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Alex
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Lock the door. Strap Daniel into his baby seat. Sit behind the steering wheel. You see the baggie you left behind a few days ago, after the crash. The drugs. Enough left for one more high. Piper is beside you, frozen, and you realise her silence is her trusting you. She's trusting you to be rid of the drugs once and for all. Your hand is heavy as it holds the baggie. You remember the wonderful sensation, the freedom, the release it brought; how it made you block out everything horrible.

And you can't do it.

You tear the baggie apart and chuck away what remains outside. It's raining a little, and you watch the heroin evaporate, disappear. Closing the door, you sit, then finally turn to look at Piper. She's smiling, and she's proud, and maybe you're proud too. But you can't help but think –– why? Why did you bother? You'll be alone again soon. Piper says your name, reaches over and kisses you hard on the mouth. This is why you bothered. Even though it will not last, this is why you bothered.

The dread of what's to come ricochets through you, and you grab her arm, lean in for another kiss, and she senses your panic, your fragility, and it's clear she feels the exact same way. You want to tell her you love her. You want to ask her to never leave you. You want to ask her again and again –– stay with me? You'll take care of her, you'll take care of the child. You'll take care of yourself. For them, you'll be a better person. But you're lost in her eyes again; you see you don't stand a chance.

Piper wants to stay. More than anything in the world, she wants to stay. Yet, she can't. That is something you must embrace. You must embrace this fact before it's too late. You start the ignition, Piper's hand rests on your thigh; she squeezes. It's going to be all right. Her parents won't like you. Won't recognise you. You will not be seen as Piper's lover, as the woman their daughter loved for more than three years. You are invisible, the invisible woman, and you are irrelevant. You'll simply pass through.

During most of the journey, Daniel is asleep. You and Piper talk –– talk about how long you both intend to stay at her parent's. Piper suggests leaving at around six, so by the time you and her arrive back home, it won't be too late for Daniel. You then discuss where Piper will live. She says she can't afford a proper house yet, but has her apartment, so will return to that when the time is right. You, secretly, consider giving her everything you've got: every penny in your bank account. You, secretly, giving everything up.

Then, Piper talks about you and her. Us. We. She asks how you feel, she says she's sorry, she says if things were different, she wouldn't let you go. At that point she stops talking because she has to cry. You focus on the road, but your heart rips in two. You tell her to stop crying. You understand why she has to leave, and you admit you wouldn't have it any other way. You don't want them involved in your illegal businesses anymore. You don't want to force them through anything. You can't put them in danger.

'I love you, Alex.'

You know that, but it's still shocking to hear. She loves you. Loves every fucked up part about you. There are no buts, no excepts, nothing. She loves you, and that's final. And it's awful. Tragic. 'I love you, too.' You can't look at her when you confess. You worry for a moment you may need to stop the car, but you continue driving. Just keep driving. Don't turn around. Keep going.

The atmosphere is heavy. Piper turns on the radio. One of her favourite songs is heard, and she latches onto this coincidence, this luck. She teases you, hums some of the lyrics and urges you to join in. You hate singing. And she knows that, so she pushes it. A very high chord is approaching, and you both burst out laughing at her failed attempt at reaching the note. But, as always, you both smile for a few minutes, then you are hit again with reality. Piper glances out of the window. You drive.

Arriving at her parent's home, you park the car. Piper unbuckles her seatbelt, turns to look at Daniel who's fast asleep. Then she looks at you, and her eyes are soft, warm. You consider staying in the car. You'd rather be a chauffeur than a stranger in a stranger's home. Piper hesitates. Maybe she's considering this is a bad idea. She knows how awkward the situation is. She'll introduce you to her parents, but they'll never see you again. You're just someone. Not the girlfriend, not the wife, not the ex, not the friend, not the mother.

You're just someone.

'If they say anything––'

'I know. It's fine.'

'You don't have to answer their questions.'

'I know.'

'You can tell them what you want.'

'Yeah, I know.'

'I just need you.'

A nod. 'Mm.' You know that, too. The only reason you're here is because of Piper and Daniel. Not for her parents. You can't care less about them. Together, you leave the car, and Piper suggests you carry Daniel –– you're not sure why. Possibly to send a message to her parents that you're important, that you do matter. Either way, you want to carry the boy. Want to hold him, protect him from the potential frowns his grandparents may offer. You want him to know you love him, even if they don't.

But you don't know Piper's parents. They may be overjoyed to see him. Daniel wakes up when you lift him. You give him his dummy, and his eyes are wide and curious as you and Piper approach the house. It's a nice house, not too fancy, and it's normal. The type of house you'd expect Piper's parents to live in. Piper fiddles with his jacket, wanting him to look presentable. You have to smile at her fussing.

'He looks perfect. Leave him be.'

She smiles back. Turns to the door, rings the bell. You exhale slowly. You're nervous, you already feel out of place; you have to keep reminding yourself that you're here for a reason. A good reason. No, you should not return to the car and drive away. Daniel needs you, Piper needs you. They won't need you again, so just take this opportunity while you can. Fight for it.

The door opens. There's a man. Possibly her father. He glances at her, the baby, you, back at the baby, then Piper. They hug suddenly, and words are exchanged; Piper introduces her son, then you. Her father barely acknowledges your presence, and is more interested in Daniel which is understandable. A woman appears. Possibly her mother. You don't know these people. They talk a lot, welcome you three into the living room. The woman says hello to you, shakes your hand; she's formal, polite, but you don't believe her sincerity. The father doesn't even try being nice to you. He wants to see his grandchild which you currently hold.

You are not welcomed here. Daniel is growing tense.

Piper's parents want to hold him. Piper looks at you, and you see there's fear, uncertainty. You don't know why, but when you pass Daniel over to his grandfather, you realise why she's scared, why she's uncertain.

Immediately Daniel screams, crying, struggling.

You feel a snap. A tear. You nearly tremble in shock. You feel as if you've betrayed him, abandoned him. You feel a possessiveness, a strong urge to protect him, keep him safe. You can't stand him crying. His grandfather tries to settle him, but fails. He and Piper's mother find his behaviour sweet; he's just a baby. Babies just cry. They're unaware. Daniel doesn't stop crying until Piper forces a smile, and takes him from her mother. They don't mind. They expect the mother to be his favourite.

But he's still angry. Very angry. He still cries, and Piper, so naturally, so willingly, gives her baby to you. Daniel stops crying at once, settles, his tiny fist resting on your cheek as he scans what's around him. You hold his fist, press your lips to his head, ignore the frown Daniel's grandfather is throwing at you. His wife, on the other hand, continues to smile, gestures you and Piper to sit on the settee. Daniel sits on your knee, leans back against you, and he yawns loudly, and you only notice him and the woman sitting beside you. Her parents are there, but you don't care about them; they're just background.

Piper does the talking. She's caught on you're unwanted, and she makes it clear you are. She shuffles closer to you, and at one point takes your free hand, runs her thumb across your knuckles, but never once does she look at you. For a few minutes, they discuss the father –– his irrelevance. They then discuss Piper's new job, where her and Daniel will be living, if they intend to visit again sooner. Piper's mother makes a comment about the difficulties of having a child out of wedlock, and glances at you, and her smile is forced, patronising. You don't smile back. Daniel catches your attention when he starts to fiddle with the buttons on your jacket.

It's a long day, but it is mostly spent with words and long periods of conversation which you are not welcomed into. You volunteer to change Daniel's nappy at one point, feed him his warm milk, take him out for some fresh air. Their garden is small, a nice vegetable patch to the side. Daniel falls asleep in your arms. You're alone. You press him to you gently, and you try ever so hard to not think about the inevitable. You love him. You love him, and he isn't yours to take care of.

Someone has come out to join you. Piper asks how he is, you pass him to her, and he dozes silently in her embrace. Piper says nothing for a short while, but you know what's coming. Before she opens her mouth to speak, you cut through her, 'It doesn't bother me –– being the odd one out. You have no idea how many parents have not wanted me around the house.' You're trying to joke. 'Anyway, Daniel was keeping me company.'

'I don't care what they think.' Piper is watching you, and she's looking at you the way she does when she feels lost, helpless, guilty. It's a look you can't stand. One that begs for forgiveness. 'I wanted to get out of there more than you did.'

'If your father judged me even harder, I'd probably have disintegrated.'

Piper chuckles, and you do as well. You're suddenly teenagers again, idiots, but reality hangs above your head, and Piper's smile falls slowly. She's watching you, silent. All you see is her and the boy. This tiny, wonderful family you've built around yourself. The only two people left who love you. Piper's voice is quiet. Soft. 'I never got over you, which is ironic, considering I did the walking away. And I lied about his father –– he was just a one-night stand. I slept with him because I couldn't stop thinking about you. Which was obviously very sensible.'

'Obviously.'

'I left you because I was scared, Al, and your mother... It was bad timing. I knew if I stayed with you, even as a friend, we would have ended up back together again. I needed to stay away from you. I tried to stay away from you. I did everything I could to just forget about you, but I––' She holds back a cry. '––I was so fucking guilty. I was terrified, just... so fucking terrified about what you might do to yourself. I wanted–– I want to be strong enough to stay with you, Al, but I can't do this again.'

You're silent.

'I rang you because I knew only you would be able to help. And I also rang you because I had to see your face; I had to know you were still fucking alive. I had to see you, Al.' She pauses, 'I wanted to be with you.'

You've got nothing to say. She can't hold back tears for much longer, and you come closer, hold her. You're numb; finished, done. And so is she. You are both done torturing each other, fucking each other over. You're both finished. There is nothing left. Piper isn't crying for herself, but for you, for Daniel, and she's crying about what a mess everything is; the fact you are giving her no option. You kiss her cheek, and she turns her head to kiss you deeply, making it perfectly clear how she feels, how confused she is, how nothing is making sense. Her lips break from yours, and she remains inches from your face, her breath tickling your nose, and she's struggling to fight everything in her which wants you back.

A decision is made. You will give up the cartel, but–– 'I'm turning myself in, Pipes.'

She stiffens in your embrace. She inhales sharply. 'No.'

'I need to turn myself in––'

'Alex––

'I can't quit, and I can't keep doing this. So, yeah, I'm turning myself in.'

'You'll go to prison.'

'I know.'

You realise what she's about to ask. If you'll both be able to remain in contact, perhaps write each other letters, but she stops herself when she realises the risks. Your boss is a beast, a monster, the most powerful man you know. You can't put her in that sort of danger. You can't communicate with someone he may potentially target. You're turning yourself in for Piper and the boy. This makes the two a perfect shot. After all, your boss does not like being messed with.

She kisses you again, grabs the collar of your jacket, and you're stumped.

There is nothing you can do.

After a while, you help wipe away Piper's tears, kiss her again, and again. Heal whatever wounds you can.

It's time to leave. You both meet Piper's parents inside. Farewells are spoken. Your hand is shaken, Daniel is in your arms again. You're happy to go, but once you reach the car, strap your child into his seat, you realise there is no time left. Piper won't stay with you for long. And you won't stay with yourself for long either. All three of you drive home in silence. Daniel rests, oblivious, and he's beautiful, perfect. Piper is still, staring out of the window. You reach the motorway.

Ten minutes pass. You're overwhelmed with emotion. You can't drive. Your vision is blurred. You turn off to the side, stop the car, pause, wait. Piper has already unbuckled her seatbelt, 'Alex, what's wrong?' A silly question. A stupid, stupid question. Your body is shaking, you cling to the steering wheel, and you consider driving far, far away with these two. With your family.

But you can't. You're stuck.

And that's when you finally cry. You aggressively shove off your glasses, wipe away the tears which freely fall down your cheeks, and Piper is confused, puzzled, she doesn't know how to respond. She's shocked, amazed. She places a hand on your shoulder, but that's not enough. You can't stop crying. She swears –– 'fuck' –– exits the car, runs over to your side, and pulls you into a rough embrace. She pushes you against her, and you want her to tell you it's going to be all right, it's going to be okay. You want her to tell you you are a good person, you are a good person, and you want her to stay.

She leans back a little, just to look at you, and she sniffs, because she's crying a little too. She kisses your cheek, your other cheek, nose, lips. Holds you. 'I'm not going anywhere.' A lie. The worst lie she can possibly voice, but you crave her every word. You're foolish, and you hear her, listen to her, trust her. She doesn't stop holding you, kissing you, until you stop crying. 'Do you want me to drive?' She whispers, patient, waiting, loving. You shake your head. You must continue driving.

You must keep going.

The apartment is no longer your home. Just somewhere a stranger used to stay. Daniel is returned to his cot; he hasn't woken up since the journey back. You and Piper make a warm drink, talk. You both talk for a while, avoid what's really happening, avoid the fact the hours are ticking past. She kisses you, you kiss her. She helps you out of your clothes, you help her out of hers. You're both gentle, soft, patient, and she is beneath you, yours, as you are hers. It's quiet, and the emptiness of the room is broken occasionally with a small moan, gasp, whisper. Darkness shudders between you two, promising, cruel, cold.

Later, when you're half asleep, she touches you, and asks, '––why do you always feel so inevitable to me?'

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author's note: Next chapter is the last, and I'm probably going to post it later today. This story is ruining my life, so I need it finished so I can let it go. Jesus Christ. I'm never writing a darker story than this ever again. I say that, but God knows what I'll write next. Thank you patalano, the three [ Guest ] reviewers, IrishCourtney, [ helen ], CamiMoraes, Chand3li3r, ejm137, [ Basic ], bluepaintbox, [ TVGplayer ], VausemanFanFic, [ Rbx ], ToTheBarricades, inevitablevauseman, MaiaKittyMeow, ladylace616 and cmc49abc for reviewing!