Fully prepared for you all to hate me after this. Like the prologue, this takes place in the future. Told you guys I wanted to mess with those timelines a little :)

INTERLUDE

Claire

I pack quickly and quietly and in the middle of the night.

The space between my legs aches, like I spent too much time straddling my board and not enough time soothing the muscles afterward. My calves are sore from how often I tensed them. The window's open, my curtains fluttering in the breeze, but I don't feel cold, even though I'm naked.

Not completely naked, I guess. Somehow, I'm still wearing socks.

If I took the chance to let the lid off my emotions, I would be thankful Quil is a heavy sleeper.

I grab the first pair of sweatpants I can find and slide them on. Time is of the essence. My bra from last night landed by my window, and I don that next.

I tiptoe to the bathroom down the hall and grab my toothbrush and razor. I eye the birth control next to the sink before turning my back on it.

In my room, my book bag sits stuffed with notes and textbooks from finals I didn't take, and I empty it into a heap on my desk. I swap the contents for things I'll need now—hairbrush, socks, headphones. One pair of jeans, check. Bathing suit, check. Phone, check. I grab every single clean pair of underwear I own and dump those in, too. The toothbrush and razor go next, in a side zip pocket.

Behind me, Quil snores loudly in his sleep. I freeze, peeking at him over my shoulder.

His face is smooth, unworried for the first time in months.

I pause, my socked feet quiet as I step back toward him, toward the bed. My hand reaches out even though I didn't tell it to. As I smooth back a lock of hair from his forehead, I have a split second of indecision. I could shed my clothes, all of them this time, and wrap myself up in him.

Again.

I withdraw my hand, moving it instead to the top knob of my nightstand. The drawer squeaks, but Quil doesn't stir any further as I pull it open, grabbing what sits on top inside.

I'm sure I'm forgetting things; others I'm choosing to leave behind.

One of them is in my bed.

I swipe a t-shirt off the floor and pull it overhead. The scent of the sea makes my eyes water. This is Quil's shirt.

I should take it off.

I should wake him up.

I move to the dresser and pick up the bedazzled jar on top. It's heavy, stuffed full. I have no idea how much is inside, but I can count it later. I set the entire thing inside my backpack and shove in a sweatshirt on top of it.

My eyes take a sweep of the room, avoiding the bed. I want the good memories to stay untainted by my bad decisions.

With a stuttered breath, I grab a pen and flip open a notebook to a random page in the middle. He deserves words I don't have, can't find, may never find. He's always gotten the short end of my stick. Maybe in time we can learn that this way is better.

When I'm finished, I drop the pen. Legs I can't feel carry me back to him, and I set the torn notebook page on the nightstand where he can see, swapping it for his keys.

My eyes sting, and I squeeze them shut as I lean over, brushing my lips on his forehead. I will miss his feverish skin, the way it both lights me on fire and calms me like the ocean.

I should stay.

I go.

I turn away from him, grab my bag and my shoes, and walk out the door.

Everyone runs away from something, don't they? Katie ran away from stifling parents. Nessie ran away from her pain. Bethany ran away from her fears. And I'm running now, too.

Except I'm not running away from something, not really.

Just the absence of someone.