"Sadie," he says, he says, he says. "Sadie," he says. 

I open my eyes. "Sadie," he says, smiling. 

I blink, because this can't be real. I push away from him, because he can't be here. 

I hold in my tears, because I have to be with mom. I have to leave. 

"Shit," my mouth says as my arms push me up, leaning once again on the wall. "Shit. Where am I? Why are you here? You should be in the basement. You were supposed to be in the basement, and stay there, happy."

"I could never be happy without you there," responds Jamie, and I close my eyes. 

"Motherfucking shit."

I push myself to standing, even though my stomach hates me and so does my head and so does the rest of my body because I feel like the word I have now said to Jamie three consecutive times. 

He gives me a concerned look as I look around. I haven't moved far, thank god. None of my progress is lost. I am still in the bar, and it is the same save for the blonde boy kneeling beside where I had been lying moments earlier. 

"Sadie? Are you okay?" he asks, and he is genuinely worried, and I don't know why and do I even want to know why?

My stomach curls into a ball and punches my intestines, and I don't really feel like speaking, so I don't. He doesn't seem to understand, but then again, maybe he does. 

"Sadie, come here," he says with one arm outreached, and that is the fifth time he has said my name; five times too many. 

"No," I say, voice shaking, brain shaking in the same way. No, no, no.

God, have I fucked up. I took this pretty boy into my arms and thought that everything would be okay. I tried, oh, I tried, and then I failed. 

But I didn't, not really. I didn't fail yet, I don't think. I haven't failed until I find her. 

Or her body. 

No, I can't think about that, I just can't. 

My thoughts don't make sense, and so I meet Jamie's eyes, and the endless blue I find within grounds me, brings me back to earth. 

I take a deep breath. "I'm okay," I say, and I do mean it. 

He smiles, rising to standing with one hand leaning against a chair. He is still holding my gaze, and when his hand reaches out for mine, I let him take it, however guilty I feel. 

"It's not real," I say, because I would rather blurt it all out and have the boy who is possibly my one chance at survival hate me than mistakenly think I'm attracted to him. 

Well, not that I'm not attracted to him, but there is a time and place for romantic relationships, and this certainly isn't it.

"None of this is real. None of me, I mean. I have not been real with you and it hasn't been on accident."

His smile falters, but it is only into a kinder, more understanding expression. I'm confused. 

"I know," he starts, and I hold my breath. "I baited you, with the key. It wasn't meant to be a test at first, but it was, and you passed, Sadie. You care so much, even if you have to prioritize who you care for, and that is a virtue I just love about you."

He slides his hand up my arm, fingers gently cupping my chin. "Among many things."

It is the sixth time he has said my name, the sixth time I have not deserved it. 

Before me, Jamie leans closer, and closer and closer and his eyes are shut gently and I panic. 

I tear myself from him, stumbling backwards. He is hurt but he is there, and then he is not hurt nor there anymore because the ceiling has fallen in, large blocks of concrete hurtling down, revealing a beautiful blue, cloudless sky. They bury Jamie until he is nothing but a pile of rubble, and then they come for me, too, and soon the light is gone and the sweetness of his voice is gone and everything is gone and maybe I am, too. 

***

My eyes flutter open with a gasp, and it is wonderful, because I feel like myself again. 

It takes a moment before my dream comes hurtling back. At first, I am disgusted with myself about this blond boy appearing even in my unconscious mind, but I quickly come to terms with it because even if I can only see his face in my memories, god, is he hot. 

The bar around me is not decimated but is getting there. My coat lies abandoned on the ground, right beside the puddle of mystery alcohol I spilled earlier, littered with broken glass. I pick it up after a moment's hesitation, shaking it out but still finding a small bit of something sharp in my sleeve when I put it on. 

The plasticky fabric is cold as it slips over my torso, not helping much to soothe the incessant shivering I seem to have adopted recently. I sit down on a bench, wrapping my arms around myself, a small comfort. 

What do I do from here? I have to go on. I have to regain my senses. I have to cross the bridge, and I have to find my mother. But that's not the question, really--the question is can I? Can my bones withstand the weight of grief that is very possibly soon to come? Can they hold strong as the rest of me fractures, crumbling to pieces in the frozen grass?

I desperately want the answer to that question to be an overwhelming yes, but I know, deep down, that the answer is no. That I would fall once my mother does, and I would not get up. Maybe that is my future, whether I like it or not. Maybe it is my destiny. 

A deep breath brings me back to reality--the reality where the possibility of a future cannot control my current decisions. The cold air that escapes my lungs in the form of a small cloud, hovering in the sky, reeks of hope. I watch it for a moment, until it disappears into nothingness, like everything has before me and surely will once I am gone, too. 

A car, my brain reminds me. That is what I need. A car. Not a motorcycle, because I have certainly learned my lesson with those, but a car. Something stronger, safer, more protective if I manage to crash this one, too. 

Which I won't, by the way. I won't because I don't want to, because my brain already aches from the first one, the pain only heightened by the second, and I don't think it can stand a third.

I can't stand a third either, not any more than I could stand my father dying or my mother disappearing. The thread that is my life has worn thin, and I know that soon it will snap, my sanity joining it. 

My hands push against the wall and I am standing, breathing. I sway on two feet, but the wall is there as my support, and I don't fall. My head twists on my neck, little bubbles inside the bones emitting small popping noises. 

I stretch my back, and it does the same. I wipe my eyes with my knuckles and then the tips of my fingers, pick at the skin on my lips. 

My little routine most likely does nothing, but I do feel cleaner, despite my greasy disaster that calls itself hair and the torn-up mess that is my clothes.

"Hello," I say into the emptiness, testing my voice. It is scratchy and my throat stings a little bit, but it's not anything I can't manage. 

My leg reminds me of its existence with a sharp stab of pain, and I immediately shift my weight to the other foot. Looking down, no damage has been suffered to the cast, thankfully. Now that it has solidified its continuation in my life, the constant aching I hadn't noticed before resumes, forcing my expression into something akin to a wince. 

The door to the bar swings as I limp out of it, peering around in search of a parking lot. Most cars will be locked, but then again, I will have no need for a rear window, and there seems to be no shortage of discarded bricks in this small town.

A shout snaps my head up. It's come from a way down the street, in the direction that I need to be going, opposite the hospital; so it can't be Jamie. 

"Sadie!" it shouts, the exclamation repeated when I don't answer. Or maybe I do answer: a small sound escapes from my mouth, irritating my throat, which fights back with a small itch of pain. 

A loud sound, like feet pattering on concrete, reaches my ears just as the blond boy rounds the corner.