I don't know if she'll see this or not, but JuneMeddleton182404, you are the best thing that can happen to a writer! I tried to pm you earlier, but it seemed that you've blocked that in your settings. I suppose this is the only way I can communicate to you. I just really, really, really want to give you a biggish hug for the incredible messages/reviews you've left for Journal! Reading what you wrote has really softened a hard day, I appreciate it so so much! Thank you so much for putting in the time and effort into writing to me. :))

And without further ado, I present to you the fourteenth chapter of Cold!

"Hi, honey, how are you feeling?" Helen kindly asks her daughter, ruffling her hair. "Are the headaches getting better?"

"Not really," Clare informs quietly, holding her head in a futile attempt to stop the pounding. She squeezes her eyes shut, concentrating on diminishing the throbbing pain. She feels as if there's tiny construction worker trapped inside her skull, trying to drill his way out. A heavy construction worker, at that, with a fifty tonne drill on hand.

"Do you want me to bring you some soup?" her mom offers.

Clare smiles weakly. "Yes, please."

"I'll just run down to the plaza down the street. Be back in a bit," she promises, kissing her cheek before grabbing her coat and exiting.

She's sixteen, and like her mom had said, she shouldn't be dealing with any of this. Due to the nature of the accident, she's been dealing with major headache and migraines for the past few weeks. Her eyelids are constantly threatening to droop, and she feels perpetually tired. Worst yet, the details of how it all came about are still fuzzy, just as the details of her life are. It's like trying to find reception on a TV, in the midst of a horrid snowstorm; all you see is grey fuzz. She's glad, at the very least, to have incredibly supportive parents who love her so much. They've been extremely patient with walking her through her childhood, staying up with her to the wee hours of the morning discussing important past occurrences. She learned that she was on her way home in a taxi during a blizzard when a truck crashed into her. She discovered that she was also very well-loved by a boy named Jake Martin, who would be visiting her again later in the day. She had seen pictures of them together in her father's wallet, and though she doesn't quite remember him, he appears to be exactly how her mother described him- tall, handsome, good-humoured, and strong. He was also very caring and considerate, according to Helen, and had come to see her multiple times before she had wakened. "I wouldn't be surprised if you two got married someday," her mother had said with a smile. "He's good for you, Clare-bear," her father had added. They both seemed quite fond of him, and so she assumed that he really was all these great things. Quickly she became anxious to see him, anxious to see all these good character traits of him.

When she asked them why she did not attend school, they told her that she was home-schooled. That would explain my lack of friends, she thinks wondrously. Considering, not many people had came to visit her. There was this boy with brown hair and blue eyes who had stopped by earlier, who claimed to be one of her best friends. Helen and Randall hadn't been around at that point to confirm, so she just went along with it. His name was Adam, and he was very funny and witty. She liked having him around.

There had also been that boy with the skull cane, He had dark features and slightly frantic edge to him, and he scared her a bit. He claimed he was her boyfriend, but Jake was her boyfriend, was he not? All of this was becoming increasingly complicated.

"Where did your mom go, Ms. Edwards?" the same red-headed nurse from before asks her, taking her blood pressure. The same nurse who shooed away the scary dark guy.

"She's getting me soup," she answers. "My dad's at work."

"It's a cold day today, isn't it?" the nurse says conversationally, pumping the little ball pump. The wrap suffocates Clare's arm, and it's an odd feeling indeed. "Soup would be ideal."

Clare nods and hums a familiar tune. At least, it sounds familiar. She's not sure what the song is called or who sings it, but she knows the tune very well. She hums and hums, then looks around the room. It's mostly empty, and it's enough encouragement to muster up a bit of courage. She wants to ask her something.

"Nurse, you know that boy who came to visit me earlier? What was his name?"

"I believe it's Elijah- Elijah Goldsworthy. He occupies the room down the hall," she says, finally ripping off the wrap.

Elijah- like the prophet? Was this boy religious like her?

"Knock knock," a voice calls from the door. Clare leans to the side, around the nurse to peer over at her visitor.

"Hello," she greets shyly, watching the boy set a beautiful bouquet of flowers on her bedside table. The wide assortment of colours and scents instantly livens up the hospital room, and Clare reaches out to touch one of the petals. It's waxy and real, and feels damp on her cool skin. "You must be Jake."

"That I am. How are you, Clare? You look good," he compliments, his weight dipping the mattress down towards him. Jake runs a hand through his rain-darken hair, smiling at her with a wicked twinkle in his eye.

"Thank you. And thank you for the flowers, they're pretty," she inhales deeply, enjoying the pleasant aroma.

"Pretty flowers for the pretty girl," he murmurs, leaning forward to kiss her cheek.

"How long have we been together?" Clare asks abruptly, feeling stupid for not knowing. She twiddles her thumbs together, knowing that it is an important question to ask, but still feeling dumb altogether.

"A few months," he answers smoothly. "Our parents are pretty friendly."

"So everyone approves?"

Jake presses his lips together to stifle a smirk. It should bother him that he's blatantly lying to the girl he's supposed to be in love with, but on the contrary, he's delighted. With that Eli guy completely erased from her mind, the odds are on his side. No shits given on the fact that he most likely looks like the villain in this scenario.

Now, he's not sure if he truly loves Clare the way Eli claims to. He's not sure of what love is supposed to feel like. And it'd probably be a lot easier from the beginning if he had just let them be, but for some reason, something is keeping him grounded in the Edwards residence. There's no doubt in his mind that he harbours some feelings for Clare- how strong, how conditional, he doesn't know. There are a lot of things he doesn't know of, and that's merely ignorance within himself masked by a suave exterior and the tendency to talk only when he needed to.

"Everyone approves," he nods.

And so the lying game begins.

-x—

Eli Goldsworthy was discharged nineteen days after the accident. The limp in his leg would take much longer to fully heal, and he's still sore in many areas of his body. But he's generally healthy, and all the doctors had confirmed the full restoration of his health should happen in a few more weeks. He feels physically fine, for the most part.

Emotionally, he feels beaten and bruised and screwed over by fate.

"Did she remember you?" he asks Adam resentfully upon seeing him.

"No, but we chatted. She seems the same, for the most part," Adam replies, trying to throw in as much optimism as he could.

The make matters even worse, Eli would have to endure through an entire bus ride home with all his stuff- yes, the bus. The nasty yellow sucker would have to play substitute until he gets his hands on another car. The day really can't get any worse than from taking the bus- fares are outrageously expensive in comparison to the last time he went a bus ride. Riding with all the passengers also serve as a cruel reminder of what privilege he no longer had. Morty was squashed to a pulp, along with all his favourite CDs and comic books stored inside.

"Are you ready to go?" Adam asks uncertainly, watching Eli fixate upon the narrow hall. When he wasn't bitter or angry, the poor boy had resorted to desperately hoping that Clare would somehow remember again, and come running out the door into his arms. "Or do you want to say goodbye to Cl…"

"No," he mutters acerbically. "It's not like she'll remember me."

Adam doesn't press the matter, and so they walk to the bus stop in tense silence.

Around the edges, Eli is angry. He's livid at the world, at himself, at the idiotic truck driver, etc, for letting this happen. It was one mistake. One little mistake that sent his entire world crumbling down into ashes around his feet. One impulsive decision, one little argument that ruined everything. He's furious at the weather for making traffic so awful, because had it been decent they would have been out of the car before such a dispute could erupt. The freaking snow made it impossible to go anymore, and he's mad at that. He's pissed at the damn truck driver for not slamming down on the brakes fast enough to prevent the crash. But most of all, he despises himself for slamming down on the brakes too fast. When it really got down to it, he knows he's to blame, and he hates it. He hates himself.

But down into the core, where all his deepest emotions emanates from, Eli is fucking bleeding. It fucking kills him that the girl he would die for doesn't recognize him. He clearly remembers her face, how terrified she had been of him; her eyes had been wide with fright. She saw him as some freaky stalker, not the guy she was in love with. The love is gone. Though in her mind, there had never been any love in the first place.

He grips the pole with both hands, and presses his forehead against the cold mental.

She doesn't remember you.

There's a clawing sensation in his heart, viciously scraping at him, letting him bleed to the death. Something is squeezing him, suffocating him, letting him dry and wither and gray. There're only flashes in his mind; Clare screaming, the crash, the distance between them stretching out as he's being dragged away.

He lets out a roar of pain, banging the pole with his bare fists. Some part of his mind warns him that his knuckles would bleed, given the force he was exerting, but the hell with it. There'll probably be a small dent on the metal after he's done.

"Eli!" Adam cries. He tries to hold him down, but all to no avail. "Eli, stop!"

"Fuck!" he shouts, roughly shaking him off. He elbows Adam firmly in the ribs, causing the poor younger boy to let go and cringe, and continues to thrash about. A stream of anguish profanities escapes Eli with absolutely no self-control involved. Hot, angry tears are slipping down his enraged face, coating his ruddy cheeks, and melting into the snow.

Helpless once again, Adam just stands in the back and clutches his stomach. Some fucking friend I am, he thinks, tormented by his best friend's pain. He'd always been able to handle a broken Eli, as he frequented this state more times than he can remember. He and Clare had always been rocky- bordering unmanageable, but nothing time and immeasurable effort can't fix.

But after the accident…the relationship that had been set precariously on the tip of a cliff had finally been pushed off the edge. He has never seen Eli in so much pain before, not when they first broke up, not when the cops had caught up with them in the carnival. At the tender age of seventeen, Eli had already found the most difficult love to exist- the forbidden kind. The unconventional kind. The kind every force in the world seems to be trying to break. And instead of proceeding with caution, he took off running with it. He loves with a love so unconditional, so irrevocable, nothing could ever tarnish the raw purity of it. Perhaps it didn't matter much that someone disapproved of their relationship; he still loved Clare with a burning passion ignited with a flame that could not be put out by the means of trivial opinions. Their time together had been limited- so be it. He did not think of it as major set-back, nor did he ever consider the idea that he would better enjoy a relationship with someone he could spend more time with. That just made him value the time he had with her more.

It just hurt because he thought he had it all, and suddenly it was so cruelly taken away from him.

He lashes out and screams and pounds until he could do it no longer, until all his energy and stamina has been drained. Panting heavily, he collapses into an exhausted heap on the ground.

"I can't do this Adam," he sniffs, shivering from both the cold and the intensity of his tantrum. He breathes raggedly, shallowly, and the puffs of smoke coming from his mouth look just as ragged and shallow. Oh God, he's a mess.

A moment of silence drifts between him, Adam nervously wracking his brain for something to say.

"I-"

"I have to go see her," Eli hoarsely cuts through him, as if he had said nothing at all. He hurriedly scrambles to his feet without hesitation, walking full-speed towards the hospital. Rub, rub, rub the tears streaming down his face, and ignore the awful constricted feeling of his throat. His bum leg slows him down, making it harder to walk.

Eli and his erratic mood changes are enough to give anyone whiplash. Adam, being the fucking friend he is, follows right behind him in case something happens- and knowing Eli, there is always an endless list of things that can go wrong.

"What are you going to say?" he huffs, struggling to keep up with his long strides.

"I have no idea," Eli answers honestly, his face displaying not a single etch of humour. "But I do usually thrive in extemporaneous speeches, so I'm counting on that."

"So in other words, you're just going to wing it," he says bluntly.

"In so many words." He smiles bleakly.

His mind is in a completely blur. The sound of the hospital staff chattering about in hushed tones don't quite reach his eardrums, as he's so focused on walking without falling apart. With every staggered limp, his knees threaten to buckle, just daring him to take another step forward. And another. And another.

And when he reaches the room, he balks.

"Damn, crap I can't do this!" Panic creeps up his spine. He yanks his hand away from the doorknob, and begins to pace back and forth at an alarmingly quick speed.

Dear God, this guy, Adam thinks desperately, up to ends with his constant mind changing.

"Yes you can!" he encourages, switching tactics. Enough with just going along with it, he's talking charge. He seizes his shoulder to stop him from moving. "You're Eli Fucking Goldsworthy, for fucking sake!"

"Yeah, well, this little fucker is nothing to her anymore," he spits out, staring at his feet. Then in smaller, more fearful voice, he asks "What if she won't listen to me? What if she just thinks I'm psycho?"

"You are psycho," Adam says firmly. "But you're still you. And somewhere deep inside, Clare is still the same Clare who chose to run away with you."

"So?" he says pessimistically.

"So, find that Clare. Go!"

Shoving him with all his might, the door bursts open. Eli staggers in, his cane falling down beside him just as he tumbles down. Sprawled, crumpled on the cold floor, he clutches his leg and lets out a gasp of pain, willing the shooting, excruciating discomfort to go away. Because damn it Adam, that hurt a lot.

Then he looks up.