A/N: Shoutout to Fleetwood Mac for the chapter title ;)

Chapter 17- Time Cast a Spell

May 1988

Things were not as perfect as Henry originally thought.

Hello.

It's not very easy for me to write this.

Please understand.

I need to be let free. I can't stand sitting around in this stupid place where nothing is going to happen. This isn't the place for someone like me. I need to be able to do whatever I want, I can't be controlled by everyone around me, so I decided to leave into the city. I need to discover new things and new places and hopefully a new life. Don't come looking for me, because I turned eighteen a month ago and it's my choice to go. I've met up with some people, I'll be able to make it. I've always been street smart. To my brothers, hopefully we'll meet again someday. But for now, I have to go.

And to my Henry, who has my heart, I'm sorry that it's come to this. Thank you for trying to look after me. I'll always cherish the moments that we've had together. Thank you for being the best boyfriend I ever had.

Love you always,

Lindsay.

The handwriting was messy and scribbly, like Lindsay's hand had been shaking. Henry noticed why that was, for reasons that tore him apart from limb to limb. He had driven her away. He had micromanaged her to the point where she not only broke up with him, but she actually had to run away into the city. He had bothered her about her cocaine use to the point where she got tired of his complaints and took off. What the hell could he do now? Lindsay was right; he couldn't go looking for her when she didn't want to be found.

Henry's mind flashed back to three months ago, when he was in her room and they had finished engaging with each other which resulted in the aftermath of cuddling, slow kisses, and listening to perhaps one of the greatest songs he's ever heard. It finally hit him like a ton of bricks on why Lindsay was asking him questions about what it was like to live in the city. God, how could he have been so clueless?

But exactly two days ago from today, he and Lindsay had gotten into a huge dramatic fight because she had been really high when they agreed to meet up. It didn't help that the fight was so intense and escalated because of the amount of cocaine that was in her system. A day after that was when Lindsay's brothers invited him over to show him something. Henry, at first, thought they were going to kick the crap out of him because she might've told them about the fight. But no, it was to show Henry the note their sister left.

Naturally, Henry wasn't taking it well. Today, he stared at the blank TV screen in the living room from his spot on a chair he hasn't left since he was given the note. Sheila felt a familiar sense of Deja vu, except she was on the couch instead of the chair. She was supposed to stop by Chloe's so Amanda could help her with her individual acro lessons - that she had gotten really, really good at - but she could afford to be late, at least to knock some sense into Henry.

"Henry," she began quietly, unsure. "Are you going to eat something?" Nothing. Not a word. Neither she nor Melvin could get through to him, get Henry to talk to them, without a miserable or snarky remark. Most times, however, Henry would ignore them. He wouldn't take out his frustrations on Wes and Wen, of course, but he wasn't as animated and energetic with the twins like he usually was. Even Wen noticed something was wrong and pointed it out that Henry looked sad. It was definitely bad if one of the twins could figure it out.

"You're not eating," Sheila told Henry. He didn't even look in his little sister's direction. Sheila's lips formed a frown of disapproval as she put her hands on her hips and sighed. "Look Henry, I know how much Lindsay meant to you, but you can't just not eat."

"What the hell's the point?" Henry finally spat miserably. "She left and it's my fault."

"She's the one that made the choice to leave into the city," Sheila pointed out. "That was her decision."

"That I contributed to," Henry grumbled under his breath.

Sheila did not dispute the point. "You're not good at mumbling under your breath. I can still hear you." Another pause, thinking of Melvin's words from earlier this morning about his concerns. "Melvin said that you haven't been sleeping either. He says that he can hear you tossing and turning in bed at night."

"Tell Melvin to worry about himself," Henry said irritably.

Sheila glared at him. "One day he might just take you up on that offer." She wouldn't be surprised; Melvin had been pretty moody lately. Henry snorted in annoyance, crossing his feet in front of him along with his arms. She took note of his stance. "You know, I vaguely remember being in this position." She pretended to think about it intensely. "What was it... oh yeah, it was about Todd and you kept begging me to eat something."

"Lindsay and I have been dating for over two years," Henry snapped. "Compare that to the two months with you and Todd."

Sheila concluded he had a point.

Melvin flew in the living room from the bedroom with his jacket on, preparing to leave.

Henry glared at Melvin in betrayal. "Hey Melvin," the younger brother didn't stop. "Next time mind your own damn business."

"Fuck off Henry," was Melvin's just-as-bitter reply as he stormed out of the house. If Henry wasn't so damn depressed, he would've gone after Melvin and give him a tongue-lashing lecture over this behavior from Melvin that wasn't very common. Sheila's eyebrows were arched in surprise. Melvin was moody, but not that moody. He had always been sassy, but this was just a whole other level.

"Ignore him," Sheila advised Henry. "I told you he's been cranky for over three months, he's been getting worse than me." Great. Now Sheila had two people to worry about. Then, she looked back at Henry with a sense of realization. Was this the reality for him?

"I just don't understand," Melvin remarked frustratedly, beer in hand. "I've kept this bottled up for three months. How could he just kiss me and then make out with me, and then say 'I think we shouldn't get together,' because something was there, damn it! I felt it."

Dennis nodded, having heard this from a few people before when it came to Keith. Both of them were on the rooftop of Dennis' house, their legs dangling over the edge. The senior watched carefully as Melvin took a swig of beer, something that Dennis contributed as an influence of Melvin being around him for too long. Meh, at least he wasn't smoking those cigarettes. The freshman winced at the bitter taste before continuing with his litany, that began to slur more and more as he went on. "And if he doesn't, then he's a liar. I mean, how does he act like a complete prick, and then just be so nice and friendly? He's an asshole and I hate him. My sister's right, men are stupid." A noticeable pause, with Melvin taking a breath and asking Dennis: "Is any of this ringing a bell?"

Dennis burst into hysterics. "Oh yeah, sounds like Keith alright." He looked at Melvin curiously. "Did you two ever...?"

"No," Melvin answered quickly. "We made out that one time and that's all we did." He paused, remembering Dennis' first sentence. "And wait... does Keith do that to everyone?"

The senior nodded in confirmation, and for some reason, this bothered Melvin immensely. "Keith doesn't... have relationships, at least not in the way most people do," Dennis explained vaguely. "He claims they're pointless. He's not the romantic type." He looked away from Melvin, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks as he asked awkwardly, "Okay, you know what a bathhouse is, right?"

Melvin nodded, avoiding his eyes. He's heard a few of his new friends talking about those before. Approximately a month ago, everyone was at Dennis' house debating on whether or not bathhouses contributed to the rise of HIV and AIDS among gay men. The disease was spreading like wildfire in the city and it was killing people quickly, ever since the early 80s. It took years for the mayor to actually address the issue of this, many of which resulted in bathhouses closing down. Melvin, although he loved debates, stayed quiet on that particular topic. Dennis went on: "Keith went to one of those once before they shut it down earlier this year. That's the closest he'll get to an actual relationship."

Based on Melvin's knowledge of the definition of a bathhouse, he did not take this as a good sign.

Melvin sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It just seemed so real. It was always how I imagined having a boyfriend would be like, especially after we were done making out."

Dennis' eyebrows arched up. "What do you mean?"

"Well..." Melvin frowned in intense thought. "It was late at night, obviously. But before I could leave, he offered to wake me home..."

"Offered to walk you home?" Dennis interrupted, echoing his words in surprise. He processed this information briefly, before asking: "Keith? Keith Braxter offered to walk you home?" Melvin nodded silently, not quite understanding what this entailed. Dennis chuckled, leaning back slightly at the thought. "Well, kid... you might be one of the lucky ones."

"He hates me, and I hate him," muttered Melvin bitterly.

"No you don't."

Melvin immediately turned on him. "What?"

"You've done nothing but talk about him for the past forty five minutes you've been here," Dennis pointed out knowingly. Then he went on: "Not even that. For the past three months, I have listened to you drunkenly rant about how Keith Braxter is 'such a prick' and how he, 'thinks he's sooooo cool,' but as you do those things, you're so animated and actually seem eager to find any excuse to talk about him. I can say I had peanut butter for lunch and you'll bring up the fact that Keith beat up someone with a jar of peanut butter because that person didn't pay him back, and call him such an idiot."

"Okay but why a peanut butter jar?" Melvin asked in annoyance, thus proving his friend's point, who grinned. "And over money? I know we live in one of the shittiest areas, but it's like he can't even be civil to anyone and have a discussion. He has to use his fists and weapons, like a barbarian." He paused again, taking another swig of the alcohol bottle that was nearly empty. "He is such an idiot," he agreed.

Dennis was still grinning. "Face it, you like him."

Melvin gaped, but Dennis wasn't anywhere near finished. "I see the way you look at him whenever he talks about how he stood up to his father again. You admire him. Your face lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree when he playfully calls you Bambi. Oh don't give me that look, Melvin. You pretend you don't like it but secretly you cherish every fucking time he calls you that." This time, he added softly: "And he doesn't hate you."

"Huh?" Now Melvin was more bewildered than anything, and he noticeably perked up. A wave of emotions went across his face, before going back to slouching. He shrugged, seemingly carelessly, but still asked: "I mean... how do you know?"

Dennis snorted with a smirk; Melvin was not a good actor by any means. "He's never given anyone nicknames before. He makes sure that you're around and that's when he boasts about something he did to his dad the other day, for whatever reason, I have no idea, but..." Melvin went uneasy for a second before the senior continued with his theory. "Keith is a lot of things. He's an asshole, he's a jerk, he's impulsive, but-" And he looked directly at Melvin when he paused here, sincere. "He isn't heartless. He doesn't hate you. Actually..." Dennis recalled a conversation he had with Keith not too long ago regarding the freshman. A small inner battle in his head occurred on whether or not he should share it. He shot Melvin a warning look. "You don't say a word, got it?"

Melvin was reeled in, but wouldn't admit it, yet based on his obvious expression, he didn't have to. "Got it," he promised anyway.

"Alright," Dennis began, "Keith talks about you sometimes." He visibly saw Melvin perk up again, but pretended he didn't. "Mostly about how you're scared shitless of every little thing." Now the freshman rolled his eyes. "But he did say that you were nice, a good listener, and pretty cool. He's never referred to a guy that he's made out with as 'nice,' even if he did mention you didn't have a clue what you were doing."

Melvin's eyes widened as he blushed a deep red from embarrassment. "He said that?"

"Yeah he did."

"Prick."

Dennis just laughed aloud.

"If he likes me," Melvin started off incredulously, "Then why does he act like a total-"

"If you say 'prick' one more time, I'm going to throw you off the roof," Dennis interrupted, making the freshman smirk cheekily. The senior continued, "But yeah, I get what you mean. He likes you, but..." His face became serious, with a hint of sympathy in his eyes. "Don't expect some fairytale happily ever after horseshit, because you're not going to get that with him."

Melvin peered into the bottle that was now empty before mindlessly tossing it into the air, the bottle shattering into a million pieces as soon as it hit the ground. He watched the bottle fall down with an unusual interest; it was crazy how it only took a few seconds for it to fall. Melvin lifted an eyebrow at this revelation, because he had always thought differently. He used to be afraid of heights, but the treehouse had wiped that fear away, for the most part. "Have you ever jumped off a building?" He suddenly asked his friend.

Dennis chuckled, though it sounded strained. "You're drunk," he pointed out with a wry grin.

"Slightly tipsy," corrected Melvin, unbothered.

"Off of one beer," Dennis remarked with a smirk, with a shake of his head. "One beer you had, and you're talking about jumping off buildings." Melvin just snorted, most likely out of annoyance since his question wasn't answered. "No, Melvin, I haven't. But Keith has, though. It wasn't a tall building, he had to jump in order to get away from the police chasing him, luckily he didn't get injured or caught." He looked at Melvin strangely. "Why do you ask?"

Melvin continued to stare at the distance between himself and the ground curiously. "Just a question."

God, Sheila loved acro.

If she hadn't shoplifted that specific set of nail polish, she probably wouldn't know the tricks that she knew now. She had always been flexible, but Amanda really helped her expand that through the art of acrobatics, and that's exactly what it was; an art. Other than her singing to the twins, it was nice to have another passion. She doesn't know how this will be useful for her in the future, and let's face it, probably wouldn't be, but it was still fascinating to learn. Amanda was also a fairly decent teacher - a bit too bubbly, but nonetheless good at her craft.

Arriving home, she sadly spotted Henry at the same spot he was before she left for the acro lessons. She sat on the couch, oddly quiet, biting her lower lip very harshly. Just before she could speak, Henry turned to her. "Stop biting your lower lip like that, you'll make it bleed." Trust Henry to be wallowing in his own misery yet still managed to be such a mother hen. Sheila resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but did what he told her to do. He went back to staring at the television screen that was not on.

"How are the twins?" Sheila asked. It was a safe topic to speak about. Pretty much any topic was safe to speak about other than Lindsay Greene. Henry looked at her skeptically as if she were an alien from another planet. His younger sister shrugged, not letting the look bother her. She laughed a little, trying to lighten the mood as a memory came to mind. "Remember when they tried standing on the table and Wes got on Wen's shoulders to try and touch the ceiling?" At the time, Henry, Sheila, and Melvin were petrified, but now they laugh about it since it was six months ago and no one had gotten seriously hurt.

Henry wasn't amused in the slightest. "They're fine. I gave them turkey sandwiches for lunch."

"What did you eat?"

"A fruit cup."

Sheila frowned in disapproval. "That's not enough."

Henry glared at her. "You're not my mother."

Speaking of his mother, she had walked in the door with a bag of groceries, an odd sight for Sheila and Henry. "Sheila, come help me." Sheila gave one last look to Henry before making her way to the kitchen as her mother put down the bag. She began unloading it along with her mother. "How's your day going?" Long ago, Sheila would've ignored this question and brushed her off as she begrudgingly put the items away. It was strange how things were less tense between her and her mother. To think it all started when she willingly went up in the treehouse to talk about boys being stupid.

"Pretty good," Sheila answered casually. "I went to my friend Chloe's house and her older sister has been teaching me acro."

"Which won't be helpful at all for her education."

"Oh shut up, Henry," snapped Sheila, before turning back to her mother who now had a worried stare for her eldest son, who was now scowling. "Anyway, it's been pretty fun. A way to pass time on the weekends, I guess." Sheila noticed that her mother wasn't particularly attention to her, but to Henry. She sighed at this. "Mom?"

Their mother leaned in, like Sheila was about to share a big secret. "What's wrong with your brother?" she whispered quietly, but firm.

Sheila finally put the last item away in the fridge and shut it. "His now crackhead of an ex-girlfriend of two years broke up with him via letter about how she ran off to live in the city," she replied nonchalantly.

Their mother's eyebrows rose. "Girlfriend? Oh was that the little blonde girl that dressed like Brigitte Bardot?"

"Brigitte who?"

A sigh from their mother. "She was an actress popular in the sixties."

"You know I can hear the both of you, right?" Henry shouted from the living room.

Their mother rushed over to Henry and stood beside him from the chair. She wrapped her arms around her son's neck before giving him a rare kiss on top of the head. "Oh my poor baby... I'm so sorry that this happened. Well, she isn't worth your time if she thinks she can break up with you by a letter..."

To Sheila's surprise, Henry shrugged off her touch. "Save it, mom. I don't care anymore," he said apathetically. Hurt, their mother backed away from Henry.

For some strange reason, this angered Sheila and felt very, very defensive at the moment. "If you didn't care then you would eat and sleep like a normal human being," she retorted, her arms crossed.

Her mother's worried eyes widened considerably to Henry. "You haven't been eating or sleeping?" she implored incredulously, her voice filled with concern.

"Don't tell me what to do," Henry fumed at Sheila, ignoring their mother. He stood up abruptly, finally getting out of the chair. "Are you happy now? I'm going to go out now. Something that you and Melvin have been squawking about for me to do for the past two days." But where would he go? No, where could he go? Yes, that was the better question. Oh well... he'd figure it out on the way, eventually. He stalked out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

"He's hurting bad," Sheila noted, with a concerned look. She turned to her mother, who looked distraught. "Don't take it personally, mom."

Still, she was worried, Sheila could tell even if her mother tried to play it off. "Where are your other brothers?"

"Wes and Wen are in their room," replied Sheila. "And Melvin went out with a friend, I think." A thoughtful pause. Truthfully, this had been bothering her since Melvin had entered high school. She looked at her mother, on the fence of whether or not she should confide in her. Quietly, Sheila muttered like she was at the confessional at church: "He's been doing that a lot, hasn't he?" Hanging out with other people besides her. Henry told her a while back that she shouldn't have been surprised since they were in different schools now.

"It's good that he's making friends, Sheila," their mother remarked, making her way to the living room and collapse on the couch. Sheila sat alongside her. The cat jumped on her lap and Sheila gladly began to pet her. Silence ensued between the mother and daughter, the only sound being Lizzie's purrs. "I never knew how much you and Melvin love that cat," their mother said after some time.

"Lizzie," Sheila reminded her firmly with icy eyes. Their mother stared blankly at her. Sheila sighed and said nicer this time, "The cat, her name's Lizzie."

"Oh yes, I forgot," she replied to her daughter with a sheepish smile. Suddenly the twins came running into the living room with smiles plastered on their faces. At this, their mother smiled back and cooed to them: "There are my babies!" Sheila watched as she scooped both Wes and Wen in her arms. It was interesting for Sheila to see her mother being able to connect with the twins more to the point where she could trust her around them. Three months ago, Melvin had gone out somewhere - and for some reason unknown to her, came home all giggly and bashful - leaving their mother with the twins by herself. Because of the instance that happened a while back when Wes and Wen were barely a month old where they nearly fell, the older siblings were naturally upset with Melvin suddenly leaving. But she's been trying, Sheila never thought she'd see the day, but she was trying.

"Me and Wes drinked four milk cups at school!" Wes bragged happily.

"Drank," corrected Sheila. Wes just stared at her blankly. "You and Wes drank four milk cups at school." This happened yesterday at their preschool. Their teacher explained that some other kids didn't want their milk cartons so the twins took them and decided to have a contest of who could drink the most milk. It was a even tie with them drinking four cups each. By the time they had gotten home, they both had stomach aches. While Wen whined about the pain, Wes had grinned throughout it and said he wanted to do it again. This amazed Sheila, Henry, and Melvin to no end.

According to their teacher, their attention spans - mainly Wes' - weren't the greatest. The teacher had to repeatedly remind them to stop. Wen eventually listened, but with Wes it took time. This was the case with them throughout the school year, that they were easily distracted and had trouble listening. Sheila knew how it usually went down; Wes would come up with a way to get in trouble and get Wen in on the idea.

Case and point, Wes had zoned out when Sheila tried to correct his speech. "So we drinked the milk and it was awesome!" Drank, Sheila mentally corrected.

"It made my tummy hurt," said Wen, frowning like he was in deep thought.

"And we got sick and threw it all up!" Wes added cheerfully, like it was the greatest thing he had ever achieved. "It was cool." For her and Melvin to clean the vomit up wasn't cool.

"It also got you in trouble," remarked Sheila dryly. At this, Wes giggled. Lizzie continued to purr and snuggle closer to Sheila on the couch. Sheila was absentmindedly petting her while her eyes were now focused primarily on the TV, which was playing an episode of Murder, She Wrote. It was basically the alternative to Magnum P.I. Her mother continued to listen to the twins ramble. After five minutes have passed, her mother turned her attention to her daughter. She looked at her closely, before smiling. Sheila lifted an eyebrow in confusion. "What is it?"

"You're wearing a necklace," their mother pointed out. Sheila's stomach dropped and her eyes almost went wide. She did her best to appear natural; because she did not get that necklace by paying for it. She just casually noticed that Lucy mistakenly left them in the cafeteria after Felicity had begged to try it on, and when she returned it, it was left at the table. A great opportunity arose; Sheila had snatched them. Had the little gossiper kept her mouth shut about Melvin, maybe Sheila would've returned the necklace. Oh well. "It looks lovely on you." Her mother pushed Sheila's hair back. Sheila smiled shyly and looked down modestly. "For your birthday, I think we should get your ears pierced."

Sheila's eyes shift to her mother's. "Doesn't it hurt?"

"A little pinch," she replied honestly. "But you would look great with earrings." Before she could go on, Melvin had arrived home with a worn out expression plastered on his face. Their mother stood up immediately. "Melvin, are you alright?" She asked concernedly.

"Yeah," he answered, rubbing his forehead. "Just have a headache, I'm pretty tired."

Their mother got up from her seat on the couch and kissed his forehead lightly. She faintly smelled alcohol on him, however she did not say anything on the matter. "Get some rest," is what she said instead, with a final affectionate hand going through his hair.

Melvin nodded mutely before turning to go to this room. Sheila placed Lizzie on the floor and followed him, because she smelled alcohol on him too. She was not an idiot, thank you very much. As she entered, Melvin was already in bed. This worried her even further. "Melo?"

"You and mom are getting along well," Melvin cut in cryptically.

Sheila detected a harshness dripping in his voice, but she wondered why since this is what Melvin wanted. For them to actually get along. Was it a hint of anger? Perhaps it was jealousy. Nonetheless, Sheila nodded and stood her ground. "Yes," she said firmly, crossing her arms over her chest. "We are."

A wave of emotions spread on Melvin's face that Sheila couldn't quite fathom or read them quick enough. He took a second, before turning to face the wall, glaring at it intensely. "Good for you."

Sheila was quiet. After a while, she hesitantly asked: "Were you drinking?"

"If I say yes, will you go away?"

A sigh from Melvin's younger sister. "Melo..."

"Go back to talking with mom," Melvin interrupted quietly yet firm, but it still had that edge to it, that he didn't really approve of what was going on. "I just need to rest." Sheila deliberately disobeyed, instead sitting on the floor with her knees drawn to her chest. Melvin groaned, sensing her presence. "Sheila-"

"Mom's worried about you, I can tell," Sheila tried to assure him. Slowly, Melvin turned back around to face his sister not with hostility, but curiosity. She grinned victoriously. She knew how to get his attention. "You've always been her favorite," she added for good measure.

Melvin did not dispute the point. He pressed his lips into a thin line. "Well... it looks like you're making her way to her heart." And that I won't be the favorite anymore, he mentally added. Now he turned back to face the wall bitterly.

Sheila said nothing, but merely stared at him worriedly. She was the last person to be lecturing Melvin about drinking since she's indulged in it a few times, but it just... didn't seem like him to partake in that. She was the bad one. She was the rebel. Not Melvin.

Not only was that the issue, but it really was bothering him that Sheila was getting along with their mother. Giving him one last lingering look of concern, her final thoughts were that she tried consoling two of her siblings today. Wow, so this is what it was like for Henry. Again, the look lingered, as she exited the room, guilt and apprehension surging through her.

Henry threw the final cigarette on the ground and stepped on it harder than he usually did. He checked his pack of cigarettes and frowned to see that there were no more left. This had to be some sort of record. Not only did he smoke the most cigarettes he ever had in a day, but in such a short time limit too. Henry knew he really needed to quit. After preaching to Lindsay about her bad habit, he understood he was quite the hypocrite now, wasn't he?

Lately, Henry realized, hypocrisy was his middle name.

Henry didn't know how far he had gotten; he had been walking around for roughly forty five minutes, with the nicotine buzzing through his system. He rubbed his forehead, already feeling the after effects of smoking too much. God, he was going to have such a headache later, and he's positive that he reeked of smoke. He would have to wash his clothes as soon as he got home later. His siblings were never going to let him hear the end of it. His siblings - that wanted so much from him, that depended on him, despite the fact that they would deny this fact. They would claim that they didn't need him, but truthfully, they did.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he leaned against one of the cracked pillars with flaking white paint that held up the highway above - that looked like was going to crumble any second - which plagued the area with consisting car honks and yelling. His eyes drifted down to the dirt ground his two feet were standing on with little specks of lime green grass. The reason why he had smoked all those cigarettes in the first place was to stop himself from thinking about Lindsay, as well as thinking about his siblings. And it worked... temporarily. But eventually - as usual - the worries and anxieties slowly crept back into his mind like an earworm, it just wouldn't get out of his head.

As the perturbing thoughts began to get louder to the point where they were screaming, he felt his hands shake slightly in the pockets of his hoodie. Strange, he didn't feel cold. It was May, but why were his hands shaking? Suddenly, he lifted them out of his pockets. Henry's face contorted in a rage. He looked absolutely mad. He had this overwhelming urge to just...

CRACK!

"Ow!" Henry exclaimed, followed by a groan of harrowing pain as he shook his injured hand in the air repeatedly before cradling it with the other. It began to throb erratically. "Fuck!" He seethed, leaning his head back and tightly shutting his eyes in suffering while his breathing was still heavy. It was amazing that when he finally landed that punch on the pillar, he expected it to crumble in a million pieces, but that was next to impossible. He could dream, though.

"What are you doing, you foolish idiot?!" Henry's entire body jolted in surprise, startled by a new and familiar presence that accompanied him. That French accent was unmistakable, he knew exactly who it was without even having to look. His eyes shift over to his lab partner, Dominique, who stood there with a bewildered expression on her face. He at first tried ignoring her, but this only intrigued her more as she walked toward him until they were only a few feet away from each other. Her crystal blue eyes darted between his face and his bruised hand. "Are you trying to hurt yourself?"

"Spare me the lecture."

Dominique wouldn't back down. She never did. "You smell like cigarettes."

"And?" Henry snapped hotly, his eyes narrowed. Dominique frowned as he went into a litany. "Oh I know, it's a bad habit, isn't it? My girlfriend has a bad habit too, oh wait!" Henry laughed sardonically. "My ex-girlfriend." Dominique's eyes went wide at the last statement, taking a mental note of it, as his rant continued, all traces of laughter gone and replaced with sourness. It's like he wasn't aware she was there anymore, because his eyes were straightforward and hardened. It was more like he was ranting to himself. "And on top of that... my siblings, my siblings who I would take a bullet for in a heartbeat, are suffering and I know it! But no one seems to care." Dominique was quiet. Henry felt his veins throb in his neck, swallowing a lump as he remembered something that made his eyes soften. "She did, though. With all of her faults, she cared." He took a moment to ignore the stinging at his eyes, pulling himself together, before his eyes hardened again. "And now she took off. She couldn't break up with me like a normal person, because she never was normal. Instead she took off and ran away to live in the streets."

Finally, Henry's eyes meet Dominique's - whose eyes were soft and sympathetic. "Why do people keep leaving?"

Dominique was reminded of a kicked puppy. "Henry," she began, firm but low, "You're working yourself up over someone who doesn't want to be found. Your working yourself up over things beyond your control."

"You don't think I know that, Dominique?" Henry heaved a frustrated sigh. "And I try to block it out. It just..." He sounds so defeated when he mutters, "It's just that my brain won't shut up." He looked at her with a glint of vulnerability in his eyes. "Do you ever get that way?"

Dominique's eyes glimmered and dilated. "Sometimes I do." Then they fell into comfortable silence that was acknowledged by the two.

"Fuck you, you cheap bastard!"

"Marie, come on..."

But, as you know, such moments don't last as long as they should. Dominique and Henry looked above them where the highway was, which was where the direction of where the noise was coming from. They ceased their thoughts and listened into the conversation.

"Did those ten years mean nothing to you, Ted!? I should've known you were sleeping with that whore across the street!"

"Ow, ow, ow! Stop punching me!"

"Get out of the car! Go run into the arms of your slut!"

"Fuck off, Marie!"

Henry sighed and broke the silence between him and Dominique. "So Marie finally found out about Ivy."

Dominique snorted in amusement. "It took her that long to realize that? Even I knew." Henry cracked a small - almost shy - smile at this. Dominique smiled back. "Listen," she began, her eyes drifting to his hand. "At least before you go home, let me take care of that injury on your hand... it's bruised. My house is not a long walk from here." Henry looked at her closely, to see that smirk of hers that's supposed to be inviting, but still, it made him uneasy. However, another part of him looked into her eyes boring into his, and suddenly, he didn't feel so alone.

Henry's mind was saying no.

But everything else that wasn't logical was saying yes.

It turns out, Henry's hand was fine.

But still, he doesn't know how he ended up making out on Dominique's bed.

Guilt and adrenaline surged through Henry's veins upon realizing that it had not been a full three days until he and Lindsay had broken up, yet here he was. Dominique had quite literally ripped Henry's shirt off, her hands running up and down his body as she pressed her lips on his, breaking the kiss every two seconds for air. The worst part about this is that he had returned the favor, and that he actually liked being this intimate with someone else other than Lindsay. God... why did this have to feel so good?

But jeez... did she have to be so aggressive? She had pushed him against the bed, his body in between her arms as she leaned in to kiss him. Her hands gripped the bed to steady herself. This was nothing like Lindsay; she was usually a lot more gentler than Dominique... Urgh. He was thinking about her again when he had Dominique right here! He was determined to not be thinking about Lindsay Greene, thank you very much.

Dominique's hands were now on Henry's shoulders, bringing his figure closer to hers. Henry's hands were on her waist as he kissed her back just as passionately. Perhaps if he did this the guilt would eventually go away if he put as much effort as she did. She licked her lips once. "Are you ready?"

Henry didn't miss a beat. "Yes."

"Are you sure?" Dominique asked again, with that naughty smirk.

"Yes." Anything to get rid of this feeling.

Dominique's smirk grew wider in triumph; she was victorious.

In a flash, both of them went under the covers.