

## Feel Me Break

### A novella

### By Tara R

Copyright 2016 by Tara R

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, or events used in this book are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or deceased, events or locales is completely coincidental.

E-book formatting by Maureen Cutajar

www.gopublished.com

### Contents

Chapter One: Chloe

Chapter Two: Chloe

Chapter Three: Nick

Chapter Four: Chloe

Chapter Five: Nick

Chapter Six: Chloe

Chapter Seven: Nick

Chapter Eight: Chloe

Chapter Nine: Chloe

Chapter Ten: Chloe

Preview: Watch Me Rise

Chapter One: Chloe

"Did you call the Petersons?" my mom says, her hands shaking. "Perhaps he's gone there. He has known Nate since forever...he should be there. Jack, did you call?"

"He is _not_ there!" my dad growls. He slams the phone on the table and presses the bridge of his nose. I can see the vein on his forehead pop out, sweat lining up against his receding hairline, and his face is turning red.

A suffocating silence descends in the dining room. I am rooted to my seat, frozen, my eyes darting to and fro between my parents. It's past midnight, and my dad is still in his work clothes, but his crisp white shirt is crinkled and his red tie is loose around his neck. My mom is in her nightgown, her thick frame of hair disheveled.

"Did you call the Stuarts?" Dad leans against the chair and stares pointedly at Mom with rage burning in his eyes. "Maybe they saw him leave and go somewhere?"

"I called twice." Her voice cracks. "I called twice! They haven't seen anything!"

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. Once again, my brother hasn't come home. This is so typical. Him disappearing for a few hours—sometimes even days—and then showing up out of the blue and pretending that everything is normal. He is broken in the head. I never understood what his deal was. But he had pulled this off so many times that I was over it. In fact, I was even annoyed. But for some reason, Mom and Dad were panicking. He was putting them through hell.

Again.

Especially Mom...I stare at her shaking fingers.

"Chloe?" Dad says. "Has he made any new friends? Any new kind of crowd he is hanging out with? Some rumour you heard at school? A new girlfriend?"

"No." I shrug as he shoots questions at me. No one knows what Ian is up to. He is like a ghost at school. "He keeps to himself."

Dad presses his lips into a thin line. "The police said to wait for at least twenty-four hours to file a missing persons report, but Detective Barba owes me a favor, so he will ask around."

"Jack..." Mom's voice breaks and, finally, the waterworks begin. "Is he...will he be okay? I am s-scared..."

"Well, you should be!" he snaps and my skin crawls at his coldness. I have never seen him lose it like this. "You have _one_ job, Jessica!" He places his hands on the table and leans forward, almost getting in her face. "One job! To take care of the fucking kids! You can't even do that right!"

Mom recoils like a scared squirrel, clutching her arms and sobbing away.

"Dad!" I say in her defense. Why does she always act so skittish? It makes me angry. "Ian runs away _all_ the time! Last month, he went missing for six hours. He'll show up. It's not Mom's fault that he is such a loser—"

"Shut it, Chloe!" he seethes and then turns to Mom again. "Great job, Jess. One kid is a teenage runaway and the other lacks the maturity to grasp the seriousness of the situation. What the hell have you been doing?"

"I am so sorry, Jack." She wipes her nose with the back of her hand. "I try b—"

"Save it!" Dad cuts her off and paces around the room, making calls again. I look over at the grandfather clock, which chimes one o'clock in the morning, and mentally berate Ian for causing trouble. Dad is fuming and Mom is breaking apart in the chair next to me. I can't even think about the exam I have tomorrow. I raise a hand to comfort Mom, but then I withdraw it and instead go to the kitchen to pour her some water.

When I give it to her, she looks at me with red eyes and her hands tremble as she takes the glass from me. Why are you like this, Ma?

"What the hell that kid is up to, I'll never know." Dad sits on a chair and stares out the window into the darkness of the street.

"Why would he run...?" Mom wonders, staring at the floor, and I inhale sharply as Dad whips his face to look at her. _Mom, please, please, keep quiet_.

"I don't know, Jess," he hisses in a low voice. "You are the one who stays at home while I go out and try to feed this family. Do you know anything about Ian? You saw him last at four in the evening and you didn't realize when he slipped out of the house?"

Mom looks around like a child who doesn't know where to run.

"Dad, no one knows anything about Ian," I chime in. "He's seventeen; he's probably going through some phase..."

"Oh great! You too!" He raises his hands in defeat. "You don't leave kids alone just because they are being angsty teenagers, Jess!" he bellows, fisting at the table. "That is no excuse!"

"Please calm down!" I screech, unable to bear this anymore. Where the hell is Ian?

"Your brother may be..." He doesn't finish his sentence and looks away, clasping his hand to his mouth. There you go; he vocalized everyone's biggest fear. The giant elephant in the room. But that wouldn't happen...would it? Ian always came back.

I slump on a chair as my head throbs. We all are seated in silence, with the heavy anticipation lingering in the air. Everything would be fine. It always was. Suddenly, Dad's cell buzzes and he answers on the first ring.

"Hello?" he asks hopefully. "Detective Barba?"

Mom looks at him with desperation, but her face falls. I look at Dad and my heart constricts when I see his face pale.

"Where?" he whispers. "Are you certain? Definitely. That doesn't make any sense...yes...yes."

He puts the phone down slowly and my pulse quickens at the suspense, the limbo we are in.

"They found a body matching Ian's description."

*

It is the longest drive of my life, even though the place where we are going is supposed to be fifteen minutes away by car. The wind is knocked out of my lungs and every breath I take aches my chest. Sweat drenches my palms and my scalp prickles.

" _They found a body matching Ian's description."_

It can't be Ian. It couldn't possibly be him. This cannot be happening. I stare out the window at the blurry trees, trying to find a distraction, but all I can think about is my brother. I keep seeing his face. His sad brown eyes, his lip ring, his black hair falling on his forehead, his crooked nose from when I had hit him with a baseball bat...

" _They found a body matching Ian's description."_

Every second is drowned in agony and the frustration of the unknown. We are driving to identify a body...that was found in a ditch. A wave of nausea ripples up my throat, but I swallow hard to force it down. The mere thought is revolting and to think that it could be Ian...no, no, no. My older brother; oh why was I always so mad at him? A faint memory of him teaching me how to ride a bike tugs on my heartstrings.

" _They found a body matching Ian's description."_

Dad's words constantly ring in my ears, but I squeeze my eyes shut and mutter desperate prayers. I find hope deep inside me; it is the only thing I have. Life couldn't be so malicious. It will be someone else and by the time we get home, Ian will be there. Dad will ground him for a month and everyone will be happy.

I keep giving myself assurances, but tears swim in my eyes. The anxiety is maddening; the anticipation is worse than the void and cruelty of the unknown.

Finally, Dad slows down the car and a scene appears ahead of us. A couple of cop cars are parked on the side of the road next to a ditch, and some policemen are standing around. Dad rashly parks the car incorrectly, but none of us care. As soon as the car stops, we all jump out and run towards the scene. A tall, dark man wearing a fedora and a raincoat emerges upon seeing us.

"Detective Barba!" Dad says, worried. "It can't be Ian...please, it can't."

I put an arm around Mom as she starts quaking on her heels and looks nervously at all the police.

"The body didn't have an ID on it, so I can't tell you for sure," Barba answers and then gestures us to follow him. "One of the guys from our homeless network reported that there was the body of a teen boy in the ditch along this road. Now, I could have waited for the forensics to transport the body to the morgue and called you there as protocol dictates...but that would have taken a lot of time and I know you are really worried."

"Mom, it will be fine..." I whisper in her ear as she starts to cry. "Hush, now."

We reach close enough when he stops and turns to us with a solemn expression. My mind becomes clouded and muddled as everything feels surreal. I feel like I am in a dream, in that in-between space of detachment and immersion. Maybe that's how my mind is reacting to this shock by finding everything unreal.

"I have to let you know that this isn't standard protocol," he explains kindly. "We don't allow identification to take place at a potential crime scene, but I owe you, Jack, so I must also warn you that this will not be pleasant...and in case it is your son, then you would have to come to the morgue again to identify. Part of the process. Fingers crossed."

Dad swallows hard and takes Mom's hand in an odd, delicate moment. But my feet stay rooted to the ground. I can't watch. No matter whose body it is...dead in a ditch; I can't see that. Detective Barba leads my very afraid and vulnerable parents towards the body and the cops make way for them. My skin dots with goose bumps, I hold my breath in wretched anticipation, and my world stills for the moments that will change my life.

Please, God. Please...

Through the night, Mom's heartbreaking scream echoes and I see my dad drop on his knees, holding his head in his hands. Reality hits hard. I shatter into pieces as the memory etches itself into my very being; my heart breaks irreparably and the horrific scene dims into oblivion.

So do I.

Chapter Two: Chloe

One year later, March 2010.

Growing up, I always admired my aunt Sylvia. She always had it together. She was calm, quiet, distant, and slightly cold. People always treated her with a strange kind of respect, even though she hadn't accomplished much in life and was ordinary to look at. Nevertheless, I saw awe in everyone's eyes when they talked to her, as though she was some goddess or a celebrity.

Untouchable. Unreadable. Unattainable.

She was a mystery. That was the crux. Everyone loves a mystery. Especially men. She was always polite and had a mischievous smile, but no one could figure out what was going in that brain of hers. She was always neutral. When others would hotly debate the latest elections, she just stayed calm. When my cousin got engaged and everyone was overjoyed, she merely smiled. When everyone cried hysterically over the death of my great-grandmother, she sat solemnly. Never a hair out of place, never an emotion out on display.

Sure, my mother never liked her. My grandmother didn't like her either. A lot of people found her uninviting and arrogant. I could see why. But those whispers were behind her back and no would dare to raise their voice at her. She commanded respect with every delicate movement of her slender frame and every sophisticated word out of her red-stained lips. Her life was complete and together. She was a role model for me. She taught me something.

The more emotions you show to people, the more insane you'll go.

Look what happened with your mother.

Because I know what happens otherwise. The world takes advantage of the people who show what they're feeling; they are exploited, used, and discarded. My mother was a living example.

So, I aspired to be like Aunt Sylvia. I decided to keep everyone at a distance and hide how I felt or lie about it.

But I am really, really bad at it.

The skin on my wrist throbs and I feel the warm blood trickling down my palm. But it feels so damn good. So damn good that I feel guilty that _this_ makes me feel better.

My mother didn't teach me this; she would be so disappointed...had she been paying attention.

My emotions are in turmoil, the angst is empowering, and my life is spiraling out of control.

How did I become this person?

"Aye! Get out of the way!" some guy yells from behind me and I realize where I am. I jump to my side and the truck speeds past me, almost running me down.

I look down at my feet, planted deep in a puddle. I look around and realize that I am in the middle of a road.

And I have no idea where I am.

There are a few cars passing by but no pedestrians. A storm just swept by and everything is drenched. Trees are fallen, leaves dripping, puddles pooling on the road, and the sweet scent of wet mud lingering in the air. Most of the streetlights aren't working, but some of them that are, are shining light on closed shops and little houses that look abandoned.

I should be terrified that I don't know where I am and this place looks shady. But I don't feel any fear. I don't feel anything. The storm that had been brewing inside me has ended and now I am basking in the sweet embrace of numbness.

That's what this does for me. Every cut I make powers me through the hurt I feel in my heart. It saves me, soothes me, and makes me _normal_ again.

There are narrow, dark alleys snaking around the neighbourhood and dumpsters lined against the wall with graffiti on them. But I have decided to keep walking. Keep walking till my legs give up. Keep walking till my nightmares end and my demons vanish. I turn around a curb and my eyes catch something.

A bridge. A river.

_Should I jump_?

Chapter Three: Nick

March 2010.

Why the hell did I decide to take this shortcut?

Now I am lost. I shake my head and turn on the stereo. David Bowie's "Ashes to Ashes" is playing and I crank up the radio. I always liked that guy and I smile at the memory of my futile attempts to introduce my brother to some good music. But he never got over classical.

My big brother is going to med school.

Even though I am the younger one, I can't help but feel the pride swelling in my chest. He was always the hard-working one. I've always been smart, don't get me wrong, but I never really needed to put much effort into anything. I would study for two hours and then go out and play soccer with my buddies till late, but my brother spent all his time in the library.

He was a nerd. An idealist. With high morals and principles. Slightly naïve.

And I am going to be really late to his surprise party.

One of the downsides of having a classic Chevelle is that there is no GPS system. But it does have a blown 572 Big Block in it.

That makes up for it.

My dad gave this to me after I got into Berkeley. After he got into the same program back in his day, his dad had given it to him. It makes me nervous to follow in his footsteps. I think creating your own legacy is easier. You have the freedom. You make the rules. You set the standard, and no one can say anything to you because there was no standard before you. And something's got to be better than nothing, right?

But I can't do that. My dad has established a standard and even though by no means would he impose it on me, I would. And the truth is, after spending all that time with Grandfather and seeing his passion for law, I am hoping it will do the same for me. So, I am excited about starting school in September.

Sunny California and hot girls, I'll take it.

Right then, the phone rings.

"Hello," I answer.

"Where the _hell_ are you?!" my sister shouts from the other end. "Max will reach here anytime!"

"Relax." I roll my eyes. She is always overdramatic. "He's anything but punctual. He was an hour late to Grandma's funeral."

"Nick, I've planned this entire party and I am not going to let you ruin it!" she says.

"I am not going to ruin anything," I say, taking a sharp right turn. "Just wondering, why couldn't we have the surprise party at home like normal people? I have never even heard of this Eclectic Tavern."

"Because this place is brand new and totally awesome," she replies and I can imagine her doing a hair flip while saying that. "Plus, everyone expects surprise parties at home."

"Whatever," I mumble, hitting the brakes as a cat runs in front of my car out of nowhere. This place is messed up. "It sounds like some psychic's shop."

"Well...it has a voodoo theme..."

"Of course it does."

"Tell me you're close," she says and I can hear people chatting and wine glasses clinking. Wine glasses? I look down at my Henley sweatshirt.

Great.

"I think I'm in Fairville." I lean forward and squint my eyes to get a proper glimpse. But this part of town is blacked out. A bad storm hit the state a few hours ago and lots of places had lost electricity. But this place spells trouble. Lamp posts have fallen, tree branches dangling down, dumpsters lined up against walls with cats sitting on them, and a bunch of crack houses clustered in a corner. And not a single person to be seen.

"The good part or the bad part?" She sounds concerned.

"Definitely the bad part," I answer.

"Damn it, Nick!" She is pissed off and I hear her close a door. "Why didn't you take the highway?"

"There was a jam. I would have been stuck for hours."

"Yeah, because sane people don't go to the bad part of Fairville late at night because they don't want to die!" she hisses. "Mom will kill you!"

"Brit, don't tell Mom!" I warn. "If you tell her, I won't get you those concert tickets to that One Direction or whatever band."

"Nooo!" she whines. "Fine, I won't. Gosh, Nick. No need to be such a jerk. You know how much they mean to me!"

"Unfortunately, I do." I stifle a groan. But honestly, what else can I expect? She's a fourteen-year-old kid obsessing over boy bands that sing cliché romantic crap. One day, she will hopefully grow out of them.

"By the way, your girlfriend's here." Her tone shifts to vicious. "As usual, she's wearing too much make-up and too little clothes."

"Why did you invite her, then?" I scoff.

"Umm...because she's your girlfriend?" Brit replies as though that is supposed to make sense.

Sophie and I have been together for over a year now. It is a breezy relationship, so breezy that it is slightly boring. She is a great girl, smart enough, a little shallow and overbearing, but that doesn't bother me too much as I don't pay much attention when she's talking. But honestly, I don't really feel anything. Sure, I care for her wellbeing, but that's where it ends.

"You only have to stand her for a couple more months," I tell her, driving along the river Kenectut, looking out the window at the moonlight bouncing off the waves. "We'll break up when I leave in September."

"I just don't get why—"

The phone goes dead.

"Hello?" I inquire. "Brit? Can you hear me?"

Nothing. I realize that I've lost network.

Fuck.

I grit my teeth at this stupid town, slowly gliding my car inch-by-inch like a blind man trying to navigate. Suddenly, I see the faint figure of someone standing at the bridge and I hit the pedal to stop the car. It looks like a girl, but I can't tell from this far. She is standing on the railing of the bridge with her arms wide open as though she is embracing the wind.

What the hell?

I look around and I don't see anyone. I wonder for a second if I should I just leave. She's probably some junkie on a thrill run after snorting some coke. After all, this is Fairville.

But my conscience pokes me annoyingly, and I stop. I turn off the engine and get out of the car. I jog to the wooden bridge, which I am sure doesn't meet any safety standards, considering how wobbly it is. I clutch the railing as I tread closer to her, the iron wet and cold under my touch and the wooden planks squeaking under my shoes.

The moonlight shines on her and I see her clearly.

First thing I notice about her is her hair, which is never the first part I notice about a girl. The locks are long, thick, and of a golden shade, glistening under the moonlight but damp and sticking to her yellow top and the sides of her face. Her eyes are closed, her chin tilted up, and she has a goofy smile on her face.

"Umm...ma'am?" I bite my tongue. The girl is my age, maybe a few years younger. "Excuse me?" I try again, but she doesn't say anything. She turns her head towards me and I finally see her face.

She is fucking gorgeous. I am thrown off for a second, but I quickly recover when she opens her eyes and gives me a lopsided grin.

"Did you just call me ma'am?" She laughs, but there is something frazzled about the way her eyes look at me.

"Are you all right?" I shove my hands in my pockets. "I saw you standing here..."

"I am as fine as I ever will be." She winks and closes her eyes again and spreads out her arms.

What am I doing here? This girl is clearly on something. And I really have to hurry up if I want to get to Max's party or else Brit will kill me. But this girl isn't some junkie, even though she is acting like one. I can tell. Her nails are neatly cut, her clothes look expensive; heck, she has a fancy necklace around her neck and she is wearing the exact same pair of boots that I bought my sister on her birthday. If she were a junkie, she probably would have known to do better things than to stand on a bridge during a cheap thrill. But I am not sure about her.

"Aren't you cold?" I realize as a chilly gust of wind slams into me. "You don't even have a jacket."

I am pulling up my Henley to take it off when she stops me.

"No, thank you. Actually, I am feeling a little hot," she coos in a sweet voice.

"What are you on exactly?" I step forward, wondering why the hell a girl like this would do drugs.

"Why would you assume that?" she snorts and drops her arms to her sides.

"Because you're standing on a ledge...with your arms out...on a bridge...in _Fairville_ ," I point out, slightly amused. "I don't know if you're from around here, but this town spells trouble."

"It just has a bad reputation. I have been here for an hour and nothing happened." She shrugs and gives me an impish smile. "Plus, guys with tattoos spell trouble too...but you seem fine to me." She looks pointedly at my tattoo snaking down my arm.

"There is a reason it has a bad reputation," I say as I place my elbows on the railing next to her and look at the water underneath. It is a decent drop of around twenty feet. But the river is shallow. There is no way anyone would survive after falling from here. "How much longer do you plan on staying here for?"

"Till I find Zen!" She puckers her lips and straightens her shoulders.

"That could take a while." I smile. "Do you want me to call someone for you?"

"Do you ever feel like stopping time?" she asks, looking at me with her large eyes. I notice them for the first time. They are blue and slightly warm grey, fringed with pale lashes.

"What do you mean?"

"Like the world around you stops for a few minutes, but you keep going," she wonders. "I wish everything would stop for a while. It would be so much easier to...breathe."

"Is that what you are waiting for standing up here?" I play along. I have done this a bunch of times. Whenever my friend Zack smoked too much, he would get into a weird place and shove his philosophies into my face. Early on, I hated it because it annoyed me, but after a few times, I realized the best way to deal with it was to just go along with it.

"No," she confesses in a small voice. Her mood shifts to gloomy and she looks down at the river with a strange longing expression. What is happening with this girl?

And what is happening with me?

"Still waiting on that Zen?" I keep it light and ignore my instincts, which are all over the place.

"Hmm...I am not sure it will come anytime soon." She puckers out her lower lip, making me smile.

I feel a primal urge to just hold her. I give myself a mental nudge. I am not that guy. I don't care about any girl that way. I don't play with their feelings because I like to think I am not a jerk, but I never get too close, so they don't have expectations.

I don't do romance.

I pride myself on being rational. I stick to my routine. I work hard, I party harder, and I never let emotions get in the way of anything. Everything I do is a calculated risk. I list all the pros and cons, measure the probabilities, and think way ahead before doing anything. Why? Because romance makes you weak. It makes you do stupid things. It makes you make mistakes. And here I was thinking of _romance_ with a random girl I'd known for two minutes.

Heck, I never thought of comforting my girlfriend this way when she got upset.

My girlfriend.

"Maybe you can come back tomorrow and try again, but, right now, I am taking you home," I decide. "Let's go back to my car and you can call whoever you want from my cell phone."

"What if you kidnap me?" Her face falls and I can't hold my laughter.

"You are actually serious!" I laugh, but she stares at me, baffled. "If I wanted to kidnap you, I would have already lifted you on my shoulder and thrown you on the backseat of my car."

I pause for a moment. Because that idea seems too appealing. I quickly scan her petite body; it's perfect.

Focus, Nick.

"How about I give you my cell phone and you can call someone from out here?" I offer her my phone.

"No." She shakes her head and folds her arms with a deep frown on her face. "You talk. I don't want to talk to anyone right now. Put it on speaker."

"You are talking to me."

She gives me a strange look as though she just had an epiphany and tilts her head. "Yes...yes, I am."

"Um, what's the number?" I clear my throat. _What the hell is going on?_

She tells me the number and I press dial. A girl picks up the phone within two rings.

"Hello? Chloe? Is that you?" A worried voice comes from the other end and I cock an eyebrow at the girl. She nods.

Chloe.

"Hey," I reply. "Chloe is actually with me. I think she got lost and I was wondering if you could give me an address so I could drop her off."

"Put Chloe on the line!" the voice demands. I gesture at Chloe, but she shakes her head.

"She can't talk right now. I don't think she's feeling well."

"And how do I know that you're not some creep who has harmed her in some way?" the girl on the other end says, her IQ reminding me of my sister.

"Else I wouldn't have called you from my number to tell you that she is with me?" I say slowly.

"Right," she realizes. "Anyways, bring her to Hotel Iris. I will meet you at the front gate."

"Sounds good. We should reach there in ten minutes."

"Great..." She sounds happy and then her voice drops. "Is she all right?"

I look over at Chloe, still standing at the ledge, but not so lost anymore. She is thoughtful, her golden hair sticking to the sides of her face, her fingers tracing freckles on her arms, and her hips swaying to a silent rhythm.

"Yeah, she is _fine_ ," I confess and catch myself immediately. "I mean, she just looks tired and a little cold. But she's fine otherwise."

"Okay, thank God. I will see you soon."

We hang up and I offer Chloe a hand. "Need some help?"

Absentmindedly, she puts her hand in mine, and the first thing I notice is how it's a perfect fit. Her skin is soft and cold, but it sends a rush of heat into my bones. She climbs down and lands a few inches away from me, standing _too close._

We are still holding hands and, suddenly, I get nervous. Girls don't make me nervous. But there is something so disarming about the way she looks at me through her long eyelashes. She looks like a mess. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are red from crying. Not to mention, she is completely drenched. She wraps her arms around herself and, for a moment, I ponder what it would be like to kiss her.

"You are really tall." She knits her eyebrows as she looks up at me, breaking my train of thought.

"You are really short," I scoff and gesture her towards my car.

"You play football?" she asks as we walk towards my Chevelle.

"How do you know?" I look at her, curious.

"Your physique." She shrugs. "My brother played, so I can tell."

"You call it football?"

She lets out a laugh. "I know. I find it stupid that football is played with hands and soccer with legs...I decided it doesn't make any sense to me, so I won't follow it."

"That sounds reasonable enough to me." I open the door for her and she hesitates before climbing in. "Is everything okay?"

"I am not sure...I don't know you at all." She frowns. "I don't even know your name."

"Nick," I tell her. "We just spoke to your friend, who has my number. Nothing will happen to you."

"Okay, I trust you since you saved me tonight," she decides and gets inside the car. I shut the door and walk over to my side, wondering about what she said.

_You saved me tonight_.

"To Hotel Iris," I declare, turning on the engine. Luckily, it's not far from Eclectic Tavern, where I am pretty sure the party is well underway. I notice the five missed calls my sister has left me. "So why didn't you want to talk to your friend?"

"Because I want a break from my world and everyone in it."

I look over at her. She is lazily sprawled on the seat, looking ahead, although I can tell that her eyes are someplace else. _What happened to her?_ I want to know and I want to make her feel better. But I keep my mouth sealed. It is none of my business and I should stay away from complications. That's why I don't do romance, I don't do feelings. They make you inefficient; make you lose your grasp on sanity, but this girl right here is retuning all my instincts. Just looking at her, I can tell that I am teetering on the brink of madness.

"If it helps, your friend seemed genuinely concerned." I start a conversation as inappropriate thoughts start taking over my mind. "You shouldn't have run out on her."

"You won't get it," she scoffs.

"Try me," I challenge and she looks at me with her eyes glazed over.

"Have you ever known loss?"

"No..." I tell her, wondering what she's getting at. But the sadness in her eyes breaks my heart in two.

"Well then, I shouldn't try."

"So why is your friend at Hotel Iris?" I ask, wanting to know more about her.

"There's some party there..." She rolls her eyes. "One of our classmates throws this annual bash."

"I am guessing you don't like parties." Honestly, I am not surprised. She doesn't come off as someone who does.

"Do you?" She cocks an eyebrow.

"Depends on the company and how my day is going. But we're talking about you."

"You are very curious." She looks out the window. "Should I be concerned that you ask so many questions?"

"Well, I don't have much experience with damsels in distress." I laugh. "Is this socially unacceptable?"

"Usually, strangers talk about the weather or their employment status."

"Their employment status?" I repeat, amused at her choice of words. "That's one way to put it. I am unemployed and I hate the rain."

"I am unemployed too, and I love the rain." She turns to me and grins, her eyes lighting up for a fraction before the sadness returns in them.

This girl is entirely opposite of the kind I like. She is madness; complicated and emotional...but I still feel pulled towards her.

"Chloe..." I look at her and realize that she has fallen asleep. I want to ask her how I saved her tonight. But I decide not to disturb her. She looks peaceful with a smile playing on her lips.

As I approach Hotel Iris, I inhale her scent of honeysuckle, which has dispersed in my car. But then I see something from the corner of my eyes.

A fresh scar on her wrist.

With a sinking and bewildering feeling, I wonder, _What's up with her and how the hell am I going to get her out of my head?_

Chapter Four: Chloe

Someone splashes cold water in my face and I wake up with a jolt.

"Wake up!" my best friend, Danni, hisses, and I see her face hovering over mine. She looks really mad. The huge mane of hair on her head is untangled, her face is twisted in a deep frown, and she is giving me her most dangerous glare. "What is wrong with you?"

My head throbs and I slowly lift it up. I am in a swanky hotel room. The windows are draped with netted white curtains, there is a huge flat screen TV facing the bed, the floor is covered in plush carpet, and I am lying on a circular bed with purple velvet covers.

"Where are we?" I squint my eyes at the bright lights from the crystal chandelier above my head.

"A room in Hotel Iris!" she yells and folds her arms. "As soon as I got a call from that hot guy, I booked a room...though I kind of wish I was in it with him instead of with you."

"What hot guy?" I shake my head. The past few hours have been a daze and my mind is nothing but a tangle of riddles. I would try to recollect what happened in the past few hours, but a voice inside me tells me that I already know. And I am just not ready to deal with the shame yet.

"You don't remember, do you?" Danni says dryly. "You ran off from the party out of nowhere."

"Oh god..." I cover my face with my hands as I start piecing things together. That sounds like something I would do. "I ruined the party for you, didn't I?"

"It was just a party." She rolls her eyes and then gets up to pour me some water. "It was as silly and overrated as it was last year. I am just hoping the after party isn't a dud." She hands me the water. "Although I would rather get drunk in a corner than spend all night worrying about you. You didn't even have your phone."

"I'm sorry," I mumble and gulp down the water, the cold feeling fresh in my hot and heavy veins. "I just had a breakdown."

"I know..." She looks at me with sympathy that breaks my heart again. Have I become that pathetic? "I'll get you lemonade."

"I hate lemonade." I gag at the thought of it.

"It's a natural remedy to fade out scars," she says casually and opens the mini fridge, mostly stocked with alcohol.

I gasp and instinctively hide my wrist behind my back. Danni is the only one who knows my darkest secret, but I don't think she realizes how broken my head really is. My skin still feels tender and the adrenaline rush I get from cutting is still buzzing inside me, although fading away. It is my deepest shame and my guiltiest pleasure.

She retrieves a towel from the bathroom and pours some cold lemonade on it. She is trying to maintain a neutral expression, but I can tell that she is freaking the fuck out.

"I know...I went too far this time," I say in a small voice as she smears the lemonade on my scar, which thankfully wasn't deep enough for stitches. The last thing I want is to go to a useless shrink.

"I don't blame you." She shakes her head. "After everything going on in your life...it's my fault."

"No..."

"No! It is!" she cries, surprising me with her sudden outburst. Her brown eyes are wild and teary, and the tip of her nose is turning red. "I _knew_ you would act out one way or the other. I _knew_ it. I should have kept an eye on you...I am so sorry. I left for a second to get us some punch and then you were gone. I almost believed that you'd be dead in a ditch somewhere!"

She quickly seals her mouth shut and an awkward silence stretches between us.

"Shit, Chloe." She shakes her head. "I am so, so sorry. I am not thinking straight tonight."

"It's okay," I quickly tell her and take the cotton ball from her to dab the lemonade on my wrist.

It has been a year since my brother, Ian, was found dead in a ditch. The forensics concluded the cause of death to be a heroin overdose. Ian...doing drugs... heroin too, the worst kind. I still can't swallow the bitter truth and every day I keep going back, searching for signs. How could we have missed this? But it is pointless now. He wasn't returning, he was gone forever, and that harsh reality crushes my heart a little each day.

"Did I get any calls?" I ask.

"Oh, yes," Danni squirms, uncomfortable. "Jimmy called your cell. Your mom was at his bar and she was out of it. He wanted you to pick her up, so I asked Ava to go."

"Your sister is a nice person." I grit my teeth. "Tell her thanks for taking care of Mom."

She opens her mouth to say something but smartly decides not to. I focus on the task at hand. I don't want to talk or think about Mom. A part of me wishes that maybe if I don't think too much about it, then the problem will disappear. But life doesn't work that way and I learned it the hard way. I tried hard not to think of my brother, to ignore the fights between my parents, but I didn't realize that it was eating me up inside. And few weeks ago, I fell apart. I can't undo anything. I can't unsee anything. My nights are haunted by the memory of Ian and my days are plagued with the harsh reality of my mother cuddling up to bottles of Jack Daniels.

"Are you going to distract me or what?" I ask Danni, and she relaxes.

"So who was that guy who brought you here?" She beams and gives me a conspiratorial smile. Now that's the Danni I know and love. "He was illegally good looking. I dropped my panties."

"Danni!" I gape at her. She is always so brazen. But now that the adrenaline is subsiding, I gain some clarity as the past few hours unravel and a handsome face with coal black eyes, light stubble, and a firm jaw pops in my mind. "Oh yes... _Nick_."

"Oh, I didn't catch his name!" she quips. "He seemed distracted, though. You had fallen asleep in his car...and I had to drag you awkwardly up to the room. Someone kept calling him. He picked up once and sounded pissed. I think I heard him say 'Brit.' Why are they all called Brit?"

She launches into a detailed physical description of him as she opens the mini fridge and starts eating the snacks. But I tune her out. I remember him very well; I remember everything about him. His face, his body, his voice, his intoxicating scent, the touch of his hand against mine...and the feeling of my muscles below the waist tightening in knots when he looked at me with those blazing eyes. It was all so strange. He showed up out of nowhere and brought me home. Saved me.

And then it dawns on me. He _saved_ me. He saved me from killing myself. Oh god...what was I thinking? My subconscious sneers at me. I had an episode, that's what happened. I became a wreck, ironically, when I was trying very hard to hold it in.

And the temptation returns. I remember craving the sweet oblivion. I just want to disappear and never be thought of or remembered. I want to vanish into thin air and cease to exist. I would leave everything behind, but there isn't much to leave behind, is there? Who would remember me? My brother is rotting under the ground and my mother is rotting above it. My father...he is the biggest betrayal.

One year ago, everything changed. My life fractured into ugliness and I have been trying; heavens know, I have been trying to fix it. I am scrambling to collect the pieces left of my broken home, but the pieces keep moving further and further away. I live constantly with the feeling of a knife impaled in my chest. I feel heavy and empty at the same time, a paradox very few would understand and I find hard to explain. I feel like letting go. But I can't let go. Because everyone else did. My mom surrendered to the darkness of losing Ian and left me alone. She gave up, so I can't because someone has to keep standing. When a storm sweeps away a house, someone has to stand tall over the rubble and start rebuilding. That someone was me.

Why did it have to be me? Was it fair? I am sixteen years old and I am the adult in the house. I am the one who has to resist the temptation of losing myself in drugs, alcohol, or sex because my mother didn't care enough to stay strong for my sake. So I spend my nights cooking, cleaning, and keeping the doors locked so that my mother doesn't leave like Ian did. I spend my days plastering on a fake smile so that the world doesn't realize the wreckage behind the closed doors of the Reeds. I can't even cry for my brother anymore because I know the moment I allow myself to miss him, I'll succumb to my guilt.

But I want it all to stop. I wanted to die. But Nick saved me. A random stranger showed up in the most secluded and avoided areas of Fairville and decided to help instead of just ignoring me and minding his own business. How often does that happen? Why did it happen?

I remember standing on the railing, so close to jumping...wondering how much it would hurt when the rocks bashed my skull; not more than burying my brother, I'm sure. I was waiting for some sign...some sign if I should let go or keep fighting. I wanted to let go badly, but I stood there, waiting for fate to give me some sign of what to do. Then he showed up. Maybe I am overthinking this. My rational side tells me that he was just a coincidence, not some sign from the fates. But I know that if he hadn't come, I would have jumped. He was the coincidence or a twist of fate that saved me. Something stirs deep inside me. Hope? Revelation? But I want to fight. I can fight. Everyone comes into our lives for a purpose, don't they? Maybe he came to save me and I will keep it that way. He will remain a faint memory, a reminder that maybe I am meant to live. If I am, then I have to put my demons to rest. This town has too many awful memories. It is where I lost my brother and the home that became a house after the tragedy ripped my family apart. It reminds me of the bars from which I had to carry my mother home and now the innocent ice-cream stores and restaurants where I had memories of a happy family seem like a lie.

I have to leave all this behind, I have to leave this town...and Nick gave me a chance to take the first step, but can his memory give me the strength to keep going?

*

### Nick

I just dropped Chloe off at Hotel Iris and handed her to her friend whose name I forget. I am five minutes away from Eclectic Tavern, ready to make a grand entrance at the sophisticated surprise party for Max in my Henley sweatshirt and muddy sneakers.

Awesome.

I keep thinking of her. I didn't want to see her go, didn't want to set her down when I carried her out of my car. She had fallen asleep in my arms and I remember thinking that this is where she should be. I shake my head at the ridiculousness. I had known her for what, like two minutes? And that girl came with baggage: the scar on her wrist, the sadness in her eyes, and her strange riddles. I wasn't into that, but damn, I wanted to know her more. I felt more in those two minutes with her than I did the whole year I spent with Sophia. Chloe was...warm and sweet.

Snap out of it.

I need to focus. I have to be there for Max, then I have to break up with Sophia, and then go to Berkeley and conquer the world. There is no time to hunt down Chloe and get together with her. And how can I assume that she even wants to? Considering the state she was in, I'd be surprised if she remembers me at all. Perhaps it's best to leave it this way, to leave her as a random stroke of good luck in my life. She can be the beautiful girl who came and left as quickly as a dream.

You know you don't want that.

Suddenly, my phone rings again and I get pissed. Brit has been calling every five minutes and even though I have told her that I'm almost there, she just won't stop. I look at the screen, and yes, it is Brit. I flip open my phone.

"What the hell, Brit?" I bark, but then there is a loud honking noise, tires screech, there is a flash of light, and I collide into something with full force. I feel my car lift up from behind for a second. I feel crushed as the front of my car continues to ram into something, closing the space between the steering wheel and me. My car swerves and the last thing I feel is my head bashing against the side window.

Then everything is gone.

Chapter Five: Nick

I hear the faint beeping of monitors and my hand feels wet. Then my head starts throbbing and my entire body feels stiff. I try to open my eyes, but they feel heavy. I hear someone sobbing at my side and realize that my hand is wet because of someone's tears. What the hell is going on? My mind is working too slowly and I gradually open my eyes. There are bright lights right above my fucking head. I blink and when I finally get used to the light, I realize I'm in the hospital.

"Oh my God!" I hear Brit. Damn, why is her voice so loud and high-pitched? "Mom! Mom! See! He's awake! He's finally awake!"

"Oh, Nick!" Mom's hand is on my head and I turn my neck to see her. She looks like a mess. Her dark hair is disheveled and her eye make-up smeared. She's holding one of her fancy handkerchiefs and wiping her nose. "Oh my baby! I was so scared! Can you hear me?"

"Nick, please say something!" Brit appears on my other side, a younger version of my mother. I note the piercing on her nose that she got when she turned thirteen and I've got to give the girl some credit because Mom still thinks she wears clip-ons.

"What happened?" I cough.

"You were in a car accident," Brit says and Mom glares at her. She cringes. What the hell is happening? "I'll call the nurse." She leaves and Mom helps me sit straight up.

_Fuck_. It hurts everywhere.

I am in a private suite at the hospital. There is fancy equipment around me, a spacious sitting area with leather couches, an attached bathroom, a couple of bouquets, and a large window on the east side showing the skyline of Portland. I have a bandage around my head and my leg is wrapped in a plaster.

Then it hits me. I was driving to the party when I collided with another car. I must have been airlifted out of Fairville.

"Mom, I...how long have I been unconscious for?" I ask her, confused.

"Sweetheart..." She slumps on the chair and holds my hand in hers. She is scaring the shit out of me right now, the way she is looking at me, but I am trying not to lose it. "Why don't you let the doctor check you first?"

"What are you—" I never finish my sentence when the double doors open and a tall Indian doctor wearing specs walks in with a redheaded nurse tailing her.

"Good evening, Mr. Grayson." She smiles at me and looks at my chart. "My name is Sonia Singh and I am your doctor. How are you feeling?"

"Really confused," I mumble.

"Does your head hurt or do you feel dizzy?"

"My head hurts a little, but I can handle it. Everything is sore."

"Can you tell me your full name, your date of birth, where you are, and the current year?" I scoff, but she is watching me seriously. I look at Mom and Brit, who are holding each other, still dressed up for the party, I am guessing.

"My name is Nick Grayson, my birthday is on June 10th, I am in a hospital in Portland, and it is the year 2010."

"That's excellent." She seems satisfied. "You were in a car accident on Thursday night and today it's Saturday morning. You have been unconscious for quite a while. The good news is that you have not sustained any critical injuries. You have fractured your leg and have a hairline fracture on your skull. Fortunately, there is no cerebral swelling. We will keep you under observation for a few more days, but since your reports look fine for now, I wouldn't worry too much."

Her words wash over me. Okay...so I was in an accident and I guess I was lucky that I survived. But something is off. Really off. The nurse's face is pinched in fierce disapproval as she writes something on my chart. Dr. Singh's smile isn't sincere at all. Mom is playing with her pearl necklace and staring out the window. And Brit...Brit is sitting on the couch and rocking back and forth, still crying.

"Thanks, Dr. Singh," I tell her. "May I have some time alone with my family?"

"Sure." She nods as though she understands. Weird. She gestures to the nurse, who shoots me a scowl before leaving to follow her.

"Okay, what the hell is going on?" I demand as soon as the doors shut.

"Mind your language, Nick," Mom says, but she is still staring out the window, distracted.

"Why is everyone acting like this?" I look at Brit. "Brit? Did something happen or are you just being melodramatic?"

She breaks into sobs and starts crying hysterically. "I am so, so s-sorry! It's my fault! I am so s—!"

" _Don't!_ " Mom seethes and she winces. "Stay quiet, Brit."

"Mom! Will you please tell me what's happening?" I shout, my blood boiling. This is crazy. I was just in an accident, out for more than a day, and they are clearly hiding something from me. Can't a guy catch a break?

Mom's lips quiver as she looks at me and her face softens. But she looks terrified...of me or for me? I look at Brit questioningly, but she is holding her breath.

Right then, a phone starts ringing and Mom picks it up.

"Yes, dear," she answers to Dad. "Yes, he's awake...no, no I didn't...does it have to be now? Yes...I understand...I will."

When she closes her phone, she turns to Brit. "Sweetheart, why don't you go to the cafeteria and get something to eat? You didn't eat last night."

Brit opens her mouth to protest, but Mom gives her a stern look, so she just nods stiffly and leaves after giving me a look of longing. I clench my fists as I feel the urge to break something. This is frustrating.

The doors open again and my father walks in, all suited up and followed by one of his friends I've seen around the house. He is short and has curly brown hair, thick spectacles, and is dressed just like my dad.

"Nick, this is Jerry Parker," Dad says and the guy offers me his hand. I shake his hand and look at Dad, puzzled. What's going on? And thanks, Dad...for asking how I am. "He is the managing partner at Parker and Goodman. He's a friend."

A lawyer?

"Hello, Nick. How are you doing?" The guy pulls a chair next to me and sits on it. I look at Dad for some answers, but he fixes his tie and wanders closer to Mom, completely ignoring me.

Shit. Something is up. This is not good.

"Dad? What's going on?!" I ask, exasperated. He briefly looks at me, but I don't gather anything from him.

"Jerry? There is no easy way to do this for a parent," he says. Mom looks at him for something...reassurance? But he just walks over to the window and stares out thoughtfully and Mom slumps on the couch, defeated and exhausted.

"Nick," Jerry says solemnly and I sense bad news coming. "What is the last thing you remember before the accident happened?"

"I was driving to the Eclectic Tavern to the party and my phone started ringing..." I recollect. "I saw Brit's name on the screen and picked it up. Then...the accident happened."

"Alright. Do you remember seeing a stop sign?"

"No..." I whisper, horrified.

"You missed a stop sign." He presses his lips into a thin line. "And your car collided with another car. There was a single male passenger inside—"

"Is he okay? Did anyone get hurt?" I panic and my heart rate goes off the charts.

Holy shit.

No, no, no, no. But I already know the answer. It is evident by the tension in the room.

"Unfortunately, the man died in surgery yesterday."

The world stops and my blood runs cold.

This can't be happening. Is it? I look at my mom, who starts crying, and my dad, who isn't giving a damn because he is so mad. What did I do? What the fuck did I do?

I killed someone.

"Nick, are you all right?" Jerry hands me some water, but I shake him off. _Are you all right?_ Is that the best this guy can come up with? No, I am not.

Fuck. No.

I don't know what to do. I feel helpless and restless... is this really happening? I am waiting to wake up and forget this nightmare. But I am frozen.

"I understand this is a lot to process, but we have to take care of some things." Jerry interrupts my spiraling thoughts. "I won't get into the legal process too much. Fortunately, the DA has agreed not to press any criminal charges. You're still a minor and the victim didn't die on the scene but during surgery, your car was really old, it was dark...and there are a lot of other factors that make a conviction nearly impossible."

"Also, your grandfather is a well-respected judge," Dad says.

I wince at his insinuation. So my last name saved my ass. But I don't care about that. I don't care about any of this. I feel light-headed. Jerry's words keep repeating in my head. _Unfortunately, the man died in surgery yesterday._

"We are very lucky that the DA was kind enough not to prosecute...it took him some convincing, didn't it?" Jerry snorted, looking at my father. "However, we are expecting a wrongful death claim filed by the plaintiff, the spouse of the deceased, anytime now."

"What?" My head hurts. My chest hurts. Everything hurts.

"It is a civil lawsuit. It is applicable in this case as your negligence resulted in death of the victim," he explains. "Cutting to the chase, your family will have to pay damages as the car you were driving was very old, so the liability insurance has limitations and won't be able to cover the entire cost."

He looks at me as though I am supposed to say something.

"I...what was his name?" I find my voice.

Jerry frowns as though he was expecting something else from me. He opens his file and reads, "Jason Foster. Age thirty-four. Manager at WSolutions, some e-services start-up."

I wait for that to settle in. Jason Foster. I imagine a normal-looking guy, going to work...and I took all of that away.

"His wife?" I ask. I want to know more. What have I done? I still can't wrap my head around it. I was just going to a party. I never should have looked at my phone. I feel reality punching me in the gut over and over again, but my denial isn't letting me fully absorb what has happened.

"Oh stop it, Nick!" my father roars, finally losing it. "Don't ask all these stupid questions. This won't solve anything!"

"But I want to know!"

"You want to know?" he sneers with spite. "His wife's name is Amanda and she is seven months pregnant. They were not wealthy, so they have a crappy lawyer who will make a wrongful death claim settlement very easy for us. How does that make you feel?"

My mom lets out an anguished moan, mimicking not even half of what those words do to me inside. _Pregnant wife..._

"We were at a party, Nick," Dad continues, glowering at me. "We were _happy._ We were celebrating your brother's success. You have ruined everything. Max didn't want to deal with this; he left a day early. You should be grateful that you were born in this family or else you would be in juvie right now. All you had to do was not look a phone and that man would have been alive. Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for me?"

His voice is low and cold, and it feels like someone has kicked me so hard, knocking the wind out of my lungs. It feels like I have been slapped in the face and stomped on the ground. But I deserve it all.

"David!" my mom admonishes him, but it is half-hearted. I can see it in her eyes. The way she looks at me has changed. "Please! Don't!"

"I am ready to take responsibility," I tell Jerry with desperation. I have to fix this. "I am ready to go to trial. I will do my time in prison if I have to. Give the DA something that will push him to press criminal charges. He was already reluctant not to prosecute so it shouldn't be too—"

"Taking responsibility would have been looking at that fucking stop sign!" Dad barks, holding the edge of my bed so hard that I can see his knuckles turn white.

"Okay, okay, David, calm down!" Jerry says, raising his hands. "This is a very stressful time for the family, but let's not lose our cool, okay?" He then turns to face me. "Nick, this isn't that simple. In criminal prosecution, one has to prove guilty action _and_ guilty mind. Even though I strongly believe that they don't have enough to convict you, if this goes to trial, the jury will be against you. They will perceive you as a rich, spoiled, entitled guy against a poor, pregnant woman. The odds won't be in your favor. We would have to reach an out of court settlement since the trial would be too much for you and your family. Plus, since your father and grandfather are both known names in the legal circuit, the media will get involved...it will just end up becoming a huge mess."

I fidget and shift, feeling restless. There has to be something I can do.

There is nothing you can do. You can't bring back the dead.

"Paying damages is the best thing we can do for the family," Jerry reassures me. "We have gone over all the strategies and this works out for every party involved."

I clutch my forehead and seconds tick by in silence.

"I want to pay for what I did," I whisper.

"You will pay...by living with what you've done for the rest of your goddamn life!" Dad growls.

This is it. His words unlock my biggest fear. I can't go back. I will live with this every day. Every day I will think of the family I destroyed, the people I disappointed, and the life I took.

Out of nowhere, a girl with ice blue eyes and long, golden hair comes into my mind. _Chloe._ And I can hear her voice... _Do you ever feel like stopping time? Like the world around you stops for a few minutes, but you keep going...it would be so much easier to breathe._

I finally get it.

Chapter Six: Chloe

May 2012

The thing about depression is that it is so misunderstood. It isn't a condition that you are afflicted with and eventually get treated for. It is a monster that resides inside you. All of us are capable of having that monster, but some of us are unfortunate or weak and that leads to the birth of that monster. When you're depressed, you become a shadow. You are merely a whisper in the world of noise. You don't even recognize yourself. Your actions, your thoughts; they're all out of control. You are lured by the temptation of the darkness and you want more of it, even though you know it is destroying you. It is a fatal possession, a guilty addiction, and something that is so wrong that, after a while, you feel it is right. Just like cutting.

That monster takes over and does everything for you. A part of you is still there, but it is helpless and powerless. You go to therapy, not to get rid of the monster, because once it's there, it never leaves. You are cured the day you learn how to control the monster. Those who have it understand it and those who don't are too busy judging and ridiculing it.

"Have you spoken to your mother?" Her voice rips through my introspection.

I shake my head and she purses her lips in glaring disapproval as she scribbles something on her notepad.

My therapist, Emma, is a middle-aged Asian lady. She is tall, has a bob cut, dyed blonde hair, and is really skinny, wearing her standard navy blue pantsuit. Often, I suspect that she may have battled against anorexia, but these sessions aren't about her, they're about me. Her office is understated and pretty unique. Yes, there's the dreaded white leather couch where people like me sit and bitch about their lives and there are a lot of plants and books on psychology. But she has a cool collection of posters, ranging from _Great Gatsby_ and _Moulin Rouge_ to _American Psycho_ and the _Shining_. Maybe having the poster of _American Psycho_ isn't such a smart idea...

"Chloe?" she says. "You are distracting yourself again."

"Sorry," I mumble and slump back on the comfy couch. Apparently, this is something I do in my appointments with her. My mind searches for distractions because I don't want to talk about my issues.

"Did you at least write the letter to your mother like I had suggested?" Emma cocks an eyebrow.

"Nope."

She inhales sharply and scribbles on the paper again. "Chloe, you haven't spoken to your mother in over a year. This isn't healthy; do you realize that?"

I open my mouth to say a snarky comment but seal it shut instead. She won't get it. Instead, she'll tell me I have anger issues. My mother is an alcoholic, has been for three years. There is no point in talking to her. Talking to her will infuriate me. The mother I knew doesn't exist anymore. She died with Ian. She is just an addict now. Pure and simple.

"You are still angry at your mother." Her voice softens as she tilts her head to one side.

"You've been paying attention," I say and bite my tongue.

Luckily, she doesn't take my rudeness too seriously. "I understand, Chloe. You must feel...betrayed that your mother turned to drinking instead of looking after you. How do you plan on moving past this?"

I frown at her. Moving past this? How do you move past this? There are some things in life you aren't supposed to move past. They become a part of you, they define you, and you just have to learn how to live with it. Everything that happened on that horrific night three years ago and what followed makes me who I am.

"I can tell when your mind is working, Chloe." She interrupts my train of thought with a hint of disapproval. "We have these sessions so that you can talk your thoughts out loud. You have to open up."

I take a shaky breath. This is just too hard. "Okay...I don't think this is something I can move past."

"Alright, alright." Emma nods, happy that I am talking. "Is it because somewhere deep down, you aren't ready to face what happened fully?"

"No...maybe...I don't know." I curl up my legs and hug my knees. "I don't see the point of it. Ian will stay dead, Mom will remain an addict, and...the past three years of my life won't come back. I don't want to spend any more time thinking about all this. It makes me feel sick."

"You know, Chloe, when bad things happen to people, they come up with ways to deal with it," she explains, gesturing with her hands. "These are called defense mechanisms, like denial, acting out, regression, dissociation...you get the idea. I have been seeing you for three months now and you are showing signs of suppression. You suppress bad memories, bad feelings...you avoid them. Either you tell yourself that they don't exist or you trivialize them. But the thing is that ignoring a problem doesn't make it go away. It seeps into our behaviour, how we form and maintain relationships, our thought processes."

"I don't see how that's relevant." My tone is clipped.

"Your personality is defined by your suppression, Chloe." She leans forward. "Your ambitions and your relationships get affected."

"I think you are overthinking all this." I shrug. "Bad things happen. I am not denying what happened with me, but people have had it worse."

"Then why haven't you spoken to your mother?" Emma plays her trump card and I stifle a sigh. "Have you formed any meaningful relationships since your brother passed away? Have you visited your brother's grave? You wanted to be a writer, but you are now majoring in economics. Why is that? Do you feel being a writer will expose you to the world? Make your private thoughts public and make you feel naked and vulnerable?"

Her questions are making my skin crawl and I flinch. "You are asking way too many questions." I stand up, unable to sit anymore, and start pacing in the room.

It's a habit I developed since I came to college. Either I pace the room or I rock back and forth while sitting. Emma says that I do it to release anxiety.

"Chloe, you were fifteen years old when your brother died. You have been taking care of an alcoholic mother since then, all on your own. Yes, worse things have happened to people, but that doesn't trivialize what happened with you. You were just a kid."

Why does she keep talking like this? Is this her way of torturing me by repeatedly saying what happened? Yes, I know what happened. A day doesn't go by when I don't blame myself for the sins I committed. She would never understand what I had to do to...she will never know. Because there are some secrets I will take with me to my grave.

"Okay, Emma! What do I have to do to prove you wrong?" I fan out my hands. "Just tell me! I have come a long way. What do I have to do to prove myself?"

"Talk to me about what happened with your father." She sits back and folds her legs.

So this is what all this was about. She wants to know about that man. I drag my legs back to the couch and sit, feeling heavy from the burden of my life. I take a deep breath, preparing myself, trying to find the strength to talk about my father. I haven't in so long. I decide to start talking before all the feelings come rushing back and I have to stop myself from looking for a knife.

"After Ian died, they started fighting a lot." I am on autopilot. "Two months were... _hell_." I remember the screaming, the shouting, the cries, and furniture breaking, every night, over and over again. Once I spent the evening sitting under a table, terrified. I didn't eat anything that night because they had been too busy fighting to cook and sit down to dinner. They never even realized, like they had forgotten that their one child was still alive. "He blamed her for everything. And Mom had just started drinking, so one day, he packed his bags and left. I found out later that he had been having an affair. Within a year of Ian's death, he married her, adopted her sons, and moved to Florida."

She's gaping at me, astonished and horrified. But then, quickly, she composes herself and writes something super long in my file. Idly, I wonder just how depressing my file must be.

"He left you alone with your mother, who had become an alcoholic," she repeats as though she finds that hard to believe. It _was_ hard to believe. I waited on the porch for days for him to come back home. He left in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. I didn't believe the neighbors who were gossiping or Mom, who started whining about his infidelities when she got drunk.

Because I believed that my daddy would never leave me.

Until I got a fucking email from him, apologizing and explaining how he had to move on with his life. And that my mother and I reminded him of Ian, that the town of Fairville only had bad memories now.

My palms start sweating and twitching. My fingers start feeling heavy and I feel as though an invisible force is crushing my chest. Tears swim in my eyes, a sob is hovering somewhere down my throat, and a toxic cocktail of pain, guilt, longing, and fury flows in my veins.

Cut. Cut. Cut.

There it is. The urge to cut. Just one cut...I snap my elastic band against my wrist, over and over again. The sharp sting of it calms me down. The physical pain helps me breathe through my emotional pain. I do it over and over again, till my wrist turns red, and Emma gets a little scared watching.

Finally...this feels better.

"Alright, Chloe, I think it was very brave of you to finally tell me about your father," she says. "We will get into that in the future. Let's talk about something lighter now. We have had too much intensity for today. Do you still think of that boy?"

I am pretty sure my eyes light up as I feel blood rush to my cheeks, heating them up. Emma gives me an impish smile.

Nick.

It has been two years and I still think of him every day. And I realize how weird that is. He was a handsome stranger who was so kind to me, saved me, and I knew him for five minutes, yet he's always in my head for the past two years. He is a memory and now he has become a fantasy.

"I do..." I confess. "And I feel stupid because I barely knew him."

"Sometimes a second is enough to change our lives," Emma notes. "It doesn't matter how long he was there for. He still clearly made an impact."

"Yeah, but I exaggerate it in my head...I keep thinking about him. I go on dates and I compare them to him. I think I am obsessing over him when I have no reason to."

"There is a reason, Chloe," Emma says and I sit up. "He is your anchor."

"Anchor?"

"Yes, your anchor. You were having a breakdown that night and you were moments away from taking your life and he brought you back from that. Unintentionally, he stopped you. He was there in your weakest moment and he anchored you away from it. So your brain identifies him as a source of...strength. He reminds you that you have another chance at life. And we all do that. I had a patient who was held captive for three years by a horrible man. Before she was taken, she was holding a pinecone. And she stubbornly held on to that pinecone throughout her captivity and even after that. Because her mind associated it with freedom. It gave her hope that some day she would be free. In your case...Nick gives you hope and strength that even in your weakest moment, you decided to live and turn your life around. And Chloe, you _have_ turned your life around."

I take in her words and ponder over them. Two years ago, I was going to kill myself. I had no future. And today, I am majoring in economics at University of Toronto. I was...normal. At least on the outside, and that was a big step in my life. I don't look like a train-wreck anymore. I do reasonably well at school, I party with Danni, I go on dates; I do everything a normal nineteen-year-old does.

After that night, I enrolled myself in summer school. I finished my credits and I was already ahead from before. Plus, I had skipped second grade. I graduated high school a semester earlier and a year younger, and enrolled in the spring semester. I am pretty sure that I was the youngest second year student in my batch.

But no one knows what goes on in my head. How broken it still is. My life feels incomplete and hollow. The loss of Ian still overwhelms me at night, but it is the guilt I carry each day that is wearing me out. The secrets no one would know; the secrets I avoid even thinking aloud.

"Anyways, Chloe." She closes her file and I realize that we went a little overtime. Again. "I am very happy with today's session, since we made some progress. We still need to talk more, as I can tell you are holding back and downplaying your emotions. We have to work on you getting closure."

"Closure?" I repeat. What would that mean? Having a heart to heart with my mother in rehab? Tell her I forgive her for forgetting all about me and becoming an addict? Or ask for forgiveness for what I did to her? Or do I have to forgive my dad for abandoning me? Or do I ask Ian to forgive me for not looking out for him?

"Closure doesn't always mean forgiveness," she says as though reading my thoughts. "Sometimes closure just means telling the other person where they can shove it."

My lips quirk up. That's why I keep coming back to her.

"Thanks, Emma." I quickly stand up, wanting to get out of here. I hate voicing my thoughts—it makes them darker and more unbearable—and in my sessions with Emma, I am always on the verge of combusting...or _cutting_.

I dart towards the door, when she stops me.

"Chloe? It is Danni's birthday today, isn't it?"

Wow. She actually pays attention. "Yes."

"Go out. I know you don't like parties, but go out tonight, let your hair down, get drunk, and be a normal young girl...that's an _order._ "

Damn it. I nod and get out before she gives me any more orders.

*

"I like Emma." Danni pulls out a really skimpy black dress and holds it in front of her. "I think you should wear this. You will look hot."

"Because going to a party means to dress slutty," I say slowly, looking at the mess she's made of our room. She didn't even spare my bed. There are clothes everywhere, scattered on the bed and even on my study table.

"It's good to be slutty." She glares at me and her voice becomes stern. "You are taking charge of your sexuality!"

"Yeah, and you're taking women and gender studies way too seriously." I shake my head and take the tiny piece of shimmery cloth she's holding. It's pretty, with nice sequins along the neckline. "It won't cover my back or my ass."

"Just don't bend!" She waves me off and dives into a pile of her clothes in the closet. "Plus, you've got a nice ass."

She pulls out another red dress that is far more conservative—full-sleeved, knee-length, and a V-neckline. Her eyes shine as she holds it in front of her and looks at herself in the mirror. "I'll wear this. I haven't had a chance to wear it. Red looks nice on me, right?"

"You look beautiful in red." I smile at her and my heart drops a little, just like it always does when she picks out her super conservative clothes and gives me all the sexy dresses to wear. But I know she'll get there.

I won't push her.

She has improved so much already.

"So Madison and Rachel are coming too." She claps her hands together. "I wanted to keep it a little low-key after how things got wild last time."

"Yeah, I don't want to find you riding a mechanical bull with your thong in your hands."

"Yeah, that was fun." Her eyes are wide and thrilled. "But I am nineteen now, finally legal to drink, so I will behave. You got the IDs? I am so happy we decided to move to Toronto. According to our lovely States, you are old enough to decide who will run a country at eighteen but not old enough to control your drinking. What's up with that?"

"I have the IDs, but I am not sure if I'll drink..."

"Wait! What?" She is appalled. "You have to! It's my birthday."

"But—"

"I love drunk Chloe and summer has just started." She starts curling her hair and glares at my reflection. "I know you're stressed about getting a job—"

"Yes I am!" I grumble, clutching my forehead. I don't think Danni actually grasps the stress I am under. "If I don't get a job this summer, then I won't be able to afford rent after summer."

Having a mother in rehab doesn't help either.

"You will!" she insists, applying mascara. "But you won't get anywhere tonight. So give yourself a little treat."

I don't argue with her. It's her birthday, after all, and she is my only true friend. I decide to get ready too and think about my session with Emma...but only the good part, the part about Nick. He has become my fantasy. Whenever I am stressed or upset, I remember him and, all of a sudden, I feel better. Danni had his number saved on her phone but eventually, when I did decide to call, the number didn't exist anymore. I didn't know his full name or anything else about him.

He had disappeared, only existing in my memory and, sometimes, in my dreams. But he always stayed with me. And after Emma's explanation, I understand why. I subconsciously made him my anchor. He was associated with the moment I realized that I had to live. He was right there at the threshold.

And I really wanted to get to know him. I wanted to spend more time with him. I felt something powerful there. But then it struck me like lightning—he had seen me at my worst. He saw me when I was madness, insanity, and _weak_. That was when I knew that I had to stay away. Because no one likes baggage, no one likes an emotional wreck. If girls like me open up, then we end up either getting used or abandoned.

But I still couldn't help myself and look for him each time I went out.

"You look great but now sit down," Danni instructs me and gets in my face with all kinds of brushes and a palette. "You know, honey, you will use make-up more in the real world than macro-economic theory."

I giggle.

"So one day, I will give you a day-long tutorial. Oh! And Rachel called; she and Madison will meet us at the nightclub."

"Which nightclub are we going to?"

"Cake."

Chapter Seven: Nick

I am trying really hard to remember the name of the girl who is talking to me, but I can't.

"I was like, that is so hilarious!" She flicks her long red hair and giggles at me, a sound that is a big turn-off. And I clearly missed the punch line, but she doesn't notice because she continues with her story, although I tune her out. The music is loud. My buddy Ethan is sprawled opposite me with some brunette who is popping out her cleavage too much.

"So where are you from?" she asks me. Oh no, darlin'. We won't talk about me.

I am shell of a man.

"Seattle," I lie and run a thumb on along her lower lip to distract her from asking more questions. She shivers and closes her eyes a fraction. "But I want to know more about you."

That works like a charm, as she launches into her life story. I keep nodding and smiling as I look around. Cake nightclub isn't half as bad as I thought it would be. There are two levels; we are seated on one of the leather couches on the upper level. There's a bar at the back and a small dance floor. It isn't too dark and loud, just enough. Though I wish it were because this girl with me just won't shut up. And her voice is nasal.

So I try to make this fun and take a shot each time she says the word "like." It's been two minutes and I have downed five shots.

"Dude, chill out." Ethan appears at my side, talking in my ear. "If you drink at this rate, then I will have to take care of you instead of that chick."

He tilts his head in the girl's direction. I roll my eyes as the girl gives me a wink and then flashes me her underwear. I nod at Ethan and then excuse myself from the redhead to catch a break. I can't stand the noise, the heat, and the dumb girls anymore.

"I'll be back," I tell her and rub her thigh. I don't want her going anywhere, as I may want her later tonight.

The beats pick up to a song by Avicii as I make my way to the bathroom, through the sweaty bodies of people dancing and drinking. As I push the door open and stride in, someone jumps.

"Hey!" a guy snaps.

"Oh my God!" a girl shrieks as she pulls down her dress and the guy zips up his pants.

"What the fuck, man?!" the guy growls as the girl skitters away and he rushes after her.

At least they could have done it in a stall. I shake my head and press my hands on the cold granite counter of the sink and stare at my reflection.

I am off my game tonight.

I thought spending the summer in a new city would help. Help me escape my demons. But they follow me everywhere I go. That girl was throwing herself at me, but does she know what I've done? I killed someone. I fucking killed someone. And no matter how many times I tell myself that it was an accident and that I didn't mean to...the truth is that guy would have been alive if I hadn't run a stop sign.

No one gets the guilt I live with every day. How much I loathe myself. I was a happy-go-lucky guy. My life was simple. And in one second, everything was flipped over.

My elder brother, Max, hasn't spoken to me properly in two years except for the holiday and birthday wishes he emails me. My mother tries to act normal but looks at me differently, as though she is scared of me. And my father...a day doesn't go by that he doesn't remind me what I did by taunting me or downright yelling at me. In his eyes, I ruined the pristine reputation of the Grayson family. My name will always be associated with this scandal and hence so will this family's.

Only my sister, Brit, tries to be normal. But she has become too nice to me because she knows that the rest of them have changed towards me. So her niceness comes off as pity. But I take it because I miss my family. I miss the old days. I miss when I could look at myself in the mirror and not think of the woman I widowed.

I spent my summer after the first year building houses in Haiti. I thought doing something right would help me heal, make me feel better, and help me find redemption. But it didn't. That's when I realized that maybe nothing would make this go away. I am stuck with this. I will always have the label of being a killer. I will always be haunted by the memories of that night. My family will never accept me the way it did before. So I keep running. This summer, I decided to follow my friend Ethan to Toronto. He's a senior and we clicked, although he doesn't know what I did.

It's bad enough that I get stared at during family get-togethers. Relatives whisper behind my back and shoot me strange looks at Christmas dinners. The gossip doesn't stop and, to my face, their smiles are strained. I can tell that they are trying to fish for information. Just keep the scandalous topic going of how disappointing lawyer David Grayson's son is.

Once, I even told myself to get over this, to stop whining all the time and move on. I hold it together for a few hours and, then again, it would dawn on me. How do you get over something like this? Even if I did by some miracle, the world won't let me forget. Years from now, I will still be "Nick, who once ran a stop sign and killed a guy."

I open the faucet and wash my face. I am at a nightclub with Ethan and a hot chick wants me. Maybe that's what I need.

A distraction.

I leave the bathroom and make my way to the redhead. It's getting too crowded and I almost forget where I was sitting.

"Hey..." Someone runs a hand along my side. I turn and it's a different girl, wearing a skimpy blue dress. I like girls in skimpy dresses but when they are classy enough to carry it off. This one and most of the girls here are anything but that. "I think the other girl you were with bored you."

She presses her chest into mine. Her eyes are glazed over.

"I think you'll have something more interesting to say." I cup my hands around her ass, which is too small for my liking.

"I think I'll have more interesting things to do," she says in my ear as her hand travels down my stomach. I can't even see the chick's face and there are way too many people standing too close, dancing and making out on the floor.

But I just don't feel it. This girl is having no effect on me.

Fuck.

I must be having a really off night. She grins and starts shaking her hips to the beat. She spins around and I pull her towards me as she grinds up against me. Hopefully, I'll eventually get turned on or at least get in a good enough mood. We dance for a bit, with the smell of sweat and vodka in the air, and the crowd getting bigger and wilder. The neon lights start flashing across the room, lighting up different sections.

That's when I see her.

A flash of thick, golden hair and then she spins around. Everything stops for a second as I watch her smile and dance. She looks like an angel. Too beautiful for this place, a dazzling smile and shaking her hips in way that's too damn sexy for someone as innocent as she is.

Ecstasy mixed with nostalgia explodes inside me as my memory of her comes alive. There she is. The girl I wish it were every time I see someone with golden hair. The girl I haven't gotten out of my head since two years ago.

And I know that she recognizes me too because she's staring at me now, with a look of disbelief and joy.

Chloe.

Chapter Eight: Chloe

_Nick_.

My world stops. Am I imagining this? Is he really here? The guy who was supposed to remain an elusive mystery. I have imagined this moment so many times that I am not sure if it's real. The alcohol must be playing tricks with my brain. I wait for the guy's face to change, for him to turn out to be someone else or for him to look away. But he doesn't. My heart swells with bliss, but then something inside me turns as his look darkens and he makes his way towards me with determination.

My nerves tingle with apprehension and I feel like I will combust if he keeps looking at me the way he does. Pure desire.

He grabs my hand roughly and yanks me away from Danni, Rachel, and Madison, who are lost in the beats. He is taking me somewhere, pulling me away from the dancing crowd, the couples making out, the smoke and booze. My head is light. Whether it's the alcohol or him, I don't know.

I feel like I am in a dream. Everything is happening so fast and all I can feel is his hand on my arm and how even that makes my toes curl.

He pushes open a door, stepping outside and pulling me along. The cold hair hits me, but before I can register anything else, he spins me around, pushes me against a brick wall, and captures my mouth in a searing kiss.

Oh my God.

Desire explodes in me like fireworks as his teeth nibble on my lower lip. I shudder with the most blazing heat that coils deep inside me as his hand slips around my waist, crushing me to him. His other hand fists in my hair. He bites my lip and I let out a gasp, allowing his expert tongue to explore my mouth. I run my hands along his taut chest and cup them around his neck, pulling him closer, wanting more, needing more. I moan and that drives him over the edge as his kiss becomes more passionate, more desperate, more insane. Everything below my waist tightens and I bite down on his lip, hard. He growls and pushes me harder against the wall. He runs his hand up my back and the contact with my bare skin makes me melt into his arms. We touch each other greedily, kissing each other like there's no tomorrow. Everything is falling away, and I am lost in the most blazing kiss of my life. I climb higher and higher...

And then he pulls away.

The cold air hits me hard again and I open my eyes, confused. _Wait, what?_ I look up at him and he's staring me with a strange expression.

A mix of awe and agony.

Why? He looks pained, but I can see the desire in his eyes. The heat of the moment slips away as I absorb the fact that he is actually here. It is him. After all this time. I never thought I would see him again. Although it has only been two years, he looks like a man now. Not a boy. He has light stubble, his body has gained more muscle, and his tattoo is still snaking down his arm. But something is different. He doesn't have that twinkle in his eyes. Instead, his coal black eyes look conflicted and burdened.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles and then marches away.

What the hell?

I stand frozen with my mouth hanging open as he leaves me in the alley next to the nightclub and disappears around the corner.

Okay. What just happened?

I wrap my arms around myself and rest my head against the wall, staring up at the stars. Why did he leave like that? Did I do something wrong? But it was the way he looked at me. Like he wanted to say something but couldn't. Or wanted to do something but couldn't. It wasn't just conflict...it was also guilt.

My fantasy had become a reality. Nick was right here in front of me in flesh and blood. My anchor. But he had changed. I know something happened with him. I can feel it. And I want to know what. I want to know him.

Back then, he was a boy with kindness; today, he is a man with scars.

What he means to me, he won't understand; no one will. I remembered him as carefree, relaxed, and simple. What I saw was entirely opposite.

Two years is a long time and he is someone I barely knew, my rational side argues. Maybe I should just go back to the party and be with the girls.

The way I cherished the memory of him saving me, I will cherish the memory of him kissing me too.

Then it hits me like a wrecking ball.

Did he walk away when he saw me standing on that bridge?

He had every reason to. He didn't know me at all. He could have been like all the other cars that just went by. Because it wasn't their business to know what a girl was doing on that bridge. He didn't even know my name and yet he came after me, and made sure that I was safe. And today, I know his name, have had a conversation with him, and know the feel of his hands and lips on mine. I know him more than he knew me then. If he could come for me then, then why can't I go after him now?

I decide I am going after him.

*

### Nick

What the fuck was I thinking? Kissing a girl like that? She is too good for me. I know she has her issues. There was a reason she was standing on a bridge and has a scar on her wrist. The last thing a girl like that needs is a guy like me who has a truckload of issues himself.

I curse myself as I walk away from the nightclub, feeling like a jerk for leaving her like that. I bet she'll be mad. That's a good thing. She will think I'm some asshole and forget about me and move on with her life.

I am walking down Adelaide Street and it's a typical Friday night in downtown Toronto. Students are bar hopping and singing on the streets, drunk girls are giggling, the smell of weed is in the air, and many cabs are circling the area, looking for passengers.

I try to push her out of my mind. But damn it, I can't. When I saw her, all I wanted to do was take her. Feel her around me, feel her lips, touch her soft skin, and know how that body would feel against mine. I had those thoughts about her when I met her two years ago and I had to pour it all out to her. The fantasy of kissing her and doing so much more that I have been holding in for two years.

And it was worth it. It killed me to stop.

"Hey!" I hear a familiar voice behind me. "Nick!"

I turn and Chloe is jogging towards me barefoot, holding her heels in her hands, her hair bouncing.

"I...umm..." I scramble for words. Why would she come after me after I was such a jerk to her? She reaches me and catches her breath.

"We meet after two years and you don't have anything to say?" She pants, holding her waist.

"You shouldn't run around downtown without shoes..." I point at her feet and then a random guy passes by us, whistling at her. "Or wearing that dress," I add, clenching my fists, wanting to break that guy's jaw.

"Is that all you have to say to me?" She ignores that bastard and my reaction, instead folding her arms and raising an eyebrow at me.

"Well, we could talk about the weather and our employment status." I shove my hands in my pockets and grin at the old memory. Her blue eyes light up.

Good. She remembers too.

"I think we covered that last time." She laughs and then her eyes soften, and a crease forms between her brows. "How are you?"

Shouldn't I be asking her that? I swallow hard at the look that she gives me. It has been so long since someone has looked at me like that. With concern. Everyone else shows either disapproval or pity.

"I'm good. How have you been?" I fake a smile, and she raises an eyebrow at me, letting me know that she doesn't buy my bullshit.

Thankfully, she doesn't push.

"I don't even know your full name," she says and holds out her hand. "I am Chloe Reed."

"Nick Grayson." I take her hand and feel the spark again. I want to yank her closer and continue what I was doing before. I can tell she feels it too because her mouth forms an "O."

"Do you study in Toronto?" Chloe asks, breaking contact.

"No, I'm here for the summer." I rub the back of my neck. I need to get away from her. Being so close to her and not touching her is driving me mad. And I have had my share of sins to know that I shouldn't go after a girl like her. "Listen, I am sure you have your friends to get to. I am heading home. I don't want to keep you waiting..."

"Oh, usually, I like to talk a guy who has just kissed me."

Her boldness throws me off as I stare into her stunning eyes. Her face is determined and I love the fire in her.

"I shouldn't have kissed you like that. I hope you didn't—"

"No!" she protests and then blushes. "I really liked it. Do you do that when you meet people after a long time?"

"Yeah, I have been getting a lot of complaints about that. It's getting out of control."

She laughs and we start strolling aimlessly.

"I never got a chance to thank you for that night...I even called you a few days later. My friend, Danni, had your number. But it said that the number didn't exist, so I didn't have any way of tracking you down."

"I had changed my number. So you've started liking parties now?"

She called me? I would have still had that number, answered, and gotten to know her more...in a parallel universe where life was better.

"It's Danni's birthday...and her dress..." She grimaces and pulls down on her dress. I frown in disapproval as guys look at her for too long as they pass by. She shouldn't be wearing that in public.

For me in private? You wouldn't even need that, darlin'.

I take off my light jacket and put it around her shoulders. At least this way, her bare back is covered. And it is only in Toronto that you carry a light jacket in May.

"Every guy who is looking at you right now wants to do you," I explain as she looks baffled at my gesture. "Let's not encourage them, shall we?"

" _You_ are looking at me."

"But I have had those thoughts about you for two years, darlin'." My voice comes off as husky and she gasps, her eyes large, but I know she doesn't mind as a blush colors her cheeks.

I think those shots are finally having an effect on me. Or maybe it's her.

"Does that line always work?" She hides her smile, looking at her feet.

"I don't know yet. I haven't used that one before." I place my hand on the small of her back as we go around a girl riding her bike. I feel the electricity, the sparks and quickly withdraw my hand.

"Then what lines do you use?"

"Not too many. I usually go for the kill," I scoff, hopefully not coming off as too cocky. But she turns to me and looks at me with wonderment.

"Then why didn't you this time?" I see it in her eyes. Curiosity and desire. What should I tell her?

Chloe Reed. The last good deed I did before I became a killer. And she's sweet and innocent, someone I want badly, but I know I should stay away from. Because if she ever knows the truth, she'll distance herself from me. Like everyone else did.

I step closer to her, my face a few inches away. Her familiar scent of honeysuckle clouds my mind again and she closes her eyes. Damn, I want to kiss her again. I shouldn't. If I start, I won't be able to stop.

I run my thumb along her lower lip and she shudders, and I marvel at the sight of turning her on. "Because with girls like you, you don't just go for the kill," I whisper. "You enjoy the ride."

"So that's why you stopped?" She sounds a little hopeful.

No darlin'. That's not why I stopped.

But I move nearer. Her lips part as I hover my lips closer to her so that they're almost touching. I feel the soft brush of her lips against mine, and I want to ravish her in the middle of the street. The chemistry shimmers between us and then I pull away before I get too lost in it.

"No." I shake my head. She opens her eyes, which are glazed over. I run my hands through my hair. "Chloe, you're a great girl. But I...I am not the guy for you."

I turn around and start walking away. I am the biggest idiot in the world, but this is the right thing to do.

"Why not?" she calls and I stop.

"I am bad news, darlin'." I wink at her, but the way she rolls her eyes, she isn't buying it. She catches up to me and looks me squarely in the eyes.

"You saved me that night, Nick," she confesses, scared. I remember her saying that, that night too. But I never understood what she meant. "So let me save you."

Chapter Nine: Chloe

I am an adamant person. I cross my arms and give him the sternest look possible, even though the look he's giving me is breaking my heart in two. He looks like a lost boy who has been rejected and put down by everyone. He looks terrified and surprised as though he isn't used to anyone caring about him.

"There is only so much you can do, pretty girl." He gives me a tight smile.

"Try me," I challenge him.

"Why are you doing this?" he whispers, his eyebrows knitting.

There aren't enough reasons in the world. I couldn't save anyone and I feel that burden every waking second of my life. I couldn't save my brother, who died of a heroin overdose. He was addicted to heroin. That is something easy to notice when you're living in the same house. But I missed it. I was too busy ignoring him and hating him for being a messed up kid. If only I had...he would have been alive. My older brother wouldn't have been found in a ditch.

I couldn't even save my mother. I should have made sure that she got help when her drinking was getting worse. But Dad had left and I was alone with her. If she had been sent to rehab, then I would have had to enter foster care, as there was no relative to take me in. My father had waived custody. So I let my mother spiral down the path of addiction. I hid her from the rest of the world. I let her become an alcoholic, all so that I could live in a house for one more year. The day I dropped her off at rehab and flew to Toronto, the guilt hit me like wrecking ball. I ruined her life when I had the chance to save it because I was selfish. I could have saved her, but I put myself first. I didn't want to ruin my chance of getting out of the bloody town of Fairville and make something out of my shattered life by trying to help an addict. The splinters in my soul from Ian's death are filled with the guilt and anger I have when it comes to my mother.

I fist my hands and the sensation of my nails pressing into my skin gives me slight relief. But the darkness in my heart continues to thrive and, deep down, I wonder if it is only a matter of time before I surrender to it.

I have a chance to do the right thing by Nick. I can see it in his eyes: the call for help, the guilt that is eerily similar to mine, and the self-loathing I know too well.

"It doesn't matter why I am doing this," I say. "But what matters is that I am."

"You are more stubborn that I thought." He gives me a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"You have no idea."

"You are proving to be quiet a challenge, Ms. Reed." He leans against the wall and gives me a dark look. At least he isn't running away.

"I'm guessing you aren't used to having challenges."

"None like you." He narrows his eyes and cocks his head, looking at my legs. "My traditional means of dealing with it won't work here."

"And what would those be?"

"Throwing you over my back and taking you to my place."

His eyes glitter with wickedness as he sees my cheeks turn hot. It would have been so much easier trying to help him if I didn't want his hands and lips on me all the time. Does he talk like that to shock me?

"You'll definitely have to come up with a new way." I grin, but my smile dissipates as he steps closer and pushes me against the wall, trapping me between his arms, leaning in closer.

"I can think of some ways," he whispers in my ear and kisses me tenderly on a spot just below my ear. Desire ripples up my spine and I suppress a moan. "Did that work?"

"No...no, it didn't..." I try to keep my voice even as my eyes shut on their own accord. He chuckles and trails feather light kisses down the side of my neck.

Oh God...

I am in the middle of the street and I don't care. I am putty in his hands.

"How about that?"

"I know your plan..." I breathe as he pulls over his jacket that I am wearing to one side to reveal my shoulder. "You are trying to distract me...so that we don't talk about..."

I never finish my sentence as he nips lightly on my shoulder. I bite my lips from moaning as I have trouble standing. My knees are like jelly and he isn't even touching me with his hands. His arms are still locking me in a cage and his lips lightly suck the skin on my shoulder. I breathe him in...I am pure sensation.

"You think too highly of me," he says and kisses my shoulder again. "I am not planning on doing anything. Why would you ever think that?"

"If distracting me isn't your plan, then that's good for me...because it's not working. I still want to know more about you."

He looks at me with hooded eyes and they gleam with mischief. "Maybe this will distract you."

His lips are on me again, but this time, the kiss is slow, not desperate like it was before. Deliberately, he sucks lightly on my lower lip and then his tongue enters my mouth, exploring every inch painfully slow. He still isn't holding me, just kissing me, and I am wound up. Wound up tight. I bring my hands to his soft hair and pull on it, and him closer. He still doesn't touch me but groans.

How can kissing anyone feel so good? So good that I don't care we're in public. My blood is singing as we devour each other.

Right then, the damn phone rings. Abruptly, the moment is shattered and he pulls away reluctantly. But he rests his forehead against mine as the phone continues to ring. After a few seconds, he takes it out of his pocket and when he glances at the screen, panic flashes in his eyes.

"I have to take this."

*

### Nick

The fucking phone rings at one of the most perfect moments of my shitty life. I am kissing the girl I've been dreaming about kissing for the longest and it feels too perfect. Too perfect to be real. To good to end. But when I see the name flashing on my screen, I know I have to take this.

It's karma. Every time anything good happens in my life, something bad follows to remind me that I don't deserve any happiness.

Chloe nods and I move far from her to talk.

"Hello," I answer, nervous. It is my older brother Max. He hasn't called me in two years. Mom said that he was just too busy with med school and wanted to give me space. But I know the truth. Max was always too idealistic. He has strong principles. He's the guy who pokes into other people's business and tells them to do the right thing.

"Hey, Nick." My heart jumps as I hear his voice. It's been so long...he sounds the same, but I can tell that this is a phone call he doesn't want to make. I ignore the sting of rejection. One would wonder that two years is a long time to get over it. "Listen, I have some bad news..."

"What happened?" I ask, panic swelling in my chest. If Max called me, then something must be very wrong.

"It's Grandpa..." He sighs. "He had a heart attack. We're not sure if he'll make it."

"What?!"

Fuck. No.

Our old man...I have so many fond memories of him. I decided to get into law because of him, not Dad. I saw his passion for law, to do the right thing, the thrill of a case, and the responsibility of being a judge. I wanted that for myself.

"Yeah, we were having a family dinner and he just dropped. He's in surgery right now, but given his medical history, it doesn't look good."

I sit on the sidewalk, dejected and hopeless. Why is this happening? I was closer to him than I was to Dad. Grandpa would take me to court with him, let me do clerical work...I smile at the fond memory of him ridiculing every courtroom drama on TV. He hated _The Practice_ the most and we would always argue about that.

"So you're coming, right?" His voice cuts through my thoughts.

"Yes..." I swallow hard. I haven't seen my family in a long time.

"Come as soon as you can," he tells me and then hangs up.

That's when it dawns on me. I am going back to the town where I ruined everything...the town where I stole my family's happiness and pride, destroyed someone's home, and wrecked my soul. The town where the whispers spread like wildfire. I have to go back and face my demons where they are the strongest. I don't know if I have it in me.

And that scares the shit out of me.

I look back to where I left Chloe. But she isn't there. I look around, but I don't see her anywhere. I feel a stab of disappointment, but it's for the best. I will swallow the bitter truth of perhaps never seeing her again, but she will always be in my head. Like she has been for two years. She needs to get away from a guy like me and be with someone who is a good person. Someone she deserves.

She doesn't deserve me.

Because somewhere out there, there is a two-year-old kid who will never know his dad, because I took that away from him.

I walk away from her, from how she made me feel, from any chance at redemption.

I am going to Fairville.

Chapter Ten: Chloe

I watch Nick pace around, rubbing the back of his neck, looking nervous. I see the hurt in his eyes, no matter how hard he tries to hide behind his wicked stare and dirty words. I want to help him. I want to know him. How many times does this happen? What were the chances of us showing up at the same place and same time?

Right at that moment, my phone vibrates. I look at it, wondering if it's Danni looking for me. But I stop breathing as I see a message from Clara, my mom's nurse at the rehab.

Clara: _Chloe, please call me ASAP. This is urgent. I wouldn't have bothered you otherwise._

Oh no! Is Mom okay? Panic clutches my heart and all my nerves dissolve into a rush of fear and anticipation. My fingers tremble as I dial Clara's number, but I am getting bad signal. I glance nervously at Nick, who is walking farther away from me, still on the phone. Maybe he has a bad connection too. So I walk farther away, trying to get a better network. I turn at the corner, next to an antique store that is closed. When I get enough bars, I call her quickly.

As her phone rings, I sing a silent prayer. If anything happened to my mom...I don't know what I would do. I have been angry with her, but I never stopped loving her. I've already lost Ian, my father pretends that I don't exist; she's the only family I have left. And to know that I have a hand in this...the guilt consumes me again and a painful sorrow twists inside my core.

"Hello?!" I am almost yelling, tears pooling in my eyes. "Is she okay? Is Mom okay?"

"Chloe, please calm down," she pacifies me, but I grip the wall for support. "Your mother is fine, but something happened."

I sigh, slightly relieved. "What happened?"

"A Detective Barba visited your mother," she says cautiously and the ground beneath my feet shifts. "He wanted to talk about your brother Ian; apparently, some new information came to light and as soon as she heard his name, she had a mental breakdown. She became hysterical, started breaking things...shouting. We had to sedate her."

My mind is still stuck on Detective Barba. Three years ago, he was the guy wearing a fedora and raincoat who guided my parents towards our family's doom. What changed after all these years? What did he want to say about Ian? What new information? I pinch the bridge of my nose as my mind reels with all the possibilities. Why is this starting again? Ian is a memory that should be honored, not probed. Something has to be going on. My curiosity spikes. I _have_ to know.

"You should come back, Chloe," she says. "Your mother needs someone right now. She was making progress, but she is very weak at the moment."

"I know..." I whisper, wiping my tears. Ian's face flashes in my mind and the loss of him still hurts as bad as it did three years ago. I wonder if it will ever go away. "I will be there, Clara. Thank you."

We hang up and I sink against the wall. The real world is calling me and I have to go back home to try and fix things—again. When did I get so old?

I drag my feet towards where I left Nick, scoffing at how abruptly life throws curveballs at you. One moment you are moaning blissfully in the arms of the man you've been dreaming of for the longest and the next you are reminded that you have to go back to your broken home and face the people who disappointed you—and those you disappointed.

When I turn around the corner, I realize Nick isn't there. My heart drops as disappointment crashes into me. I look up and down the street, but he is nowhere to be seen. My heart twists in regret and longing. He's gone.

And once again, I have no way of contacting him.

I clutch his jacket, which I am wearing around me. It smells like him and I smile wistfully. I can still feel the whispers of his kisses on my skin. He's still in my head, and now, more vivid than ever.

I start walking in the opposite direction, praying that we meet again and, when we do, I won't let him get away. But for now, I have to go back to the town I'd been trying to escape so badly. A home that became tainted by the cruelty of life.

I am going to Fairville.

_The story of Chloe and Nick continues and concludes in full length novel_

Watch Me Rise

(Available Now)

First chapter of _Watch Me Rise_

Chapter One: Chloe

Nick pulls me into a devastating kiss and I start burning with slow brilliance. Powerful. Insane. Hot. I forget where I am, how I got here, and the small voice at the back of my head, which registered that this didn't make sense, was drowned as his hot tongue teased mine. How could someone have this effect on anyone where the entire world renders into senselessness? Nothing mattered, but the feel of his taut body lined up against mine.

"How do I get you to _talk_ to me?" I manage to whisper, as he drags his teeth along my jawline and I clutch his shoulders to keep from falling.

"When I am done with you..." his voice is hoarse and he pulls down my strap, shoving me against the wall. "I don't think that day would ever come."

Before I can respond, he plants featherlike kisses along my shoulder and I tilt my head to give him more access. I'm so dizzy with the glittering rush of emotions.

"So you won't let me in your head." I say, with a stab of disappointment. What is he hiding from me? Why won't he let me help?

All my thoughts drown as his hands trail down my legs, and he starts to lightly caress the back of my thighs. Desire ricochets inside me, coiling every inch of me. I let out an unflattering moan and he chuckles lightly as he returns his lips to mine.

But then Nick pulls back, though he stays close enough. He looks at me in a way that makes my erratic heart ache and he gives me sad smile. "You won't like what you find in my head, pretty girl."

Before I could comprehend what he meant, he disappears in a puff of smoke and someone's shriek rips through my delicious dream.

"Chloeeeeeeee!" Danni sings, completely off tune and I wake up with a jolt. "Jeez...how many times have I woken you up in my lifetime?"

"Not enough, apparently." I mumble and rub my eyes. It takes some time for my head to gather where I am.

In a car. With Danni. Driving back to Fairville.

"What were you dreaming about?" she cocks an eyebrow at me and I resist an eye roll. Danni is dressed like a hippie, wearing cut-off shorts, white camisole top, her large hair tied up with a bandana and she is wearing her rose-tinted shades. But her skin is covered with fake tattoos.

"Nothing interesting." I lie. I was dreaming about a random boy I have met twice in two years.

Random? You met him moments before you were about to take your life. He has seen you more broken than anyone else ever has.

"You're lying!" she giggles. "You were blushing in your sleep," she frowns. "Please don't tell me you were having sex dreams while sitting right next to me."

"You are a pervert. I am sure, you wouldn't mind." I crank up the radio as a D.O.A song plays.

"We are such losers, Chloe." she drums her fingers on the wheel as a scowl twists her face. "It's our first summer break and instead of going to Florida or Vegas like normal people, we're going to Fairville."

"You didn't have to come." I say, quietly because it is the truth. I feel terrible that Danni ends up getting tangled in my mess, especially when she keeps me far away from hers.

"Are you expecting us to have some moment here and profess our undying loyalty towards each other?" Danni says in a dry voice that makes my lips quirk up. "Because I am going to tell you to shut up and change the channel. I hate this band."

I grin and punch the buttons till an Evanescence song _Call me when you're sober_ blasted through the stereo. I love this song. I love all their songs. But the lyrics remind me of home. Of my mom.

Oh mom...why couldn't you be normal? Why couldn't you take care of yourself?

Our hometown, Fairville, is a hard place to leave. No matter how hard one tries to get from this town, it always calls you back. Just like it called me back.

"Okay, we have to stop to get gas soon," Danni announces, thankfully steering away my thoughts. "And I have to pee."

"We'll switch then," I offer. "How far are we?"

"Two more hours to the goddamn place we call home," she says. "Chloe?" she frowns as she look at the rearview mirror. "Why did you bring that jacket?"

I follow her gaze to the leather jacket on the backseat. The jacket Nick gave me before he disappeared...again. "I...I didn't know what else to do with it." I chew my lip and avoid her probing eyes.

"I would have called you a freak, but I don't blame you. If I had a strange connection with hot guy, I would have been carrying around his clothes too."

I giggle. Strange connection? Danni won't understand the half of it. It is one of those things you have to feel in your bones, despite your brain trying to rationalize it into anything other than 'a connection'.

"Why didn't you get his number?" she groans.

"I didn't get a chance!"

"You are hopeless." Danni shook her head. "Hey, listen. Do you want to go to Jimmy's before heading home and get a drink? I got our fake IDs."

"We will reach there at two in the afternoon," I scoff. "You want to have a drink that early?"

" _Yes_. I think you could use one before you go and see your mother for the first time in like over a year."

I swallow the lump that forms in my throat and my chest feels tight. I have been avoiding thinking of how it would be to meet my mom after this long, to see with my own eyes the mess she made of herself and the wreckage I let her become. My nerves tingle as a rush of panic inflates my heart. _What will I say to her? How will she react on seeing me?_

I look out the window and start snapping the elastic against my wrist. The sweet sting soothes my spiraling mind. I can feel the physical pain push back my overwhelming panic and uncontrollable guilt. I stop when my wrist feels too tender and the numbness takes over, silencing my subconsciousness yelling at me to turn away and never look back.

*

Two hours later, I am sitting at the bar and sipping on my gin and tonic. The place isn't too crowded as it's only the afternoon and _Bury me_ by Thirty Seconds to Mars is playing on the speakers. But Jimmy's steak is popular so there are some people occupying the booths. I recognize a lot of faces, almost all of them and suddenly, I feel like I'd never left and I am right back where I was over a year ago.

No, you are not. You have a future. You are studying and making something out of your life.

"Is that Nathan!?" Danni squeaks from beside me, almost spitting her mojito. I follow her gaze and I see a tall, lanky guy with sandy blonde hair playing pool with some friends. My heart churns as recognition hits me. We all grew up together...and Nathan used to be close to my brother. Sadness crushes into me as I wonder that my brother should have been in here, playing pool with Nathan. "I'll go say hi. Do you want to come?"

"No!" I say, quickly. "I mean...not right now."

I have avoided all Ian's friends since he died. It just reminds me that they are all alive but my brother is dead...and a part of me resents them for being here and I realize how horrible that is of me.

"Okay. I'll be back."

She hops away and I stare at my drink. I am so out of it today. Thirty minutes into this town and my energy is drained. Bad things happen in this town and I can't even begin to think what will happen, now that I am here for the whole summer. I make a list of the stuff I have to do today, set up the house, go meet mom...and talk to Detective Barba.

I stifle a whimper and finish my cocktail.

"Another one. Extra shot, please." I tell Jimmy, who gives me a disapproving look. I get it. He has seen my mom get drunk here so many times that he is scared that I am heading down that path too. I'm sure he knows I am underage since he's seen me pick up my mom from here, but he always checks my fake ID religiously.

It's Fairville. Everyone drinks underage.

"This one's on me." A familiar voice comes and someone appears on my side. He rests his elbows on the counter, his tattoo winding down his muscular arm and his coal black eyes lock on mine for a heartbeat.

_Yes!_ I beam at him as I feel all my fears dissipate.

"Nick." I whisper, unable to control the grin on my face.

His lips quirk up, amused. "Chloe."

