Plamin24: Many, many thanks for all of your kind words. The best (the best being closure) is certainly to come.

dotylink64: Firstly, I must thank you for grasping all of the minor details with such depth. I tried to make it as painful as possible, while still including that element of okay-ness (for lack of a better word). As always, I'm most grateful for your remarks, and hope that this answers most of your questions. (And no, they're not going back.)

PailyIsLove (Guest): Many, many thanks, dear friend.

Yesni83: Well, I'm most appreciative for that. Always glad to be of service in the happy department. Lol.

ponderhouse: I'm always a fan of long ramblings, so by all means, proceed in doing so. Lol. When someone can so fully capture the essence of what I put a great deal of effort into doing, it's most gratifying. Like I said before, I wanted that death to hurt, but only because it could serve as a catalyst for Paige's further development. As far as the dialogue goes, I always try to keep it as real and rational as possible. So, for you to say such a thing is incredibly humbling.

I saved your reply for last on account of the possibility of my own rambling. Lol. Your right to say that Emily knows the answer but has been trying to make sense of the jumbled mess. After all, she's been doing it from the get-go, has she not?

As always, I'm most appreciative for drawn out, in depth replies. They make this practice most gratifying.

Author's Note: I'm always a fan of chapters that contain short, insightful interactions. This is one of those chapters. Godspeed.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pretty Little Liars or any of the show's characters.

First Month- January

After her arsenal of shenanigans had long been exhausted, Paige became restless with the dull passing of time. She'd grow antsy in the most mundane of moments. I initially thought it to be boredom, but there was a silent apprehension behind the way she'd carry on.

For instance, in one of only two classes that we shared, Paige wasn't making the same wise cracks from Piney Groves. She would diligently tend to class work. Keep her head low. Get lost amidst the winding hallways. She found difficulty in re-acclimating to a life of normalcy. Hell, even on the days in which class would be dismissed minutes before the bell, Paige would patiently await its ringing before budging from her seat.

Dr. Evans was calling frequently back in those days, just to check in. I never once mentioned Paige.

But it's not like I'd ever thought twice on the matter before. After all, she could very well take care of herself, as she'd proven time and time again. But a year is quite the while, especially when you spend it having every minute of every day dictated by the orders of someone else.

There were the loud noises, too. A way she'd jump at the sharpest of sounds. The slamming of a locker. Classmates shouting to friends while mingling in the hallways. I tried serving as that comforting presence as best I could.

It wasn't until she froze nearest the outside common area's fountain, staring blankly all around, that Spencer noted, "What's with that girl? She's acting like a lost, frightened puppy."

Having only met Paige after the funeral, and in brief passing, Spencer too had a great deal of difficulty growing accustomed to the newest addition. Maybe it was because I spent a great deal of time at home, locked away with Paige. Maybe it was because we'd both struggled in finding things to do outside of school that were truly worthy of our time. Things that might've once dominated my attention. Regardless, I felt the need to defend her. And so I said, "Cut her some slack. She's seen and been through a lot."

"So have I, but—"

"Not now, Spence."

The four of us reconvened at lunch that afternoon, sharing a meal as we had done in the olden days. The days before I was sent away. Paige didn't join on account of the required make-up work that she'd need to graduate.

She'd been doing that a lot lately, and it bothered me.

Spencer was picking at a bowl of fruit when she asked, "Still worried about Paige, huh?"

"She shouldn't be taking this long," I answered, trying to hide the irritation in my voice. One quarrel over the girl's nature was enough for that day.

Thankfully, Aria chimed in with, "That's what I'm saying. I want to meet this mysterious character."

"You're not missing out on much," Spencer mumbled through a chunk of pineapple. "A bit crude, that girl."

"And sensitive, and fragile, and caring, and a damn good friend," I finished on "that girl's" behalf.

The following seconds were tense but not unbearable. Paige had taught me how to valiantly trudge through the awkward divide, and I had no intent of returning to my old ways. After all, she'd shown me that light could exist in the darkest of areas. Who was I not to spread that same insight around?

Hanna, the ever-accepting friend of our quartet, grinned from ear to ear. "And?" she asked, urging that I go on.

And plenty of other things, I thought, not entirely comfortable with delving that kind of personal information. How was I to say that Paige had that kind of effect on me? That she made me want to scream out into the air? That she made me want to keep everything locked up inside of me, where it was bound for safe-keeping? "And she'll comfort you while she, herself, is aching," I eventually settled for. "She'll give you a peace of mind that isn't hers to give, but you'll accept it with open arms, anyway. She'll make hell feel like home, but only in the best way possible."

Had I just sprouted a second head? You'd think so by the way three pairs of eyes confusedly trained in on me. Spencer cocked a questioning eye. Aria's brows angled themselves inward. Hanna was simply still grinning like an idiot when she asked, "Just a friend, right?" I nodded, feeling the pressure of the situation creep up out of nowhere. With a giggle on her part, the moment soon passed, and she said, "Well, if that's the case, then where do I sign up?"

"Fooor?"

"The crazy sex you two are having," she responded coolly, eliciting a collective chuckle throughout the group. I could feel my face reddening. My eyes widening. The chuckling eventually grew into full blown howling at my expense, but I knew better than to think that their intentions were any less than wholehearted. It took some time for the dust to settle, but once it did, Hanna merely smirked before mentioning, "We're your friends, dummy. So I believe it's time that you properly introduce us to the girl that you've so clearly fallen head over heels for."

Second Month- February

There started to be some issues surrounding our current rooming situation. My parents were okay with Paige and I bunking together until they caught us holding hands one morning. We'd believed them to be sleeping in on the weekend, only to have Mom trounce through the kitchen with a cup of coffee, stopping momentarily to gather in the scene. Frozen into place, we said nothing.

Nothing was mentioned in regards to the affection, either. There was no reprimand, no insisting that we part. Instead, my mother simply cleared her throat and said, "We have rules set in place. And when you're both under this roof, those rules are to be followed."

Paige squeezed my hand tighter then, smiling to herself.

And that was that. The four of us ate together in relative silence, sparing only the occasional word. There was an obvious elephant in the room, though. One that would be too crazy to openly address. But the moment eventually came, as it always did in the Fields residence, when Paige's left arm disappeared. When fingers slowly trickled on the inside of my thigh.

Without once diverting his attention from the Sunday newspaper, Dad said, "That means both hands above the table, Paige."

She snickered. Paige then found it amusing to wander around, place a hand on my father's shoulder, and return with, "Captain, I solemnly swear to not impregnate your daughter until after marriage."

"I kind of missed out on Christmas, so I figure that the one day devoted to wining and dining will have to suffice."

Paige was referring to Valentine's Day in bed later that morning—we were making a habit of spending most free time curled into each other—and I couldn't believe the words that were falling from her lips. A date? An actual evening reserved for just the two of us? She was on drugs. She had to have been. For her idea of wooing someone often involved crawling into their bed in the middle of the night, whispering all but sweet nothings into their ear. I'd only known that because it properly encompassed just about every two a.m. of the past two months.

"If this isn't just some sick joke," I playfully began, "then what do you suggest I wear?"

She shrugged. "Won't matter by night's end."

There she was. The Paige I'd been expecting. But the perk of having low standards meant that I was no longer disappointed or taken aback by her words. There was only room to be pleasantly surprised, though if the past served as any indication, surprises were never in short supply.

Like when I said, "Do tell, then, of what this glorious evening will have in store," and caught myself completely off guard.

"I haven't worked out the intricacies, woman," she replied, nudging me from her cross-legged seat at the mattress's end. "But rest assured, it will be one to remember."

"One that ends with both of us professing our deeply devoted love for the other?" I teased.

In a flash, Paige sprung forward, hands landing on either side of my rested head. "That kind of romance is only to be followed by the releasing of doves, Miss Fields," she cooed, voice sultry yet oddly satisfying. "And considering our situation—you know, the doveless one—I'd say that the timing's a wee bit off."

My head shifted, eyes darting over to a mirror that sat just atop the dresser. The reflection showed Paige's body hunkered over my own. An inch's hovering gap, at best. There was no denying how perfectly the two entities fit together. As though they were meant to stay in such a position for the rest of their days.

It was one of those little moments that were occurring more frequently. Times in which I'd have to fight like hell against the overwhelming effect she had. A sensation I never again wanted to live without. "It'll come soon. Though there's really no time like the present," I mocked in the mirror's direction. "I think Gandhi said that."

Paige's head dipped as she cracked a smile. The pursed-lipped, subtle kind. And just as I was about to lose hope in the conversation progressing any further, the whites of her eyes directly met mine. "Just know that if I say it out loud," she almost whispered, allowing the words to linger, "everything's going to change."

Then she kissed me. Heatedly, fervently, and with the passion of someone experiencing their last graceful moment on this earth. It felt like she would continue until the sun came up. And when morning finally did rear its ugly head, all it took was one look at the girl curled up in my arms to know the simplest truth of all.

As far as change was concerned, everything already had.

Third Month- March

Fresh off of a drunken Spring Break trip to Aria's uncle's cabin, I was busy at the coffee shop where I'd recently been hired. Paige usually came in each mid-afternoon; sometimes to serve as a protective presence, and others, to annoy the absolute shit out of me.

The day she came in with my friends, stopping to hold the door for all three, was a mystery. I braced for the worst and somehow hoped for the best.

"'Eat the entire cobbler,' you said. 'It'll be worth it,' you said," she whined, falling into one of the far-most booths. Doubling over and clutching her stomach, she proceeded to groan, "EVERYTHING I'VE KNOWN HAS BEEN A LIE."

I hurried over, not entirely keen on getting fired on account of Paige's tendency to be a nuisance. But the look on her face immediately shot down my scornful efforts. Or rather, the hue of orangish-pink that stained the corners of her mouth.

"Peach?" I asked.

She nodded.

Everyone else laughed.

"Hanna's mom made it for the church bake sale," Aria explained, "but Spencer bet that Paige couldn't eat it all in one sitting."

"And I did," is what a voice said from somewhere underneath the table.

Paige didn't last much longer after that. She was too busy gagging at each plate that passed en route to a separate table. I insisted that she go home to rest. "Give me a call when you're there, just so I won't worry." With little protest, she left.

I didn't receive word until much later that evening. Long after everyone had called it a night, my phone finally buzzed. "You're alive, I'm assuming."

"Barely," she grumbled.

We talked while I cleaned. About any and everything under the sun. And it wasn't bothersome until my arm started deadening from being cooped into one position. She must've heard the discomfort in my voice, because Paige graciously ended our conversation with, "Your dad just got in, so I'm going to see how much weird stuff I can sneak into his food before anyone notices." There was a long pause. I could then hear her smile as Paige said, "Come home to me, Fields."

"Only if you're lucky," I quickly singsonged.

She chuckled. "All right then. Love you."

"Love you, too," I absent-mindedly responded, promptly hanging up.

The weight of our situation didn't fully set in until about two seconds later, when her name returned to my screen once more. "Did you just?" she asked.

I could hear the smirk behind her words. So, in defense, I said, "You did it too, asshole."

"Only because I felt pressured."

"Oh, because I'm holding a gun to your head?"

"Old habit, then."

"Sure," I mumbled in agreement.

Thankfully, she laughed. There was a momentary muffling sound on the other end, and once it finally subsided, she whispered, "Say it again."

"Don't push your luck, kid." And that was the end of it. No fireworks. No choirs in the background. There was virtually nothing to our simple exchange.

Well, nothing except for the smile that crept across my face, vowing to never disappear.

Fourth Month- April

April was a weird month for the both of us, purely because high school was quickly winding to an end and we'd both felt blind-sided by the occurrence. We'd been breezing along to the point of having damn near missed the pivotal "growing up" that usually happened. Sure, we'd been through unspeakable phases of life, but the easiest parts equally doubled as the most difficult. It was safe to say that Paige and I were utterly unprepared for what adulthood had in store.

What she received in the mail one day did nothing to aid the process. Entirely counterproductive, actually, opening the hand-written invitation from Donna McCullers was. In fact, I'd never known how childish a person could act until then.

"Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope," Paige repeated, forefingers plugging both ears. "Not listening to the bullshit. Not tonight."

I'd merely suggested that we accept the dinner party offer. After all, it was addressed to Paige and explicitly read of the evening's intentions. To commemorate my daughter's academic achievement of the past four years, and to celebrate what the future holds. It sounded pleasant enough.

Somehow, I was able to break through with deliberate rationale. Paige cowered, agreeing to attend if, and only if, I accompanied her. After equal compliance on my part, the day of came, and she managed to act like a total train wreck once more.

"Christ," she spat, pillaging through the umpteenth set of cabinets. "Is there nothing to drink around here?"

I was trying to empathize, having felt the nervousness creep in the night before. What with being a disciplined man, Dad didn't partake in the very practice Paige was anxiously seeking out. Mom, on the other hand, enjoyed a drink every now and then, and often kept some sort of spirit tucked away in her closet. After an easy minute's search, I was marching a handle of rum into the kitchen.

Paige huffed gratefully, instantly trying to pry the glass from my hands. "You're driving," I mentioned. "And judging from what I've seen in the past, it's unlikely that anyone would benefit from you drinking."

She didn't say anything, but responded by handing a small tumbler my way.

Now, the only thing worse than Paige drunkenly demanding to know what your friends are wearing in the early hours of morning is a Paige that pushes her spiteful antics onto you. For, after my sixth shot, she merely said, "Quicker, Fields. I'm not feeling it yet."

I certainly was. In fact, I'd been so caught up in swallowing her rage that I'd forgotten to change. Or get properly dressed at all, for that matter. So, after downing Paige-hates-her-parents-but-her-mother-especially shot number seven, I burped and said, "I need to—"

"You look homeless enough," she interrupted, taking my hand and dragging us both into the night.

"I'm going to puke."

"Me too."

"No, I'm—" The car door flew open, and my upper body couldn't make it out quickly enough. Liquid demons so badly wished to exorcize themselves from my mouth.

Paige was clearly having no such thing. She raced from the driver's side, looped around the hood, and knelt to the pavement. "Game time, Goose. Make or break," she grunted, lifting me by the armpits. And when I was finally to my feet, she grinned, placing a gentle kiss to my slobbery mouth. "Please don't vomit on me."

We smiled, kissed once more, and after a deep breath, ventured inside.

It was tense from start to finish. Paige's mother was less than excited to see me, for our initial interaction began with, "Oh, you came." The other guests—some of Donna's friends, one of Paige's uncles, his girlfriend, and an older gentleman that I took to be a neighbor—were cordial, but made no further attempt in speaking with us.

The food wasn't half bad. Catered, most likely. Much needed, though, if there was any hope for me appearing at least halfway sober. So I shoveled in every morsel of food within arms' reach. When all was said and done, I'd single-handedly demolished the contents of not one, but two break baskets.

Nearing the meal's end, one complete with a slew of off-handed remarks from Paige, the topic of college finally came up. "Come this fall, Paige will be attending…" Donna began, voice trailing to allow filler.

"It's a tie, actually," the younger McCullers said with a mouth full of ice. "I've got this friend who's offered me a job at his grandfather's doughnut shop, manning the fryers. But then there's the Bradbury School of Exotic Dan—"

"Stanford," I quickly interjected, speaking on my own free will for the first time that evening. "Come this fall, Paige will be in California."

Nods of approval showered from around the table. From everyone except Donna, who looked more taken aback than anything. Like she'd just eaten bad Mexican food and the nearest restroom was a solid mile's walk. "Funny," she soon hummed, placing silverware down on the plate before her, "but you never struck me as the Ivy League type."

"You're right," Paige instantly returned, mimicking her mother's actions. "As far as types go, I'm more of a brunette girl, myself. Big butt. Tan skin. The works."

I tensed up when Donna finally pushed her chair back, stood, and went to collect the empty dishes. Paige took it as a sign to do the same. They both then disappeared into the kitchen, leaving the rest of us to suffer in awkward silence.

And as the sounds of muffled argument gradually grew louder, those of us that were gathered round the table became restless. So I tried picking up the slack by channeling my inner Paige and asking, "So, have you guys ever seen Rudy?"

Later, a solid fifteen minutes later, the kitchen bickering came to a standstill. I nervously snuck from my chair, having thought that one of the women killed the other. Peeking around the corner, I instead caught visible wind of mother and daughter standing alongside each other, passive-aggressively washing dishes. Paige scrubbed while Donna dried.

"Why would I have told you, mother?" the younger brought about. "Since when have you put forth the effort to know what's going on in my life?"

"Stop being so dramatic," Donna quickly dismissed. "And for the love of God, lower your voice."

Paige then dropped a bowl into the sink, suds flying onto her chin as she scoffed. "Dad's a wreck too, you know. Has been ever since you left. But it doesn't matter, does it?" she rambled, voice doing the opposite of her mother's request. "Because in your eyes, nothing does. Because at the slightest hint of trouble, Donna McCullers is the first to jump fucking ship."

"You're not giving me nearly enough credit, Paige. And don't even start on your father. If memory serves, he hasn't exactly been the poster child for flawless parenting," her mother snapped in one drawn out, disgruntled breath.

"At least he tries."

"What do you call this?"

Paige began laughing this time, shaking her head in mock disbelief. "Compensating, you oblivious asshole," she barked, pounding both hands to the marble countertop. A set of cups and saucers rattled. "One night doesn't account for eighteen years."

"Then what more do you want from me?" Donna quickly challenged, hands extending outward but soon falling in defeat. I could see the same fire in Paige's eyes. I could see that there was no denying their relation.

I also saw the way Paige's demeanor stooped at once. It cowered, but not in defense. Surrendered, but not out of weakness. More so, her shoulders sank into themselves. Her eyes pleaded for explanation. Her expression screamed that the obvious was anything but. "Tell me to stay, Mom," she eventually breathed, eyes gently falling shut. "Tell me to stay, and I will. Because in a few short minutes, I'll be leaving. And once I'm gone, I won't be coming back. But all you have to do is say the word. Just tell me to stay, please."

It was entirely too desperate for her, but I sensed that eighteen years of internalizing one's own struggle was enough to elicit such a plea. There was insistency behind her words, and if I could hear it, then anyone could. Donna eventually cleared her throat, attention diverting to the countertop, where she began fumbling with a few select dishes. The passing moments were torturous, for hesitation often led to far worse.

I knew that, and I secretly hoped like hell that Paige didn't.

My wishes didn't matter, though. Not when Donna finally drew her attention back to the argument. Not when she began to neatly fold a dish towel. Not even as her daughter patiently awaited answer.

Instead, with one final breath, the woman met her child's gaze and said, "Then I guess this is goodbye."

White knuckles clenched tightly around the steering wheel are what drove us home that night. Paige was in another dimension, eyes often drifting just out the window. I had to correct her twice, reaching out and putting the vehicle back into position. Both times, she merely huffed. Not angrily. Not maliciously. Not defiantly and not remorsefully.

It was merely a huff.

With enough time, we pulled in to my driveway. There was no initial sprint for the door on either of our parts. The external night was beautiful despite what went on within individual dwellings, so I saw no issue in allowing it to work necessary magic. The dark had always been sort of a healing elixir for us, and I thought it to be just what Paige needed.

As minutes began pushing on an hour, though, I started to grow worried. Paige's eyes had remained glued in place the entire while, not once flinching. Eventually, I was forced to muster some sort of courage. To pray for sea legs that would undoubtedly be needed to navigate the rocky waters. Or, as I'd become accustomed to, I could simply take a leap of faith and wish that she'd be there to break my fall.

With the second in mind, I asked, "What's going through that head of yours?"

She blinked once, twice, eight times. Then, with the blankest expression I've ever seen, she said, "She's my mother, I am her child, and that doesn't mean a damn bit of anything." It sounded almost menacing, but I assumed more angry than demented. The softness in her eyes when she turned my way said otherwise. It reeked of longing. Urgency. Desolation. Gently and through a trembling lip, Paige then asked, "Why doesn't she love me, Emily?"

I wasn't so much dumbfounded or taken aback as I was trying to suppress the deadening feeling that washed over me. She was asking me to crack the DaVinci Code. She wanted me to go back in time and bum-rush the Titanic's captain, frightening him to the point of veering the ship's course. Paige wanted me to find the key to the universe, and I just sat there, utterly unaware that there was even a door.

I sat. I waited. I desperately needed God to put the words in my mouth.

There were a multitude of condolences that I could've offered. I could've told a knock-knock joke, started beat-boxing, or practiced bird calls in that moment and it probably wouldn't have mattered. Because Paige wasn't asking for much; she was only asking for everything all at once. So I did the only that made sense. "I do," I wholeheartedly muttered, sounding both timid and defiant. Skittish and confident. "I really, really love you."

Nervous is how I instantly felt. Apprehensive of her response, though I knew better than to have such fear. What came next was most surprising, especially considering the situation. Fresh from heartbreak, Paige unclicked her seatbelt, lifted the steering wheel's column, and in one fell swoop, climbed over the middle console, settling onto my lap.

Thighs vice-gripped around my hips as a mouth pressed firmly to mine. Two hands cupped my jaw as our tongues moved in tandem. It was feverish. It was quick. It was sloppy, to say the least.

But it was just what we needed.

I complied with her hastened pace, though it took virtually no convincing. My hands took on life of their own, peeling at the lower hem of Paige's shirt. Her upper body was operating on the same wavelength, it would seem, for both arms immediately shot into the air, aiding what little progress I was making. Seconds later, my fingers were fumbling with clasp of her bra.

Half-naked and sitting vulnerable in the passenger seat of my parents' car, Paige leaned back for a moment, eyes cutting deeply into mine. "You're all I've got, Emily," she began just as my lips began making their way toward the nape of her neck. "And I hope you're okay with that—" Groan. "—because right now, it's what I need most." Whimper. "Well, maybe not most."

She was talking way too much at that point. Regretfully, I pulled myself away from the base of her jaw, the point I'd made it to before her rambling became as such. Trying to suppress the heavy breathing that so wished to break free, I caught her glance, asking all too anxiously, "What is it that you need?"

"You," she sheepishly replied. "I need you to be okay with me needing you."

I nodded eagerly. "I'm okay if you're okay."

She then removed my hand that'd snaked its way up to the side of her neck, placed a single kiss to each finger, and nodded just the same.

Fifth Month- May

Graduation day came and went. It was nothing glorious, but it was memorable enough. The whole ordeal was. Standing alongside my four closest friends. The relieved smirk that never once left Paige's face. Her parents didn't make it, but mine were sure to include an extra congratulatory gift.

Paige finished near the top of our class; right below Spencer, actually.

We'd decided on a summer trip to Stanford, she and I. A tour of the campus to prepare us for what the fall had in store. Hanna insisted that she tag along too, and before I knew it, a too small car was packed with the over-stuffed bags of five teenage girls. "Be warned," I muttered to Paige as everyone was gathering the last of their belongings, "that this trip is going to be a total nightmare."

"Don't harsh my vibe, Fields," she joked. "Because so long as I have you and the occasional burrito, it could be the vacation from hell and I'd still be okay."

Her resolve held strong for the first day's drive. Everyone kept to themselves, exchanging small talk only when absolutely necessary. We took turns at the wheel, mostly in six hour intervals. And very rarely did we stop. Sometimes to pee and refill the tank. Others for food. But it was mostly full steam ahead en route to the west coast.

Paige was rambling on about puffy drapes and Grey Gardens in the backseat while Spencer was simultaneously reading off random facts from a trivia-based card game that she'd bought at the gas station. Neither faltered in their attempts at gaining the upper speaking hand. That is, until I heard the disgruntled sigh from just behind my head. Paige had fallen quiet and instead opted to glance over Spencer's shoulder.

"Capital of Wisconsin?" Spencer read aloud, obviously awaiting Paige's reply.

"Double-u."

Hannah snorted in laughter. Spencer found little amusement, but proceeded in asking, "'All you need is love' was a phrase coined by what band?"

"Lynyrd Skynrd."

Cue to Aria, who was biting her lip, smile slowly creeping along her mouth. "And what six-word phrase has achieved cult status after being muttered in every Star Wars film?"

Expressionless, Paige didn't even hesitate to deadpan, "No, Dad. I am your father."

No one could contain themselves after that. We howled at the seriousness of both brunettes expressions. They were still well into a Mexican stand-off when we ceased and fell quiet. I kept glancing into the rearview mirror, waiting for one to break, when Paige flashed a devilishly toothy grin. "Mind if I have a look-see?" she asked, then sounding seemingly interested in the game.

Spencer complied, handing over the deck. It wasn't three seconds later that a window rolled down and a stream of singular flying rectangles filled the rearview mirror. No one spoke after that. Instead, the sound of Hanna and Aria giggling filled the silence.

The backseat was terribly uncomfortable, what with Paige thinking it okay to spread out, using those trapped alongside her as pillows. She snored. She fidgeted. She kicked. And even as Hanna announced our arrival, rustling my roommate from a deep slumber, she refused to budge. Instead, Paige merely wiggled around as Spencer tried removing her feet from her lap. Through lidded eyes, the source of our discomfort chimed, "I don't move until—"

She pointed a finger at me and then to her puckered lips.

I shook my head, not wanting to be those people. You know, the ones that make out while others are forced to sit by and pretend as though it isn't happening? Evidently, Paige never got that memo, because her tapping grew more insistent. "Her feet smell, Em," Spencer eventually whined. "Take this one for the team, will you?"

And shortly after a quick peck to the lips, Paige leaned up, cocked her head at the other backseat brunette, and placed a slobbery kiss to the girl's cheek. "Best. Wingman. Ever."

Slight delirium was in high spirits when it came time for the campus tour. Aria, Hanna, and Spencer were sleeping soundly at the hotel while Paige and I had reached the point of laughing hysterically at menial things. It wasn't a fair trade, being that deprived of rest, but we somehow managed.

To be specific, we managed in the library, behind a towering stack of old school encyclopedias; pushed against the walls in the second of three tiny cafeteria restroom stalls; and in a broom closet that seemed as though it hadn't been used in a solid three decades. The tour guide started growing leery of our frequent bathroom runs, but we didn't have the heart to tell her that sloppy, open-mouthed make out sessions were the only things keeping either of us awake.

Exhausted and desperate for bed, we trudged along to the training facility. "Just a few months," Paige muttered as our group neared a set of double doors, where the pool laid just beyond. "Just a few more months and we'll be here, starting over."

"I haven't even been accepted," I said, suddenly feeling rather deflated. It felt like forever had come and gone since I'd submitted the admissions application. Paige had gotten a response in mere weeks. Why was it taking so long? I didn't mention anything, but part of me was growing more nervous by the day. We'd started building our lives around the idea of Stanford, and a wrench in the equation would be detrimental. Not just to our educations, but to us as beings that thrived off of the other.

Paige must have sensed the apprehension, for she gave the back of my neck a comforting squeeze. "They're going to want you," she said confidently. Then, as the guide began droning on about the pool's history, she leaned into my ear and whispered, "Maybe not as much as I do, but that's definitely a good thing."

Once foot finally met carpet later that evening, it took every ounce of resolve to not immediately pass out. We'd only just eaten pizza with the girls, but a full stomach was quickly taking its toll. Paige, alternatively, had new wind beneath her sails.

"What are you doing?" I asked when the girl began slowly inching her back to the far wall. There was no answer. Only the sight of brunette hair as it was pulled into a pony tail. "Paige."

"Practicing," she half-wittedly replied, beginning to gnaw on her bottom lip.

No sooner than "For what?" could fall from my lips, she took off in a dead sprint. Seconds later, she was swan-diving mid-air, then crashing face first onto the mattress. Mumbles into the bed spread followed shortly thereafter.

I was caught between giggling and wondering what in the hell I'd just witnessed when Paige finally lifted her head, grinning from ear to ear. "What in the world was that?" I asked, probably sounding too concerned.

"That, my dear, was how I plan on seducing you every night for the next four years," she casually explained. An arm snaked its way from underneath her body, propping her head up by means of a cupped palm to the ear. A leg bent slightly at the knee. Her lips jutted out in the slightest way. Then, with a flip of her hair, she asked in a sultry tone, "Is it working yet?"

I actually laughed this time. Especially as she began snorting like a pig, maneuvering her nose into the crook of my neck. Tickling fingers eventually joined. And it wasn't until I was breathless and gasping for air that Paige stopped, only to begin tracing lazy circles on my collarbones. "I can expect that little display every night, huh?" I asked once silence crept in and sleep seemed imminent. "Four years is quite the promise to keep. A long fucking time, really."

"And I could spend every second of it right here," she cooed, burrowing deeper into the pallet and wrapping both arms around my stomach.

"You're quite the charmer, Miss McCullers."

She yawned. "So I've been told."

What came from my mouth next was entirely out of left field, and even a bit unexpected. "And your parents would be extremely proud of you. Of where you've been, where you're going, who you were, and who you've become," I said to the head that rested below. "Because I know that I sure as hell am."

This was becoming our clearest line of communication. Me speaking; her listening, but not replying. Not verbally, at least. She'd instead opt for a subtle gesture of sorts. A squeeze. A kiss. A dashing jerk of the eye. A head dip. I received all four that evening, and it was as utterly okay as I'd felt in forever.

Rather than screw the moment up with more speech, I merely hugged her as tightly as physically possible. I cradled her head just under my chin. I peppered light kisses all along every available expanse of skin. I pulled her close, hoping she could hear or feel the heart's cadence that beat only for her.

Up until that point, I'd long since accepted loving Paige. But never before had I so wholeheartedly felt as I did in that moment. Never before had I fully succumbed to the blind passion that she bred within me.

To put it simply, I made an internal vow to love Paige McCullers with every fiber of my being, and if I could do so in these simple moments, there'd be no question as to whether or not she knew it.

Present Day- June

This morning, I'm abruptly woken by a startling dream. One in which a letter comes in today's mail; the red, blocky "S" dominating its left corner. One in which metaphor meets reality in such a way that stares back at me. A dream in which my fate is signed, sealed, and delivered.

Paige drools on my outstretched upper arm. She regularly sleeps somewhere in between my bicep and wrist, head weight taking its toll come each dawn.

I try coaxing myself back to sleep. Anything as a distraction. Diverting your attention, though, is a difficult practice when a mother's head pokes into your bedroom. When her smile withers into a frown at the sight of you and your girlfriend, who are supposed to be in separate rooms, snuggled under the covers. When you're busily trying to explain that nothing has happened via feverish, over-exaggerated dancing of the eyes.

Or when your mother holds up the very envelope from your nightmare, sending a chill down your spine.

I gently wiggle out from underneath Paige. She doesn't resist, but flops onto her side, dragging the sheets in tow. Mom purses her lips at the sight. I merely whisper, "What do you think will happen when we're alone and three thousand miles away?"

"A great deal of prayer, I'm hoping," she whispers in return, smiling.

We make it downstairs before the letter is slid my way. Suddenly, apprehension isn't as major a factor as fear. What if I didn't get in? What if I wasn't good enough by their standards? Oh, God. What is Paige going to say? She's going to be heartbroken. Ruined. I'll try to explain that life doesn't always work in our favor, but she won't listen. Instead, she'll merely make the journey across the country, where we'll become images of the past. A fond memory, at best.

"Emily? Emily," is what someone calls out. My mother flutters her hand in front of my face, trying to bring me back to. It takes a moment, but all eventually becomes well. "You've got that look," Mom points out. "The same look you had on the day of your very first swim meet."

"There's a little more than just some dumb plaque or medal riding on this," I answer too harshly.

But Pam Fields is an unwavering soul. She is not so easily unhinged. More a curse than a blessing, I think, earning another hurried wave of my mother's hand.

Terribly easy, being so anxious to hear the verdict when you're not the one on trial.

What happens if I go out there and everything turns to shit? What if Paige sees me for the frightened soul that I am, has a sudden change of heart, and leaves me stranded and alone so far from home?

Here's to hoping.

With a single slide of my finger, my soul is put at ease. With the opening of tri-folded paper, all fear and worry are laid to rest. I skim over the words, realizing that every ounce of apprehension leading up to this moment has been in vain. To further fret would be like trying to stop a plane from crashing by sitting in one's seat, belt drawn tight against the lap, reveling in an unquenchable state of panic. Anxiety has been nothing more than a leech, sucking the very life from my spirit. Fearing what's to come will only see to it that "what" becomes "what could".

Paige and I have nothing to fear, I'm now certain.

For, you see, there need not be any worry in regard our future together.

Because as I skim through the letter, focusing in on the topmost line…

As I read, "We regret to inform you that…"

Actualization comes into play. Reality sets in.

Paige and I need not be concerned about screwing our future up, because at this point, it no longer exists.