Warning: This chapter contains strong allusions to sex and murder.  Be on the lookout for the parallel plots.

That's how my life was lived for the next few days. I shared this too small house with too many occupants in the middle of these too empty woods with no technology or contact to the outside world. I slept a few mere feet away from a girl who wanted me gone and a guy I had locked lips with only moments from meeting. Lord.

I was positively thriving, and I knew it wouldn't last.

I knew this new life, this new exciting and brilliant life full of love and adventure, would soon spiral into one big, unrecognizable mess. There was no doubt in my mind that it would go up in bright, searing flames. All it needed was a catalyst. With my luck, this catalyst strolled into my life today with the aid of past mistakes fueled by my inability to recognize good things and not destroy them.

Thus, chapter six.

All semblance of self-control was escaping Lucas. He was falling deeper into his own personal, caving rabbit hole each time his fist connects with wood. Each splinter further revealed more from the boy who was forced to abandon emotion at the age of nine to avoid another suicide in the streets. Each drop of blood was another betraying, telltale sign of how difficult that was.

I'll start from the beginning: the day after, what I was deeming, The Game Night incident. The concept of suffocation which, I had quickly learned, came hand-in-hand with the Shack had begun settling uncomfortably in the stale air surrounding every waking moment I occupied. It had become startling apparent as to why Lucas spent so much time outdoors. So apparent, in fact, that I had begun to join him.

"Hey, stranger," I said, removing one hand from my pockets to offer a short wave.

Lucas responded with a pitiful groan, and the rocking of his hammock stopped in an instant. I took this as an invitation.

"That's what you get for drinking," I snorted, and shoved his feet to the side, "budge over."

He did as was asked, silently lifting his feet just long enough for me to slide in across him before letting his deadweight plop unceremoniously upon my crossed legs. He peeked out from under his hands and smiled. "The shock of drinking with Michael, of all people, was enough to make me forget about the consequences of my actions, so."

"Excuses," I dismissed, and took a look around. "It's actually pretty nice out here. Open."

"You're welcome to join me anytime," he said, despite the fact that I was already here, properly joined.

"Thanks," I said, despite the fact that I didn't need his permission. "So, tell me, what can a couple troublemaker like ourselves do around here?"

"Virtually nothing," he admitted, but after a brief pause gave me an odd look and added, "although, there's plenty to do a couple miles north. There's a touristy city by, and I've heard there's tons to do up there."

I cocked an eyebrow, "Heard from where? I doubt Michael spends all his time bragging about his exploits in the great big city."

He heaved one long, exasperated sigh, "I used to have a life outside of this shithole, love. Though it feels like some eternities ago. I used to go to school and everything," he cringed, and thought for a moment before adding, "I was failing, though."

"Actually?" I leaned forward in disbelief. I wondered how Lucas, who has proven to probably be the biggest dork ever, manage to flunk high school. I mean, even I was doing fairly well.

"Actually," he confirmed, and his smile turned halfway sad. "Michael still gives me a hard time over it, though, he was failing too. Then again, he was feeding three kids at the time with his night jobs and such. It's not like I had much on my plate. I guess it was a good thing he bailed me out when he did."

I worried at my lip. It was clear Lucas wasn't over the events that transpired the night before, though I made the deliberate decision not to look into it, for the sake of both our sanities. "Why though? You seem..."

"Smart?" Lucas anticipated, shrugging. "Yeah, that was probably Mikey's favorite line. 'You're so smart, Lucas Williams, how could you possibly be failing?'"

I smiled at the impersonation, "Michael's voice is definitely not that deep."

"I know," he smirked, wringing his hands together, "but he hates it when I do that."

"So," I piped, sensing Lucas' need for a pick-me-up. "You heard of a cool touristy city?"

Lucas positively beamed. "I'll take you if you can get me Michael's car keys and an Advil."

"Deal," I said, already standing. "Where can I find his car keys?"

"Probably in his pocket, now that I think about it," Lucas pondered, leaning back down on the hammock and once again rocking himself to a soundless, lulling beat. "Have fun with that."

"Asshole," I cursed under my breath, and then, louder, "I'll wing it."

"Of course you will."

"Of course I will," I agreed, and with that said, I skipped back towards the Shack with thoughts of how completely and utterly screwed I was. I wondered if Michael was where I had left him early that morning, reclined on the couch, completely and utterly hungover.

I let my feet carry me back towards the kitchen, delighted by how the path had become something of a second nature. When I had made it, I went straight towards the small, bare medicine cabinet and grabbed two pills. Then, with a sprinkle of nervous energy; began filling a glass with water. I'm in the wrong profession. Maybe I should get a career change from teenage mutant troubled girl to astounding nurse. It would do wonders for my resume, although I'm sure the first one would get me an interview, at the very least.

"What are you doing?" Selena asked, stepping inside the kitchen and heading straight for the refrigerator. She had sounded suspicious but not overly concerned, which was progress, I guess.

"Um. Advil. For Lucas," I explained lamely, holding up the pills to further emphasize my words.

She nodded, and her thoughts eloquently expressed her skepticism. She pulled out a water bottle from the fridge. "If you and Lucas are going to leave, you should probably grab some money. I know Michael keeps spare change in a jar under the drawer with utensils. I'd grab, like, twenty."

I stared, dumbstruck. "How'd you know?"

"Enhanced hearing, and all that," she said dismissively, taking a swing from her water. "I hear most of what goes on around here."

I could tell she was lying, but her thoughts betrayed little besides that. "Why help then?"

"I want to see this all go to hell when Michael finds out," she said offhandedly, "Which he will, by the way, find out about. Even if he can barely see straight."

"You won't tell him, will you?" I had silently prayed to whoever would listen. I hoped that, somewhere deep and dark, our alliance from the night before was still useable in the, oh so, revealing light of day.

She looked considering, even though she already had her mind made up. "Who knows? Probably not."

I smiled, and played along despite my newfound wealth of information. "We'll bring you back a churro?"

"Deal." With that, she had walked out the kitchen and returned to wherever she came from. I had my bets placed on the depths of hell. Did I mention I wasn't Selena's biggest fan?

I sighed in relief, and moved on to bigger, scarier things. Michael Williams. I had tried walking as silently as possible through the living space, and noticed, with quite a bit of shock, that Michael was still completely oblivious to the world around him, sleeping like the dead. I never expected him to be the type to sleep until noon, hungover or not, in a public space, nonetheless. But there he was, lounging on the couch with one hand tellingly sprawled over his eyes and his car keys just barely hanging from his pocket. Fascinating.

Dauntlessly, or perhaps just impulsively, I toed closer to where he was sleeping. His hand twitched, and I resisted the urge to jump back. His thoughts were hazy and incognizant, normal for someone sleeping. His breathing was deep and relaxed. I distinctly remember fervently not noticing how the hard lines of his face seemed to melt away with sleep, and how much younger and approachable he looked when he wasn't weighed down with stress. Yup.  I expertly didn't notice any of that at all.

I inched my hand closer to his pocket, trying to calculate what angle I would have to approach to slide the keys out without jostling him. Just as I reached close enough for my fingers to brush cold metal, there was a frantic change in Michael's thoughts, the frantic change you only find in those who trained themselves for these sorts of reflexes, beginning with one very distinct What the fuck.

Crap.

"Um. Good morning," I said, trying to keep my voice low. I was answered with Michael cracking open one wary eye, only to groan and roll over on his stomach, leaving his keys on the farther side of the couch. He was thinking very colorful things involving ultimate damnation and migraines.

"What're you doing?" he grumbled pathetically, his voice smothered by the cushions.

"Uh," I stalled intelligently, "I figured you'd feel like hell, so I brought some Advil."

Curious, he peeked at me from the comfort of his hiding place, squinting to see me properly. His hair had been completely disheveled and his eyes had been bloodshot. He seemed positively wrecked. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't checking him out, but it was strictly out of observing for observational sakes. Not because I found him attractive or anything. Nope. "What does that have to do with my keys?"

"They were about to fall," I shrugged, generously waving the pills and glass of water, reminding him of my offer.

He gave me one last suspicious look before his desperation took over and he accepted the gifts with only a hint of misery. "Thanks."

"Yeah," I said distractedly, wondering how I could get the keys now that he was alert (somewhat) and awake (most definitely).

"So, you didn't drink last night," Michael said slowly, looking as though the memories were just catching up to him. "Why?"

I gave him an incredulous look.

"Point. Thank you, by the way," he said grimly, looking the least bit thankful. "Sorry you had to, ah, see that."

I wondered whether he was talking about the outburst from Lucas or the drinking itself or the confession towards the end of the night. I decided not to think too hard about it.

"It's no problem," I shrugged, and made myself comfortable by his feet. "Though, if you ever want to... talk, I guess, about any of it, I have a strict confidentiality policy, so."

"There's nothing to talk about," he assured, and I doubted this wholeheartedly.

"I'm a mind reader," I reminded him gently, "so you can lie to yourself all you want, but you can't lie to me."

"Noted," he said cheekily, "that being said, I will continue to unashamedly lie to myself all I want, thanks."

"I'll be here when you realize how dumb that is, you dork," I said, jamming my sneaker into his side.

"Yeah, whatever," but he was smiling.

"Go back to sleep, will you?"

He shrugged, rolling his eyes and settled down once again. "Yeah, whatever. Thanks for the Advil."

Thanks for the car keys, I had thought. Outwardly, though, all he saw was a cheeky, "No problem," before I skipped away, absolutely elated.

Somehow, I had managed to snag them off his person when he was adjusting, and they were now hidden deep in the back pocket of a set of joggers Maya had bought me when she went out yesterday with the boys. I had basically ran out the room, into the kitchen and out with twenty dollars (in a wild assortment of coins and lose bills) with my newfound burst of energy, and broke out in a full-on sprint when I hit the great outdoors.

"I got it!" I screamed manically, waving around the items and jumping inside the hammock, narrowly missing Lucas' head with my elbow. I was out of breath, but that didn't stop me from repeating, "I got it! I got what we needed, and Michael was none the wiser.  I'm, like, basically a ninja, Luca!"

"Stop screaming," Lucas complained, though he was smiling up at me weakly. "I can only assume you forgot the Advil?"

"Damn it. Whatever, I needed them for the greater good.  I'll grab you some while you're getting dressed. Go, shoo! I need to drive way too fast with the windows down and blast music so loud I forget my own name."

Soon enough, we were doing just that. Although, I should have specified that I wanted good music since, of course, Lucas had the same tastes as his brother and we were now currently speeding down the abandoned road listening to country music.

The parallel was uncanny.

"How'd you learn to drive?" I asked, raising my voice over the combined volume of the howling winds and piercing music.

"I didn't really," he responded, beaming at the fear he must have sensed. "I sat in the passage seat while Michael taught himself. I pretty much picked it all up.  Call it latent learning, if you will."

"Pretty much?"  Latent learning?

"I picked up enough," he laughed. "But if we get pulled over, you're going down with me. You're an accomplice now."

"Fair enough," I smiled, and all but threw my head out the window. Might as well have fun while it lasted.

Back in real time, it is becoming increasingly harder not to acknowledge the anger settling at the bottom of my stomach. I ignore it, though, because if I can't then no one else can either and I don't want Lucas to feel that kind of loneliness right now. So, instead, I stuff it deeper inside and focus on the current task. "Luca?"

He spins around, fitting a relaxed smile over his features despite the blood staining his fists. He swipes his hand over his face, wiping away sweat but leaving a smudge of red over his cheek, and blows the hair from his eyes. He looks completely at ease, his face masking all signs of the anger he was subconsciously channeling through me.

It was marveling how a person could turn into their polar opposite with some simple prompting.  This person was so incredibly different from the one that had called out, "Ella!" with his face smudged into the glass window of one shop or another.

Without turning to see if I was even listening, he had continued, "Come check this out!"

I, of course, had followed, exasperated at the seemingly unlimited amount of energy this boy possessed. He had jammed his finger into the glass, pointing at a display all the way towards the back of the shop. I snorted at the entire Elvis assemble. "I bet you won't go in there and try it all on."

"How much?" He asked, and I knew he had already made up his mind.

"I've got twenty bucks worth in coins just screaming your name," I bargained, bumping my shoulder into his.

"I'm convinced," he shrugged, grabbing my arm and dragging me into the store.  He didn't seem to care that we would spend the money the same way no matter who it 'belonged' to.

Thus, half an hour later, we were walking around the bustling city, Lucas shamelessly clad in oversized, white bell-bottomed pants and a bulky, bedazzled belt. The owner, who looked all the parts of a creep, had given Lucas one long, beady-eyed stare and offered half the costume for free. Lucas, ever the charmer, was unable to refuse.

"So, love," Lucas said, throwing an arm around my shoulder. "What do you say we get you a haircut with my brand new twenty bucks? You always have it up, anyways."

"That's because I'm too lazy to do anything with it," I pointed out, snorting, "not because I want it all gone."

"Yeah, but," he bit into his churro, "wouldn't it be easier to manage if you had less. Then you could finally wear it down.  You know, let your luscious locks flow in the wind, and all that."

Lucas had been confused when I had dragged him over to a churro stand on the other side of the street and eagerly insisted we buy three, but he didn't seem to be complaining now, even as I forced him to hold the third in a to-go bag. I stared at him a moment, thinking. After a brief pause, I admitted, "I've always wanted to, but my mother had never let me cut my hair short."

"Well, she's not here, is she?" He asked temptingly, wiggling his eyebrows.

"I suppose not," I agreed, biting my lip. "I am due for a haircut soon, and it's not like the rest of my life hasn't been turned on its side."

"Yes!" Lucas cheered, all but pumping his fist in the air, "We still have most of our money, regardless of our churro stop. You're a weirdo, by the way. Did I mention that?"

"-Yep."

"We can get you a cheap haircut and the rest can go to gas?"

I resisted the urge to protest the idea of a cheap haircut, but, if this was about pitiful rebellion, ruining my hair was probably the best way to do it. "And if it's bad, we can tell Michael we did it at home, and we'll have an excuse for why we were gone all day."

"Sounds like a plan," he grinned, taking my hand and dragging me off. This time we both ignored the electric shock that had transpired between our touch.

I step closer, and a sudden wariness almost makes me step right back. It takes me a minute to realize it wasn't my own. I push past the sudden artificial fear and move to stand in front of Lucas.

"I'm not scared of you," I promise. He looks contemplative, but besides that his face is a blank slate. Not counting the easygoing smile, which is starting to look much more haunted from this close up. "You don't have to hide it from me."

He laughs good-naturedly, keeping up his pointless facade no matter how obvious his current state is to the both of us.

I'm not okay. I need help.

"I know."

He cocks an eyebrow, his smile unfaltering.

You don't know. You don't know. You don't know. You don't know. You don't

Instead of voicing his thoughts, he gives me a soft smile and shrugs helplessly. "Then you can understand why I need to be alone right now, right?"

My eyes flicker from the blood now dripping down his wrists to the collected look in his eyes. "No, I can't." I force my voice to be softer. "Should I get Michael?"

"Not unless you're looking for a fight," he gives me a lopsided smile.

I return it hastily. "Alright. Let's clean you up then, yeah?"

He shrugs, softly bumping into my shoulder with a friendly ease as he strides past me and towards the direction of the bathroom.

I follow him, momentarily losing interest in the words frantically floating behind my eyes and focusing once more on the breaking boy a couple paces ahead.

Lucas held open the door to a salon we had found walking around town, and watched me walk inside with barely concealed excitement.

He holds open the door to the Shack with a kind smile, and lets it fall shut behind us. He sits down on the toilet lid, examining his fists automatically. This doesn't seem like the first time he has been in this position. Far from it.

After a short conversation with the stylist, I was sitting restlessly in a swirling chair and having a comb brushed through my recently washed, very tangled, sad excuse for hair.

I grab a towel and soak it in water, biting my lip before dabbing at his splintered knuckles. He doesn't react, and instead opts to keep his gaze trained on my face with lifeless eyes.

The stylist, Jen, held up a pair of scissors. "Alright. I'm going to make the first cut. Don't worry about a thing, sweetie." I was still very much worried about quite a few things, but it's the thought that counts.

"It must be hard for you," I say carefully, glancing at the curve of his lips to see if my words have any affect. They don't. I continue, "You can manage everyone else's emotions so well, that you lost a grip on your own."

"My grip is fine, El.  I admit, I might've lost my cool a little back there, but nothing's wrong with a little healthy cooling off."

"I wouldn't call that 'healthy', Luca," I say, brushing the hair from his eyes and kneeling in front of him. He averts his gaze. "I understand.  I spent my entire life knowing someone's entire story before I learned their first name. It gets to you, sometimes, but that's no reason to go punching trees."

He cocks an eyebrow.  His eyes are almost teasing when he says, "You don't?"

I pause.  "Punch trees?" He shrugs. "Um. No, not typically," I give him a small smile.

"How, then?"  His voice cracks.

"How do I deal with it?" Another shrug.  Speaking to him is like pulling teach.

A surprised laugh passed through my lips before I could reign it back. My fingers reached up to grasp the ends of my now shoulder length hair. Through the mirror, I could see my eyes were wide in shock. My heart was threatening to burst free from my ribcage. I was positively thriving.

"This is... wow."

"I told you the cheap haircut was a good idea," Lucas said slowly, looking just as surprised by his words. "You look... Well, wow."

"Yeah," I laughed, turning around to throw my hands around his neck in a tight sorry attempt for a hug. "I probably never would've done this without the peer pressure, so thanks, I think."

Jen watched on, a knowing smile playing her red stained lips.

It only takes me a moment to realize I am the absolute worst person to be having this conversation with Lucas.  "Um. Well, I'll admit I might not handle it all too healthy either. Maybe I don't go around punching trees, but I don't exactly do yoga, or meditate, or sing Kumba Ya either, so. Look, I'm not sure I can help you out in that department."

I feel a sting of disappoint from the both of us.

"But, maybe we can learn together?" I offer, and silently hate how unsure I sound, even to my own ears. 

"I know, I know, I'm a god," Lucas said dismissively, and pulled back enough to thread his fingers through my new hair. I felt myself buzz with the realization that, yes, Lucas was looking at me with the same intense brown eyes he had before he kissed all that time back in the woods. This time, though, he hadn't kissed me. Instead he stepped back from our impromptu hug and turned away to pay the stylist with the majority of whatever we had left from our small wad of coins. We left the store with our remaining five measly dollars and my new hair.

I also hate how I had managed to close virtually all distance between the two of us, like two planets drifting closer each orbital. I hadn't noticed, not for the first time, how close we gravitate towards the other until it's too late and suddenly we are nose-to-nose and I could feel every miserable exhale fanning over my own face and when did he have time to pop a mint because there's no way someone's breathe could smell that

Oh.  He kisses me.

We are kissing.

I inwardly curse at the strangled noise I make in the back of my throat, but Lucas doesn't seem to mind and only pushes closer and harder and suddenly I am dizzy with fondness because god this boy.

Lucas and I retraced our steps back to the car. After finding it, no thanks to Lucas' terrible sense in direction, we climbed inside and looked around for the nearest gas station. I didn't miss the shy frequency we were now operating on, though I wasn't exactly sure why it had come about. All I know is that there was something I had seen in Lucas' vibrant, alive eyes that ignited a new kind of heat in the pit of my stomach. Something that made me want to drive faster and play the horrible music louder and kiss the smile from his face with every fiber of my being.

It was exclusive from any other kiss I've shared with any other guy in that there was no brief period of 'is this okay?' or 'should I do this?'. He understands me in a way no one ever has before. He understands me in a way I always have to others. Like he can read my mind.

I feel his lips curve upwards for a split second, until he springs into action and I feel my back collide with the wall behind me, though we still haven't separated once.

I passionate regret never practicing this enough with other boys, less important boys, back in school. All I can want now was more, but I'm sure how to get it from this position.

Lucas doesn't seem to care about any inexperience though, and, with his easiness, my worries seem to melt away and suddenly nothing matters in my little world anymore. Besides Lucas. Always Lucas.

Just as we were nearing the sharp turn into the woods, I had realized the time. The trip that was supposed to take an hour or two, at the most, had turned into a whole day affair. It was nearing six in the afternoon. It would be no time until we were pulling up to the Shack.

"We're screwed, you know," I told Lucas.

"Yeah, Mikey's gonna kill me," he said, his hands tightening just barely over the wheel. "I'd say this was a mistake, but," he smiled at me, a soft, telling smile, "it really doesn't feel that way."

I felt my heart catch in my throat. Needing a change in pace, I blurted, "Last night."

He gave me an imploring look. When I didn't answer, he nodded and repeated, "Last night."

"You said," I rummaged through my mansion of memories, and promptly picked the absolute worst one, "you said you had killed someone."

The absolute worst one. Crap. If Lucas' thoughts were anywhere near accurate, he agreed.

Crap. Crapcrapcrap. "What about it?" To be fair, outside of his mind, he was easing nonchalance.

"I mean," I wrung my hands in my lap, "I just... I'm sure it was an accident. I'm positive, in fact. I just know my mind will keep wandering places..."

"If I don't elaborate a little," he finished, and inhaled slowly. "I understand. It was an accident, so there's no need to worry about me being a mass murderer or anything."

I exhaled for the first time in what felt like a millennium, "That's... good to know."

He smiled crookedly. "What? Are murders, like, a taboo subject where you come from?"

"Of course not," I laughed. "We talk about that sort of thing all the time, clearly."

"Clearly.  Alright, well, it's a pretty typical- well, for us at least- scenario. I was walking home from school and, you won't believe it, spazzed. Shocking, I know. It was a particularly brutal one, I'll admit, and, back then, I wasn't as great at... well, we can call it compartmentalizing for now. I mean, I'm good, already, so no need to fear, or whatever. For the most part, at least. Which is why I spend such a great deal outside- hey, don't give me that look."

It was almost funny how little I needed my abilities around Lucas, with him spouting his every thought and all.  "I'm not giving you any look," I defended, reigning back as much of my look as I could.

"Mhm, of course not. Well, I was walking home from school and spazzing my mind off and then I had," he cleared his throat, and his voice lost any remaining playfulness. "I had walked by this older man. He, uh, well, he had shot himself. Right there in front of me, and I just... panicked. I remember running, not even sure where to, but I had found a place in the woods, completely abandoned, and just screamed bloody murder."

"You couldn't have known that was you-"

"Don't do that. I know what happened," Lucas said, his tone biting and his words growing frantic around the edges. He took a moment for himself and continued. "Sorry. Sore topic, I guess. I just... you mentioned your parents thought you were psycho, right? Oh, damn, you told Michael that, and he told me. Invasion of privacy, my bad, but regardless. You knew you weren't, right?"

"Most of the time," I said slowly, not enjoying the shift in conversation.

"Well, I know, most of the time, that it was me. I did it. I had killed that man," he let out a shuddering breath, and accelerated the car just enough for it to be noticeable. The wind coming through the windows picked up, taking my newly chopped hair with it. "It started... I was walking home from school and I was upset, like, really upset, since I had failed one test or another and, well, my powers tend to grow a bit uncontrollable when I spazz. One thing led to another and that sadness, this stupid being upset over a stupid test I failed when I was nine, had killed a man. So, yes, I know I did it," he smiled, a sad, honest smile, and the car began decelerating to a normal speed, "most of the time, at least."

I forced my breathing to come in even intervals and nodded slowly, absorbing this new information. "Michael is so gonna kill us."

He laughed, though now I could barely hear it over the music. I wondered how I had ever been able to hear him throughout the entirety of the conversation. It had almost been as if I hadn't heard him at all, rather I had felt the words. "Did we have that conversation aloud?"

He cocked an eyebrow once more, ran a hand through his hair and pressed a finger to his temple. "Maybe this could be our 'most of the time'," he said wistfully. I wondered in what world that was considered a proper answer, since it most definitely wasn't in mine.

I'm not sure who pulls back first, but when it happens I instantly feel a surge of something pulling right below the pit of my stomach and making me feel drunk on affection. There is that same something in Lucas' eyes that feels so damn real. Realer than the shaking of my hands or the voices in my head. Realer than anything I can ever imagine.

He leans in once more, and places one last, slow, chaste kiss. Then another. And one more for good measure. Then he pulls back, eyes lidded, and grabs for my hand. "Come back to my room with me?"

I nod, only half registering the words, and feel delighted when he pulls me from the bathroom, down the hall and into what I can only assume to be his bedroom.

I'm sure whether or not I imagine Jaz's high-pitch squeak when Lucas slams the door shut and all but throws me against it, wasting no time pressing into the crook of my neck.

"I love you," he whispers against my skin. I can only nod in response, feeling somewhat choked from the rawness of his voice.

For once, I can't hear anything else. Just Lucas, distracting me from the rest of the world in a way no one else ever before could.

"Come lay down with me?"

I let him drag me to the bed in what turns to be an eternity of sharing hot, heavy kisses upon the covers of his bed and pressing whispered promises of a life together into the other's skin.

"I figured it out," Lucas mumbles, after one particularly deep kiss, drawing patterns on the back of my hand with the faintest press of fingertips.

"Hm?" I feel drunk on the simple exchange. Every lingering touch steals a fraction more of my resolve, leaving me to dissociate from the harsh reality of the outside world. Somehow, this simple being with him feels even better than anything else that night. Anything else in my life.

"The," he pauses, his brows furring together and gestures vaguely at the space of the room with his one free hand, "thing between us."

I roll on my side, a desperate attempt to be closer, and use my own free hand to cup his jaw. I feel an odd sense of disconnect from my body, a lagging of this fraction of a second behind my intentions.

"You and me, L, we're mirrors."

We were pulling up towards the Shack, our fingers crossed and my eyes squeezed shut tight enough for the both of us. All it took was Lucas' dejected sigh for me to know the jig was up. When I opened my eyes, there was Michael, standing there in all his glory with arms wound tight against his chest and his foot tapping a fast-paced rhythm against the cold, dirt ground. He was glaring at the car the entire time it had rolled closer and as it parked a few feet far from the very same Shack it never should have left.

Low and behold, his glaring only intensified when we stepped out, sheepish and, though we'd never admit it, halfway scared for our lives. "What in the ever-loving fuck were the two of you thinking?"

Lucas had responded for the us both. His nerves seemed to only dissipate with the confrontation.  "Probably something along the lines of escaping imprisonment. Who knows?"

Michael pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply before taking a step closer. "Really? This again? Lucas we've had this conversation before, you know-"

"-it's dangerous," Lucas supplied, rolling his eyes, "Yeah, that's original. What's the point of surviving if I'm a- I don't know, if I'm this dead man walking?"

The phrase stuck to me, oddly enough. I had related to it, but not because he was right in using it. I knew what it was like being a dead girl walking. It wasn't this. It wasn't overprotective brothers and big, exciting families and new girls you take out into the city for an escape.

"Quit being dramatic, Luca."

"You're only saying that because you actually get to leave. You, Maya and Blaise out in the world, leaving the rest of us to die slow, painful deaths."

I had a feeling this wasn't a new argument. Cat and dog, those two. Maya wasn't wrong.

"Yeah, sure, to do groceries every once in a while," Michael said, throwing his hands up in, well, a pretty dramatic manner. "You act as if I take the car for joyrides and get... what is that? A churro?"

"Want it? Will you relax a little? You're not you when you're hungry," I said, Selena be damned. No need to keep anything from Michael now.

Michael stared at me for a long, still minute. Lucas snickered at my side.

"That's brilliant," Lucas said, rolling his eyes.

"Seriously?" Michael demanded. He still looked upset.  "God, Lucas, can't you take anything serious for once? I get that you want to be a kid and all, but it's this exact kind of attitude that killed mom."

Shit.

"Lucas," Michael said softly, his eyes widening to the size of saucers. In any other situation, I might have found it comical, but now I could only think of the implications behind the words and the fear rapidly traveling down the curve of my spine. "I didn't mean..."

"No, you're right," Lucas said, swallowing, all traces of laughter forgotten. "I get it. It's no secret it was my fault mom's dead."

"I didn't-"

"Don't," Lucas said, jaw hard, "don't bother."

With that, Lucas stalked around towards the back of the Shack, into his familiar half of the woods, and disappeared from our line of sight.

Maybe it was the incredulity of the entire situation- that fact that I was laying beside Lucas and feeling more alive than I ever thought possible, but the sentence surprises a snort out of me, and for some reason the mere suggestion of it sounded like the funniest thing in the world. "Mirrors?"

Lucas nods, a loopy smile adoring his boyish features. "Mhm. We have powers different than the others. Before you came," he drifts off, and I snap my fingers as close to his face as I could manage without needing to move my arm. He sobers quickly, a determined look crossing his features, "before you came, I was so freaking lonely. I had never met anyone like me before. Besides Jaz, I guess, but I doubt she would understand."

"Why mirrors?" I ask, ignoring his sidetracked comments.

"We reflect," he puts simply, "We reflect others in ways no one else can understand, because they're outsiders- but you and me, we're inside."

I nod, and feel myself resonate with this new sort of realization.

"Before you came, I reflected alone. I was weird because I reflected the ugly things no one wanted to see, but they are."

Sympathetic understanding explodes alive in my gut, and I feel an overwhelming desire to ease any surviving loneliness I could find within him.

"With you around, I can't help but feel just a little less alone. You reflect me, and suddenly I can see for miles. I can get lost in the mania of your touch, in the rough of your voice."

Feeling overwhelmed, I push harder into Lucas. At a loss of words, I press my lips against his and smother him as much as I can without just melting into him.

"Like an echoing chamber," and that sounds a tad different from the others. Not as breathless or dazed, more reserved, a lonely little thought drifting somewhere beneath the both of our minds.

He accepts readily, grabbing onto my hips with a renewed sense of vigor and pulling me flush against him. The idea of melting into Lucas suddenly sounds far too appealing to be normal.

Michael sat down on the paved dirt ground and held his head in his hands. "Please tell me I imagined saying that."

I dropped down beside him, pulling my knees to my chest. "Nope."

He collapsed on his back, his arms sprawling besides him and cursed. Long and loud. "I am a terrible big brother."

I laid beside him, cautious of his arm and turned on my side to see him properly. "Even the best big brothers have really shitty moments."

He laughed humorlessly, and turned to meet my eyes. "I am a terrible big brother. Don't bother correcting me."

"Alright," I shrugged with my able shoulder. "But just right now, because after you give Lucas sometime to cool off, you're going to march up to him, enter Father Mode and coddle the shit out of him, thus restoring your title as Amazing Big Brother."

Michael continued staring, with something akin to wonder. I felt his breath fan across my face.

"I can't tell which feelings are yours or mine," Lucas admits, his breath fanning across my face.

"You're something to be marveled, Ella," Michael said finally, and dropped once again to his back. He took some time staring up at the sky, which would soon become engulfed in darkness and stars. "Is that all? Just Ella."

"My full name is Ella-Louis," I admitted.

"Ella-Louis," he repeated, smiling, "So? No last name?"

"Does it matter?" I shot back.

"I can respect that," he chuckled. He tried again, as if he were getting used to the taste of it, "Ella-Louis."

"Does it matter?" I hiss back, dragging my lips down to the expanse of his neck.

Lucas hums, and pulls back. "I feel high," he muttered, and I feel a hint of queasiness that I  half sure doesn't belong to me. He shrugs and, after a moment of contemplation, squeezes in another kiss, "I don't care."

"Good."

"You're a mirror, too," he says. I feel the words more than hear them, as a little tickle behind my brain. "You're the only one who understands how you can just see and see, and reflect and show the things no one wants to know about themselves. How they push you away as if you're the one who creates it, but you don't."

At some point his voice had dropped to a growl, growing frantic against the monotony of the room around us and I reverberate along each faint syllable lying somewhere just beyond either of our reaches.

"I'll speak to him after he cools off," Michael promised, sitting up and dusting the dirt from his pants. He offered me a hand, which I took, and pulled me up to my feet. "Reclaim my title, and all that jazz."

"Good. I'll hold that against you."

"Feel free," Michael said, tilted his head thoughtfully and grinned. "Sweet dreams, Ella-Louis."

"Whatever, Michael Williams," I rolled my eyes. "Come talk to me when you don't have two first names, yeah?"

Michael, who had already begun making his way back to the Shack, walked backwards to meet my eyes. "Are you really talking?"

I flushed. I had been asking for that.  "Fair enough."

"Hey, by the way, why was my dear little brother wearing half an Elvis costume?"

I snorted, caught up to Michael, and walked straight passed him and towards my bedroom, completely unwilling to even begin that story.

"Oi," he called to my retreating form. I didn't bother turning back. "And was that about 'Father Mode'?"

A few days later and Michael never did end up talking to Lucas. It was apparent with the new silence around the Shack and the disappearance of our resident chatterbox. The suffocation of the Shack grew tenfold and I, despite the consequences of our first time, was beginning to agree with the idea of trying to escape again. With fingers curled around the edges of my newly chopped hair, I sought out Lucas.

"Sometimes it just gets to be too much," I agree. "You just see too much."

Somehow, our lips had never disconnected throughout our whispered conversation. "I sometimes wish I could unsee everything," he admits, and the words were growing fainter with each passing moment. "Except you.  I never want to unsee you, Ella."

Thanks for reading! Be sure to leave a comment and vote if you enjoyed to help others find this story as well :)

- eli