Authors Note: Okay, so as most of my readers know, the last chapter basically ass. So, I hope you'll find this one a bit more pleasing, and I'll try to write more. But it's kind of hard, with tests coming up soon and such.

Disclaimer: You all should know this by now. Oh, and any band names you see / recognize are NOT MINE. Though I horribly wish they were.

& Reviewers: I love you all. gives you Nickelback t – shirts XOXO.

.&. What Goes Around – Chapter Four

"See you later." Were Michael's last words as he shut the door behind Logan and himself, leaving Chase feeling more boxed in. He could go to class, sure, but then he'd have to face the fact that Zoey wasn't there, and he didn't think he could deal. No… It had been a weak, but the memory was still a deep, fresh cut in his mind, a stretched full of anxiety wound that left him sickly eager for more.

Chase had to do something, however. He had faked sick the last few days. He knew everyone could see through it, but nobody had made any real protests, no… They just continued to make the suggestion that he should come to class, it'd cheer him up. They never directly mentioned Zoey. So, he couldn't be seen on campus. Even if people understood, they'd insist he go to class.

So it was with a full mind that Chase got out of bed, red boxers shining slightly more crimson in the sunlight filtering through the blinds of the window in the corner.

Dressing in a pair of jeans and a plain, black, short sleeved shirt with tennis shoes, Chase glanced up at himself in the mirror. His eyes were slightly baggy, his skin pale and his hair a mess. He hated seeing himself as such, but he couldn't help it. Depression was casting its seemingly ever - binding grip on him.

He'd just walk around the city outside campus. Yeah, that was it.

He got in his new car: A shiny black one. His parents hadn't been happy with the cost, but he wouldn't dare look at the old, red one Zoey died in, and they felt he was unsafe without a car.

Starting it up, he eased it out slowly, but quickly. No time to be wasted, since he didn't want to get caught. Driving into town, he turned on the radio. "Photograph." By Nickelback lit up the car in musical notes, and though it pained him to listen to it, he half enjoyed it all the same.

"It's hard to say it, time to say it. Goodbye, goodbye." Chase finished the song with Chad, the lead singer. It felt good to be half free, out of the binding feeling of his own room, a cell in which he spent his self inflicted torture and imprisonment.

And there she was. The same red head… Chelsea. Dressed in a pair of jeans, tennis shoes and a multicolored tank top, she sat outside a shop, her back to the wall.

Her MP3 player's headphones were in, and the music was turned up so loud that as he stopped the car on the curb in front of, "Macy's." and walked up to her slowly, he could hear From First to Last pouring from them.

Chelsea's Point of View

I could feel a presence. It filled the spaces in me I couldn't fill myself. Looking up, I saw the semi familiar face of Chase Matthews. I connected him with the death of that girl… Zoey? I had met him before. A little eccentric, but nonetheless reeking potential and cuteness. Okay, so as head of a record company I had a weird flair to my judging of people.

"Hey." The wind filtered through my hair, and I motioned for him to sit next to me, slipping off my headphones and setting them down on my lap, lifting my eyes to the sky.

"Hi." His voice was unsure, as usual. Though how could I judge, since I only just met him?

"What's up?" I asked, drawing a little design on my jeans with my finger as I waited for him to respond.

It took him a while to do so, but I wasn't one to push. I never had been, in entire truth. My mother pushed me, and I guess I just wanted – And want. – To be different from her.

Why be the same, when there are so many colors to choose from?

"Nothing." Chase finally said, watching the cars go by, the sunlight filter down.

"Nice lie." I pulled out a cigarette. Sure, it was bad for me and extra risky, since I had heart problems… But I've always looked for a faster way to die. My best friend committed suicide when I was younger, about nineteen. I loved him… And I always wonder if it's that fact that eggs me on, or am I just rushing to get to something better?

That was always my friends' first throwback in a fight. Once you find something better, you always leave what you have, Chelsea.

And, now I looked back on it, I suppose this was true.

"Gee, thanks." Sarcasm dripped from his voice, an enveloped secret filled with a dangerous honey that sounds so addictive.

"The pleasure is all mine." I replied, tucking a strand of red hair behind my ear.

"As it always will be." And before I knew it, he didn't have the chance to get the full sentence out.

Both our heads crashed together; a ferocious collision, but none of us seemed to actually care. Our lips twisted in a cruel harmonic fashion that brought a lurking demon to inhabit my stomach.

We were both broken. We needed comfort. Is this wrong?

And then the thing that ripped us apart; a mirror image is a far cry from that which we speak: "Chase?"