It didn't take me a month to update this time! Shocker. In the media, we have Bloody Shirt by Bastille for the song choice. A gif of Whittney is also there if you click the little arrow. (: His amazing acting skills can be seen on Pretty Little Liars, and especially Teen Wolf (although he doesn't show up until season 5).

Anyways, enjoy part two, and don't forget to leave comments! I LOVE reading what you guys think (:

Stress floods through my whole entire body, and sweat seems to drip from every pore. My hands are fixed on my steering wheel, but I can't seem to get a grip on my nerves. Being back with the very people my mind has tried so hard to forget all these years is taking a toll on me, shaking me to my very core.

Heavy breaths form in my lungs and for the first time in a couple months, I'm craving a cigarette. It wouldn't calm me down, but it would sure as hell give me the illusion of feeling better. My body aches for something to take the edge off, but not even the thought of indulging in some sort of drug or alcohol is giving me any comfort.

I was relieved when Dax let me leave shortly before the main event of the night. The whole time Eddie was driving me back to my car, I swore he was contemplating pulling over and shooting me on the side of the road. In the moment, there would have been nothing stopping him.

Luckily, his fear of what Dax would do won out in the end, though I remember flinching countless times whenever he reached for the joystick.

For the past half an hour, I've paid little attention to where I'm going, so when I pull up on the street next to Harry's house, I realize what I'm looking for. He will be able to comfort me like no one else, and without the guilt-striking judgement that Sabrina throws at me.

Before I get out of the car, I try to calm myself down, but when I see the van parked in the driveway, my anxiety only intensifies.

I push the door open with great force, and slam it with just as much. The sound seems almost amplified through the still of the night surrounding me. Not another person walks the dark streets, but a streetlamp still shines a spotlight on me as the culprit.

An angry huff escapes me as I trudge up the stairs to the front porch, not even bothering to knock as I barged through the front door. Harry's face is flush and once he looks to me, it pales. When my eyes meet Whittney's wide ones, a new surge of rage flames up inside of me. He isn't supposed to be here, and he damn well knows it.

"Austin, wait," Harry blurts hastily, but I walk right past him.

Grabbing the junkie by his hoodie, I slam his sickly-looking body against the living room wall. The combination of sweat, smoke, and liquor sickens me. After the day I've had, dealing with this asshole is not something I can handle.

"What are you doing here, huh?" I yell at him through clenched teeth. When I don't immediately get an answer, I shove him again, but harder. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

He flinches, and I almost regret being so rough with him.

"I'm sorry," he whimpers, "I'm sorry."

For the first time, I realize he's shaking. When I look into his watery eyes, I notice how dilated they are. The blue in them is almost completely taken over by his dark pupils. He must not have had his last fix in a long while. I've never seen him in such bad shape, and he's gotten worse since I saw him at school earlier today.

Right once I let go of him, he slides down the wall and onto the floor. I quickly try and hide my sympathy, but Harry catches it right away.

"What's wrong with him?" he asks, looking down at the rambling Whittney with striking concern.

"Withdrawal." My voice drips with dread.

Running my hands through my hair and back down to rub my eyes, I tried to relieve the building tension inside of me, but this is an experience that I knew all too well. The daunting reminder takes me back to a time where it was my sweat, my tears, my body shaking uncontrollably. Shivers run up and down my spine as I try to shake all the memories away.

"Help me bring him downstairs," I tell Harry, already pulling Whittney's arm over my shoulder.

When Harry also has a hold of him, we stand and make our way to the basement door. Once we finally make it down the last step, we lay Whittney down on the couch and Harry grabs a blanket to drape over him.

"What are we supposed to do with him?" Harry asks after dragging me into the mini kitchen. "I mean, we can't take him to a hospital."

At first I want to question his logic, but thinking about what would happen if we do makes sense of it. They would wonder how he got the drugs, it will lead back to Jeremy, and then the police will search the house, and if they find anything, Whittney will pay an even greater price.

"You're right," I agree. "Jay would do a lot worse than just withholding drugs from him if he found out."

Figures Whittney going cold-turkey wasn't his own idea.

"But we have to do something." He sighs. "I mean, we can't just leave him here for one of my sisters or my mom to find. Or worse. I've read somewhere that people can have heart attacks from withdrawal, or seizures."

Before I can tell Harry to calm down, Whittney's cry gains our immediate attention. When we get to him to see what's wrong, he's clutching his stomach, groaning loudly in pain.

"Oh god," I complain, knowing what comes next.

Rushing towards the kitchen, I grab the small trash can by the sink. Just as I place it by Whittney, he grabs it and empties what seems to be his whole stomach into the container. He chokes on his own spit when he finally gets it all out. A few strings of saliva still hang from his mouth as he continues to groan afterwards.

The sour scent finally catches up to my senses and my nose crinkles in disgust. My body aches for a shower just looking at the state my old friend is in.

Harry doesn't share my look of revulsion, but one of grief and hopelessness. Even after everything Whittney has done to him, and me, he still cares for him. Loyalty to a fault. Whereas I've never been loyal enough - abandoning a friend when the going gets rough, or they piss me off. It's something I've never been proud of.

Being judgemental and resentful have always been my greatest flaws.

"I'm sorry," Whittney mumbles, for what feels like the hundredth time. "I shouldn't have-" He's able to get the words out, but the words are broken apart by stutters. "I shouldn't have tried to ruin you and Sabrina's-"

I stop him before he can continue. "Are you?"

"Austin," Harry warns disapprovingly. "Please, just hear him out."

"Are you?" I repeat the question with a little less brutality.

The most sincere nod comes from Whittney, and I almost want to believe him, but after everything he's done, it's hard to put any trust in him.

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen," Whittney's weak voice says. "Teaming up with Ryan Berkley just to spite you, lying to Sabrina, telling the school about Harry." He's crying now, and I try to avoid the pity I feel for him. "I'm so sorry for all of it."

My hand runs through my dishevelled hair, the stress of figuring out how to handle the situation getting to me.

When I stay silent, Whittney speaks again through his teary regret. "I'm not asking for you to ever talk to me again." His gaze falls down to his hands. "All I want is for you to forgive me."

"I'm sorry, too, Whittney." I avoid his eyes, not wanting to let his expression waver me. "I don't forgive you. I just can't."

The table is shrouded in an uncomfortable silence. I poke a dotted pattern into my sirloin while resting my cheek on my palm. It has been a long time since my parents and I have had dinner together, and I can't say I've missed it. Putting the three of us together in the same room is never a good idea.

"Austin." The annoyance in my father's voice made me look up at him right away. A look of disapproval clouds his eyes with judgement. "I didn't give the chef a night off and prepare this whole meal so you could poke holes in it."

"Sorry," I mumble, finally taking my first bite. "It's good."

"Good. Now tell me," he stabs a piece with his fork and takes a bite himself. "What happened with Dax?"

A huge lump automatically finds its way in my throat. I was hoping he wouldn't bring up the subject.

"Uh." My words fail me for a moment, not knowing whether the truth is better, or a lie. Knowing the latter will get me into trouble in the long run, I go with my first option. "Dax wanted more than just money."

When I look up at Andrew, his jaw tightens. His gaze travels right through me as he looks ahead, deep in thought. "What does he want now?"

"He, uh..." I wipe my sweaty palms off on my jeans and run my hand through my hair. "He's making me come back."

The longest silence comes after until the sound of glass shattering makes me jump. A surprised yelp from Sandra follows, who has been on edge for the past few weeks, but I only look at Andrew with wide eyes. His reactions never shock me anymore, but I'm still afraid of what he'll do.

I don't think my fear of him will ever go away - just like my fear of Dax.

"Come back?" He lets out a breathy grunt from his nose. Even though he was suspecting they'd ask for more money, this is a thought that probably never crossed his mind. With a distressing roar, he violently swipes what's in front of him off the table.

What remains of his dinner falls to the floor with a crash, his plate bursting on impact with the ground.

"Unbelievable," Andrew huffs. "I gave you the money. That was supposed to fix it. I gave you exactly what you needed to end everything, and you still managed to screw this up."

"Dad, it's not my fault. Dax, he-"

"I don't need your excuses!"

Sandra surprises me when she stands up for me, but with a wary demeanor. "Andy, calm down. I'm sure he did everything he could to-"

He points an accusing finger her way. "Shut it, Sandra. You have no idea what's going on, so stay out of it."

Immediately, she backs down, but I commend her for trying. For so long, I've had to stand up for her, and get nothing in return. It's nice to know she still cares enough to defend me and has a motherly bone in her body, even if it is a little one.

Luckily his attention doesn't stay on her, his dark eyes glowering when they meet mine. "You are going to fix this."

I chuckle helplessly. "And how the hell am I going to do that? There's nothing I can do."

"That's because you're not trying hard enough."

Standing up from my chair, I am now on even ground with my father. "Last time I tried, I was fucking stabbed. I've been through so much shit in my life and you don't even know the half of it! You don't know the hell I've been through, and you, with your perfect life, can never understand it."

"Austin-" Sandra tries to stop me, but I ignore her interrupted warning.

"You will never understand, because you never had to worry about anything remotely as bad as what I-"

My angered speech is cut short when Andrew grabs me by my shoulders and shoves me, backhanding me when he gets the chance. The stinging impact doesn't make me fall, so he slaps me again. This time, I hit the floor, the heel of my hands throbbing from the impact.

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," he hisses when he kneels down next to me. "If you had to spend a day in my shoes as a child, you wouldn't spend another moment of yours complaining. You think you had it hard?"

A humorless chortle follows before grabbing a fistfull of my hair. He forces me up and throws me against the wall. He's so uncomfortably close that I smell a mix of wine and whiskey on his breath.

"Consider yourself lucky. You never had the misfortune of meeting my Uncle Lucas." There is an undeniable fear in my father's eyes when he brings up a name I've never heard of before.

I want to ask him what he's talking about and who Uncle Lucas is, but he only continues, "Don't preach about what you can't possibly comprehend. I learned at a young age how cruel the world can be, family being no exception. And if you ever try to undermine the pain I went through, I will show you the very definition of the word."

To make his threat clear, his fist drives into my stomach. I fall to the ground, clutching the sensitive spot. Questions rage through my mind, but I don't want any of them answered.

Something tells me that this is a truth I'll never want to learn.

"Let's go Sandra." Andrew drags her behind him by her arm. Their footsteps lead up the stairs to their bedroom.

I look at the mess on the floor that Andrew had caused in his anger. Every broken shard reminds me of all my mistakes building up to where I am now - a crumbling mess. Both brought down by the hands of my father. 

***

Thank you so much all of you who have been keeping up with this story (even with the painfully slow updates). Means so much to me!

Please don't forget to leave a comment telling me what you think! Did Austin make the right call by not forgiving Whittney, or would you have given him yet another chance? Also, if the chapter is deserving, don't forget to vote!