His knuckles had gone white around the steering wheel, and calluses were starting to form on the skin of his palms from his tight grip on the leather. The music was blaring loudly, bouncing off of the walls, and shaking the car with every beat as it poured out, interrupting the otherwise silent night and probably pissing off anyone that was still awake at this hour.

He pressed his foot down harder on the pedal, feeling the thrum of the engine underneath him as it accelerated. He kept his eyes glued to the road in front of him, but from his peripherals, he could see the arrow of the speedometer slowly ticking up– 25, 30, 35, 40, 50, 65, 70...

If the roads weren't completely empty at this time of night, maybe he would care enough to drive with caution for the sake of everyone else on the road. But cops were rare on this side of town at this time of night, the streetlights were low, and there was no one nearby to stop him. He felt the pedal resist him, as it pressed into the floor of the car now, but the adrenaline coursing through him was telling him to push down harder.

The road stretched on for miles and miles, and he barely registered the houses as he whizzed by them, nor the mailboxes and trash cans he just barely dodged, or the heads in windows checking to see who the annoying driver that had the audacity to rev his engine so loudly on a neighborhood street in the middle of the night.

Somewhere in the slot of time he had taken his eyes off the pavement to glance at his phone quickly, a silhouette appeared in the distance– a person standing in the middle of the road. Considering whose neighborhood he had driven into, he had an idea of who it was. Still, he didn't let up on the gas, figuring the person would cross the street before he got there, or at least notice him coming and have the sense to move out of the way.

But the person didn't move. They seemed to be set on just standing in the middle of the road.

He groaned in irritation but still made no effort to slow down. His car zipped down the road, rapidly eating up the distance between him and the person. As the car grew closer to the person, he was able to make out the man's features well enough to confirm his suspicions.

"Fucking Christ," He muttered, not letting up on the gas. "Move."

But the man didn't move. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and set his feet on the ground, as if to challenge the driver to a game of chicken. It all came down to whose death wish was more imminent.

He was getting too close now. His speed was well over the limit and he had about eight seconds to slow himself down before impact. Eight turned into seven, seven turned into six, six turned into five and yet the driver kept his foot glued to the gas pedal and the man in the road hadn't so much as shuffled his feet.

"Goddammit!" He exclaimed, slamming on the brakes.

He cringed at the high-pitch screeching of the tires as he braced himself against the car seat. It wasn't enough, though– his head flew forward upon impact, hitting the sharp edge of the rearview mirror, leaving a small cut that slashed through his right brow. The car came to an uneasy stop mere inches in front of the man.

He fell back against the car seat with a loud breath of relief as the pungent smell of burnt rubber began wafting into the car. He waited quietly for his heart rate to slow, and watched as the other man peered into his car angrily, his lip twitching into a frown as he shouted something incoherent. The driver couldn't make out what the man was saying, but from the movement of his lips, it was either "You fucking idiot" or "You want cheese?"

Carson glared back as he yanked off his seatbelt and all-but shoved the door of his car open. Dylan's hands dropped from his chest as he made his way over to the driver's side of the car to meet Carson.

"You fucking idiot," Dylan repeated again, the words landing like a hard slap across the face. "Are you fucking insane?" Carson pursed his lips but kept quiet as the words were spat in his face. "You could have gotten yourself killed driving like that."

"I'm alive though, aren't I?"

Dylan glared at him, "You could have killed me."

Carson paused for a moment, examining his best friend over. "You seem to be fully intact." He reached into the car to turn it off and take the keys out of the ignition, aware of Dylan's spiteful gaze on him the entire time.

"That's not the point," Dylan responded through grit teeth.

"You're the idiot who wouldn't move out of the way," Carson responded, refusing to let any signs of guilt or remorse bleed through his tone.

"It's good to know how much you value my life," Dylan responded bitterly.

"You're welcome."

If this was anyone other than Carson, Dylan wouldn't hesitate to punch him for acting like such an ass and nearly running him over. Hell, it was Carson and still his hand was twitching into a fist, and all it would take was one more wise-ass comment before he wouldn't be able to help himself.

Dylan had to use all of his willpower to calm down his temper enough to not do anything rash. He reminded himself that he had more or less expected something like this out of Carson after him and Maddie broke up, and was half-surprised he hadn't acted out sooner. When Carson had texted him earlier that night, asking to come over, he knew to expect a few weeks' worth of rage.

"I would love to know how you would've explained this all to Maddie," Dylan goaded, immediately earning a dangerous glare from Carson at the mention of her name. "I'm sure she would have been thrilled to hear how you accidentally ran me over because you had your head stuck too far up your ass to see straight." Carson opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by a humorless laugh from Dylan as he carried on. "Actually, better yet. Let's imagine how it would go if I had to tell Maddie that you died because you were driving around like you have nine lives. There's a really great-"

"Fuck her," Carson interrupted, shaking his head. "Fuck her and fuck everything."

Dylan forced himself to relinquish his own anger at Carson for the time being– he clearly needed someone right now, and Dylan was more or less used to Carson's unhinged behavior at this point, enough so that almost running him over was almost forgivable. "You don't mean that," He tried to reason.

"Yes, I do. Fuck her."

"You love her."

"Exactly, Dylan. I love her, and she doesn't want to be with me, so fuck her."

Carson sounded like a child– he looked like one, too. His lower lip was stuck in a pout, his jaw locked like a toddler that hadn't gotten his way, and his eyes were dark and narrowed like a temperamental child throwing a tantrum.

"Talk to her, Carson."

He shook his head, turning his body away from Dylan enough so that his eyes were hidden by the darkness. "What is there left that I could say? I've already tried- I've already said everything that I could think of to make her want to stay with me." He cast his head down, some of his hair falling down over his eyes. "It's no use. She's already gone."

"You're overreacting," Dylan tried again. "You need to talk to her. You need to ask her-"

"I can't," He gritted out, the anger flushing his cheeks pink and turning his knuckles white. "Do you not understand how miserable of a thought that is? She doesn't want to be with me."

"She still loves you."

"Exactly," Carson responded, his voice so coarse it sounded as though the words were being scraped from the back of his throat. "She loves me and still doesn't want to be with me. Asking her to change her mind now, trying to convince her we should get back together–" He paused, looking in Dylan's direction long enough for him to make out the film of water settling over his eyes. "I love her, Dylan. I won't force her into a relationship with me, knowing that she'll always be slightly unhappy about it."

Dylan stayed quiet, for once thinking of nothing helpful he could say. As he watched Carson's shoulder relax and the tight frown of his lips settle into a straight line, he decided to not say anything more at all. Carson had only needed to get some of his anger out, and if it had to be directed at Dylan, then he could handle it.

When Carson's hands loosened from fists, Dylan decided he had calmed down enough for him to speak again. "It's supposed to storm. You should go home, Carson," He told him. "And clean that cut up before Maddie sees it at school tomorrow."

Carson lifted a hand to his head, gently tracing the small gash and letting out a quiet hiss at the burning sensation. "Why? It's not like she would care, apparently."

Dylan sighed, "I'm not fighting on this with you because you know just as well as I do Maddie cares about you a hell of a lot more than she ever lets on."

Carson looked away, refusing to allow Dylan to believe he was right– but he was. Madeline was never good with using words to express her emotions, but she didn't need to be. The memory of Madeline's face that night in the alley, or the way her arms felt around him the night Katie had died had told him everything he would ever need to know about what how much she cared for him. It was the same reason he had never felt upset at her reluctance to date him or say 'I love you.' Maddie didn't need to say the words– they were written in everything she did.

"If she cares so much, why the hell would she do this?" Carson spoke quietly, airing the question to the entire universe rather than just Dylan. He looked up to the sky, as if expecting some sort of answer to come down.

"I don't know, Carson. That's something you should ask her."

He shook his head, "I don't want to. I don't want to talk to her, I don't even want to look at her."

Dylan sighed, "Then I can't help you. But when you realize that you're only angry right now because you're in love with her, you should really think about talking to her. In the mean time, you can't act like an ass just because she broke up with you. You're a grown man– act like one."

Carson glared at him before giving Dylan an affectionate, "Fuck off."

"Yeah, yeah, Just go home and get some sleep, Carson."

Home. What a funny word. He was pretty sure he had lost his.

* * *

"I don't know what to tell you, Madeline," He sighed, as he checked the time on his watch. He rolled his eyes and pulled the phone away from his ear to check how long they been on this call– fifteen minutes. It felt like a lot more than that.

"That's seriously all you're going to say?" He could practically feel her frustration through the phone, but it only fueled his own.

Carson turned reflexively at the sound of the door opening, expecting it to be his boss or a higher-up. Thankfully, it was just a man dressed in casual business attire, briskly exiting the building with a briefcase in hand. He let out a breath and turned back to face the empty ambulance bay. It had been a while since he had last been outside without having to rush back in.

He closed his eyes for a moment, imaging he was laying down on his bed, finally getting to sleep; he couldn't remember the last time he felt well-rested. His feet felt numb; he couldn't remember the last time he sat without having to get back up two seconds later. This internship was killing him, but it's what he signed up for, and he loved it.

It wasn't often that a high school senior had the option to intern at one of the best-ranking hospitals in the country, and he wanted to make the most of the opportunity. Three days a week after school and every weekend, Carson could be found at the hospital, clocking in as many hours as he was allowed to. Balancing the workload of the internship with his schoolwork had been an exhausting challenge thus far, and he was averaging less than four hours of sleep every night, but it was nothing another cup of coffee couldn't fix.

The only major downside to the internship was having to give up most of his free time, whether it was actually the internship or the fault of his need to overachieve. Carson had barely seen any of his friends outside of school in the past three or four weeks and, unfortunately, Madeline had suffered the bitter end of it.

She had been extremely support at first, but she had gradually become more frustrated the more Carson brushed off her concerns about him over-exerting himself. He could tell her patience was wearing thin, and she was probably at her wits end with how much more of this she could take.

"Maddie, I've already told you I don't want to have this conversation over the phone," Carson responded. "We can talk about it tomorrow."

"That's if you even come tomorrow."

"I told you I would come see you tomorrow, I will be there. Maddie-"

"No," She interrupted him spitefully. "Don't tell me we'll talk about it tomorrow. We're talking about it now. 99% of our conversations have been through the phone lately anyways, so what's one more?"

"I don't know what you'd like me to say to you right now!" He exclaimed once again. "I can't control my schedule. My mother called in every favor she had to get me this internship."

"I understand that, Carson," She bit back.

"I thought you'd be happy for me. You know better than anyone else how much this means to me."

"I am happy for you, Carson," Maddie responded, the same tired tone she used to reaffirm her support the last time they had this conversation. "It's a great opportunity."

"Then why are we back here again."

"Because I didn't know that this internship was you signing away your entire life."

"It's not my entire life, Maddie. It's only another month or so."

"Whatever."

"Don't say 'whatever,'" He warned. "Say what it is you want to say."

"It doesn't matter, Carson."

"No, say it."

"I just fucking miss you, okay?" The exasperated words were followed by a sigh. "I feel like I'm dating a ghost and I just want to see you."

His ears perked at the sound of a siren, and he turned to look down the pathway, expecting to see an ambulance barreling down, saving him from this conversation. But the sirens faded out and it became apparent that the ambulance was headed elsewhere.

"Listen, Maddie," He sighed. "I'm sorry. Trust me, I miss you, too, but if I want to learn anything here or actually get the experience that's going to help me in school, I have to prioritize my time."

The line was silent. He almost believed that Madeline had hung up on him, and he was about to pull the phone away from his ear to check when she finally spoke.

"Does that mean I'm not a priority to you?"

His eyes went wide. "Don't do that, Madeline. Don't even go there."

"Why not?" She responded, a vicious bite to her words.

"You know damn well how much you mean to me, Madeline," the words ripped from his throat coarsely. "You can be mad at me for this internship for however long you want, but don't you dare call into question how much I care about you."

"What would you like me to do, love?" He asked, running a hand over his face. It was a near desperate thought, but out of everything he could imagine living without, he knew it could never be Maddie. He lowered his tone and checked to make sure he was alone before asking, "Would you like me to quit? Would that make you happy?"

"No!" She exclaimed quickly. "Carson, absolutely not!"

Her answer relieved him, and he loved her for it. But at the same time, it left him with the same frustration and confusion he had at the beginning of this call. "Then I don't know what you'd like for me to do, Maddie."

Madeline sighed again, and he could almost picture her sitting in her bed right now, with her knees pulled up to her chest and her head resting on her hand. "We're just talking in circles, Carson."

"I know," He agreed. "Can we please just wait to talk about this until tomorrow, my love?" For some reason, he believed things would be better if they could talk in person, more calm and relaxed. He let his eyes fall close again, and this time he allowed himself to imagine laying down next to her, his head resting in the crook of her neck.

"What's the point?" She asked.

"We both need to time to cool off-"

"No," She cut him off. "I mean what's the point of us at this point?"

"What?"

"I just- I don't know. You're always busy, Carson, and we obviously have different priorities right now. I don't want to keep you from this devoting yourself to this internship, but I don't know how much longer I can live with only seeing you for limited hours at school and when you decide to crawl into my bed at three in the morning. I think maybe it's better if we just take a br-"

"Don't," he interrupted. "Do not finish that sentence."

"Why not?"

"Listen to me, Madeline. You can be angry at me for not spending enough time with you. You can feel selfish for hating how much I care about this internship. Hell, you can even hate me, but you do not get to decide when we end. You don't get to decide and neither do I. We end when infinity does or when hell freezes over– we end when we end." Again, the line went silent as he waited for her to respond. "Understood?"

"We end when we end," She repeated, with enough conviction to bring an entire kingdom to its knees.

"I'm still mad at you right now," She said after a moment had passed.

"That's alright because I'm still mad at you, too."

"I still love you, though," She added. "Just so you know."

"I still love you, too," He responded. "Just so you know."