A/N: I feel like a terrible person. It's been two months and I said two weeks. School is so crazy, you have no idea. I was hoping to post this as a Christmas present and here it is. You guys have been amazing with the amount of patience you have, really. The way things are going, I'm not going to be sleeping for the next year and a half. I've missed writing this story and I hope you've missed it too. The pace will pick up eventually but I'm going quite slowly now, giving you more of Tori to understand. I dont know if I'll do a Jade POV eventually, but I might. Other than that, this story is Tori-centric and I'm really diving into her emotions. I hope you enjoy the swim. Please please please review, it means the world to me to know that people are still reading this. You guys really are amazing. Thank you so much.

Now get down, and get lost.

"This is your room. You can put your stuff in the closet over there and I can walk down to the pharmacy around the corner tomorrow morning to grab you anything you need. I have an extra toothbrush in my medicine cabinet if you want and you can go shopping for more clothes tomorrow."

She looks around the room, her eyes touching over the warm colors.

"Did you design this place?"

I crack a small smile and shake my head. "My friend Cat did. She's very good at it."

She raises her eyebrow, a silver glint of a round piercing riding along the expression. "Vega made friends? How surprising. And here I thought you were unlikable," she teases lightly, a smirk on her face.

I force a chuckle, trying to put emotion behind the sound as my hands fidget uncomfortably. "It's late. If you need blankets or anything, they're in the cupboard in the bathroom. Goodnight Jade." I step back, shooting her a small smile.

Her head dips slightly in acknowledgment, allowing a smile of her own to grace her face. "Goodnight Tori. And thank you again."

I turn on my heel and walk over to the kitchen slowly, picking up the empty mug from the coffee table as I pass it. It's still warm, my palms flushing a light red as they absorb the heat and permeate my blood. The red blood cells dance inside my veins, each drop a piece of a tormented puzzle. The cracks in my soul wind themselves around my organs, holding me together with thin string. With one snip, my entire being will fall apart, waiting for me to put it back together again. There is no one to help me. I have to help myself now.

My feet touch the cold tiled floor and I shiver lightly as I walk over to the sink, placing the mug in the sink. I turn the faded red handle, watching the warm water gush out as I begin to scrub the dishes. My mind wanders, watching the rushing water as it knocks everything down the drain. It is unstoppable, nothing hindering its path. Even when the gilded plate stands as an obstacle in its way, it only bends around the obstructing object. It was vivacious, the water, refusing to barricaded; much like life. No matter what happens, life goes on. It doesn't stop because you need time, because you're in pain. Life stops for no one. You can cry about it but either way, you're swept along for the ride. Life can carry you downstream softly, a boat rocking gently on a river, or it can drown you like a tsunami, filling your lungs with an aching pain that refuses to go away. But either way, you keep going. You brave through the rushing water and go with the inevitable direction it leads because you don't have the power to control it. It's not what happens to you, it's how you deal with it. After that tsunami, you can fight your way to the surface of the ice cold pinpricks enveloping your heart or you can drown along with the rushing wave, where I am. Either way, the only way to stop life is death. But even in death, you can't stop time. I don't want to die. I could accept death without fear but I don't have the strength to open that door myself.

My eyes wander down to the faded scars on my wrists and my stomach churns lightly, coating the walls in acid that has the potential to eat me alive from the inside out. I remember the sting of the knife on my skin, dots of red shining on the surface of tan skin. I had needed something to control. My life was falling apart, piece by piece, and nothing was in my hands. The incessant whispers in my head had sneered at me, urging me to the very edge of sanity, leaving no way out but forward. Instead, I took matters into my own hands, watching the inflamed skin pulse crimson as the tinted knife was clutched in the other hand. It had been months when I finally stopped. The whispers had finally melted away, scared by the pain that had clouded my mind. My wounds were open, raw and stinging.

And then Cat had come as a healing balm.

She had walked in on me one day, gasping as she saw me staring blankly at a dripping wrist. Tears streamed down her face as she grabbed the knife from me and put it in her purse. She sat me down on the sofa, rushing to get a bandage and disinfectant. She patched up the cuts, silently sobbing as I watched her, quiet. When she was done, she sat down next to me, not meeting my eyes. It was silent for years, until I felt her eyes rest on mine as I looked down at the white gauze that was slowly staining with drops of red. And Cat, true to her commitment, didn't ask any questions. Instead, she suddenly rushed into my lap, wrapping her arms around my torso as she sobbed into my neck. I flinched in surprise, not expecting the sudden action but felt my heart drop at the touch of hot, salty tears meeting my neck. Slowly, my arms made their way around her sobbing figure, guilt tinting my eyes. I had never seen Cat cry in the six years that I had known her and here she was, breaking down because of me. She never said anything, only looking into my watery eyes when she pulled away after soaking my shirt. Her eyes held so much pain, so much anguish, that I silently promised myself right there and then that I would never purposely be the cause of those eyes again. I took her face gently in my hands, wiping away her tears with the pads of my thumbs, shaking my head at her. I leaned forward and kissed her forehead as she clung to me, pouring warmth into my soul. She stayed with me that night, clasping my hand in hers as she fell asleep. I remember watching her as she danced in her world of dreams, her fingers subconsciously ghosting over the bandage, as if she was watching out for me even as she slept. That was the first night since the event that I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

I awoke the next morning only to find the sheets rumpled and the smell of pancakes drifting through the house. With a yawn, I had run a hand through my rumpled hair, slipping on some socks and padded to the kitchen to find my bubbly red headed friend making us breakfast. She seemed her usual self, chattering on about her plans for today after she had rushed over and squeezed me so hard, I almost went purple. I remember smiling as I ate her blueberry pancakes, watching her to see if she was going to treat me any different. I was relieved to find that she didn't, her countenance lit up with joy and laughter as usual. The only difference came as she was leaving when as she hugged me, she had kissed my cheek, tracing my bandage lightly before she disappeared out the door, the smell of blueberry pancake batter lingering on my clothes. For the next couple months, every time she came to see me, she would always take a moment to take my wrist and document the cuts as they faded into scars. She would always smile after she did her little inspection, shaking out of her trance only to pull me away into whatever activity we were doing that day.

I shake myself out of the dark thoughts as I finish rinsing and drying all of the plates and silverware in the sink. I take the pasta and marinara and scrape them into a Tupperware container, placing them in the fridge before walking out of the kitchen and switching off the light. With a sigh and a glance at the time, I make my way to my bedroom, allowing my thoughts to drift to the visitor next door.

The only roommate I've ever had is Cat. With her, I was the big sister, the overprotective mother. She had never seemed to mind, taking me for who I was. I had woken her up in the mornings, cooked for the both of us, always keeping an eye on her when we went out because she has a tendency to wander. I was the one there to comfort her when she was sad, calm her down when she was mad, and drive away boys who just wanted to take advantage of her. It was almost funny how the tables had turned and she was the one watching over me now. But Jade was foreign territory. I have no idea how to act with her, how to deal with her. She had always been more independent than the rest of us, preferring to brood alone and stay to herself rather than communicate with the group. She had always been there, she just rarely ever contributed to the conversation unless it was an opportune moment to contribute a snarky comment. What will she do when I'm away at work? She can't stay at home and do nothing all day. She needs to get a job. But do I have a right to tell her to do that? Maybe I should let her be for a couple days, give her some space. I know that if I was in her position, I wouldn't trust anyone to force any decisions on me. Maybe if she starts working, I can ask her to pay rent. But for now, she needs a break. Beck really hurt her. A simmering anger boils up in me as I think about what he did to her. Breaking up was one thing but cheating was another issue altogether.

I shimmy underneath my covers, my mind whirling. I don't have work tomorrow so I can stay home and figure things out with Jade. My only fear is that she'll start asking questions, questions I can't answer. I can't let her break my walls down. They have to be strong and airtight, resistant to any blows. Before I drift off to sleep, one thought forces its way into my mind, leaving a pit of fear to burrow down into my stomach.

Jade West was always pretty good at finding out secrets.