A/N Another chapter since you all went so long without one! I'll probably upload one more after this. You guys are the best. Enjoy!

Chapter Eleven

His head was bowed close to mine as he worked. The old, bloodied bandage was on the floor between us. I was sitting on the edge of the claw-foot bathtub; he was perched on the closed toilet seat.

I hissed and pulled away as he touched an alcohol-soaked cloth to my torn skin.

"Sorry," he murmured, his grip tightening around my hand. His eyes flicked up and met mine. "Have to clean it."

I winced when he pressed it to my skin again, but didn't pull away. "I know. It still hurts like a bitch, though."

He chuckled and tossed the cloth into the sink behind him, then pulled out the new roll of gauze, which he'd picked up when we were walking home from dinner. He wound it around and around my wrist, thick enough that I couldn't see the angry red line I'd carved into my skin. He taped it down, nice and tight, then flipped my hand over and patted the back of it.

"There. All fixed up again." He smiled and then went about cleaning up the old bandages and putting the new ones under the sink, in the cabinet. My hair was wet and smelled like roses; I had showered before he changed the bandage so I wouldn't get the new one wet. I was wearing a long nightshirt and no pants; the porcelain of the tub under my legs was causing goosebumps to creep along my skin.

I shivered, and Fang caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. "Go get in bed," he said, meeting my eyes in the mirror. "I've got this."

I nodded, standing and rubbing my hands along my arms. "Okay. Thank you."

"No problem." He shrugged and turned the faucet on, beginning to scrub his hands under the stream.

"I mean it. Thank you." I tried to convey that I meant for more than just the bandage with my voice. He met my eyes again and nodded, holding my gaze. I shivered again, not from the cold this time, and turned and hurried from the room.

There was a ball of fear building in my throat, and I wasn't quite sure why. I was attracted to Fang. I could admit that. I couldn't act on that attraction because even the thought of it made me want to curl up into a ball and collapse in on myself, but just the attraction itself shouldn't be leaving me in this state of anxiety. And yet.

I turned back the covers on my bed and crawled in, snuggling into the warm, soft sheets. I flicked the bedside table lamp off and the television on. The sound of quiet voices and taped laughter seemed to put me at ease, and I managed to drop off to sleep before Fang even made it out of the bathroom.

"Rise and shine," Fang said, shaking me awake. I started, almost rolling off the edge of the bed, and blinked against the sunlight flooding the room.

"What time is it?" My voice was rough with sleep, and my mouth tasted awful. I sat up, brushing my tangled hair away from my face. I wanted nothing more than to throw it up in a ponytail, but stupid-me chopped it all off and there wasn't enough to put up.

"Eight. We have a meeting."

"We? Meeting? What?" I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands until I saw stars behind my closed eyelids, then squinted at Fang. He was already dressed with his shoes and coat on, and he looked antsy.

"Got the number from one of Ella's old friends out of her phone. She agreed to meet me today, but I figured you might want breakfast first."

I smothered a yawn and pushed the blankets off of me, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. "Well, why didn't you say so? Always lead with the promise of food."

The streets were a mess of chaos; people were hurrying here and there, buying Christmas presents and window shopping. It was snowing. I was basically in hell.

"I've always wanted to see the Rockefeller tree," I said, hurrying behind Fang, trying to keep up. My hands were buried deep in the pockets of my coat, and I had stolen Fang's beanie to keep my ears warm. I was still shivering, my breath puffing out thick and white in front of my face as I huffed in my exertion.

"We can, if you want to," Fang said over his shoulder, not slowing down or stopping. It was about 10:30 in the morning. We were late, apparently. Breakfast had run long because I wanted to finish my third cup of coffee, and Fang hadn't protested at all. But, now, we were late and we had to hurry and we apparently couldn't sow down to look in shop windows at all. Which, admittedly, was very disappointing. "Later."

"How much further?" I asked.

I saw his head stoop as he looked at the little map on his phone. "Not far, it's just up this street."

I pushed past a woman dragging her small son behind her, juggling several shopping bags, and muttered, "Thank god," under my breath.

When he finally stopped, relief flooded into my chest. He was staring up at the sign outside was looked like a coffee shop, looking between it and his phone to make sure it was the right spot. The warm smell of espresso floated out on a wave of noise and chatter as a couple of twenty-somethings came out, stepping around us. Fang caught the door before it could swing shut and waved me inside in front of him.

I stepped over the threshold and immediately thawed, warmth flooding my skin and chasing the December chill away. I stomped the snow off my shoes on the doormat and moved further inside, Fang close behind. It was a pretty small coffee shop, with only a handful of tables and chairs and only one person working behind the counter. It was pretty cute though; everything had a very cozy feel to it, with the overstuffed armchairs in the corner, several floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and an actual fireplace on the far wall.

"What does this girl look like?" I asked. Fang scanned the room until his eyes locked on a girl sitting with her back to us in front of the window.

"Her." He slid his coat off his shoulder and folded it over his arm, then put his hand out for mine. I took it off and handed it over. "I'm going to go over there."

"Do you want anything?" I asked, looking towards the chalkboard menus hanging behind the counter.

"No, I'm good. You can get something if you want."

"I think three cups of coffee is enough for now."

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, and made his way over to the girl with me at his heels.

She had long, blonde—almost white—hair. As we approached the table, she turned to look at us, and I saw that it was a wig, and a cheap one at that.

"Nick?" she asked, her bright red lips forming the word slowly, drawing it out. Her voice was low and raspy, like she'd been smoking a pack a day since she was born. She was maybe in her late twenties. She had dark purple circles under her light blue eyes, which were rimmed and smudged with black. She was very pale, and I could see a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose under her dusting of eggshell foundation.

She was wearing fishnets under a tight black skirt, and a sheer black top with a bright purple bra visible underneath it. Ropes and ropes of thick silver chains looped around her neck, sparkling in the light shining in from outside. I glanced at her fingers, which were drumming along the table, and saw that every finger had a ring on it. They looked like they would fall off at any moment; her fingers were thin and bony.

"Yeah," Fang said, reaching out a hand. She took it, and as she did, the sleeve of her loose-fitting shirt slid up to reveal bruises all along the almost translucent skin of her forearm. Track marks. I could tell Fang noticed too; his eyes lingered too long. "This is my friend, Max."

I nodded at her when her eyes lid to me, scanning me up and down like I did to her.

"I'm Franki," she said, then offered me her hand. I shook it; her skin was like ice, and dry as parchment.

"Do you want something to drink?" Fang asked as he sat in the chair across from her, leaving me to take the one next to her.

She put her hands on the table and stared at them, picking at her nails. Her fingers were shaking. Sweat was beading across her forehead and on her upper lip. Her wrists looked fragile; her face was gaunt. She seemed skittish and jittery.

She was in withdrawal.

"I would love a coffee, if you don't mind." She slid her coat off the back of her chair and stood up. "I'm just going to go have a quick smoke. I'll be right back."

I stood up too, and they both looked at me weird. "I want a cigarette too. I'll come with you."

Fang tried to catch my eye, but I ignored him and followed Franki out of the coffee shop. The wind hit me like a slap to the face as we stepped outside, and I swore under my breath.

"Cold as a bitch out here," she said, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of her trench coat.

I hummed in agreement as I pulled out mine, tapping one out on my hand. I slipped it between my lips and cupped my hand around it as I lit it, inhaling deeply. "Light?" I said, mumbling around its length. She nodded, and I passed the lighter to her.

"Thanks," she said, and handed it back after lighting her own cigarette. We puffed in silence, leaning against the cold brick wall of the shop. Smoke curled around our heads like halos, the smell warm and soft. Cigarettes only stank when the smoke went stale; when it was burning, the tobacco scent was heavenly.

"How long have you lived in New York?" I asked after the quiet grew too heavy. Her gaze flicked to me, and I was startled by how her eyes looked almost clear in the weak sunlight. She was sort of pretty, under the makeup and the lines of sadness that creased her face, especially around her eyes. She was tall and thin in that rich, cocaine addict, model-ish sort of way. I was almost afraid the wind would scoop her up and carry her off.

"Too long," she replied. "It's shit, but I can't leave. I would miss it too much." She flicked ash and scratched at her arm.

"Don't scratch," I said. "They'll scar." I gestured towards my own arm and looked pointedly at hers.

"They scar anyways." She looked away and pulled one last deep drag. "They always do."

I shrugged and nodded, like we were still talking about the weather. I dropped my cigarette and stomped on it without finishing it. I studied her out of the corner of my eye; her face had angry red marks on it, barely covered by her foundation, like she'd been digging her nails into her skin. Her lips were dry and cracked.

"Meth." She threw her cigarette down too and turned to face me. "I know you're wondering. It's meth."

"I wasn't wondering." I arched an eyebrow. "Listen, Nick is a good guy. Don't tell him anything about Ella that's going to crush him."

"I won't lie to him. I owe El too much to do that."

"I'm not saying lie to him." I tucked back a strand of hair that was whipping across my face. "Just be gentle, okay? He's been through a lot of shit."

"We've all been through a lot of shit, honey."

She turned and went back into the coffee shop, leaving me out in the cold.

"What can you tell me about Ella?" Fang asked. He was sitting back in his chair, both arms on the table, fingers playing with a sugar packet. He was trying to look laid back, but there was a muscle fluttering in jaw.

"What do you want to know?"

"How did you know her?"

Franki sighed and glanced at me, and I pursed my lips in response, setting my jaw. "Look, you seem like a nice guy, so I'm going to tell it to you straight." She was leaning forward over the steam rising from her mug of black coffee, both hands wrapped around it, rings glittering.

I rolled my eyes and sat back, folding my arms across my chest. Nobody ever listened to me. I didn't know why I even tried.

"Ella and I met because we were turning tricks in the same neighborhood." She swallowed, her throat working. We made eye contact, and she did look sorry. Not sorry enough to stop talking, but sorry all the same. "We were pretty fast friends. She was a funny girl, and real sweet too. I really miss her."

All of the blood drained from Fang's face, leaving him pale as a sheet. His hands had turned to fists; when he saw me looking, he dropped them to his lap under the table.

"I don't understand," he said slowly. "If she needed money bad enough to do that, why wouldn't she have just come home? Or called me?"

Franki shrugged, and I saw tears gathering in her eyes. "Once you fall down the rabbit hole, it's hard to make it back out of Wonderland. They don't exactly give you a map." Franki sighed, brushing synthetic hair away from her face. "She was in to some pretty hard stuff, Nick. She left. She said she couldn't go back because she knew you wouldn't like who she'd become."

Fang looked away, glaring out the window. I reached out and put my hand on top of his under the table, and he laced our fingers together, holding on tight. He was shaking.

In that moment, I hated Franki for telling the truth. I knew Fang deserved to hear it, but I still hated her because my heart ached in my chest in a way I didn't quite understand.

Why did I care? I didn't know Ella. It was sad, but my throat shouldn't feel so tight I couldn't breathe around the lump of cotton in it.

(He cares.)

(You care about him.)

"What happened to her, Franki? Do you know?" Fang asked, not looking away from the window. He sounded off, like he was talking through his teeth. His voice was wavering.

"I don't. She stopped talking to me about a month before her death. She wanted to get clean, get off the drugs. She wanted to go home." Tears spilled over her sharp cheekbones and dripped onto the table. She squeezed her eyes shut and swiped at them with her sleeve, smudging her make up more than it already was. "I'm sorry. She was my friend, but she was your sister. I can't imagine how this must feel."

Fang pressed the knuckles of the hand that wasn't holding mine to his mouth and shook his head, finally turning back to look at Franki. "It's okay. Thank you for meeting with me."

He pulled his hand away from mine and took out his wallet. He placed a twenty down on the table in front of Franki, then pushed his chair away from the table with an earsplitting screech.

Franki and I watched as he walked out of the coffee shop, head down, hand shoved in his pockets. He didn't stop walking, and panic rose in my chest.

"I'm sorry. He had to know." Franki's voice was shaking. She scooped up the money on the table and tucked it into her jacket. She pulled out a pen and grabbed a used napkin, ripping it in half. "Here's the number of Ella's best friend, Veronica. She might have more information for you guys. I'm sorry, again." She scribbled a number down and pushed it into my hand.

She tucked her pen back into her purse and stood. I followed suit, and we looked at each other for a moment.

"Look, kid, I can tell you've got some shit going on in your life. It shows in your eyes. Let me give you some advice: don't run from it. It'll follow you to the grave if you don't deal with it."

In that moment, I saw the girl Franki was supposed to be- young and beautiful and free. I also saw myself in her shoes, in the very near future, and a spark of fear ran down my spine. I could very easily be her if I wasn't careful. I nodded and she gave me a small, sad smile, patting my arm.

"Go after him. He's going to need you."

I nodded again and turned, hurrying from the coffee shop.

The sidewalks were still crowded, and I had to push and shove to get past the people. I could see his shock of dark hair, several people in front of me, and fought to get past the crowd. When I finally caught up with him, I was completely out of breath.

"Hey, stop," I said, catching his arm and pulling him to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk. Disgruntled people muttered under their breath at us and pushed to get around us, but I ignored them. "Are you okay?" My fingers squeezed around his bicep, and my voice was strained and nervous.

His jaw tightened and he narrowed his eyes at a point somewhere over my head, avoiding looking at me completely. His lips were trembling.

"Fang, look at me."

His eyes met mine, and they were so full of pain that I pulled my hand away from his arm and covered my mouth with it in shock.

"I can't be here anymore. This city is fucking toxic, and I don't want to be here anymore. You can stay if you want, but I have to go. I'm sorry."

"You're just going to give up? Just like that?" Panic stirred in my stomach; he couldn't go. Not now. I couldn't do this alone. I thought I could but I totally couldn't. "I thought you wanted to find out what happened to Ella?"

"I did, Max. She died. She was alone, here, and the city swallowed her whole." He shook his head and let it droop between his shoulders, his muscles going lax. "Let's go."

"No, we can't—"

"Max," he hissed, his face getting close to mine. "Shit doesn't work out for people like you and me. We don't get to live quietly happy lives, okay? I don't know why you had to come here, anyways. We were fine in Jersey. We were fine not knowing." He clenched his eyes shut and turned halfway away from me, pressing his knuckles into his lips. My eyes watered and the moisture spilled over onto my cheeks, the shock turning to anger turning to waterworks so fast that I could barely keep up.

"Don't you dare blame me for this," I hissed through my tears. "This is not my fault. You're just upset—"

"Fuck off, Max." His voice was big and loud and scary, and people were turning to look at us. The wind was biting through my jeans and I shivered, wiping my nose with my sleeve. "You don't know anything about me."

His words were sharp, and they embedded themselves in my skin and burrowed down deep, so that they stung with every breath. My arms hung limply at my sides; I felt stunned, like every word was a physical blow directly to my chest. I took a step back and swallowed, watching him. There were tears in his eyes; he avoided my gaze so he could pretend there weren't, but I could see them shining in the weak light from the winter sun. My hands balled into fists, my whole body trembling in silent rage.

"You're right." I shrugged. "But I sure as hell know what self-destruction looks like." I spit the words through my teeth, filling them with venom and wanting them to hurt.

He laughed, then, actually laughed. "Fuck you."

My finger turned itself into a dagger and I jabbed it in to the middle of Fang's chest. "If you want to go home, then fucking go home. But don't act like I made you do this. Don't act like you made this choice because of me. You wanted this, and just because you found out what you probably already knew and it hurts doesn't mean you can fuck me over."

I brought my arms around myself, holding all of my mess inside, and turned away.

"Think about this moment if you ever need me again, Max, and don't you fucking dare expect me to come running to your rescue."

I whirled on him, shoving both hands, open-palmed, against his chest. "Get the fuck out of here."

And he went.

It was about ten in the evening when Fang finally stumbled through the hotel room door, smelling of booze and stale cigarette smoke.

"You're drunk," I said by way of greeting. I switched the television off and sat up, tucking my knees into my chest and crossing my arms over the top of them. Anxiety trickled like ice down my spine.

"Brilliant observation." He took his jacket off and threw it over the armchair in the corner. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, like he'd been crying. He collapsed on the edge of his bed and put his head in his hands.

"Where did you even get alcohol? You're only eighteen."

"I paid a homeless guy to get it for me." He kicked his shoes off violently, then picked them up and tossed them to the side. They hit the wall under the window and I jumped, my skin twitching.

"You're making me nervous. Why don't you go shower?"

I wasn't lying; my palms were sweating and my heart was in my throat. Intoxicated people made my skin itch.

He looked up at me, eyes wide. "Am I scaring you? Shit, I'm sorry." There was a hard edge to his voice, and an artificial sweetness to his apology. "I didn't even think about it. Maybe because the world doesn't actually revolve around you and your problems, Max."

He pushed off the bed and strode to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. The pipes rattled and I heard the shower kick on. It felt like my bones were trembling from holding myself so tight. I swallowed down my fear and settled back into my pillows, trying not to cry.

"It's just Fang," I whispered to the empty room. "It's just Fang. He won't hurt you. He's just upset, he won't hurt you. He won't hurt you."

My voice didn't sound like it belonged to me, and I couldn't stop repeating myself. Tears leaked down my face despite my efforts to stop them.

(You never though Sam would hurt you either.)

(Look where that got you.)

I turned my face into my pillow and tried not to hyperventilate.

A/N I just wanted to pop in and say that Max's POV is confusing sometimes on purpose. You're not supposed to know exactly what is going on in her head all the time because she doesn't really know. She's confused. And she's a bit of an unreliable narrator because of it, which is the way that the story is supposed to feel. Just hang in there. It's going to get worse before it gets better, but it will get better. Promise. Also the next chapter might be my favorite out of the whole story. Something to look forward to! Don't forget to review : )

Madison