[a/n: once again, i just wanted to thank everyone who stuck with this story. i'm having a lot of doubts about this chapter, because i'm not sure if it's all too soon or what, but i'm going on ahead and trusting my instincts on this one anyway. if anything, i hope you'd enjoy it. (i have a feeling you would ;)

sam xo]

* * *

Chapter 24

For a moment, I couldn't respond.

My eyes stayed glued on Austin and I couldn't say anything, convinced that my brain was just playing tricks on me because there was no way—there was just absolutely no way—that he'd actually show up just when I least expected him to. The only logical explanation, after all, was that I was either dreaming half-asleep or that I was so stressed out from all that had happened tonight that I'd begun to hallucinate.

He stared back at me, both hands shoved deep in his pockets and one foot playing with the toe of his shoe, then, almost as though his being here wasn't anything out of the ordinary, he gave me a slight nod and said, "Hey."

Immediately, I spurned into action. I brought my wrists to my eyes, wiping the tears even though he'd already seen them, straightening in my seat as though that would make a difference.

"What are you doing here?"

For a moment, he didn't say anything; just kept staring at me with the scrutinizing gaze I'd gotten used to seeing over the course of the night. Then, he released a sharp breath and looked away.

"To be honest?" he said, giving me a slightly irritated expression. "Fuck if I know."

I couldn't do anything but look at him, still unable to believe that I was even having this conversation with him when we should have parted ways way, way, way before we'd even come to this point earlier tonight.

Before I could say anything, however, he already began to walk over to the bench, taking the seat on the opposite end, wearing an expression that bordered on both sour and confused.

Which, of course, only irritated me.

"Seriously," I said. "If you're going to make that kind of expression, then you shouldn't have come here in the first place. And why the fuck are you even here, anyway?"

"I already told you," he said, turning to look at me. "I have no fucking idea, okay? But I'm here and—and—I don't know, all right? I just—I couldn't just—ugh."

"If it's about having to pay you for the snacks we had, then—"

"Dammit, Red, you know that's not it."

"Then what is it?" I snapped.

He let out a groan before lifting his glasses so he can rub his eyes. After putting them back on the place, he took in a deep breath and shook his head. "Look, I know I'm not your favorite person, and I don't know shit about you nor do I fucking know why I'm even here in the first place, but..."

I waited, sneaking a wary look at his profile. "But?"

"But I'm already here, okay?" He grimaced, averting his gaze almost immediately. "I'm here," he repeated, his voice growing quiet. "I found you, and it doesn't make sense for me to walk away like everything's all right."

"I'm fine," I said, fighting the urge to sniffle.

"Right."

"I'm fine, and you know what would make me feel even better?" I pressed on. "You leaving me alone."

"So you can go back to your little solo drama fest?" he spit out. "Give me some fucking credit, Red. I'm not going anywhere until you decide to go home. Once you're there, you can cry all you want and I wouldn't give a shit."

"Why do you even care?"

He let out another frustrated groan. He removed his glasses to rub his face with one hand, and when he finally straightened up and put them back on, he turned to me with a serious expression on his face.

"I know we're practically strangers," he began, "and I don't—I don't care about you or anything, really, but I can't just not follow you."

"Yes, you can, so—"

"No," he cut me off, voice calm but somehow sharp, eyes unblinking but distant, and something about the abrupt change in his mood struck me. "No, I can't. I couldn't."

He lifted his eyes to mine, and with just one look, I felt the gravity of the conversation we were having. The irritation had seeped out of his eyes, replaced with a deadly calm that only succeeded in unsettling me even further.

I forced myself to take even breaths, then, as quietly as I could, I said, "Why not?"

For a long time, he kept his mouth shut. I waited, fighting the urge to ask again. Instead, I kept my eyes on his, watching him as closely as I could because I was sure I was missing something here, and whatever it was, I wanted to see it. I wanted to know it and I wanted to understand him.

He dropped his gaze. "Because the last time I watched someone storm off upset," he said, his voice merely above a whisper, "he died."

I took in a sharp breath.

It was so quiet the gust of wind that blew past us seemed too loud. The words he'd just said hung in the air, immobilizing me and my thoughts so that there was nothing I could do but look at him.

He was looking down at the ground with eyes so serious it felt like I was seeing a different version of him; a stranger who's even more of a stranger than who had been to me merely a minute ago, and truth be told, I wasn't sure why he was letting me see this side of him, or why he was willing to subject himself into telling me this when he could have already gone home without looking for me.

I didn't understand him—not at all—but looking at him in the light of the lamppost, his face barely visible in the darkness, I wanted to.

I stopped myself from asking what he meant by that, afraid he might suddenly close himself off again if I pushed him too soon into talking, and instead I tore my eyes away from him, reminding myself that he didn't need to tell me anything, nor did he need to show up here in the first place.

And just when I thought he was never going to say more, he did.

"He was my best friend." He shifted in his seat, adjusting himself so that he could look up at the sky. "Well, we were supposed to be best friends, anyway."

I couldn't hear the sadness in his voice, but I'd felt it somehow. I'd felt in the emptiness of his words; in the way he'd wrapped his fingers around one of his wrists, in the loud silences that seemed to punctuate his words.

I could feel it in the way he seemed to be trying to hide it.

I studied him for a few beats, letting the silence fill the air for a moment, then, hesitantly, I opened my mouth to speak. "What happened?"

He let out a hollow laugh, followed by a shake of his head. "Long story short?" He lifted his eyes to mine. "I slept with his girlfriend."

* * *

When I finally found out why, exactly, my father left, I'd vowed never to forgive the woman he'd cheated on Mom with. It was just something I couldn't help, something that immediately came to mind the moment Mom told me about Sally, a woman who worked in the same building as Dad.

Mom had never tried to make me see Dad or Sally in a bad light. She never told me that I should hate him, nor did she seem to hate him herself. They were civil to each other, and more often than not, she was the one who always urged me to try to spend more time with him and Sally and my half-siblings.

Still, I never really forgave him, and ever since then, I'd hated anyone who even did so much as think of cheating on their partners.

Tori had had her fair share of assholes all through high school, but the ones who cheated on her were the ones I'd probably hated the most. I once broke some guy's nose when I found him making out with some girl in a party, and one time, I even scratched this other guy's brand new Mercedez with a branch I'd found lying nearby when I found out he was a two-timing bastard.

I told myself I'd never be able to accept any asshole who'd ever do anything like that, and I'd always hated myself when I became drunk enough to make out with someone who was already in a relationship, but there I was, sitting on the Bench with someone I barely knew telling me that he had once slept with his best friend's girlfriend, and I didn't know how to react.

Words have escaped, and there was nothing I could do but take his words in, turning them over and over in my head as I tried to comprehend them, trying to fit the pieces into a puzzle even though I was quickly realizing that I didn't even have the slightest idea what image I'd been trying to form in the first place.

He was a stranger, and earlier in the night, I would have believed that him telling me his secrets would make him less of one, but after hearing what he had to say, he felt more like a stranger than he'd ever had the whole night, and I had no idea what to say or do.

"Remember that redhead in my wallet?" he said, pulling his wallet out of his pocket and flipping it open before handing it to me. "Her name is Mia."

I took the wallet from him, clutching it in my hands like it was a prized treasure I'd only seen glimpses of. I studied the picture, looking at the redhead's hair glinting in the slanted sunlight, blowing in the wind even though the swing she was sitting on didn't seem to be moving. She had a delicate face, small and doll-like—almost perfect—even despite the small gap between her two front teeth.

"She's pretty," I'd said, still looking at the picture, trying to hold myself back from prompting him to tell me more.

From my peripheral vision, I saw him nod. "She is."

"But that's not why you slept with her, was it?" I turned to him, lowering the wallet to my lap. I looked at him then, feeling like I was finally seeing his walls break down, one after the other, and it felt like I was beginning to see him more clearly with every passing second. "You're in love with her."

He sent me a sideways glance, surprising me with a tired smile. "I was."

It didn't make sense in my mind. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to shout at him. I wanted to throw the wallet at him and made sure it hit home to let him know how disappointed I was for doing whatever he'd done, because even even though I didn't know his best friend or this girl or him, it was a horrible thing to do.

"Mia and I grew up together," he continued. "She lived next door. We'd never really been the best of friends or anything, but we'd always been friends, and I'd always had a crush on her for as long as I could remember, which only made the whole talking-to-her thing harder. Thankfully, she was friendly, and she'd always tried to talk to me whenever we happened to meet."

I flashed back to the Austin I'd seen in the picture I'd found of him and Lewis in the beach and for some reason, I could imagine him as an awkward adolescent watching the girl next door walk by, trying to muster up the courage to say hi, only to back out at the last minute.

"Even now, I'm not sure why I never thought of asking her out," he said. "I was satisfied with watching her and casually looking for ways to meet her and have small talk or whatever. I would go to the grocery store when I knew she was there. I'd drop by at the local coffee shop she worked in. I volunteered to help out with the town events I knew she was participating in and made sure I picked up the morning paper the same time she did every morning."

"But you never asked her out."

He let out another lifeless laugh. "Not once. "

I could see where this was going, but I wanted to listen anyway, and even though I already knew how the story ended, it felt like I was expecting things to go differently.

"I met Parker freshman year. He and I happened to be in the wrong classroom on the first day, and ever since that shared moment of humiliation, we became best friends. We joined the same clubs, had the same friends, played the same games.

"Mia went to a different school, so the two of them never would have met if it hadn't been for me. He started coming over at our house, and he'd see Mia every now and then, and though I'd never actually introduced them to each other, he must have noticed her.

"It wasn't until junior year when Mia happened to drop by at our house to give us some Christmas cookies. Parker was there, and.... I don't know. They started talking and hanging out and... they eventually started dating."

"But the Bro Code," I said, unable to stop myself. "How could he, when he knew you liked—" I stopped myself, my eyes widening as realization dawned on me. "You never told him."

He let out a deep breath. "Stupid, wasn't I?" He laughed, shaking his head as he grew quiet again, the smile on his face slowly fading as his eyes once began to soften. "I regret a lot of things. I regret never asking her out. I regret never telling him I had a crush on her. I regret pretending I was fine with everything even though I practically felt as though she was going out with the wrong guy the whole time, thinking she shouldn't be with him because she was pretty much everything I'd ever ask for.

"I told myself I'd forget about her. Fuck, I'd even looked for a girlfriend too, but as she and Parker grew closer, we did too. She was always with him, and we eventually began to move from our usual small talk to discussions that actually mattered, and the longer we spent time with each other, the more I was convinced that we were perfect for each other.

"We liked the same things," he continued. "We were passionate about the same hobbies. We shared the same opinions. We had inside jokes nobody but us seemed to understand."

"And the only problem was that she was going out with your best friend," I finished.

"The girl of my dreams," he muttered bitterly, almost to himself. "Literally hundreds of girls he could have fallen in love with, but he had to fall for the one I'd had a crush on ever since I was an awkward pre-teen."

I couldn't say anything. I just stared down at my lap, looking at Mia's photo once again. I could almost picture her and Austin together and I knew, somehow, that they did look good together, and hearing him talk about her with such bitterness was making it harder and harder for me to hate him for what he'd done. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was supposedly unforgiveable. I knew this, but I couldn't stop myself from wanting to reach out to him.

"Towards the end of junior year," he continued, "they began to fight. They weren't too big or anything, but altogether, they really fucked it up for them. They began to spend less time with each other, and I was stuck in the middle. I kept spending time with both of them, and I knew, deep down, that they were going to patch it up in just a matter of weeks, but then one time, I followed Mia to a party.

"We both got pretty drunk. She was emotionally unstable, and I was fucking in love with her for fuck's sake, and the next thing I know—"

"Oh, Austin."

"More like Dick," he told me, his voice rising a little. "I am a dick, Reed, I know that, because if I was really his best friend, then I never would have slept with her that night. If I was really his best friend, I never would have taken advantage of Mia that way, nor would I have hidden the fact that I was in love with her. If I was really his best friend, then he would be alive right now, not buried six fucking feet underground."

"You don't know that—"

"Yes, I do!" he snapped. His eyes had lost their cool calmness, and finally, I realized just how much this was eating him up. "It was my fault. My fault. He's dead because of me, his own best friend, because if I hadn't fucked his girlfriend, he never would have gotten drunk that night, and he never would have gotten into that car, and the fucking accident never would have happened but I killed him, I killed him, I fucking killed him and—"

"Maybe you did!" I yelled, if only to make him stop, because I didn't' think I could bear to hear the pain that seemed to lace themselves into every word that slipped past his mouth. "Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that what you want me to tell you?"

He didn't say anything, and even though I had no idea where exactly the words were coming from, I continued to speak.

"Maybe you're right," I said. "Maybe he would still be alive if you hadn't slept with Mia, and I'm not going to tell you that it's not your fault, Austin, because I know no matter how many times I'd tell you, you wouldn't, not once, believe me, because it is your fault," I continued, unable to stop myself, "but you're not the only one to blame, Austin. You fucked up, yes, but so did he, and so did Mia, and so did everything else, but none of you killed him!"

I looked him in the eye, breathing hard, but even though I knew I wasn't really making sense, I couldn't stop myself from continuing.

"At least I don't think you did." I shook my head, trying to sound as convincing as I wanted to be. "It happened because it happened. You fought because you slept with Mia. You only slept with Mia because they were fighting. They were fighting because of God knows why, and whatever they were fighting about happened because of some other thing, Austin, and trying to figure out how he died would only end up to, I don't know, us tracing back all these moments until we reached the moment he was born because, who knows? Maybe we are born to die and every moment leads to a moment that leads to a moment that leads to a moment that leads to all the other moments that would lead to our deaths."

The idea was starting to make sense in my head, and I wanted him to understand what I was trying to say but I didn't know if words were enough to convey what I was trying to say, but I had nothing else.

He was still quiet, and I fell silent too.

Neither of us said anything for a long time, and it was almost ironic, really, how minutes ago, he was the one who'd come here to comfort me, and now, there I was, talking about something even I barely understood, but we both found comfort in the silence as we let my ramblings linger.

I meant every word, and though I wasn't sure if he knew that, I hoped he did, because even though I knew I shouldn't care about him at all, I did, and it was confusing the fuck out of me.

I should have been throwing curses at him.

I should have been so disgusted I wouldn't even bear to look at him.

I should have been breaking his nose, or scratching his car, and I should have hated him, but I didn't, and instead I was here, trying to make him feel better even though I knew what he'd done was wrong.

Or was it?

How could something be "wrong," when everything else is just as fucked up?

How could I let him think that he'd killed his best friend when I knew it wasn't nearly as simple as that?

How could I hate him, when I'd heard the way his voice broke when he said Parker's name, or when I'd seen the look on his face whenever he mentioned Mia?

I couldn't. I just couldn't.

And that was what scared me most.

* * *

Almost as soon as the thought filled my mind, I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, and the silence that seemed comforting just moments ago began to feel awkward, and before it could continue to get louder, I jumped to my feet and said, "I'm sorry. I, uh, don't know what came over me. I didn't—I don't really—I—um—I should probably get going."

He looked startled, but without waiting for a response, I handed him his wallet back and began to smooth out nonexistent wrinkles in my pants, if only to keep my hands busy.

"Really. I'm sorry," I rambled on, "and thank you for following me all the way here, but it's probably best for us to go home. We're tired, we've found the Idiots, and we don't really have to—"

"Hey."

"—stay since we're, you know, done here and all. So—"

"Reed."

"Mm?" I squeaked out, somewhat unable to look at him.

"We don't have to go."

At this, my eyes snapped to his.

He quickly cleared his throat, dropped his gaze to the floor and lifted a hand to the back of his neck. "Never mind. You're right. We're tired, and there's no point in—"

"Okay."

This time, it was his turn to look up at me. "What?"

I looked down at my clasped hands, refusing to let myself think of what I was about to say next because I knew I'd never—not once in this whole lifetime— be able to explain why, exactly, I'd said the words "Let's stay."