Billie Eilish, Khalid- lovely (is it me or does her high notes sound just like melanie martinez??)

5 Seconds of Summer - Amnesia

Melanie Martinez- Sippy Cup

A/N: Sorry for the late update. The service wasn't working yesterday (turns out I just needed to restart my phone lol)
If you do picture covers, please DM me!!

Hope's POV

Being without Damien is much worse than I expected it to be.

I can't sleep. I can't eat. And the worst part of it all, is that I have to go to school and pretend like nothing happened. Like everything is okay in the world.

My dad, once again, warned me about being careful and not trying anything reckless again.

The agents had told him that I followed a guy with the same tattoo as Isabelle's killer, Elijah Johnson. That when I followed him and met him, that's when I realized that the tattoo was different. Things had gone south and I ran out of there, as him and his friends started chasing me. At least they thought that's what happened.

The nondescript armored car rolls to a stop in front of the school. Sean opens the door for me and I take a deep breath before stepping out. The sky is unusually bright blue, periodically dappled by a flat cloud or two. The trees in the center of the university does nothing to shade the blinding sun. Students are walking and laughing about, waiting for classes to begin.

But I don't understand. How can the world go on when mine has stopped? How can people go by laughing when my heart has been ripped to pieces? I don't get it.

I float between classes. I don't remember what I've learned in the previous one and when I go to the next, I forget it as soon as I leave the room. After painstakingly long hours, lunch is finally here.

It's my only escape and yet it does nothing to make me feel better. I barely notice my friends trying to get my attention until Jaliyah screams in my ear.

"Hello? Earth to Hope!"

I blink and take in my surroundings. "What? Sorry, I was just thinking."

"About who? Damien?" She coos.

I flinch at the mention of his name, feeling a slow burn in my stomach. When will it get easier? I wish I can have a distraction, something to take my mind off of my own misery.

"Actually..." Before I can speak further, Jaliyah narrows her eyes before moving my hair from my neck.

She grins knowingly and glances at Yalimar and Cellie. "Looks like she got busy last night."

I frown. "What?"

Yalimar rolls her eyes. "Hickey, dummy."

I feel my face burn as my mind goes back to yesterday's events. I move my hair back on my neck and press down hard on my foot in an attempt to control the emotions raging in me. I will not have a mental breakdown so publicly. Thankfully, the fact that I have a hickey isn't that interesting of a topic because when I snap back to reality, Cellie is gushing about Tyler and some amazing date he took her on. Despite barely hearing much of the details, I feel a tinge of jealousy. Cellie has been in love twice, and each time she claims they have been, and still are amazing people. I know what I had with Damien will never be replaceable. I will never feel the love I have for Damien with someone else. I will never be able to smile, kiss, laugh with another person, knowing the one I had thought we were meant to be was only meant to break my heart.

When classes are over, Cellie asks if she and Yalimar can come over. Jaliyah, as usual, has soccer practice.

"Actually is it okay if we hang out at yours today?" I could use a distraction aside from the normal noise in my home.

"My house it is," Cellie agrees.

Damien's POV

I stare blankly at the middle of the street, her words of hate playing on repeat in my head. I can almost laugh at the cruel irony.

My mind wanders to the day the incident had occurred. Elijah had moved to Washington a year before Zach and I did. He had left the gang under unknown circumstances and we mixed into his friend group. Ironically, I still think about that night sometimes. But it is not because I regret running away, it's because I didn't understand why he pulled the trigger. Elijah always played like that to show off. Especially when he was drunk. But his gun is always empty and placed on safety. I never found out why he loaded it that night. Nor could I, even if I wanted to, because Elijah hung himself a couple of days later.

We knew he protected us by convincing the cops he was alone. But when we found out Isabelle was the niece of the governor, we wasn't going to risk visiting. Everyone that was there that night didn't show up to his funeral out of fear. I have no idea where they are, but I last heard that they left to another state and I never heard from them again.

And to think Elijah would be the cause of my downfall. The reason why I had lost the one good thing in my life. A part of me wishes I never met her. So I wouldn't feel this constant and unbearable pain in my chest. But the other part of me, although hurt and regretful in the aftermath, is glad I've met the most beautiful girl in the world and that I had the pleasure of loving her.

I flinch at the loud horning sound behind me. I grit my teeth and make a turn, hearing a string of curses as I go by. I turn the radio volume higher, letting the music flood my senses to stop my trail of thoughts.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I fish it out to see an unknown number calling me. I turn off the radio and connect the phone to the car speaker. "Hello?"

"Hi Damien! How are you?"

I frown and look at the number before looking back at the road. "Makayla?"

"Sorry, yeah it's me. Jo gave me your number."

I let out a breath. "Hi. How you doing?"

"I'm good. How are you?"

"I'm... same. I mean, I'm fine."

"Okay, well I called to check up on you. When are you gonna take me up on my offer?"

I bite my trembling lips and try to focus on the road. "Uh... Maybe next week?"

"Okay, sounds perfect. Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Yeah, thanks for calling. Bye, Makayla." I quickly hang up and pull over to the side. I place my head on my forearms as my hands grip tightly on the wheel.

Another reminder of what could've been, and what I had lost.

I sniff and clear my throat, pulling back into the lane. After an hour, I stop by a run-down red brick apartment. I park under a busted streetlight and climb the stairs two at a time.

Music pours through the door and into a hallway, making it easy to find its source. The door is unlocked and I turn the knob. The party is in full swing.

After calling Will from the hospital, he had told me to meet a mutual friend, Bryce. I'm guessing he doesn't trust me considering who my girlfriend is. Was.

I swallow the thought and walk through the door. A girl immediately latches onto my neck, almost spilling the booze from her cup onto me. I shove her aside and then feel another hand on my shoulder.

"Damien, what's up!" I turn to see Bryce wearing a huge smile.

"We need to talk," I tell him. Without checking to see if he's following me, I walk out into the hallway. I stop by the staircase and turn to him.

"Okay, what's the plan?" He asks.

"Call it off."

He frowns, a sarcastic smile trailing his lips. "What?"

"We shouldn't kill him. He'll come for us."

Bryce shakes his head. "No. If you lead him out, his friends will think it's you and they know they can't touch you."

"I'm not your fucking scapegoat," I snap. "I won't do it."

He sighs. "Fine. But we're doing this with or without you."

"No, you can't-"

He scoffs. "Since when did you get so soft?"

"This is a bad idea, Bryce."

He raises a brow. Challenging me. "You gonna try to stop us?"

"You know I won't snitch." That's not my MO.

"Good. Don't get in our way, then. And if you won't help us draw him out, you're gonna help us another way."

I move closer and glare at him. "I'm not doing shit."

He moves closer. Our heads are level as we stare each other down. "Then I'm sure the president will be thrilled to know his daughter's boyfriend helped in Prince' murder."

I shove his chest. "Son of a bitch."

He shoves me until my head hits the wall. I grit my teeth in pain but keep my chin up. I hear a flashing sound and direct my eyes downward to see a pocketknife aimed at my throat. "So what's it gonna be, Vice?"

Hope's POV

When we step into Cellie's house, the smell of burnt food invade our nostrils. At the same time the door shuts close, the smoke alarm starts cutting loud noises into the air. We run to the kitchen, smoke already starting to form.

"What the fuck do I do?" Cellie panics.

"Fire extinguisher!" Yalimar screams before heading it to grab it herself, nestled in the bottom of one of the kitchen cabinets. She disappears through the fog just as fire sparks in the oven.

"Yalimar!" For some reason, my feet is already running in after her.

She grabs the extinguisher and aim at the fire that's starting to spread. Gas pours straight onto it and in what feels like 10 minutes, the fire is finally out. The stovetop and oven is covered in white. I open the doors and windows to let the smoke out before the fire department decides to take a wasteful trip, and that's when I realize Cellie is nowhere in sight.

"Cellie!"

Yalimar runs out the kitchen, chest heaving and wild eyed.

"Have you seen-" I start to say when I hear the sound of glass and Cellie's screams a second later. We run towards the source of the noise to find Cellie staring down at the bed. Her mom is lying on it and when I move closer, her eyes are bloodshot and a needle and broken glass rests on the floor.

Oh no.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Cellie's voice cracks as she screams. "How could you do this again? Why?" Her mother is unresponsive as her foggy eyes focus and unfocus on Cellie's face.

"Fuck you!" She runs pasts us.

"I'll go check up on her," Yalimar informs me before running after Cellie. I stand there, unsure of what to do. If I call the ambulance, they'll arrest her. And a selfish part of me doesn't want that.

"Elaine." I fight back tears as I shake her shoulder. "Elaine. Say something or I'll call the police." She shifts on the bed and looks at me through foggy eyes. I'm not even sure if she's looking at me. "Elaine." I say more desperate, not bothering to be gentle with her as I shake her shoulders.

"I'm fine, jeez," She slurs. My heart feels as if it's slowly being squeezed out of my chest.

Why? Why did she break? She was clean for 8 years. I was 12 when Cellie found her fighting the last few inches of her life on the floor. If it wasn't for Cellie, she would be somewhere I don't want to think about right now. Had it not been for my dad having contacts in the police force, she would've been in jail.

My lips begin to tremble. It pains me that I don't know how to help her. "Why? Why do this? You promised..."

"I'm sorry." She smiles up at me but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Don't tell your father. He'll kill me." She laughs but it turns into fits of coughs. "Fuck." She throws her head back on the pillow and squeeze her eyes shut. Tears fall out of them, her silent cries screaming for help.

"What do you need?" I whisper. She doesn't reply. I sit back against the headboard and take her head into my lap. I began stroking her hair, the way she did mine when I was younger.

How do you clean out drugs from your system? I remember researching it when I was 11, the day I caught her sniffing cocaine while the rest of the family was in the living room watching Wheels of Fortune. She had begged me not to tell anyone and after some heavy research, I had typed a 6 page essay on how to get drugs out of your system, the statistics of people who are going through what she's going through, and how to get professional help. I had stuffed it into an envelope and quietly gave it to her when I went over to Cellie's house to do homework. I saw her scan the page, and embarrassed, she retreated back into her room and closed the door. We never spoke about it.

9 years later, I don't remember much but I do remember a few important ones. I carefully place her head back on the pillow and walk to the door. After a second thought, I turn back and start searching the room; the dressers, under the bed, her closet, until my eyes rest on a box carelessly placed on the closet floor with the top open. There's at least 7 small bottles of white stuff inside with a bunch of needles. Where the hell does she get these from? I take another bottle on the dresser, clean up the broken glass and needle on the floor, and walk out. I find some matches in the kitchen and set fire to the contents in the box. After a minute, I douse the fire and run a hot bath for her. I take a liter of water to the room and fill up a glass with it.

"Elaine." I shake her, but she grumbles and turns her head. "Elaine!" I shake her again, more roughly to get her attention. Her eyes flies open. "Get up," I instruct. When she refuse to budge, I drag her legs until her head is about to hit the floor.

"Okay, fuck." She grits as she gingerly sits up on her own

"Drink this. All of it," I order. I put the glass to her mouth and she gulps it down in seconds. I refill her cup.

"Hydrate as much as you can. You need the drugs out of your system before Mark comes home. If he sees you like this..." Her husband is away on a business trip, like the last time. Somehow he never noticed his wife was an addict. Or maybe he knew and didn't care. Either way, I never asked.

"He'll be home next week. So it doesn't matter."

"It doesn't matter? How many times will you let Cellie suffer through this? The last time she saw you dying on the floor, she was so fucked up but obviously you don't care!" I can feel the sudden anger rolling off of me. My voice is too loud and my chest is heaving and I know I'm just projecting my repressed feelings onto her. "You're too grown to be this irresponsible. You have a family, a daughter to raise. Do you want her to end up like you?" I vaguely hope Sean, Reynolds, or Sarah does not catch on to something going on.

"Of course not." Her voice is slow and slurred and I'm not sure if she heard everything I said, because she takes the glass from me and gulps it down without another word. I refill it and give her the cup. She's about to take it when she notices something.

"Where's my shit?" She says, eyeing the cleared dresser top.

"Your shit?" I ask, attempting to look dumbfounded when I know exactly what she's talking about. "My shit!" She echoes. She gets up on unsteady legs and slowly trudges to the closet. Her eyes widen when she sees the floor empty of her sins.

I flinch as she screams at me. "Where is it? Where did you put my shit?"

"Let's calm down," I say, getting off the bed and taking a few steps back.

"Do not tell me to fucking calm down. Where did you hide it?" Her voice isn't going any lower and I'm worried the neighbors or the agents might start to hear.

"Elaine, please!"

She storms past me, too slowly, and when she finally gets to the kitchen and see the black remnants of the box, she turns to me with the most angriest eyes I've ever seen her wear in all my life. I swallow.

"You bitch!" She attempts to slap me but her hands is too slow. I catch it and gently place it down at her side.

"Elaine, stop it," I snap at her. I should've gone after Cellie instead of dealing with this. Maybe I still can. I know she either went back to Yalimar's or Baby Blue Diner.

She doesn't stop trying to attack me though. Soon enough I'm wrestling her to the ground and pinning her with my feet, a move I learned from Ezra, my former boxing trainer.

"If you don't stop right now, I'll call my dad and have him send you to rehab." I'm serious, and she can tell by the tone of my voice; that or the mention of rehab, but she stops fighting. Tears shake her body and I slowly let go of her.

"Why would you do that?" She cries. "Get out. Get out, now!"

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I said get out! You're no longer welcome here!"

I bristle. "Or what? You're going to call the police?"

She lays on the ground, her chest heaving and her eyes closed. The bath is getting cold and I quickly get up and turn on the hot shower to let steam reappear.

"Come," I order. She looks up at me with bloodshot eyes, saying a million things to me that I cannot decipher. She gives me a small nod and gets up. She stumbles and I have to practically carry her to the bathroom.

"Get in." I have to repeat it twice. She's dressed in a nightgown but she doesn't give it a thought before she steps into the water and sinks her body inside. She shuts her eyes as the hot steam hits against her body and the water already gathered in the tub.

I reappear with a glass in my hand. "Hydrate and sweat it out. You need to look somewhat decent by the time Cellie comes." I know deep down she won't be back in a while, but I don't have the heart to tell her that. She probably knows anyway.

"Just leave me," She slowly drags.

I ignore her words and turn off the water. I sit on the toilet, my mind void and empty, and a sick part of me is glad that I was given the distraction I've been looking for all day.

*****

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