A/N: Fancy seeing you here! This was supposed to be something entirely different, but I like the way it turned out, and hopefully you guys do too. :) There's honestly not much to say other than they're in their first year of university. Anyway, enjoy! If you have any questions feel free to leave them in a review! I'd love to see what you guys think of this!

Summary: After the death of a friend, Clare Edwards begins to question everything about herself and turns to books for reassurance. Intrigued by her aura of mystery, Eli Goldsworthy decides to get inside her head by reading every book she's ever read, unlocking secrets to her mind with every page.

Death is inevitable.

It's certain and unavoidable.

The death of a family member. A friend. A loved one. It's bound to happen sooner or later.

So when it does happen, why does it affect us so much?

I ask myself that question repeatedly as my finger shakes between the pages of the book I'm reading. My free hand is up to my mouth, clothed in the sleeve of my sweater and hiding my quivering lips. Tears slip from my eyes and down my cheeks like Niagara Falls. I try to minimize the sounds that escape from my lips as I sob quietly in the back of the library at a secluded table in the corner. The words on the page are blurry and I can't seem to focus my gaze. My tears keep getting in the way.

Maybe it was a bad idea to choose this book.

Maybe I should've stopped when I realized that it could only end with one possible outcome.

Maybe I was overreacting.

But something about death makes my heart clench and my stomach drop. Whether it's by accident or on purpose. And in this case, it was very well thought out.

Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher was certainly an emotional roller-coaster. I wasn't even sure why I was crying. Maybe it was because I felt bad for Clay. Maybe it was the fact that I hated that Hannah had taken her own life. Maybe it was the fact that they didn't even have a chance.

Either way, I was crying.

Shakily, I wipe my tears with the hand that isn't holding the book, trying to calm myself down. When my vision is clear and I can finally breathe properly again I glance around the library. I'm alone still. Hardly anyone comes around this area of the library, and I'm thankful for that.

As I move my gaze towards the book in my hands, something catches my attention.

I'm not alone.

Someone is standing at the end of a book shelf, partly hidden by the light brown wood. His eyes are locked on the book I'm reading, and then they're on me. I quickly avert my gaze before he realizes I have noticed him and act like I'm still oblivious to his presence. I shake my head slightly and look at him through the small curtain I have created with my hair. His hand is gripping the backpack on his shoulder, his dark hair cascading a shadow over his eyes, his lips parted as he watches me. His attire makes me question why he would be in the library on a Saturday; gray t-shirt with black jeans and combat boots.

I pretend to continue reading as I hold the book up more, showing him the cover. He seems interested in the book; maybe that's why he's still staring at me. I watch as his eyes zero in on the book in my hands, his interest bluntly obvious, letting me know my assumption was correct.

Then, like he had gotten what he had come for, he turns on his heel and disappears from my vision.

Turning my attention back to the book, I continue to read until I finish.

An hour and a half later, I'm seated in the passenger seat of my step-brother's truck. I watch the world go by through the window as Jake scans through the stations, unable to decide on what song he'd prefer to listen to. He finally settles on one and I sigh softly. My elbow rests upon the edge of the window, my cheek pressed to my knuckles.

"I read a book about suicide today." I say softly.

Jake sighs. "You can't keep doing this to yourself, Clare."

"It was a good book," I counter. I don't see what the big deal is.

Jake pauses. "Tell me about it."

I raise my eyebrows before slowly turning to face him as he drives. I go into detail about the book. I tell him how it starts, what happens, why it happened, the ending, and how I reacted.

He's quiet for a while. Jake's head falls to the head rest as we pull up to a stop light. "I'm worried about you, Clare."

"Why? I'm fine." My voice is harsher than I'd intended.

"You're not fine. You're better than you were, but you're not fine," he explains.

I close my eyes. "Don't tell mom or Glen."

Jake's quiet for a moment. I open my eyes to look at him. The light turns green and we're off. He lets out a puff of air.

"I won't say anything as long as you see your therapist," he says finally. I'm quiet for a moment. "I know you missed your last two sessions."

"I don't need to see a therapist, Jake. I'm fine."

We're quiet for a while. The only noise in the truck is from the radio. I turn my head and watch the world go by once again. When we pull up to our old house, I stay seated in the truck, knowing fully well that Jake has more to say.

"I know you miss Cam. But it's been a year. I'm worried about you, okay? Please, just, go to another session." Jake's voice is pleading and I feel a tug at my heart. He's scared that I'll end up like Cam. He's worried that I'll take my own life, just as he did.

"Okay."

The next day I walk out of my therapist's office feeling worse than when I entered. And these things are supposed to help how?

Oh, you've had a traumatic experience? Let's talk about it so you can feel even more like shit.

What good does that do? I didn't talk about it before and I'm not going to talk about it now. God I hate these things. I hate people who try and force me to talk. If I wanted to talk, I'd talk. But I don't, so get the fuck out of my face. You don't know what you're talking about.

I want to scream and rip at my hair because nobody fucking understands. I just want to go to the library and read a book.

As I pass the chairs in the waiting area, I notice someone lounging in one of them. It's the boy from the library; the one who stared at me. One of his legs is dangling off the arm of the chair as he sits comfortably, his back pressed into the leather. There's a book in his hand; Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher. My lips part slightly as I walk passed him. He doesn't notice me; his eyes are glued to the page he's on, his lips moving fervently as he mouths the words to himself, eager to get to the end.

Is that why he was staring at me yesterday? Because he wanted to know the book I was reading? For a moment I feel embarrassed that he's reading the same book that made me cry like a baby. But it slowly fades as I realize he seemed interested enough as to why I was crying to actually read the book.

Just as I enter the elevator that brings me to the main floor, I watch him as he shakes his foot absentmindedly, his eyes never leaving the page he's on. He looks up when the same therapist I saw exits the room and calls his name, and I watch as he picks up his backpack, slings it over his shoulder and walks into the room, all while holding up the book so he can read.

The elevator doors close, leaving me alone to wonder why he needs to see a therapist.

"Cam?"

"What?"

"You can let go of me now."

I feel his breath hit my neck as he exhales softly. "Clare, thank you. For being my friend."

My eyebrows pull together as I unwind my arms from around him to push at his shoulders so I can see his face. "Are you okay?"

I watch as he smiles, though it doesn't reach his eyes. He nods once, "I'm fine. I just want you to know how much you mean to me. You're my best friend."

I smile and mess up his hair, "Oh stop, you're making me blush."

Cam laughs and pulls me in for one more hug. I smile and return it, feeling the sun shine down on my face.

"Promise me you won't ever change, Clare."

"Uh, okay. I promise."

"Good."

I pull back and smile at him, "See you tomorrow."

He pauses for a moment and I frown. He cracks a grin and nods once again, "Yeah. See you."

I watch as he turns and walks down the steps of my front porch. His short frame gets smaller and smaller the more he walks away, and I notice the sun shining down on his hair, making it look as if it's glowing. He turns and eyes me for a moment, a sad smile curving his lips. He lifts a hand and waves at me, so I return it.

And then he's gone.

I wake with a jolt. The room is dark and I quickly reach for my phone to shine a light. I take notice of my bedroom and sigh contently, letting my head fall back into the pillow. I let the memory play in my mind for a minute before I put my phone back to its original spot on my night stand and turn on my side, my eyes wide.

I replay the last time I saw Cam alive in my head over and over again, feeling an empty void in my chest. Maybe I should've stopped him. Maybe I should've called him out on his weird behaviour. Maybe I should've been a better friend and stayed with him to make sure he was okay. Maybe I should've stuck to my initial instinct that something was wrong and helped him.

Maybe if I had done those things, he would still be alive.

Monday dragged on for longer than I would've liked. Classes seemed longer and lesson's seemed more boring than usual. By the time I finished my last class I was already mentally searching the stacks of books at the library, looking for the next book I would dive into.

The library is busier than it was during the weekend. Students are spread around, getting caught up on some classes or assignments, typing away at the computers or speed reading through a text book. I make my way to my normal spot and set my things down before I move to scan the shelves. I find a book rather quickly, not even waiting long enough to return to my table before opening it up and beginning to read. I sat down and blocked out the world with every passing word.

By the time I was halfway through the book, it was nearly five. I laugh to myself as I read one of the character's lines, finding it funnier than I'm sure it was meant to be. I turn the page and keep reading, a small smile glued to my face. This book is a lot happier than I though it would be, but I find it too good to put down without finishing. When my phone beeps with a text from Jake asking how my therapy session went, I realize it was nearly eight-thirty. I was almost done the book when I typed back a lame response, telling him it went fine.

I glance up to see how many people are left in the library, and that's when I see him; the same boy that watched me on Saturday, and just so happened to have a therapy session on the same day that I did. This time, he was already looking for a book. I watch as he found what he was looking for, pulling it from the shelf. I eye him curiously when I see that the book he had chosen was a copy of the one that was placed in my hands at the moment. When he turns his head to cast a quick glance my way, I make sure to make myself look busy as he stares at me for a moment too long.

I watch his feet move as he walks away from the shelf and around the corner, disappearing once again. This time, I place a loose piece of paper I had between the pages of the book before I close it. I stand up and make my way to the shelf I had seen him standing at two days before, looking around the corner. He's at the front desk, requesting to rent out the book. I watch him as the lady scans the book and his card before handing both back to him. She smiles at him and he returns it with a nod before turning on his feet and making a B-line for the door.

I return to my seat and rush to finish the book. When I'm done I put it back in its rightful place before searching for another one. When I find one that sparks my interest I grab it and make my way to the front desk. I check out the book and then exit the library, keeping in mind that they close around nine.

Jake calls me as I walk home.

"How did it go?"

"Fine," I say into the receiver.

"Enough with the 'fine', Clare. I want a real answer."

I huff in aggravation, "She made me feel uncomfortable and angry and tried to get me to talk about my dead best friend. It was a splendid experience, Jake. I recommend you pick up a session, too. It totally helps."

My voice was high pitched and laced with sarcasm as I hoped he would get the message that I'd rather not go back there.

"Quit being so against getting help and maybe you'll feel better. You need to move on, Clare."

I stop in my tracks and breathe deeply, my anger getting the best of me. "You want me to forget? He told me to never forget! I promised I wouldn't forget, Jake!"

"Clare, that's not what-"

"God, you're such an asshole. How can you even say that? I need to move on? You know what? Fuck you. He was my best friend, Jake, and he killed himself. How the hell am I supposed to just move on from that?"

My head hurt and my eyes stung, but there were people around and I didn't want to start a scene. I began walking again as Jake started talking.

"Stop putting words into my mouth. I'm just worried."

"I know, Jake. I know you're worried because you tell me every time you see me. I may be a little fucked up but I'm not going to kill myself. So stop trying to fix me; I'm bent, not broken. Goodnight."

I hang up before he has a chance to speak.

I make a sharp turn around a building and, before I can blink, collide with someone. My bag falls to the floor, papers and pens and books spilling from it. I quickly steady myself before sighing exhaustedly and leaning down to collect my things.

"Shit, I'm sorry." I hear a voice from above me before another pair of hands is scattering to help me pick up my things.

"It's okay," I say without looking up. "Thanks," I respond when they hand me a few pieces of papers that broke free. I place my things back in my bag and we stand. Glancing up, my eyes widen slightly when I come face to face with Mr. Stalker-who-reads-the-same-books-as-me. He seems just as surprised as I am by our encounter as he hands me back the book I had rented from the library, his eyes lingering on the title. I place the book in my bag and look up at him.

I take notice of the book in his hand and shift my weight onto my other foot when I see it's the one I had just finished reading, the one he had just checked out.

I tap the cover with my fingernail. "It's really good. Funny, too."

He looks at the book in his hands before returning his gaze to my eyes. His lips curl on one side, "I'm only on chapter four, but so far so good."

I give a nod as he adjusts the strap of his backpack. I purse my lips and subtly begin to walk around him slowly, his body turning with mine. He watches me as I try to walk around him, his eyebrows raised amusedly.

I give a small smile before I turn to walk away.

"Hey," he calls out and I pause, turning. He licks the corner of his mouth and clicks his tongue, "As for Thirteen Reasons Why, I cried, too."

I feel my cheeks flame as I let out a short laugh, "Good to know."

He smirks, "Just don't tell anybody. I got a reputation to maintain."

He winks, and just like that, he's gone.