[10/04 – 23:21]

VICTORIA: Nathan where the HELL are you?
VICTORIA: It's been like an hour.
VICTORIA: Haven't seen Saint Slut either.
VICTORIA: Taylor thinks you've gone off to sleep w/ her.
VICTORIA: DUDE.
VICTORIA: We are fucking wasted at this party and you're nowhere to be found.
VICTORIA: Not cool, Nate.
VICTORIA: :(

"Nothing?" asks Courtney between hits. The smoke gets caught in the spotlight and creates a pretty cool effect. Not my photography scene, though; too amateur. Plus, who the fuck takes their camera to a party?

"At this rate Taylor might be right," I say over the music. "Nathan actually might have taken Kate to a dark corner to get indecent away from prying eyes."

"He'll have to get in line, though," Courtney giggles. "Seriously, though. That's gotta be the most action Logan's seen in his entire life."

"Yeah," I reply, letting the smile spread over my face. "You took a video too, right?"

"Duh," she says, flashing her phone. Some guy walks past and nearly knocks it out of her hands, though. "Hey!" But the asshole's soon lost to the crowd. Mental note: find out who he is and get his name removed from the Vortex Club list.

"This'll be fucking priceless," I say. "So much for her abstinence campaign working."

"Like it did in the first place," Courtney retorts. I take a sip of my drink. "I mean, have you heard the noises from Juliet's room at night? I have no idea how she finds the time to write all those shitty articles."

"I try not to."

"Maybe we're pursuing the wrong slut," Courtney says as she makes a not-so-subtle reach for the bong. I pass it to her.

"Nah," I say. "Juliet's too smart to get caught out like Kate. Who the fuck even knows why she was here tonight anyway."

"Even good girls have to be bad sometimes, right?" Courtney smiles mischievously.

"Besides," I tell her. "I've got a better way of fucking Juliet over."

"Oh?"

"Pretty simple," I explain. "Zachary's a dumb shit who can't keep it in his pants. If he happens to get a sext from the rich, hot Victoria Chase… well, the rest is obvious."

Courtney's phone buzzes. "It's Taylor," she says. "She just finished checking the campus. No sign of Churchwhore. Plus, Nathan's truck isn't in the parking lot. Do you really think they…?"

I shake my head. "Nathan's standards aren't that low," I say. "Kate's probably banging some jock in the bathrooms and Nathan probably had a bad trip and had to sleep it off."

"Didn't know Prescotts were such lightweights," Courtney says. "Oh well, more fun for us girls!"

It's at this moment where I can feel a choice weighing down on me. Do I tell Courtney about the meds and the psychiatrist's notes in Nathan's possession? Or do I keep quiet?

Telling the truth would make everything easier; it is probably why he bailed on us. Plus, it would preserve this friendship between me and Courtney, and not damage Nathan's reputation, petty as it is.

But friends are temporary. And exposing the shit going on in Nathan's life would be suicide.

Like there was even a choice to begin with.

"Hell yes," I say. "The night is still young. Why the hell should we let lightweights and sluts ruin our night?"

"I like the way you think, Victoria," Courtney says, and the oscillating colours of the lights capture the plum of her hair and make the hues dance.

Stupidly, I'm making a habit of seeing everything through a viewfinder before seeing with my eyes.

But sometimes it's easier to create that distance. Especially when the guilt makes the thoughts of a rich boy with the psych notes and meds and the seven minute phone-recorded video weigh more than the world.

Sometimes that buffer is essential, no matter how faux-hipster it sounds.

[10/05 – 04:49]
NATHAN: sorry
NATHAN: i had some shit come up u know
NATHAN: youre probably sleeping so i guess u wont read these 4 a while
NATHAN: ill come see u later

I wake at sunrise to puke up cheap chips and potent wine.

Kate Marsh is curled up outside her dorm room, looking bedraggled and off.

I pretend not to see her and try to forget about the seven minutes of footage on my phone.

I take a bunch of shitty selfies throughout the afternoon as Courtney and Taylor decide to chronicle their hangovers via SMS. I told them to avoid whatever shit Hayden brought.

Even though I look like shit, I have to admit the composition is among my best work so far.

A small voice in my mind whispers to me that they bear some similarities to Max Caulfield's photography.

I tear up all but three of them.

When he finally shows his face, I can tell something is off. Black circles mar his eyes and there's something different about the way he twitches. This isn't just Nathan being jittery after a bad high.

As he wrings his hands, I can't help but feel uncomfortable. Deeply uncomfortable.

So whilst he walks over to my bed, I focus on the way the evening light makes my room look lazy and gold and how the bed has a pleasant warmth to it where the light touches it. It's a weird form of nostalgia, if I had to be pretentious about it.

I move my camera out of the way before Nathan sits on it. He's surprisingly unaware of his surroundings for once.

"Hey," I say. "So, do you care to explain what happened last night?"

He just stares for a moment, uncomprehending. His eyes seem glazed, somewhat. Almost like that dull, glossy quality you see in old photographs. Is he high?

He forces himself to blink a few times before he can answer. "Y-yeah," he says. "I went home. No big deal. Was kinda stupid I told nobody, but what the fuck ever. The party carried on, right?"

I reply with a "Yeah," before I realise what's wrong with his statement. Even the bottom feeders of the Vortex Club know what Nathan thinks of his home. His father's a dick; that's all he says, but it's enough to understand that home would be the last place he would go. Hell, sometimes he can't stand to be near his family so much that he just passes out somewhere in Arcadia Bay instead of sleeping in his dorm.

There's a story here, but not one for my ears.

I wait a moment to see if he elaborates. He doesn't.

"Jesus's favourite slut crawled back to her dorm at some point," I tell him. "Taylor found her. Wrote 'will bang for God' on her slate. My idea, of course."

"Huh," Nathan says. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out an unopened bottle of wine.

"We're going to drink?" I ask.

"Things tend to be a lot fucking better when I'm out of it," he says and I know there's more to it. I also know it would be stupid to press.

"Well, sure," I say. "Just let me get some glasses."

In the minute it takes me to grab them from their hiding place of my closet, Nathan's drinking straight from the bottle. It strikes me as such a sad scene; his hair and clothes are dishevelled and his expression seems… pained, somehow.

"Save some for me," I say, sitting down. He lets out a belch that smells clinical as I pour myself a glass. Must be those meds. Is he on more?

"I can't even tell you how shitty everything is right now," Nathan says, seemingly more relaxed as the wine enters his system. It doesn't take him long to disregard his glass, and I'm just grateful for the carpet on the floor.

"Well, hopefully this is less shitty. Right now, I mean," I say. Don't dig too deep.

"Just… I fucking hate my dad," Nathan says. I purse my lips as he looks at me in what could almost be desperation. "He thinks he can control me like he controls the rest of this fucking town."

I down another mouthful of wine, ignoring how it's going straight to my head. Ignoring how vulnerable I'm making myself. Ignoring everything else but the boy drinking and opening up about things that would never normally leave his mouth.

"He… he beat me the other day," Nathan says. I try to hide my wince. I'd suspected Sean Prescott was an abusive asshole – he has this way of looking at you like you're a piece of shit – but this isn't something I wanted to think about. But it makes too much sense. "Says I'm not fit for my purpose."

"What a dick." It comes out before I even think. My heart stops for a brief second as Nathan parses my words.

"Yeah," he replies. "Everyone has to bend to his will and I'm fucking tired, Vic. He's made me do so much and I..." Nathan pauses to swallow three mouthfuls of wine. "Just… fuck that guy."

And then, the impossible.

Nathan Prescott begins to cry.

It's an ugly affair involving awkward hugs and a shaking Nathan who can't stop uttering "I'm sorry," under his breath.

What I feel for him goes from cautious distance to heartbreak.

The most powerful student at Blackwell is nothing more than a frightened, broken little boy.

And I can't stand it.

"C'mon, Nathan," I say. "You can't cry this early in the evening. Hey." I feel a weight in my pocket and a conflict of emotions.

But in the end, pity wins out over guilt.

"You have to see exactly what Kate did at last night's party."

Much later that night, once the bottle is empty and our heads are light, I make those seven minutes last a lifetime.