Today, we drove down to Seattle so she could show me the troll under the Aurora bridge. We took pictures of each other climbing on top of it. It wasn’t nearly as scary as the version she had painted, which I made sure to give her crap about. She laughed, but it felt forced. None of the smiles she gave me today were real, and I know that what happened after school yesterday is really taking a toll on her. It was a conscious decision not to ask her about it and to give her space to talk to me when she was ready.

  Kurt’s car is in the drive when I pull in. It was no surprise that my mom posted his bail after he got arrested, but I made sure to stay away as much as I could for a few days after he came back to the house. When I do go home, I hide out in my room, but when nights get really bad, I sleep in my car. Even though Harlow told me I could stay with her, I’ve yet to take her up on it.

  Kurt’s riffling through the pantry when I walk in, and I make a dash for the stairs, but don’t get far when he calls, “Seb, let’s chat.”

  Tired and cautious, I stop on the steps. “About?”

  “Something your mom told me.”

  If it were about anything other than my mother, I’d ignore him. Turning around, I go to the kitchen where he’s leaning against the counter and digging into a box of crackers.

  “Is she even here?”

  “Nah,” he says. “She ran to the store.”

  He shoves a cracker into his mouth and stares at me as he chews, irritating the piss out of me.

  “What did you want to talk about?”

  “Your mom was upset earlier, and I couldn’t understand why.” He sets the box down, pushes away from the counter, and takes his time as he strides across the kitchen toward me. “She said she was having doubts, but it didn’t make sense because she’s constantly on this,” he says, grabbing his dick.

  “Get to the point,” I bite through my clenched teeth because I’m about to go off on this motherfucker.

  “She told me you put those thoughts in her head.”

  I right my spine, but I’m folding on the inside. The fact that she would tell him what I said to her is yet another betrayal.

  I should have expected it.

  Kurt rounds the bar, and when he steps up to me, I flex my chest and meet him eye-to-eye.

  “You got shit to say to me?” he taunts.

  “I’ve got plenty to say to you, but you aren’t worth the breath it would take.”

  “Is that so?” He runs his hand along his jaw, and that’s when I see my father’s wedding band on his finger.

  My chest rips wide open, dumping burning acid down my ribs and into my gut. He sees me staring at the ring, and he cracks a cocky grin. I’m shaking—every inch of my body wants to murder this piece of shit. Bile rises in the back of my throat, and when I curl my fist and swing, I clip his chin, catching him by surprise. His eyes go black, and he barrels his knuckles into the side of my face, blinding me temporarily.

  The impact knocks me back and into the barstools, but in the very next second, I’m launching myself at him, throwing punches. Falling to the ground, my fury erupts. Blow after blow, we take our shots as everything spins out of control. I manage to get on top of him and hammer my fist into his mouth, busting his lip open before he grabs my shirt and shoves me off of him, slamming my back against the edge of the bar.

  Burning fire shoots up my spine, stealing the breath right out of my lungs. I hiss in pain, and when I open my eyes, he’s standing over me.

  “Kurt!”

  My mother runs in, dropping a bag of groceries all over the floor and pulling him by the arm. She doesn’t even acknowledge me as I push my chest off the floor and sit up. She’s too busy inspecting Kurt’s face and asking him what’s going on.

  As he gives her some bullshit answer, I cut in, yelling, “Why?”

  She looks at me crumpled on the floor. “What has gotten into you?”

  “Why did you give him Dad’s ring?”

  All she does is stare. She says nothing—nothing.

  “Why?” is all that is left of me, and I hate myself for the tears that fall down my face.

  She steps away from Kurt but won’t come closer to me as I remain on the ground staring up at her, desperately needing her.

  “I can’t do this anymore.” Her words are strangled in her pain, but I hang on to them because I can’t do this anymore either. She begins crying and for the first time in a long time, I have hope that maybe she is coming to her senses. “I’m so tired of all this chaos.”

  “I am too.”

  “I want to move on. I need to heal and get on with life.”

  Her words are my very thoughts and I truly hope she is at her end with all of this so we can both escape this nightmare. She turns to look at Kurt, but when her eyes come back to mine, there’s something in them that scares me. She’s hesitant, but she goes on to say, “I can’t stop living in the past when my past lives with me.” Her voice cracks. “I’ve tried so hard, but it hurts to look at you when all I see is him.”

  Confusion has me shaking my head. “What are you saying?”

  She stalls and then takes Kurt’s hand. “This is me, trying to move on—wanting to move on.”

  “You’re fucking kidding, right?”

  Without another word, they walk out of the room.

  The jagged edges of the love I used to feel from her dig into the core of my soul—the soul she used to take care of but has thrown away as if it never meant anything to her.

  This must be what a broken heart feels like.

  The sound of her bedroom door closing severs something inside me. I stand, unsure of what to do or where to go, but one thing is for sure, I’m not living here anymore. I go up to my room and take a look around at all the memories, but that’s all they are—faded fractions of what life used to be.

  I pull down a large duffle bag from my closet and start throwing things in. I’ll come back for the rest after I figure out what I’m going to do.

  Right now, I just want to leave, but not before tossing in the rest of the bottles from the liquor cabinet. There aren’t many left, but I take them anyway before going out to my car. I wind up parking at the school and getting drunk. For hours, I sit and wonder where it all went wrong. Questions manifest, one after the other, and I drink to make them go away because I have no answers.

  Flipping down my mirror, the tiny light shines on my swollen face. My eye is badly bruised and both of them are entirely bloodshot.

  Drinking and crying.

  Crying and drinking.

  How is it that I’m left with just one person in my life when there used to be so many surrounding me? I’m so undeserving of her. After the years of shit I gave Harlow, she’s found something in me worthy enough to put it all aside and forgive me. It’s something that I will never stop being thankful for.

  I don’t remember starting my car, but I’m driving down the street, and when the light changes to green, I don’t even recall it being red.

  Was I even stopped?

  When I pull along the curb in front of her house, I stare up at her window through the trees and wonder if she’s asleep.

  It’s almost one in the morning, and there aren’t any lights on inside her house. Still, I tap her name to send a text, but it becomes too much of a task to punch out the letters, so I call her instead.

  Hope dwindles after a handful of rings, but then she answers.

  “Hello?” Her voice is scratchy, and I bet her eyes are still closed.

  “Hey.” Mine is scratchy too.

  I can hear her sheets rustling. “Is everything okay?”

  A breath of a laugh finds its way out of me, but nothing about it feels good.

  “Where are you?”

  “Out front.”

  “Of my house?”

  If I weren’t drunk, I’d be ashamed. “Can I stay with you?”

  She’s quiet. Maybe she didn’t really mean it when she made the offer.

  “It’s cool. Never mind.”

  “No, it’s fine. Just . . . come around to the back door. I’ll meet you.”

  I don’t bother grabbing anything from my bag; I’m too eager to get to her. Walking along the edge of her house, I sway and then lose my footing before falling to my knees. Picking myself back up, I round the corner, bracing my hand on the wall to keep my balance, and when I reach the back door, she’s standing there waiting for me.

  “Hey.”

  She raises a finger to her mouth, warning me to stay quiet, and when I get close enough for her to see my jacked-up face, her eyes widen in disbelief.

  “Come on,” she whispers, grabbing my hand and pulling me through the dark house.

  We make it up the stairs without a sound, and when I walk into her room and she locks the door behind us, I turn to her. She keeps her eyes glued to me as she takes in my bruises. Slowly, she slips her arms around my waist, and it’s only then that I allow myself to fall into her.

  She’s the only one who cares about me, and although I’m so grateful, it still hurts. She holds me as I drop my head down to her shoulder, fighting hard not to cry, but a few tears slip out anyway.

  We stand like this for a stretch of time, and I don’t know how I’ve made it so long without her.

  When I finally pull back, she takes my hand and leads me over to the bed. She crawls in while I kick off my shoes and undress down to my underwear. I slip in next to her, exhausted in every way possible.

  Lying on our sides, she reaches over and gently drags her fingertips along my black eye. “What happened?”

  I have nothing left to hide from this girl, so I let the words fall from my lips in a whisper. “Kurt’s wearing my dad’s wedding ring.”

  “She gave it to him?”

  I nod. “I lost it, and we started swinging.” Her fingers drift softly down the side of my face. “My mom said that I’m a reminder of the past she’s trying to move on from. So I left, but I don’t have anywhere to go.”

  With all my defenses down, I can no longer blink back the tears. Her forehead presses to mine, and I hold on to her as she brushes them away. The pain is intolerable, but her touch offers me comfort. I felt it when I kissed her last week.

  We didn’t talk about it, but I get the feeling that it was just as innocent for her as it was for me. That it was simply a way to connect. So, with no blurred lines, I lean in and kiss her again because I need the closeness, and she presses her hands into me, gripping me tighter, letting me know she needs it too.

  It’s a still kiss that I’m nervous to disrupt, but I do anyway because it isn’t enough. When I begin to move my lips, I feel her hesitate and pull back.

  Her eyes are downcast when she admits, “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

  “Is this okay?”

  It takes her a second, but then she nods before coming back to me. Gradually, I feel her tension slip away, and she relaxes in my arms. With her warmth pressed against me, I swear she heals some of these broken pieces of mine. The ache calms in my chest, and all the bullshit outside of this room dissolves into nothingness.

  Eventually, our lips naturally fall from each other’s, and she rests her head on the pillow next to me. “I’m scared I’m going to lose you,” she whispers.

  “You won’t.”

  She sighs and drops her eyes.

  “What?”

  “I’m worried about your drinking,” she reveals. “If you get caught—”

  “I won’t.”

  “You could.”

  I want to assure her that I’m fine and that she has nothing to worry about, but it would be a lie delivered on bourbon-tainted breath.

  “Promise me the next time you drink that you won’t drive.”

  The worry in her eyes is real and has me considering how bad it would be if I did get in trouble and I wasn’t around for her when she needed me.

  She doesn’t talk about it a whole lot, but I know she’s sad. It’s impossible not to worry about her even though she told me I didn’t need to. The fact that she felt safe enough to confide in me was huge. She trusts me when she doesn’t trust anyone. Just the thought of what might happen if she were to lose that terrifies me enough to promise her whatever she wants.

  She needs me, especially after what happened yesterday.

  But I need her too. She’s the only person who cares enough about me to be worried. Not even my own mother is worried—only Harlow. That alone has me caving.

  “Just call me next time, and I’ll come get you,” she offers.

  “Okay.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise,” I tell her. “But I need you to make me a promise too.”

  “Anything.”

  “Promise me that we’re going to get out of this place. That it isn’t just us talking about it, but that we’re actually going to do it.”

  Tucked in my arms, she rests her head on my chest. “I promise.”

  HARLOW

  “Sebastian.” I gently shake his shoulder to wake him. “Sebastian.”

  “Hmm.”

  He rolls onto his back with an exhausted sigh, and when his eyes finally open, I tell him, “You have to go before my mom wakes up.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Six.”

  He cringes when he sits up, touching the side of his face, which looks worse than it did last night. “How bad is it?”

  “It’s pretty bad. I’ll get you an ice pack before you leave.”

  He drags himself out of bed and slips his clothes back on while I crack the door open and peer out. There are no sounds in the house, and I wave him to come with me when I step out into the hall. With his shoes in his hand, he’s as quiet as I am as I lead him down the stairs. When we pass through the kitchen, I grab an ice pack from the freezer and then follow him to the back door.

  “Here,” I murmur and hand it to him.

  As silently as possible, I unlock the door, but the click sounds a thousand times louder than it should.

  “Thanks for letting me stay with you,” he says in a hushed voice as he steps outside before tugging me in for a hug.

  “Will you come back tonight?”

  “Is that okay?”

  I nod, and he tells me, “I’ll meet you at Marina later,” since we’re skipping school again today.

  I watch as he shoves his shoes on and then makes his way down the side of the house. He rounds the corner, and when I go back inside, I close the door a split second before my mother walks into the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” she says as I walk over to the island as casually as I can. “You’re up early.”

  “So are you.”

  “Homecoming.” She pulls a coffee mug down and opens the fridge to get the creamer. “We have a bunch of orders this morning. Needless to say, I won’t be around much for today and tomorrow; you know how it is.”

  “Yeah,” I mumble. I’m supposed to be photographing the game tonight, but there is no way in hell that’s going to happen.

  I’m terrified to return to school, so there is no chance I’m going to the football game tonight, let alone the dance tomorrow night. I promised Sebastian I’d go back to school on Monday, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to actually follow through on that.

  Everyone will be looking at us—at me. I can’t deal with that kind of attention, and no matter how much Sebastian tries to assure me that it’ll be okay, it does nothing for my trepidation.

  “What’s that?”

  Snapping out of my thoughts, I look over to my mom, whose eyes are locked on my wrist. I was mindlessly itching my tattoo and hadn’t realized it. My stomach lurches as I shove my sleeve down.

  “Are you marking your scar again?”

  “No!” I spit out too defensively, folding my arms across my chest and tucking my hands beneath them.

  “Harlow . . .” Her voice pitches in worry.

  “Mom, stop. I’m not marking my scar, I promise.”

  It’s a promise that falls on deaf ears as she sets her coffee down and walks over to me, holding out her palm. “Let me see.”

  She’s bound to find out eventually, and the last thing I need is her panicking again, so with a sigh of annoyance, I hold out my arm.

  Shoving my sleeve up, she literally gasps when she sees the tattoo. In disbelief, she turns my wrist until she can see the bow. Her eyes flick to mine. “Please tell me this is fake.”

  I pull my arm away.

  “Harlow, is that real?”

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  Her mouth gapes. “Like hell it isn’t! When did you get that?”

  “On my birthday.”

  She exhales a hard breath out of her nose and perches a fist on her hip. “With Sebastian?”

  “Mom, relax.”

  “Do not tell me to relax when you’re hanging out with that boy and coming home with tattoos.”

  “It’s just one, and why are you calling him that boy?”

  “You know how I feel about him.”

  “You don’t even know him.”

  Pressing her lips together, she pauses before asking, “Is there something going on between the two of you?”

  “Oh my god,” I exhaust, rolling my eyes.

  “Answer me.”

  “No, Mom. There’s nothing going on. We’re just friends.”

  “Why is he your only friend?”

  “Why does it matter?” I shoot back. “Why are you so against him?”

  “Because he’s a bad influence on you.” I lock my jaw to keep myself from going off on her. She steps closer to me, taking my hand again, and glares at the tattoo when she says, “This isn’t you.”

  Yanking it away, I snap back, “No, Mom. This isn’t you.” My tone is sharp, alarming her. “He’s my best friend. He’s the only one who doesn’t judge me for being who I am.”

  “I don’t judge you.”

  “Yes, you do! You’re constantly trying to change me and make me into someone I’m not because you don’t like who I am.”

  “That is not true.”

  “You say you want me to have friends, and then when I make one, he isn’t the right type of friend.”