I walked out of there as fast as I could, feeling the tears hot at my eyes, threatening to spill over any second if I looked at him again.

Somehow, my whole life, I knew it would come to this day. All the drinking, smoking, parties, everything would cash in, and somehow, against my advantage. I fooled myself into believing that he cared about me, that my own father gave even the slightest shit about me, but it was a lie I told sanguinely all my life.

The tears came out, too many to hold any longer. Everything that's going on in my life right now, it's too much for me to handle. There's no more running, there's no more escaping my responsibilities. I have to recognize the reality of the situation- my friends could be in coffins right now because of me. Because of something I did.

But I don't want to recognize it.

I don't want to believe that the things that I do in the early years of my adulthood might actually mean something. It sure doesn't mean anything to dad, the old bastard. He wouldn't listen- he never gave a fuck about me before, not when I wanted him to care, needed him to care… and this reality is, he never will.

Maybe that's just my teenage years feeding me all this about my father. Maybe my judgement is clouded by my inability to take responsibility for anything in my damn life. Well just maybe, this time I can't convince myself that my life actually fucking means something.

My head hurts. My eyes can barely adjust from fatigue, hangover, whatever the fuck's going on in my body right now. I don't care, really.

Where are my damn cigarettes?

Back pocket. Wait to go, Oakley. Now you're really losing it.

My hand is shaking as I bring one up to my mouth, and I don't know why.

Shit. I left my lighter at the house.

No way in hell am I going back there, not now, not until all of this has cooled down. If it ever does.

I curse as I shove them back into my pocket.

This whole day has been a mess. This whole trip has. I've got to figure my life out, because once we get back from Tuscany, I've got nowhere to go. My stupidly optimistic parents paid for me to go to some, classy, snob college in Cambridge, but guess what? I fucked that up too. They took one look at my record, and turned me away, no matter how much my parents would pay.

I've got nothing to work for, really. I've got nothing to live for.

That thought really scares the hell out of me. I guess the parties made up for the emptiness I felt, filling every little dark corner. Every moment I got with my conscious mind to think, I clouded with booze or nicotine, simply because I couldn't stand to ration with my own the thoughts, the truth that I knew was real. This is the first time in months I've actually been honest with myself.

My god, what the others must think of me now. That new Italian girl I've been admiring… she must think I'm a whining bitch. Another screw up, Oak. Splendid going.

And what about my mother, her friend Anna-

Anna!

Anna was the one that got me into this whole thing! She must have been the one who told mother abut the car accident, the one who told everything! It couldn't have been my friends, they would never do something like that over their lives, they know me. My god, and I trusted her. I gave her the comfort she needed when her marriage turned to shit.

I've got nothing more to say to her, then.

There are my friends coming for me now. I suppose they'll want to know what happened in there. I'll tell them what happened.

A betrayal, and an honest realization.