"It was hard to know who was more crazy... me... or everyone else." - Max Rockatansky, Mad Max: Fury Road

"No, no, no," Griffin protested loudly, waving his hands around emphatically and almost knocking my lamp off of its table, "Fury Road is the best one. You can't even argue that."

I sighed and leaned back in the couch, already knowing the way this argument would go considering I had it with Griffin at least three times this week, "You can't beat the original Mad Max."

"Oh my God," he said, staring at me with a mixture of annoyance and exasperation. Griffin took a deep breath and clasped his hands together, "I like you, Emmy. We're friends. But you're so wrong that it's making me question this new-found friendship."

Griffin and I had developed a new-found friendship. After I spent half the night with Griffin in his apartment when he broke in through his window, we had gotten closer. Over the past two weeks, I had talked to Griffin at least every day, spending at least a few hours hanging out in one of our apartments. And during that time, I noticed a small change in him.

Griffin still had his quirks - he could never sit still, I always heard him pacing his apartment at odd hours of the night, and he got closed off very quickly - but he was warmer. I wasn't sure what happened since the first time I talked to him, but Griffin seemed to be smiling more instead of scowling. Griffin still looked exhausted, with dark, prominent bags under his blue eyes, but he just seemed all-around better.

I ignored Griffin's rant about how Fury Road was the best and leaned back in bed, staring at the notebooks in front of me. Griffin had been helping me study for my psychology test tomorrow, but he spent most of the time arguing with me about which movie was better and pacing the length of my room, squinting down at my book but saying nothing.

Griffin stand pacing suddenly and stood by the edge of my bed, scooping up my opened psychology book and holding it tightly. Griffin looked up at me, pale blue eyes scanning the notebooks before landing on me, "I've been helping you study, but I realized I don't even know where you to college."

Our friendship had developed quickly, maybe a little too quickly, I realized, because Griffin had a point. Griffin and I never really stopped to get to know each other - we didn't ask questions, just talked and hung out and made fun of our neighbors. I never stopped to try and get to actually know Griffin. Hell, I didn't even know where he worked at.

"Villanova," I replied, pushing my papers off my lap and sitting up, crossing my legs underneath me and clasping my hands together. I smiled up at Griffin, "Where do you work?"

Griffin leaned against the wall, crossing his legs at his ankles and frowning. Griffin hesitated, nimble fingers twisting together, "I work at a lawyers office," at my surprised expression, Griffin smiled tightly and shook his head, "Front office. I just work with papers and answer the phone calls."

I couldn't imagine Griffin - the boy who genuinely didn't seem like he could sit still for more than ten minutes - working in an office, let alone at the front desk. I couldn't imagine Griffin answering calls all day, or shuffling through papers and organizing everything. I just could not imagine Griffin behind a desk.

"What made you pick psychology?" Griffin asked suddenly, rubbing his hand against the bit of stubble that grew in on his face. I couldn't help but think that Griffin looked eager to get the conversation away from him.

I took it with stride, though, and was rewarded with a relieved expression on Griffin's face when I answered, "I've always just wondered why people do what they do. What the driving force between people's motives are," I said slowly, unable to smile at this. I loved psychology, and I loved talking about it, "It's also pretty cool to try and gauge what people are thinking and feeling."

Griffin's head cocked to the side, stands of dark blond hair falling out of its gelled-position and onto his forehead, "Yeah?" he asked, thin lips turning up into a teasing smile, "What am I thinking?"

That was a question I had been asking myself. Griffin looked content - even happy - in that moment, but his eyes betrayed him. The smile on his face might have seemed genuine, but the true emotion was in his eyes: sadness. Griffin may have seemed fine as he leaned against the wall, but I noticed the way he kept bouncing his leg up and down, how his slim fingers constantly twisted together.

Was Griffin nervous? Angry? Was the sadness in his eyes ever not there? Those were questions I would never know the answer to because he contradicted himself. Everything that should have been obvious about Griffin was not. He looked as happy as he did sad. He seemed as calm as he did anxious. He was impossible to read.

So, instead, I grinned and shrugged, "You're thinking how lucky you are to have such a cool neighbor that's giving you something to do on a Sunday night."

"How lucky I am to help you study? God, I've clearly been blessed," Griffin teased lightly, fingers pulling apart. Griffin stood there for a few seconds before pushing himself off the wall and sitting on the edge of my bed, fingers plucking on the loose threads of my comforter. Griffin looked up at me, blue eyes narrowed, "You know what I think you're thinking?"

I swallowed tightly and leaned forward, placing my hands on my knees, "What?"

Griffin opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by his phone ringing. Frowning, Griffin reached into his pocket and dug out his phone, frown only deepening when he saw it was a text. I leaned back in bed and Griffin stood up, unlocking his phone and pulling it up close to him as he read whatever the message said.

Griffin flushed, cheeks pale white as his eyes widened in what could only be horror. Griffin stumbled over to my bed and tossed his phone on it, instead reaching for his jacket and pulling it over his black shirt. I watched in confusion as Griffin pulled his car keys from the pockets of his cargo shorts, hands shaking so badly that he dropped the keys three times before he could properly hold them.

Griffin nervously tugged a hand through his hair, body stiff as his eyes landed on his phone. I stared down at the device, too, eyes only catching on one word before Griffin snapped it up and pushed it into his pockets. Griffin's fingers were curled into fists, the veins in his arms prominent as he paused and stared at me.

"I have to go," Griffin said, backing up and pausing at the threshold of my bedroom door, "I'll be back later. Good luck on your test, Emmy."

And Griffin was out of my room then, leaving the apartment seconds later when he slammed the door shut behind him. I didn't know what to say - what to do or even think. Griffin had left like the wind, but I wasn't focused on him or his reaction to his text. I was focused on the one word I saw from his message.

Police.

-

"Ugh!" Cara groaned, leaning back in the couch, hair fanning out around her. She crumpled the piece of paper in her hand and groaned loudly again, "I'm going to fail tomorrow. I can't remember psychoanalysis for my life, Emmy."

I was only half-focused on Cara complaining about our test tomorrow. The rest of my attention was on the fact that Griffin had gone into his apartment a half-hour ago - at seven - and I had yet to hear a word from him. If it wasn't for the fact that he had slammed his door when he came home, I wouldn't have even known he came back.

"You'll do fine," I said dismissively, turning down the volume on the TV when I heard a crash. I was only met with Joan shouting something from above me and sighed, turning the volume back up, "It's only one test, anyway."

Cara smiled sarcastically at me, bright eyes filled with annoyance, "God, Emmy. Your support is amazing. Truly."

I tried to send my best friend back a genuine smile, "It's what I'm here for."

Cara snorted and turned back to her textbook, reading the passage about psychoanalysis again for what must have been the fourth time. I knew I probably should have been studying to, but I knew the passage good enough. Plus I wasn't sure I could focus enough on anything else. My mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Griffin and the fact that someone had texted him about the police.

"Maybe I'll become a history major," Cara said, glaring down at the textbook propped up on her lap. She slammed it closed, eyes burning holes into the cover, "I bet it's a thousand times more enjoyable than fucking psychoanalysis."

"Weren't you a history minor freshman year? And didn't you drop it in, like, two weeks?"

Cara groaned loudly again and rolled over in the couch, pressing her face against a pillow. I patted her back and couldn't help but smile at her antics. As much as Cara loved psychology (no matter how many times she denied it, I knew she loved the subject), she hated studying. All of our pre-test studying days went like this - Cara complaining and freaking out, and me half-paying attention to her fits of nervousness.

"I need air," Cara breathed out deeply and stood up, fishing through the blankets and pillows before she grabbed her purse, "And a hoagie. WaWa run?"

I could never deny a WaWa run, so I nodded and stood up, grabbing my own purse and sweater, "Good with me," I said, picking up my keys and looking around the apartment for my boots, "Are you sleeping here tonight?"

Cara smiled at me in response and I laughed, following her out the door. I was half-way across the hall when two police officers suddenly came up the steps, serious expressions on their faces as they looked around. Cara and I stopped, both of us staring as the two burly men made their way onto our floor.

One officer, the taller of the two, turned to me, "Excuse me, miss," he said politely, squinting at the apartment room numbers, "Do you happen to know which apartment Griffin Cutkosky lives in?"

Cara's eyes widened when she recognized Griffin's name, and my heart jumped into my throat. What would the police want to do with Griffin? Sure, he was rude at times, elusive and cold, but I couldn't imagine why the police would need to talk with him. A thousand scenarios raced through my mind as I weakly nodded at the officer, throat too dry to answer him.

"Would you mind showing me his apartment?" slowly, almost as if I wasn't aware of my actions, my hand raised and I pointed to Griffin's door. My hand shook and I dropped it quickly, curling my shaking fingers into a fist, "Thank you, ma'am. Have a good night."

But I wasn't moving.

I watched as the officer knocked on Griffin's door, his partner standing behind him in a defensive position. The door swung open a second later and Griffin walked out in a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt, face quickly transforming from a look of anger to one of shock. Griffin's eyes widened, and I pushed Cara back when she tugged on my arm.

"Emmy," Cara whispered, fingers wrapping around my elbow as she gently tried to pull me, "Come on, let's go."

"No."

I wasn't sure why, but I couldn't leave. Griffin looked so nervous as he stared at the police officers, and I couldn't leave him alone. I needed to know what the police wanted with my neighbor, but I also couldn't leave Griffin. I wouldn't be able to make it down the stairs without the image of Griffin looking so nervous and a bit scared being burned into my mind.

"Officers," Griffin said tightly, one hand gripping the frame of his door, "How can I help you?"

"Good night, Mr. Cutkosky," the officer I had spoken to say, completely ignoring Griffin's question. Griffin stood up straighter, body tense as he looked down at the officer, "We need to talk to you. Can we come in?"

Griffin's eyebrows furrowed and, even from where I stood, I could see the way his fingers on his free hand curled into a fist, "No," he said, "You can tell me what you need, sir."

"Mr. Cutkosky - "

"I have a right by the law to shut the door," Griffin snapped suddenly, and I found myself taking a few slow steps forward, not sure if I was more afraid of catching the attention of the police officers or Griffin, "I'd really appreciate it if you could just tell me what you need so I can get back to my night."

"Sir, this isn't how we wanted to tell you," the officer said, a sympathetic expression on his face as he spoke next, "We're re-opening the murder case of your mother and need you to come into the station. We have a suspect."

</ I meant to update this days ago, I'm sorry!! I watched Fury Road and was too emotional to do anything and then wrote this update too late last night to post. but it's out now! :-)

please let me know your thoughts omg and enjoy :)