Lorien Legacies High School

by Anonymous-read

Exactly what it sounds like. My take on what the Lorien Legacies characters would be like if they were regular humans going through high school. Disclaimer: I don't own Lorien Legacies

25. Chapter 25

WARNING: This chapter contains mature themes such as physical abuse and violence. Read on with caution.

(AN at the bottom)

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Maren

I'm sitting on a suitcase next to the front door of my house. We're going somewhere, but I don't know where. All I know is that all of our stuff can fit into three blue suitcases and one garbage bag. It doesn't seem like a lot.

I look up as Mom comes out from the hall, all hard footfalls and tight lips. Nan's and Pop's angry voices follow her from the the room. They've been arguing about something all morning, but every time I come into the room they go quiet. She drops another garbage bag by the rest and stomps back without looking at me.

I swing my feet.

Three blue suitcases and two garbage bags.

It's a few minutes before Mom comes out again. This time she has the car keys and my raincoat hung over her arm. She lifts me off the suitcase and kneels down in front of me.

"I thought I told you to put this on, Kid." Her voice sounds weird and she swallows and blinks a lot as I put my arms through the sleeves.

"I forgot." I say.

She just smiles, and that looks weird too. "Well it's raining out. You don't want to catch a cold."

Nan and Pop come out of the hallway, not talking loud now like they were before. They don't smile, and I can't tell if they're sad or angry. "Katerina." Pop says. Mom's smile goes away and she tugs my coat zipper up before turning around.

"I'm going, Dad. I'm twenty one years old."

"And she's four."

Mom sighs like she always does when she's tired. Or mad. Or both. "And I can take care of her." She shoves on a pair of sneakers. "I'm done with you guys convincing me I can't raise my own daughter."

"Kat-"

"No. I'm done." They try to say more, but Mom turns back to me, ignoring their voices. Her face is tight and she runs a hand over my hair. Finally she picks me up. "Alright, Maren. Say bye to Nan and Pop."

I wave to them over Mom's shoulder as she opens the door. Pop waves back while Nan wipes at her eyes. Mom pulls my hood up and the door shuts. She hurries down the driveway to her car, unlocking the doors and putting me into my car seat in the back.

Rain still pours on her as she hooks me up, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. When she looks up, her eyes are sad and pressed lips replace her smile. Water drips from her hair already. She didn't bother putting on a raincoat.

"Mom, you're gonna catch a cold." I say.

I didn't think it was funny, but she laughs. A raindrop runs down her cheek and she quickly wipes it away. "Sit tight. I'll be right back, okay?"

She closes the door and I watch her through the raindrops rolling down the window as she jogs back into the house. It takes her three more trips to get all the bags out, the car bouncing as she pushes them into the trunk. Then she gets in the drivers seat, ringing water out of her hair and pushing the soaked hood of her sweater off her head. She jams the key into the ignition.

"Mom?"

"Yeah, Kid?" She turns only to back up the car, eyes focused and movements quick.

"Where are we going?"

"We're moving." She answers. "To an apartment across town."

Even though I don't really know how far 'across town' is, I just nod and watch the world move outside the window, the car coming to a stop on the road. Then we're moving forward, water splashing under tires.

"Why?" I ask.

She's quiet for a long time, long enough for us to get to the main road. She doesn't turn at the intersection right away. "Because sometimes kids need to move out." She says finally. Her hands grip the steering wheel, but the car doesn't move. "We'll be okay. I have money saved up and a job and next year I'll have finished school, it's going to be okay." I'm not sure if she's talking to me or herself, but she's nodding and she sounds sure. "We're gonna be okay, Maren."

"I know." I say.

She looks over her shoulder, her worried eyes betraying her tone completely. "Yeah?"

I nod and she smiles, and that makes me feel better.

A car honks behind us and I look back to see headlights through the rain. Mom turns back to the road in an instant.

"Shit." She says, pressing on the gas. Her eyes catch mine in the mirror as she turns onto the road. "Don't repeat that."

. . .

I've been in school for about two months now. I don't really like it. There's bright colours everywhere and the teachers talk really slow with smiles that look too big.

"Ready to go, Maren?" Riley bounces up next to me, all smiley and cheerful. I'm going to her house today, like I've been doing a lot lately. Mom became friends with a couple other moms of kids in my class, so sometimes I go over to their houses until she's done with work. The other girl's name is Marina. She's nice.

I nod and put my school bag over my shoulders, walking with her down the crowded hallway. She says bye the all the teachers we come across, but I look away. I haven't been in kindergarten long, but I've noticed a few things. One is that the teachers treat me differently, talking to me with gentle smiles and even gentler voices, always checking to make sure I have a ride home. Another is that Mom has less wrinkles then the other moms. I think they treat her differently too.

When we get outside Riley says that her mom might be late, and I follow her to a bench by the side of the building to wait. I'm not sure how I feel about Riley yet, but I do know that she talks a lot and smiles a lot and she has trouble saying words with 'L's in them, even her own name. She tells everyone to call her 'R'.

Riley doesn't sit on the bench so I don't either. We just watch everyone flow out of the school, going to busses or parked cars. I would go to the daycare across the street if I wasn't going home with her, but I don't really like it there either.

"Maren?" I turn to Riley, who twists the toe of her shoe into the grass as she looks at me in question. "Why doesn't your dad ever come to pick you up?"

It takes me a moment to answer because nobody's ever asked me that before. "I don't know where he is." I say.

Her eyebrows scrunch up. "Is he gone somewhere?"

"I guess."

She doesn't say anything for a bit, which is weird for her. But then she smiles and gives a cheerful shrug. "That's okay, my daddy is gone sometimes too."

That surprises me, because up until now I thought I was the only one that only had a mom. It never occurred to me that anyone else could be the same as me, even if it is only sometimes.

"Really?" I ask.

"Yeah, he goes away for a long time a lot." She nods a few times. "But it's okay because he's doing important stuff."

By now, most of the kids are gone out of the school. Only one or two more trickle out at a time now, leaving the the area around us quiet. "What's he doing?"

She looks around like she's afraid someone will hear. "Mom told me not to tell people this, but..." she leans closer, lowering her voice into an awed whisper, "he's saving the world."

She bounces on her toes a little once she leans back, a kind of grin stretching across her face that makes me smile back without thinking. "How?" I ask, curious.

The question seems to stump her and some of her excitement goes away as she shrugs, looking disappointed. "He doesn't really tell me that. But he goes to places far away and helps the people there." Her smile returns. "He always comes back though. And it's the best thing ever."

I get stuck on the thought of someone being gone for so long and then just coming back. Does that really happen, or it does it just happen for Riley?

She bumps my shoulder with hers. "Maybe your daddy is saving the world too."

There's a horn honking and then the unmistakable sound of Riley's mother yelling her name. I see her dark blue van parked on the curb. Riley's eyes widen.

"Shoot, I wasn't watching." She picks up her lunch bag and grins at me. "Race you?"

We take off toward the vehicle. I think that maybe this girl isn't too bad.

Later that night after Mom picks me up from Riley's and brings me home, we're sitting at our kitchen table that has a folded-up napkin stuffed under one of the legs to keep it from tipping. She made us kraft dinner, but she's barely eating her food. Her eyes are focused on an open text book instead. It's pages are full of long words and diagrams that I can't understand, but she spends a lot of time staring at it so it must be important.

"Do I have a dad?" I ask.

"Hm?" She doesn't look up, eyebrows furrowing as she looks over yet another big block of words. Then she freezes in the middle of flipping a page. Her eyes dart to me, going wide. "Wait, what?"

I push around the food on my plate. "R said her dad leaves for a long time, but then he comes back." Mom blinks at me, almost fearful, and I don't know if it's because of my question or her answer.

"Riley's father is in the military. He's goes away for a while to make sure it's safe for us to live here." She says finally.

"Is my dad in the military?" I ask.

She huffs out a laugh and shakes her head. "Last time I checked, your dad was going to a fancy school on the other side of the country to learn how to be a lawyer." There's a sharp tone to her words that I don't really understand.

I look down at the table in thought for a moment. "So my dad isn't like Riley's?"

"No, he's not."

"So that means he's not coming back?"

Her face falls and I know the expression. It's the same one she wears when she tells me I can't have something I want at a store. She shakes her head. "I don't think so, Kid."

I think that maybe it should mean more to me. Maybe I should be angry or sad, but I'm not.

"Well, that's okay." I say, shrugging. Mom's eyebrows shoot up like she's surprised. "I like you better than him anyway."

She laughs for real this time, relief clear on her face. "That's good to hear." Then she just smiles. "Can I tell you a secret?" After seeing my quick nod, she leans into her elbows on the table, dropping her voice into a loud whisper. "I like you better too."

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. "Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah. Big time." She nods, raising her eyebrows. "I like you a million times better."

"That's a lot." I say.

She grins. "Damn right it's a lot." I giggle because she's not supposed to say words like 'damn', but she doesn't seem to notice. She just laughs too. "So, it's just gonna be me and you for a while. You cool with that?"

I nod. "Yeah. I'm cool."

Her smile lets me know it was the right answer. "Cool."

. . .

The man stands outside the van. Not right beside us or anything. He leans on his own car about ten feet away, giving me some breathing room and some semblance of a normal heartbeat. My fingers rest on the button on my door, itching to lock the car doors before stepping on the gas and staying at Riley's for the night. It would be easy, all of my stuff is already in the car anyway.

But I ignored my problems before. I will not do it again.

I grab the door handle.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Riley asks me, eyes shifting between my hand pushing the door and my face.

"Getting out." I reply.

Her eyebrows shoot up for a fraction of second before she shrugs. "Okay." She goes to open her door too, and now it's my turn to be surprised.

I grab her arm. "No, you're staying in here."

She scoffs. "No, I'm not."

"I'm serious, R."

"So am I." She raises her eyebrows defiantly, resolute in her position. I shake my head, more to myself than her. What a terrible time for her to grow a backbone. "You're not talking to him alone. I don't care what you say."

I sigh but honestly can't be too mad because if it were her I'd be doing the same thing. "What are you going to do anyway?" I say, shoving the door open. "Break your thumb trying to throw a punch?"

She laughs, rolling her eyes. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

I smirk and shake my head. My sneakers touch the road and any relaxation I just had is gone as a cold wind hits me, the weather painfully accurate for the circumstances. I stand for a moment, wasting time zippering up my coat slower than I need to. It's the sound of Riley's door opening that finally spurs me to move around the vehicle, joining her on the other side just as the man takes his first step toward us. I make sure to hide my limp as best I can.

"Maren." He says finally. His voice is scratchier than I remember it, but just as deep, almost a low rumble that sets my teeth on edge. "You look different than the last time I saw you."

I act nonchalant, crossing my arms and leaning back against the van. "People tend to look different after two years." I reply. He looks different too. Older and washed out, a few more streaks of grey decorating his otherwise dark head of hair.

He smiles a little, almost rueful. "Well, your personality clearly hasn't changed." His eyes shift to R and I stiffen, but he doesn't look like he's going to come any closer. "Riley, right?"

Instead of letting him carry on with the small talk, I cut in before she can answer. "When did you get out?"

His eyebrows raise in feigned surprise. "Ah, cutting right to the chase. Shocker." He smirks a little and I resist the urge to snap at him to hurry it along. Waving hand lazily in the air, he continues, "I've been out on parole for a couple weeks now. Thought I should come pay a visit."

"And this visit isn't breaking your parole?" I question. He hesitates just a moment before shaking his head. I cross my arms, immediately skeptical. "Really? So if I went inside and called the police right now and told them you were parked in my driveway waiting for me to get home, there wouldn't be an issue?" My eyebrows raise challengingly at their own accord, almost a reflex. I don't mind. There could be worse things to fall back on in times of panic other than bluntness. He doesn't respond, which is an answer in itself. "What are you doing here, David?"

He sighs, done with whatever game he was playing now that I've practically threatened him. "I just want to talk."

I waste no time shaking my head. "I've got nothing to say."

"Well I do." For a moment he even sounds sincere. I remember a time when I always heard his voice that way. "I'm sober now."

"I don't care."

I try as hard as I can to remain expressionless, but I know he can see my struggle. My tightly crossed arms give it away, along with the way my voice leaves through my teeth. Riley inches closer to my side.

David makes a noise. Maybe disappointed. Maybe disbelieving. Then he mirrors my crossed arms and tips his chin up. "Does your mother still work at the hospital?"

My blood runs cold. "No." I make sure to keep my voice even and controlled through the lie. He arches an eyebrow, curious for me to continue. "She works in a nursing home now."

"Oh, I see." Under his gaze I uncross my arms, suddenly uncomfortable. "Which one is that?"

I'm too relieved that he bought the lie to filter my next response. "Do you really think I'd tell you?"

He laughs, annoyingly unbothered by my attitude towards him. A cold winds blows by, carrying with it remnants from the earlier snowfall, flakes landing on the sleeve of my jacket. I see a couple catch in David's hair, but I force myself to focus on his dark eyes. In the dim light of the falling sun it almost looks like there's no colour in them at all. Coal irises staring straight ahead. Staring at me. I struggle to match his gaze, but he doesn't look at me for long, his eyes shifting to the ones beside me.

I almost expect Riley to wither in response to the piercing look. She was never one for confrontation, and David's calculating gaze is far from friendly. She doesn't. In fact, she seems to have no trouble at all returning the expression. Her jaw is set, eyes hard, unblinking. I allow myself a moment of shock.

David looks away first, glancing at the ground and then back at me. "Anyway, I better be going. Maybe we can continue this another time."

With a smile that's missing a tooth, he opens his door and smoothly gets in the car. He waves as he pulls out of the driveway, but I do nothing. Riley doesn't either.

Finally she turns to me, looking as shocked as I feel. "What are you going to do?" She asks.

I think on it for a moment, but anxiousness clouds any hope of finding a solution. I shake my head. "I don't know."

. . .

Sounds of stomping feet and mutters interrupt the show I'm watching. The noise comes from Mom's room, made by countless pairs of boots and jeans and shirts being tried on and then thrown to floor after being found with a slight issue. Mom doesn't usually care for her appearance this much, but she's started to lately. This is her fourth date this month.

Finally she comes into the living room, her appearance of jeans and a nice shirt looking far too casual for the amount of time and noise she spent fussing over it. She looks down at herself for a long time as she gets in various poses, then finally glances up. I turn off the tv, knowing she wants my undivided attention.

"So?" She asks expectantly.

I look the outfit over, finding nothing wrong with it. "Good."

Both of her eyebrows shoot up. "Good?"

"Yeah, good." I confirm. She huffs. "What else do you want me to say?"

Throwing her hands up in the definition of stress induced dramatics, Mom stomps back down the hall to her bedroom. "I don't know!"

We moved out of the apartment about two years ago and into this house. It needed some sprucing up because it's really old, but Riley and Marina's dads came over to help and now it almost looks new. Mom likes it because her room has a walk-in closet.

There's some clambering and a few muttered curse words until she finally comes out again with a pair of heels on. She's looks at me pointedly again while I make a show of widening my eyes.

"Wow, now that the shoes are on it looks completely different."

Her face goes flat and she puts her hands on her hips. "You know, you have a lot of sarcasm in you for someone so small."

I smile and she wrinkles her nose at me. "What I don't get is why you're asking for dating advice from an eleven year old."

She gestures around the living room, where there is clearly nobody but her and I. "It's either you or the couch." I laugh and she rolls her eyes at my lack of concern. "Although I'm starting to think the couch might be more helpful."

I see a hint of a smile on her face before she goes back down the hall, this time I think to put the finishing touches on her makeup. "Who is he this time?" I call.

It takes her a moment to respond, probably putting on mascara. "His name is David. I met him at the coffee place and he's very handsome."

"Oh..." I drawl flatly. I lie back on the couch and rest my head on the armrest.

She returns quickly and I see she was putting on mascara. "Oh, indeed." She waggles her eyebrows and I can't help but giggle at her obvious excitement. She grins too but then positions herself in front of me once again. "Seriously now. Is it acceptable?"

Her fingers tap against her thigh and her lips are pressed together, showing her anxiousness. She doesn't need to be worried really. I've only ever had other moms to compare her to, but I think she's prettier than a lot of them, and has a better fashion sense. I nod immediately this time with no sarcasm.

"You look great, Mom."

She shouldn't look so unsure, yet she does, and I'm suddenly aware that someone her age shouldn't be so nervous to go out of a date. She's twenty eight now, she should have had lots of opportunities to meet people. Something like guilt stabs at my insides. She never got to live like most people in their twenties because of me. I'm the reason she's so nervous to go out.

Despite her nerves, she smiles smugly. "And that's the answer I was looking for." She taps my nose as she walks past, making me scrunch up my face. "Now come on. I've got to drop you up to Marina's." She picks her keys off the hook. "And do you have your-"

"It's by the door." I roll off the couch and make my way over as she looks down at her feet, where she's nearly stepping on my sleepover bag.

"Cool." She says. Compared to my friends, I think I'm pretty independent for my age. Mom isn't surprised anymore when I make my own lunch and pack my own bags. It's just how it is. "So what are you guys doing tonight?" She asks as I get my shoes on. "Watching some movies? Going to a few parties? Meeting some boys?" The last one is drawn out teasingly and I roll my eyes, glancing up to give her a look. "What?" She asks innocently. "You could have a boyfriend already, I don't know."

"I have three actually." I say. "I just can't decide which one I like most."

She laughs and reaches down to pick up my bag. "You're joking now, but one day the boys will be all over you."

I grimace, thinking of one of the guys in my class who snorted chocolate milk out of his nose on purpose. I think his name is Stanley or something. "Lucky me." I say.

She winks at me and opens the door, gesturing for me to go. We get into the old car, which is starting to show it's age in the fraying seats and weird noises. Mom shakes her head as she turns the keys and it takes a little too much time to start.

"I think this car is reaching its expiration date, Kid." She says. While she addresses me, I have a feeling she's talking more to herself. "Maybe we should get one like Riley's mom has." She sighs wistfully as she backs the car down the driveway. "That's a nice van. You know it's four years old and doesn't have an issue? I heard there was a recall on the radio antenna though..."

. . .

I meet David about a month after him and Mom start dating, which must mean something because I never met any of her other boyfriends before. Not much changed at first, he just started coming over every now and then. And then that turned into most nights a week. And then after that Mom asked me if I was okay with him moving in. So he lives here now.

It was fine at first, fun even. He's the manager of a store in town so sometimes he'd bring home toys or candy so that was cool. After about a year I almost couldn't remember a time when we lived in the house without him. Mom was happier too, seeming to like the idea of having someone else in the house. She smiled when she saw him, and that's really what mattered. She called it love.

Then after that, things started changing. It wasn't sudden. In fact, it was almost too slow to notice, but it was there. It started with David staying at work late a few days a week, walking through the door when supper was long done. He was trying to get a promotion to regional manager, a position he'd been after for years. Then a few nights a week turned into every night, to the point where he would come home and just go to bed without supper. I overheard Mom and him talking one night while I was gone to bed. She told him it wasn't worth it. He disagreed.

But then one night it just stopped. He came home at supper time with a brown paper bag and put it in the cupboard. He hadn't gotten the promotion.

At first it didn't seem like much. It was just a bottle of whiskey every now and then. And I didn't really understand then why exactly he wanted it, or why the frequency it was being emptied was increasing, but I do now. I'm thirteen now, and I know a few things. One is that David doesn't stay out late anymore so he can work. And two is that he really likes his whiskey.

I've heard Mom talk to him, only late at night once she thinks I'm asleep. He either stays silent, or starts shouting a mess of denials and insults that leaves her calming him in fear I'll hear. She doesn't smile when she sees him anymore, but he doesn't go anywhere. She calls it stability.

Tonight when Marina texts me that Riley and her are outside waiting to pick me up, I head to the front door to see David staring blindly at the tv in the living room, a glass that he forgot to put a coaster under on the table. He always takes advantage of when Mom has her shifts, using the time while she's away to add to his collection of empty liquor bottles. He barely seems to notice me as I cross the living room to go to the porch. I put on my shoes and glance up to see a hockey game on the tv.

"Who's playing?" I ask.

He looks over his shoulder at my voice, as though just noticing I'm in the room. He scans me with furrowed eyebrows and an unfocused gaze. "Where are you going?"

"To the mall." I reply, squinting at the tv to try and find an answer for myself.

David stands and steps around the couch. I almost sigh. I never like it when he talks to me while he's drunk, but it's something that I have to deal with. "With who?"

"Mar and Riley." I say. I give up on looking at the game and shove my heel in my sneaker as he comes closer.

"Who's taking you?"

"Um, Riley's sister I think." I reply, unable to help a grimace, both because of the person and her terrible driving skills. I hope she doesn't teach Riley to drive.

"Oh." He wobbles to a stop a few inches in front of me. It's almost a little too close for comfort, but he doesn't seem to notice. "What time will you be back?"

I shrug, reaching for the door handle. "Sometime tonight."

I twist the handle just as his hand closes around my arm. Tight. Startled, I turn my head back to look at him. He either doesn't note my surprise, or doesn't care, because he just looks at me like he's staring through me. "I asked you a question." His voice is like stone, and the hard tips of his fingers dig into my forearm with a wrench-like grip.

I'm not sure wether I should be scared or annoyed, but I settle on confused. "I don't know what time I'll be home yet." I say slowly.

He stares at me for a long moment, his eyes strangely piercing for a drunk gaze. I want to back up against the door or twist my arm out of his grasp, but that seems like something a threatened person would do, which is stupid because he's never threatened me before. Still, when his fingers squeeze a little tighter I can't hide a slight wince.

There's a tense silence for a moment, and then he lets go, not saying a word as he turns to go back to couch. I'm almost too shocked to leave, staring wide-eyed at him as he drops back into his seat. "Toronto and Dallas are playing. Leafs are up one." He picks up his drink and takes a sip, setting it down a little too heavily afterwards. "Let me know when you're on the way back."

I swallow and nod. "Yeah. Sure."

Wasting no more time, I open the door and step onto the bridge, focusing on not tripping in my haste to get down the steps. I only notice now that my heart is racing.

Marina greets me when I slide open the squeaky door of Stephanie's van, but her eyebrows are furrowed. "Are you alright, Maren? You look..." She trails off.

I think of a lie quickly. "No, I'm not alright. Toronto is actually winning a hockey game. Who knew?"

Marina rolls her eyes and Riley laughs from the passenger seat. I brace myself for Stephanie's rough driving as she pulls away from the curb, looking behind as David's burgundy car gets smaller and smaller.

I absentmindedly close a hand around my forearm. There's a small ache in it. I know I'll have a bruise tomorrow.

. . .

"Maren, seriously. What's up with you?" Marina demands, standing by my locker. She had known immediately when I got in her car this morning that something was up, and apparently isn't taking 'nothing' as an acceptable response.

I give her a look as I shove my school bag in my locker. "It's the first day of school after a break. That's what's up." I mutter.

She crosses her arms, clearly not believing me. "If you don't tell me now I'll just get it out of Riley later." My eyebrows shoot up in shock. She looks only slightly smug as she continues. "Yeah, She was being weird too so I know something is going on." She shrugs, amused at my surprise. "And besides, don't you know it's mean to keep secrets, Maren?"

Her words are teasing now, giving me a very obvious chance to keep the joke running and avoid the question. It's thoughtful really. As much as she wants to figure out what's up I know she'd never try and force out anything. Even her threat of getting it from Riley is an empty one, because while it's very much possible for Marina to get the stressed girl to spill, she just wouldn't. She'll only hear it if it's coming from me. I feel a surge of love for my best friend and I kind of hate her for being so thoughtful and caring. So... Marina.

Sighing and resigning myself to the fact that it's kind of impossible to say no to her, I grab my history book and close my locker. I glance at the crowds filling the halls around us for a moment before deciding I don't really care as long as none of them are John or the guys. "David got out of prison a few weeks ago."

It honestly feels good to tell someone, like I can let out a breath I've been holding. I mean, of course Riley knows but that was by accident. Mom doesn't even know and I don't plan on telling her unless he comes back. She doesn't need an extra worry.

Marina's eyes widen for a second and I can almost see her mind working, figuring out the right questions to ask. "How'd you find out?"

"When I got to the house after the ski trip he was there." I explain. Marina doesn't say anything, just showing her surprise in her raised eyebrows. I lean my shoulder against my locker. "Said he just wanted to talk."

Suddenly her eyes go hard. "You didn't right?"

"Of course not." I confirm. It seems to settle her nerves a little.

"So... What are you going to do?"

I shake my head. It's the part of this that I haven't thought about yet. "I don't know." I admit, shoving my hands into the pocket of my hoodie. Marina's eyes follow the nervous movement and I curse myself for slipping up with her keen eyes right in front of me. "Maybe I won't have to do anything. He might not even come back." I dismiss, trying and failing to get her to stop looking me the way she is.

It doesn't work. The expression she wears makes me look away. It's not pity because she knows how much I hate it, coming from her or anyone else. But it's also not anxious or confused or certain or concerned. It's nothing really. Just a slightly angled mouth and attentive gaze that tells me she heard the fear behind my words, even though she chooses not to mention it. Sometimes I forget she's like this, and while some part of me hates that she can see through me, a bigger part is relieved that I don't have to hide anything.

"I just..." pressing my lips together, I focus my eyes on the length of the bustling hall, thinking if I look at her I'll unload everything and won't be able to stop. The worst part is that she'd let me. "I'm-" I catch the word 'afraid' in my throat, feeling stupid. "I'm worried he'll come when Mom is there alone. She doesn't need to deal with that."

"You don't either. Maybe you should let someone else handle it." She says.

I know what she's getting at and shake my head. "I'm not calling the cops until I need to, Mar." I shake my head. "I don't want to do the court thing again. I'm not going to. I can't."

She nods, remembering the affair. It was terrible, sitting in front of all those people—strangers— and talking about what he did. I will never do it again. "I know." She says gently. There's a pinch of bitterness inside me when I feel comfort from her tone, because I'm not supposed to need nice words and soft understanding, but damn it if it isn't a relief to talk to her about it. "I would offer for you to stay at my house, but I have a feeling you'll just say no anyway." She says, the corner of her mouth turning up into a small smile.

I chuckle despite myself. Riley said the same thing. "Yeah. Thanks but no." My eyes wander down the hall again and I'm not sure what they're searching for until I see John. I almost sigh out loud when he sees me and starts coming this way. I really don't want to take my emotions out on him. "Anyway," I turn back to Marina, who raises an eyebrow curiously at my moment of inattention, "it's whatever. I'll deal with it, so you don't need to worry."

She snorts. "You know I will."

"Yeah, I know." I smile. "I'll keep you updated, but I got to go." I hold up my history book, which she glances at disbelievingly, knowing getting to one of my classes on time has never been a huge priority.

She lets it go though and shakes her head as I back up. "Be careful, Maren."

I smirk. "Aren't I always?"

She rolls her eyes and turns around, but I can hear her silent answer of 'no, you're not'. I join the traffic in the hall, hoping I'll be too far ahead for John to catch up. But then I feel a tap on my shoulder and I know it's him.

Without even looking I make room for him to walk beside me. "Hey." He says, his signature handsome smile on his face. "History first? Gross."

"Tell me about it." I mutter. He laughs easily, carrying a geography book in his own hands. It's almost as bad as my class but he doesn't seem to care.

"So, do you want to hear about something stupid Stanley did a couple days ago?"

"Um, yeah."

He grins and launches into a story about Stanley using some cleaning product that had bleach in it to clean out his Dad's car. While it's amusing, I find it hard to pay attention, and every time my eyes meet his I look away. I feel on edge around him, which is probably the most stupid thing I've felt ever. Because this is John, and John has kind eyes and even kinder words that don't pry or demand, and I like him. Still, I can't be normal with him. It's even worse when he notices. I watch as his mouth slants and his eyebrows tug in.

Thankfully I'm close to my history class, and I nod toward the doorway before he can ask any questions. "Anyway, this is me."

"Right, yeah."

Feeling a pang of guilt, I begin to make my escape into the classroom before I can make him feel worse. Then he suddenly speaks up from behind me. "Oh, Maren wait a sec. I've got to ask you something."

I'm about to keep walking and pretend I didn't hear him when I feel his hand on my arm, fingers closing around my wrist. It's only a gentle grip, clearly only trying to get my attention, but I flinch like the touch shocked me. Something heavy drops in my stomach when his fingers spring apart immediately. Then he blinks at me in confusion. I curse myself for the reaction.

It looks like an apology is on the tip of his tongue but I interrupt before he can begin. "Sorry, I have to go." I plaster on a smile. "Tell me whatever it is at lunch."

I turn before I can see the hurt look on his face, not confident I can stand to see it without explaining everything. His quiet "Okay, sure" from behind me makes a burst of bitterness seep through me. Not at him, but at myself.

When I get to my desk I'm relieved to see that Sam didn't show up today. The less people I have to talk to, the better.

. . .

I walk in through the door to see Mom rush out from the hall. She sees me and shoots me a quick grin in greeting before heading into the kitchen. I note her fast pace with an arched eyebrow, dropping my schoolbag in the porch and taking off my coat.

"Aren't you supposed to be left for your shift already?" I call.

There's a stressed chuckle from the kitchen. "Someone's perceptive today." She emerges with a bag of lunch, shooting me a deadpan expression I can't help but smirk at. "Slept in." She explains before I can ask.

"Mom, it's three o'clock." I point out, hanging up my coat.

"I'd like to see you wake up at a reasonable hour after working a twelve hour shift. And I took it for Linda of all people." The way she says the name makes it clear this Linda woman isn't her favourite person. I might ask about if she wasn't rushing to leave. "Anyway, I told David to be home at a decent hour tonight so he'll get you some supper."

I don't even bother waiting for her to look away before I roll my eyes. Besides, she knows just as well as I do that the time David comes home is about as predictable as a land mine. He chooses when he wants to come home, and if he does he won't be in the mood to make anything other than a terribly put together sandwich anyway. I don't mind. The days he doesn't come back are better anyway. Sometimes I wish he'd stay away forever.

Mom seems to realize this, pressing her lips together as she tugs her bag over her shoulder. "If not, there's some leftovers in the fridge."

I nod and move out of her way as she comes closer. She takes the keys to her car off the rack and looks at them for a moment. She finally got a new one. Or rather, David got her a new one. It was waiting outside one day when she got home from work, and it's nice. She's quite proud of it.

He gets her a lot of things actually. Rings, necklaces, fancy shoes... but I'm not blind to pattern that he gives them. It's always after a night of hushed conversation, snapping voices sometimes rising into angry yells. His voice is always the loudest, but the next day he always comes home with a jewelry box or something. Mom thanks him for it, but she's not surprised anymore. It happens far too often.

Mom grabs her coat off the hook while I lean on the wall. With the rush she's in, I almost expect her to leave without putting it on. Instead she pauses, spending a good few seconds looking at me, eyebrows tugged in and a frown on her face.

I arch an eyebrow. "What?"

She hesitates, searching for something in my eyes. "David... he treats you good. Right?"

At first I'm not sure why she's asking this, but then I recall yelling at late hours of the night and hard footfalls and thuds against walls and I understand. "Just as good as he treats you." I reply.

She nods and looks down at the keys in her hand, but it looks like she's thinking of something else. "There's no problems though right? He's nice to you?"

I think of bruises on my arm and breath that reeks of alcohol, but also of Mom's new car and the expensive bracelet that decorates her wrist. Then I nod. "Yeah. He's fine."

"Good. I just want to make sure." She lets out a breath, relieved. "Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow, Kid." She comes over and wraps me on a quick hug. I watch her tug down one of her sleeves as she pulls away. She wears a long sleeved undershirt with her nurse scrubs, but I can tell she finds it uncomfortable. She's only started doing it lately.

Nerves start building in me as soon as she leaves. I watch the clock all night for five o'clock, when David gets off work. He's late again and by the time he comes in through the door I've already had the leftovers that were in the fridge and sit on my bed texting Riley and Mar.

I've learned to predict his moods by the way he closes the door. Tonight he slams it and there's a pause before some muttered cursing. I hold my phone down for a moment, trying to figure out what his anger is focused on today.

"Maren!" I actually flinch as he shouts my name. I shouldn't. I'm fourteen, not a little kid. "Jesus, Girl. I almost tripped over your schoolbag."

Muttering a curse at myself for being so careless, I drop my phone on the bed and make my way to the living room. My steps are fast and quiet as I enter the room, hoping to go by unnoticed, invisible. He's in the kitchen anyway. I know because I hear the clink of ice being dropped in a glass and the cap of a whiskey bottle being twisted off. Relieved, I grab my bag, now kicked to the other side of the porch, and turn to make my exit.

My heart sinks as he appears in the archway of the kitchen as I take my first step. He holds his drink in his hand, the liquid an ugly brown colour. Too brown. Most people wouldn't be able to handle a drink that strong, but David doesn't seem to mind.

"Next time take that shit to your room. Someone could trip up and hurt themselves." He says.

"And what a shame that would be."

I try to brush past him, but I knew he wouldn't let me go that quickly. In a surprisingly quick move for a drunk man, his hand closes around my arm and wrenches me back with enough force to make me stumble. I remember Mom telling me long ago that my mouth would get me in trouble someday. She smiled then as she said it, but I know her heart would break now if she found out how true it's been lately.

He raises his eyebrows at me, almost smug. "What was that?"

I force myself to meet his eyes. He used to be a handsome man, with a kind smile and bright eyes. He hardly ever smiles now, and his eyes have bags under them most of the time. Gone is the man I once used to like. Whiskey twinged breath and a bruising grip replaced him with an image of hatred in my mind.

Hatred and, as much as I hate to admit it, fear.

His grip is strong, and like always, it'll leave a mark. I don't struggle. I won't let him see me do that. Instead, in a last act of defiant stupidity, I set my jaw and, despite my hammering heart, look him dead in the eye. "I said, what a shame."

My words are blanketed with calm, but he acts as though I spat in his face. Gaze unblinking, challenging, I watch as he lets out a sound similar to a growl before he pushes me away with a hard shove. I go stumbling away from him but manage to catch myself when my hip slams into the back of the couch. I wince, not missing how it shifted a few inches with the impact.

I waste no more time retreating. Even I'm not too stubborn to see when I should escape a situation. I book it down the hall, chancing a look over my shoulder as I turn to go into my bedroom. A strange prick of satisfaction erupts in me when I see he spilled his drink, some alcohol dripping over his hand as he swears. I might have counted it as a victory a few months ago, but I know there's really no winning with him anymore.

I collapse on the bed once I close the door, staring up at the ceiling and wondering when my head started pounding, and when I started breathing so heavy. Even within the privacy of my bedroom I'm still on edge. It's not a new feeling. In fact, I feel it nearly all the time; an anxious, pins-and-needles feeling that something will happen. I can't stop it, and the moments I live without it are few and far between. It's always there, a weight, a reminder that home isn't what it used to be. It gets crushing after a while.

When I pick up my phone again I see a few messages from Riley and Marina in the group text we have. The first one is from Riley.

Both of u to my house ASAP! That Annabelle movie just came out on Netflix and I'm watching it with or without u!

I look at Marina's response and grin despite myself.

Without please.

That response bubble thing comes up quickly, meaning Riley is formulating a response that will no doubt be filled with an excess amount of abbreviations and exclamation marks.

Ok I won't rly watch it without u pls come! I won't b able to sleep :((

I can almost hear Marina's sigh in the message that follows.

Fine.

YAY! :))) btw someone bring popcorn bc I don't have any /

I've got the popcorn. Do you want a ride Maren?

Relieved beyond belief, I reply and start getting my bag ready, sending Mom a quick text to let her know that I'm staying over to Riley's for the night. I quietly leave the house before Marina even arrives, not wanting anything to make David suspicious until I'm already gone.

I sigh as I drop down on the last stair of the bridge, putting my head in hands. I'm vaguely aware of a dull pain in my arm just above my elbow and the tenderness in my hip. I think of the marks on my other wrist, hidden under a baggy hoodie. My mind wanders back to Mom's long sleeved shirts. I know she's hiding bruises too.

My fingers tap on my knee absentmindedly as I look out at the road and wonder how much longer this can go on.

. . .

I decide to stay home from school for the next few days. I'll admit, faking sick isn't easy when your Mom's a nurse, but I get the job done. I'm still not sure if she actually believes me or just values my persistence, but either way I'm home when she is and that at least makes me feel a little bit better. Realistically, I know Mom doesn't need my protection anyway. She hates him as much as I do, maybe even more if that's possible. She'd really have no trouble telling him where to shove it. But some part of me knows that while asking him to go away may have worked the first time, he may not take no for an answer again. And that's why I'm here.

Mom stayed home all day on the first day because she didn't have a shift. And then on the second day when I insisted I was still sick she kind of looked at me weird but didn't question it with much more than an exasperated sigh.

Now it's the third day, and when she comes into the living room to find me wrapped in a blanket and turning on the tv at nine o'clock, she throws her hands up. I have a feeling she's starting to have her doubts.

"Everyone has to go to school, Maren." She says, staring at me from the opening of the hall. She's paused there, apparently too annoyed to move any further.

I squint at her. "Not debilitatingly sick people."

"Debilitatingly sick." She mocks disbelievingly. I nod, pulling the blanket up to my chin. "Well you haven't been putting much work into your recovery then. Unless binge watching Friends at all hours of the day counts."

"It does." I assure. "Mar and R are like a season ahead of me. This is an important process for my well-being."

She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, although I can tell she's at least a little amused. "That's shit."

My mouth drops open and I gape at her in feigned disbelief. "That's a bad word."

"Shut up."

I can't help a smirk, turning my attention back to the tv while she lets out an exhausted smile. She takes her time coming over to the couch and I tilt my head. "You know, I might switch it up and go for The Office today. I've heard good things..."

Continuing to flick through the options, I'm aware of her walking around the couch to stand behind me. Then she puts her palm on my forehead, and sighs.

"You're not even warm."

I shrug. "Yeah, I think I'm over it now. Probably still contagious though so I better stay home for a few more days."

"You're such a faker." She accuses.

I feign a gasp. "Mother, I would never."

There's a settling weight on the back of the couch that must be Mom leaning her elbows into the cushions as she lets out an exasperated laugh. "Daughter, you have before." I shrug innocently and she sighs. "My child, my child..." She rests her chin on top of my head, her arms wrapping loosely around my shoulders. "I love you, but you're going to school tomorrow."

"Rude." I say, disappointed but not surprised.

"Yes, how terrible I am. Forcing my healthy teenage daughter to attend school. I think I'll go call child protective services on myself." She replies flatly. Amused that she decided to play along, I grin as she pushes the back of my head when she gets up. "And by the way, Friends is way better than The Office. So watch that."

"Noted." I reply, already turning on an episode of the show before she can realize she's enabling my bad habits.

She goes to the porch and puts her shoes on, chancing a look out the glass window of the door and sighing. "Did it really snow? Again?"

I glance back with an arched eyebrow. "Did you forget it's winter?"

She finishes with her shoes just in time to send me a half-hearted glare. I just laugh, not finding the expression one bit threatening. "I think I liked you more when you were debilitatingly sick."

"That's fair." I agree.

She laughs and I hear the jingle of her keys as she takes them from the hook. "I'll see you when I get back if you're still up." She picks up her bag and reaches for the handle of the door.

"Alright, love you."

"You too, Kid."

The closing of the door spikes my nerves, any of the lightheartedness I felt a minute ago drowned by that old, familiar anxiousness. I've started feeling it again now as I did when David was still around. It's not as strong, but still annoying. It reminds me that even when he's not here he still has some sort of control. It's sickening.

Attempting to shake the thoughts away, I focus back on the tv and find my fingers tapping idly on the arm of the couch. With a shake of my head, I abruptly stop the movement, curling my hand into a fist instead.

. . .

Rocks crunch under my sneakers as I walk up the driveway after getting out of Marina's car. It's now eight o'clock and the windows of my house are alight with a warm yellow glow under the dark sky. It's quiet, and I watch a brown leaf fall from one of the trees in the neighbour's yard. I feel like smiling. It's the most relaxed I've felt in a while.

The muffled sound of shattering glass breaks the reverie with such suddenness that my head snaps up immediately. I know that it came from my house. It's the only one I'm close enough to hear anything from.

I rush, skipping stairs going up the bridge and jamming my key into the door. The lock clicks when I twist it and I shove the door open, wide eyed, heart hammering. After all, it's been a little more than a year and things still haven't gotten any better. I'm constantly on edge even over small things at this point.

For a moment, nothing happens. Any minute now I almost expect to hear muttered curses coming from the kitchen as a result of Mom cleaning up the remains from a glass she dropped. But then I hear it; David's voice, slurring words with an undertone sharp enough to cut stone. I drop my bag.

"Mom?" I rush to the archway of the kitchen, only to stumble to a stop.

David and Mom are there, as I thought. But it's not Mom who's doing the cursing.

David stands in the middle of the kitchen, looking angrily at his discarded drink on the floor. He mutters obscenities at the broken glass and brown liquid surrounding it without even bothering to look up to acknowledge my presence. Mom is leaned against the counter in the corner. Her wide eyes and shaking hands aren't what's shocking.

There's a cut above her eye and a dark bruise decorates her cheek, disheveled hair falling messily all around her face. She rakes it back with an unsteady hand before looking up. Blood runs down the side of her face.

Her face falls when she sees me in the archway. Even from here I can see tears fill her eyes as she shakes her head the slightest amount, probably wishing I never showed up to witness it.

I turn to David, who's still staring sadly at the mess on the floor. "What did you do?" The demand is quiet, barely even a whisper, but he glances up anyway. His face doesn't have any bruises on it. "What the hell did you do?" My voice is louder now, and shaking. I hope he doesn't make the mistake of thinking it's from fear. It's rage.

Unaffected, David just shrugs, squinting at me. "You see, Maren..." I want to punch him. "Your mother thinks she knows what best for me." He actually smiles and shrugs, wobbling a little as he stands up straight and points a finger at himself. "But the thing is, I know what best for me. Okay? No one else." He takes a step towards me.

"Don't go near her."

He turns at Mom's voice, but only stays still long enough to roll his eyes before continuing again.

She pushes herself off the counter and grabs his arm. "I said, don't-"

He slaps her across the face.

It was a hard backhand, but it's me who cries out as she stumbles to the side from the force of it. She blinks at him for a moment, gripping the counter for support. Then her legs give out and she falls to the side. Her knees hit the floor first but she catches herself with her arms.

David turns his coal eyes to me. He hit her without even blinking.

I'm aware of my heart pounding, hands balling into fists and my uneven breaths, coming out in short bursts. I want to say something to him, to yell at him or call him an asshole, but I don't. Instead, I find my feet moving forward. It only takes three quick steps to get to him, his six foot frame looking increasingly larger as I close the distance. I don't care.

He blinks at me unconcerned. "Are you gonna get me another-"

I punch him in the teeth.

He's only an average sized man, but definitely large enough to overpower me. Still, the punch sends him stumbling back with a cry, hands coming up to cover his mouth. I go after him, teeth gritted and swings wild in a burst of anger.

Only one more connects hard with his cheek before his shock wears off. He catches my arm mid-swing, fingers clamping around my wrist and pushing back. The sudden change of momentum causes me to go off-balance, and then he's growling and forcing me backwards with such force that I can barely keep my feet under me. Mom yells something but I can't hear her. Then I slam into a wall and the back of my head cracks against drywall.

Before I can even comprehend the pain in my spine or the sudden dizziness in my head, a rough hand grips my face. David's fingers dig into my jaw as he wrenches my head up to look at his snarling face. I'm satisfied to see blood running from a newly-opened split lip.

"You will never hit me again." He's breathing heavy and there's that familiar scent of whiskey on his breath. When his lips part blood comes out. He's missing a tooth. "Understand, Girl?"

His hand squeezes harder and it feels like he's going to crush my jaw. I pound at his arm, but his grip is unrelenting as he waits for an answer. But then I notice how close he's standing, face inches away from mine and using his body weight pin me to the wall. His arm is barred across my chest, making it hard to breath. I muster up as much strength as I'm able to, then bring my knee up between his legs.

The result is immediate. He steps back with a yelp, curling in on himself while I nearly fall to the ground now that he's not holding me up. Coughing and struggling to catch my breath, I sink back against the wall, the world spinning around me as my eyes dart around to look for Mom.

She's not where I last saw her, but instead storming in David's direction with fire in her eyes and holding a kitchen knife. He sees her and the makeshift weapon and backs up, face still crumpled in pain.

Even I'm shocked. I've never seen Mom raise a hand to anyone before, let alone a knife. The concept is so foreign for a moment I wonder if I'm imagining things. No, it's all real.

"Get out." She growls.

He splutters, still backing up as she walks after him. "Katerina-"

"Get out!" Her loud demand must startle him as much as it does me, because his arms shoot up in defence even though she doesn't makes any sudden moves. She keeps walking after him until his back hits the front door. "And if you ever touch my daughter again, I won't be giving you the chance to leave."

His chest rises and falls with his heavy breathing, then he takes the keys to his car off his hook. With wide eyes, he turns back to Mom. "I'm going for a drive."

"Don't come back." Her voice could cut steel.

He opens the door and leaves.

As soon as the door shuts, Mom frantically reaches forward and turns the lock. She lets out a shaky breath and lets the knife clatter to the floor. Then she rushes over to me as I still continue staring at the door, unable to get over my shock.

"Are you okay? Let me see." Then she's in front of me, hands gently running along the sides of my face, the back of my head, searching for injuries. "I'm sorry, Kid. I'm so sorry." She mumbles. Tears swim in her eyes, but none escape, solely focused on looking me over.

"I'm fine." I say, my voice sounding strange, choked.

She doesn't stop looking. In a moment her hand moves down to my wrist and tugs my sleeve up, revealing the dark marks in the shape of fingerprints that nobody else has ever seen but me. And now her.

I hear her suck in a breath, and then she looks at me, her gaze piercing. When she speaks, her voice is demanding, leaving no room for argument. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Swallowing against the lump in my throat, I manage a helpless shrug. "I don't know. It's just, he got you the car and stuff, and he was helping with the mortgage. I thought-" I cut myself off, my throat feeling clogged.

Because suddenly it's all too much; the bruises, the yelling, the fights in the middle of the night, the slamming doors, the fear and the whiskey bottles in the garbage. It's like it all comes crashing down at once, and one minute I'm looking at the cut above Mom's eye and the next tears are blurring my vision and I can't even speak without choking on my words. It would be embarrassing if I could even think about that right now. But all I can think about is how crazy it is that just yesterday a slamming door sounded like a prison gate and today it sounds like freedom.

Mom goes from concerned to comforting in an instant, and she pulls me forward to wrap her arms around me in a tight embrace. I bury my face in her shoulder as stupid tears spill out, filled with relief and anger and worry and everything else. I hold onto her too, needing the comfort. I've never felt more like a kid than I do now.

She rubs my back and talks into my hair. "Jesus, Maren. I don't give a shit about the stupid car." Her voice sounds choked up too. She squeezes me a little tighter and I don't even care that it hurts a little. "I give a shit about you, idiot."

I nod, because despite everything going on, I really had never doubted that. "I know." I manage.

She pulls back but keeps her hands on the sides of my face. "If I had known he was doing that to you-" this time it's her that gets choked up, and a tear runs down her cheek as she shakes her head. "He would have been gone so fast, Maren. You know that right?" I nod again and she wipes a tear from my cheek with her thumb before pulling me to her again. "I love you so much. And I'm so, so sorry."

I shake my head but don't say anything, not trusting myself to speak without breaking down again. Then we stay like that for a minute, and she murmurs soft words and reassurances that really do nothing but remind me that she's there. And right now that's kind of enough.

Eventually, when I feel like I'm good to speak again, I say, "You should call the police."

I feel her nod, but it still takes her a moment to pull away, giving me a final squeeze before she goes. I quickly wipe away the wetness around my eyes and see her do the same as she stands by the phone. She punches a number and waits.

"Hi, I'd like to report a drunk driver." She says. She tells the dispatcher his license plate, our address and his name. Then she glances at me. "And I'd also like to file charges against him for assault."

. . .

I'm not quite sure when I fall asleep. All is know is that when I wake up my head is at an uncomfortable angle and the tv screen is black, probably as a result of me rolling over the remote. I blink a few times at the dark screen, not feeling refreshed from the nap in the least. I feel more disoriented than anything.

Knock knock knock

I don't sit up right away, but my eyes do widen and my mind snaps back to focus in record time. My car is in the driveway, so surely anyone who's out there must know I'm home, but I sit up slowly anyway, afraid to make any sound in case the person that's out there isn't one that's welcome.

Sitting on the edge of the couch, I listen quietly for any noise that would give me a hint as to who it is. After a few seconds of getting nothing I begin to relax. Whoever it was probably went away.

Another knock and I flinch, muttering a curse under my breath.

"Maren?" A muffled voice from the other side of the door says. I know immediately from the voice that it's not deep enough to be David's. I let out a breath of relief, only to have it catch again at the next words. "It's John."

John

Maren hasn't been to school in three days.

Okay and yeah, I admit, worrying about it is probably irrational and on some level creepy, because Marina told me she has a cold and I should believe her. I mean, a lot of people get colds, it's definitely not the most suspicious reason to skip school. Realistically, I know she's fine and at home, probably on her couch deciding what tv show to watch on Netflix.

But then there's also doubt, and it probably has something to do with how she was being weird earlier in the week. Aside from hardly looking at me, she was giving much shorter answers than usual and even passed up many opportunities to insult Stanley, which is probably the most concerning thing of all. Plus, Maren does things on her terms, so even though I know she'd gladly skip school for something she chose to do, I have a feeling she's too stubborn to let a little cold interrupt her daily routine.

So now this internal war leaves me with one question; should I let it go, or find out what's really going on?

I shake my head as I lay my books down on my desk in Biology class, trying to decide what level of concern classifies as creepy. Then Riley walks in just as the bell goes off, and smiles and waves in the cheerful way she always does, and I feel really bad for what I'm about to do.

"Hey!" She says brightly as she pulls out her chair. "Isn't it crazy that mid-terms are only, like, two weeks away? I mean, we're already halfway through the year. That's so weird."

For the moment, that information is startling enough to throw me off, and I just look at her in slight panic. "I need to start studying."

"Don't we all..." She sighs but then grins in a way that makes it clear she won't do any such thing.

I laugh, her lighthearted attitude making me feel even worse. Because sometime between when she walked in and now, a plan has formed in my head to figure out if Maren is actually sick or not, and it may have to do with sort of exploiting Riley's inability to lie. It's horrible of me, I know, but asking Riley about it is the only way I'll be able to tell if there's something else going on. In my defence, I feel guilty about it.

"So, how's Maren doing?" I ask casually.

Riley blinks at me for a moment, letting an uncharacteristic beat of silence fill the air. "Hm? Maren? She's good, yeah really good." She nods quickly and her eyes dart away from mine as she rethinks it. She makes a quick hand gesture that I'm not sure what to make of. "I mean, obviously not really good because, you know, the cold and stuff. But yeah, fine. She's... fine." She smiles reassuringly after the rambling, busying herself with opening her biology book.

"Riley." I say.

"Yeah?"

"Maren isn't sick, is she?"

Riley looks to me, overly incredulous at the accusation. "What do you mean? She has a cold. People get colds, like, all the time. That's it. That's what she has." She shakes her head, very committed to avoiding eye contact.

I'm silent for a few moments as she unnecessarily flips another page in her text book. Beginning to actually find it amusing, I lean back in my seat and eye the book. "I didn't think Mr. Byrne told us what page to turn to yet."

"Yeah, well we ended off on page two hundred and seventy four yesterday, so I'm predicting that we're on page two seventy five today."

"Then why are you on page one hundred and fifty?"

She stops flipping pages abruptly and lets out a heavy sigh through her nose, closing the book with an unnecessary amount of force. "Why do people always do this to me?" She whines. At first I'm not sure whether she's talking about people constantly questioning her page flipping skills or something else, but in true Riley fashion, she elaborates. "There are other ways to get information than questioning me on things I have to lie about, you know."

The way she talks about it is as if it happens all the time, and I find it equal parts sad and amusing that enough people know about her inability to lie for this type of questioning to become a frequent problem for her. But I don't laugh. I just feel guilty, because despite my curiosity I really never meant to stress her out.

"Sorry." I say. She looks at me then, almost shocked. Considering she's friends with Maren, the reaction makes sense. She probably doesn't hear apologies too often. "I'm guessing whatever it is, you can't tell anyone."

Riley doesn't answer, but she doesn't look away either. The way she looks at me seems like she's contemplating something; eyebrows pinched in, tight-pressed lips, narrowed eyes. I blink, confused under the studious gaze. Clearly she's not offended, which is good, but I find myself unsure how to proceed with whatever is going on.

Finally her expression clears and angles her seat slightly towards me, seeming to come to a conclusion about whatever dilemma she was just experiencing. "I'm going to ask you a question." She states slowly, like she's warning me. "And you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but if you do answer, please be honest."

Beginning to get a little on-edge, my eyes dart around the room, wondering just how sensitive the question is if it warrants a prior warning. "Okay..." I say warily.

She smiles, and it makes me feel better, but not by much. "Great. Okay, so you like Maren. Yes or no?"

Immediately I'm taken aback. Not necessarily by the question, but by the suddenness and absolute total casual tone it was asked. Well, technically she did give me warning, but still. I hesitate, even though the answer is clear. Yes. Obviously yes, I do like Maren, and I've come to terms with that a while ago. I'm still not sure if I want to admit that to someone else, or one of her best friends of all people. Surely the information would just get back to her some way or another.

Although something weird also strikes me about her tone. It was a confident question, and her raised eyebrows are expectant. And despite the bluntness of it all, the fact that she already knows the answer and is waiting for me to confirm is what makes my face heat up.

"Don't worry. I won't tell her either way." She says.

That eases my mind a bit. Eventually I nod, because while she might be a terrible liar, she's really done nothing to make me think she'll spill a secret. "Yeah." I admit, although it's hesitant. "Yeah, I do."

She smiles a little. "Okay." She says. I have a feeling she's putting an effort into remaining neutral so I won't regret telling her. "Do you want some advice?" She asks tentatively.

I almost laugh, because it's actually phrased like a question. Does she even know how much of a mystery her friend is? Of course I'll take some help wherever I can get. "Sure."

Her smile gets a little bigger and I can't help but feel at ease. Whatever she has to tell me probably isn't bad news if she's looking at me like that, almost an eagerness to her grin. "Alright, so I'm only telling you this because I feel like you're a super nice guy, and I think you're good for her." She reaches out and lightly puts a hand on my arm, and I can tell she did it without thinking about it. "Here's the deal. Maren doesn't really give a lot of people a chance. She's confusing and she's not open and she decides she doesn't like people before she even talks to them. It's how she is. But..." she lowers her voice, even though it's far too noisy for anyone to eavesdrop in the crowded classroom, "she talks to you, and she trusts you." She shrugs. "It's got to mean something, right?"

For someone that usually speaks in random sentences and rambles, the advice actually made a lot of sense. Something sparks in me. An understanding, maybe, or hope even. Hope that maybe I'm not alone in what I'm feeling. Maybe she feels it too. Of course, Riley respects her friend too much to just openly tell me that information so I don't even bother asking.

"And thing is, the guys that have been in her life so far aren't exactly role models." She continues.

I nod. "Yeah I know."

She nods along in blind agreement for a second, which I'm not surprised at because her and her two friends seem to know a freaky amount about each other. But then her eyebrows furrow and her eyes dart to mine in what looks to be caution. "What do you mean?"

I glance at her, confused. "Well, didn't her actual dad leave, and the other one is in prison?"

"Did she tell you that?" Riley asks.

"Um... yeah." I reply, unsure exactly how to respond to her suddenly bewildered look.

"Oh." She says. I'm not sure if the tone holds pleasant surprise or the bad kind, but she's definitely surprised on some level. "Well, you're doing way better than I thought." I'm not sure if she meant to say that or not because she turns to look at Mr. Byrne's desk right after without saying anything. I don't really know what it means anyway so I ignore it.

Meanwhile at the front of the room, our teacher is finally standing up from his chair a full five minutes after the bell rang. Riley notices and says something under her breath that sounds like a curse but probably isn't before turning back to me. She speaks faster this time, sensing the limited time she has before our class actually starts.

Despite the urgency, her eyes are soft. "You're worried about her, aren't you?"

Again, she says it like she knows the answer. At least this time I manage to keep my face from turning red. "Yeah."

She nods, apparently having made up her mind about something. "Okay. Come with me."

Before I can even respond to her request (more like an order), she stands up, grabbing my arm and leading me after her as she walks toward the door at a brisk pace. She only lets go once she's sure I'm following.

She looks at our teacher, who eyes our retreat with an arched brow. Riley points out the door. "I forgot a book in my locker, Sir." She explains

"I see." He says. "Does John need to go with you?"

"Yup."

He shrugs. "Okay."

For a moment I'm shocked that he let us leave so easily, but then I remember how Riley is literally on everyone's good side at all times, and then it's not exactly that shocking. Then she's leaving the classroom and I follow her into the hall as Mr. Byrne begins teaching the class. We go down the stairs and then left until we reach a locker that I assume is hers. I've never actually been to her locker before since we somehow always find ourselves congregated around Marina's or Joseph's. They're usually together so I guess they're easier to find in a crowd.

"So... you know how we started that new unit in math?" She says, turning the dial on her lock. I nod. "Okay, well Mr. Collins gave me a few worksheets to drop off to Maren."

I'm pretty sure she hadn't even looked at her lock once as she was putting in the code, but it opens anyway when she pulls it. She reaches into her school bag and pulls out a few papers.

"Now, when you give these to her, just give them to her. Okay?" At first I'm confused, but she doesn't give me time to interrupt. Her voice has an odd sharpness to it that I assume is brought on by protectiveness. "You're going to tell her that Mr. Collins told you to drop those off, and then leave. Don't pry, don't question, don't ask anything, don't confess anything. And for God's sake, whatever you do-" she closes her locker door and looks me in the eyes with a seriousness I've never seen from her until now, "don't tell her I'm the one who sent you."

I nod. You don't need to be a genius to figure out that meddling with Maren's life in anyway (no matter how innocent your intentions are) won't get you anywhere good. I take the worksheets out of her hand. "Got it."

Finally she smiles again, but it's tight, clearly a nervous expression. "Great." She starts walking away without another word. Clearly she's starting to feel nerves about what she just did, whether it's because she just betrayed her friend's orders or just because she's worried she'll find out, I don't know. Probably a bit of both.

"Where are you going?" I ask.

"Oh." She looks over her shoulder, apologetic. "Sorry. I'm going to the fountain. See you back in class." Her reassuring smile does nothing to hide her stress, or possibly guilt, which shows in the way she's twisting her hands together.

She turns away quickly, but I stop her. "Thanks."

It seems to lighten her up a bit, and she walks backwards to face me fully. "Remember what I said, John." There's a teasing tone in her voice now. Her smile looks real. "I'm rooting for you, you know."

I chuckle. "Well, at least someone is."

She laughs a knowing look in her eyes. With a slight shake of his head, she says, "I'm not the only one."

She winks before walking away.

. . .

I pull into the driveway of Maren's house just after school, the notes I need to give her in the passenger seat. I grab them and get out of the car, finding it's the first time I haven't been nervous as I ascend the stairs that lead to her front door. My instructions were very clear after all. I'm not to talk to her about anything other than her notes, and then leave. I'm here for one purpose, and it's a boring one at that.

The subdivision is almost eerily quiet as I knock on the door, the sound loud in the relative silence. Then I wait. Only for about ten seconds before I look over my shoulder at the driveway to make sure someone is actually home. Sure enough, her old navy civic sits in the driveway, so I knock again. After another few seconds of not hearing any movement inside, I decide to speak up.

"Maren?" I say. Still, I hear nothing from the inside. "It's John."

Finally some sign of life comes from the other side of the door. There's a sound that I think is a muttered curse, probably annoyed she has to get up from wherever she is to answer the door for me. I'm not offended though, only amused because of it's such a typical reaction from her.

"Give me a second!"

Even though I'm in the other side of the door, I nod anyway as though she can see me. It still takes her a bit of time to actually answer the door. I straighten when I hear the lock turn on the inside, almost surprised she answered and didn't just tell me to go away or fake that she wasn't there.

The door opens and Maren stands in the doorway sporting a jogging pants and t-shirt combo. It's clearly sleeping clothes, but she doesn't seem to care as she rubs her eyes with one hand and holds open the door with the other.

"Hey, how're you feeling?" I ask. Without even realizing it I find that I've already looked her over, searching for anything amiss. She looks fine. Well, she looks great actually, but that's nothing new. The only difference I can find is that she looks more tired than usual.

"Good." She says, looking me over too, seeming confused to see me here. I guess it makes sense. I probably should have texted first or something. "I had a cold but I'm pretty much over it now. I'll probably be back to school tomorrow." She adds.

I press my lips together. Everything feels normal. Everything looks normal. It's not that I wanted anything to be wrong, and I'm relieved that nothing is, I just find it strange that such a strong gut feeling that I had led to nothing but a short-lived cold.

"Well that's good then. You don't want to miss too much time." I say, grinning when she gives me a look that says she disagrees with the statement. I decide to get down to business. "Speaking of time off..." She doesn't even reach for the sheets when I hold them up, probably assuming they're homework and looking at them in disgust. "Mr. Collins wanted me to give these to you."

"How thoughtful of him." She mutters dryly.

Her hand reaches to take the papers but I quickly pull them away with a smirk. "It's a new unit." I warn.

She arches an eyebrow. "So?"

"So..." I repeat playfully, something like relief settling in me when I see the corner of her mouth tugging into the hint of a smile. It's not much, but our last few conversations had been filled with dull conversation and straight faces so I'll take what I can get. "You might have some trouble with it."

She hums, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe, crossing her arms and looking up at me with feigned seriousness. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. It's a hard unit too." I insist. She seems disbelieving. I don't blame her.

And then somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember something Riley said about being over here to just drop off the papers, and nothing more. She seemed serious, and I was fully intent of following her orders. Well, that is until Maren looks up at me with a teasing light in her eyes and a faint smile of her lips, and then the fact that everything is going back to normal is suddenly more important.

And besides, technically if we're just talking about the worksheets, I'm doing nothing wrong.

"You're gonna need someone to teach you." I say.

"And I guess you're going to suggest you do it."

"Oh, that's an idea." I shake my head. "I hadn't even thought of that."

Her laugh is quiet, and probably disbelieving, but I don't care. It's there and that's what matters. A few months ago she would probably rather fail a math test than allow me to tutor her, but now she stands to the side and opens the door wider, shooting me a smirk.

"You better know your shit, Smith."

Just to hide the grin threatening to break out on my face, I scoff as I step inside, pretending to be miffed. "Of course I do."

Her house looks the same as it did the other couple times I was here, except this time there's a blanket strewn across the couch and a remote on the floor. I picture her lazily tossing the blanket away and the remote clattering to the floor when she begrudgingly got up to open the door, and focus on taking off my shoes to hide a smile.

When I look up I see she's already made her way to the kitchen that branches off directly from the living room. I follow her lead, appearing in the opening just as she pulls out a chair from the table. She looks like she'll sit down, but suddenly stops, looking up and clearing her throat.

"Um, do you like, want a drink or something?"

The question sounds unnatural, and the way she puts both hands in her pockets as she waits for an answer makes her look just as awkward. It takes everything in me to stifle an amused chuckle. Clearly she doesn't have guests over very much.

"No, I'm good. Thanks." I say. She nods and finally sits down, seeming relieved to end the offer. "Don't have visitors often?" I tease.

Her eyes dart to mine, but she doesn't look to be annoyed or even surprised. "Not any I have to be polite to."

I do laugh at that. "I think we're long past the need to be polite."

"Oh, good." She says. "I guess I'll never be nice to you again."

I chuckle, but don't bother saying that she could be as mean as she wanted to me and I'd still like her. Instead I just pull out the chair across from her and drop the papers on the table, causing what little smile she had on her face to disappear.

"So... here it is." I say unnecessarily since her eyes are already scanning the first page.

There's a few moment of silence as I allow her to look over the sheets, flipping each page with a deepening frown. "Since when are exclamation points in math?"

"Since last year actually."

She looks up. "Really?"

"Yeah." I nod, then slowly reach over to bring the worksheets between us. "I think we should probably start."

Her sigh is more sorrowful than it needs to be, probably having a much worse idea of what factorials are than what they actually are. She complies anyway though. I show her some of the equations and tell her which formulas to use where. After a few questions she remembers the exclamation points purpose from last year, although the recollection is bitter. It all goes smoothly after that, which isn't a surprise. Despite her sour mood about the subject, I've never seen her to have any real trouble grasping the concepts.

Eventually though, after the second page, I start to see where my knowledge comes to an end. Types of equations I haven't seen before start to fill the pages and I quickly suggest that we stop so she doesn't have the chance to make fun of me for not knowing the material. I'll admit, she's actually the one who helps me out more times than not, but since I was the one in class to learn this material, I'm playing tutor today.

"I guess I just get the rest from Riley." She says as she picks up the worksheets after we're done, tapping them on the table a couple times to form a tidy stack. "I don't get why Mr. Collins just didn't give them to her anyway. That's what he did before." She shrugs, not seeming to care too much about it, which is a relief since I don't want to try and lie to her today.

I shrug too, playing with a pencil between my fingers before it suddenly disappears from my grip as Maren takes it, getting up and dropping it back into a mug on the counter that's filled with other writing materials. "You know, maybe I'll take you up on the drink offer." I say. I usually wouldn't ask anything of her, but it's around supper time and I'm starting to get hungry. Besides, asking for water feels much more reasonable than asking for food.

She doesn't seem to mind. "Sure." She heads to the fridge. "What do you want?"

"What do you have?"

"Not much."

"That's great. I wasn't in the mood for much anyway."

She looks over her shoulder with a flat, unimpressed gaze. I laugh. She shakes her head, lips twitching into a smile before she turns away. "You're getting a water." She says.

"Perfect." I reply.

A bottle of water is tossed at me as she closes the fridge, and I probably wouldn't have caught it if she didn't throw it right at chest level. Still, the end result of the throw is my arms jerking up to keep it from falling in a rather awkward show of athleticism. It leaves her shaking her head with a short laugh.

"Just for that, I'm going to reveal the actual reason I came over here." I say, pretending to be offended.

"Oh yeah?" She sits back down in her chair with a smirk, playing along. "And what's that?"

"I just wanted free water."

She doesn't bother stifling her laugh, rolling her eyes through it and leaning forward to rest her cheek on a fist. It occurs to me that she's smiling more than usual this last hour or so. I'm surprised by the mood shift considering how closed off she seemed earlier in the week, but I'm also glad none the less. Maybe it's because she's finally over whatever illness she had, or maybe it's because of something else. I wouldn't know.

"Consider it payment for the tutoring." She says.

I smile and take a sip, shrugging. "Honestly, it's not a hard unit. You probably would have understood it just as well without me."

Putting the cap back on the bottle, I lay it down on the table as she shakes her head, lips tugged up at the corner. "Yeah well, I honestly couldn't care less about the stupid math."

At first I just nod along blindly, but then something clicks. Then I realize the words weren't said teasingly or annoyed. It was a quiet statement. One that makes her look down at the table and scratch at an invisible mark to avoid my eyes. Something about it felt different. Because why would she even sit through nearly an hour of math questions if she didn't care whether she learned them or not?

Then I feel my eyebrows shoot up, shocked because damn it, it sounded a lot like a confession, or at least her version of a confession. Could it really be, or am I imagining something? She still doesn't meet my eyes, and I find it's not the first time I wished she wasn't so hard to read. If she could just give me some type of hint to clue me into what she's thinking...

Fuck it.

"Hey, so... I wanted to ask you something on Monday."

She looks at me then, and the nerves that were already in my stomach intensify the moment our eyes meet. If she's nervous about anything, she doesn't show it, letting out a hum of acknowledgment that tells me she remembers. "Right, yeah. What was it?"

Despite how expectant her raised eyebrows are and the openness in her gaze, I'm suddenly not sure I can do this. I mean, I was pretty sure a minute ago but that was just after she gave me what may or may not be a not-so-obvious hint of her feelings toward me. I find that it's tougher when I'm at the delivering end of such a confession. I decide not to make it one and reach a hand up to scratch the back of my neck.

"Do you want to go see a movie? Sometime?"

She blinks at me while I hold my breath, waiting for the denial or acceptance or... something else. Honestly I don't even know what I expected to happen, I was just hoping it would turn out good.

"Oh." She says finally. Her voice is casual. Very casual considering I just asked the girl out on a date. And yes, I know she's an expert at masking her reactions and emotions but I would have thought even Maren would have more to say than 'oh'. She shrugs. "What movie?"

While I try to decide if that was a yes or a no, I also wrack my brain for any movies of her interest currently playing in theatres. "Um-"

I'm interrupted as someone knocks on the door. At first I can't decide if I'm thankful for the diversion or annoyed, but Maren's eyes dart to the door and she stiffens up, and then I settle of confused.

She stands up and walks to the window behind me, peering out the blinds with pinched eyebrows. A muttered curse leaves her lips and she quickly steps away, eyes suddenly devoid of any openness they just had. They're guarded now as she lets out a breath, a shade of steel to go along with her tight expression.

"Who is it?" I ask before I can think about it. She's not likely to answer with much more than something vague anyway.

"An idiot." She says, and for a moment I internally pat myself on the back for at least predicting that response. The pride turns into a mix of confusion and concern when her eyes meet mine, her expression unreadable. "Stay here. I'll only be a minute."

She leaves and I busy myself with packing up the little materials I have around; a calculator, a lone pencil and an eraser. There's the sound of an opening door and hushed conversation, at least on Maren's part. Whoever she's taking to has a deep voice that carries easily into the kitchen, apparently uncaring for adopting a similar quiet tone.

Before I know it I'm eavesdropping, and I really don't mean to. It just happens. "I really want to talk with you, Maren. And your mother." The man says.

I still can't decipher what Maren replies with, but given its sharp tone and shortness, I assume it's something along the lines of 'tough luck' or 'fuck off'. I sit up straighter, interested despite the urge to ignore the conversation and respect their privacy. But Maren clearly doesn't like this guy, and I feel like it's more important to worry about her than boundaries.

"You don't even want to hear what I have to say?"

This time I can hear a clear 'no' from Maren as her voice rises in volume.

"I just want to-"

"Please leave."

"Maren-"

"Don't." There's a bitter laugh at the end of the demand. "Don't do that. Don't even think you can make me listen to you, because you don't get to do that anymore. I'm past it. Leave."

My heart rate spikes. There's silence for a few moments.

"Maybe I'll just come in and wait for your mother if that's fine."

"No. No, you can't—no, stop. I said—"

And that's all it takes for the rational part of my mind to lose control. My feet are under me in less than a second and I'm taking the same route Maren took to get to the living room just a minute ago.

The front door comes into view as I pass the opening to the kitchen. There's a man outside that's no taller than me, with greying hair and a heavy frame. Although he clearly wants to get inside the house by the way he looks around Maren at the inside of the home, who's blocking his entrance with a wide stance and stubbornly crossed arms.

He notices me immediately when I walk in, his face betraying shock. He's either surprised someone else is in the house or wondering who I am. Probably both. Instead of talking to me, he directs his question at Maren. "Who the hell is this? Your boyfriend?"

Her head snaps in my direction as though just coming to the realization that I've entered the room. For a split second she almost looks relieved, but she looks away just as quickly, mouth opening and closing for a moment as she loses her former confidence. "Uh, no. Just—" she sighs heavily, "go."

"Come on." He doesn't listen, making me inch closer while I try to decide on which point to intervene.

His hand reaches out to touch her arm, but she flinches away before he can even touch her, leaving his hand dangling in empty space. He quickly tries again, but she backs up this time. It's looks strange to me, her steps being a jerky motion when she's usually so graceful, moving with purpose and confidence. For a moment her eyes widen.

It's hard to catch, especially because I hadn't seen the expression before, and also because the concept is so foreign that my mind almost dismisses it. Because I've seen Maren confront everything from wasps to Phiri Dun Ra to assholes who towered above her and she never even batted an eye. I've seen her look down a steep ski slope with nothing but determination and roll her eyes through a horror movie. And after all of this, I had never seen Maren Elizabeth scared of something. Until now.

I'm stunned and angered and confused all at the same time. What the hell could he have done that made her scared?

After a moment of thought, I find that I don't even care to know the answer. My voice is low, better matching his. "I think she told you to leave."

He finally turns to look me in the eye, peering in through the now otherwise empty doorway. Maren spins to look at me too. There's a warning look in her eyes, but I don't care.

"Who are you again?" He asks sarcastically.

"It doesn't matter." I reply. My feet take me forward another step, my voice gaining confidence. "You need to go."

"John." Maren mutters. I hesitantly slow my steps.

Again, he focuses on Maren, who looks like she'd rather slam the door in his face. "Look, I just came here to say that I'm sorry."

She shrugs. "Okay."

There's a silence after that. I stop my movement forward as the tension seems to hang in the air between them, growing more palpable as the seconds stretch on. Maren raises her eyebrows, unconcerned for the Man's dubious expression. Apparently it didn't take very long for her to regain her confidence, and she stands straight now, eyes hard.

"What the hell do you want me to say, David? I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to see you ever again. If you were really sorry you would just listen to me and leave."

It's a tone that you don't argue with, and as persistent as David is, even he seems to know this. "Fine." He says in defeat. "I deserve that. I'll go." I swear I see Maren let out a breath when he takes a step back. "And not that she wants to hear it anymore than you do, but tell your mother that I'm sorry. For everything."

Maren doesn't acknowledge he even said anything, just closes the door and locks it. I don't follow her as she wordlessly disappears back into the kitchen, but I do note the sound of blinds being pushed open enough to peer through, and the rumble of a car pulling out of the driveway.

"Who was that?" I ask.

The blinds flick closed again as she lets them go so she can stand in the opening of the kitchen. She leans her shoulder into the wall, too casually. "You know jail guy?"

The speed at which the memory of her telling me about it at the hockey rink comes back is almost embarrassing. I don't even bother to act like I had to think about. "Yeah."

She nods. "Well..." she gestures in a random direction outside, even though who she's referring to is clear without the motion.

Clearly the whole ordeal has shaken her up a bit, because she glances at the door every few seconds and taps a finger against her thigh. I look between her and the door too, unsure how to deal with this. I've seen her happy and angry and smug and I at least have some idea of how to deal with it. But to see Maren stressed? That's new. And looking at her now, I'm suddenly reminded of how I felt trying to figure out those advanced math problems from a few moments earlier; pencil hovering above the paper, not sure where to start.

It occurs to me that she doesn't know where to start either. This is new to her too.

"That's why you stayed home to last few days, isn't it?"

Finally she looks at me, but not in the way I was hoping. I could almost hit myself, because even if I don't know what to do right now, making an accusation like that is not a good place to start. Her eyes harden, any and all vulnerability gone as she becomes defensive. It's a deflection tactic, I've realized. When she doesn't want to answer a question or does something out of character, I can almost see the bricks going into place, fortifying metaphorical walls with concrete and moats and an icy gaze. My heart beats faster, and I regret saying anything at all.

"Why I stay home is nobody's business." She says.

"I'm sorry." I say quickly, even though I shouldn't. She really hates apologies. "I was just worried."

She chuckles, but it's empty and tired. "Yeah, I know."

Something unpleasant spikes in me at her tone. "What does that mean?"

She opens her mouth, about to spit out whatever is on her mind, but seems to think better of it. Her mouth snaps shut and she shakes her head. "Forget it."

"No."

Even as I say it, I can't help but think about how stupid this is. I'm fighting her. I already know it's a losing battle, but the words come from my mouth without thought. I can't help it. I'm offended.

Her eyes dart to mine, as though testing the question. I don't look away. "I can decide things for myself, you know." She says, crossing her arms.

I blink at her for a moment, wondering where this is going. But there's a certain fire in her eyes that tells me it won't be anywhere good. "I know."

"You don't, actually." She argues, her voice certain. My eyebrows furrow. "You're always doing things I don't ask for. Giving me your coat, getting me food, hovering around when I hurt my leg, and-" she looks down and shakes her head, "I never asked for any of those things, John. And I asked you to stay in the kitchen, but once again-"

"Wait, is that why you're angry? Because I didn't stay in the kitchen?" I interrupt. It's probably not a great idea right now to cut her off, but she's already mad so I decide it doesn't matter. Plus, my common sense is getting a bit clouded now as she continues twisting what I thought was kindness into some version of authority over her. "It sounded like you were in trouble."

"Well I wasn't. Okay? I can think for myself, and I don't need some knight in shining armour to come rescue me whenever someone knocks on my door."

I let out a breath through my nose, struggling to keep my voice even. "I know."

"And you don't need to come over because you think I'm lying about being sick." She'd been leaning on the wall the whole time, but she stands up straight now, probably getting ready to kick me out. "I don't need help." Steady breaths. "Or to to be worried about." Calm down. "I've been doing things myself my entire life, I'm perfectly fine continuing to-"

"Maybe I don't think you should have to." I blurt out. Her mouth shuts with a nearly audible click, and if my heart wasn't pounding in my ears I might be able to spare a moment of pride for rendering Maren Elizabeth speechless for the second time in my life. Without even realizing it, I've taken a step closer to her. "Maybe I think you should have some help sometimes." Her eyebrows are raised, but her gaze stays locked on mine as I shrug. I shake my head and my hand raises to scratch the back of my neck as familiar nerves cut through my irritation from just a moment ago. "I know your capable of handling everything on your own. I just think that sometimes you deserve to let someone else handle some of it. I think you deserve to to be worried about."

There's a long moment of silence. She just looks at me, and I look back, neither of us moving, neither saying a word. Slowly the fight goes out of her until all that's left is an expression that sits somewhere between shock and remorse. I notice a few strands of hair have fallen loose and drifted in front of her eyes, and feel the strange urge to reach out and brush them away. I'm close enough now to do it. But then I think of how she flinched away from me at school and how it looked so similar to what happened with that David guy a few minutes ago, so I take a step back instead, hands in my pockets.

The movement seems to break whatever was going on. She copies my motion and sighs, eyes now trained on the hardwood beneath my feet. "I'm sorry." She says. "Um, you should..." She trails off, but her eyes dart towards the door.

Understanding, I nod and head to the porch, shoving my shoes on. She seems surprised by my compliance, but doesn't mention it. I don't say anything as I open the door to leave, and she doesn't either.

For moment when my feet touch the wooden bridge outside her door, I think I should turn around. Maybe I should say something, tell her about a movie that's playing that we could go see, tell her she looks nice. Tell her I'm sorry.

I don't.

I close the door behind me and head to my car. And then I think that maybe the best thing to do is just to listen to her. And leave.

---

Hey guys!

The update speed is a bit better than last time but still not great so like always, I apologize!

Yes, I've decided to move the AN to the bottom for the benefit of getting right into the story. I hope you don't mind, I just figure it's better this way than having a huge block of bold letters at the top and distracting you from starting the story so, yeah :)

This chapter was tough to write because it had a few sensitive issues and I wanted to make sure I wrote it realistically and without offending anyone. So yeah, I spent more time than usual questioning every single sentence of this thing, but it's done!

Sorry about the second cliff hanger in a row by the way...

Reviews:

loricnumbersix6: Hey, Glad you liked the chapter! As for a system of when I post? I start writing the next chapter as soon as I get the previous one uploaded so it's not exactly an organized thing, sorry. The closest thing I have to a system is that usually I end up updating at around 3am, but that's different tonight because it's currently 4:30am and I have work tomorrow (I need to stop doing this to myself, lol). Anyway, yeah, I get the chapter up literally as soon as I finish writing them, so that's kind of a system? Maybe? Thanks for the review! :)

IWishICouldBeNumberFive: Hi, good to see you back! Thanks so much for reviewing and I'm glad to see you're still enjoying the story :)

Yeethaw Boyo: Hey, I promise it will not be much longer until you get your Jix/Jaren (Maybe even next chapter soon). The bro talk between John, Joseph and Stanley is definitely a thing I will do, and there will also be a girl talk with the ladies. And "Look What God Gave Her" is pretty much my favourite song right now and I love it, but I don't think it would really fit in this story. Maybe I could try something in my oneshot story about it (don't expect it too soon though)? I love the idea though and keep them coming, I love the see what people come up with!

YasiYasi: Yes, it has been a while since Riley had a POV. I was actually planning one in a few chapters so it's funny you mentioned it :) Glad you like her character and thanks so much for reading and reviewing!

J: Yeah, I'm honestly not that into romance movies like that but I thought that one was pretty good. I'm glad you like it anyway :) As always, thanks for reviewing and reading!

Anyway, thanks everyone so much for reading! It's very late and I have to go to bed so I will recheck everything in the morning. Sorry in advance for any grammar mistake or typos.

Thanks again and leave me a review if you feel like it! They honestly make my day :)