Two weeks later...

October 21
Toronto, Ontario

Pain.

It's the only feeling I can even recognize anymore.

It's what I hide behind.

It's been nearly two months since Liam died, and I haven't felt anything else. I'm not sure I ever will. Life continues to treat me like a heavy bag, hitting me with punch after punch.

It probably doesn't help that every time I do start to feel something, I drown it in the whisky Dad left behind. No— correction, that Hugh left behind.

I tip the bottle back to my lips, savoring the feel of the smoky-sweet, burning liquid trickling down my throat.

No one had been at home tonight, like most nights, so I'd come to my friend Max's. On the one hand, it feels like no time has passed since last year when I started hanging with him and his friends, if you can call them that. On the other hand, it feels like years have passed, and I feel out of place here, too.

But, here I am. Before I could escape tonight, the house filled with people, some I knew, others I didn't. I just don't give a fuck. I'd stumbled my way into the study to sit in the dark and silently observe the party.

This is my place, on the outside looking in.

When Theo walks through the front door, I just stare at him as he meets my gaze, and I salute him with my three-quarters full bottle.

"Care for a drink?" My voice sounds harsh and brittle even to my own alcohol numbed senses.

I watch a mixture of relief, concern, anger, disappointment, and a calm sort of acceptance cross his face before he turns on his heel to leave. Yup, everyone leaves. Just like I thought. I wonder idly how he even found me here.

I push Theo and the thoughts of the others that come with seeing him from my mind, focusing instead on my bottle. Nothing helps misery, self-loathing, grief bordering madness, and apathy go down like alcohol. It's my own kind of emotional cocktail, and I've been binging on it for weeks.

Because the only way I can even cope is to feel nothing, and I need a high-test chaser to keep swallowing everything inside down.

I don't know how much time passes; I don't know how many people move through the room, I don't give a fuck. I stare into the gas fireplace like my miserable life depends on it.

I drift, sipping and staring. At some point, I feel something— no, someone—stretch across my lap, and for a moment, hope flares bright and painful in my chest before I crush it down. But when I look, it isn't her.

"Party for one, Grey?" Chiara's high pitched, slightly nasal voice purrs out, grating against my ears, against my mood.

"Yup. Not interested in company, sorry." Especially yours, I think to myself. She's been a fucking leech ever since I came back to the city. Always sticking to me at some point or another through the night.

"I'll be quiet as a mouse. You won't even know I'm here." Her fingers dance up my rib cage, and I grunt. I don't have the energy to push her away, so I close my eyes, and take a swig from the bottle, trying to numb the feeling of her, too.

When she pulls the whisky bottle out of my fist, I crack an eyelid open, watching her as she takes a sip, moaning exaggeratedly as she swallows. It's in that moment, with one eye open, I catch sight of Theo stepping back through the door, his hand wrapped around a small, pale wrist, tugging someone behind him as he makes his way to me.

Elle.

I watch through half-closed eyes as she takes in the scene. She shouldn't be here. This isn't a place for her. I watch as she registers the booze, the half-dressed girls and guys scattered around the party, the recreational drugs, the drunks, the stoners. She doesn't react, which makes me curious.

I smile to myself. At my own little private joke. Apparently, I can still feel curiosity. Who knew?

"G? I think we should get you home." Theo's voice is deep, soft, and soothing, like he's talking to a wild animal and trying to convince it to come closer.

"I'm good here, man. Not much of a home left to go to at any rate."

"Come home with me, Grey. You always have a home with me. With Elle, hell, with any of us."

My chest tightens. I refuse to let myself look at her as my armor cracks a little. I could grab hold of him if I wanted to. But what good would it do? I'd tried to hold on, to let them hold on, to let Elle hold on, and it had gotten me nowhere. I'd still only felt pain. The only difference then was that I'd been making them miserable too.

Now? I have nothing left. It will be better this way.

I pushed my friends away. Not that they were letting go so easily, but I'd tried to save them from my misery, from the darkness growing unchecked inside me. One day, it will explode, and I don't want anyone near me when it happens.

I got benched from my Junior league team, which probably would have been my ticket to a scholarship. The team at Landon is only going to wait for so long before they bench me too.

My dad— no, Hugh, I correct myself. After all, just two weeks ago, he'd revealed the big secret. As he'd yelled at Mom in front of our friends in a fit of anger, that he wasn't even my father, so why should he care, why should he invest any more time or money into me for college, for hockey, or in general.

Happy fucking Thanksgiving, everyone. In one weekend, it had all gone downhill. Again. In front of everyone, I give a fuck about.

After the initial blow had come, I thought the pity in our parents' eyes would drown me.

There is absolutely no way I can manage tuition, living expenses, practice, games, school, and a job to pay for it all, even with Mom's support. She'd given up her career to raise us and do her charity thing, after all.

Knowing that without hockey, without financial support, or a scholarship, my college ambition is teetering on the ledge, that's the worst part, not the fact he isn't actually my dad. It's not like Hugh has been any real kind of father in the past eighteen months anyway, or ever for that matter. I was simply a tool to be shaped to him, to have a kid in the NHL.

Mom is also absent, but for different reasons. Her own grief is numbing her. I guess I'd learned from the best. My poison— and pleasure— is booze. Hers comes in the small pill bottle her therapist prescribes.

But the final straw was when Sam was sent to some bullshit boarding-school-slash-psychiatric-care facility when her parents couldn't deal.

Deep down, I know she needs help, and I'm glad she's getting it, but it had been a comfort to have someone to share my pain with. To have someone else who wasn't coping, who wasn't willing to move on. Someone else to have close by in the pit of grief.

After what feels like a timeless spiral down this loop of darkness, I shake myself out of it, sipping deeply from the bottle, before allowing Chiara to take it back.

"Greyson, please come with us. Come with me."

I open my eyes a little more, taking her in completely for the first time in nearly a week. It's clear she's come from somewhere, something. She's dressed like a princess in her evening cocktail attire. The thin straps of her soft, black velvet dress contrast beautifully against her pale skin. The dress is stunningly sinful, leaving just the right amount of skin visible, hugging each curve before flaring out subtly to her knees. She looks perfect like she always does.

"Where did you come from, Cinderella?" I snicker a little at my drunken cleverness.

"The Club charity dinner... the one our moms organized this summer, which you were supposed to attend with me... For Leukaemia research at the Children's Hospital, Greyson. Ringing any bells? I was calling you all day." Sympathy has her speaking softly, gently, but her principals have her addressing the issue directly—no sugar-coating from her.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, flipping it open. Darkness greets me. "Guess it died."

"Will you come with Theo and me?" Her tone is a little firmer this time, more demanding.

Before I can answer, Chiara shifts provocatively on my lap, curling an arm around my neck. "He's fine here, aren't you, Grey? We're having a party."

When Chiara holds the bottle up to my lips, my eyes stay on Elle, even as the girl on my lap pours the fiery liquid into my mouth.

"Oh, enough, Chiara. Get lost." Elle grabs the bottle from her hands, setting it down on the table with a sharp, decisive snap.

"Greyson, either you stand up yourself, or I swear Theo will drag you out of here."

I laugh at that, eyeing Theo. He might be big, but I'm bigger. "I'd like to see him try."

"In the sorry state you're in, Pal? I'm pretty confident I can manage without even breaking a sweat."

I reach for the bottle, leaning forward to snag it off the coffee table. Elle's hand closes around mine, and I feel the familiar spark of heat. The warmth of her skin. "Don't. Please."

I ignore her, trying to tug the bottle from her grip. She tips forward abruptly, bracing one hand on my thigh before pressing her lips to mine, leaning over a disgruntled Chiara. It distracts me long enough that she pulls the bottle away from my grasp.

She eyes the bottle curiously, looking up at Theo for a moment before turning back to me. Theo's eyebrows crease into a frown as he watches her uncertainly.

"If you won't stop for yourself, then maybe you'll stop for me." When Elle lifts the bottle in a mock toast, I freeze.

She wouldn't. No, she'd never. I stare at her through half-closed eyes, calling her bluff.

"I told you I'd hold on as long as you needed, Greyson. I told you you wouldn't be alone. So here's to your darkness. It just might ruin us both."

She lifts the bottle to her lips and begins to drink, her skin flushes red as she chokes on the strong liquid, but she doesn't stop sipping.

"Fuck, Elle, stop. Shit." Theo's voice is sharp as he makes a grab for the bottle, but she steps back, holding her hand up and giving him a hard look. He freezes without a word.

But I can't let her do this. I have to stop her.

I stagger to my feet, shoving Chiara to the floor unceremoniously in my haste, and slap the bottle away from Elle. It shatters on the floor, striking, spraying shards of glass and amber liquid across the tiles with a crash. My chest is heaving as I stare at her in disbelief. What the fuck is wrong with her?

"Theo, get him in the car." Her voice is hoarse, raw.

She turns on her heel, walking like a damn ballerina in those fuck-me stilettos through the mess of a party and out onto the lawn. The crowd parts for her as she steps over drunken students, head held high.

As Theo shoves me in his car, I watch even as I fight the booze-induced drowsiness, as she braces her hand against the brick exterior of the house, and uses her other hand to force herself to be sick, retching violently in the bin beside the garage.

It's an obscene vision before me. To see her here, dressed like she is, not a hair out of place, so pristine, so beautiful, so delicate; now leaning against some jock's house, purging the toxic liquid from her body.

"Stay in the fucking car, Grey. Hear me?" Theo glances over at me in the back seat before sliding from behind the wheel, grabbing a bottle of water from the center console. I watch as he approaches Elle, handing the bottle to her, before peeling his camel wool and cashmere jacket off and wrapping it around her bare shoulders.

I watch as they argue, as he runs his hands over his face and through his hair, then as he pulls her into his arms. He tucks her head against his shoulder, rubbing her back and swaying from side to side. I watch as he steps back, holding her cheeks in his hands, looking down into her face.

I don't know what he sees there, but if I close my eyes, I can imagine everything I've ever seen in her eyes over our entire lives. It makes me wish for the bottle again; I'd do anything to numb myself against those blue-grey eyes with dancing copper flecks and what they make me feel. What they make me face.

Theo eventually turns, sliding her under his arm, and walks her to the passenger side, letting go only to open the car door for her.

She settles in without a word, not even meeting my gaze in the rearview mirror, and he closes her door with a soft thump.

When he climbs back into the car, Theo turns to her. "Where to, Ellie?"

"Anywhere but here. Just drive, please, and let me think. You can head west out of the neighborhood, for now."

He shifts the car into reverse, pulling out of the driveway and onto the road. His eyes meet mine in the mirror, and all I see is disappointment.

I block him out like I try to block everything else out, grinding my teeth against the soft, familiar smells surrounding me. My senses drown in the intoxicating scent of her rose and vanilla perfume, of whatever else lies underneath those, creating the smell that is so uniquely Elle.

I close my eyes and am swallowed whole by the time-lapse of memories between us as I slide into vague, cloudy dreams.

And I'm not sure if it's in dreams or the last part of myself clinging to consciousness that hears Elle say quietly to Theo, "I'm really worried, Theo. I think we should take him to Joy, or at least one of our parents. I'll call Tess; she'll know what we should do."

As consciousness slides away from me, I notice Elle's frown in the rearview mirror as she holds the phone to her ear.
And then, there's nothing.