Ari's POV

A flash of light. A pool of coagulated blood framing a lithe body. A crown of hair framing a pale face, mouth agape, brown eyes staring skyward, unseeing and glossed over. Gone. The pain hit like a freight train, stripping me of my very skin and rendering me defenseless and alone in the face of tragedy. Yet her name eluded me, and her features remained indistinct. Like quicksand, her features seemed to morph and dissipate, become a whirlpool of familiarity and strangeness. I moved closer, with little regard of the strangely familiar voice calling my voice, over and over, as I hit crimson, pristine white sneakers staining irreversibly.

As I dropped to my knees, I was met with flashes: blonde highlights intertwined with chocolate strands, a pair of eyelashes catching the morning dew and extending upwards, shadowing black eyeliner which refused to run. My face first seemed to remain stoically dry, then started to grow moist and then undoubtedly wet, yet I felt no tears trail down my cheeks, no sobs rip out of me.

I woke up with a start and was immediately met by a warm and wet tongue licking over my face, my field of sight obscured by gorgeous golden fur and a fluffy tail, wagging vigorously. Relaxing back into the pillows, I shot a hand towards my left, expecting to find the plush back of a sofa, only to be met by soft and fairly warm sheets. Confused, I called out for Nate, slurring his name in my half-conscious state, pulling myself to up and resting my back against the cool headboard.

It only took me about 8 seconds to guess where I was and more importantly, why I was here. Especially as my roaming gaze was met by Nate's severely underdressed form, black underwear casually on his hips, slightly drooping. Last night was an equivocal kaleidoscope of emotions, vague glimpses of soft skin, sharp angles, and soft yet firm sun-kissed fingers leaving hot trails in their wake. Yet my muddled memory could do no justice to the lithe, yet undoubtedly brawny frame Nate so casually put on display.

Despite the clear-cut jaw and stark shadows lining his face, his body was coltish and lean. From afar (and fully clothed) he might pass for a gangly teenager, still waiting to fully flourish into the conventional, clear cut image of masculinity portrayed by every romance book since the dawn of time, and sought after by girls with abandon and naivety.

Until only a couple of weeks ago, I was one of those girls. Now, looking at Nathan, nestled in his bed covers and knowing fully whose arms had carried me there, I would be foolish to say my perception of masculinity hadn't begun to change. I wasn't necessarily ashamed that I had come to value lean muscle over grotesquely buff arms, and a toned abdomen over a six-pack. I was only ashamed it had taken seeing Nate shirtless while fully conscious to realize it.

As I realised had been staring for god knows how long, I felt my cheeks turn rouge and snapped my neck sharply to the right, making it blatantly obvious for Nate. Suddenly, the fluffy white carpet at the foot at the bed seemed very intriguing. The silence that followed may seem empty, but silence is never purposeless. It's full of unvoiced answers, or in my case, unasked questions.

Although all my answers were already laid out, I felt the need to hear myself say it, even if it wasn't the question that truly needed an answer. "We did, didn't we?"

And there was the silence again. This time holding no questions, but the sound of a domino being nudged forward, tilting, and finding itself abruptly pulled to a stop as it hits the adjacent piece, momentum propelling the next one, and the next one after that. Until the last one finally hits the ground with a sharp clang and marks the acceptance of a satisfying ending. And the possibility of a new beginning. Was I falling in love with him? I think I already had.

Gage's POV

Note to self. Being bailed out of jail is much less glorious than depicted in books or movies. In fact, it might've been the most mortifying moment of my life. Might've, because I felt too numb, too adrift to recall anything else than my hand around her neck, her pulse under my fingertips, turning from alert to sluggish as I squeezed. I stared at my hands, turning them over and over, in revulsion, flexing my fingers over and over.

And for what? It wasn't even her I had wanted to punish. Not really. It was the person I had come to confide in and ultimately care for, defend even. Nathan. Nathan who had proven a spineless coward, and most dangerous of all, a vulture, stalking vulnerable game and biding its time before attacking, mercilessly and crudely.

Even seeing the way my mother couldn't meet my stare as the police officer who had taken me in explained the charge of aggravated assault, or my father's resolute face as he said the words I knew were coming, I still found myself clinging to some foolish ounce of hope. You're no child of mine.

But my hope wasn't geared towards earning retribution for my mistakes in front of my father. It was aimed towards the same person that had masterfully orchestrated my downfall. Because Nathan might be vile and odious, but I would never accuse him of being stupid. Or maybe he was managed to play me like he's already done a thousand times before, and there isn't a recording at all.

My only hope was that he had upheld his end of the bargain. That in exchange for staying quiet about how he had come into her life, he wouldn't seal me out of it. Yet even without saying it out loud, I knew that either way, as long as Nathan would be there, Ariana would never spare me a second glance ever again. I felt as uncertain as a message in a bottle thrown at sea, drifting with no direction or destination, and most importantly, unknowing of who would come to receive it on the other end.

The poetic justice of it all almost made me snort in the dead silent car, the radio muted, both my parents sitting in deathly silence as my father drove, face stoic as ever. How Ariana had escaped one predator, only to willingly lie with another. Exchanging outright violence for subtle manipulation. And so, as soon as a smile graced my lips, forming an upturned crescent moon, they pressed into a tight line, lower lip trembling slightly.

I found myself angling my head downwards, hiding in the safety of the shadows cast by my baseball cap, as I allowed my hand to turn into fists and the tears roll downwards unimpeded for the first time since the beginning of high school. Because in that moment, I almost felt relief that she wasn't within my grasp. Because in that moment, I felt afraid of myself.

For the first time since meeting Kaylah, I found myself sharing her outright revulsion towards me and truly comprehending it. For the first time in my life, I realised I had become the bully I had grown up fearing, in an attempt of guarding the person I would give my very life for. And in my foolishness, may have damned her.

For the first time in my 19 years of life, I felt ashamed of myself, yet driven by something stronger than desire, hope, or even love. Hatred. The kind of hatred that can only stem from where there had once been love.

Pushing the side of my head against the cool window, I closed my eyes.

"Please let me go! I've already given you all I had!" I cried out as Jacob hit me in the stomach, purposefully aiming for the same spot as yesterday, hard enough to make my vision darken.

"Here." The voice was cold and unbothered, going through a routine rehearsed a dozen times before. Some rustling followed by a tan arm holding out a bunch of 5-dollar bills followed, and I drew in a sigh of relief as Jacob stepped back, took the money, and walked away, seemingly satisfied with himself.

"Come on," Nate said, extending an arm and gently pulling me up. Even though I easily towered over him due to the growth spurt I'd gotten a couple of months back, he somehow always seemed taller, head kept high and eyes looking towards a distant horizon. I often compared him to Luke Skywalker for that very reason. Although he never seemed to appreciate that very much.

He gave me a questioning look, eyes softening, as he looked me over for any serious injuries or any sign of blood. "I'm okay this time. He didn't get far enough." I murmured with no little relief. Because I knew first-hand how traumatic, both physically and emotionally, was to wake up hours later in the nurse's office with no clue of what had happened other than the whispers in the hallway and the ache of bruises. It had only happened twice. Both times when Nate failed to show up at school for one reason or another. Coming from a well-off family where the parents were rarely around had its advantages.

"You know, statistically your chance of actually being killed in a school fight is only around 7.46%, so your worry really is quite unfounded," he said that with a slight smile, which I had come to interpret as a sign of affection from someone who mostly sneered at pretty much anyone and anything. I let out a hoarse laugh and patted him on the shoulder "Where would I be without you?"

I was shaken out of my recollection by the car grinding to a stop. "Get out." At the harsh tone of my father, my mother recoiled but didn't jump in to defend me, as she had always done whenever I got myself into a fight. Because this time, I'd truly gone past the point of no return. So instead of begging for forgiveness, I opened the door, and let it fall shut behind me without another word. I could hear the engine revving, then the tires screech and he sped off, leaving me only with bitter memories and an even more foul taste of regret.

Where would I be without you. We'll find out soon enough.

**Sorry I took so long to update. Life happened.