So I think the award for worst author/updater and most unreliable person ever can go to me, right? I am infinitely sorry for the ridiculous delay, but my poor excuse is that school and life got in the way-I won't bore those of you who are still following with the details. This chapter is unedited and unrevised (sorry Al), but once I finished it (just now, at 2:30 in the morning), I knew I had to put it out ASAP. Without further ado, chapter eight and a thanks to the readers who haven't given up on me.

Realizations

It was Tuesday and I was sitting across from Chloe in the library, head bent as I drew the corresponding parabola to an equation. I thanked whoever it was in charge of these things that I was good at math, for I paid no conscious thought to what I was doing.

I hadn't had any contact with Chloe since last Monday when I had found her in her car. In the week since, I hadn't suddenly grown socially competent and I still had no idea how to approach things, nor if I wanted to. I wanted to know if she was okay, I maddeningly wanted her to know that I was here for her if she needed me to be, as clichéd and idiotic as that sounded. But being there for her, voluntarily wanting to provide that comfort and support for her, threatened to bring us closer in yet another way, one that I wasn't sure I was ready for or could handle. Throughout the week, every time I had laid eyes on her, I was assaulted by the overwhelming desire to go up to her and draw her near, shielding her from the world's possible cruelty. The desire to be close to her, to have her in sight and know positively that she was all right, that she was safe, was almost tangible and it took all that I had to keep my distance, which was not only necessary, but a precaution. I had yet to figure out why I felt the way I did—I was dealing with emotions I had never felt and had yet to name—and it seemed smarter, safer and saner, to clear up my inner-confusion before going back to Chloe, who I was certain would only make me more confused considering she was the source of such—my confusion, that is.

Looking up, the explanation regarding the drawing ready on my lips fell away as I registered the deathly glower that was gracing her features. Her petite frame was stiff, her chin jutted out in a way that can only be described as quintessentially Chloe, and her eyes narrowed in supreme concentration, as if imagining hard enough would actually produce the daggers she was glaring at me.

"What's wrong," I asked, surprised. She seemed fine when she had walked into the library—what had happened between now and then? What could I have possibly done?

"Nothing," she replied airily.

I regarded her levelly, eyes narrowed slightly in an attempt to pull the justification for her defensiveness from her, but she wouldn't relent. She was hell bent on remaining silent.

"I wouldn't have pegged you as the passive aggressive type," I said finally, hoping this would induce her into talking. Chloe was not passive aggressive, she was even incapable of being so. Everything she felt was clear on her face; being so would be pointless.

"Are you—Look, about last Monday. I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me and I'm sorry you had to be there to witness it," she explained quickly, casting her eyes downwards.

Why was she apologizing? Did she actually think that I minded being there for her? Had I somehow given off the impression that I was burdened by her and her confession? Wracking my brain, I couldn't think of anything that could possibly justify her feelings.

Placing my fingers under her chin hesitantly, but needing to see her eyes, I forced her to look at me for she seemed determined to do anything but, and asked, still truly perplexed, "Why are you apologizing?"

"It was just a lot to dump on you so unexpectedly and in such a short amount of time," she said quietly.

Satisfied that she wouldn't look away and realizing that I could no longer justifiably hold onto her chin, I slowly let go, saying, "You have nothing to apologize for." And she didn't; I could hardly fathom the fact that she was apologizing.

"I j-just thought… I didn't know w-why…" she trailed off, looking oddly embarrassed, sheepish even. Could she possibly think that I'd been avoiding her, purposefully keeping her at arm's length because I didn't want to feel that emotional responsibility towards her, that commitment? While that was untrue, she didn't know it, couldn't read minds, and the only way I'd find out would be to verbalize it, seeing as she seemed to be having difficulty finishing her sentences. But I couldn't be sure if that's what she wanted to know—we rarely spoke in school. I did want to know the reason for her apology though…

Finally, deciding the hell with it, I said slowly, "Chloe, I haven't been ignoring you, if that's what you've been trying to get at."

She physically sagged at my words, looking as if some great tension had left her. She kept quiet though, still looking preoccupied, her brow creasing—I had a feeling she wasn't thinking about math.

"Are you going to be able to focus today," I asked, just to get it over with. There's no point in tutoring her if she isn't actively listening—she won't absorb any of the information. If I can't tutor her today though, that means our time will have to come to an end and I don't want that, don't want her to walk away when I've begun to almost count on what is now her dependable company. Not to mention that if I'm forced to go home, I'll have an extra forty-five minutes to think about her than I normally do… Yeah, as if I need anymore of that to assure myself that I haven't lost my mind completely.

"No," she replied, sounding slightly sheepish and looking apologetic.

"Well then I don't know what to do," I admitted, frustrated not only by the fact that I didn't know, but also because I knew what I wanted to do—anything, really, as long as it involved her—but didn't know how to approach it, how to evaluate it, because I've never wanted to spend time with anyone as badly as I seemed to want to spend time with her.

"We could do something," she suggested hesitantly.

"What do you mean by 'do something,'" I asked, cautiously curious, though I couldn't help but feel wary too.

"I mean something completely unrelated to math," she stated.

My mind began to whir as the implication of her words sank in. Was she suggesting that we hang out? On top of not being able to wrap around my head around the fact that she was the one to ask, my initial wariness has now become an overbearing assault on my senses. How would I act with Chloe outside of an academic setting? What would we do? Why did she want to spend time with me in the first place?

Now that the possibility has become a probable reality, to become true with one word from me, I didn't know whether I wanted to accept it, could accept it. Being alone with Chloe in unchartered territory was unplanned for, extremely unanticipated, and I didn't know how to feel about these knew—or lack thereof—limits. Our old ones—pupil and mentor—were comforting for at least I knew where I stood, what our relationship required. Now, with Chloe being something to me I had yet to find a name for—pupil is laughable and I'm beginning to doubt friends spend as much time thinking about one another as I do thinking about her—I had no idea how far these ambiguous boundaries spread, nor if I could handle it.

"That would be very irresponsible. Williams expects me to tutor you, not to go gallivanting through the town," I say, for it's the only defense I can conjure, the only solid argument I have. It's simpler than explaining that while I have mentally jumped at her offer, it is also the last thing I want to do for I don't know where things will lead.

"Don't you ever have any fun," she asked challengingly, eyes narrowing and dancing with amusement.

Call it what you want—pride, infallible male ego, my natural inability to resist a challenge—but it no longer became a question of whether I could accept the risk of accepting her invitation or safely decline. The question all but vanished for I could no longer pass her up. She was presenting me with a challenge and I could already feel myself rising up to face it.

Resting my elbows on the table, I said, "On one condition."

"Name your price," she replied, sounding as if she was suppressing inexplicable elation.

"I'm tutoring you tomorrow and I don't care if you're bored or not. You're sitting through a whole hour of geometry whether you like it or not."

Fighting off the twitching of her lips, she held out her hand. "Deal."

I rolled my eyes at the severity and level of professionalism with which she was handling our negotiation, gently pushing away her hand only to be met by her radiant smile.

"I need to stop somewhere first," I warned, internally amazed that I was able to remember through the haze that she brought on.

"Fine by me," she replied breezily.


Standing in front of the door to Williams' classroom, Chloe turned to me with narrowed eyes, accusation glinting in their blue depths, and crossed arms. Funnily enough, her demeanor conjured up the image of an angry kitten.

"Nothing math related, remember," she reminded, stressing the latter.

Knocking, I looked down at her. "This'll only take a second."

Williams opened the door moments later, a smile gracing his features as soon as he took us in, with no tightness around his eyes whatsoever.

"Ah, Mr. Souza and Ms. Saunders, what can I do for you?"

"I just need that book you said you got from me," I replied. Having finished fractal geometry earlier than he had planned, my past few math classes have been rather unstructured as he waited for the manual on differential equations to come in.

Leading us into the classroom, he was rifling thought the papers on his desk when he said, rather dispassionately, "I corrected the test you had last week, Chloe."

With those words, my sputtered oddly before restarting more rapidly than before. This was it; the first piece in evidence that would shed light on whether or not our sessions had done any good, or whether I had managed to confuse her even further since I hardly knew at times what was coming out of my mouth—I could only fall back on the fact that I knew math like I knew the back of my hand and that explanations would come without second thought. Mr. Williams had been gracious enough to give me the benefit of the doubt when everyone around him turned up their noses in dismissal, and I was thankful for that; the only way I could see to repay him would be granting him the simple favor of successfully helping someone he wanted to aid.

He handed me my book while also handing Chloe her test face down. She stared at it, unmoving, and the anticipation was quickly getting to me. Anxious to see how she had done and not patient enough to wait God knows how long for her to turn it over, I began to reach for it, though she danced out of my expertly, as if she knew me well enough to know my intentions.

She turned it over and apart from a slight widening of her eyes, there was no other indication of whether what she was seeing was bad or good.

Moving to stand in front of her, I couldn't take it any longer. "Well," I snapped, too stressed to care about my tone.

She looked up at me then, her blue eyes shining with a sort of tender gratitude. Without warning, breaking the moment while setting in motion another, she launched herself at me and my arms seem to automatically wrap around her. Having her there, in my arms, was an altogether odd sensation. She wasn't heavy at all—as previously suspected she weighed practically nothing and if I weren't already so aware of her, I probably wouldn't even realize she was in my arms—but her presence was weighty, as if she simply fit into something, like a puzzle piece I hadn't even known I was missing.

Williams cleared his throat in clear discomfort and I was forced—out of social consideration—to set her down, the moment broken and gone before I had time to process any of it. I took the test out her hand for something to do, as she and he discussed something I tuned out.

An eighty. It was undeniably significant improvement, but she had made some mistakes that could solely be chalked up to inattention. It would be more responsible, safer, to go back to the library and go over her mistakes with her and make her correct them. And while that alternative to our plans was rational and comforting, it seemed to only hold distant appeal for me, an altogether new and startling feeling. As reckless and unknown as our time together would be, I found myself anticipating it with, as contrary as it was, anxious excitement.


"Where do you want to go," I asked, hands on the wheels and shamefully prepared to give her full control over where we were heading. Though I hoped that it wasn't some place filled with people, likely to judge and stare and taint my time with her, or noise, a self-explanatory distraction. After what seemed like the longest moment to have ever existed, she breathed out, "Just drive," and I had to fight very hard to keep the full-blown, dorky smile from my face.


The closer we got to town, the more aware of reality I became. The two hours I spent with Chloe—in the parking lot of an abandoned movie theatre; her choice—away from the outside world, completely free to speak and act without being judged or dismissed, were… indescribable. It was an experience I believed words couldn't properly justify, not only because I lacked the vocabulary to begin to properly express their meaning, but also because words threatened to lessen it as well. We talked about everything and nothing, one thing flowing seamlessly into the next as I found myself more willing to talk with her than anybody else—surprising, considering how long it took me to warm up to Simon and dad and how short a time I knew her—and as she complimented my natural inclination to rather listen than waste breath on empty conversation. She surprisingly had a lot to say, once you pulled it out of her.

But the realization, the mind-boggling, startling realization, had sprung up so unexpectedly that, at the moment, I was still reeling from it, even as logic and rationality and truth were rapidly tainting it.

I could be myself with Chloe. She seemed to understand me, even without everything being laid out to her. She relaxed me; calmed me in a way I didn't knew I needed calming. She made me breathe easier and inadvertently release unknown simply by being her. It was crazy and incomprehensible and I wanted more. More than I deserved and more that she would ever be willing to give. For, as we neared closer and closer to town, the bleak truth of the matter hit me. The more that I wanted—I couldn't even define what it was exactly—was unattainable and naïve and stupid and illogical to wish for. Because if she knew—knew what I had done, what I was capable of, what I was—she would do as everyone else had done. It sounded terrible, judging her so harshly, even though I wasn't. I respected, appreciated, how she hadn't judged me so far, ignoring the wary glances people still threw my way, the whispers passed among those who weren't above petty gossip. But how could she not turn away in disgust? It was as simple as that. And even if she could—which was practically an impossibility—being with me—not with me with me, but just friends or… or whatever it was that I wanted yet couldn't name—would only manage to damage her. She was too good for the stares and whispers that would follow her if she were to openly associate more of herself with me, too good for me and completely undeserving of that. Not only would I not ask that of her, I never could. It was uninviting and true and I could do nothing about it for the facts were logical and indisputable. Chloe was so pure and so good; it was careless of me to think to want something more of her. Not to mention that I'd never be able to look at her in the eye again if she knew the truth. It was shameful, terrible, and I didn't want what decency she associated with me to be torn to pieces, ripped to shreds, if I could help it.

I barely choked out a goodbye when we got back to her car and dragged myself through dinner, ignoring Tori's snide remarks, Simon's curious gaze, and dad's long, worry-filled glances. I was too preoccupied in resigned anger—both at myself and the circumstances—and regret and slight desperation for much else.

The fact was that I had left an innocent kid permanently brain damaged and unable to walk. I had ruined his life, played God without desire or permit. And if Chloe knew… I couldn't even begin to assess the consequences; shied away from doing so because they all involved losing whatever relationship I had with Chloe. And that was something was entirely unprepared for and unwilling to risk.

Again, thank you to all the readers and reviewers who have been wonderful and stuck by me. I don't know when the next update will be, but know that I'm finishing this story (along with Life Unexpected, for those who are wondering) no matter what or how long. Is it too much to ask for a review? Pretty please with cherries on top? :p Also, check out Alasyn and I on facebook. Type in Alasyn Lauren and all the info is on there :) Thanks guys 3