I try not to be suspicious –to come off desperate– but I can't really keep myself from straining my gaze in the direction of the bathroom every few seconds. I probably shouldn't be so hyper-focused and should pay at least some sort of attention to the awkward-silence-filler conversation going off around me but I can't shake the uncomfortable prickling feeling that settled over me like a blanket once Sarah excused herself and followed Aspen to the bathroom.

The whole situation is a ticking bomb threatening to blast off and my gut feeling proves to be wrong when I spot Aspen hastily passing by, retreating toward the main exit door, without so much as a glance at the table we're seated at.

"Where's she going?" Cassidy squeaks out confusedly, noticing her escaping as well, making everyone else turn around and follow her line of sight.

Sarah emerges from the bathroom at the same time as Aspen reaches the door, stumbling slightly as she tries to push it open and then she's out, rushing away as if she couldn't get away from here fast enough.

Before I fully think over what I'm actually doing, I shoot out of my seat, and I hear myself mumble, "I got it."

"I'll go." Timothy says at the same time, standing up as well.

Silence falls over the table. Briefly, I flick my eyes to Bishop for some reason, who's just watching the two of us – indifference written all over his face, as if this predicament was yet another occurrence that he has seen coming but would much rather not. He doesn't say anything though and no one else does either. I look back to Timothy, feeling the muscle in my jaw tick with annoyance.

There's a silent battle going off between our eyes but I'm not about to give up this opportunity of finally being able to talk things out with Aspen. It's a miracle, really, that I can manage to be this civilized around him after what he had done to Courtney. After what he has managed to make out of Aspen in a span of two weeks while I was gone.

I don't know how to go about this, especially not when everyone's looking at us, but I can't let him be the one to follow her. Aspen shouldn't be even around him in the first place. "No. I'm going."

Silly. Childish. Pathetic. That's how I'd feel under any other circumstance about having this macho-stand off with him. Right now though, I couldn't care less.

"Maybe. . . she wanted to be left alone," Bishop cuts in all of a sudden, just as Sarah reaches our table, plopping down into her seat, eyes cast downward.

I give him a sharp look. "She shouldn't be left alone right now. Trust me."

Then I turn to Timothy, not waiting for Bishop's or anyone else's answer, straightening my spine to exude more power and confidence than I'm really feeling in this moment. "I know you're trying to help but you're going about it the wrong way." It's a half-lie, because in all honesty, I'm not sure 'help' would be the right word for what he's been doing and I have to push past the image of his face, laughing and taunting me when I was choking him a few days ago, for everyone's sake. I swallow hard, bracing myself for some of the most difficult words I've ever had to say aloud but I know they need to be said. I'm done running from facing the reality. "I know how it feels to find someone close to you dead and – and being unable to help it because it's already too late. You have no idea how that fucks up with your head. Just. . . let me handle this. It might not work but that's all I'm asking."

If anyone at the table has anything against it, they don't voice it. Timothy is glaring at me still but somehow – by some goddamn miracle – he stands down, even though he doesn't sit and lingers by the table, and that's all it takes for me to spin around and make my way out of there.

I don't know why I immediately notice the weather. It's cloudy outside but it's not cold for December. Not really, after almost freezing on the streets of Portland. The jacket's still handy though, judging by the spreading clouds, it could rain anytime.

Cutting my gaze away from the sky, I pick up my pace, hurrying after Aspen, who's already more than several feet away, retreating. She's not actually walking that fast and kind of looks . . . spaced out, her attention being captured by every window-case of every store she passes.

"Hey!" I call after her, ignoring all the people passing by, solely focused on erasing the space between us. I don't expect her to stop, or really acknowledge me, so I'm not surprised she keeps on zig-zagging through the mass of bodies.

"Aspen, wait!" I try again, when I get close enough to her, not sure whether trying to touch her arm would be a good idea or not but apparently, my brain makes the decision before I can weight out the pros and cons properly.

"What?" She jerks around, stopping immediately, but she doesn't say anything else. And I'm a little taken aback by the sight of her face. She's been crying, that much I can tell from her reddened eyes that are zooming in on me now, penetrating me. Not with malice or hatred like I'd have expected though. She just looks. . . broken. Tired. Withdrawn from the world around her.

She looks like a shell of someone I used to know. Here. . . right at the reach of my fingertips, but not here.

Somehow, the words vaporize out of my head and I can't do anything but stand here like a goddamn fool rooted to my spot. It's one of those rare moments that occur in life completely out of blue, when you're totally unprepared, where time seems to slow down, maybe even completely stop and you can't focus on anything other than the person in front of you. It doesn't matter how much shit there's between us, where we are, under what kind of terrible saddening circumstances, right here, looking at her, makes me forget about everything else except the present.

I'm not even aware I've reached out for her, gently brushing the tips of my fingers across the delicate skin on her cheek – that seems to be redder than her other cheek for some reason – until she surprisingly leans into my palm ever so slightly and closes her eyes.

There's so much I want to tell her, so many things I want to explain. Starting with how fucking sorry I am she's in this position, how I understand her pain and why she's doing what she's doing. How I'm not judging her for it but how I also know this doesn't lead anywhere pretty and she'll only end up destroying herself even more in the process. How I can't let her do that –and that I don't care how selfish and hypocritical that might be of me – because I just can't bear the thought of seeing her this way. I think I might be in love with you, sits at the tip of my tongue and it's killing me not to be able to help you the way I'd want to.

I don't say any of it though. Not because this isn't the right place, or the right time, but because I know there's a bigger chance that she wouldn't believe me anyway. If she'd even let me finish, that is. And because this – this moment right here – isn't about me, or about us. It's about her. And the fact that her mom just died.

Still leaning into the warmness of my palm, her eyes pop open and she presses her lips into a thin line for a flicker of a second. "Can you . . ." she clears her throat, blinking up at me as she nearly whispers, "Can you do something for me?"

Unsure whether this is some sort of a trick question or not, I only give her a small nod, still not making a move to take my hand away from her cheek. I'm balancing on a razor blade, desperately wanting to draw out the touch and having her this close to me again for as long as possible. Because somewhere deep down, part of me knows she would've most likely immediately pushed me away if it weren't for the drugs running through her system.

"Can you take me somewhere away from here?" she asks, her eyes pleading.

I'm afraid if I speak, the spell will be broken and we'll get catapulted back to the ugly reality where she thinks I used her for the stupid virginity games and no longer gave a crap once I got what I wanted. But she's waiting for my answer and I have to give her something, anything. I barely recognize my voice when I ask, "Somewhere where?"

"Just. . . just somewhere where it's peace and quiet. Please."

I know I shouldn't be even considering this. I came here out here to try to talk to her – try to talk some sense into her— so I could convince her to return back to the restaurant where everyone's waiting on us. Letting my hand drop away from her delicate face, I turn my head and look back to the restaurant in the distance, hesitating.

When I look back to her again, she's still watching me with her big grayish eyes, something I can't quite decipher written all over her face. And it's that moment –as fucking stupid this whole thing might be— that I know I can't deny her. Not right now. No matter how much more shit I might end up getting for running off with her from Timothy, Rose, Bishop, her grandparents.

"I think I might know a place like that."

*
PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO VOTE! IT TAKES JUST A SECOND BUT GIVES THIS STORY MORE EXPOSURE AND THEREFORE HELPS ME AS A WRITER SO SO MUCH :) 

Uhhh, Aspen going off with Collin all of a sudden?? what's going on? is this what we've been waiting for or???

ding ding btw --- DOUBLE UPDATEEEE!!!  CLICK TO CONTINUE ONTO THE NEXT CHAPTER :)