ONE MONTH LATER

I loop my arm through Damian's and skip—yes, skip—down the sidewalk. After being in the hospital for a week and then on bed rest for three, it feels good to have my freedom back.

Moira took good care of me, but she made sure that I didn't exert myself unless I absolutely had to. She ordered her own son to carry me to and from the bathroom. If we hadn't been best friends since we were five, it would have been exceptionally awkward.

Despite everything, I can't hide my jubilation. I'm semi-healthy again. I have the occasional migraine, but it's nothing an ibuprofen and a nap can't fix.

And best of all, I'm still living with Moira and Damian. I never had to set foot in a foster home.

My visit with the social worker was short and sweet. She seemed uninterested in everything I had to say. As soon as I told her that I was seventeen, soon-to-be eighteen, her concerned expression turned into one of apathy. In less than two months, I was going to be an adult. I wasn't worth her time or trouble.

"Slow down, sport," Jessica chastises me, trying but failing to hide her smile. "You've barely walked in a month. Don't push yourself."

I flash a grin in her direction, but I don't say anything. It's hard to be around her when I know she was the one who outed me to Social Services. Good intentions aside, it caused me enough panic to last a lifetime. It doesn't help that when I tried to bring it up in conversation, she hastily changed the subject. Now it seems like she's the one keeping secrets.

Reluctantly, I slow my pace and walk to Gabby's. I'm already tired, but I refuse to show it.

We claim a booth and order our desserts and drinks. Gabby rushes out from behind the counter to greet me, a look of both excitement and relief plastered across her face.

"Gosh, I'm so glad you're alright!" she exclaims. "I heard about what happened and—"

"It's okay," I assure her. "I feel much better now."

"Come back to work whenever you're ready. No rush." She pats my shoulder and then scurries off to get back to work herself.

"I have to use the bathroom," announces Jessica. Normally, she'd kiss Damian's cheek or show him some sign of affection, but not today.

Once she's out of earshot, I turn to my best friend and ask, "What was that about?"

He lets out a heavy sigh. "Things have been weird between us for a while."

"Define 'a while'."

"Since she told Dr. Ford about your dad."

I shake my head. "Damian, I'm so sorry."

"Stop it," he shushes me. "It's not your fault, okay?"

"But—"

"She made a choice," he cuts me off, "and I reacted to that choice. Meanwhile, you were unconscious, probably having your skull sliced open. Don't you dare feel bad."

I look down and realize that his hand is in mine, his grip so tight that he could shatter my knuckles if he squeezed any harder.

"But I should probably warn you," he continues, "I'm going to break up with her soon."

My eyes turn into saucers. My jaw nearly slams into the table. "Damian, you can't be serious. Please, please tell me you're joking," I beg him, but he just shakes his head.

"Not joking," he replies. "Look, Layla, I love her, but...." He trails off, his aquamarine eyes glancing downward. "I can't do it anymore. I can't keep lying to her. She deserves better, and I can't give her that."

"But why not?" I inquire. "You love her. You want to be with her. If you told her your secret—"

"She might blab. She's already proven that she can't keep her mouth shut under pressure," he suddenly says. "Besides, she has her whole future mapped out, and based on what she told me, I don't really fit into her plan."

I let out a sigh. "If you're sure this is what you want...."

"It is," he replies, although the flicker of sadness in his eyes doesn't go unnoticed. "It'll be hard, but it's for the best."

I rest my other hand on top of our already intertwined fingers. "You know I'll be there for you either way."

Jessica returns from the bathroom, and we quickly detangle our hands.

After we eat, Jessica takes off to the library. Damian and I teleport home, where I collapse onto my bed, too exhausted to put on a tough front.

He lies down beside me, an amused smirk on his face. "So what have we learned today?"

"Skipping is a dangerous sport."

"And?"

"And I need to take it easy," I grumble.

"Good girl." He pulls the covers over my frail body and places a kiss on my forehead. "Get some sleep. You're going back to school tomorrow, remember?"

"Don't remind me," I whine.

"Goodnight, Layla."

"Goodnight, Damian."

We've said our goodnights, yet he doesn't move. He doesn't abandon his place beside me.

"Damian?"

"Yeah, Layla?"

I feel his fingertips gently caress my cheek.

I feel his hot breath on my skin as our faces inch closer together.

I feel his soft lips on my temple, trailing slowly down my jaw.

"What's happening?" I whimper.

"I don't know."

His lips graze mine, teasing me with the promise of a kiss. As much as I want to surrender, to turn my mind off and let my body take control, I can't.

I pull away and roll over, putting as much distance between us as possible.

"Layla...."

"I have to sleep now," I declare.

"Okay," he mutters, taking his weight off the mattress and rising to his feet. He mumbles something that I can't make out before ascending the basement stairs and leaving me on my own.

I close the basement door, race upstairs, and lock myself in my bedroom. I strip off my clothes and climb into bed, hoping that a good night's sleep will calm my racing heart and stop the terrible throbbing between my legs.

I almost kissed my best friend.

And I really, really fucking wanted to.

But I can't. I'm still with Jessi, even though we've barely spoken in a month. Even though it's obvious that she's unhappy. Even though she wants out just as much as I do.

As for Layla... well, she's my best friend. She's been my best friend since we were five years old. It would be wrong to jeopardize that for a stolen kiss... right?

Fuck. So much for sleeping. I toss and turn all night, and by the time morning comes, my heart is still beating a mile a minute.

I venture downstairs after taking a cold shower and find Layla at the kitchen table, a plate of fluffy, syrup-covered pancakes in front of her.

"Your mom seems to think sugar will make me heal faster," she jokes, pointing to her breakfast.

"Enjoy it while you can. We'll be eating spinach again in no time."

She smiles, but it isn't genuine. It doesn't make her cheeks dimple or light up her viridescent eyes.

"Listen, about last night," we say in unison.

Chuckling, I join her at the table. "You go first."

"Look, Damian," she begins, "I know you and Jess aren't in a great place, but what happened, or what almost happened... well, it can't happen again."

"I agree," I say, ignoring the stabbing pain in my chest, "and it won't."

"It was my fault, too."

"I initiated."

"I didn't stop you."

"Actually, you did," I remind her, "but it... it doesn't matter. I'm glad you did."

Her eyes widen. "You are?"

"Well, yeah," I respond. "You're, like, my best friend in the whole world. Best friends don't do... that."

"No," she whispers, "I suppose they don't."

My mom enters the kitchen, saving us from this painfully awkward conversation. We finish our breakfast and go to school.

When we arrive at Starkton High, I bid Layla a hasty goodbye and rush to the library to meet up with Jessi before the bell rings.

That's when I hear it—not the bell, but the loud, sharp pop of gunfire.

A/N:
Sorry for the cliffhanger 😬😬
Thanks so much for reading!!