A/N - Here it is: my new story. I've been toying with the idea of this for a while, and I kind of didn't want to write a high school fic, but I also think there's so much to explore regarding Erin and Jay's respective high school experiences - especially Erin's. Now obviously this is AU, so I've changed a few facts that I'm sure you'll pick up on the way.

It's also written in first person again because so many readers said they enjoyed that aspect of Let Me Love You. We'll get alternate POVs though. This one is Jay's. Next chapter is Erin's.

I kind of stole the title from 'Leave Me Lonely' by Ariana Grande and Macy Gray, because IMO, that song is damn sexy. So yeah...don't sue me for it.

Hope you all enjoy, and please let me know what you think with a review. x

Dangerous Love

The thing about Chicago that overwhelms me more than anything is the noise. The sirens. Chasing and screaming into the night, even when it seems like the whole world should be asleep. They're a perpetual soundtrack to daily life, winning out over the heaviness of the summer sun and the pounding of winter's hail. It's all a stark contrast to the softness back home in Wisconsin.

I miss the quiet. The thickness of the trees by the lake: so dense they could muffle screams if they wanted, yet they always seemed gentle in a way, kind of misunderstood.

Even the school parking lot here seems more brash than it was in Bayfield. I park the 300 and get the odd look, although nobody says anything so I head to the main entrance steps and hope like hell the next year and a half passes quickly so I can get out of here and to the academy.

I get a printed schedule from a middle-aged woman named Brenda who wishes me a great first day with a smile painted in a pink lipstick that clashes with the orange cardigan she has draped over her shoulders. As I follow the schedule's accompanying map, I mentally recall everything I can about her: white blouse; bra underneath that should too have been white but was too visible to be any colour lighter than pastel, meaning she'd probably opted for something that was blue - or green, maybe; a necklace in silver clasped around her neck that had a blue stone sitting in its centre - too light to be a sapphire; unpainted but manicured nails; hair cut into a short bob showing no evidence of grey, but judging by the odd flecks in her eyebrows, was dyed an unoffensive light brown. I smile a little: I'm getting better.

By the time I reach the biology lab, the bell has already rung and I'm left with two seat choices: next to some dark-haired kid with an intense stare, or alone at the back of the room beside something that looks suspiciously like a working boiler which really should have been condemned about a decade ago. I take the seat on its own, open my textbook and silently calculate how many days I'm gonna have to spend here.

"Hey,"

I look to my right at the girl on the table next to me, leaning across enough so I can see down the open buttons of her shirt. I bring my eyes up to hers.

"Hey."

"What's your name?"

"Jay."

Her eyes are blue - more of a turquoise than mine - and her hair is naturally blonde, though she's had highlights added in. She's around five-six, maybe 120 - 125 pounds and she hasn't even written the date on her notepaper.

"Where you from?"

"Bayfield, Wisconsin," I reply in a whisper, although the teacher is busy writing something to do with cell specialisation on the board and I've already done this.

"Cute," she says with a smile, although I have no idea what's cute about the fact I come from some small lakeside town. "I'm Chrissy. If you need a lab partner, You can join us," she gestures to the girl sitting beside her. "We can be a threesome."

I don't miss the innuendo, but if I had, Chrissy ensures I understand exactly what she's implying by adding a wink. Just as I'm about to whisper a thanks, the teacher turns and sets down his pen.

"Everything okay back there?"

"Jay's new," Chrissy returns without missing a beat. "I was suggesting that if he needs a partner for lab work, he can join Jessica and me."

"How kind of you. Though I assume he would have the sense to join Artie here, if he needed a partner." The teacher raises an eyebrow but Chrissy just shrugs and the lesson resumes.

We're almost a half hour in when the door opens and a girl - probably no taller than five-three with waves of dark blonde-almost-brown hair - enters the room, ripped jeans showing that underneath, her knees are red from the cold. The hand that clutches her bag matches, though I can't tell whether the other one does too as it's buried inside of her coat pocket.

"Miss Lindsay," the teacher (Mr Davies - as I've now learned his name to be) drawls and I detect a hint of the south in his accent. "Nice of you to join the only class you aren't currently failing before it finishes."

"I missed the bus," is her response as she heads towards me, taking up the seat to my left.

"And I won the lottery at the weekend," Mr Davies deadpans, but says no more, and returns to explaining about the four tissue groups in animals with his back to us. I take the chance to turn my head in a bid to appraise the girl next to me: hazel-green eyes; pale skin though the redness of the cold is slowly retreating; fur-lined boots that are wet from the snow outside, and judging by the way she's tapping them against the leg of her stool, they're not waterproof.

"Hey," I whisper after approximately seven minutes pass, during which she says and does nothing - not even a flick of her hair. At my greeting, she turns her head and appraises me, a look of curiosity in her expression though it's masked mainly by tiredness; the raw redness under her eyes giving her away.

"Hey," she returns without really a hint of a smile, but then she catches sight of the travel mug of coffee on my desk. I'd almost forgotten it was there. "Tell me that's black."

"It's black," I confirm. "But probably kinda cold by n-" It doesn't seem to matter. This girl is finishing off the half I haven't drunk like she's been in the desert for days without water.

"It's cold," she winces, once she sets the travel mug down. "And weak. What? You can't make a decent cup of coffee?"

"You some sort of barista?" I ask.

At that, there's a hint of a genuine smile and then these two dimples break out - one either side of her lips and suddenly, it's like time stops and everything around me ceases to exist.

"I can make a decent cup of coffee," she replies with a raised eyebrow, those little delves framing her mouth still on display and either my brain or my heart is busy short-circuiting because I can't form a coherent response. "Something you can't, apparently."

"Miss Lindsay," Mr Davies sighs from in front of his chalkboard, and it makes me jump a little because I'd forgotten where we are for a moment. "At least have the decency to listen when you are actually here. You might learn something."

I watch as she rolls her eyes at our teacher's response and I can't help the smile that crosses my lips. There and then, I decide I want to know everything about her, but the last thing I want is to draw her any more negative attention, so I force myself to listen to the stuff I already know, force my eyes on my paper which I'm covering in notes, rather than hers which is still blank. Maybe she's got a photographic memory. Or she just doesn't care, I figure - which is more likely - because she's apparently failing every other class.

The remainder of the lesson passes in snapshots: a diagram on the board to copy down; giggling from the girls on the table next to mine as they look across the space; this weird pull on my fingers, like they want to touch this girl's dimples, to feel whether they really are as good as they look. There's a snapshot of Mr Davies asking me a question and my mouth forming an answer before my brain has fully processed my request, and I don't know whether it's correct or not, but there's not resulting comeback and so I assume whatever I said is the right answer because time passes until finally the bell rings and the girl next to me is leaving before I've even had chance to ask her name.

"There's a party this weekend at our friend Kelly's house," Chrissy tells me as we're filing out of the door and I'm scanning the crowd for my lab partner...if you can even call her that. "You should come."

"I uh…"

"You like to party, right?" she asks "'Cause everyone's going to be there."

"Everyone?" I question stupidly, when what I really mean, is 'even the girl with the dimples?'

"Everyone," Chrissy replies, tapping the syllables on my chest as she speaks them.

"Maybe I'll swing by."

"I hope so."

At that, Chrissy and Jess strut away and I stare for a moment at nothing in particular until I remember I have a class to go to, and dig into my pocket for the map Brenda the receptionist gave me so I can find the room I'm supposed to take math in.

X

The girl with the dimples doesn't come to math class. Not even half-way through, like I expect (or hope?) her to, but I spot her at lunch, outside the cafeteria and way over in the parking lot, crouching over by a black car and talking to somebody through the driver's side window.

"Jay," I hear a voice - Jess, I remember, from first period. She slides herself into the seat opposite, then motions with her hand to someone behind me to join us. "How's your first day going?"

"It's uh…" I glance down at the dry meatloaf on my lunch tray, then over Jess' shoulder at the girl in the parking lot. "It's okay I guess."

"Just okay?"

I smile a little. "Not as bad as I was expecting."

"Yeah I get it; but high school pretty much sucks wherever you are, right? At least the parties make it worth it."

Parties. They're not really my thing, but I don't want to be the odd one out here. "Guess you're right."

I can still see the girl from earlier, surrounded by what looks like a halo of cigarette smoke.

"The girl I sat with in our biology class -"

"- You mean Erin?" Chrissy interrupts, joining us. Erin. Erin Lindsay. I twist and turn the words in my head and yeah, her name fits. "She's…" the girls share some sort of a look, then a slight laugh.

"Don't waste your time with her. She's seeing someone anyway," Jess adds. "If that's what you were thinking. He's way older. Kind of looks like my dad's age."

The girls share another laugh and I detect a cruel hint to it - like they're acknowledging some private joke I'm not in on.

"Right," I faux-shrug, like I don't care about this information. I shouldn't. "I wasn't meaning that. Just wondered." The words feel heavy on my tongue: a lie that's inexplicable considering I've spent all of forty minutes with Erin, gotten a mildly flirtatious response to a single question I asked and an empty travel mug handed back to me after she'd drunk my coffee.

I look back over Jess' shoulder and she's gone - so has the car. Toying the meatloaf around on my fork, I take a sip of water and mentally recall what Erin's wearing - testing my skills again: ripped jeans; dark brown fur-lined boots (not waterproof) and a chunky sweater, one that, now I think about it, is clearly too big for her and almost undoubtedly belongs to this older boyfriend she's got; a leather jacket pulled over the top but kind of pointless in this type of raw, wet cold. Her hair is naturally brown but she's got highlights that have faded to a dirty blonde, and her eyes are hazel-green; cupid's bow lips, thin and pressed into a line most of the time; a petite nose like the kind a young child would have.

I'm definitely getting better at this. Or maybe, I figure, it could just be her. Maybe I can just remember these things about her.

"Earth to Jay!" Chrissy laughs and I zone back in, shoving the meatloaf into my mouth without thinking.

"Sorry."

"What lesson you got next period?"

"History. Room five."

"Sucks to be you then."

"Why's that?"

"Your teacher - Ms Watson - is a real bitch."

"Great," I groan, finishing up my lunch out of sheer habit more than anything, and make my excuse. "I've gotta go."

I don't really wait for their responses, but both girls give me a wave and a smile and I do my best to return them sincerely. There weren't girls like this in my high school back in Wisconsin - or if there were, I'd certainly never come into contact with them. Come to think of it, there weren't girls like Erin either: mysterious and captivating, like there's a million secrets hidden beneath the surface, just waiting to be uncovered.

History drags, as Jess and Chrissy implied it would. Ms Watson turns out to be less of a bitch, just more of a stickler for the rules, and I have no problem following those anyway. Someone who does seem to have a problem following them, is Erin, who - it happens - is supposed to be in the class. The empty seat in front of me is the giveaway that she's not attending, and by the time the clock has ticked past the half hour mark, her lack of presence at all is confirmed. No wonder she's failing.

X

I see her at the end of school, just as I'm pulling my hood over my head to shield my face from the snow as I descend the main steps, and I see the red rawness of her hands again, clutching the leather jacket she's wearing tight around her body, like it'll do any good at all in blocking out the cold.

She looks as though she's waiting for someone, glancing at her phone every few seconds like if she doesn't, it's not going to ring.

"Erin!" I call, and she looks up, confused momentarily, until I make my way towards her. "Hey,"

"Hey," she says, almost warily, like she doesn't remember me from earlier. Maybe she doesn't. And then, "You managed to find a decent cup of coffee yet?"

I chuckle despite the shrieking wind and the snow stinging my face. She must be freezing. "Not yet. You need a ride or anything?"

"No, I'm uh...I'm good," she says, like I'm supposed to believe it. "Gettin' picked up so…" she indicates the phone in her hand.

"Okay. I don't mind waiting a while, if you wanna shelter in my car? It's pretty cold out here."

I'm offered a small smile, but not one that reaches her eyes; not one that shows off her dimples. "He won't be long. Thanks though, er..."

"Jay," I tell her. "Halstead."

"Halstead," she repeats, like she's toying with the idea, twisting and turning the letters, examining them in her head to determine whether or not they fit. I smile, and then an obnoxious beeping assaults my ears, accompanied by a sort-of rumbling roar from a black camaro pulling up towards us. "That's him," she says quickly - almost nervously, like she's eager to get the hell out of this parking lot.

I don't get a goodbye. Erin just darts towards the car, her red fingers fumbling at the door handle in the cold before it opens and she's safe from the bitter wind. I offer a small wave that isn't returned, but is stared at by dark eyes, sunken in a pale face framed with long, dark, greasy hair: her boyfriend, I determine.

Making my way back across the parking lot towards my own car, I squint against the barrage of hail assaulting my skin like tiny bullets, watching as Erin drives off and out of the school before I finally gain shelter from the weather in the 300.

By the time I get home, my dad is already waiting, expecting a play by play of my day, armed with a list of questions about what homework I have and when I'm going to get it done. I answer some, deflect others and trudge upstairs because my jeans are soaked through from standing with Erin.

Turning on some music, I shrug out of the wet material and pull on a pair of sweats from the set of drawers opposite my bed. The smell of washing detergent fills my nose with a false meadow scent, and I almost shove them back in the drawer and look for something else to put on, when I realise all of my clothes will smell like that anyway, because they're not washed right any more. None of it's right.

There's a knock on my door before it pushes open to reveal Patsy, my dad's replacement wife who seems nice enough, but isn't - and is never going to be - my mom.

"How was your day?" she asks like she cares, and maybe she does. But I don't care if she cares or not. I just want to get out of here.

"Fine," I shrug. "Meatloaf's pretty bad."

She lets out a chuckle which I think is probably forced, but again, I don't care. "I was thinking of making lasagne for dinner. That's your favourite right?"

I appreciate the gesture. But she doesn't make it right. Not like my mom made it. "Actually, I'm pretty full still from that meatloaf. Crappy as it was. Maybe I'll just grab something later."

"Or you'll eat what Patsy's suggested," my dad replies, appearing in the doorway like an apparition. "Because that's what we do in this house."

It's what we did in our old house too, but this isn't that, and things are different. Except, we all know I'm not going to win this. "I'll just have a little," I say, the words feeling like glass as I crunch them out.

Patsy smiles and my dad nods and I feel like a fraud. At that, they leave, satisfied, and I pull the stuff out of my bag, placing it on my desk so at least I can lose myself in the Great Plague of Western Europe. My hands settle on the travel mug, and as I set it down, I wonder, absently, what Erin's doing.

I'm a hundred percent sure it isn't homework.