Hope never really resided with me.

Maybe it was the fact that when you ask for things, you get disappointed. When you think that everything is one way, the rug is pulled out from under you. Life fucking sucks and I knew that, everyone with half a brain knew it.

So that's why I'd had little hope that, after Oliver hadn't so much has talked to me for a week, things would ever go back to the way they were. I'd asked him to leave and he did, and he didn't come back. That was my fault.

That was all my fault but January didn't see it that way. After we'd successfully made our way back to my house after school, his arm swinging the door open violently as I slipped my way underneath, ducking so I could squeeze through the tight space, he wouldn't stop nagging me about going after Oliver one more time.

"Leave me alone, Jan."

We'd been having the same argument for days and when I finally bought he'd let it go, it was brought up again when we were alone. Well, alone until we'd seen Jackson on the couch as we'd entered the living room... how he'd gotten home first was beyond me. I was tired of thinking about Oliver, tired of regretting my actions and apparently, January was tired of my moping. I rolled my eyes as he continued to walk behind me, reaching out and attempting to tickle me but failing nonetheless.

"Just call him," he groaned, hand slipping into my back pocket to retrieve my phone. It was getting pretty damn close to Christmas, the year was moving so fast so as he almost tripped on the garland laying on the floor, I'd attempted to push him.

But Jan was already launching himself onto the couch beside my brother.

Making my way over and literally climbing on top of him to grab for my phone as he texted, I was paranoid. I didn't want to text Oliver, I didn't need to text Oliver- who was I kidding? I was terrified to text Oliver. What if he didn't text back? What if he hates me? "Jan, this isn't funny."

"Princess Oli? That's so cute, babe." He was ignoring every attempt I made to overpower him and when my face was close to him, he grinned before licking a long stripe of salvia across my left cheek.

"January!" I'd yelled, pushing myself off of him and sitting up straight, my hand coming to wipe my face angrily as he scurried away, landing right on top of Jackson's lap. I paid no mind to the way Jackson's face flushed a bright red.

"Emerson!" My best friend had yelled back, kicking at my hands which had made their way to tickling the bottoms of his feet. His giggles were drowning out any other sound, including Jackson's little chuckles here and there as he joined in, gripping Jan's sides like it were second nature.

"No, no, stop!" January had yelled out, my phone slipping from his hands and landing on his chest as he attempted to pry my brother's hands away and in a second, my phone was back in my grasp. "Jackson!" He whined in false anger, pouting when my hand was clasped around my phone attempting to undo all the damage he'd done.

Shit.

I was breathing faster, my heart was hammering and I couldn't stop myself from reaching out and punching January so hard in his arm that he was gripping it, pouting deeper. He'd texted Oliver.

"What the hell, Jan?" I couldn't stop from spewing out, my eyes concentrating tightly on my phone, unable to move. It was a simple request that he sent, talk to me, and I was trying to convince myself that it was okay but when my phone buzzed, I felt my heart drop.

From

leave me alone.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream and cry and bury myself in my own sadness as I pulled my knees up to my chest, breath coming out as I struggled to hold onto anything. I was so mad at myself, tossing my phone away from me in any direction just wanting it to be gone.

And I heard everything stop, a body lifting from the couch to later be discovered as Jan's as he picked up my phone. In a second, he was beside me again, gripping my shoulder, "Go make sure he's okay."

I knew I had to, shakily standing and wiping at my dampened eyes, sliding my phone into my pocket, I grabbed for the keys. I needed to fix this; moping around without him was getting ridiculous especially when I was the one who ruined everything. Sliding Jackson's football hoodie on, I left.

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I didn't know why I thought this would work and as I stood there on his porch a chilly wind brushing by me in December. I don't know why the fuck I thought he'd want to talk to me and why I found myself trying to get him back when he blatantly told me to leave him alone. But my body and my mind were on two different speeds, my index finger going to push in the doorbell.

And then I was panicking as, a second later, I heard footsteps. My heart was pounding, my chest constricting, I was so fucking scared. I didn't want it to be Oliver, I don't think I could handle it if he opened the door and slammed it in my face.

My prayers were answered when the younger Remmer slid the door open, distressed jeans were hanging off his hips, a plain Pearl Jam t-shirt thrown on and I could hear Nirvana sounding from somewhere inside the house. I looked up to his face and instantly wished I hadn't. His lip was busted, something that wasn't there the last time I'd seen him and one of his baby-blue eyes were bloodshot, the area around a mixture of healed and bruised.

"Emerson?" I'd stopped to look at his full face, he looked insecure, looking down as if he didn't want me to see the damage done to his face. I watched as he tried to hide his bruised knuckles as he pulled that hand closer to the doorframe so I couldn't see. He looked younger in those moments, his hair falling to some-what cover a little of his face at the angle he was standing.

I wanted to hug him, he seemed as if he needed something, "Hey, Elliot. Have you- have you seen Oliver?"

"Why?" he asked, voice empty of emotion as if he'd been practicing the response for his entire life. He rocked on his heels as I heard the song behind him coming to an end. His eyes left the floor but never focused on me, flicking around to the park across the street and I watched as he moved his non-bruised hand to push away his curls. It reminded me of Oliver, the tucked in stance, the bruises, the way he pushed his hair away from his face.

Breathing in sharply, I thought of the worst possible scenarios. "I need to talk to him... have you seen him?"

Still, Elliot didn't seem to care as he shook his head, "Last I heard he was hanging with Logan down by the tattoo shop but I haven't talked to him."

"And where is that?" I'd questioned, newfound courage surfacing in me and I found myself preparing to go get him, my hand tightened around my keys. Please don't be doing anything illegal, please don't be doing anything illegal.

But the boy in front of me was stubborn, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes although he still didn't look at me. I could tell he was loosing his patience, losing his interest in the conversation as he sighed, "Why should I tell you anything that has to do with my brother?"

"I want to apologize." I was rocking on my heels by then, trying to get him to understand. Really, I just wanted to know Oliver was safe.

That was what snapped his attention to me, his eyebrows raised and blue eyes scolding me without words. He seemed offended as if me feeling sorry about it affected him and maybe it did, "You really hurt him, you know?"

I bit my lip, "Yeah."

"And he's probably really fucking depressed over you right now."

And I sniffled. It was around the middle of December and with the weather sneaking up on me like this, I couldn't tell whether my nose had been runny from emotions or the temperature, "I know."

Elliot groaned and I knew that if I were looking at him, he'd be rolling his eyes at me, "it's no fun when you feel bad," he'd almost whined and in any other circumstance, I'd find it amusing.

"I'm sorry." It took everything to keep my voice from shaking.

"Do you really like him?"

That was a stupid question because of course, I liked him. How could anyone not like Oliver? He was funny and sweet and confident and I was stupid for letting that go so with confusion, I couldn't help myself from furrowing my brows. "What?"

"My brother has enough shit in his life, he doesn't a girl who ain't worth half the shit she puts him through... He doesn't need you around just to prove a point or hurt him." That hit me, hit me so hard it physically hurt and I attempted to stay where I was and not run away when things got scary. "Do you like him? Because if you don't, I suggest you get the fuck off my porch."

I nodded, trying to regulate my breathing and looking around with my bottom lip tugged into my mouth, I waited for him to come to the realization of what I was saying. "Noted." Pushing my tongue into the side of my mouth, I willed myself to stay put.

"You're not going anywhere?"

I shook my head, "Nope."

Elliot sighed and I looked up to catch him looking behind himself as if someone would hear. He squeezed his eyes shut as if he were in pain before opening them and looking down at me, "The intersection by Brantley Cove, by the automotive shop. There's this place called Inked, go in there and ask for Logan Whitney."

What was I with this family giving out information too fast for me to catch on? Still, I nodded, committing it to memory. I watched as he gave me a swift jerk of his head before reaching up to close the door.

"You're not coming with?"

Shaking his head, he let out a laugh and I tried my best not to cringe at how forced it sounded, "I can't talk to Oliver without wanting to punch him in the face and that might ruin your little lovey-dovey moment."

"Thank you, Elliot."

"Don't mention it," and as I turned and made my way down the stair but I never heard the door close. That was because Elliot was calling out for my attention and when I'd stopped, he made his request, "actually, you still owe me that double-date with Jovie so hurry up and make my brother fall in love, will ya?"

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He was smoking when I'd first seen him.

There was the ends of a cigarette in his mouth, lips curved around it and his eyes were bloodshot. I could see the way a vein in his neck popped slightly as he sucked in the smoke before pulling the cancer stick fro his lips. Dropping it, I watched as he crushed it beneath the sole of his shoe and bit his lip. He coughed slightly, breaths visible as he brought his hand up to run through his hair.

And he squeezed his eyes shut, reaching a hand in his pocket and pulling out his phone. He looked amazing that day, hair flat against his head and arms pulled close to his body. The freckles scattered across his face looked even more prominent as his skin was paler than before.

Shoving his phone back in his pocket, I watched as he flexed his hands before turning around to jam his fist into the brick wall behind him. I heard a crack before he yelped, catching his hand in his other. His hand was bleeding as he winced but only ended up breathing a bit heavily... I saw him grit his teeth before entering the building and I took a breath before I'd loose my confidence.

I followed him inside.

"Oliver, what the fuck?" I heard a voice scarily similar to the same voice I'd heard on the phone the last night I'd talked to Oliver. I briefly recognized him as Logan, his appearance not matching his voice.

He was around my height which wasn't short but standing beside Oliver, he seemed less than average. But that wasn't what shocked me as he took in Oliver's busted knuckles, it was the tattoos that covered both his slightly-muscled arms and the brown hair pulled into a small bun at the base of his neck.

"It's not broken," I heard Oliver's voice croak out, lip sucked into his mouth as Logan spoke to him in a smaller voice. I shouldn't have been there; I shouldn't have been listening.

I took that time to look around, the men and woman pierced and tatted intimidating me. I'd never been around so many people covered in ink and metal... It smelt like weed and I could see people crying as they were draped along leather chairs and all you heard were needles pushing in and out of skin. I could see people smoking, eyes heavily lidded and in the corner there was someone snorting coke but I was too entrapped by the woman beside me, getting a bloody skull tattooed on her arm despite her soft brown eyes and comforting smile.

I didn't hear it when Oliver had spotted me but I felt his hand on my wrist and heard his words.

"What're you doing here?"

I couldn't take my eyes off of the shop, it intriguing me in a way I didn't think was possible, "I need to talk to you."

"I thought I told you to leave me alone."

That was when I met his cold eyes. I watched Oliver wrap a bandage around his hand and if the bags under his eyes didn't say anything, the way he quickly averted his gaze did. I wasn't sure if he were upset, "I don't want to..."

"Oh."

"Can we talk?" I'd seen him nod after a while, tugging me to a room in the back and he sent Logan a brief nod before closing the door. I felt bad when I'd seen his forced smile at the concerned look on Logan's face and took in the room.

There was a little made bed in the corner but despite that, the room was a wreck. I saw baggies on the counter and I honestly didn't want to know what the white substances in them were. I saw bongs and drugs and pills scattered on the table and God, I wished I didn't. "Is this what you do in your free time?"

He mustn't have noticed what I was looking at because he shrugged. We were standing too far apart, it hurt, "Yeah, sometimes I actually get to tattoo someone."

And I closed my eyes, I didn't want to say anything, didn't want Oliver to be offended but I had to ask, "Do you sell drugs?"

"No." He spoke bluntly as if he weren't shocked at all by my question but his eyes stayed centered on me and I could tell he was telling the truth.

Still, I had to pry, "Who's is that, then?"

He shrugged, lifting the bandage to his mouth before ripping it, throwing the roll elsewhere and securing it tightly around his hand. He flexed his fingers before crossing his arms and answering, "Bobby, she sells, it's nothing big though."

"It's not big?" I questioned. How could it not be big?

He seemed done with me already, "It doesn't have anything to do with me, Em."

I wanted to trust that but... "Do you snort?"

"No."

I instantly felt bad about the honesty in his eyes and the fact that I was still pushing him even after he'd answered me repeatedly. I didn't want Oliver upset but then it occurred to me that he was already. I thought about before, a few weeks ago and finally got to the reason I was there. "I'm sorry."

I expected him to not forgive me, shake his head, leave... But with a shake of his head, he sighed, "Don't be."

"I judged you."

He shrugged, "You were right."

"Oliver-"

"I need help," he ignored my words, talking over me as I bit my lip. He sent me a small smile as if it were nothing, "I really need help."

I could see where this was going and I regretted putting the idea back in his head, he wasn't crazy. He had reasons and I didn't know those reasons before but now that I knew them, I felt so bad, "You're not crazy, Oliver."

"I am. You know I am."

He wasn't, "Why'd you fight him?"

Oliver didn't seem to expect that, eyebrows furrowed as he tried to figure out what I meant. I was being cryptic, I knew it. "Ceaser?" And when I nodded, his frown only deepened, "You know why."

"No. Why did you snap?" The fight kept replaying behind my eyes and all I could see was that moment before he hit Ceaser. When Oliver was being held by his arms and his eyes were empty and then something happened. I didn't know what happened but he lost it. I needed to know why he lost it. "You were gonna stop, I saw it in your eyes, you were gonna stop and then he said... something. What did he say?"

He knew what I was talking about, "Emerson."

"What did he say?" He didn't budge but I watched as his fingers curled around the chair behind him. There was a hesitant look, green overtaking his gray, eyes flickering behind me instead, "Tell me."

"He called me psycho but that didn't get to me..." I felt myself walking closer to the boy in front my me, his walls collapsing and in a second, I thread my hand through his hair. Forcing him to look at me, I attempted to get him to continue and after I'd had his eyes on mine and reassurance that I'd be there, he spoke.

His voice was shaky, "He said he had you first, he fucked you first, he called you nothing but ass and a pretty face and I lost it."

And that hurt, a slight pang coming back from when I'd dated Ceaser. But I pushed those issues down, focusing on Oliver. His eyes were red and up close, I could tell how bad he'd been those past weeks. I tried to smile, "A crazy person wouldn't know they're crazy. If you were as insane as you claim to be, you'd never admit it."

"Is that your logic?" He asked monotonously but grinned nonetheless, rolling his eyes.

"It is."

It felt nice being this close to him again and my emotion reflected in his gaze as he raised his eyebrows. "Well what if you're wrong?"

"I'll take that chance."