A/N: Set right after Fallen Kingdom. I forgot Owen lived in a van, so let's just roll with things here. Will be a dark story with heavy suicidal themes. Claire first person POV. Clawen, of course. Enjoy and give me feedback, if possible. Onwards!

Reasons Not to Die

Chapter I

When I looked down at my phone, I had hundreds of notifications. Literally. My emails and social media notifications were through the roof in and of themselves, but then I noticed I had tons of missed calls. I pressed the call log button and saw that I had missed calls from random numbers, some with no caller ID, a couple of friends, and some from my sister, Karen. This surprised me; Karen and I hadn't been close since after the park incident three years ago and the times we'd talked, things hadn't been the best between us.

Next to me, Owen mumbled something. I looked up at the long stretch of road ahead of me and then at him. "Huh?"

"I said we need gas," he repeated. "I think there's a gas station a couple of miles ahead."

I didn't respond and looked down at my phone again. My stomach turned uneasily as I stared at the many missed calls I had from my sister. I could only guess why she called, but why bother? We hadn't been in the best of terms for a while now; I couldn't imagine she'd care about anything right now.

Right on cue, as if he could read my mind, Owen reached for my hand and slipped his fingers through mine. Our hands rested on my left thigh, the un-injured one. My heart did a dance, and I looked up at him again. His eyes were on the road, but he turned his head to me when he saw me looking.

How did he know when I was uneasy? How did he know exactly when I needed someone? I gave his hand a squeeze, but he didn't move it until we reached the gas station.

He got out of the car and made his way inside the convenience store. Immediately, I dialed my sister's phone number and waited. She picked up right away. "Holy crap, Claire?"

I hesitated for a moment: "Y-yeah. Karen. Yeah. It's me."

She let out a sigh of relief, or at least that's what it sounded like on my end. "Oh, Claire, oh, God," she breathed. "I can't believe I'm hearing from you. Are you okay? I thought you were dead."

"I'm fine," I said, but even I wasn't convinced with my half-assed lie. "I'm okay." I paused. "I'm sorry for not returning your call sooner. I just now had a moment." I was lying through my damn teeth. Owen and I had been driving through the states, having dropped Maisie off in Salt Lake City, where Iris, her caretaker, had gone to be with some of her family. We'd been driving nonstop back from Utah to California, stopping along the way for food, gas, and the occasional motel. We were finally back in California. Owen would've preferred to sleep in his car and not have to spend money on hotels, and I didn't have the energy to argue. But he saw my thigh and the bandage wrapped around it, and he insisted I had to give it more legroom than the passenger side of his car offered. Like I said, I had no energy to argue back and forth.

"I've been so worried," Karen said. "The boys have been so worried about you, too."

I didn't even know what to say. "I'm so sorry, Karen." I guessed I was sorry. Kind of. What was I sorry for? I didn't know; I just was. "It's been a tough few days."

"Listen, Claire…" She trailed off. My stomach did a flip-flop. In that exact moment, Owen exited the store and walked back to the car. He noticed me on the phone, but didn't really say anything. "I know we haven't been on the best terms lately…"

I'll say, I thought.

"I mean, we hardly talk and… I've been angry at you for being so careless with the boys when you worked at the park…" Ah, the uplifting conversation I needed. I didn't know how many times I apologized to her after the incident. I would have gotten on my knees to beg for forgiveness, and I don't beg. I would have died saving my nephews, but I guess she didn't think I was capable of such strong an emotion. "But… you need to stop with this dinosaur business."

"What do you mean?" Of all the things I expected to come out of her mouth, that wasn't it.

"I mean, you're bringing all this destruction on yourself, Claire," she said. "I'm happy to know you're alive and all, but you won't last long if you don't just stop with this dinosaur nonsense. It's killing you. And if you don't stop with it, you're going to get yourself killed."

"I'm here, aren't I?" was the only thing I thought to say.

"Yeah, for now. I know it's not an easy to pill to swallow. But you're my sister, and I don't want to see you get hurt."

A dull throb began both in my head and on my thigh. Maybe I was imagining the thigh one, but I suddenly needed a Tylenol. "Okay," I said. "I have to go."

"Don't, Claire."

"Don't what, Karen?" I sounded a lot snappier than I intended.

"Don't push me away like this. You know I'm right. If you weren't involved with this dinosaur business, you, Grey and Zach's lives wouldn't have been in danger."

"Are you calling me just to remind me that I'm a terrible aunt? Or do you care that I'm even alive after everything I just went through?"

"Stop it. You know that's not what I meant."

I heard Owen close the little fuel door close and I quickly said, "I have to go," and hung up. When Owen got inside the car, it was like he immediately knew something was up. He turned the keys in the ignition and looked over at me. I saw him out of the corner of my eye.

"Claire?"

"Hmm."

He didn't say anything until I turned to face him.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I lied. "Fine. Everything's fine." Except my headache was getting worse, and now I really needed a Tylenol. My thigh pulsed with a dull throb, and I threw my head back against the headrest.

"Who called you?" he asked.

"Oh." Should I lie, or tell him the truth? He'd know if I wasn't being honest. He could always see right through me. "That was just my sister."

"Your sister called you?"

"Yeah. She was happy to hear from me. Thought I was dead."

"Uh, okay."

We pulled out back into the road, onto another lonely stretch of highway. I reached for my purse and pulled out a bottle of Tylenol. I briefly skimmed the back of the bottle and took two tablets. I asked Owen how long we had left, and he said we had about two hours till we reached our destination.

"Want me to drive?" I asked, though I didn't really want to.

"Not after you've taken that." He pointed to the Tylenol.

"Oh. Right."

"It's fine, Claire. I don't mind driving. I like it."

We eventually reached my place first. It was finally dark out. I got out of the car, noticing he wasn't budging. I tapped on the passenger window and he rolled it down. "You gonna get out?"

"Should I?"

I opened my mouth and closed it. I didn't know how to answer that question without sounding like a fool, at best.

"Well, where're you going?" I asked.

"Uhh… home?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Home?" I asked.

"You know, the place I live. My home. Mi casa." He smirked.

I glanced back at my house. It suddenly seemed so big and lonely. I turned back to Owen and said, "Can I stay with you?"

He raised both eyebrows but didn't skip a beat. "Sure. You're welcome to crash."

"Ten minutes," I assured him. "I'll be right back."

I barely gave him time to answer as I turned back and went inside my house. I asked myself what the hell I was doing, asking Owen if I could stay with him at his place. We weren't teenage high school girls planning a damn sleepover. But as I replayed the last few days in my mind, I realized we needed to talk. My heart pounded, and the sound of blood rushed through my ears as I thought about this. I was on autopilot as I looked for a duffel bag and found clothes and toiletries to stuff inside it.

My mind went back to a few days ago. We were being chased mercilessly by dinosaurs, and I almost lost him a few times. The fact that he was even there, back in the island, was all my fault. All because I was an idiot who fell for a liar under the guise of helping animals live peacefully. He could have died because of me. He could have died because I wanted to guilt trip him into coming and helping me out.

My eyes watered at the thought of it. When I reached my living room, I opened the curtain just a tiny bit and looked at his car parked in my driveway. He was jamming out to a song, singing passionately along. I felt the familiar tickle of butterflies in my stomach as I watched him be silly. A smile crept up my face. This was the man I almost lost because of my foolishness, because I dragged him into something he didn't need to be dragged into. I didn't deserve him.

I stepped outside the house, making sure to lock everything. Owen turned the volume down as I soon as I got into the car. He threw the car in park and said, "Ready?"

I nodded. As he drove, I looked at him. I knew he saw me, but he didn't return the glare. I studied his features, the scruff on his face, the once bloodied scratches in the process of healing. I felt another wave of guilt hit me, knowing it was all because of me.

"Do I have something on my face?" Owen asked suddenly.

"What? No… I—"

He smiled and looked right at me. "Just can't keep your eyes off me then, huh?"

"Stop flattering yourself," I joked.

"You're already doing it for me." We exchanged a smile.

We finally reached his house, out in the mountainside. It was quiet. I could never envision myself living somewhere like this, but the calm and quiet was more than welcomed. I stepped inside the front door after he opened the door. The space was small, but cozy. He decorated the place nicely and kept it tidy. I set the bag down right by my feet.

"I don't have a guest room," Owen said, "but you can take my room, and I'll just sleep on my couch."

"Owen—"

"Or you could take the couch. Doesn't matter to me."

"No, Owen, I…" I expected him to interrupt me, as if he knew what I was about to say and was trying to stop me from saying it. But he didn't, and I almost felt silly bringing it up. I pushed on anyway. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to… sleep on your bed."

"Sure. I'll take the couch."

I shook my head. "No."

"Come on, Claire, make up your—"

"With you," I interrupted. I needed to say it before I freaked out and kept my mouth shut. A warm sensation took over me from the top of my body right down to my toes. "I want to sleep on your bed with you." There was a pause. I started twisting my hands together nervously. "I need you with me tonight. Please."

"Well, it's not every day a beautiful lady asks me to sleep with her," Owen joked. "Why not?"

I knew jokes were his way of lightening up the general mood, but I wanted him to be serious. I couldn't read him like he could read me, but all I felt was guilt. When I looked at him, I saw him being chased by dinosaurs. Risking his life underwater to break me out of the gyrosphere. He could have left me to drown. He could have been in his house, building stuff like he loved to do, jamming out to love songs and 80s music all day long. Instead, he was saving my ass.

I waited for him to take a shower first, and afterward, I went in. I had to be careful with the gash on my thigh, which made showering much harder than it needed to be. I had to switch the bandage afterward. Looking at the gash made me cringe; it brought tears to my eyes, as I replayed the events in my head over and over. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I was surprised to know that I looked terrible. I had dark circles under my eyes, and I looked like I hadn't slept in over a week. Sleep was starting to creep up on me, but I needed to fight it.

I slipped into my pajamas, and when I went inside Owen's room, he was already in his bed, all lights off. His back was facing me, and I couldn't tell if he was awake or not. I gently slipped into the bed next to him, but he didn't stir. Could he have fallen asleep so quickly?

Being mindful of my thigh, I slipped in as close as I could to him. I poked his shoulder.

"Owen," I whispered, "are you awake?"

"No," he whispered back without turning. "I'm sleeping."

I took that as a don't-disturb-me-I'm-trying-to-sleep sign. I mentally kicked myself. I should have just told him to wait till I was done in the shower so we could talk. But then, to my surprise, he turned around to face me. The shadows from behind the curtains were cast in his face, but I could still see his emerald eyes.

"Hi," I said stupidly.

He half-smiled. "Hi."

He seemed to take pride, or pleasure, or both maybe, in the fact that he could get me to stutter like an idiot. He caught me off-guard, since I hadn't expected him to turn around and look at me like that. I wanted to reach out and run my fingers through his hair. I wanted to lean in and kiss him. But first, I wanted to talk—or see if he was even up to talk.

"Can we talk?" I asked.

"That's what we're doing, isn't it?"

I sighed, almost feeling defeated.

"Alright," he said, actually sounding serious, "let's talk."

I took a deep breath. "What's up with us?"

"I don't know. What is up with us?"

"Owen, I…" It was like words started to fail me. I knew what I wanted to say, but I couldn't string them into a coherent thought. He was looking right at me, expectantly, and in that moment, I knew that he knew what I was going to say. I had to take a moment to let my brain think. His eyes bore into me in the midst of my silence. He watched me intently, yet patiently. "I need you."

He waited for me to go on, but I really wished he'd chime in. He was quite the expert at times at interrupting conversations and putting in his two cents. But he was quiet, waiting for me to finish.

"I love you," I said, and it was as if a weight was lifted from my shoulders. "These past few days have been hell, and I didn't want to be at home alone. I'll be left alone with my thoughts, and that's not what I need right now." When he still didn't say anything, I went on: "I've been thinking. You didn't have to come. I basically forced you to go and look at how everything turned out. You saved my ass more times than I can count, knowing damn well you could have died, too, and I…" A familiar tingle went through my nose, and my eyes instantly watered. I didn't know why the hell I was so damn emotional, but I needed him to say something. "I'm so grateful, despite everything I put you through." I searched for his hand under the covers and interlocked my fingers with his. His hand was warm and pulsating with precious life. I didn't let go.

"You didn't force me to do anything," he finally said. "I went willingly."

I shook my head, but he continued.

"I almost lost you the first time. I couldn't lose you, Claire. Not again." He pulled away from my hand and ran his fingers through my hair. He pushed my bangs to the side and caressed my face. "I don't want to imagine what would've happened if I hadn't been there to protect you."

"I should have died on that island," I said, though I wasn't sure what compelled me to say it out loud.

"Don't say that!" he chastised me.

"I shouldn't have lived. I should've been smart enough to know that—"

"Stop it, Claire!" Owen interrupted me. "Just stop it!"

I was surprised when I saw that he too had tears in his eyes. I'd never seen him cry, or even so much as seen his eyes water. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I had no idea what to say. I felt even guiltier that he was like this because of me.

"I love you," he said. "You have no idea how much I love you, but I do. You don't know how much it tears me apart to hear you say these things about yourself. I can't sleep sometimes thinking about what might've happened to you on that island if I hadn't been there. Wondering if today would be the last time I see you. You don't know how much I…" His voice actually cracked a little, and my heart skipped a beat too many. "How much I need you."

Still being mindful of my thigh, I inched closer to him until I could rest my head into his neck. His left arm went around me, and I searched for his free hand, once again interlocking my fingers with his. I heard his steady heartbeat, his subtle sniffles.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered. I didn't want to hurt him anymore than I had, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I deserved to die, that I should have been dead. I turned the idea over and over in my mind and it started to sound appealing to me. I tried to push it away from my mind, and for the time being it sort of worked.

Owen was silent, but I found comfort in the quiet. Eventually, he fell asleep. When I whispered his name, he didn't answer. Instead, a soft snore filled in for him. I was tired, but I lay awake for a while. Part of me wanting to do away with myself, the other part still both guilty and filled with gratitude for Owen. In the end, his steady heartbeat lulled me to sleep.

In the morning, I awoke alone. I looked around me and saw that Owen wasn't there. His side was cold, but it smelled like him, which I gladly took in. I assumed he was outside building his cabin, so I went to the bathroom and took a shower. But when I left the room, he was nowhere to be found. I checked the only other room in his house, which was his office, and he wasn't there either. He wasn't in the kitchen or the living room, and his car was gone from the driveway.

I looked at the cable box in the living room and the time read 10:30. Figuring he was out running errands (trying to push the thought of calling him away, so as to not seem clingy), I began looking through his stuff. I shouldn't have; I didn't exactly pop into people's homes and looked through their stuff like a nosy child, but there was something that drew me to Owen's belongings. His nonchalant way of being, the way he simply smiled when I was aggravated (making me even angrier), and even his ability to create things with his hands—it all made him so fascinating.

I looked through what I could, knowing I really should have stopped invading his privacy, but unable to. I came across a linen closet outside of his office room that had boxes on all the shelves, each labeled. In particular, one labeled "High School" caught my attention. I pulled the box out and received a face full of dust in return. I coughed, fanning the dust off me as best as I could. The box wasn't very heavy, so I set it on the floor and knelt down before it.

A thick layer of dust covered the first thing inside the box, which I came to find out was a yearbook. I opened it, welcoming even more dust. I skimmed through the yearbook pages, probably going fast enough because I couldn't find him in the few times I went over the book. Tucked inside the very last page of the book were yellowed pieces of paper, old and fragile. I carefully picked it up and flipped it open.

Jessica, I think you're cute and I really like you. Will you go to prom w/ me? (check yes or no). Underneath the sloppy young boy handwriting were two checkboxes next to the yes and the no. The yes was filled by a checkmark and underneath it read: Owen, I like you, too. You're the funniest boy in our class. I think it's great you like science. I love science class, too, it's my favorite. History is my least favorite. I don't care about what happened in the past, I only want to look to the future. I think science will make some great discoveries, don't you? P.S. I'd love to go to prom with you.

I had to stop. The middle school writing level was cringey, at best. The way this Jessica dotted her I's with hearts was painful. I didn't know why I was feeling a pang of jealousy; this was Lord-knows how long ago, and he probably didn't even remember her.

Not likely, I thought to myself. He has his notes from her saved in a yearbook. Why wouldn't he remember?

I put the note back inside the book before I started thinking something stupider. I put the box back where it was, but the second I pulled another one labeled "Important" off the shelf, I heard Owen's car pull into the driveway.

I scrambled to put it back, but he was clearly faster than I was. I'd just managed to put it back and slam the closet door shut by the time he stepped inside. I stepped out of the hallway, past his room, and right back into the living room. He'd know I was up to something. But when he saw me standing there, probably looking guilty as all hell, he only raised his arm, holding a white bag by its handle.

"Got us some breakfast, Sleeping Beauty." If he suspected anything, he didn't show it.

I hadn't realized I was starving. "Thank you," I said.

"I thought you might want some food. Unless, of course, you don't." He shrugged. "Don't mind having some extra."

He set the bag down at the dining table. I followed, feeling timid all of a sudden. I felt like he could tell I was just rummaging through his stuff and was about to call me out on it. But instead, he brought some sodas to the table, opened the bag and handed me a plastic container with a see-through lid. Sunny side-up eggs and with two pieces of toast and hashbrowns. He, on the other hand, had a burger.

He caught me staring. "What? You wanna trade?"

"No," I said. "No. Just don't know of anyone who has burgers for breakfast."

"That's the magic of Denny's. You can have anything you want at any time of the day. Crazy stuff."

Despite his sarcasm, I smiled to myself. We ate in silence, until he said, "Were you looking through my stuff?"

I stopped mid-chew and looked at him. If my wide, bug-eyed look didn't give me away, I didn't know what would. He smirked, a triumphant and silent way of acknowledging my inadvertent confession. "I'll take that as a yes."

"How would you even kn—"

"Come on," he waved his hands, including the one holding the burger, "you didn't come out from the room when I got back. You also didn't just wake up. So tell me. What were you looking for?" He smiled. "You didn't find My Little Pony collection, did you?"

"Your little pony collection?"

"Yeah, I'm a brony. When I'm not building stuff, or training raptors, I play with my pony toys."

I could only stare. Sometimes I didn't know if he was being truthful or not. My jaw must've been touching the table because he laughed. Not an inward laugh or a forced one, but a loud one and for longer than a few seconds. "If you could see your face right now," he said, still laughing. "I'm kidding, you know. I don't actually collect pink ponies."

I jabbed my fork into the egg yolk, watched it bleed into my hashbrown. Owen just shook his head and continued chuckling.

"What day is it today?" I asked. With all that had happened in the last week, I was completely lost. Despite me checking my phone constantly during our car ride in and out of California, I hadn't stopped to think of the days. After a while, they all blurred into each other. It felt like it had happened months ago, but it also felt like just yesterday I'd been stabbed by an Indoraptor's claw.

"Today is Friday," Owen said. "Time flies when you're having fun, huh? And you still haven't told me what you were looking for."

I suddenly remembered I hadn't checked my phone since I hung up on my sister the day before. I stood up and went to the room, ignoring Owen's questions of where I was going. I walked right out and took a seat back at the dining table. I had about fifteen text messages from Karen, each text one notch angrier than the one before. The other text messages varied from Zia and Franklin and other employees, to bagel shops offering me generous discounts, to my phone carrier, which I deleted. I'd answer everyone back. Maybe. Except Karen. I didn't think I could answer her.

Each second of silence was accompanied by a buzz from an incoming notification. Owen was staring at me again.

"Those are a lot of notifications," he said.

"I guess," I mumbled as I did my best to keep up with the nonstop flood of emails and alerts.

"You gonna eat that?" Owen asked, pointing to my food.

I looked up at him. He wasn't even done with his burger. So typical. "You could have it." I was still hungry, having eaten about half of the food, but figured he could take it if he wanted.

He shrugged. "More for me." He didn't hesitate to pull my food towards him.

After getting through most of my notifications, I sat there, unsure of what to do next. Part of me wondered if I'd imagined my conversation last night with Owen. We were both beyond exhausted from the week. And then driving to Utah was an added physical toll on our bodies. I'd told him I loved him, and he said it back. But here we were, sitting a few feet away from each other, in a consuming silence. I didn't know if I wanted to go back home and face my thoughts all alone. I didn't know if I would be a burden, staying another day, though I'd packed enough clothes for another day or two. Just in case, like my mom had always said.

"So, when do you want me to take you home?" Owen asked, jolting me out of my thoughts.

The question felt like a blow—so much so, in fact, that I was starting to wonder if I had dreamt up yesterday's conversation. Like I didn't open up my heart and snuggled up to him and fell asleep to his heartbeat. Alive and by me.

My silence seemed to intrigue him. "I figured you might want to get back to civilization sometime soon," he said.

"We live like twenty minutes away from each other." Of all the things I could have said, that was it?

"Yeah, and you're right by the mall. I'm on some mountain. Figured you'd want to get back to where the people are."

"I—"

"You don't have to if you don't want to. Hell, you can call an Uber if you prefer for them to take you."

"Owen, stop," I said sternly. And he did. He seemed stunned, actually, that I managed to sound so aggravated. "I don't want to go home. I want to be here. With you. I just want to be with you. Why can't you understand that?" Why are you trying to push me away?

He took a swig of his soda—or mine, possibly; I'd barely touched mine—and took his time. His stare bore right through me, and I started to feel my hands get clammy. I didn't like being wordlessly stared at. My stomach lurched back and forth, and I had this urge to get up and run.

His voice was low now, gravelly almost. It scared me, made my heart skip a beat. "If I recall correctly," he said, "you left me. In fact, you were pretty adamant about the fact that it wasn't the other way around."

I felt like I'd been punched right in the gut. Now I was almost certain I'd dreamt up that conversation last night. It started to feel hazy in my memory. Did I really tell him how I felt? Did I really hear him say it back?

Owen sighed, took another swig of his soda. "Look, Claire," he began. He was scouring his mind for the right words. Good, because I didn't know what to say myself. "I meant what I said last night. I know you did, too. But—" another damn swig— "I need to know where the two of us are at. I feel like I'm getting mixed signals from you sometimes."

I thought things with us were pretty clear after everything, but I guess that was one of the things that made us vastly different. I thought there was no question about things, and he needed more info. Usually, things were the other way around, but this time, I'm not sure what went wrong.

"I thought things were obvious," I said.

He chuckled. "Come on. When has something not required an algebraic equation when it comes to you?" He grinned obnoxiously.

It brought a smile and a laugh out of me, though I was trying to fight it.

"So… what do we do?"

"I say we stick together," he smiled. "You know, for survival. And stuff."

"Last time you said that, we split up."

"Then let's learn from our mistakes and not do the same thing."

Despite myself, I was smiling. There were still some more things that needed to be addressed, but this was good enough for now. When he was finally finished eating, he said, "I need to go grocery shopping. I had to throw out almost everything. Care to join me?"

"Only if it's a supermarket that has more than five shoppers in it at a time," I joked. "You know, something out in civilization?"

We headed outside to his car after I helped him clean up the dining table. He put some music on, changed a few songs until he landed on "Bohemian Rhapsody." He was passionately lip-syncing to the song, swaying his body back and forth as we got onto the road. I don't know why he had me laughing till my sides hurt. In retrospect, not very many things were funny when you really thought about it, but I guess when you loved someone, the most insignificant thing was side-splittingly hilarious.