Chapter Sixteen

The door flew open for the third time that day. As it slammed against the wall behind it, the sound came back to me and I realized I was screaming. Fang was slumped on his side, a small puddle of blood slowly forming around him.

People were yelling, and running, and my head was spinning.

Cops.

The word floated through the fog in my brain. Sam was still holding the gun, still pointing it at me. Someone was screaming at him, and he was screaming back, and I buried my face in my hands and screamed at myself.

The gun went off with three more explosions that made it sound like the whole damn world was ending, and a line of fire went straight through my left shoulder. I gasped and the pain was like the brightest, whitest, hottest light you'd ever seen, tearing a hole through muscle and probably bone. I screamed again, slamming my head back against the wall, and pressed my hand against the hole in my arm. Blood soaked into my cast and dripped around my fingers.

I watched through pain-hazy eyes as a cop tackled Sam, the gun falling and skittering across the floor. I was biting my lip so hard that the sharp, metallic tang of blood spread over my tongue.

Keeping my hand against my shoulder, I dragged myself across the floor to Fang. He wasn't moving, and I couldn't tell if he was breathing. Pure panic was making my vison fade to gray around the edges, and pain was turning the gray to black. My ears felt muffled.

"Fang," I said, moving my left arm to shove against his shoulder. The whole left side of my body felt like it was burning up. I was too afraid to look to survey the damage, too afraid the bright fire of pain had turned my skin to ash. "Fang, please." A sob escaped the cage of my teeth.

There was a flurry of activity around us. Sam was getting led out, hollering and spitting. There was a team of EMT's with a gurney trying to push past him through the door to get to us. To get to Fang. Who wasn't fucking breathing.

"God, you have to help him," I said, my voice a mess of tears. "Please don't let him die, oh my god, please."

"Someone take a look at her. She's been hit."

A woman with kind eyes kneeled down in front of me, pushing me back to lean against the wall again.

"Let me see that," she said, and peeled my hand away from the hole in my shoulder. I cried out when another wave of red poured out.

"I'm fine," I mumbled, pushing her back. "Help him. Please."

My voice was fading, growing weaker and weaker. The amount of black around my vision was growing, until nothing except a small fuzzy tube of clarity was left.

I made eye contact with her, grabbing her arm with my right hand, swimming through the fog around me. "Please, don't let him die. Promise me."

She nodded, reaching up to cradle my head and lower me to the ground as I faltered. "I promise."

With my finger still gripping the fabric of her shirt, I let her words follow me as I drifted away.

Fang stirred, groaning. I put down the book I was pretending to read and leaned forward, grabbing his hand in mine. It was awkward because of the cast (that they'd had to replace, since the other was disgusting) but my left arm was in a sling at the moment.

He blinked at me, eyes half-lidded and weary. He looked pale and small against the bright white of the hospital sheets.

"Hey," he said, coughing. His fingers squeezed feebly against mine.

"Hey." I smiled, my eyes filling with tears. "Hey," I said again. I laughed and pulled his hand up to cradle my face, pressing my lips to his palm. "You've been out for so long, I almost forgot what your voice sounded like."

He smiled back and shook his head slightly. "You act like I almost died or something."

"You're lucky you're in a hospital bed, Nicholas Fremont, because if you weren't I would slap you."

He laughed, and it quickly turned into a cough. His face was drawn and pale and he pressed his arm against his stomach. My face softened and I leaned forward to press the 'call nurse' button.

"Hold on, we'll get you something for that. I know it hurts like a bitch." I gestured towards my shoulder.

"That bastard got you too?" His lips were pressed together in a tight, white line.

I leaned forward and brushed his hair off of his face. "Yeah. It's okay, though. He won't be bothering anyone for a while."

He cocked his head to the side, eyebrows drawn together. "What happened?"

"Well, on top of the unregistered firearm that he tried to kill us both with, they found the stash he was dealing from. I know he had some nasty stuff in there. He's going away for a long time on the attempted murder charge alone."

When Mrs. Fremont had told me all of this, a peace so pure had filled me to the brim and then overflowed. He couldn't hurt me anymore in prison. Sure, I felt bad that technically the only reason he had the unregistered firearm was because I brought it into his house, but I never actually fired it. He actually shot me and Fang. I feel like that had to count for something.

The nurse appeared then, and administered Fang's medication. His eyes started drooping almost immediately, and I played with his hair as he nodded off. My eyes followed his chest as he breathed and I thought back to our first night here, when I laid awake listening to his heart rate monitor because I was afraid that if I slept, it would stop beeping.

I watched his dark eyelashes twitch against his cheek in his sleep, and I studied the pale line of his mouth. I fit my hand in to his and realized that I loved this beautiful boy. We were both broken, but our broken pieces fit together like a puzzle made just for us. Our crazy was the same. We were both rough edges and sharp angles and feathers and down and soft and easy and rain against the windows. This crazy was our own brand, packaged like normality, tied up with a fucking beautiful bow. This, us, would not be our downfall. This was not my vanishing point. This was the beginning of something bigger than all of this bullshit, all of this pain.

I was bad at poetry. I always had been. I was too long-winded; I needed pages and pages to sort my thoughts out, to explain the way Fang's eyes looked like a warzone of color when the light hit them just right and the way his fingers looked when they were turning a page or brushing against mine. I was bad at making the words sound beautiful. But the words were all I had, too small and not at all enough to describe the way I had fallen in love with Fang in such a short period of time. To describe the way he had saved me, over and over and over again. The words would never sound like poems. They would always just sound like words, raw and real and true. What happened to me could not be made beautiful by flowing prose. All I could do was offer up these words, this story, this life, as the truest thing that I knew. And that would have to be enough.

It would be enough.

May, five months later

Present Day

Tomorrow, I will graduate from high school. It is something on a long list of things that I never thought I would do. Falling in love is on that list. Getting a tattoo is also on that list.

"It looks great," Fang says, cradling my wrist in his hands as he reads the word upside down. Breathe. A doodle turned scar turned tattoo. I can still see the raised skin underneath the new ink, reminding me of how far I've fought to be here, in this moment. I've earned it. A scar is stronger than the flesh before it. A broken bone is stronger once it's healed. I am stronger because of the pain; I am stronger for having gone through it.

We are standing upstairs in Iggy and Gazzy's house. Me, Fang, and Iggy will all be walking the stage tomorrow, against all odds. Their parents are throwing us a party. Every else is downstairs, getting the food ready. I can hear them moving and breathing and talking. I never realized how much I loved hearing a house be alive until recently.

It's dark, here, in this space between us. I move forward and press my face against his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of his soap and his cologne.

"I wish my mom could see me now," I whisper to the wallpaper.

"The people we love never leave us, Max." He kisses my forehead, and I close my eyes. "She can see you, and I know she's proud. I am."

"Thank you." I lift my face towards his and he gives me what I want without me having to ask. His lips are soft against mine, and the kiss is chaste. It's not suggestive of going further. There's a spot in my chest that used to be filled with ice, and it would ache during times like this. But now, all I feel is warmth.

"I said something to you, when we were in New York." He holds my face in his hands, thumbs stroking my cheekbones. "I said that shit doesn't work out for people like you and me. I was wrong. I'm sorry."

"I forgive you." I press my hand against the taut muscles of his abdomen, my index finger resting where I know his scar is hiding under his soft cotton t-shirt. I know the exact lines of it because I have one to match. "Of course I forgive you."

He presses his forehead against mine and I smile, closing my eyes again.

"Could you guys get your asses down here, please? The food is ready and I'm starving," Iggy yells up the stairs. We break apart, startled, and laugh, our faces tinted pink.

"Iggy! Language!" I hear Iggy's mom call from somewhere in the house.

We head down the stairs and out the back door to the patio. Angel and Nudge are in the pool, shrieking as they splash each other. Iggy's dad is wearing an apron that says 'Kiss the Cook', and a lopsided chef's hat. He's closing the grill with one hand, the other juggling a plate of grilled burgers.

"Who's hungry?" He asks, grinning. Angel screams and scrambles for the pool ladder, Nudge close behind.

Everyone gathers around the picnic table. The food is devoured and laughter rings out across the yard. After, as the sun is setting, and after cake and ice cream has been handed out, we sit around a fire pit that Iggy's dad uncovers for the first time since last summer. Mrs. Fremont reveals the sparklers she found in the garage from last July, and we light them up and send trails of sparks twirling through the sky. The smell of barbecue and sunscreen and smoke from the sparklers is thick but good because it smells like family and summer and light.

Angel is in my lap, and her wet swimsuit is soaking my shorts and tank top but I don't care because it's hot out, and she's so small and snuggly and tired as she tucks her head under my chin, her damp curls tickling my skin. We're roasting marshmallows for s'mores. Gazzy is telling a joke, and Nudge is leaning against my shoulder. Fang is holding my right hand, and he's smiling at me like I'm the only person in the world and I love him so much in this moment that it's a physical pain in my chest. The sound of crickets is rising up like a crescendo, and this is the most peaceful I have ever been in my entire life.

I am not fixed. There are still days where I wake up in a sweat because I've forgotten that I am safe. There are still days where it's too hard to come out of myself, into the real world, because I am locked away in my own head. There are days when the feel of my own skin still makes me feel like I'm suffocating. There is not a magic cure. There are only better days, easier laughs, touches that remind me that I am loved and that I am safe. I am finding myself, in the curve of Fang's smile from across the dinner table, the gentle way his hands cradle mine, pulling me out of the cage that I tried to lock myself away in; in the sound of my own voice, telling my story over and over again to make sense of it. I'm pulling this body out of the grave I dug for it. I am growing. My winter is ending. Summer has come and it is so beautiful.

I look around at the family I have created for myself, all of us bathed in the gentle light of the sunset, and I am home.

A/N HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS WE MADE IT

Jeez. What an adventure. I'd like to thank a billion people who made this whole thing possible. I know I'm going to forget some names, but basically if we ever had a conversation about this crazy, stupid, ridiculous story, just know that this is for you. Thank you.

Montana89, who thought she was talking to a total fanfiction ghost, but left her review anyway and made me start re-writing this fic after I had decided to totally abandon it. I re-read our conversations whenever I need an inspiration boost, and you are so, so kind, always.

Athena Clark, for a review on a totally different story of mine that kept me going when I needed it most, on several different projects. Your words of encouragement have helped me more than you could ever know and I'm so grateful.

Flowersocks2137 (guest user) for leaving me a review that made me laugh only because of the amount of truth in it. You're the real reason this story ever got finished, if I'm being honest. The fact that I updated this about 1.25 times a year was hilarious, but what was funnier was the fact that you took the time to calculate that and then tell me about it. Thank you. Bless you, hilarious stranger. If you're reading this, friend me on facebook (no, seriously).

To TheMusicOfOurHearts, who left me one of the sweetest reviews I've gotten in a while and reminded me not to give up on my craft. The kindness of readers like you is what keeps writers like me going. Thank you.

Every single person who reviewed: thank you. Feedback is what we writers live off of, and without it, there would be no story to tell. I read every single review I get, and try to reply to them when I can.

And thank you to so, so many people who messaged me about this story over the six (SIX!) years that it took me to finally finish it. You guys kept me writing, and I don't think you'll ever know how much that means to me.

And to YOU, YOU BEAUTIFUL PERSON READING THIS RIGHT NOW. I let you guys down all those years ago when I started this fic and if you're still with me now, six years later, you're a fucking rockstar and I'm so in love with all of you. Also, you might kind of be insane because SIX YEARS WHAT?

I'm a shitty writer and a shitty person for leaving this story untold for so long, and I really hope that I've managed to make it up to you all because you're all extremely close to my heart.

I know I'm definitely forgetting people and this feels a lot like when they play the music at the Oscar's so people will get the hell off the stage and I'm sorry this author's note is getting to be so long so I'll just end it here. I'm so happy and so grateful and so thankful to you guys. You're all amazing. Thanks for reading, as always.

Lots and lots of love,

Madison