Just like a movie.

You stand in front of her doors and wonder how you got here.

Wonder how could you not notice this was exactly where you were heading.
Your life is like a movie, cheap soap opera full of bad actors, little lies and crappy tragedies. And like in every movie, there was teasing, bickering, open hatred. There were insults and the crack of you crashing her car.
It had to be love.

You wonder sometimes why they hired such a cheap actress to play your love interest, she can’t even show hatred and disgust right. There’s always softness in her eyes, always sweetness in her smile and you think you should fire your agent for getting you into this shit.
It’s not even your show. You suspect it never was. Long time ago it was Lilly’s show and you were only a guest star, not even a regular apparently. A familiar face in few episodes a season, but the one who was always there, not as exciting as Weevil, or Aaron for that matter. Fuck, that had to be some finale, that one. Ratings up.

Now you star in a crappy spin-off and it’s still not about you. Everything revolves around Veronica, her tiny blonde form, wide eyes and delicious pout attracting more viewers than your fucked up life and screwed body ever could. You thought you had a chance on being the one she would hook up with at the end, but no.

Twenty messages on your phone and the only one picking up was Duncan. He tried not to tell you about Aaron, tried not to mention Lilly, attempted to keep it cool and calm. Failed as always. Ended up giving the whole story, along with happy mention of Veronica not being his sister. Apparently explained a lot, but you didn’t get the script before you signed the contract.
Didn’t even get to be Han Solo in this one, the star crossed lovers weren’t related so it was end for you.

Didn’t even get to finish it all in one perfect cliffhanger, bridgehanger, showing the finger to ratings and audience, because the fucking ethnic minority representative had to show up and be all helpful and and fucking nice. You can’t have negative portrayals of non-white characters.

You have no idea why do you stand in front of her doors, except that the narrative requires that, the closure to the story of murder and romance, a fucking movie script ending.
Cue the corny music theme.
And then she opens the door and the actress does a goddamed awfull job of showing disinterest because her smile says you could get the kiss that curtains close on.

She doesn’t kiss you, because this isn’t your show, but she opens the doors wider and invites you in, her hand on your shoulder and you fall down onto your knees. New Academy Award nominee in the Emotional Breakdown category.
Her hand finds yours and her lips rest on your forehead and you hope that maybe, just maybe, you will have your own dysfunctional happy ending.