"Hey." The voice comes from behind me, but I don't turn around to greet the boy who it belongs to. I already know that he's standing there, propped up against the wall, scratching his head in a way that only he can make look sexy.

"Goode." I acknowledge him.

Neither of us move. I already know what he's going to say. Don't say it. Please, god, don't let him say it. I hate myself for thinking that. I hate him. I love him. I hate him. I…

I am in a disturbing stage of contradiction about how I feel about Zachary Goode. One second I'm considering kissing him, and the next, I'm about to punch him. I guess that's natural. He is my best friend's boyfriend-ish.

Technically, he's never asked her out, so I could call BS when she tried to accuse me of anything if I did go for him, but I won't. I won't act on how I feel. I won't smile or be happy either. This is my punishment for letting me feel anything for Zach. I won't even let myself look at him.

Not even now, at what should be the happiest moment of my life.

"I already know." I tell him as coldly as I possibly can. This is who I am now, cold and detached. "If I didn't, I wouldn't be here."

Here happens to be a secluded corner of the mansion, not one of Cammie's favorite hiding spots, one of my own. I sit in a dead end of a second floor hallway of the mansion. There's a small side table here filled with fresh flowers, so I know that other people come here too, but it feels secluded.

My hands idly primp at the flowers, adjusting them to look better, pulling off dead petals. I don't know much about the care and handle of flowers, but I need to do something with my hands. I need to not do anything stupid.

I feel his presence a foot behind me. We haven't touched in twenty-seven days. I haven't looked at him in twenty-four.

I am polar north, and so is he. When you try to put the two together, they bounce off each other. Because of this, I cannot even look at lay my eyes on him, they bounce right off.

"We can't keep on like this, Bex," Zach says quietly. "She's scheduled to be back in forty-eight hours."

My body is rigid. For so long, I looked forward to this day, where I am told that Cammie is coming home, but not that it has arrived, I just wish it would bloody go away.

Every time I close my eyes, I'm back on the kitchen counter, feeling Zach's lips press against me for the first time, brushing my cheek. Every time I blink, Zach's arms are around me as I sleep. Every time I try to sleep, I imagine he's there, arms wrapped around me. I still hear the sound of his heartbeat some days, strong and steady.

But I don't look at him. I keep my body turned toward the flowers and eyes locked on the colorful petals. I don't think Liz or Macey have figured it out yet, how Zach and I spent our summer, and I pray they never will. I already have Cammie to worry about, I don't need Liz's southern rage or Macey to water-board me—which she would if she ever found out.

I can have any guy I want, snatch anyone off the streets of Roseville and Macey will shrug and say, "Whatever floats your boat," but Zach is completely, entirely, utterly off-limits.

And I broke that. I fell for him. Everything—that slow, sexy smirk, his sense of humor, even that fragile side. All of him. Not to mention that he's got a really sexy back, which most girls don't seem to understand, but come on, when they've got muscle—shut up, Bex.

Okay, it's official, I have stooped to a new level of hating myself.

"What do you want me to do?" he asks. I can feel his gaze on my back. "Bex, I need you to tell me what to do, because I don't know what happened."

He's done it. No one thought it was possible, but Zach's done it. He's broken me. Not even Cammie managed to do that. The swagger from my voice and walk is gone, replaced simply by a girl who's working herself to death to make up for what she's done. What she will never be able to make up for.

"You bloody kissed me." I say listlessly. "That's what happened."

Behind me, Zach lets out a sigh and steps back. I know he's got a hand on his head. It's what he does when he's frustrated or confused. He spent most of the summer with a hand on the side of his head, pacing around, looking lost.

He spent last summer like that because of Cammie. Because he loves Cammie.

"Oh." Is all he says.

Can't breathe. Need air. But I don't let myself breathe. That would break the silence that we find ourselves in. I've taken a liking to silence. I like the complete peace, the thoughtlessness it provides.

Zach puts a hand on my forearm. "I'm sorry, Bex. I shouldn't ha—I mean, this summer was… Damn."

And the next thing I know, he's spun me around and pressed his lips to my own. It's soft and sweet and comforting. My arms go around his neck without my brain's permission. In fact, my brain pretty much shuts off. All that I know is that Zach taste so good and that I love the way he feels pressed up against me.

I close my eyes and press into the kiss, tangling my fingers in his hair and biting his lips.

Suddenly I'm back pinned against the wall and Zach is staring down at me, breathing hard. "I had to do that." he says.

I know the look he gives me. As a spy, I grew up in a world where a simple look means anything and everything. So, I know the look that he's giving me means goodbye. It means I'm sorry. It means I had to do that one last time.

So I soften my expression and hope he reads it as it originally meant: Don't go. I will never forgive you if you do.

I sink down to the ground, unintentionally dragging Zach with me. Even now, he won't leave me. We are still using each other as support. Zach is still my crutch. Perhaps he always will be.

"Hey," he whispers, putting his hands on either side of my face and kissing my forehead gently, "We'll figure it out, Bex. Maybe things'll sort themselves out when she gets back." But they won't—not when I feel like this.

Forcing a small smile, I nod. I do what I've spent my entire life training to do when I need to. I lie. "Yeah, they will. Thing will go back to normal."

If he picks up on the slight crack in my voice, he doesn't let on. Zach simply nods and quickly presses his lips to my own one last time before standing and starting back down the hall. I don't cry, that would be too cliché for me. So I simply stare after him, wishing he would come back, wishing I hadn't thought that.

When he reaches the end of the hall, Zach looks back at me. I know that look. It means I'm sorry that I love you. I know it means that because it's the look I see every time I'm in front of a mirror. That look means I'm gonna have to spend my entire life making it up to Cam for what we did this summer, for what's leftover.

So I stand and leave my hallway, taking a flower from the vase. Chances are I'll never be able to come back with a memory so strong still residing in it. I let out a sigh, frustrated and broken, but slowly mending.

Eventually I'll be able to look at Zach and feel nothing romantic. Eventually being the key word here.

Eventually means that I won't heal immediately. It means that I will have to suffer for a while before I can get better. But it also means that I will get better. It means that there's hope. And right now, I'm in desperate need of some hope.

Macey sits on her bed, staring at a copy of Vogue, Liz is studying her notes. This is their way of coping with the news that while Cammie is alive and coming back, she doesn't remember anything.

Macey looks up at me and smiles. It's hopeful and without thinking about it, I smile back at her. The goddess of boys knows nothing of my summer. She does not know that I am in love with our roommate's boyfriend.

Despite my own melodramatic recent life, Macey and Liz are my proof that life goes on.

"Where were you?" Macey asks as she sits up.

I shrug. "Talking to Zach." I won't lie to her, but I won't tell the whole truth.

She nods and looks back at her magazine, then stops and looks back up with a dangerously raised eyebrow. "Hey, Bex. Why are your lips swollen?"

Bloody hell.