LUKE.

There was still a part of me that wished I were dead - that my plan to take myself out of the equation had succeeded with flying colors. I didn't want to be here anymore; not when I was the root of so many problems. I was the equivalent of a deadly tumor, a gunshot to the head, a fatal epidemic that swept the entire world - swept my entire world.

Waking up in a white room, vision blurred and hearing faltered, I thought I was in some afterlife, or even in limbo between the two worlds. But as my eyesight adjusted to the fluorescent lights and the sounds around me synced up, I realized that I was in fact not dead; that I was unfortunately still alive. I was such a failure in life that even in death I was still very much a failure.

"Luke, can you talk to me about your nightmares?

"No,"

I had been at the Cobb Rehab Center for almost ten days now, and I absolutely despised it from day one. It was a giant clusterfuck of fake smiles and false hope. All the employees here had it in their heads that we could be cured; that a little medication and a little time to talk about our feelings would somehow cure us of a mental disease. The thing is, part of getting better is having the mindset to want to get better. And me, I didn't really feel like it anymore.

My day always started the same: waking up in sheets that aren't mine, in a room with light blue walls, and a door that doesn't lock. A caregiver would barge into the silent space with a cheery grin on their face, ask me how I am before walking me to the cafeteria for breakfast. That wasn't the worst part - the worst part was what happened after breakfast: one on one therapy with Dr. Ned Zurick.

"This is your seventh nightmare in a row," Dr. Zurick mentioned, looking down at the tan folder in his lap. He was an old man with dark-rimmed circle glasses and an affinity for paisley-printed socks.

"Good job doctor," I rolled my eyes, slumping further into the cushioned chair, "university taught you how to read a patient's file. But you've been misinformed."

"Oh have I?" Dr. Zurick mused, "please do elaborate. How have I been, misinformed."

"I haven't been having nightmares," I told him bluntly, "those are fûcking rainbow dreams compared to the shithole this place is."

I heard Dr. Zurick exhale before readjusting himself on the chair. He crossed his left leg over his right, causing his dark brown slacks to rise and revealing today's paisley socks: black with green pattern. The doctor looked down at the folder before him, flipping to a specific page.

"'The patient wakes up in cold sweat, screaming at the top of his lungs. He thrashes in bed before he is able to be pacified by on-duty nurses. Patient repeatedly yells the name Ari'," Dr. Zurick lifts his eyes from my file to look at me, but when he does, he's met with anger. "Luke, who is Ari?"

"Nobody," I grumbled, crossing my arms.

"Ari seems like someone important if she keeps popping up in your nightmares," Dr. Zurick assumed, gazing at me with curiosity; eyeing me like some kind of lab rat experiment.

"I'm not talking about her!" I snapped, jolting out of the chair.

My eyes looked up at the clock on the wall, watching the large hand move half an inch. 11 o'clock struck, easing my mind slightly. I looked down and smirked at the doctor with great satisfaction.

"Session is over, doctor," snark dripped from my tone as I backed away from the aging man. I turned on my heel, sauntering straight for the heavy, wooden door that barricaded me from freedom - though beyond these office walls was still prison. As my fingers grazed the copper-colored doorknob, did Dr. Zurick's mouth open once again, ultimately having the last word.

"Ari isn't the problem Luke," Dr. Zurick began, his voice tender. He knew exactly how to say things, how to fixate his tone so I'd pay attention. Fûcker. "Ari could very well be the solution."

I didn't dare turn over my shoulder to look at the doctor; didn't dare give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was probably right. So yes, I did let him have the last word even though it was pinch to my ego. But I refused to look Dr. Zurick in the eyes and confess to him that life without Ari would always be a nightmare. Whether my eyes were shut tight for the night, or they were wide open during the day, being alive ceased to be worth every breath because Ari wasn't there to breathe with me.

But I had to keep reminding myself that all this was for her. I had no choice but to stay away from the girl I was so fûcking in love with no matter how much it hurt. I remembered this one thing that my AP Psych teacher taught me: the snowball effect. I remember learning it, not because I had to know it for the AP exams, but because that was the day when I announced my independence from popularity. It started with one event in my timeline; one little action that pushed that stupid snowball down the hill, and as it sped faster and faster, it accumulated more snow- more shit.

Sometimes I wondered what life would be like if I hadn't drunkenly walked into the alleyway of the Pier Pressure Shack that Saturday evening. Ari would be a hundred times happier. And even though I wouldn't have been blessed with her beauty, her intelligence or her kindness, it'd all be worth it knowing that Ari would have a life brimming with absolute happiness. But like everything else, I fûcked it up.

"Lucas, sweetheart, how are you?" Mum's sweet voice filled my ears and moments later a soft kiss was placed on my cheek.

"I'm okay," I told her with a shrug. She had been waiting for me outside of Dr. Zurick's office like she had been doing since day one.

"Are you hungry? I brought you some food," she announced as the two of us walked down the corridor, towards the rec center.

"I'm alright mum," I sighed, my pace quickening. I just wanted to be alone, but my mother was the Queen of Smother Land. My mum's life would be different without me in it too. I looked just like my dad; like the douchebag who broke my mum. I was a living reminder of the shit she went though with my dick of a father.

I noticed my mum's positive expression falter from my indifferent behavior and realized that like most mothers, she just wanted to take care of her baby boy.

"I guess I could use a little more food," I lied as mum and I walked into the rec center. Though I wasn't looking at her, I could feel my mum smile from my statement.

The two of us took a seat at one of the circular tables near the floor-length windows. When I looked out the glass, like I did everyday, I saw the same scene painted before me. Rolling hills, bare trees, and in the distance was Napa's famous vineyards. Mum laid out the food before me, displaying my options on the tabletop. I was on a diet that was "carefully crafted," as my nurses explained. I was fed food that was handpicked based on the nutrients I lacked. Food that would make me feel good on the inside, generating positivity from breakfast.

"The nurses approved everything here," mum stated, as I gazed down at the clear boxes of sustenance in front of me. "I went to a nearby cafe that uses ingredients from local farmers."

"Thanks," I said, reaching over for the cupcake, which I knew was sugar free, seeing as lowering my sugar intake was number one in the list of no-no's.

As I nibbled on the cupcake, which was surprisingly good, mum scrolled through her phone, ready to update me with life back in Percival Shores. I was exiled from all social media and any phone calls I received were carefully monitored.

"Calum wanted to let you know that he has been accepted to UCLA on a football scholarship," mum proudly announced. "He says that he misses you and cant wait till you're back."

"I knew it. He's an amazing footballer," I nodded my head. "How's Ashton?"

"Ashton did not get into his first choice of college," mum read from her phone, "and those, B-word expletive, can drop dead."

I let out a subtle smile at my mum's distaste for curse words.

"Ashton also says he misses you," mum added. "And Ari--"

"Don't," I quickly interrupted, causing mum to look up from her phone. She let out a sigh, gazing at me with an apologetic expression etched onto her face. Everyday she'd try to bring up Ari, and everyday I'd stop her from doing so. Mum never pushed it, opposed to the idea of me getting upset, but today however, no fûcks were given.

"You need to call her back," mum declared, setting her phone down on the table. I quickly glanced down at the glowing screen, taking note of the several text messages sent from Ari.

"Tell her to stop calling," I groaned with a huff. "It's not like it'll be a private conversation. These shitheads--" mum sent me an angry scowl, "caregivers," I corrected, "are listening to every phone call. I don't want to talk to her. Tell her to just get over it. Live her damn life."

"Why don't you tell her that. Ari deserves your attention, even if it's just a two minute conversation telling her why you refuse to speak to her," mum reasoned, her voice no longer held notes of sympathy, but echoed ones with frustration. "Son, I know you're hurting inside and as a mother I wish I could understand better. I'm trying to keep you safe. I want to scare the monsters away from beneath the bed but sweetheart, you have to let someone in."

Mum was crying by this point, morphing into a blubbering mess by the second. I hadn't seen her cry since waking up from my failed attempt, and for the last several days she's been the strong one between the two of us. But I guessed it was just an act, something that she could concentrate on so she'd forget why I was in rehab in the first place.

I kept my eyes out the window, contemplating the words that came out of my mother's mouth. I could still her whimpering when I felt a new presence grace our table. I turned my head towards the lingering warmth to find one of the volunteer caregivers standing near us. Kelsey was her name, and seemed to be here almost every single day. A bright smile was painted on her face as she bounced on the balls of her feet.

"Luke, you have a phone call on line six," Kelsey informed.

"I don't want to talk to her," I grumbled. Though I couldn't see it, I felt my mother's eyes shoot daggers in my direction.

"Her?" Kelsey's voice faded as she cocked her head to the side. "Unless your girlfriend has a deep voice and calls herself Reese O'Hara, then..."

"First of all, I don't have a girlfriend," I corrected, "second of all, I don't want to talk to him either."

"Would you like me to take a message? Though he did say it was urgent. Something about your friend Michael," Kelsey explained with a smile. She was always so damn positive and it gave me a headache.

I let out a drawn out sigh, grumbling and rubbing my face in annoyance. I stood to my feet, much to my mother's surprise, and pushed the plastic chair out of my way.

"Ugh, I'll take the call," I grunted, rolling my eyes.

"Perfect," Kelsey grinned and proceeded out the rec room.

I followed her out, leaving my mother alone at the table, though I could feel a jolt of satisfaction radiating all around her. In a long hallway with several doors on either sides, Kelsey led me to phone booth number six. She opened the door wide so I could stroll in before closing the it behind me. They wanted to make you think there was privacy while you take your call, but I knew the second I lifted up the phone and pressed the green button, a specialized phone operator was listening in on the call to make sure everything was appropriate.

I sat down on the chair, lifting up the receiver and pressing the green, flashing button. Holding the phone to my ear, I let out a sigh to signify that I was indeed on the line. I spoke no verbal words and instead waited for Reese's Pieces to talk.

"How are you Luke?" he asked.

I'm in rehab in the middle of motherfûcking nowhere land for attempted suicide, how do you think I'm feeling?!

"I'm fine," I mumbled. "What do you want Reese? What's going on with Mich--"

I ceased my words in a haste, sitting up straighter as if the action would somehow strengthen my hearing. I pushed the phone harder onto my ear, silently listening for the mysterious sounds in the background. That's when I heard it again: whimpering.

"This conversation is over!" I snapped. "Don't think I'm stupid. You calling me and then pulling a switch. I know she's on the other line."

"Luke! Stop! You can't ignore Ari forever," Reese interjected. "She's dying over here without you. She just wants to hear your voice."

"Here's my voice," I angrily spoke, "now get over it. Bye!"

"Lucas!" Ari screamed, her voice cracking in several places and I knew she was bawling on the other end. "I love you. Please don't do this."

Her words lacerated every bit of me and it was her pleas that almost caused me to buckle. But hearing her pain reminded me exactly why I wanted nothing to do with her. I was deadly; it was like I held a gun to her head and I had the power to pull the trigger. Ari didn't need me in her life and she would be much happier without me fûcking things up for her. She had no choice but to stop loving me-- for good.

"Goodbye," I muttered, pulling the receiver away from my ear. As I hung up the phone, I half expected to hear another plea from the other end; another petition to keep me on the line. However, all that came was nothing but silence. And it was in that moment did I realize the lack of painful overture meant that Ari had finally given up on me.

Just like I wanted.

//

ARI.

I sat on the edge of the bed hugging my knees tightly as my body continued to shudder from absolute despair. I wiped my face with the sleeves of my sweater, tired of the buckets of tears that seemed to pour out of my eyes endlessly.

"Hey, you'll be okay," Reese comforted, taking a seat next to me and draping an arm around my shoulder. "He'll be okay."

"You're wrong," I argued, switching my gaze to the boy next to me.

Despite the secrecy, Reese had stepped up as a friend. I no longer saw him as an enigmatic creeper, but as a person who understood my life. It wasn't just understanding my life, it was the mere notion that Reese knew how to help me cope with my life. Seeing hopelessness, faith, and death all one day was something he was used to; something that was part of his routine while volunteering at the Children's Hospital.

"You gotta have a little faith," Reese told me, his tone slightly on edge.

That was something else I appreciated about him: he wasn't afraid to get mad at me. Everyone else, Calum and Ashton included, seemed to sugarcoat things for me. They placed me on a shelf surrounded by cushion because I was a porcelain doll - fragile and breakable.

"If you don't have faith that Luke will get better," he continued, "then what makes you think he'll have the strength to do so? Part of overcoming anything, is having the want to overcome something. If you don't think Luke will get better, then he won't want to. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy, and I refuse to sit here and watch you drag him down. You better start showing a little faith and positivity, cause that depicts your love for Luke- not your tears."

I sat there speechless, uttering not one single word for the longest of moments as I stared in awe at Reese. He was truly a man of charm and graceful words that seemed to flow seamlessly out of his mouth. He was a pep-talk extraordinaire and I could see why he gravitated towards my sister, who was the epitome of positivity.

At the time, it didn't resonate how right Reese was. He was simply reiterating an idea that I was taught before: happy patients meant quicker recoveries. I guessed I forgot how to live with my chin up, when it was easier to just let myself fall. I wasn't going to give up on Luke; I promised him I wouldn't. But that didn't mean I wasn't giving up on myself.

After several moments I succumbed, "fine. Okay. I'll try."

"Atta girl," Reese grinned. "Where shall we start?"

"We start with making Percival Shores safer for Luke's return," I declared. "What does Michael know?"

"Well I've been looking at the things Michael's been analyzing while he was here," Reese explained, jumping off the bed and marching straight for his desk. He began to shuffle folders around, searching for something in particular.

"Is there any kind of correlation to anything?" I asked, sliding off of the bed and joining Reese at the desk. My eyes darted from the computer screens, to the piles of paper on the desk, to even a stack of very large, unopened envelopes on the corner - acceptance letters.

"I haven't decided yet," Reese answered, seemingly reading the question that drifted into my mind. He lifted his gaze from the folders to me. With a smirk, he continued, "I don't know where I'm getting my Master's, yet."

"Well it looks like you've gotten into every top notch school out there," I pointed out, grabbing the envelopes and flipping through them. "Stanford, Yale, MIT, Columbia... seriously dude? You got into the Master's program in all these schools?"

"I'm kind of a genius," Reese shrugged, before snatching the envelopes out of my hand and tossing them off to the side. "Moving on. I don't know what Michael found, if he found anything. The only way is to ask him."

"Which we know is kind of difficult," I forewarned. "Seeing as Mrs. Clifford doesn't want either of us near Michael's hospital room. I swear, his room has more security than The White House. Unless we're a doctor or a nurse, no one is getting in that room."

"I think I know a solution," Reese proclaimed, prompting me look at him with curiosity.

"Keep talking," I coerced, gesturing my hand for him to continue speaking.

"We're luring Mrs. Clifford away from the room," Reese revealed.

"And how are we doing that?" I asked.

"You'll see," Reese smirked mischievously, shooting me a quick wink and many unanswered questions.

He was quite the melodramatic man, Reese was, and while his enigmatic disposition wasn't something I particularly needed at that moment, I almost relished in the theatrics. I liked that despite the shit, despite the fact that he was a modern-day Einstein, there was still a part of him that wasn't 100% serious. Reese may be a few years older than I, but he was still young at heart.

Within 30 minutes Reese and I had packed up our things, drove to the hospital and found ourselves huddled up together in a supply closet somewhere on the third floor. As I sat on top of a upside down bucket, I watched Reese intently stare at his computer screen, emitting a familiar glow that strongly reminded me of spy movies. I didn't ask many questions, only silently observed the boy type away on his computer.

"May I ask you something?" I proposed, breaking the quietness that surrounded us.

"We won't get caught Ari. I know what I'm doing," he claimed.

I rolled my eyes, "no dimwit, not about that," I nodded towards his laptop.

"Then about what?" Reese questioned. Now it was his turn to be confused- that never happened.

"Well, I was kind of wondering if you could be my escort for my 18th birthday party?" I asked, caution laced in my tone. Reese's head lifted completely, staring at me with even more confusion than before.

"Why?" He sputtered.

"My mom doesn't want me to cancel. My family is still excited, expenses have been paid for- including your sister choreographing and whether I want it or not, this shindig is still happening," I expressed. I had fully captured the attention of Reese, whose fingertips graced the keyboard, but stayed unmoving.

"What about Luke?" Reese slowly asked.

"I want Luke to get better, I really do, but my party is in five weeks... There's still one more dance routine to learn and just, please Reese?" I had trusted him again. And not just a little, I trusted him a lot. I guessed our broken hearts were finding friendship within the jagged pieces.

"Okay," he finally nodded, "I'll be your partner."

"Really? Oh my God! Thank you!" I jolted myself off of the bucket my ass was attached to and pulled Reese into a tight hug. "You're the best!"

"But a bit of fair warning," he chuckled just as I loosened my friendly embrace, "Kimmie is the one with the dancing genes. And the only genes I got, are the ones from H&M."

Reese sat there with a incredulous grin painted across his face as he waited for my reaction. I immediately understood the pathetic joke and for the first time in several weeks, I bursted into a fit of giggles.

"That was so stupid," I hysterically laughed. "For a guy who got into so many top schools, your jokes are below average."

"Eh, I tried," Reese mused with a smile.

I rolled my eyes again, letting out an exhale before plopping back down on the bucket. Reese continued his endeavors upon his laptop and I sat quietly till whatever he was doing was completed. He leaned over, slipping his hand into one of the pockets of his black backpack and pulled out an old flip phone.

"Don't tell me you're sending Mrs. Clifford an anonymous text," I groaned.

"Nope," Reese shook his head, pressing a few buttons on the phone, "wait for it..."

So I did. I knew Reese wasn't going to give me non-mysterious answers so instead of arguing, I just watched him work his freaky genius magic. He held the phone to his lips and shot me a quick smirk before opening his mouth.

"Paging Mrs. Karen Clifford," Reese deeply spoke into the phone, and as each word drifted through his lips, I heard his voice reverberate off of the walls.

"You hacked into the hospital's paging system?!" My eyes were wide, as was my mouth. I let out an approving giggle, grinning at the ingenuity.

"You have a phone call in the west wing lobby," Reese spoke again.

"Do they even take patient phone calls in the lobby?" I questioned at a whisper.

Reese shrugged, "don't think so. But Mrs. Clifford doesn't know that."

"That was great," I complimented, standing up from the bucket. I walked over to the door, slowly opening it and peeking through the tiny crack. The moment I did, I saw exactly what I wanted to see: Mrs. Clifford hastily power-walking down the corridor.

"Come on, we have about seven minutes till Mrs. Clifford figures out it was just a farce," Reese explained, stuffing his laptop into his bag.

The two of us quickly sauntered out of the supply closet, sneaking around the corner and trying to act as normal as possible. We gave each other a smile before high-fiving and dashing off to Michael's hospital room. When we reached the room at the end of the hall, Reese opened the door with no hesitation, walking right in as if the room belonged to him.

"Mum? Who called?"

Reese walked around the bed curtain as did I, and suddenly, we were face to face with a very awake Michael. His eyes widened the moment our gazes met and I wasn't sure whether I wanted to jump into his arms or run away.

"Oh my God," Michael breathed, eyes laced with surprise. The top of his head was wrapped in thick, white bandages, and I knew that he was bald beneath it all.

"We're not trying to cause any trouble," I held up my hands in defense, hoping that Mrs. Clifford didn't brainwash Michael into thinking that Reese and I were the real enemy.

"I was fûcking wondering when you guys were going to visit!" Michael totally turned the tables, holding out his arms wide and his smile wider. "Give me a hug you pieces of shit!

I couldn't help but to grin, not wasting any time and catapulting myself into Michael's embrace. I buried my head into the crook of his neck, holding onto him with tightness. I missed him so much, and even though I was seeing him for the first time in weeks, under these circumstances, it felt so right to be hugging my best friend. I could literally feel the warmth all around and it was as if Michael had a soul again.

"Dude! How are you feeling?" Reese asked, giving Michael a hug too as soon as I separated myself.

"I got shot in the head douchepants," Michael chuckled, "how do you think I feel? I mean, I knew I was gonna go bald, seeing as I always dyed my hair, but I didn't think I was gonna lose my hair so early in life, ya know?"

"You're ridiculous," Reese laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "But hey, we don't have much time. If your mom comes back in here and finds the two of us..."

Reese's words faded as he took a moment to glance over at me. He was right. If Mrs. Clifford found Reese and I in this room, we'd both be dead.

"We need to know what you found out about the mystery creeper," Reese declared.

"That's the thing," Michael sighed, shaking his head, "I woke up with amnesia."

"Bald-best-friend-say-what?!" I exclaimed, my jaw dropping from his statement.

"Retrograde Amnesia," Michael justified. "I remember about ninety-five percent of my life. But the five percent I don't remember, were things that happened right before I got shot."

"You've got to be kidding me," Reese groaned in frustration, smacking his forehead with the palm of his hand.

"I'm sorry man," Michael apologized. "I've been trying to remember. My mum keeps pestering me to remember anything about that night, but I can't. The doctors said there's still a chance of me remembering again, but it's going to take the right kind of trigger."

"What kind of trigger?" I hastily questioned. "Like a smell? A name? A color?"

"Yea, basically anything. But nothing I see, smell, hear, or even taste will trigger the memory," Michael explained.

I let out a drawn out sigh, taking a seat at the edge of Michael's bed. Reese dropped down on the chair by the window, annoyance dripping from his face. This was not the kind of hindrance I wanted. I suddenly felt a warm hand on my shoulder and when I turned towards it, I found Michael gazing at me with an apologetic smile.

"Ash and Cal told me about Luke," Michael brought up. "I'm sorry."

"It is what it is," I shrugged. I changed the subject, "but I'm glad you're okay. You seem more like you than you have been in ages."

"That bullet was supposed to kill me but it didn't," Michael professed. "I got a second chance at life. The doctors pulled out the bullet, but they also pulled out the darkness that consumed me. I love you Ari, and I'd do anything for your happiness- even if it meant staying away and trying to protect you and Luke from afar."

"I love you forever Mikey," I breathed, scooting in closer to give Michael another hug. "More than you'd ever know. So glad to have you back again."

"Don't worry, we'll get Luke back again too," Michael stated with such confidence, it was quite inspiring. "I wasn't the only one who got a second chance at life. Luke did too. There's some kind of higher power working with us. There's a reason why the bullet barely grazed my brain and there's a reason why Luke's attempt failed. We were all meant to be friends; all meant--"

"--to be together."

//

I know... It was a little cliche for Michael to wake up with amnesia, and I totally wasn't going to have it happen BUT it was either him waking up with retrograde amnesia, OR killing Michael off completely. I decided not to. Even though a lot of shit has been happening in Ari's life, I couldn't imagine the type of pain she'd feel if Michael had suddenly been murdered- especially since Michael had been changing and Ari wouldn't have gotten the chance to talk to Michael again as the boy she knew for 8 years.

THANK you guys so much for reading this story and for sticking along this far! It's crazy to see this story grow from 1 chapter to 47 and for all of you guys to be with me. The story is almost done, and we'll soon be counting down to the very last word!! THANKS AGAIN!! Love you all!!