"W-what are you doing here?"

Spencer takes a step back, faltering slightly. "I'm here to see you," he says. His voice is far too matter-of-fact for my liking—like a black coffee, straight and to the point.

It triggers an alarm, the hum growing with each passing second until I squeeze my eyes tight and shake my head. "You need to leave," I say, the assertion helping to quiet the ringing.

"Leave?"

"Yes, Spencer, leave. As in right now."

The loss of the noise brings another layer of clarity that forces me to glance over his shoulder. A silent prayer runs through my mind as my eyes rake across the street. Unfortunately, it's a little too late for divine intervention. Far, far too late.

Isaac's smiling, which is something, but it's smarmy, dirty even, and I can't help but shy away from it. The gate's hinges squeal as he slams it shut, the piercing sound made worse by the sarcastic quirk of his brow and his taught hands that are pressed against the gate's rusted frame, flecks of peeling paint clinging to his palm.

"I guess you didn't know how you'd feel an hour later," he says as he rocks onto his heels.

"It's not what you think."

"What?" he laughs, the bitterness slicing through me. "It's not you picking him?"

"No." I shove past Spencer and hurry down the path. Isaac steps away, his tinted green palms hanging lifelessly by his side. "It's not," I insist. "I promise."

"Look," he sighs as his hand reaches for his neck, the paint transferring, "I don't even want to know."

"But—"

"I'll see you later."

He leaves before I have the good sense to unlock the gate; before I can even explain; before I think of chasing him. He simply goes, his figure retreating down the road.

He rounds the corner, disappearing for good, but I'm rooted in my spot. Honestly, my feet can't even think to move. My eyes, however, are a different story, and just when I want them to behave, my tear ducts let rip, and fat, salty tears roll down my cheeks and splash to the cobbled ground.

A hand rests on my shoulder, curving around it and slipping down my arm to my wrist. However, it's not until it's wrapped around my hand that I tear myself away.

"I hate you," I whisper, the words catching in the breeze. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you."

"You don't mean that," Spencer says, taking a step closer. His breath fans across my neck, his scent engulfing me. It's like a prison, grimy and close. It lacks intimacy, privacy; for now, I know I'm not the only one who's been here, their back pressed against his chest, their ears clinging to the rasp in his voice.

"You love me," he says, over-confident to the extreme.

It's disgusting.

"You're crazy," I say.

"You can't just turn it off like that." He takes a step back.

"You're right, I couldn't. But seeing you with another girl was more than enough."

"It was a mistake."

"We all make mistakes," I say, finally turning to face him.

He takes a step towards me, a smile brightening his features.

"But."

His smile falls.

"That doesn't mean I have to give you a second, no, a third chance. You messed up. And do you know what?"

"What?"

"I can't keep doing this to myself."

He swallows, nodding slowly, and glances at me. "Then why did you come?" he asks, accusation dripping maliciously.

"What?"

"Yesterday. Why did you come?"

"Because."

"Because?" He takes another step towards me, the action almost as taunting as his tone.

We're millimetres apart, kissing distance.

His hands find mine.

Our palms press against one another.

His fingers, large and invading, collapse around mine, holding them prisoner.

I suck in a breath, watching as his hazel eyes spark, golden flecks falling like the rain, and wrench my hands from his. They find his chest. One good shove sends him stumbling, his smoulder replaced with a growl.

"What the—"

"I came because I wanted to know how many girls I was competing with, but it doesn't matter. I don't want to know because knowing won't change a damn thing."

"You wanted honesty?" he hisses.

"When we were together. But you can't retroactively be honest and think it'll fix everything. You lied to me, Spencer. Every day you didn't tell me about Penelope and the others you lied to me."

"It's not like you were a hundred per cent honest," he mutters, the toe of his trainers scuffing a huge, black stone on the path.

"Are you serious?"

"He was here," he says, gesturing to the gate.

"Isaac?"

"Who else?" he wails, something primal seeming to rip from his throat and whip against me. "You think you're so innocent." His voice lowers to a growl. "But I wouldn't have kissed that girl if I didn't think you were kissing him."

"So it's my fault?"

He crosses his arms and frowns, the aggression quelling into vomit-inducing pity. "I never said that."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

I feel an argument brewing, a pointless one, so I slip past and head for the door. "It doesn't matter what you said," I say as I enter the house. "Because nothing is going to fix this or change it."

"So what? We're done? Two years and we crumble at the first hurdle?"

I turn, smiling a little, and nod. "Of course we're done. What did you expect? That I'd welcome you with open arms? I'm not that stupid."

"He doesn't want you," he shouts as I reach for the brass handle. "Isaac, I mean. I know guys like him. They're all fun until you want real commitment."

I can only laugh. "Maybe he doesn't want me," I say, "maybe he does. Either way, it's no longer your concern."

"But—"

I slam the door shut, the sound reverberating through the narrow hallway until it pierces my chest, entangles with my ragged heartbeat and shoots out again.

It's no longer his concern.

It's no longer his concern.

It's no longer his concern!

I'm free. I'm me. Just Lizzie. Not Lizzie and Spencer, Spencer and Lizzie. Not his girlfriend, his stupid, stupid girlfriend. But me.

Lizzie.

Perfect Lizzie.

Okay, not perfect, but you get the idea.

Henry and Paula trip over one another as they spill out of the living room. Paula rights herself first, her fingers gripping onto the painted door frame. She huffs, smooths out the non-existent wrinkles in her jeans, and walks towards me.

"Are you alright?" she asks, her arms snaking around my waist.

"Yes, surprisingly."

"There's nothing surprising about it," Henry says as he scoops himself from the floor.

"But do you mean it?" Paula asks, her eyes narrowing as she glares at Henry. "As in, are you actually okay?"

"I do mean it," I smile, "I really, really do."

"Okay," she smiles too, and her arms tighten around me. "What's next."

"Next?"

"We saw Isaac run away," she says.

"You did?"

"Of course," Henry grins. "We were watching."

"Oh."

"Well?" They both stare at me, their gaze piercing.

"Well." I drag out the word, allowing it to push against the solid walls. Then it snaps back, compressing into a minute ball, and I shrug. "I guess we've got to find him."

"I'll drive," Paula says.

We all go our separate ways. Paula, to the living room while Henry and I rush to our respective bedrooms. I scramble downstairs with a handbag, my purse and keys thrown inside. Henry's hot on my heels, and Paula's already outside, her engine humming. I grab a jacket, shrug it on, and bundle myself into the front passenger seat. Henry's mouth opens, almost as if he's about to complain, but Paula shoots him a look, and he settles into the back, shoving his seatbelt into the plug with minimal complaint.

"Where to first?" Paula asks as she drums her fingertips against the steering wheel.

"His house?" I swivel around and glance at Henry.

"Well, if he's not there, I don't know where he'll be," he says, shrugging.

Paula checks her mirrors and pulls out of the space rather haphazardly. She somehow fails to spot an approaching car. Thankfully, they draw to a jerky stop, and she accelerates towards the junction.

There are no more near misses, and we reach Isaac's in one piece. Paula parks three doors down and yanks the key out of the ignition. She releases my seatbelt, leans across my body, and opens the door. "Go," she says, giving my shoulder a soft push.

"Aren't you guys coming?" I shoot them both a panicked stare.

"Of course not. You've got to do this alone," she says.

I turn to Henry. He shakes his head. "Go. If you don't, you'll change your mind."

My left foot slaps against the pavement, my right's next. Unfortunately, I can't seem to stand. That is until Henry jumps out of the car, grabs my hands and yanks. I stumble a little, falter too, but eventually, I'm ringing the doorbell, and my hands are balled into fists.

Mrs Harris answers; my fingers tighten. It's both a good omen and a bad.

"Lizzie." She wraps her arms around my frame and holds me close for a second. "What are you doing here?"

"Is Isaac home?"

Her brows furrow, and she welcomes me into the house. They're contradicting statements, the invitation and the frown, with one causing my heart to plummet and the other causing it to soar.

"No," she says as I step onto the welcome mat. "In all honesty, I thought he was going to see you."

"He was," I admit, my voice suddenly small, "but there was a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding?"

"He." Except I can't finish, can't say what needs to be said, and instead I collapse against the door and cry, taking in oxygen in hiccuping gulps that would be embarrassing if not for the fact that Mrs Harris collapses beside me.

"What's going on," she sighs, her arms snaking around me.

"I messed up. I really, really messed up, and I don't think he'll forgive me. I don't think he should."

"Isaac?"

I nod weakly and smear my snot across my nose. "He shouldn't forgive me. I'm awful. So, so awful."

"You're not."

"I am. I've been so mean to him, and he was still willing to forgive me, but this? I don't blame him if he's finally given up."

"What exactly is this?"

Suddenly, it dawns on me that she is not just anyone, not just a kind shoulder to rest against, but his mother. His flesh and blood. She's his, by birthright, not mine. So, I scramble to my feet and reach for the door handle.

"Lizzie," she sighs, her hand wrapping around my wrist. "Just wait a sec."

She lets me go, my hand falling limply against my thigh, and I hear her head upstairs. Her footsteps peter out, leaving a swell of silence that's disrupted by a loud bang and string of shrieked profanities.

I bolt, my legs far faster than I give them credit, and head towards the noise, coming to a crashing halt at the threshold of the room. Mrs Harris is cradling her hand, a sea of books surrounding her, and says something along the lines of don't worry. Except I'm not, which, yes, makes me a pretty bad person, but I don't think I care because this isn't any room. It's his.

It hasn't changed. Not the peeling comic posters that hang above his bed or the faint pencil lines on his window sill. Not the teddy or the singed netting. And especially not the stickers covering his wardrobe, the blues and greens blurring to create his own personal camouflage. It's all the same, exactly how we left it before he went to boarding school, and I hated him for it.

It makes me feel worse, and for a second, which feels like a lifetime, I want to give up, but Mrs Harris doesn't let me. Not when she shoves an iPad into my hand and especially not when she brings up Isaac's precise location.

"It's his," she says, her wounded hand back in her other. "I'm not sure where he's going, but follow this, and you should find him."

"Find my iPhone," I grin, my finger hovering over the pin-drop.

"Exactly."

I slide the iPad into my bag and throw my arms around Mrs Harris' shoulders. "Thank you," I whisper. "Thank you so much."

"Don't be silly," she laughs. "You and Isaac deserve a chance."

"You think?"

"I know. Now go, you won't find him standing here with me. Oh, and the passcode is—"

"3579."

"Yeah."

I thank her again and sprint downstairs, hurtling out the front door and back into the car.

"Is he home?" Paula asks as I click my seatbelt into place.

"No."

Her face falls.

"But, Mrs Harris gave me this." I produce the iPad and wave it a little. The screen jumps to life with the movement.

"What's an iPad got to do with finding Isaac?" Henry asks, his head popping between the seats.

"Find my iPhone."

His face lights up, and he lets out a little laugh. "Where is he?" he asks, his hand snaking forward to reach for the iPad.

"I'm not sure."

"You aren't?" His smile drops.

"Well, he's on the move, at least he was."

"And now?" Paula asks, her voice helping to bring a hint of perspective.

I turn on the iPad, punch in the code, and stare at the pin-drop. He's not too far, and he's no longer moving, which are great signs. The location, however, is a little imprecise, with the pin drop falling between two establishments. I hand the iPad over to Henry.

"I know where he is," he says.

"You sure?" Paula asks.

"Yeah. It's a café on Union Street."

"A café?"

"Yep. It opens till late, serves really good desserts and amazing tea. He took me there the other day."

"Well." She claps her hands together before sticking the key into the ignition. "I guess we're going to Union Street."

"I guess we are."

Paula's a little more alert this time, making for fewer accidents and far, far less honking. She pulls into a street-level car park two minutes away and cuts the engine once the car's snuggly in a bay.

"You guys coming?" I ask as I unclip my seatbelt and open the door.

"No."

"Oh."

"We'll wait," Henry promises, "but once you find him, text us."

"Why?"

"We're going to go home," Paula says.

"Why?"

"You won't say what needs to be said if you know we're here with your getaway car," Henry laughs.

"But—"

"No buts," he insists, stern and fatherly. "You go, find him and text us. You'll be fine. I just know it."

My lips pucker like a fish, words struggling out in a low-level gurgle that sounds almost primal until I sigh and slip out of the car. "Have it your way," I mutter.

"You'll thank us," Paula shouts after.

"I find that highly unlikely."

The door slams shut, and I tug the iPad for one last look. He hasn't moved, thank God, leaving me with no choice but to power on. If this fails, maybe even when it fails, it'll be entirely my fault, for he's there, waiting, and I'm here dithering.

Well, not exactly dithering. I mean, my feet are moving, and I'm passing buildings, and I'm out of the car park, and I'm almost at Union Street.

I'm on Union Street, in fact.

The pin-drop is closer. He's closer.

I don't think I can breathe. Well, obviously I can, but you know, it feels hard, tight, impossible.

Henry said the café's called Kismit, which is both appropriate and inappropriate. For it's not fate that's brought me here. If anything, it's fate that drove Isaac here, drove him away. Maybe Spencer was divine intervention. Perhaps Isaac and I are doomed to fail.

No.

I'm being stupid.

I'll never know if I don't try.

Right?

What am I saying? Of course not.

I falter. Someone bashes against my shoulder and shoots me a dirty look. It cuts straight to my soul, causing me to stop entirely. The crowd of pedestrians are forced to walk around me, cascading past my body like a twisted waterfall. Then my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I push on, stopping only once I'm standing outside the looped neon letters that spell out kismet.

It's busy, busier than the artisanal café on Milton Street. It's also loud, the sound of conversation tangling with the dulcet notes of something that sounds like a saxophone but also not—it's far too techo to be authentic and yet, something about it feels like a long lost moment. I dive into the crowd, slipping past other customers. My eyes scan each and every face I spot until I reach the back. But he's not here; at least I haven't seen him if he is.

I stop and grab the iPad from the depths of my handbag.

The pin-drop hasn't moved. He hasn't moved. So, where the hell is he?

I feel a hand on my shoulder. I don't run cold. If anything, I fall into it and turn.

"There he is," I say, my lips arching into a smile despite his prominent frown.

In my head, he responds, mirroring me. "Here I am," he says.

But instead, I'm met with silence. Stoney, violent, silence.

***

I did not expect this chapter to be so long, but here it is.

There's only one chapter left until the epilogue. Do you think Isaac's going to give her a chance?

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. If you did, please remember to share, comment and vote.

xxx