Lean On Me

by Golden Unicow

Inseparable at first sight. In Grade 3, they had their first fight. In Grade 4, they called him lame. In order to stay cool, he played their game. He started to make her cry. In Grade 5 she wanted to die. In Grade 6, his "friends" scarred her. She then in turn, had to transfer. But now it's high school. And oh boy, was he a fool. NaLu. :') Or StiCy (;

26. Chapter 25: Golden Girl by the Peonies I

Authorial Note: I highly suggest listening to the songs while reading selected sections. They add so much more meaning to the story. I'll add a * whenever you should listen to the song. It's totally up to the reader but it embalms more emotion into the story.

Disclaimer: Content in this story is purely fictitious. If you're experiencing any of the issues outlined, speak to a medical professional rather than seeking solutions from my story.

Trigger Warning: Chapter features themes on suicide and sexual assault. Reader discretion is advised.

Also, don't forget to leave a review because it encourages me to create chapters faster!

The Golden Girl by the Peonies: Part 1

"Some succumb into submission in the face of adversity while others, make it their bitch."

– Lucy Heartfilia

Natsu

"LUCY" My shoes thud against the asphalt as I pelt down the neighbourhood. The scalding heat momentarily disorients me, making me grip a pole to keep upright. Hoarse uneven breaths stumble out of my mouth as I wipe the glassy sheen of perspiration off my forehead. Sunlight flares across my left eye. I take a quick gulp of air and then shout out her name again. Bystanders stare at the spectacle I'm creating but I try my best to ignore them. Lucy. My name is Lucy Heartfilia. Memories play intermittently at broken intervals clogging my nerves. I massage my temples feeling dizzy. I feel happy with you Natsu. Fucking hell. My head. I continue sprinting down the middle of the road and I can hear cars honk but I'm in a trance. You believe in anyone's words but mine. Something swerves by me and I can hear a string of profanity tossed towards me. I merge onto the cross-walk and begin to amble towards the playground, feeling like I was going to vomit. Slut. I cup my hands around my mouth meekly and yell her name once again. Children at the playground quiet and stare at me with moderate concern and caution. Cunt. I begin to sway, and my shirt is saturated with sweat. I slide down onto a park bench, feeling my head reel with memories. Try Clorox is works like a charm.

It's easy to pass on the blame.

My phone continues vibrating against my thighs. I slide my damp fingers across the cool gorilla glass and see 50 missed messages. I continue panting and punch in my passcode, waiting for the messages to load. The first one I see is from Sting.

What the fuck have you done Dragneel? I stare at the text. Flashes of her soft lips and bare chest flush against mine flit through my mind. I angrily punch in a Nothing and then block his number. I scroll down to see similar text messages from Lucy's friends all outlining the same thing. What did you do Natsu? If she dies, it's your fault. It felt like I'd just accelerated 100 mph into a brick wall. I'm sorry for falling in love with you Natsu. The blood squeezes out of my head and I let out a strangled cry as I feel heat flashes take over my body.

It's impossible to admit you were wrong.

The children in the playground race across my vision until they become replicants of exposure photography. The noise in the playground mutes, emphasizing the voices in my head. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. And I black-out.

I'm in a blank room. The boundaries of the room are covered in a heavy fog. Across from me sits Michael, my therapist, holding a clipboard.

What do you remember, Natsu?

I remember this one memory so vividly.

My feet are hooked over the edge of the chair; I swing them back and forth humming Caillou's theme-song, unendingly. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. My metal spoon dips into the bowl of Froot-Loops, hitting its smooth curvature making an ugly clank. The baby babbles in the high chair, stuffing some cheerios inside her mouth.

To this day, I hate Froot-Loops.

The dishwater keeps running but I don't hear dishes moving. I think I should tell mommy to turn the tap off. Mommy is quiet. The water is running. Mommy look at the water it's running. Mommy is very quiet. The sunlight is somewhat jarring in the darkness of the kitchen. I feel something ugly clank inside my own stomach.

"Mommy?" I call out hesitantly, but mommy doesn't turn around. Her slender frame shakes as she grips a crumpled piece of printer paper. Something is scrawled on it but I'm too far to see. Gripping the edge of the table, I slide out from my seat and skip over to my mommy and tug on her apron. The water continues to run, and I cast an uneasy glance towards it.

"Mommy…the water is running," I whisper, feeling a prickle of fear. She hums and affirmative but continues looking at the sheet. Her eyes are running too. They won't stop running. Why won't they stop running? I try to catch her attention again. Baby Wendy is looking at us with inquisitive eyes.

"Mommy…daddy doesn't like when we waste water," I added, trying to reason with her. Her back goes rigid and her eyes turn distant and cold. The tap water continues running.

"Daddy isn't here anymore, sweetheart," my mommy replies stoically, her words hoarse from an obstruction stuck in her throat. Mommy is crying. Why is mommy crying?

"But I saw him last night! He said he'll be home soon Momma! Don't worry!" I chirped, a face-splitting smile spread across my face that spanned from ear-to-ear. My mommy's eyes narrowed into tight slits and her blue irises were replaced with obsidian rock.

"He left…and you didn't even tell me?!" my mommy yelled, digging her nails into my shoulders. I could feel the fiery fury in her hot breath and I recoiled. I felt my tiny body tremble and I quickly nodded thinking that if I admitted to my wrongs, mommy would forgive me like always; but, she kept on screaming.

"It's all your fucking fault! If you'd told me, I could've stopped him. I knew we shouldn't have kids. Now I have to raise them alone. God, it's all your fault, if you weren't born, he wouldn't leave! It's all your fault!" she bellowed, her yells reverberating off the walls. My eyes round to the size of disks and my heart stops. The baby cries. Mommy snaps out of her trance and pinches the bridge of her nose. She mutters something to herself and then hugs me tightly and begins apologizing repeatedly. I try to hug her back but I'm frozen, so I let mommy hug me. I look over her shoulder replaying her words over and over and over again until I couldn't forget them. The water continues to run until it overflows the sink.

The faucet was left running until it would drown us.

What do you mean by that?

1 Month Later

I mean my nightmare didn't end and I was still too young to understand.

Feed Wendy. Do the laundry. Clean the dishes. Lie beside mommy. I repeat my little mantra, humming.

Using the stepping stool, I hunch-over into the sink. I wore my mommy's oversized yellow gloves that seemed to swallow my arms and began to work on the dirty dishes. I turn on the tap. The water drizzles down the drain making strange guttural noises. I stare at it entranced but then quickly return to the task at hand. Mommy didn't have much more money left so I'd begun sneaking into my neighbour's kitchen for some food. I climbed onto the counter and opened a cupboard searching for baby formula. I didn't know what ratio of milk to add to the formula, but Wendy seemed to like how I made it; mommy would sometimes help-that is when she was awake. I peer into the living room where mommy takes another swig from the "magic bottle." Wendy and I knew that when she drank it she'd fall into a deep sleep like Snow White and we'd have to lie down next to her to make sure she woke up; if she didn't, we'd take turns smacking her face and we'd try to roll her on to her side-that seemed to help. Sometimes mommy would laugh and talk with us, other times she'd cry and yell. Cunt. Bastard. Little fucks. I didn't know what they meant but her words seemed to speak for themselves through her eyes. I knew that when mommy was mad, I'd have to take Wendy on a walk outside so mommy couldn't hurt her.

You did this all at such a young age. How did you cope?

Well, Uncle Atlas came over after 3 months and saw how destructive our living situation was. He decided to drag my mother to a rehabilitation center after she threw a vase at him, screaming like a banshee. I guess he exploded on her. I remember him yelling something about Social Services and taking away the kids and I think that shut her up. Uncle Atlas tried to take us to his place but I just…I refused to leave the place-no matter how many bad memories it brought back.

"NO!" I shrieked, wriggling out of his firm hug. I felt my chest shudder erratically. My eyes began to swim, and I felt ugly fat tears topple from my tear-ducts. Uncle Atty's face remained calm and tender. He had this aura of immeasurable patience. Only ruffling my salmon locks while he silently watched sobs rack my body.

"It's going to be okay Natsu. I'm here," he whispered warmly. He gets onto his knees and plants a kiss on my forehead, but the waterworks don't halt.

"H-he's going to come ba-back and we-we won't be here and h-he's going to be all alone," I hiccup, wiping the dampness from my eyes with the backs of my hand. Uncle Atty's face falls and I can see his gaze turn distant. Something fiery flits through his irises and his lower lip trembles with some unknown emotion.

Do you know what that was Natsu?

Hah. Isn't it obvious?

It was anger.

I was too young to understand it, but my dad didn't love my mother anymore. His cowardice prevented him from vocalizing his thoughts, so he just left us because he didn't need us anymore.

You kind of dodged the previous question though, how'd you cope emotionally?

…. I made some friends and met her.

"Took you long enough, Flame-Brain. Did you get lost on your way to the park?" sneered Gray. I scowled, irritation pricking my nerves. Uncle Atlas had moved in and had enrolled Wendy into day-care. Old habits died hard and I'd ended up cleaning the whole house. I'd lost track of the time and had forgotten about my "play-date" with Gray, one of the neighbourhood boys. I hadn't told anyone about my broken family, so I shrugged off the insult and flash him a shit-eating grin.

"No shirt again? Did you lose that on your way to your front door?" I retort and skip over to our tiny squad of Bacchus, Gray, Lisanna, Loke, and Gajeel. Gray gasps and mutters something about the gods wanting him to be a stripper; none of us really knew what that meant but we'd heard Gray's stepmom Ur, use it a lot. Lisanna giggles and slightly flushes as I come to stand next to her. Her silver hair dances in the wind and her icy blue eyes stare at me with adoration. I feel myself involuntarily blush. The guys snicker and then Loke chimes up.

"We were thinking about playing cops and robbers if you're up for it. We can do black-shoe to pick," he explains. I watch as his eyes momentarily pass over Lisanna; her eyes widen in surprise when he winks. I feel my eye twitch in even more annoyance.

"Yeah, yeah. Let's do it," I mumble, feeling the same inescapable frustration, I'd felt all my life from my inability to protect the things I loved. A brief image of Igneel crosses through my head and I can feel my mood begin to plummet even more.

Igneel?

Well I sure as hell wasn't going to call him dad when he ruined my childhood.

Loke ends up being the first cop and I begin racing through the neighbourhood. I feel the adrenaline pumping through my body and the forest begins to distort as I run past it. I take a sharp turn and pelt down the middle of the road into a cul-de-sac. The wind snakes through the pockets of space in my hair and for the first time, I feel like I'm flying. I let out a hearty laugh and spring into the air, hollering for someone to catch me. I hear Gray yelling, but I keep sprinting down the biking trail and then moving into another part of the neighbourhood. The thudding and squeals of joy began to dissipate behind me and I turn back to find myself alone. I slow to a walk and take in my surroundings. I'm in the bougie neighbourhood with the sprawling mansions and gated communities. I stare in wonder at the abundant affluence and decide to explore. The grass is seaweed green and seems to grow at its own profusion. Large pillars engraved with relief sculptures of Greek goddesses, surround one of the gates. At the sides of the gate, two alabaster gargoyles glare down at me with salacious smiles and I feel my skin crawl. I hug my arms in a defensive stance and squint up to read the gold sign hanging on one of their necks.

"He-art-fil-lia Es-tate," I spell out. Before I can comment on the weirdness of the name, a mellifluous laughter invades my ears. The sound resonates through my head like the gentle hum of wind-chimes in a gale or a baby's first laugh, cocooned in its mothers embrace. A gooey torrent of heat gushes through my body and I feel my face turn beet-red. My body is drawn towards the sweet sound like the call of a siren and I find my feet in front of the gate before I can even stop myself. I peer in through a sliver in the gate and my heart stops.

Scratch what I said before. There are two memories I remember in crystal clarity.

The letter…and the way she looked in that moment.

A surge of warmth rinses my chest cavity. Situated in a bed of peonies is a girl. She wears a denim sun-dress that seems to be bleached from too many days out in the sun. Her pastel skin sports a few bruises but what captures my attention is the golden halo of hair on her head. I stare gaping at her back wondering if I'd seen an angel. I hear Gray call my name in the distance and I begrudgingly turn away and race back towards the cul-de-sac. I'd never gotten to see her face, but I felt like we'd be meeting soon enough.

So, she helped you cope with your broken reality?

With Gray and the others, I wasn't allowed to forget because I couldn't tell them about how broken my family was. He was my rival, I didn't know what a best friend was. But…when reality became too much for me, I'd run to the golden girl by the peonies and bury myself in her infectious smile, thinking I'd waged war just to meet her.

Michael jots down a few more things on the clipboard and sets it aside on a table. I don't know what he's written down. His azure irises bore deeply into mine and I can feel a tight knot of apprehension form. I interlock my fingers and rest my elbows on my thighs in anticipation, predicting the question before he's even asked it.

So why did you hurt her?

There is a long intermittent silence and all I can hear is the loud echoing of my heart.

Maybe it was from the loss of that haven in her contagious smile or those disarming chestnut eyes. Maybe it's because that tight box that I'd locked everything inside felt as though it'd burst at its seems when I lost her too.

But Natsu, you chose to let her go so why did you get hurt?

I cast my eyes upwards and can feel my eyebrows furrow in frustration and guilt.

My mom and dad put me on this emotional rollercoaster. After my dad left, she manipulated my feelings always, always, always.

My voice is ragged, and I can hear the bitterness drip off each word.

I was tossed shit for breakfast and expected to stomach it. I swam with the sharks because I wasn't the best at walking yet. Man, I grew up telling myself I wouldn't become that selfish-bastard who walked out on his fucking family and left his four-year-old son to cope with his budding-alcoholic mother.

I felt hot tears stream down my eyes because it'd been the first time I'd been able to translate my feeling into thoughts. The veins on my arms bulge as I grit my teeth and clench my fists.

He was a monster.

My shoulders begin to sag slowly and my expression falls as a golden bed of hair invades my mind.

When I heard Lisanna, I couldn't believe it…I didn't want to believe it…but then I remembered Igneel. I guess for a moment I thought about that quote, "All that glitters isn't gold." I guess it's the unnatural, unwavering trust in someone that felt so pathetic and transient in that moment. I wanted to get rid of that weakness. The same weakness I held when I was four-years old.

The muscles in my jaw ache from how hard my teeth are gnawing at each other and I can feel the blood squeeze out of my features from the pillar of guilt piercing through my gut.

I blamed her. I thought Lucy was manipulating me too. I thought I was worth fucking gold bars or something and that she had something to take away from me. I thought…that once she was done with me she'd throw me away and leave. For years I'd stuffed all my feelings in an air-tight container and had never vocalized anything about my family. But when I met her, she slowly began to extract the wounds and heal them, and the box began to weigh less.

I lean back into the chair and shield my eyes from the blinding walls with my bicep, welcoming the inky abyss.

The fact that I needed her so badly made me feel like…having her, was another weakness. Another person who could hurt me. I thought that…if I forced her out of my life…it wouldn't hurt as much if she left me. When I lost her…it was like Pandora's box had been opened and all my issues gushed out like a geyser and I needed someone to blame.

And Lucy was there in the ideal circumstances to be your picture-perfect monster.

I flinch at his words and feel an insurmountable weight on my shoulders, pushing me deeper into the seat.

How could you do that to someone you love?

My heart began to thunder against my rib-cage and I felt my stomach hollow.

I morphed her into Igneel. I poured out all my bottled-up rage onto her because she was this beautiful thing like him and that was marred and because my cowardly ass couldn't hurt the person I wanted to hurt, I hurt her.

Flashback

I watched Sting swiftly exit the office and then everything descended on me like a sledgehammer. Her dilapidated platinum blonde hair and dead eyes crusaded through my mind, drilling into every nerve in my body. I felt hot bile surge up my throat like a torrent and project onto the ground with the rest of my stomach. I begin hacking and barely notice the concerned secretary calling my name. I keel over and continue to hurl, feeling fat hot tears pour out of my eyes. I squeeze my eyes shut and try shaking the thoughts away, but they won't dissipate. Her burnt wrists seemed to personify into physicalities and I can almost hear her screams ringing through my ears. I must've been screaming because people frantically rush to my side, but I bat their hands away because for the first time in my life, I began to realize the immensity of my actions and what it did to people when you passed off the blame.

And then I asked myself…, "Who was the real monster, Natsu?"

Michael has been silent and I'm afraid to meet his disapproving gaze. Begrudgingly, I tip my chin up. All the air is knocked out of my lungs and I freeze. The hairs on my back stand erect and I can feel my heart skip a beat.

Michael doesn't sit in front of me.

It's Lucy.

I feel tremors vibrate from my core and then pulse through my arms. Her platinum blonde hair has been straightened and she's wearing a white sundress. The former clipboard and pen in her hands have transformed into a mirror and a peony. Her mouth is drawn into a tight-line and her expression is bare and impassive. Her eyes fixed on something light-years away from me.

Look.

Before I can ask for clarity, she forehand flicks the mirror towards me and it collides with my chest. A sharp pain shoots up my chest and I let out a guttural noise. I massage my stomach and then pick up the tiny mirror. I look into it and almost drop it.

I'm 9 years old again.

I was nine, Luce. Nine. I'm older now. I've grown.

My eyes dart upwards and fear travels up my ribs.

So, quit acting like I'm still the pathetic nine-year-old who's incapable of being kind or helping people when I can.

She repeats my words monotonously like a ghostly whisper. I blanch because her dark eyes are disarming and cold. Suddenly, she stops mid-sentence and then gets out of her chair. She walks to the edge of the room. And then jumps off. The room is bathed in crimson. I scream.

The nightmare ends. Ragged gasps tumble out of my mouths and I clutch my chest, trying to will my heart to stop racing. I wake up to discover I'm still on the park bench. Glancing at my wrist-watch, I learn it's 9 PM. Crepuscular light shimmers down on the park creating eerie shadows on the deserted playground. A cool breeze whistles through the branches, emphasizing the neighbourhood's desolateness. I take deep breaths in and out, trying to filter the gunk out of my airways. My wallet is thankfully, safe, but can't find my house-keys.

"Shit, I left them at Rogue's," I mutter to myself. Recalling the millions of angry texts, I decided against going back. My eyes survey the street. Few cars race by under the hazy yellow light of the lampposts. A neon sign flashes LIQUOR in purple font across from me. Lines of gins and Jack Daniel's line the window. My eyelids fall slightly and before I can stop myself, my feet move towards the store. I look through the glass windows and hear the boisterous laughter of tallow drunk men. I rock my head back and take a lingering moment to smell the fresh night air. My eyelids close momentarily.

The tap keeps running.

I push open the door.

---

Lucy

I'd decided against acting like a wild renegade on a wild-crusade to find self-love and decided to relay my situation to my dad; that is, if he hadn't already deployed the National Guard to come search for me. Moreover, I'd need to provide an emergency contact for the next leg of my journey. I held the receiver to my ear and let the dial-tone ring a couple of times. After a couple of minutes, a gruff weary voice filtered through the speaker. "Hello?"

"Heeeey daaaad~!" I chirped slowly, backing the receiver away from the impending ultimatum about to ensue.

"Lucy Heartfilia," he enunciated. "Where the hell, have you been?!" My sweat dropped as his bellow echoed through the tiny café. A few people perked their heads up to the sudden commotion and I quickly decreased the call volume and ducked my head behind the booth. I began to whisper.

"Before you kill me, let me explain," I pleaded silently, glancing up to survey whether anyone was listening. A tired sigh reverberated through the speaker and he submitted.

"I'm listening," he replied, uncertainty laced with his words. I smiled gingerly, appreciating the self-growth my dad had displayed over the years. He'd gone from a venal, impersonal corporate scumbag to a doting, understanding father-figure in my life; I was forever grateful.

I took a sharp intake of breath before explaining my plan.

"I've decided to take 2 months off from regular high-school and enroll in ADAMINE rehabilitation center," I stated, pausing to let my words sink in. "They offer an excellent business-oriented program, so I'll still be able to maintain my grades and I've sent emails to my teachers, requesting deferral exam dates due to these circumstances. The facility also contains a lot of sports, so I won't turn lax in my extra-curricular activities either!" I rushed to add. There was a long silence on the other side of the phone. I could almost visualize the gaunt lines on his forehead creasing.

"Lucy, I completely understand and if you feel the need to do this and have a plan to back up your actions, I'm willing to stand by you. I just have a few conditions," he asserted. My shoulders relaxed, and I let out a sigh of relief.

"Shoot," I replied, excitedly, feeling my chest fill with butterflies.

"You send me a detailed outline of their meal-plan, dorm conditions with photographic evidence that they're not co-ed, and the course outlines with the teacher's credibility ratings," he states. I hum an affirmative and jot his terms down on to a memo-pad.

"And lastly, you send me a picture every day," he declared, his voice offering no refutes. I snort and shake my head, my eyes alight with humour.

"They're not going to kill me, Old Man," I laughed, and brought my knees up to my chest, hugging them with one arm. The server walks by and places my French vanilla coffee on the table. I flash her an appreciative glance, one which she warmly returns. I cock my brow up and then take a long sip.

"No excuses. Have you ever used the Yarn app? How do I know they're secretly not a cult who's been dormant for years!" he exclaims sternly, but I can hear the mirth in his voice. I shake my head, unable to stop smiling.

"Deal."

---

Natsu

My clammy hands fumble with the frosty metal handle. I jerk the key around drunkenly in the tiny hole, my half-assed attempts eliciting curses from my mouth. Fucking locks. Dead wasted and locked-out of the loft, I'd staggered to her house. The red digits gleamed on my wrist; it was 3:02 AM. She was going to be pissed. There's a sharp click and the door swings open abruptly. The sudden movement and surge of alcohol-induced vomit disorients me; I stumble over the threshold dumbly. Awkwardly flailing, I try in vain to grasp something and end up colliding with the hardwood flooring in an unceremonious thud. Pain carves into my stomach like a razor. I howl in pain, spewing a string of obscenities.

"What the hell Natsu!" Cocking an eyelid open, I'm greeted by the seething topaz irises of Grandine Dragneel, my 5'3 hot mess of a mother. Her slender arms cross over her tiny frame, leering at my crumpled figure and bedraggled appearance. Disapproval and irritation are etched across the crease between her brows. Confusion trembles on her rosy lips.

"You look and smell like shit," she scolds, clicking her tongue in disapproval. I didn't need a mirror to know I looked shit-faced. Alcohol emanated from me, permeating my nostrils and incinerating my olfactory receptors. I let out an uneven groan and curl into a fetal position. Her expression turns sympathetic. My eyes faintly make out her crouching down towards me. Hoisting one of my arms over her shoulders, she gingerly lifts me off the floor and walks me to the couch. She drops me; my back sinks into the plush cushion and I feel my eyelids begin to flicker.

Man, this is so pathetic. Slipping out of consciousness, I fall asleep.

I wake up to the smell of bacon and eggs. Nostalgia dribbles down my back; I vaporize it immediately. A head-splitting migraine tears up my head and I let out a groan.

"Take the ibuprofen and drink the orange juice on the side-table," Grandine says, shifting around a stick of butter in a saucer. I want to protest but my pounding headache urges to me to comply. I shut-up and take the pill. The bacon crackles in the pan, fizzing and filling the room with its mouth-watering aroma. My stomach grumbles in response and I try my best to stop my mouth from salivating. I shift the cotton blanket off and walk towards the wooden dining table. Sliding a seat out, I take a seat across from Wendy. Grandine saunters over, spooning two sizzling eggs, sunny-side-up, onto my plate. She then uses metal tongs and places a lopsided slice of bacon underneath. It looked like a face. When was the last time she made a face on our food? I force down the hot bile rising in my throat. A wave of dizziness makes the kitchen briefly distort. I grab my fork and silently begin mutilating the egg. I stab my food carefully until it looks like a pile of mush. I shift around the food using my fork and then decide to survey the place.

It had been awhile since I'd come back. The formerly bare walls had been repainted with warmer tones and now featured 'family' portraits. Grandine and Wendy had refurbished the furniture and had decorated the place with clusters of angiosperms and gymnosperms. I cock my head across the table to Wendy. Smiling gleefully, she squirts a large glob of ketchup onto her plate. Her azure pigtails swish back and forth as she flashes me a goofy grin. A ghost of a smile teases my lips. My mom starts humming. My smile sobers up. Why was she humming? She'd sobered up in seventh grade and had then commenced her "family reconciliation" project ever since. She took away 8 years of my childhood and thought she could heal that. Wendy was too young to understand and accepted her with open arms. Her humming reverberated off the walls. It felt disgusting.

After sifting through slop once more, I push it away. My chair grunts against the tile as I get up from the table. She swivels around. She takes a glance at the pasted eggs and looks at me sternly.

"Natsu finish your breakfast. Don't waste that food. It doesn't grow on trees," she chastised with her contemptuous eyes. My eyes dart away from her offending gaze, anger boiling from the pits off my stomach. I cock my head towards her and stare at her sharply.

"Don't you think, I, of all fucking people, would know that best?" I spit, venom dripping off my words. My eyes are colder than a Russian winter. She flinches. Good. Pain and regret mingle in her eyes and I turn away, unwilling to be swayed. Wendy could forgive her; I wasn't ready for that.

The headache flares again. I clench my tongue to stifle my grunt of pain. I can feel the concern rippling off her and I try my best to ignore it.

"Natsu…why were you drinking last night? Is something wrong…? You've never…reeked of so much alcohol before. I've been there and don't think it's wise to…," she trails off softly, realizing she'd overstepped her boundaries. Wendy's stopped eating. The fear in her eyes is palpable. She knew what that word meant. She knew what the magic bottle was now. It was the thing that haunted our dreams. I ball my hands into fists feeling hoarse breaths fall out of my throat.

"Natsu…," she says softly, taking a step towards me. I recoil.

"Get you're fucking hands away from me," I shriek, tremors pound against my rib-cage. Her face falls more and I can feel my heart sink deeper and deeper. No stop. You don't get to be sad. Tears sting my eyes. Wendy can't see this. I decide to run. I fling the front door open and pelt down the sidewalk. I'm running again, with no destination in mind. Always running because…I have to be the one to run away first.

---

Lucy

The spicy scent of fresh pine and agave mingle together and invade my nostrils. Pillars of vapour stream out of my mouth as I exhale the warm air from my lungs. My hands are buried in the deep pockets of my trench coat and I rock my head back to take in the glistening, icicles, teetering on the edges of the sign. ADAMINE was pasted in platinum Arnold Samuels font onto the gigantic alabaster edifice. I felt my innards clench involuntarily at the clinical aura that the exterior gave. This isn't the same place as before. We can do this, Lucy. Despite reassuring myself, I could feel the gentle quiver in my phalanges.

I curl my fingers hesitantly around the metal handle, feeling the familiar icy sting of late Autumn. I will my hands to stop shaking as I push against the door. Hot air and cinnamon blasts across my face causing me to stumble back momentarily in surprise. I find myself in a midsize room lined with cubbies. I smile as nostalgia swirls inside of me. I lug my suitcases over the threshold and then lean them against the door.

"Mavis…you never do leave me," I murmur to myself. I close the door behind me and survey the tiny room. Two security cameras are trained on my figure. An essence wafts cinnamon through the foyer making it smell like Christmas Eve. The cubbies are filled with various outdoor footwear with assigned name-tags. PLACE OUTDOOR WEAR IN CUBBIES AND PICK UP A PAIR OF SLIPPERS. I remove my uggs and place them in one of the empty cubbies and then hurry over to the slipper station nervously. It's okay, Lucy. One step at a time.

I opt for some bunny slippers and then walk skittishly towards the gigantic mahogany doors on the side of the room. I take a deep breath trying to muster courage from the depths of my heart but to no avail. The door opens to an expansive room with a high-vaulted ceiling. A sprawling vista sweeps across the walls displaying the jade Agarian forest, powdered with fresh snow and the endless city-line. ADAMINE rehabilitation center was a gated institution situated on the outskirts of Fiore, on the Appalachian Mountains. I felt my heart churn with an inexplicable excitement. I hear the sharp clicking of heels and swivel on my heel to meet a lady with short blonde hair, a white blouse, and a black pencil skirt. Her lips are coated with Fire Engine Red by MAC, matching the fire in her heels.

"Miss Lucy Heartfilia. Welcome to ADAMINE! I'm Cynthia Pativrata. Before we get you started with your initial consultation with one of our mental health advisors, I'll give you a brief tour of the facilities! Oh, and Benjamin, take the lady's bags to her dorm please," she chirps excitedly. Benjamin gives her a polite nod and then carries my items of luggage off in a trolley. Cynthia's bubbly eagerness is contagious, and I can't help but smile. She takes a step backward, positioning one leg behind the other and then proceeds to fan out her hands.

"This my dear is the Lounge. If you ever have a problem, feel free to come here and ask. While this is a luxurious facility, it's also a rehabilitation institution so we have some rules," she chimes. Reading the apprehension on my face she quickly adds, "It's for the benefit of our tenants. Don't worry Miss. Heartfilia. They're very simple." I muster a small smile and nod in acknowledgment.

"We permit outdoor trips, but our strict curfew is 8 PM. Yet, we may be laxer about that depending on the circumstances. We require tenants to exercise for a minimum of 2 hours daily. All the rules are pretty much enlisted in this catalog," she explains and begins moving towards the elevator. She takes me around the facilities. I'd been here before, so I had an idea of what was in-store for me. There was an indoor water park equipped with a sauna and steam room. There were a series of basketball, baseball, soccer, and badminton diamonds with an equipment shed. There was a common-hall with a series of restaurants and fast-food facilities lining the room. The actual 'school' was in a whole other building. There was a recreation room next to the theatre room. Actual therapy sessions took place in offices next to the Lounge. The expansive gym was in the basement and individuals were entitled to a dietician and personal trainer on request. The tour moves by fairly quickly. We end in the dorms.

"Like you requested, here's your dorm. You won't be sharing it with a roommate either," she assures, unlocking the door and handing me the keys. She turns the handle and holds the door open for me. I step in and find myself ogling. There's an open-concept kitchen next to the midsized living-room. Pots and pans hang from the rack and the island has been decorated with a beautiful centerpiece. There's a simple wooden dining table and the counters are ceramic. Three decorative bulbs hang from the rafters giving the kitchen a warm yellow glow. The living room has a gigantic white fur rug and a red velvet sectional sofa. There's a large flat-screen TV on top of a chocolate-colored stand. There's a dart board next to it. Behind the sectional sofa, there's a large monochromatic painting. The dorm has a simple modern bedroom and a washer and dryer. The washroom contains a jacuzzi and a glass shower. Lastly, there's a balcony with a hot-tub outside.

"Whoa," is all I can muster. Comfort living, damn.

"We request that tenants hang out with the opposite sex in the recreation center rather than in the dorms but let's be real. Y'all breed like bunnies," she gagged. A blush crept up my face recalling my front-seat break-up spectacle. Cynthia smiles and then explains a few more stuff before leading me back to the lounge.

"Before you settle in and explore on your own, we're going to do that initial consultation that we were talking about. You were paired with Dr. David Clarke. Since you're a tad early, you're going to have to wait a bit. You can go sit down on the cushions or play some foosball with the other tenants," she discussed. The thought of social interaction after the week I'd had made me gag. I give Cynthia my thanks and then take my position near the windows, staring out in silent anticipation.

I rest my cheeks against the cool marble wall of the Lounge, waiting for Dr. David Clarke to arrive. According to the online survey I'd filled, he was the best match for me and had extraordinary reviews on Yelp. Pieces by Red* is being played in the speakers, filling the room with its sweet melancholic melody. A sense of relief floods my body because they aren't playing Roar by Katy Perry like FIERVA Mental Health Intuition had; it was an attempt to 'liberate' the inner turmoil inside us "lost souls." Minutes tick by and Dr. Clarke is nowhere in sight.

"A few more minutes. Dr. Clarke was just trying to squeeze in one more client before your appointment. They're nearly done," assures the prim secretary for the fourth time. I prop my legs on the arms of the recliner, feeling a surge of frustration. I understood the guy was a world-class therapist, but he shouldn't have overbooked; it made me feel like a pay-check rather than a person. I'm jerked out of self-pity with a loud thud. Manila files and sheets are scattered across the ground. I glance up to meet the piercing blue eyes of a young woman. She has rosy cheeks and short curly brown hair. Her pale cheeks are dotted with freckles and her eyes are a crystal blue. She wears a frilly pink blouse and a red pencil skirt that has a long slit that occasionally flares out, revealing a sliver of her thigh. Her pastel orange heels rival her lipstick's and I feel my heart lurch involuntarily. Her face is flush with embarrassment and her arms flail awkwardly. The room is relatively empty this early in the morning, so the secretary and I are the sole audiences to her spectacle. Cynthia lets out a huff of annoyance and stomps over towards the clumsy woman.

"Kaia, this is the tenth time this week! You can't keep presenting yourself like this! How will your clients perceive you!" Cynthia exclaims, her voice shrill. I can't keep the amusement of my face. Kaia's cheeks turn a rosy red and she fumbles with her fingers behind her back. Perspiration dots her forehead as she occasionally glances at me while getting reprimanded. Something about her draws my unwavering attention. She's groundbreakingly beautiful but that was already a given. What is it about her? I crease my forehead, trying to understand why I was so enraptured by her.

I come to you in pieces, So you can make me whole.

The lyrics make me still and my eyes widen to the size of orbs. The erratic thunder of my pulse wills me towards the secretary before my mind can rationalize what I feel. The secretary has gone back to her desk and has slipped on a pair of large Ray-Bans.

"I want her," I blurt out before I can stop myself. My arm moves up sharply and points at Kaia, who is now bending down to retrieve her files. Cynthia cocks up a perfectly groomed brow.

"Miss Heartfilia, with all due respect, Dr. Clarke is very proficient at what he does, and he meets all your needs," she assures, looking up at me through her wide frames. The frantic beating of my heart urges me to stand my ground. I take in a gulp of air and then continue.

"While I do understand your selection process, mental health therapy is most effective when there is a strong connection established between patient and doctor right?" I argue, my question being more rhetorical rather than interrogative. The secretary notices and nods hesitantly. My eyes bore into hers and I wait patiently for her to succumb. She sighs and types something into her computer. She caves.

"You're going to have to wait till the end of the day because Dr. Jones is booked completely. Are you fine with that?" she asks, trying to goad me into returning to Dr. Clarke.

"Yes, I'm fine with that," I reply firmly, resolve flinging off every syllable. Cynthia smiles and types in a few more things into the computer.

"Great, let me just confirm with Kaia-I mean Dr. Jones and you're set. You're going to have to redo your paper-work but that can be done later at night" she chirps. The printer beeps and Cynthia retrieves a couple of forms and walks towards Kaia. The young lady blushes and casts a sidelong glance towards me. Her expression turns shy but then she flashes me a breath-taking smile that melts my insides. The woman says something back to Cynthia. They both smile. Kaia turns on her heels and exits the room. Cynthia flashes me a thumbs up and I grin.

Hours go by. Tenants move in and out of the lounge. I rest silently in my recliner, abusing the sudoku app until my phone dies. The fiery sun puffs its remaining golden breath over the room before dissipating into the horizon. The long LED lights turn on, bathing the room in white light. I sink my feet into the furry white rug and continue the long tedious wait, feeling more and more anxious as the minutes' tick by. Will it be worth it? What if I just wasted 10 hours? What if therapy doesn't help? My stomach begins to cave to doubt and I hang my head dejectedly.

"Lucy Heartfilia." The voice drags me away from my depressing thoughts. I look up and feel the air knocked out of my lungs again. Her voice is sweet and slightly hesitant. Her cheeks still have that rosy tint, emphasizing her youth; but the intensity in her gaze acknowledges the woman's wisdom. I give the lady a small smile and reach out my hand to shake her hand stiffly.

"Pleasure to meet you," I breathe. She must've sensed the anxiety in my voice because she flashed me another dazzling smile for what seemed like the umpteenth time. If anyone else had grinned at me like that, I would've run for the hills. But the woman's smile seemed elusive yet warm and cathartic.

I'm lead into a small office. A white rug with abstract golden filigree and decorative openings adorns the hardwood floor. The metal walls are splashed with colors from mixed-media paintings and photographs. At the center of the long side-wall, there is a red oak shelf, with hanging lobelias. Kaia had taken the room to the next level by nailing vinyl disks of varying sizes into the wall, giving the area a kaleidoscopic pop-art vibe. Her mahogany desk was littered with files and two plush red love-seats rest in front of it. A cartoon monochromatic Marilyn Monroe has been pasted onto the wall behind the desk, surrounded by an expansive and rich bookshelf. My eyes finish their tour on the sleek leather rotating chair. To the average client, the psychedelic theme would be off-putting and might've induced negative emotions. Yet for some unknown reason, it enchanted me.

It was like this huge uncoordinated mess of color and shade had been merged to create something perfectly imperfect and it worked. I can feel her watchful eyes trail after my moving figure as if trying to decode the mystery that was me, Lucy Heartfilia. Why had I requested her? How could she help me? These were simply predictions but the uncertainty in her eyes suggested I was more on the dot than I'd thought. My fingers brush against the bristles of the loveseat languidly. I intake a sharp pocket of air and then gently sink into the cushion. I look up, trying to gauge what lurked in the depths of those icy blue eyes. What was her purpose of being here? What was I to her? Was I a pay-check or a person?

Her sweet face is level with mine. Her eyes are patient and observant, waiting for me to make the first move. Talk Lucy. She's waiting. Like pulling a plug, liquid apprehension sloshes back in like a turbulent ocean. My mouth freezes mid-movement; I'm mute.

Speak Lucy! This is your one fucking chance to fix everything. I try to will a noise out of my mouth, but the sound seems to be lodged deep in my throat. Fuck. I clench my teeth, the gentle chattering rings in my ears.

I can't breathe. I feel my nails graze my neck as my hands drift upwards.

Why now?! I quickly jerk my hands down, flushing in chagrin. My eyes turn downcast and I sit their wordlessly. Seconds tick by. Or is it minutes? Was it an hour? My eyes are glued to the ground in tense agony. Kaia remains silent and hasn't moved. Raw guilt grips my insides. She'd wasted an hour with me. She could've helped so many other people and I just fucking sat there like a ventriloquist dummy. My vision seems to swim, distorting my legs and the floor. The words sit on the tip of my tongue, taunting me at my frailty.

She probably has a family to go back to; a family I am keeping her from seeing. Nausea churns my insides. You're so pathetic. Just fucking pathetic. Was everything a mistake? A spur of the moment decision because I was so emotionally unstable and needed an outlet? Did I really need the hair-cut? Did I really need to live?

The clock continues ticking. I shouldn't have come. The clock chimes. The session is officially over. I can't even do one simple thing. The blood drains from my body. I can't do one thing. My eyes squeeze shut. Fuck this.

An ugly sob rips out of my throat; it's my unraveling. Tears stream down my face and incoherent babble cascade out of my mouth like a spring. I begin vehemently apologizing while burying my pathetic face in my hands.

"I'm so, so sorry," I blubber as ugly sniffles ring through the air.

"I wasted all your time. You probably have a family," I sob, ugly fat tears trickle down my cheeks. Kaia retrieves a tissue box and offers me one. I try to muster a smile but only end up triggering more sobs. Kaia pulls her seat closer and silently rubs the small of my back as I cry. Wordlessly, we sit, in noisy silence.

At one point, they just…stopped. I just stopped. My heart seemed to still or perhaps I couldn't feel anything anymore. I wipe away a stray bead of water from my eyes. I fix my expression, ignoring the unsettling numbness that overcomes my body. I gaze into her limitless eyes, trying to extract some emotion back into me.

"I'm trying…," I pause, reveling in my words. It's okay. Just say it. Don't think.

"To find…words to encompass how I feel," I murmur bitterly. My voice is shallow and hoarse. Kaia's gaze is steady and patient. She gives me a nod, urging me to continue. She tries to convey that it's safe through the fire in her wintery lenses. I'm abruptly slapped with irritation.

"It feels like I have wingless sparrows and I've purposely slit their larynxes," I spit, acid dripping from my words. I hang my head low, feeling defeated for no apparent reason.

"I don't even know what I'm doing here," I whisper silently, funneling from unchanneled fury to prompt melancholy. There's a shuffle of papers. I look up to see that Kaia has placed the clipboard down. It's bare, untouched. Kaia notices my gaze and then flips over the board as if to tell me, the clipboard is trivial. She gets off her chair and sits cross-legged in front of my legs. She cups my quivering hands in hers and then smiles. From this angle, Kaia appears smaller and vulnerable; I raise a brow in confusion. She lets out a nervous laugh and shifts her gaze onto a desaturated photograph of a hydrangea.

"Lucy, there's this story I don't really tell people. Hell, I don't think I'm allowed to tell clients or Cynthia would have my head," she trills, her sweatdropping. An image of the tiny Cynthia chastising the taller woman made me laugh genuinely for the first time this night.

"If it wouldn't be triggering and if you allow, could I talk about sexual assault?" asks Kaia hesitantly, carefully gauging my reaction. Momentary surprise flits through my features but settles into comfortable resolve.

"I'm fine," I assure her, keeping my voice firm and steady. I give her an encouraging smile and squeeze, willing her to continue. Her eyes widen in astonishment and then a goofy grin flickers across her lips but disappears just as quickly.

"When I was 5 years old, I was raped by my cousin." A guttural noise escapes my throat before I can stop it. Kaia's eyes turn slightly cold and distant as if recollecting an unwanted thought. My stomach falls.

"I was too young to know what 'rape' was and I was too young to know it was wrong, so it kept happening," she says faintly, propping her chin into the palms of her hand. I feel my lower lip tremble as a sadness blooms inside me.

"It stopped after I moved, and it was in a fifth-grade sex-Ed class that I learned what it was. I remember throwing up that day," she says shakily, a warble in her voice. I want to comfort her, but I can feel that she doesn't want to be hugged.

"I was so ashamed that I began treating my body as a host and my mind as an astral projection. I felt so dirty that for 12 years I bottled the truth in my heart like little sparrows, starved, unable to fly, muted, and undoubtedly scared," she trails, shifting her gaze back towards me and smiles again. That's what made me choose her. That steadfast, tenacious smile. I try to wrap my head around it. How the hell did she bounce back after that?

"How? I didn't bounce back for a long time Lucy," she answered my internal thoughts. My eyes flash downwards, reflectively.

"I waited 12 years until I came to terms that the event involved me and wasn't inflicted on me. Even then, I called it 'sexual assault' because I was told it sounded less vile than what it really was, which was 'rape'," she admitted gently. The steadiness in the movement of her mouth made it appear as though she was making polite small-talk to anyone watching from the exterior.

"By the time I'd chosen to seek help, I was a 20-year-old, aimless college student who was shattered emotionally. I remember walking into therapy thinking I'd be shackled to those nights for my entire life," she seethes. The faraway look in her eye returns and she's gone again, slipping in and out of reality. I feel my heart sink.

"I was so disheartened Lucy after that first appointment…I came home and cried and just about damn near died from those skull-splitting panic attacks. I was so focused on the two lines she said. That I couldn't forget what he did, and I shouldn't wait for him to suffer. I ended up giving her the silent treatment because I selfishly wanted her to align with my own views," she confesses guiltily but then looks up at me firmly.

"But after 6 months, 14 hours, 36 minutes, and 2 seconds, I just decided to talk. The stars didn't align. It didn't feel right and it never would. I just wanted to talk. So, I pulled the plug and just talked. I don't remember most of what I talked about and half of it was probably gibberish, but she listened to all of it," she says softly, and her expression turns soft and thoughtful. "I didn't know that I needed that until she gave me it. I didn't know that I just really wanted to talk to someone and have them listen."

Kaia stretches her arms and then flexes them behind her back. She lets out a deep yawn and closes her eyes. "I realized, what happened wasn't going to go away and that I was going to have to accept that. I knew filing a police report would have no effect, but I did it because it felt like I was coming to terms with it. It wasn't something to be hidden. I spent the next 3 years in therapy because I realized that I'd wanted to pursue an occupation in mental health. I see my cousin occasionally and I let everyone know my story. It isn't up to me anymore to make sure everyone's feelings are protected. By 23, I immersed myself in college and made real friends," she chirped, her gaze turning nostalgic and happy. My features warm and I feel a new feeling bloom inside of me for the first time in a while. Hope.

"It took me 18 years to get that point and I'm still healing at 29-years-old. I thought all my time was gone but I'd barely begun my life. So, Lucy? Take your time. You're not pathetic for feeling like this and a lot of people feel like this," she says gingerly. I feel the familiar dampness in my cheeks and a warm sensation fizzes inside me.

"You're loved and the fact that you can care so much for a stranger like me who could hurt or heal you shows you're not broken. You haven't lost hope and honey, you've barely shown yourself what you can do. Stop living for the world; start living for you." My eyes close as waves of happiness course through my skin. I mouth a thank you.

For the first time, the golden girl would become perfectly imperfect and it too would work because it was the best fit for her.

---

Natsu

I'm in Gray's apartment now. You're everywhere but getting nowhere Natsu. My mother's inebriate voice drones in my head like a ghostly whisper. Gray plugs my phone into his charger and sets it on his night-stand. He tosses me a pillow; I catch it reflexively. I slide it underneath my head and stare at the veering colors racing across the television screen. Leftover slices of pizza cool as the minutes tick by. We were watching the new season of Black Mirror, slumped against Gray's worn-out couch. Normally, I'd be totally absorbed in the show, but my eyes felt like they were on auto-pilot. I curl my fingers around the neck of the flask and pour the cool auburn liquid down my throat; it felt like fiery silk. I'd snaked a bottle of Jack Daniels form Gray's stash. Alcohol felt like an anesthetic; I felt completely numb when it rained down me. Gray rests his cheek in the palm of his left-arm, flashing me furtive glances. Concern seems to roll off his shoulders. I fix a bored expression on my face and play dumb. Gray sighs and pauses the episode. The Netflix logo pops up and the moving colors still.

"What's wrong? You haven't made one snide remark or crazy prediction and it's been 15 minutes," Gray points out. Damn, of course he'd know that. Liquid anxiety pools in my thighs and I feel like my veins are clogging. I shift my head towards the window trying to sedate my racing heart.

"Nothing," I spit bitterly, looking at anything but him.

"Natsu," he starts tiredly. I can hear a note of frustration in his voice, but I cut him off.

"We're not doing this tonight," I spit, feeling my hands ball into tight fists. My knuckles began to pale; I must've clenched them too hard. Gray drops the subject and hits play, growing irate. I wasn't killing myself, so he didn't care. The picture distorts, and the colors begin to dance across the screen again. Gray was used to my bull-shit. That's kind of how are friendship worked. Neither of us pried or tried to air out our dirty laundry. Yet, occasionally when we could see something was seriously wrong, we'd call each other out on our shit. The night dragged on; none of us really watched the episode.

"Lucy went to rehab," he says casually as if commenting on the weather.

I damn near spit out my drink. She what?! Gray continues talking, keeping his gaze transfixed on the television screen. "Erza was talking about how Lucy wanted a change of pace. Wanted to find herself or something," he mutters nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders. His expression is calm and collected. Nausea surges through my esophagus. He cocks his head towards me as if to gauge my reaction. I couldn't. I couldn't let him see how much those words fucked me up.

I lead her there. I was a catalyst. His words hang in black velvet silence. He goes back to watching Black Mirror.

Ducking my head underneath the wool blanket, I peer at the television through a tiny crevice. What's wrong? Was it because no one knew what was wrong with me or maybe…it's because I didn't know what was wrong with me either.

I didn't know how to cope with these implacable negative thoughts.

I didn't know how to cope with the confusion, the apprehension, the demotivation.

I didn't know how to not care about how empty it felt going through all this alone.

I didn't…

I stopped thinking.

Lucy didn't know either.

"I made love to her after watching her try to kill herself because loving you was almost as painful."

How did she feel in that moment?

My fingers curl around my throbbing heart.

It's painful to breathe.

I squeeze my eyes shut feeling hot tears stream out of my eyes.

I want the pain to stop.

I gnaw my fist trying to suppress the loud sobs threatening to emerge.

That's what she must've felt.

---

Lucy

My fingertips trace over the ornate ridges of my bed-frame. The night air is clear and still, bathing the colossal dorm in a jarring silence. My mouth hangs slightly ajar, hesitant to break the menacing stillness. I'd lived in grandeur my entire life but for some inexplicable reason, the emptiness was suddenly unbearable. My phone had been confiscated for two weeks as a part of my "libre de la technologie" therapy. They'd allowed me to send my dad a routine photographic update but under surveillance. Other than that brief moment of social interaction, I was completely alone in this foreign place. I couldn't text Erza or Cana. I clutch the thin hem of my camisole, feeling a wave of fear and doubt. I crawl onto the comforter and tuck my knees up to my chest. I bury my face in my thighs and try to talk myself out of the anxiety attack.

It's going to be okay. It'll probably get better! In the future, I might not be as lonely!

My trembles still.

The future.

I jerk my head up, molten courage pumping through my veins.

Not today Satan. I wasn't going to do this again.

I stumble out of bed and stagger towards my desk.

No more waiting.

I retrieve the bulky catalog and begin surfing through the pages.

I didn't have to do this entirely on my own.

I come to an abrupt stop. PETS is written in bold cubic font across the top. I peruse through the details hurriedly and extract the key information. It outlined that as long as it was a caged animal, a single pet would be allowed per tenant. I chuck the catalog onto my desk and race towards my closet. I slip into the first pair of chucks I can find and tug a white poncho over my head. Zipping past furniture, I fling open my front door and fumble to lock it.

Stop thinking.

Pelting down the velvet carpet, I skid into the closing elevator doors. Bystanders stare at me in brief interest and then divert their attention back to their phones. I tap my feet impatiently as the elevator begins its slow descent.

Damn it. Hurry up. I glance at the elevator clock, it's a quarter past 7. The elevator dings and I propel myself out the doors. I dash around the corners and sprint towards the concierge in the Lounge. My palms slam down against the counter, galvanizing Cynthia from her idle state. The weariness dissipates from her eyes and her fatigue transforms to confusion.

"Miss Heartfilia?" she sputters uncertainly, pushing up the frames of her glasses. Harsh, ragged breaths tumble from my mouth from my mad-dash.

"I need an outdoor permit," I blurt, gasping for air while clutching my thighs. Cynthia glances at the clock dubiously.

"Miss Heartfilia, it's nearly curfew," she explains lightly, as if afraid to poke the bear. I clasp my hands together producing a piercing clapping sound.

"Please. I just have to go to the city. There's something I need to do, or I think I'm going to suffocate," I plead, my eyes rounding to the size of orbs. Cynthia looks reluctant and uncomfortable, gnawing on the end of her pen in contemplation. Minutes tick by and my hands remain suspended in air, keeping my faith. She lets out a tired sigh.

"You have to take Sebastian. Those are my terms. You're also getting driven by our chauffeur who will chaperone this excursion. Do we have a deal?" she states. She takes off her glasses and begins rubbing her eye bags. Elation fizzes through my heart and I bounce up and down excitedly. I gave no shits who came; I just needed to go now. I nod furiously and flash her a face-splitting grin. She returns the smile and ushers a 5'11 dirty-blonde haired boy to the front. His nose is buried deep in a copy of Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. He has the cutest scatter of freckles and a chiseled jaw-line. Large black frames shadow his dark eyes. I give him a quick smile and hop my happy-ass out to the 67 Mustang parked out front.

Sebastian

Absentmindedly, I stalk after the jubilant platinum blonde. Her stylish bob flutters in the cool autumn breeze, flaring her flyaways. Her head ducks inside the driver's window, chirping the coordinates for a particular pet store. My eyes watch her warily as she carefully brushes a stray hair behind her ears. She backs away from the window and ushers me to join her in the back-seat. Her face contorted into an infectious devil-may-care grin. I tuck my book into my burlap sack and slide in through the right side. The interior of the car is pretty standard. Black leather seats with champagne compartments. Large speakers span across the doors. The Mustang had thick bullet-proof glass barring us from the driver. ADAMINE wasn't paranoid that our schizophrenics would try mangling our chauffeurs; it was more to drone out the sound of salacious patient hook-ups in the back-seat. Soft music floods the car.

"Unforgettable by French Montana ft. Swae Lee*" she murmurs, almost inaudibly. I cock my head towards the window and observe her features in the window's reflection. Underneath the aloofness, he could see trimmings of the abundant affluence and brilliance that the Heartfilias possessed. Her kempt and flawless features emphasized the privileged lifestyle she'd lead her entire life; moreover, despite her rudimentary teenage attire, the clothes undoubtedly cost a small fortune. She was the textbook definition of an elitist but some inane reason, I couldn't label her as one. Perhaps it was the slight bags underneath her eyes or the faded crescent-shaped scars on her wrist.

"They're beautiful," she breathes softly. I shift my head towards her window. We were traveling over an immaculate viaduct, encircled with glistening ivory vines. Beneath the viaduct, veneer-clear azure ocean water gushes through. A speed-boat pedal across the water, stimulating the bioluminescent dinoflagellates. A trail of jade lights blooms at the boat's tail, forming a figure eight. The Mustang finishes its course over the bridge but the look of enrapture never leaves her face. I watch as her eyes light up as we race past the winding forest and clusters of complexes. The city lights splash across her face like neon aquarium lights. Her expression turns tender and smouldering, embers radiating off her hair. My body stills, and I find my neck craning towards her window, trying to see what she sees. Was it the navy-blue sky and its infinite expanse of stars? Was it the crisp aroma of underbrush filtering through a slit in the window? What causes those wild sepia irises to fill with complete enamour and marvel to the point where she's blissfully ignorant of the world's irrelevance but completely attuned solely to its brilliance?

"What're you looking at," I whisper breathily. Her head swivels around slowly and then I'm lost her in disarming beige eyes that turn into honey when reflected in the light. I'm gifted with a lazy smile as she leans her head into the head-rest.

"Everything," she murmurs, a look of fascination embalmed in her eyes. I cock a brow in confusion. Blushing in embarrassment, she rushes to elaborate. "You spend your entire life driving past these trees…buildings…people…lights, and you don't think or feel a thing. You've spent your entire life existing with this one mindset…that everything around you begins to erode," she reflects. Fiddling with her thumbs nervously, she says, "When you break free of your self-induced microcosm and start seeing things from a new wider light, it's like…you're seeing the world for the very first time and what riches it has to offer." The music seems to evanesce. Cars pass by in steady, languid glides. Time seems to traipse but all I can think about is her words. I stare over her shoulder and look at the world again, trying vainly again to feel that spark. Time unpauses; I let out a tired sigh and decide to change the subject.

"Why couldn't you wait until tomorrow to get a pet," I ask quietly, massaging my temple. I'd agreed to come on the ride because I was curious to meet her, but I hadn't anticipated an existential crisis. She shrugs her shoulder in an unconcerned manner.

"It just couldn't wait," she replies as a matter-of-fact. I bite back a smile and hide my lips with my index finger.

What a curious woman.

Eventually, we reach Fiore's Fluff and Fin Friends; it sounded like an off-brand build-a-bear factory. The bell jingles as we enter the store. As if on cue, a helper materializes out of nowhere and greets us.

"Hi, there! Welcome to FFF!" she exclaims. I choke on my spit; it sounded like she'd stubbed her foot and was trying not to swear. Lucy shoots me a withering look and I make a zipping gesture over my mouth. Sweet mirth fills my lungs when she smiles.

It's been awhile since I've gone outside.

I look around at the aisles of pet supplies. Lucy walks over to the Aquatic Pets section. Two baby hammerheads swirl around a water vortex in the center of the tank. Lucy presses her cheeks flush against the fist tank and her eyes round into the size of metal disks. I chuckle at her infant-like behaviour. It's kind of endearing. She pushes off the tank and moves towards the squid tank. The blue glow bounces off her golden hair, giving it a silvery tint. Her gaze turns pensive and the words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them.

"Token for your thoughts?" I blurt out, unable to contain my curiosity. Lucy turns to look at me sharply. I flinch and lean back slightly.

"I want calamari," she deadpans, her face dead serious.

She was…thinking about food. Oh my god-

I burst out laughing.

"God, Lucy, we're at a pet store. I thought you were going to spew some more philosophical shit," I grin, wiping a tear from my eyes. Lucy snorts.

"Oh wait, let me try again. You can live your life eating raw squid…or take the risk and eat some marinated squid to give you that spice you need in your life," she attempts, scrunching her eyebrows up. Uncontrollable laughter erupts from my mouth.

"Are you always this hungry?" I jest, elbowing her ribs gently. She huffs in mock anger.

"Are you implying I'm a pig, Sebastian," she warns in a fake accusatory tone. I cup my mouth and feign shock.

"You came marinated didn't you, Little Miss Squid. Expect to get roasted," I retort. She laughs and punches me playfully. We grin in unison and walk around, looking at a variety of exotic fishes, aquatic mammals, and reptiles. We end up moving onto our furry terrestrial companions: the chinchillas.

Well, one of us did.

"Why won't any of them let me hold them," Lucy whines, her lips forming a small pout. I smirk wickedly caressing three chinchillas in my arms like some kind of furry pimp. Lucy flashes me an incredulous look.

"Apparently animals can sense a natural disaster even before it comes near them," I divulge innocently. I then look up at her from underneath my lashes and slowly give her a once-over and give her a simpering look. Lucy's jaw drops, and she bounds after me, her tiny fists ready to pound me. I laugh, quickly letting the chinchillas down and bolting towards the hamster station. I skid to a halt. A cream-colored hamster ogles at me with its tiny beady eyes.

"Oh wow. These are pretty cute. Get a hamster Lucy!" I exclaim, gingerly picking the little guy up and Eskimo kissing it. Lucy cringes and flails her arms in sheer discomfort.

"Um, are you okay?" I ask hesitantly, unsure whether I wanted to hear her response or not. She stares at me for several seconds and glances over her shoulder at the chinchilla station we were just yet. She looks back at me giving me a wry smile.

"Hand me your cell-phone," she croons, skipping over to me. I take a few steps back, feeling an air of uncertainty. I retrieve my Note 5 from my back pocket and reluctantly hold it out towards her. She punches in my pin and then opens up Google. A few seconds later, she hands me a Tumblr thread. It reads HAT FIC (PHAN). I look up at her, feeling a momentary chill crawl up my spine.

"Lucy…what are you-," she halts me and pulls the tiny hamster out of my hand and cradles it in her arms. She flicks her chin up, urging me to read it and then flashes me a devilish smile. My upper teeth graze my lower lip and I begin to peruse through the first half of the text. It's a fanfiction about Dan and Phil.

"I opened my eyes and they were wide with shock…I looked down and I was naked with ropes tying me to a char, and in the corner, was a sinister looking Dan, that was also naked," I trailed. I look up at her in horror.

"Are you making me read yaoi smut," I sputter, feeling the heat rise to my face. Lucy flicks my forehead with her index finger.

"Keep. Reading. Sebastian," she enunciates, grinning from ear to ear at a joke I couldn't understand.

"He was only wearing his fluffy brown hat, he pulled it off to reveal a small black creature sitting in it. Striker…," I murmur. I keep on reading and the turn rigid in complete disgust. My face contorts from complete and utter shock to retching over a nearby trash-can. Lucy's hearty laughter echoes through the store, causing shoppers to glance at the spectacle.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST MAKE ME READ!" I holler, feeling my insides heave.

"Every man's wet dream," she says huskily, making her eyes dark and making gross wet noises with her tongue. I groan in disgust which only causes her to laugh harder.

"If it makes you feel better, mother hamsters eat their young when they produce too many. These younglings you see right now that are oh so cute, are the survivors," she chirps with deceptive enthusiasm and vigor.

"That's like rubbing salt in the wound," I whine, trying to wash away the mental image of Dan fucking a dead hamster out of my head and a mother eating her baby. I shiver.

We end up walking towards the ferret cages. A repugnant stench wafts off the cages.

"Lucy, I think we found your perfume," I joke, waving the stench out of my nose. I half expect Lucy to retort but she's staring intently into the cage. Her eyes turn completely smitten when they land on a snow-white ferret. Its small pink nose is wet and twitches as its beady black eyes stare at Lucy in mild interest. I usher a helper towards us and she takes the ferret out and places it in Lucy's palms. Lucy's chest falls and rises. The tiny rodent crawls up her arms and nestles in the groove of her neck. Lucy's eyes pool with spontaneous resolution.

"Plue," she states suddenly.

"What?" I reply in surprise, folding my arms over my chest and leaning against the wall.

"I'm naming him, Plue," she murmurs, her expression softening. The corners of my lips tip upwards.

"How do you know it's a guy," I say softly, leaning-in to poke its snout. A goofy grin flickers across her lips.

"It has a penis, Sebastian."

---

Lucy

I end up buying a million different things. Who knew you could walk your ferret? There was legit a ferret leash and hell yeah, I was going to walk my mother-fucking beautiful fur-baby around like a queen. I poke it's warm, furry underside gently, watching it shift in its sleep. It nuzzles its small wet coral-tinted nose again my forearm, eliciting tiny shivers of happiness through my body. Cradling the furry mammal in my arms, I press my shoulder-blade against my dorm room to open it. The chauffeur, Benjamin and Sebastian, hoist the cage through the door and wheel it to my bed-side. Sebastian begins setting up the play-pens and tunnels. Gingerly, I place Plue inside the gigantic hutch and then begin stocking my cabinet with ferret snacks and treats. The whole thing ends up taking 30 minutes. Benjamin takes his leave and Sebastian and I fall back onto my bed.

"That was…a wild ride," he comments, trying to break the silence. I laugh, recalling the absurdity of the whole thing. We end up talking for hours about nothing in particular. A warm, fuzzy sensation blooms inside of me. It wasn't romantic; it was the kind of feeling a baby got from sucking a thumb. It felt safe. It felt like family. I glance at my clock. It reads 9:25 PM.

I shoot up from my spot.

"Shit. I forgot to work-out. Cynthia is going to have my head," I curse, moving towards my closet. Sebastian rolls over onto his stomach and buries his face in the pillow.

"Just work-out for four hours the next day," he mumbles tiredly. I snatch one of my favourite BMTH pullovers and grab a pair of shorts. I move towards the bed and swat his ass.

"Out. Out. Out. I can't screw up my schedule a day in," I chastise, clicking my tongue. Sebastian groans and staggers off my bed. I lightly push him out of my bedroom and then out my front door and into the quiet hall. We stand like this in comfortable silence for several seconds, appreciating each others' presence.

"Tonight, was pretty fun. It didn't feel as lonely. Thanks," I say quietly, feeling genuine gratitude. It earns me a warm smile.

"Anytime Heartfilia. Thank you too. I should start heading back before people start getting ideas though," he laughs. He salutes me and then walks away. I follow his shrinking figure with my eyes and then tilt my head towards the hutch. Plue is running vigorously on the wheel and then worming through the tunnel. Relief courses through my insides.

I didn't know that I needed this.

I didn't know that I needed to feel like my decision was right.

I didn't know what that would feel like.

And suddenly, now I did.

---

Devon

My back rests against the brick wall behind the soapstone counter. Billowy spires of smoke ascent from my smouldering blunt. The nicotine hits my veins and I feel the electric euphoria vibrate through my legs. I snuff out the blunt and rock my head back, smiling frenetically.

I want to dance.

I barely notice someone enter the room until I hear static from the iPhone jack connecting to the surround-sound. I stifle my gasp and jerk back into the shadows sharply. I can hear my heart ring loudly in the tense silence. I'd have to do 10 more months of therapy if one of the staff saw me. To my relief, my companion didn't seem to notice. Oddly, despite the surround-sound, the woman straps an iPod shuffle to her wrist and inserts her ear-buds. I strain my neck out just enough to give her a once-over and for the tufts of my chestnut hair to be seen. The woman looks to be at least 19 by the way she carries herself. Her platinum blonde hair has been styled into an immaculate bob, obscured by her hood. She wears an over-sized black BMTH pullover with racy red boy shorts. Her long legs are slightly tanned and are complemented by her yellow chucks. I cock my head towards the mirror and quirk a brow in surprise. Her face is sculpted but sweet. Her chestnut eyes are warm and gooey like fresh fudge. Yet, they're rimmed with thin lines of fatigue and edged with bitterness. There's a story in her smile but a future in her irises. Ice on her back but a fire in her veins. Her enigmatic presence makes her laid-back attire attractive and I try to place a name to the pretty face. My index finger traces my lower lip as I run through the list of new arrivals.

Ageis Metria? Too Akane Beach. She looks like a Magnolian.

Fadre Smith? She did not look like a git. I massage my temples in frustration but then freeze when I feel her hot gaze on my forehead. I stop breathing. Her disarming brown eyes bore into mine and I can feel the blood trickle to my thighs. She holds my gaze for what seems like an eternity but is only 3 seconds. She turns away to survey the rest of the room. My shoulders relax.

She didn't see me.

The woman revels over the dance studio with ardent wonder. I grin despite myself. The warehouse-like dance studio features metal rafters with hanging decorative bulbs. Annular pearl lights splash onto the worn honey-wood flooring like tiny spotlights. The side walls have been painted with reflective silver paint, but the centers have been blotted to appear like flesh-wounds. A talented Venetian street artist had come in and taken the time to paint realistic shrapnel and cartilage around the edges. Red brick peeks out from inside the wound featuring empowering graffiti and a woman trying to climb out of the hole. Grit has been spray painted onto the metal, giving the room a grunge vibe. It was my favourite place because it felt like I was outside, living on the streets rather than in an impersonal psychiatric ward. The woman walks closer to the wall to find cursive quotes and names in golden and black sharpies. Us dancers liked to call it… the wall of Fuck-It-Ups. The woman begins to read out the quote engraved into the metal in Slab Serif.

"You've gotta dance like there's nobody watching,
Love like you'll never be hurt,
Sing like there's nobody listening,
And live like it's heaven on earth."

William W. Purkey.

In all honesty, we'd just googled "Dance Quotes" on Goodreads and carved out the first thing we'd found; but the woman…seemed to draw meaning from it. A fire lit up inside her wild eyes and she pulls down her hood.

Who was this woman. I rack my brain for more names.

Trisha. Barbara. Maggie. Diana. Lima Bean? For fucks sake, what was it?

There's a short shuffle of movement and then the music blasts. All I Ever Do (Is Say Goodbye) by Zak Abel* pounds through the speakers.

The instrumental begins playing and her arms sway upwards along with her wide hips. Her flat stomach flashes out as her hoodie rides up. Her eyes are closed but she's smiling. Her arms fall and Zak's mellifluous voice glides across the room.

Too young, they fall. That's just the way life goes. Her hips begin to shake and there's a bounce in her shoulders. She flashes the mirror a toothy grin as her moves move back and forth to the beat.

Lucy Heartfilia. Shit. That was her name. She pumps her chest out keeping in beat as she leans back and falls back to the ground, with her ankles flush against the ground and her arms stretched above her head.

Can't eat, won't sleep, missing a part of me. Her eyelids are closed firmly, and her arms slide across each other and make electrifying ripples in the air. My thighs begin to buzz with excitement and I find my own fire awaken.

Things are different now you're gone. Using her core, she thrusts her pelvis up and pushes herself onto her knees and slides her hand up her stomach, rocking her head back and laughing. I can't help but pull out my camera and hit record.

Praying one day that we'll meet again. She launches herself off the ground, she begins punching the air with her elbows as crouches and kicks her legs out in synchronization. Her hair sashays from side to side.

Say the words we never said. She juts her ass out to the side and swivels her leg out to each syllable, drawing her lower lip into her mouth. Sharp elation sparks my insides.

Every day I'm such a mess. Her hands pump the air above her as she drops it low and works the mother fucking dance floor like it's her bitch. I find my arms, pushing my body off the floor and moving out of the dark. I prop the phone near the coffee stand on the counter.

What I'd give for. Her palms grab the sides of her head as she jerks her head left and right and pops her hip side-to-side, dropping it low. I move onto the dance floor, feeling the ends of the lip curve up in humour. You've gotta dance like there's nobody watching.

Just another moment by your side (All I ever do is). I thrust my pelvis up into her space, pushing my hands back to roll my body and stick out my chest. She quirks a brow up in brief surprise and confusion but follows up by locking her fingers behind her neck and rolling her stomach along with mine. Almost as if on cue, we begin to roll our shoulder back and dance away from each other.

It's hard livin' without you in my life (All I ever do is) She flashes me a fiery look in challenge. I grip my crotch and look to the side and snap my fingers to the left in time with my moving knees. I then flash her a grin, squat with one hand on my thigh and slam the air back with my arm, laughing.

Man, I gotta laugh before I cry (All I ever do is) Her hands cross her body diagonally and then fan outwards as she propels her body towards me. Then with expert swiftness, she pirouettes, leaving me gaping at her slender back. In tune to the beat, she drops her upper body down, parking her ass in the air and rolling it against my groin, eliciting shivers up my body. Her hands glide up her legs and her sides as she turns around to grip the collar of my shirt as Zak says, "I cry."

'Cause all I ever do, all I ever do. All I ever do is say goodbye. I place my hands on her waist and we just step in tune to the beat, waving our hands in the air and grinding on each other as if we were dancing the samba.

Is say goodbye, is say goodbye. Say goodbye. She pulls away and a warm, hearty laugh tumbles out of her mouth as she claps her hands together excitedly, pulling out her headphones. She hits pause on her iPhone and swivels on her heel to face me. Her eyes glisten with raw joy and it's contagious.

"Devon, you're as fucking great as everyone says," she chirps, spinning around and sliding to the side. My eyes widen in surprise.

"You know me?" I blurt, my eyes glaze-over in wonder. I run through my brain trying to recollect whether I'd ever met this enigma before. The smell of sweet pea and sweat waft off her neck and it's captivating slightly.

"I used to watch your dance videos," she shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. "That is until you stopped." She looks up at me from underneath her long lashes and I freeze. She knew. My shoulders drop fractionally but she notices and she's quick to stop me before I can dart.

"And I don't care about that," she states firmly, looking into my eyes the same fiery tenacity she had while dancing. I let out a sigh and slide down to the honey-wood floor and stare deeply at my reflection in the mirror.

"And don't I wish that were true," I murmur, more to myself. I turn back to look at her sharply, not able to quell in the inner turmoil. "But Lucy, you can't say you were disappointed when you found out. I think your dancing says that much." She flushes, and a red hue diffuses across her face, recalling her intimate dancing.

"I wasn't disappointed that you're gay, Devon," she snaps, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and looking at anywhere but me. But then her eyes jerk back towards mine and I'm lost again in those disarming chestnut eyes. "I'm disappointed you quit because you didn't love yourself," she retorts sharply. My mouth hangs open slightly ajar and I just stare in shock.

I grit my teeth together and my body begins aching for another joint. "If 12 million people who used to love your dancing and you, suddenly 180 on you because you're gay, you'd quit too." She simply stares at me with the unnerving, unwavering expression. There's no judgment or pity in her eyes; she doesn't feel sorry for me.

"And 1 person was waiting for your next video because she didn't care about your sexuality," she replies quietly. I let out a shaky exhale and note a tiny tremor in my hands. I rake my fingers through my hair, trying to hide my nervousness. A tiny shred of hope was blooming inside of me and I was trying my damnedest to smother it. I carefully try to plan out my next words to swiftly end this discussion.

"I was scared," I choke out, essentially trashing everything I'd attentively organized in my head. Lucy's shoulders relax, and she flashes me a warm smile. Her arm snakes through the empty space by my torso and encircles my back. She gives me a side-hug and leans her cheek onto my shoulder.

"What you showed me right now, was not a scared little boy, Devon," she whispers softly. The dance studio is silent and shielding like the warm encasement of a mother's womb. The corners of my lips quirk up and my trembling stops. I wrap my left arm around her torso an draw her closer, burying my face in her strawberry-scented hair.

"Yeah. I guess I'm not," I murmur softly. "Thank you, Lucy," I whisper inaudibly. I can feel her smile knowing she felt the words. We sit in silence, enjoying each other's company and the solace in an empty room.

She shifts out of my hold and turns her hip to look at me. Her eyes are alight with humour.

"Also, Devon, baby?" she croons with mock sweetness. I flash her a smug grin and cock a perfectly sculpted brow in question.

"Hmmm?" I hum in question.

"Just cause you're a washout dancer currently, doesn't mean you can be the next Jack the Ripper, hiding in the shadows," she snorts, stabbing a perfectly manicured nail into my chest.

"Why'd you dance with this washout devil then?" I counter childishly, jabbing my own index finger into her chest. Her giggle is warm and fresh.

"For your information, you joined me. I was simply dancing sexily for myself and you just happened to be there," she retorts. The mirth in her laughter is mixed with something else, however. Being depressed for so long makes it easy to pick up on these things. There was hurt in her joy. Lucy Heartfilia, the enigma, had a story to tell.

"What's wrong," I ask gently but she's staring at the red glow of my camera and her smile falls. "Oh sorry, I was filming you dancing," I admit sheepishly, a wild blush running across my face. I jog up to the counter and turn my phone off. I place it in my pockets and walk towards her. Her smile returns, and I feel at peace again.

"Really man, you need to rebound before you actually go to jail for stalking women. People might start thinking you're actually straight," she gasps in mock horror. I laugh and bump her shoulder playfully.

"Maybe I am," I snort, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively. She flashes me an earth-shattering smile and in that moment, I know we're going to be friends for the long haul.

"No, you're not. You didn't get a hard-on like you were supposed to when I grinded on you," she deadpans. Momentary shock at her bluntness flits through my eyes and then I burst out laughing.

"What the hell," I manage to say in between my laughter. I clutch my stomach unable to control myself. She shrugs her shoulders, flashing me a wide grin.

"I was imagining dancing with this one guy," she admits. Oh, she's going to talk. I fold my legs and prop my chin on the palms of my hand. "We used to be childhood friends, I fell in love with him, he and a couple of other severely bullied me to a point where it got to be a bit too much…" Her words trail and I can feel my heart sink painfully. Damn.

"I guess I came here to learn to love myself. I found myself walking back even though I thought I was moving forward," she confesses, crossing her arms over her chest, defensively. Her eyes turn distant, no longer holding that fiery light. I lace my fingers with hers, giving them a gentle squeeze.

"Devon, he hurt me a lot. But when I was dancing…I imagined him. I can love him, but I can't get rid of the pain that he brings. I'd always get mad when girls went back to their bad-boy boyfriends. It felt like Stockholm syndrome and now I'm one of the very girls I hate," she spits out bitterly, burying her face into my sides. I comb my fingers through her silky, platinum locks, trying to soothe the inner turmoil. Knowing what it felt like to wage a war with yourself, I begin to whisper quiet nothings in her ear until I can feel her stop trembling.

"Lucy, I think you're done showing him what he's missing because looking at you know, I'm damn sure the kid knows what a fucking gem he lost," I admit, flashing the blonde a sweet smile. Her eyes widen fractionally in astonishment. "Put on your high heels and show yourself, what you're missing. Look in the mirror and find someone you love. You wanted me to love myself too right?"

A small smile moves across her face. "Yeah. I do. Thank you, Devon."

---

Author's Note: Holy shit, this was 16,000 words long. It was actually going to be longer but I had to cut this chapter into two parts or it'd be too much. I just want to start off by saying a huge thank-you. Thank you for the reviews left in my previous post. Like Lucy, I didn't know how much I needed them until I received them. There will be times when I don't feel like writing this story; yet, there are also times when I do want to write this story. I'm happy to say that there will probably be 3-5 more chapters left of Lean On Me. The next update probably won't be for a long time because it's super long and I'm dealing with some issues. Please be sure to leave a comment and see you the next time I have a break!