"It's too late," she said.

"Don't say that." His voice was half a whisper. "I love you, Tessa. I love you."

Will hadn't talked to his mother or his sister in three days. Well, that is to say, he didn't make or respond to attempts at conversation. He'd accepted a bare minimum of communication and stuck to it, barely saying simple 'good morning's and 'good night's and 'I'll be back by six'. He saw their eyes growing in worry but neither said anything much about it- Though, he didn't give them much of an opening to. Perhaps they assumed he was going through a rough time in his relationship with his girlfriend, or simply out of sorts, or so he hoped. The truth was, he was out of sorts. He felt he knew them, more so than he felt he knew the supposed friends who had called to him in the halls on that day of school. And yet. . . as with the dreams, there was a gap. Will Herondale felt his life was an empty shell, he searched and searched but trying to find meaning in it or in his relationships with those around him just made his head hurt. So he accepted avoidance as the temporary solution. And it worked rather well for dodging pain; that is, until his mother and sister walked directly into the Police Station where he was held.

They'd arrested him after the punch he'd managed to land, but not before he'd put in a hell of a fight. An assault charge. He could only be glad Jem hadn't had the speed or the idiocy to follow him, or he too would be in handcuffs, and as quickly stricken from the emancipated minor list as you could say 'deadmeat'. He could only be glad he was still a minor. So he was vaguely satisfied at at least that. But in truth, it was hard to care about anything. He was, or he made himself be, numb as he sat, handcuffed to a chair, wasting away the hours by staring at the one dusty clock hung on a beige it had been many hours. The clock's hands had verged on one quite a while ago before getting stuck in a continual tap against the 35 second mark. Now, he guessed it was quite late. His mother walked through the door at the 784th stroke of 1:43:35, and the hour, which had been late before, suddenly felt like the point of utter exhaustion. Linette Herondale looked as if she felt the same way.

The bags under her eyes, dark enough that he'd noticed before, even while avoiding her, were now so profound she looked almost ill, the wrinkles along her forehead very distinct indeed. She walked into the police station determinedly but with an expression of one who had grit their teeth in the process of completing an unpleasant task that made Will think she'd spent quite a bit of time outside the station, trying to force herself to walk through it's doors. Try as he might, he couldn't pry his eyes away from her. The look on her face caused him physical pain.

Linette Herondale was a rather short, thin woman, with sallow cheeks, and deep laugh lines. Her eyes darted, tiredly but alert, around the small dead station, before landing on him. For a brief, terrifying moment, he thought for sure she might cry, her blue eyes widening and mouth pursing tight, but she quickly settled back into the slumped look of disappointment she had entered with. Linette did not go to Will, nor did she speak to him, she simply turned her head slightly and held her chin higher.

Cecily followed behind her, allowing him to move his gaze from his mother, though she was not a sight for sore eyes either. Her long, black hair was rather a mess, her eyes (one thing they held identical) red rimmed. She did not look tired nor depressed, but had her lips pursed so tightly they were white, hugging herself, her nails digging into her arms. She did not even glance his way. In the back of his head, he was grateful.

His mother approached the desk, where Will's dear and bosom friend, The Flabby Policeman, as he had lovingly called him for the past three hours, sat slumped in his reclining chair, reading 'People' and chewing halfheartedly on a stale piece of half eaten pizza. He was, clearly to Will, a man of refined taste.

Linette placed a hand lightly on the desk, her other clutching the faded brown coat she wore closer to her body as if she was cold. She sighed heavily and leaned across the counter.

"Excuse me, my name is Linette Herondale. I received a call to come pick up my son?" she asked, her voice, tinted with Welsh, tired, yet kind nonetheless.

Flabby glanced over the top of his magazine. "Eh?" he asked, sniffing rather loudly as he did so, and rubbing his mustache with a single fat finger.

"My son," Linette repeated, looking as though her patience was waning. "William Herondale. Arrested for causing a disturbance? I wasn't told what sort."

Flabby simply stared at her for a moment, his blue eyes containing what looked to Will as awfully close to suspicion. He sat up slowly with a grunt, and gestured to Will with his copy of 'People'.

"This your son m'am?" he asked gruffly over his mustache, twitching it.

"Yes."

"He a minor?"

"Yes, he is," she said wearily. "Thank God," she added in a mutter, shooting her first glance at Will in minutes. A glare.

Flabby cocked a bushy brow. "Punched a security guard. Flat in the nose."

"Actually, it wasn't anywhere near his nose," Will spoke up, blue eyes alight with dark humor. "It was his-"

"William, be quiet," Linette snapped, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples.

Will sunk back into his chair, and, out of reflex, tried to reach a hand up to run through his hair. It was stopped rather painfully by the cuff. He winced.

Will stared at the ceiling as his mother filled out paperwork. He was purposely keeping his mind completely blank, picturing only the plain beige wall before him in his mind. When his mind began to flick back to the matter at hand, he switched to mentally reciting 'God Save the Queen'.

Suddenly she was beside him, a paper in hand, Flabby at her side.

The policeman took a knee (to a long backtrack of grunts and sighs) and pulled a single key from off his belt, stuck it into Will's handcuffs, and unlocked them. His wrists released and he could not resist the impulse to let out a loud sigh of relief as the blood pounded back into his hands. Linette stared at him, mouth a thin line.

"Let's go," she said quietly.

They walked together to the car in silence. He moved for the passenger seat, before being roughly shouldered away by Cecily, her face taught. Neither she or his mother looked at him. He swallowed back a hard lump in his throat, climbing into the backseat and shutting the door. The three sat in the car in perfect and complete silence. No one spoke. It was minutes before Linette Herondale pulled out her key. Will noticed as she moved it to the keyhole, her hand was shaking so violently she could not get it in. Panic knotted in his chest.

"Mam-" he spoke up anxiously, his voice sounding hoarse, contemptuous mask falling.

Linette Herondale's face froze at these words before she dissolved into violent sobs, her face buried in her hands.

"Mam!" Will said louder this time. "Why are-"

"Don't you dare speak to her!" snapped Cecily, spinning around in her chair, staring at him with furious, betrayed eyes. "You are filth William Herondale, absolute filth!"

Will faced his sister, expression shocked. "I know I've gotten arrested but I'm a minor it won't stay on record-"

"It's not that, you insensitive clod-"

"Cecily, please," his mother interrupted sharply, trying to dry her eyes on her sweater. "Gwilym-" her voice broke. "What's happened to you? The past three days you haven't spoken or even looked at Cecily or myself, you don't eat, half of the time you look so pale you scare me to death-" She choked on a sob. "What happened? What did we do wrong?" She sobbed into her sweater for a long moment after this declaration, Will sitting, pale as death, stock still. He barely breathed.

He didn't know who he was as he sat in the backseat. Now, and not for the first time, he felt like no one at all.

Finally Linette managed to calm herself, gasped a deep breath and let out a long, shaky sigh. "William, if you've begun to do drugs you can tell me-"

He didn't speak, only stared straight ahead as she turned around and looked at him, red eyes imploring.

"Or- Or if you've begun to gamble or- Or-" she broke off, shuddering. "Punching security guards at a Pop Concert? I can't even conceive of what could've caused you to do that but drugs or even. . even a gang," she spoke in a hushed voice, her Welsh accent stronger than ever now. She forced a shaking smile to her lips. "Gwilym, if you think I won't understand you're wrong. You know, your own father was - sorry - is tempted by the vices and sometimes, even. . even now he-"

"Stop," Will cut her off, voice emotionless. "Please. Just- Just let's go home." He did not alter his frozen expression, but, as his mother's fragile smile dissolved and he saw hatred for him burn in Cecily's eyes, he was grateful for the dark that hid his shaking hands. Grateful for the dark that hid his expression in the silence of the whole desolate drive home.

He had a lot of time to think in that silent ride, a lot of time he didn't want, but it gave him time to come to a resolution. He was going to have to change himself, he resolved silently, he was going to have to pretend it didn't all feel wrong. And he was going to have to completely forget ever thinking he knew Theresa Gray.

Hey guys! Thanks for reading another chapter of LIT :) (Remember to keep reading and follow!) I know it was a bit slow going and dramatic but prepare yourselves for the next chapter because a lot is about to change. . . ~Kathryn Maxim