A/N: So... hey, look, this story is still alive. I'm still alive. This chapter was actually mostly finished back in mid-2018, but tragedy struck and my beloved 4TB hard-drive that housed my entire livelihood died on me and took everything with it, including my writing folder that contained everything I'd written since around 2010. I was disheartened over the loss and kind of lost interest in writing for a while. I certainly didn't want to go through the arduous task of re-writing.

But, recently, I've been feeling nostalgic, so I decided to get this chapter out. I know, it's been almost two years. Better late than never, though, right?

chapter thirteen;
busted

I winced, sucking in enough air through my teeth to make my lungs expand tenfold, as Mr. Henley meticulously wrapped my hand in elastic bandage. His tenderness came as a shock to me as I did beat his beloved son unconscious not too long prior, but he was a professional, after all. Despite his slow, calm movements, I had sobered up substantially, so my hand felt like it was being crushed under the tire of semi-truck.

We were sitting at the dining room table, a first aid kit open and its contents strewn out. Mr. Henley reached for the pair of medical scissors to separate my hand wrap from the roll of excess bandage.

"Your hand is broken," he said to me, glancing up from his mummy work to look me in the face for the first time since he directed me to sit so he could check me out. He had an all-business expression and tone, like he had emotionally detached himself from the situation. "More specifically, you fractured your fourth and fifth metacarpal," he continued, pointing to the area beneath my ring and pinkie fingers, probably figuring I didn't know what a metacarpal was. But this wasn't my first boxer's fracture. Hell, it wasn't even my second. Or third.

Not knowing what else to say, I just muttered, "Thanks."

From the couch came groans, followed by soft crooning. I tensed my jaw and didn't look over. I didn't want to see Anastasia sitting with Roxas's pathetic battered face in her lap as she held an ice pack to him. I didn't want to see her pity for him, or worse, her hatred for me if we accidentally locked eyes.

"It should heal fine, but you should definitely visit an actual physician. In some cases, a multiple metacarpal fracture requires surgery. For now, though, just be careful with it. There should be ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. It will help with the pain and the swelling." The bottom of the chair scraped against the varnish of the wood floor as Mr. Henley got up and started piling the first aid stuff, bandaids and gauze and shit, back into the plastic box. Once it was all packed up, he turned and made his way to his wife and son, leaving me sitting there wondering what was going to happen next.

I looked down at my hand like it was a foreign object.

"Are you sure he doesn't need to go to the hospital?" Anastasia asked in a hushed voice, but I was still within earshot. "Look at him, James."

"He will be fine," Mr. Henley assured. "His injuries are predominately superficial; bruising, swelling, a subconjunctival hemorrhage, but he is most likely concussed. I already booked him an appointment with the neurologist on Monday."

I hadn't actually seen Roxas's face yet and I didn't want to. Judging from the reaction of everyone during the initial chaos, it was bad, and I was most definitely fucked.

More pitiful groans came and finally a hoarse voice, "M-mom..."

"I'm here, baby. I'm here."

Suddenly, I had to vomit.

I quickly got up from the table and made my way down the hall to the bathroom, where I proceeded to puke up a cocktail of expensive whiskey and stomach acid. When I was done, I nearly wiped my mouth on the back of my dominant, now defunct, hand but stopped myself. Needing a distraction, I decided on a hot shower.

The loose swim trunks I was still in slid right off my hips when I untied the drawstring, and I stepped out of them and under the spray, holding my arm out so that I wouldn't get the bandage wet. The hot water and steam felt nice, the tension I was carrying in my shoulder blades and neck eased up a bit, and the dried bits of blood on me flaked away. I made the water as hot as it could go and hissed when I started to feel like I was being boiled alive, but I stuck it out, hoping to strip away my flesh and meat to leave behind nothing but a pile of wet bones. Skeletons don't have to deal with consequences.

After about a half hour, the water went cold. I stayed with my head pressed against the tile wall and my eyes closed for another few minutes before getting out. My arm ached from holding it up, and it made me remember one set of foster parents I had that would make me kneel with my arms out like I was being crucified as a method of punishment. And how, after just a few minutes, my entire upper body would hurt like I was carrying a two ton boulder up a hill, and I'd want to cry but wouldn't because crying was a sign of defeat.

With some careful and creative maneuvering, I managed to wrap a fluffy white towel around my waist. I looked out the frosted glass of the small window above the toilet to gauge the time. The sun was completely gone now and all I could see was the bluish-black hue of the night.

Remembering what Mr. Henley said, I rifled through the medicine cabinet and found the bottle of generic ibuprofen, but I couldn't undo the childproof seal with just one hand. Getting frustrated after a few minutes of trying, I stuffed it back in the cabinet with a huff, slamming it closed and being greeted by my foggy reflection when I was face-to-face with the mirror on the other side. My eyes were bloodshot.

His eyes were bloodshot.

I lingered a while longer, mostly because I didn't know what awaited me. I knew I had to go into the basement for my clothes, but the basement is where Sora, Xion, and Kairi fled to after the ordeal, and I wasn't sure how they'd react to my presence. Did they hate me now, too? Did they fear me? Would I even make it to the basement before I was confronted by police officers with their guns drawn?

Was I finally the monster Anastasia tried to tell me I wasn't?

All these thoughts swam through my head and I half-seriously contemplated squeezing myself out the bathroom window like a cockroach, fleeing into the wilderness like an upstate Tarzan and becoming a cryptid to the locals, a bed time story to tell kids to scare them into being good.

'Now Timmy, you must eat all your broccoli or else The Firecrotch will climb into your bedroom window and beat you into a bloody pulp.'

I finally left the bathroom, the pent up steam spilling out with me, crawling along the baseboards before dissipating. The cabin was eerily silent, the creaking of the wood beneath my feet amplified. The couch was devoid of former crack whores and broken blondes. The doors to the two bedrooms were shut and I couldn't hear anything within them. I walked to the basement stairway on tiptoes, holding up my towel with my good hand, feeling somewhat relieved when I finally heard a semblance of life. Part of me feared they had all abandoned me, and I feared abandonment more than confrontation.

At the bottom of the steps, I could see the source of the mild commotion. The lights were off and home theater system was playing a movie. From the back of one of the power recliners, I could spot the unmistakable chocolate mop of Sora's hair sticking up past the headrest. My duffle bag was on the floor not too far from him, and all I had to do was stay completely silent, grab it, and slink back upstairs, stealth-mission style.

I remained on my tiptoes, keeping close to the wall. When I got to my bag, I slowly bent at the waist to grab it, mentally prematurely celebrating a successful mission, when...

"How's your hand?" Sora suddenly asked, face forward, never looking away from the screen.

I startled, shooting upright. "How did you—"

"I have good hearing. And the acoustics down here are both a blessing and a curse." He definitely didn't sound like he hated me, but maybe chipper was the only tone he was capable of. He finally turned to face me, his gaze initially going to my crippled hand but then down to the towel. "Oh," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"My eyes are up here," I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

"Sora," a second voice said, and it was then that I noticed Xion sitting on the adjacent recliner. She almost blended into the dark leather with her oversized black sweatshirt that she had her knees tucked into. "Leave him alone."

There was also third player involved that came into view when I looked over at Xion, signified by a rustling heap on the loveseat across from where I stood. Propped up in the mass of blankets was the top of Roxas's head. In the dim light coming from the TV, I could see one of his eyes was half-lidded and fixed on the screen. The other, engulfed by purple, was swollen shut. The blankets were pulled up to the bridge of his nose, so that's all I could see of him.

Sora, ignoring Xion, followed my line of sight when he caught me staring off. "Roxas hates this movie," he told me, amusement evident in his voice. "But he's so doped up on pain meds that he's basically in an alternate universe. Our method of torture is moot."

"Roxas has terrible taste in movies," Xion added. "How can you possibly hate Pretty Woman? It's a classic."

My mouth involuntarily hung agape. It felt surreal for things to be so casual after everything that happened. Why were Sora and Xion being so lighthearted when just hours before I had a complete mental breakdown and nearly killed Roxas in front of them? Was I in an alternate universe?

Not knowing what else to do or say, I turned to head back up the stairs when I heard Sora putting the footrest down on the recliner. "Where are you going?" He asked like he was going to jump up and stop me from leaving if he had to. "You're sleeping down here. The couch is a pullout and there's plenty of room for both of us. Roxas is fine on the loveseat."

"Don't worry, I'm heading up to bed soon," Xion added, as if it was her presence that was causing me discomfort. If I wasn't preoccupied with my stewing thoughts and overall confusion, I would've noted that her disposition was entirely different than it had been the past several times we've interacted.

Exasperated, I pivoted on my heel to face them. "Shouldn't you two be scared of me?" My voice was a lot louder and harsher than intended.

Sora's forehead scrunched up. "Why would we be scared of you?"

I aggressively gestured towards Roxas, who was completely oblivious to the unfolding scene as he was transfixed on early 90's Julia Roberts. "Gee, I don't know, maybe because only a few hours ago I fucking flipped out and hit Kairi and beat the shit out of Roxas? Maybe because I single-handedly ruined the weekend and come morning I'll probably be out on the street again? Maybe because I have nothing left to lose and—"

"Are you going to hurt us, Axel?" Sora interjected my word vomit, looking entirely unconvinced that either of them were in any sort of danger.

He was right, though. My shoulders slumped as I calmed. "No."

"Okay!" He replied much too cheerfully. "Then there's no issue. Get dressed and you can help me set up the bed." He settled back into the recliner like it was a done deal and there was no room for argument.

I continued back towards the stairs.

"Axel," he said, this time in a whiny, almost child-like voice.

"I'm going to get dressed," I told him, sounding as drained as I felt. "I'll be back."

"You can get dressed down here. We're watching the movie. Don't tell me you were one of those guys that would get dressed in the bathroom stall for gym class."

"Fine, whatever," I conceded. "Both of you keep those blues pointed forward." I set my bag on the pool table and unzipped it to find some boxers and my pair of joggers, which thankfully were on top. I was behind the recliners and the two seemed to have gone back to the movie, whispering to each other about something. Whatever Sora said caused Xion to reach over and whack at him, which made him laugh.

As I dropped my towel, I looked over at Roxas. It was weird to see him so lifeless. Whatever meds Mr. Henley stuffed him full of had him floating on cloud nine.

"Done yet?" Sora called out.

"Almost."

It was tricky getting into my clothes. You don't realize how much you use both your hands in tandem until you can't anymore, but I managed, because figuring it out myself was certainly the better option to asking for Sora or Xion's help to get dressed like I was some sort of invalid. I abandoned the damp towel on the floor and left my bag where it was before joining the trio in front of the TV. I sat down on the empty couch that would eventually fold into the bed Sora and I would share. Julia Roberts and Richard Gere were sharing heartfelt words on the big screen, and I could see why Roxas would dislike a movie about a prostitute.

"Axel," Xion suddenly said, her voice soft and tentative, "I'm sorry about everything."

"What do you have to be sorry about?" I asked her, mostly to test the waters. Sora shifted slightly, the foundation of a smirk on his lips, and I was reminded of my realization prior to my full meltdown. He and Xion knew everything. They had to. Before she could answer my question, I appended, "Just how much do you guys know?"

"I've known everything for a while," Sora admitted with a shrug, bringing a can of LaCroix to his lips for a big sip. He suppressed a burp. "And I told Xion shortly after the coffee shop incident."

"I had my suspicions," said Xion, "about Roxas being gay. But both of our parents approved of our relationship and it kept my folks off my back about a lot of things, specifically my father, so I didn't question it. It was crappy of me to seek attention and physical affection elsewhere, but, well..."

"We're all human, Xion," Sora said simply, a shrug implied.

"So what was the point of everything?" I found myself asking them. "Especially you, Sora, what bullshit have you been trying to pull?"

He turned to me, batting his long eyelashes innocently. "I have no idea what you mean, monsieur," he said in a poor excuse for a French accent.

"Oh, cut the shit," I spat, and despite his earlier confidence that I wasn't a threat, I saw him physically recoil at my sudden harshness.

"I was just trying to help," he said, sounding small. I immediately felt bad for snapping at him.

"Just so you know, Axel," Xion untucked her legs from her sweatshirt so she could stand up and face me completely, "You've really changed Roxas for the better."

Sora nodded in agreement. Xion put her arms up to stretch and her big sweatshirt rode up to reveal a hint of her patterned cotton panties. Sora was unaffected by the sight of girl panties, but my mouth went a bit dry out of primal instinct.

"Anyway, I'm going to head up to bed so don't fight. 'Night, guys." She turned to Roxas; both of his eyes were closed now. The movie credits started rolling and the room grew darker. "'Night, Rox."

"Good night," Sora and I said in unison.

And then it was just the two of us, a tension, and a battered boy.

"She's not lying," he piped up to break the silence. Sora struck me as someone who hated silence. "Roxas has changed a lot since you came around. He seems happier, less uptight. He talks about you nonstop, you know. Axel did this and Axel said that and 'Axel has the prettiest eyes', blah blah blah."

I felt a warmth spread within my chest.

"He isn't very good with feelings, as I'm sure you've figured out. So, sometimes, I try to push him into being honest with himself and others."

"You tried to make him jealous," I concluded.

"Yeah, not realizing it would wind up with you in the hospital. I know I meddle too much sometimes but I really do care about Roxas and have his best interest at heart. He's kind of all alone in this world, in a way. Mrs. Henley is the only mom he's known and yet he feels disconnected from her. Dr. Henley is a good dad, and he tries to help, he really does, but he's too wrapped up in brain chemistry or whatever to be objective. And he's got Kairi, but she's just a reminder that he doesn't really fit in. So, Roxas just kinda withdraws into himself."

I chewed on my lower lip. On the surface, it's hard to view Roxas's life as anything less than ideal. Since the beginning, I viewed him as little more than over-privileged and overdramatic. I compared his life with mine and figured I set the standard for suffering. How can you be sad when you have a big house, loving parents, a Bentley, and an Olympic heated swimming pool in your backyard?

"But then you came around," Sora continued. "And at first, you added fuel to the fire, but you grew on him. He's never met someone like you before. And I mean, neither have I. You sure are something, Axel. Roxas cares about you, and that takes a lot."

Despite being another trust-fund kid, an overactive one at that, Sora was oddly perceptive. Not only that, he was understanding and accepting of faults, and he was made up of love and good intentions. Sora, I realized, was the best kind of person for Roxas to be friends with, and part of me was jealous of what they shared.

"He probably hates me now," I sighed.

"Maybe," Sora said, apparently not one to mince words. "But I doubt it. He was being a dick and I'm sure he knows he was being a dick. I'm honestly surprised it has taken this long for someone to punch his lights out."

We both looked over to where Roxas was laying. The blankets rose and fell with his rhythmic breathing. "Is it really bad?" I asked him. It was weird to talk about Roxas like he wasn't there, but he basically wasn't.

Catching my meaning, he shook his head. "Not as bad as it seemed with the amount of blood there was. You stopped after a few good hits and I was able to pull you off."

I didn't remember Sora pulling me away from Roxas's body. In fact, there was a lapse between looking down at a bloodied Roxas beneath me, and Mr. Henley telling me to sit down in the dining room chair. I could vaguely recall bits; Anastasia's expression when she saw Roxas's face, Xion grabbing Kairi by the hand and dragging her away, and Sora breathlessly trying to explain what happened with his red-stained tank top in hand because he had used it to soak up nose blood.

"You're not a predator, Axel," Sora said. "That's what set you off, isn't it?"

I swallowed hard and clenched my fist. My bandaged hand ached from the instinctive muscle contraction when it tried to ball up, too. "It was everything," I said slowly, which wasn't exactly a lie. "Stress. Exhaustion. I was a little drunk."

"He was just trying to push you away because he's afraid of—"

"Not being perfect, yeah yeah yeah. I heard all that shit already. What does he want from me, Sora?" I was tired of the back and forth and emotional whiplash.

This time he didn't have an answer and just shrugged. "He isn't forthcoming. Most of this is, uh, inference."

"Inference," I repeated. "You're talking out of your ass."

"No, I've gotten really good at deciphering Roxas's nonsense. He isn't that hard to understand once you get to know him. I've had years to develop my Roxas Rosetta Stone. Roxas says 'I hate Axel', that roughly translates to 'I am crazy for Axel'. Easy stuff."

I narrowed my eyes at him and he giggled. His goofiness offset his intelligence and part of me figured it was intentional; he was a sleeper agent of emotional awareness. I wondered what his story was, what his relationship with his parents was like; did he have some tragic backstory, too?

"Anyway, Axel," he stood up and fished the TV remote out from where it was wedged between the arm and cushion of his recliner so he could shut it off. "We should probably set up the pullout. Today has been a long day." He let out a loud yawn to exemplify his point.

Like a chain reaction, I yawned too. Sleep sounded pretty fucking good, actually.

I wasn't much of a help with my one hand but I provided moral support and helped throw the couch cushions on the floor. From a closet he produced sheets, a comforter, and several plump pillows. He didn't even bother with the fitted sheet and instead just spread all the blankets across the mattress haphazardly. He signaled he was done by plopping down on his side of the bed, the springs squeaking under the sudden weight. I joined him on the other side, except I settled into it softly as to not fuck my hand, and I buried my face into the soft pillow with a content sigh, closing my eyes and trying not to think about what awaited me in the morning.

"Hey Axel," Sora whispered after a while. "Still awake?"

"Mhmm," I murmured into the pillow.

"Don't stop trying."

I know he was referring to Roxas, but I couldn't help but to think of it in terms of everything else in my life.

That night, I dreamt I was in the heart of the city, skyscrapers of mirrored glass erected around me like sharp spires. The city was vacant; not a soul bustling about, no traffic, no pigeons or rats. Just silence. My footsteps didn't even make a sound as I walked down the sidewalk. I passed one of the buildings, catching a glimpse of my reflection in my peripheral. I stopped walking, watching my reflection do the same, except the man in the reflection wasn't me. He was familiar; tall, but muscular instead of gaunt, and his hair was dark, black, a complete absence of light and color. Slowly, I turned to face him completely, and his actions mirrored mine. Our eyes were the same.

Suddenly, I knew who I was looking at.

I turned to run but collided with an object and fell backwards onto my ass. When I looked up, I was looking into two very blue eyes that matched the color of the sky above us. A hand was extended towards me.

"Are you okay, Axel?"

I shot up in bed, using my right hand to hold myself for just a second before letting out a yelp and recoiling it because it felt as though someone just smashed my hand bones to dust with a hammer. I blinked away the sleep and confusion, trying to make sense of my surroundings while cradling my throbbing bandaged hand in my lap. My heartbeat thumped in my ears.

"Are you okay?" The voice from my dream repeated.

At the foot of the pullout bed stood Roxas, or rather, a person who greatly resembled Roxas, because the Roxas I remembered had a cherubic, flawless face. This person, with his hunched shoulders and old lacrosse team sweatshirt, had a scabbed over split-lip, bruising along his jawline and nose, and a blackened eye socket which held his most striking feature, the blood-red sclera of his left eye that starkly contrasted against the blue of his iris.

All the memories of the previous day flooded back at once. This was Roxas. It was the Roxas that I created, like a sculptor with his chisel except I used my fist.

He quirked an eyebrow as I stared at him.

"You were thrashing about," Roxas finally said when I didn't say anything. "And you looked like you were in pain. Bad dream?"

"What are you doing down here?" I asked, my voice still raspy and heavy with sleep. I looked to my side where Sora had been not too long ago except his spot was empty, the only evidence he was once there was the mess of blanket and sheets.

"Your snuggle buddy is in the kitchen with mom," he said almost bitterly. "I came down to see if you wanted food. We're having brunch on the patio." I was still trying to process everything when Roxas walked around the bed to get closer to me. "Hello? Earth to Axel."

"M'not hungry," I said, which was a lie.

"Liar," he said. "Come eat."

He started to shuffle away and I took that as a queue to lie back down. The receding footsteps continued and I pulled the pillow Sora used over my eyes to block out the sunlight that was filtering in from the windows.

I probably would've fallen back asleep had I not felt the mattress shifting on the other side of me and heard the springs squeaking in protest. When I lifted the pillow, I was face-to-face with Roxas, who was hovering over me expectantly. My gaze was drawn to the broken blood vessel in his eye.

"Roxas," I said softly. I reached up and caressed his cheek with the back of my functional hand and he winced slightly, causing the guilt occupying the pit of my stomach to multiply. "Roxas, I'm so—"

"It's okay, Axel," he said before I could finish. "I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry for what I said. I'm sorry for how I've treated you. You have no idea, you really…" He struggled to find the right words, finally landing on, "I like having you around."

Without thinking, I craned my neck to kiss him, surprised when he didn't immediately pull away and let loose a string of insults. I gingerly moved my lips against his, mindful of the swelling and fresh scab. His hands tangled into my hair and I pulled him into me, pressing my tongue against his lips and delving it into the warmth of his mouth when he granted me entry. Roxas wasn't a great kisser, he was bad at following a lead and I tasted some kind of bitter numbing cream that he must've put on his busted lip, but in that moment nothing mattered. I wanted to kiss him forever.

My forever didn't last nearly long enough. After a minute, he pulled away and made a face. "You have morning mouth," he said.

"And you taste like Orajel and now I can't feel my tongue."

He settled onto the bed next to me and rested his head on my chest. "Axel," he said delicately. "Mom told me."

He didn't have to specify, I knew exactly what he was referring to. My heart rate increased and he must've felt it. "Oh," was all I could say.

"She told me this morning. Just me. We sat outside and drank coffee and talked about you and what happened and what should happen going forward," he explained, idly toying with the drawstring on my joggers. "She wasn't upset with you in the way that I was. And then she told me everything, and I understood why what I said made you so angry. I didn't mean what I said, Axel. I know you're not like that. I just… I'm dumb, okay?"

I didn't say anything, I just ran my fingers through his messy hair that hadn't been washed. I didn't want to tell him how relieved I was that he didn't hate me. Not for hurting him or for being the product of rape.

"I heard you and Sora talking last night. And, well, he's not wrong. I should strangle him from telling you all of that, but I think there's been enough physical violence for one weekend." He sighed. "Axel, I like you. I shouldn't, but I do. I like you a lot. I like your ridiculous hair and your asinine tattoos and your vulgarity. I like how unafraid you are to be yourself and speak your mind. I like how mad you get when you lose in video games. I like the way you say my name, how you emphasize the 'x', and I like how inherently caring you are, despite everything you've been through."

"I should beat you up more often if it means you'll say nice things to me," I teased. Suddenly, there was a sharp pain beside my nipple. "Ow—hey, what the fuck? Did you just bite me?"

"Be serious," he said, and I could sense the vulnerability behind it.

"Okay, okay. Roxas, I like you a lot, too. And I'm still trying to come to terms with everything and figure shit out, and everything that's been happening lately is uncharted territory for me, as I'm sure it is for you. So, let's figure shit out together."

"Together, yeah," he said, "I like the sound of that."

We laid like that for a few more minutes until we heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Roxas quickly separated from me and sat up, like his wide-eyed scrambling wouldn't raise suspicions.

"It's just me," Sora said, and Roxas visibly relaxed. "Came down to make sure you guys didn't kill each other. Also, food is ready. Let's eat!"

The Henleys had mastered the art of pretending nothing happened. Kairi gave me a warm smile like all was forgiven, patting the seat of the chair next to her to beckon me into it. I took her up on her offer and Roxas sat in the chair on other side of me. Sora took up the spot between Xion and Anastasia as Mr. Henley filled our empty glasses with orange juice from a pitcher. We were apparently having a family-style brunch; in the middle of the table there was a big platter of French toast, nearly two loaves of bread worth, and a colorful bowl of fruit salad.

"The bacon and sausage are in the oven, boys," Anastasia told us with a smile. "It should be ready soon."

I stabbed a few pieces of French toast with my fork and brought them to my plate. Everyone else followed my example.

"Can I make a toast?" Kairi asked.

"Go for it, sweets," Mr. Henley said before popping a chunk of honeydew into his mouth.

She stood up and cleared her throat, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She quickly grabbed up her glass of orange juice and lifted it in the air, nearly sending its contents sloshing out. "To family! And love!" She exclaimed, and everyone picked up their glasses. "And to Roxas having to wear an eye patch for his graduation photos next week!"

Roxas grumbled but everyone else lightheartedly took a sip.

As I sat there at the table, everyone around me smiling and laughing and enjoying life despite the events of the previous day, I realized what family is really about. Anyone can be your family: a broken girl from a group home, a guy you punched at a nightclub, a dude you shared an apartment with, your half-sister, or a bright-eyed kid who has more wisdom more than he lets on. It's not about blood relation or upbringing or social status or class; it's not about how you got there, it's that you're there now. Your sins are not absolved or forgotten, but they are forgiven. You're not free of consequence, but you're accepted for who you are. No one at the table around me was perfect, we were all fuckups in some regard, but fallibility makes you human.

I glanced over at Roxas, and he must've felt me looking because he met my gaze.

"Are you okay?" He leaned in and asked me for the third time that day. His concern was touching, but misplaced.

"I'm fine," I assured him. "Are you okay?"

I watched his pensive expression, still jarred by the current state of his face. I wished I could kiss him again, plant a trail of them along his jaw, over the bridge of his nose, and up to the bruising beneath his eye. I wished I could fix the damage I caused.

"Yeah," he finally said, like he had made up his mind, "I'm okay." Then he gave me a grin, a real one; crooked tooth, dimples, and all.

"Everything good between you guys?" Mr. Henley suddenly asked, and I was afraid to know how long he had been watching us or if he picked up on the intimacy of our moment. But I had to remind myself he was a psychiatrist not a mind-reader.

"We talked it out," Roxas told him. "We're good."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Anastasia smile in my direction.

No one hated me, and that brought me such relief that I wanted to cry, but didn't. I had done enough crying in my life. So, I just smiled back, poured syrup onto my plate, and enjoyed the moment.