Facebook. I would've done anything to hear her voice instead of seeing the confused and upset look in her eyes.

"Say something," I finally said, trying not to look so pathetically nervous and failing miserably. I didn't even need to see myself to know I looked like a pussy.

She stood there and stared at me like she was trying to figure me out but still wouldn't say anything. Her hand lifted upwards, towards her temple like my confession was actually giving her a headache. She shook her head, leading my thoughts into an endless spiral. Why did she shake her head? What was that supposed to mean? "Oh, God, my weird costar has a crush on me?" Or maybe "How am I going to tell him I'm not interested?" Or maybe if I was lucky, "I think I'm in the same boat and kinda want to take his pants off?"

Alright, I was over-analyzing things. Christ, I was turning into my mother. What was Sophia doing to me? I'd never been on this side of the spectrum – the side where you have to throw yourself out there and hope you don't sink – but so far, it fucking sucked. I'd never been in the position where being rejected was even a remote possibility.

"I know you must think I'm lying or that this can't possibly be true, but I'm not. My feelings changed. I care about you, Soph... more than I thought was possible."

I took a step closer, and the good news was that she didn't flinch or move away from me. The bad news was what came out of her mouth next. "This is a joke, right? This is another one of your pranks, and I guess Tori and Blake are in on this one. Real funny, guys. If my hands weren't numb right now, I'd clap for you guys."

A joke? She couldn't honestly believe I would joke around about this. Okay, yes, I'd given her reason to doubt me – plenty of reason, to be fair – but I wouldn't go this far. Maybe when we were in the midst of our prank war or whatever the hell that was, but not now. Now, I wanted nothing more than for her to give me a chance and let me kiss her again, let me feel her soft lips moving against mine every day, for as long as she'd let me. Oh, God, I sounded like I belonged in one of my mom's sappy rom-coms.

"What? This isn't a joke. I'm being serious."

She looked into my eyes, those hazel eyes pretty much boring right into my soul, and I wanted to say there was affection or passion or something mushy and romantic somewhere in that stunning pair of eyes, but there wasn't. All I could see was anger.

"Give it up, Christian," she said, shaking her head. She'd started calling me Chris when we started getting along better – I guess I was back to Christian now that I'd fucked up our fragile but slowly blooming friendship. "I don't believe a word you're saying. Lying is what you do best."

"I know I have a reputation for lying, but this is different," I said. "You're different."

"Just stop it already," she snapped. "Stop lying!"

"But I'm not lying," I said, and my voice broke. My. Voice. Broke. What was I, twelve years old? My voice hadn't broken since I'd gotten through puberty years ago. What was going on with me?

I reached out for her but immediately dropped my hand when she recoiled away from me. I had to admit, that hurt a little. "You have to believe me, Sophia."

"I don't have to do anything. I don't have to believe you. You don't deserve even that from me."

She didn't believe me. I was actually falling for this girl, for once in my life, and she didn't believe my feelings were real. Motherfucking karma. This was what I got for being a dick – and thinking with my dick – my entire life.

It had been a while since I'd seen her so upset. Not since the whole herpes scandal. This time, I'd caused it without meaning to, but I was still the cause. I was always the cause. And after months of being out of the loop, I needed to know why. The least she could do was tell me why she wanted my head on a platter surrounded by shish kebabs.

"God, Sophia, why do you hate me so much? I know I've said and done some things I shouldn't have, but so have you. So what else have I done? Why won't you just tell me?"

How was I supposed to make her believe me if she refused to be honest with me herself? How? She was so stubborn and thick-headed. How was I going to get it through to her that I was telling the truth, that I deserved more than the blind hatred she'd had for me since day one? That I was falling in love with her?

But what she said next stopped me right in my tracks, putting an abrupt halt to the self-pitying thoughts that had been streaming through my head since my initial impulsive confession. "You don't remember. You forgot. That's real comfortable for you, isn't it? You just forgot. Well, some of us aren't that lucky."

I didn't like the way she was looking at me. Like I was the Devil, or maybe Hitler. But I spoke anyway. "What are you talking about?"

Her voice went quiet all of a sudden, a far cry from the elevated, angry tone she'd been using before. "How can you not remember?"

I looked into her eyes again, hoping to find some sort of clue, some sort of remnant from my past that would strike a chord or ring a bell. But I didn't find anything. All I could do was shake my head and say, "I don't know what I'm supposed to remember."

I didn't understand what was going on. I tried to rack my brain for something, anything that would clue me in as to what I could have possibly done to her to make her hate me so much. Like I said, I'd been a dick pretty much my entire life. The list of people I'd hurt and the list of times I'd fucked up was so long I came up short in my quest to remember this specific instance. I had no idea what was happening between us right now. I just knew it was worse than usual – and I couldn't have been more right.

At first, I thought she wasn't going to tell me. She'd kept it in for this long already. What was some more time on top of that? I thought she was going to walk away and I'd never know why she couldn't stand me. I thought I'd have to turn into one of those scraggly emo guys in teenage books that wallowed in self-pity and painted their nails black – why – because of their one-sided love.

But I would never get the chance to. Eventually, she spoke, and the selfish part of me couldn't help but think that maybe it would have been easier if she hadn't said anything at all. Plus, I would have made a great emo guy.

"When I was in middle school, around seventh grade, I was a total dork. I was the whole package. I had braces, frizzy hair that I'd mistakenly tried to dye blond, glasses, an awkward apple-shaped body type, with legs that were too skinny for my body and a stomach rivaled only by my dad's beer gut... you name it, I had it. To top it all off, I got good grades and I was a theatre geek."

She paused and swallowed audibly. I could hear it from where I stood, and although I'd tried to get closer to her, she'd made sure to keep her distance from me, treating me like I had the plague.

Honestly, I never would have guessed she'd been a "dork." From the moment I saw her in that movie theater, I'd thought she was hot. Annoying, definitely, and rude as hell, but still hot. We'd had our hot-and-cold moments ever since – mostly cold moments, actually – but the one thing that hadn't changed was my physical attraction to her.  

"You went to my school," she continued. "It was one of those middle-high school hybrids. You and your friends were sophomores at the time. The cliché, popular guys. Obviously, right? I don't have to tell you that part."

By this point, I was even more confused than I had been before. I knew I'd been popular in high school but didn't understand what that had to do with her yet. I almost frowned. Did we know each other?

"You and your friends bullied me on a daily basis. The names you called me are ingrained into my mind. Loser. Freak. Four-Eyes. Mrs. Piggy. That last one was all you. Because you, especially, decided it would be fun to make my life a living hell. You were the leader of your pack, so I guess you felt like you had to take it a step further than everyone else. You know, I was even scared to go to my play practices because I knew you'd be there. The funny thing is, you were into theatre, too, but no one made fun of you for it, did they?"

I was left shocked and silent. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. There was no way the girl in front of me had been one of the kids I'd made fun of in high school.... She couldn't be. I knew I'd treated people badly back then, but hearing the names I'd actually used, having it thrown in my face... Jesus, I was a monster.

What was I supposed to say to that? I couldn't say anything, not without looking like an even bigger jackass. I kept my thoughts to myself and let her continue. I think she was glad I did.

"I came home and cried every day. I dreaded going to school. I wished they'd never combined the middle school and the high school because then I would've never met you. At least not when I was a pre-pubescent mess. I could handle the idiots in my class, but you... you I couldn't handle."

She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head. I wanted to speak up but couldn't think of anything to say. I'd made her cry. Every day. Not just once. Every day. She couldn't look at me anymore, and I didn't blame her.

"I started to hate myself because of what you said to me. I was haunted by your constant barrage of insults and laughter whenever you saw me walking down the halls, or anywhere, really. I believed every word that came out of your mouth, because it was coming from Christian freaking Ryder. Who wouldn't believe it? You and your friends made me believe I was worthless. It took me years to get over that. You treated me like shit, and I was a child, Christian."

I liked to shove my past as far away from me as I could get it. This was one of the reasons why. No one liked to hear how much of an asshole they used to be, or how much of an asshole they still were if they hadn't changed. But my past wasn't something I could shove away anymore. It was back and with a vengeance. My past was staring me right in the face, and I didn't want to forget her.

"I'm sorry," I finally choked out. I sounded as pathetic as could be expected. "Oh, God, Sophia, I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was you. I couldn't tell. Oh, God. How could I not tell it was you?"

She laughed bitterly. "Oh, you think I'm done? No, no, no, this isn't even the worst part. The worst part makes this look almost like – almost like child's play."

I wanted to say something. Anything. Anything to make this up to her. But if it got worse from here? I couldn't even imagine what was about to come out of her mouth.

"I moved away my eighth grade year because I'd had enough and my dad's company had an opening in a different city. But the next year, he got a promotion back where we lived before, and I didn't want to hold him back. I'd made a transformation. I thought I'd finally be okay. And I was at first. Not many people recognized me when I came back. It was a pretty big school, and I think everyone forgot about me before I'd even had the chance to leave."

That last sentence stung. I'd contributed to those feelings of invisibility she'd experienced when she came back. I'd made her feel unimportant. All hope of one day calling her my girlfriend flew out the window. I didn't deserve her. I didn't deserve her at all.

"But I looked like a different person. I finally felt pretty. My braces were gone, my hair was having better days and was a light brown color instead of a box dye job gone wrong, and I got contacts. I grew into my body and lost the weight I thought I needed to lose. You were a senior by the time I came back. You and your friends were in the middle of playing a game. A game to see who could sleep with the most freshmen. It almost sounds like a bad Lifetime movie," she said, laughing, but the sound wasn't quite right and it didn't reach her eyes.

All I could think was, No. No, not her. I couldn't have. I didn't remember her... but I had. I must have. That was the only explanation. That was the only thing that could be worse than what she'd already told me.

I understood. I didn't remember, but I understood, and I didn't want to hear her say it. The idea was bad enough, but if she said it, I'd never be able to forgive myself. "I got it. I don't need to hear any more."

I should've known she wouldn't stay quiet. This was Sophia we were talking about, after all.

"No, I'm already telling the story, so I might as well finish it, right? You and your friends didn't notice me at first. I wasn't hot. I wasn't popular. I was finally just... normal. It wasn't until I went to a party with a friend that you noticed me. Somehow, I caught your eye, and you started talking to me. When you found out I was a freshman, you decided to make me your next conquest. The next tally under your name on the scoreboard. Lucky me."

I couldn't listen to any more of this. I had a good idea of what she was going to say and I didn't want to hear it. "Sophia, I've heard enough. I—"

"Shut up and let me finish," she said with a surge of attitude that seemed to surprise both of us. Our conversation had gotten raw and intimate, but she'd recovered some of her sass.

"I didn't know about your game. Not until it was too late, at least. When you came up to me and asked me for my number, you seemed so different. You seemed nice. You'd obviously had a few drinks, but I just thought that made you funny. I knew who you were, and I remembered how you'd treated me, but I was stupid. I didn't think you had ulterior motives. I was silly and gullible, and I fell right into your trap. I didn't even need to get drunk to agree to sleep with you. You were the hottest guy in school. What girl could say no to you?"

At this point, I still didn't remember her. I'd been that jerk who pulled the same shit with every girl, making her feel special when she wasn't. I'd been that jerk who actually recycled romantic words and used them to get into girls' pants. I didn't really need to make girls feel special to sleep with them now thanks to my celebrity status, but that didn't make me any less of an asshole.

And back then, Sophia had clearly been just another tally on the scoreboard as she'd said. But now? Now she was the highlight of my days. She was what I looked forward to everyday, whether I admitted it or not. She'd turned my cliché Hollywood experience into something different and I was about to lose that because when she looked at me, she still saw the asshole from the past.

"When I woke up, I looked for you, but you were gone. I was naïve enough to think you'd still be there in the morning. That we'd hold hands and dance into the sunset together and all of the things that a fifteen year old girl who just lost her virginity to the cutest guy in school hopes for. But that wasn't what happened, because you weren't that guy. Instead of sticking around, you sent me a text. I deleted it after a while, but I still remember what you said. 'Sorry I didn't go easy on you. Hope you're not too sore. Thanks for the fuck.'"

No...

"That's why I hate you, Christian Ryder, and why I could never feel anything but hatred for you," she said, with a tone so harsh it made me flinch.

I felt like Satan. Or Hitler. Or a combination of every evil person that had ever walked this earth. I felt like the worst person on the planet. I was so shocked by everything she had just told me that I couldn't say anything at all, despite how badly I wanted to apologize to her for hurting her so much.

As it turned out, we weren't as alone on the set as we thought. Tori and Blake slowly emerged from the shadows with wide eyes. Blake looked horrified, holding a wad of tissues on his bloody nose. Tori had her hands over her mouth, looking equally upset. And it wasn't just them. Nora had stuck around on set, apparently, along with a few more members of the crew.

Sophia noticed them when I did and raised a hand to her mouth. "Oh, fuck," she said. She didn't use that word nearly as much as I did so it surprised me.

Instead of sticking around amidst the awkward silence we now found ourselves in, she ran. I wanted to stop her. I wanted to reach out and somehow keep her from leaving until I found a way to make things right with her, but I couldn't even stomach the thought of looking her in the eye anymore.

I remembered her.