Hello! Again, it's been so long since I've updated my divergent fanfic that I felt horribly guilty and decided to give my readers another Sarah Dessen story.

This is the end of chapter 12 from Along For The Ride by Sarah Dessen from Eli's point of view. I appreciate all reviews.

I love you

Auden stood outside her house for way longer than necessary, and I watched her carefully. What was she doing?

Then she was practically sprinting into the car. She picked up a paper and glued her eyes to the road. Her face was tight; lips pressed too tightly together, eyes slightly narrowed.

"Hey. You okay?"

The sob that broke out of her chest was so sudden I almost flinched. She was suddenly bawling, her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking violently. I froze in shock. What do I do? I had no idea how to comfort her! I don't even know what's wrong!

I began acting as though nothing was going on, driving and throwing papers. A small hiccupping sound came out of her and I knew I couldn't just pretend everything was okay. I swung the car around and drove home.

The only thing coming to mind was my mother and sisters. Whenever they cried, my mom would make Rice Krispie treats for them until they felt better. I knew the odds of this actually working were pathetically low—I don't even know if Auden likes Rice Krispie treats—but I had to do something.

"Come on," I said, cutting the engine and getting out of the car. I didn't look back to see if she followed me. I knew she would.

I had taken her home with me reflexively, and I didn't realize how nervous I'd be having her in my house. She was the first person to be in here since—

The last guests I had here my parents, coming to make sure I wasn't a complete disaster, living in my own filth, after Abe died. After that it was just me. Just like with everything else, I was alone.

I tried not to feel stressed as Auden looked around carefully. I put my keys on the counter and turned on the coffee machine. "Have a seat," I began gathering supplies. "There's a chair."

"And only a chair," She said, and I was relieved to find her voice was steady. It was thick with tears, but it didn't waver or tremble. "What do you do when you have company?"

"I don't." I straightened and shut the fridge, now carrying my stick of butter. "I mean, usually."

She watched me, making me nervous as I put the butter in the saucepan and put it on the stove. I was turning the burner on when she spoke again.

"Look. What happened back there—"

"It's okay," I assured her. I didn't want her crying again. "We don't have to talk about it."

She was quiet as I melted the butter, then she spoke again. Her voice was gaining confidence. "Remember how you were asking me what I'd failed at, earlier?"

I nodded, still melting butter. "Yeah. The social thing, right?" I couldn't see how this related to her sudden breakdown, but if she wanted to talk about it, I'd listen. I got out the Rice Krispies.

"That," Her voice was shaking now, and my chest ached at the heartbreak in her tone, "And keeping my parents together."

She sounded so crushed that I had to turn around to face her. She was crying again, but not sobbing, and I had to talk to her, had to make her feel better.

"Hey. Auden."

She looked up at me and her eyes were wet and full of agony. Her expression was a blow to my chest. I'd never felt this way before, never loved someone so much that I could literally feel their pain. At least, not outside my family.

She glued her eyes to the box of cereal still in my hands. "I'm sorry," She whispered, tears still running down her cheeks. "I just . . . I don't even think about this anymore, but then when I went to throw that paper, they were fighting, and it was so..."

There was too much distance between us, so I put the box down and went around to her side. I didn't reach out for her—as much as I wanted to—because I was afraid it would cause some negative reaction. She seemed to be in a very sensitive state, emotionally, and I didn't want to trigger her.

"Who was fighting?"

She swallowed thickly, "My dad and Heidi. Things have been pretty bumpy since Isby came, and tonight I guess things just blew up, or something."

"Just because people fight doesn't mean they're splitting up," I tell her carefully.

"I know that."

Of course you do, I think. You're Auden.

"I mean, my parents used to go at it sometimes. It just kind of cleared the air, you know? It was always better afterward."

"I know my dad though," She half-whispered. "I've seen him do this before."

"People change." She'd changed me. She'd changed every aspect of my life. Hell, Auden had brought me back to life to begin with.

"Or they don't." She lifts her eyes to mine, and I have to wonder if she realizes how entirely she'd changed me. "Sometimes, they don't."

We stared at each other for a long time, and I wanted to reach out, brush her hair away from her face and kiss her forehead. Before I could, the Rice Krispie treats popped noisily and I moved to go take them off the heat.

"Whoops. One sec, let me just finish these."

"What are you doing over there, anyway?"

"Making Rice Krispie treats," I replied automatically.

"Why?"

"Because it's what my mom always did when my sisters were crying," I tell her honestly, glancing over my shoulder at her. "I don't know. I told you, I never have company. You were upset, and it just seemed..." I gave up on my sentence, because it was weird. I felt like an idiot.

"Perfect," She breathes. "It's perfect."

"So let me guess." She put her pug down and smiled a little at me. "You're a minimalist."

I look around at my apartment. We were sitting on the floor, my chair acting as a table as we ate. I'd never considered myself to be a minimalist. Actually, I'd only kind of thought of myself as empty.

"You think?"

"Eli," She said, and my heart stuttered—ridiculously—at the sound of my name in her voice. "You have one chair."

"Yeah. But just because all the furniture at my old place was Abe's."

It was easier for me to talk about Abe to Auden than it was with anyone else. I barely spoke of him to even my own mother, who was insanely kind and a wonderful listener.

"Really." I could tell she was surprised I'd brought him up—so was I.

"Yeah." I sat back and picked some stickiness of the pan. "The minute he made some prize money riding, he was all about decorating our place. And he bought the stupidest stuff.. Huge TV, singing fish..."

"A singing fish?"

"You know, those plastic ones that you hang on the wall, and when you walk by they start singing, like, some Motown song?" She looked at me blankly. "Okay, so you don't know. Consider yourself lucky. Ours was, like, the center of our apartment. He put it right by the door so it went off constantly, and everyone had to listen to it."

I debated telling her that I'd kept the fish—it was in a box under my bed. It was one of the few things I couldn't bring myself to get rid of.

"Sounds interesting," She smiled at me and I felt myself relaxing a little bit. It was rare for me to be comfortable talking about Abe, but somehow, she made it feel like maybe I didn't have to try to avoid re-feeling pain his death caused. Maybe I could allow myself to miss him properly.

"That's not the word I'd choose," I shook my head. "Plus he insisted on buying these big papasan chairs, you know the ones that are circular, filled with squishy cushions? I wanted a plain, normal couch. But no. We had to have these stupid things that everyone was always getting sucked down into. No one could ever get up and out of them on their own. We were always having to pull people out, like a freaking rescue mission."

I could tell she thought I was exaggerating. I wasn't.

"Come on."

"I'm totally serious. It was ridiculous." I sighed. I miss him. "And then there was the whole water bed thing. He said he'd always wanted one. Even when it leaked, and gave him a crazy backache, he would not admit it was a mistake. 'I must have spilled something' he'd say, or 'I really pulled a muscle on that last ride.' He was hobbling around like an old man, complaining constantly. All night long, all I could hear was him thrashing around, trying to get comfortable. It was, like, an endless squishing."

She laughed, lifting her mug. "So what happened? Did he finally give it up?"

And there it was. "No. He died."

"I'm sorry," She said at once, and I knew she honestly meant it. "I—"

"See, but that's the thing, though. Everyone always wanted to tell these stories, all the stories. It's all anyone wanted to do at the funeral, and after. Oh, remember this thing, and this, and what about this? But the ending to every story is the same. He dies. That's never going to change. So why even bother?"

I resisted the urge to cringe into a ball and let the misery take me, the same way I had so many times before. I was done ranting.

"I guess," She murmured, and for a second I was surprised that she wasn't afraid to speak to me. I'd kind of lost it. But that's the thing about Auden. She doesn't tip toe around me. She continues, "that for some people, it's how they remember. You know, by telling the stories. It keeps the person close."

"But I don't have that problem," I whispered. "Not remembering."

"I know," Auden said softly. Her voice was warm and gentle, and it stirred something deep in me. I'd been okay with not talking for so long, but now there were some things I just needed to get off my chest.

"You want to talk about failure?" I met her eyes, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach. "Try being the one who was driving. Who got to live."

I'd said it. I had finally said exactly what everyone had avoided since that dreadful accident. I put the blame exactly where it belonged—on me.

"Eli," She lowered her voice, and I pressed my teeth into my lower lip, trying to banish the urge to cry. "It wasn't your fault. It was an accident."

I shook my head, not wanting her pity or reassurance. "Maybe. But the bottom line is, I'm here and he's not. And everyone who sees me—his parents, his girlfriend, his friends—they know that. In all the uncertainty, it's the one thing they know for sure. And it sucks."

"I'm sure they don't hold it against you."

"They don't have to." I looked at my mug. I hate myself enough that they don't need to. I met her gaze. "The whole do-over thing, that's all I think about since it happened. What if we'd left that party earlier, or later. If I'd seen the car coming at us and not stopping, a moment sooner. If he'd been driving instead of me. There are a million variables, and if even one was different... maybe everything would be."

Maybe nothing would be different, though. Maybe it would take more than one of those factors to keep him alive. I'll never know.

What would my life be like if Abe was still here? I wouldn't have become such a recluse. I would have had more friends. Auden wouldn't have looked at me any differently than anyone else. I wouldn't have taken such an interest in her. I wouldn't have fallen in love with her.

Was my relationship with Auden really worth Abe's life, though?

I knew I shouldn't think like that, but I can't help it. I would do anything to have them both.

"You can't think like that, though," she said, as if reading my mind. "You'll make yourself crazy."

I smiled wryly at her. "Tell me about it."

I got up and took the tray to the kitchen. There was a thump from the McConners' place that I'd learned to ignore. Auden, however, seemed to find it interesting, getting to her feet and walking over toward the wall. I peeled the remainder of the treats out of the pan and put it in the dishwasher.

"That's the McConners."

"The who?"

I came to stand behind her. "The McConners. They own this house. Their son's room is right through that wall."

"Oh."

"He usually wakes up once or twice a night. Asks for water, you know, the whole thing," I sat down on my bed. I did it unthinkingly, and a second later I was nervous. I was sitting on a bed with my girlfriend standing over me. My heart thumped.

"If it's really quiet, I can hear every word."

She sits down next to me as I speak.

"I used to do that. The whole waking up, wanting water thing, when I was a kid. I remember it."

"Not me," She said easily "My parents needed their sleep."

I shook my head and sat back, lying down. That made my nerves worse. I folded my arms across my chest, just for something to do with them. "You were always thinking of them, huh?"

"Pretty much." She began looking at her watch, and the wall, and the door. She was debating leaving.

I didn't realize I'd unfolded my arms until she slid down beside me, resting her face against my chest.

My stomach lurched as the butterflies took flight.

"It's late," she murmured, her voice smooth and peaceful. "He should go to sleep."

My nerves were suddenly gone. This was Auden. This was natural, effortless, easy as breathing. My senses were heightened, and I was ridiculously alert, but I wasn't anxious anymore.

"Not always so easy," I said back, leaning down and kissing the top of her head softly. Her hair smelled good, like strawberries and vanilla.

She closed her eyes. "It's not your fault," she told me, her voice so quiet it felt like it fit perfectly. She was part of the silence, the McConners' whispering. "You're not to blame."

Others had told me this, too, of course, but I'd always ignored them. But it was different with her. I knew that Auden had felt blame on her shoulders before, too. It wasn't as severe as my shame, my guilt, but it was still something. I believed her more than I did them.

"Neither are you," I replied.

She laid there for a moment and then she shifted, pushing her body tight against mine, sending my heart into a frenzy. She wrapped her arm around me and closed her eyes. A moment later, her breathing was even. I reached up and began stroking her soft hair, running it between my fingers.

I shifted, carefully pulling the blanket back and settling us together under it. She made a murmuring sound and she snuggled into me again, our bodies fitting together perfectly.

My kitchen light was still on, but I knew I couldn't bring myself to get up to turn it off. I didn't want her to wake up and ask to leave.

I wrapped my arm securely around her waist and kissed her head softly.

"I love you, Auden," I breathed, closing my eyes and letting sleep come easily for the first time in too long.