I ran.

I pushed past bodies, apologies lingering in the air, unable to tear my eyes away for a split-second. She was here—standing with the same smile and the same hair, voice fading but too distinct to ignore. I wasn't seeing things or mistaking it. Every bit of my sanity was wilting.

I couldn't let her see me. I couldn't let them see me.

Evan's voice sounded behind me, but I kept walking. Head hung low, heart thumping in my ears, breathing distorted, it was becoming so hard—to breathe.

Outside, the air was biting. Harsh winds like barbed wires prickling into my skin. My chest convulsed at every possibility: had they seen? How much did Jayden know? Had she told him everything?

Would he hate me too?

I hadn't realized how rapidly my chest was rising and falling until Evan's hand landed on my shoulder.

"Laura." His voice sounded so far away. "What's going on?"

I remembered to slow count to five, turning to face him. "I. . .it's really hard to breathe."

He got a hold of my hands, face twisting in an unspoken emotion. "Breathe with me." I observed his chest rise and fall under a sheen of glossy eyes. "You're okay. I'm here. You're okay."

"I think they saw me." I exhaled, tears staining my cheeks. "I need to go."

He cupped my face. I tried to focus. On the familiarity—the very hold of his which was a remedy for this ruin. Focus, focus, focus.

Why was I such a damn coward?

"Who saw you, Laura?"

"Elizabeth."

He blinked. "You saw Elizabeth inside?"

I nodded. "And Jayden, too. And. . ."

"No one's following behind you," he said. His hand enveloped mine. I breathed: one, two, three. It will be okay. It will be okay. It is okay. "Let's go sit in the car. I'll tell the guys you're not feeling well. Come."

I turned around once, eyes locked on the entryway of the arcade, and Evan tugged at my waist. We walked in silence until my car was in sight and my breathing was becoming easier. Then, Evan said: "Do you want to go home?"

I didn't respond. He held open the door for me when I got in, eyes set on mine. "Water?"

I nodded. He sprinted to the other side, seated himself, and grabbed a bottle. "Here."

Silence.

Then: "I'm so sorry."

He looked at me. A warning. "Laura."

"Today was your day, and I. . .," my voice broke. Vision reclaimed blurriness. Heart still beat in my ears, but his voice was nearer than before. "I'm. . .pathetic."

He clutched my hand. "Do not say that," he emphasized, "right after you had a panic attack."

"I'm—" so fucking pathetic. I wanted to scream. What had this boy done to deserve the mess I brought along with me?

"No." He glared, but his voice was exceptionally soft. "Not one word."

I couldn't help it. I laughed, a sound which resembled choking better. "It's true, though." I looked away. "You should go back. I'll. . ."

"I'm not leaving you." He tapped on his phone but his eyes were set on mine, firm. I knew I couldn't challenge him in this. "I informed Xavier."

The air inside the car was becoming suffocating. I noticed him lower the windows, and I learnt to breathe again.

"Feel better?" He was observing every part of my face. "I was so worried, Laura."

I turned to face him. His eyes were grayer in this moment, overcast. And for a slew of seconds that ensued, all I did was watch him—an action that eased my heart beyond sense. I was staring into the eyes that calmed me like no other. Staring at the person who was treading terrifyingly close to the line of being perfectly mine.

"Your eyes," I paused, not wanting to embarrass myself. "They're, um, comforting."

Somehow, his gaze turned even softer. "Stare at them for longer, then, if you want."

My gaze fell to his lips, though, and blood rushed to my cheeks. His mouth curved.

I had kissed this boy plenty, yet I couldn't handle looking at him for any longer than necessary.

I tore my eyes away, blinking back the blush. "Our friends will think we left to make out in my car."

"I think they should learn to be okay with that thought." He smiled, eyes earnest. "Do you want to go home?"

I shook my head. "We should. . .go back. To them."

"Don't push yourself," he said, words a reminder. Always a reminder, and a gentle one at that. "We'll go home if you want to go home. They're all wasted and will pass out soon anyway."

I kept silent.

He let a beat pass before saying, "I thought you'd spoken to her after everything."

"I haven't." I exhaled. "Yet."

He spoke softly. "You need to talk, Laura."

"You think I don't know that?" My voice grew in volume. "Of course we need to talk. But it's. . .it's—"

Too much. Thinking about it is enough for me to want to disappear, and thinking about her makes me want to cry and embrace her and apologize all over again because I kept making mistakes even after I swore I won't.

"What is it? Talk to me." Evan's voice severed. "You've gone to lengths for me. Let me be there for you, too."

"It's not that simple, Evan. You don't seem to understand."

My chest constricted, only this time because I'd said the wrong thing and I couldn't take it back.

His face was unreadable. "Make me understand, then."

I kept silent for the second time tonight.

Although this time, the silence stayed, suspended on my shoulders like heavyweight. It was not the silence I was used to with Evan. Silences with him were just as gratifying as an eager conversation. This time, it was winding around my heart, pulling apart at any semblance of my dignity.

Time became a standstill for a moment, and before I could take back—say something that would matter, the blow to my heart had already been fired.

"Do you plan to run away again?"

My eyes snapped to his. "What?"

"If she finds you, do you plan to run away again?"

"You don't know what you're talking about." My nails dug to my palm. Crescents formed on the surface, a breath away from drawing blood, because he did know what he was talking about. He knew me too well for me to be able to turn this conversation around. "And I heard you loud and clear the first time."

"I know you heard me loud and clear." His words were sword-edged, slicing me apart. "You just never listen, do you?"

I wondered if my voice even reached him. "I don't want to talk about this."

"I know." A pause. "So you'll push me away, just like how you pushed her out of your life." His voice broke. The words that were just before fluid, tidal waves, stopped right before they could snatch the ground from beneath me.

"Evan." My voice was a broken shard of glass lodged in my throat. "Please."

Then I looked at him—really looked into his eyes, mine glistening and his filled with remorse, and wanted to undo this conversation entirely.

He did not stop. "Putting the walls back up is easy for you, Laura. But I. . ."

I hated tonight. I hated how I had been the one to turn it into this, and I hated how he deserved none of it, and I hated how we were having our first fight. We. We. What even were we?

"But what?" I found myself asking instead of saying: I'm sorry I'm hard to deal with at times. I'm sorry this is happening. I'm sorry, but this is me trying.

I swear I'm trying.

His face held so many words unsaid. "But I'm—"

Our phones chimed at the same time. Xavier had texted on the group chat, we're leaving. Are you?

Before Evan could drop me a questioning glance, I situated my hands on the steering and hit the gas.

The drive was silent until Evan said, "I just wish you'd talk to me."

"I'm trying." My eyes stung. "It hurts. I thought you'd understand."

I saw him fight the urge to wipe my cheeks, hold me, somehow, somewhere—fingers freezing mid-air. "I do understand, Laura, of course I do. I just. . .cannot bear to see you like this."

My hands clenched around the steering as I pulled over. The engine stopped, any sound dying in the dead of the night. Moonlight shone in my periphery, bright and infinite.

"I. . ." Cannot. Not yet. Words died at the base of my throat, leaving behind a taste of dust. He did not leave—unsure, waiting. He waited. Always, eyes warm on mine and fingers dwindling, unspoken prose lining his lips.

He waited, perhaps how the moon waited for the sun.

And I chose to ask more of it—of the ceaseless hope we held in our palms. "Give me tonight, please."

"You've got tonight." It was an effortless sentence. A string of words spelling assurance, settling at the far-bottom of my chest. But only when I looked up did I realize that his eyes held the words: you've got my tomorrows, too.

"Get home safe, okay?" He waved his hand.

"I'm sorry." I laughed to hold back a cry and hoped apologizing once undid tonight. Some optimism it was, crass and mercurial—a ticking time-bomb. "Happy birthday, Evan."

He smiled at me, and my heart split into two.

this chapter is, in some sense, special to me. i cannot elaborate. hinting at a bit of frustration in the character narrative, but hopefully you guys understand that laura is a flawed mc, always has been, and she struggles with things many other do. but i love her to death because of it. the graph of healing isn't always linear, especially not for her. she will trip and fall and make mistakes and possibly do it all over again, but she will learn. i hope you can keep that in mind as we proceed from here on x

hope you're doing well. i love you,

abrial