I'm substantially less than happy with the quality of this chapter, but decided to post it anyway. So be farwarned, it's not particularly brilliant, and will likely be up for some major revision eventually. If I ever, you know, become less lazy.

XVI

He had imagined their conversation a dozen different ways, but never like this. He could hear the tremor in her voice--something she had always hid very well, even at her most frightened--and he knew she was in trouble.

"Where are you?" he asked quietly.

"I'm near The Dot. Sean, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called you. Forget about it. I just--it was stupid. I'm sorry." She was reaching to hang up when she heard his voice.

"Ellie. Stay there, okay? I'm on my way. I'll be there as soon as I can. Just please stay there." She couldn't think of an answer, so she hung up.

Sean looked blankly at the phone, not expecting to hear the dial tone. He shook his head slightly, found his keys, and left a note for his parents. The days were getting shorter and it was already starting to get dark, but he'd certainly driven at night before. He just hoped Ellie would wait for him.

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She knew Spinner was working his shift that night at The Dot Restaurant, so she stayed outside, shivering in her thin, long-sleeved shirt. She sat on a bench nearby, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

It took a good hour for Sean to arrive. Ellie couldn't even look at him, and instead hopped into the back of the car despite his offer of the front seat. They were silent the entire trip, save for a brief thank-you from Ellie.

When they arrived, Sean took Bueller into his room, then returned to Ellie and tried to meet her eyes. She wouldn't let him. "Ellie, we need to talk," he said.

She nodded. "The beach. So we won't disturb your parents." She knew she was only putting off the inevitable. He had found an extra sweater and although it was miles too big, she wrapped herself in it gratefully, trying not to breathe in his scent.

She found a large rock to sit on--unbeknownst to her, it was one of Sean's favorite spots to think--and picked up a small stick, then began to doodle in the sand, staring down intently as if drawing were the most fascinating thing in the world.

Ellie had never been good at breaking awkward silences, so once more, the task fell to Sean. "What happened?" His voice was quiet, his back to her. He knew that if he faced her, she would only shrug and refuse to speak.

"I don't want to talk about it. Look, I shouldn't have called you, Sean. I'm sorry. You made it clear that you didn't want to hear from us, and I should have respected that. As usual, Ellie Nash screws things up." Her voice was bitter, and she wasn't going for pity or reassurances--she meant every word.

He shook his head. "Ellie, it was a shock. I just--I never wanted to hurt you. I shouldn't have stuck you with the rent. I regret that. But I couldn't go back either. It would have hurt us both. And Ellie, we can't do this. Not now. I came for you because I care. But neither of us are ready for this."

She swallowed hard, and as he turned to face her, gave a small nod. "I shouldn't have called," she said again. "You can take me back there, okay? You don't need this right now."

"Ellie, we're not children. Stay the night. I'll take the couch, you can have my room, and I'll take you back in the morning. It's obvious you don't want to be there, and that means I don't want you there. I still--I still love you. It just..."

She nodded again, then shivered. Her hair was tossed around in the cold wind, and more than ever, Sean wanted her--needed her. But he couldn't. They couldn't. And he knew it.

"Come on," he said finally. "You need sleep and so do I." He headed down the beach and toward his trailer without waiting to see if Ellie would follow.

She didn't. She waited until he was out of sight before heading in the same direction. She wasn't particularly interested in having another conversation with him, and forced herself to remember that she had a boyfriend now--and it wasn't Sean.

When she got inside, he was already on the couch with his back to her. She assumed he must have already fallen asleep. He hadn't--in fact, he was staring at the wall and trying to keep himself under control--but he hid it well.

She sighed and found his room, where she fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of razors and alcohol and condoms and pain.

He found her in the bathroom the next morning, surrounded by a pool of her own blood, his razor by her hand.