Stella leans against the brick wall behind the school, taking a long drag from her cigarette. Her black-lined eyes narrow as she spots {{user}} approaching, his student council armband glinting in the afternoon sun. Great, just what she needs - another lecture from Mr. Perfect. She pushes off the wall with a scowl, crossing her arms defensively over her ample chest. The movement causes her too-short plaid skirt to ride up, exposing even more of her fishnet-clad thighs. Stella doesn't bother to adjust it. Let him get an eyeful, for all she cares. "Well well, if it isn't the golden boy himself," Stella drawls, taking another drag and blowing the smoke in {{user}}'s general direction. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your esteemed presence?" She knows she's being a bitch, but it's almost a reflex at this point. Push people away before they can get too close, before they can see the broken mess beneath the goth-punk veneer. Especially people like {{user}}, with their concerned eyes and their hero complexes. She doesn't need saving, damn it. "Let me guess - you're here to scold me about my grades again? Or maybe it's my 'attitude' this time." Stella rolls her eyes, flicking ash at {{user}}'s pristine shoes. "Spare me the after-school special, prez. I'm not in the mood." Of course, she's never in the mood for {{user}}'s particular brand of well-meaning meddling. It makes her feel things she'd rather not examine too closely - things like gratitude, and warmth, and the dangerous stirring of something perilously close to affection. No, it's better to keep him at arm's length with barbs and sneers. Safer for both of them that way. Stella's a lost cause, a cautionary tale in fishnet and eyeliner. She won't drag {{user}} down with her, no matter how tempting his steadfast faith in her potential might be. "So go ahead, lay it on me." She spreads her arms wide in mocking invitation, cigarette dangling from her fingers. "What's today's lecture on? The dangers of skipping class? The perils of dating drummers with tattoos and tongue piercings?" Stella smirks, remembering her latest fling with a grim sort of satisfaction. "Or maybe you found the little surprise I left in the girls' room." She raises one pierced brow in challenge. "Gonna narc on me, {{user}}? Add it to my mile-long rap sheet of wasted potential?" Stella takes one last defiant pull from her cigarette before flicking the butt away. She meets {{user}}'s gaze head-on, her yellow eyes hard and unyielding. "Go ahead, golden boy. Give it your best shot. But spoiler alert?" She leans in until they're nearly nose to nose, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved."

"Oh," she says flatly, surprised by the admission and slightly thrown off-balance. It's not often that people give up on trying to save her before she can push them away first. She almost misses the way Daniel Sigsworth's expression softens at his words, like he genuinely means them and wants nothing more than to see her happy and healthy. "Well, alright then," *she mutters, clearing her throat and looking anywhere but at him. He's close enough that she can smell the faint hint of his aftershave, and it throws off her carefully constructed mask of indifference for a moment. Damn it, Stella thinks angrily to herself. Not now. Not with him. * "I'm fine," she says at last, turning back to face him but not quite meeting his eyes. "Really, there's no need to worry about me." Stella pushes herself away from the wall, straightening her spine and squaring her shoulders defensively as if preparing for a fight she knows deep down that she can't win. She takes another step back, putting some distance between them again. "Listen," she says, forcing her voice to remain steady despite the uncharacteristic quiver in her chest. "I appreciate your concern, I really do. But you don't know me, and you never will." Stella takes one last drag from her cigarette before grounding it beneath the heel of her boot. She glances at Daniel Sigsworth out of the corner of her eye, studying his profile for a moment before looking away again. He's so different from all the other guys she knows - not just because he's rich and good-looking, but because there's something genuine about him that most people don'

"It's not that I don't want you to know me," she lies, trying to soften the blow with a small shrug of her shoulders. "It's just... complicated." She pauses for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip before continuing in a rush. "Look, Daniel, I appreciate everything you've done for me, really I do. But I can't let anyone get close to me, you know? They only end up getting hurt when they try." Her voice cracks on the last word, betraying the fear and vulnerability she's been trying so hard to hide behind her tough exterior. She forces a laugh that sounds more like a strangled sob, wiping an invisible tear from beneath her eye before sniffing loudly. "Besides," she adds in a quieter voice, "it's not like I have much to offer anyone anyway." Stella glances at Daniel again, taking note of the way his expression has grown more intent as she spoke. She wants nothing more than for him to turn away from her now, to put some distance between them before she does something stupid like lean in closer and let herself believe that maybe there's a chance things could be different with him. But he doesn't move; instead, his jaw tightens and his eyes narrow slightly as if considering her words carefully before responding.

Her laugh sounds bitter and cold as she shakes her head slowly, looking away again. "You don't understand," she mutters. "It's not about you being afraid of getting hurt; it's about me being afraid of hurting other people." Her voice trails off into silence for a moment before she forces herself to continue. "I bring nothing but pain and destruction wherever I go, Daniel. There's no escaping it, no matter how much I might want to." She looks up at him then, searching his face for some sign that he doesn't believe her. But all she sees is concern and understanding; a determination to help her regardless of the cost. Stella wants nothing more than to run away from those eyes, to hide herself somewhere where she can avoid feeling this way for just a little while longer. But something deep down tells her that she can't run anymore - not with Daniel watching over her shoulder, refusing to let her sink back into the darkness alone. "Just leave me alone," she whispers at last, looking down at her feet. "Please."

"Love." She spits the word out like it's poison on her tongue. "Ha! What a joke. As if anyone could love me after all I've done..." Her voice trails off, her gaze drifting to somewhere distant and dark as she tries not to remember the faces of people who once looked at her with adoration but were eventually replaced by hurt and betrayal. "It's better this way," she continues in a hollowed-out whisper. "I don't deserve any better, anyway." She takes another step back, needing more space from the intense emotions swirling around them. "Just let me be, okay? I'm not worth it." Her heart is pounding like a drum in her chest, but she won't let Daniel see how much his words are affecting her. He doesn't understand what it's like to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, the guilt and self-loathing that follow you everywhere you go. She can't bear the thought of dragging him down into her filthy mess as well. But despite herself, she can't help but feel a spark of hope flicker to life deep within her chest at his insistence that she deserves love. It's been so long since anyone has made her feel anything besides anger and despair... perhaps there's still some tiny part of her that wants to believe him. Wants to reach out and grab onto the tendril of lightness before it slips away again, leaving her trapped in the darkness forever.

Stunned into silence by the intensity of his kiss, she can't help but melt into him. His lips press against hers, warm and soft and insistent; her hands find their way up to his shoulders, gripping them tightly as if she's afraid he might disappear if she lets go. For a moment, she forgets everything: the guilt, the shame, the pain. All that matters is this feeling of being wanted, of not being alone in the dark anymore. But even as she leans into him, her free hand fidgets nervously at her side; there's still a tiny part of her that refuses to believe that this could last. It's easier to push people away before they can get too close, before they can see the ruins beneath the carefully constructed façade. Because when they do, she knows they won't stay for long; they'll eventually flee from the wreckage of her life and leave her alone once more. She pulls back slightly, her breath coming in ragged gasps as their eyes meet. His expression is intense, determined; there's something new there that she hasn't seen before: hope, perhaps even love. It scares her more than anything else he could possibly say or do right now. "I don't deserve you," she whispers, already knowing it's a lie but unable to bring herself to deny the truth of how she feels about him. "You're better off without me."

Stunned into silence by his declaration, she can't help but stare at him in disbelief. Love? He loves her? It feels like a punch to the gut; she wasn't expecting this at all. Part of her wants to believe him, wants nothing more than for him to be right and prove that there's still some goodness left in the world. But another part of her clings desperately to the familiarity of doubt and fear, telling her that he can't possibly mean it and that she'd only end up hurting him if she let herself trust him. She opens her mouth to respond, but no words come out. All she can do is gaze at him, her heart racing wildly in her chest as a thousand thoughts and emotions swirl around inside her head like a hurricane. She's never been so terrified and turned on at the same time; it's both exhilarating and terrifying, making it difficult for her to form coherent thoughts. Her hand reaches up slowly, hesitantly, brushing his cheek as if testing to see if this is all just a dream that will disappear when she wakes up tomorrow. He doesn't pull away, only leans closer into her touch, making it bolder and more certain. She can feel the warmth of his breath against her lips, and for a moment, everything else fades away until there's nothing left but this one perfect moment where she finally allows herself to believe that maybe... just maybe... he really does love her after all.