The TV blares loudly, light flickering around the dark living room, an innocuous game show on. Its host is fucking chipper, with too white teeth and too perfect hair. There are too many fake laughs and too much fake applause. I'm tired just listening to it because I sure as hell ain't watching it.

Charlotte's not watching it either. She's watching me. I can feel her eyes boring into the side of my head like she's just waiting for the spark that's gonna make me explode.

Luke has been blowing up my cell and I've deleted every single text and every single voicemail before I'm tempted to torture myself by actually reading or listening to them.

Still, I wonder if he's begging for me, or whether it's all just hate. It's funny, he left and wasn't bothered for days. Now I'm the one that's disappeared on him and there's no let up.

My cell starts to vibrate again, the incoming call flashing with his name. I pick it up, half tempted to throw it at the wall. Hitting cancel I exhale forcefully, turning it off and leaning back into the cushions, trying to focus on the TV as a distraction.

It's better like this, Charlotte insists. He'll get the message this way. Doubts gnaw at me on the inside. I never expected to feel this level of guilt-the emptiness in the pit of my stomach. Isn't it better to break my own heart this way rather than it being shattered every time by him?

I've spent the past couple of days crying on and off. Overwhelmed, angry, sad.

Crying over us.

Crying over him.

He doesn't deserve my tears, but he gets them anyway.

"Are you-"

"Yes," Charlotte says forcefully. "Just don't even overthink it, Mia."

I bite my lip.

***

There's a pounding in my head that won't go away; a constant hammering. It gets louder, almost unbearable, until there's a dull shout and I startle into consciousness.

Charlotte's sat up in bed, beside me, wide-eyed.

"Mia!" a muffled voice yells.

A half-strangled noise leaves my mouth. I'd know his voice anywhere.

"Mia! Open the fuckin' door! I know you're in there!"

Luke.

My breath catches in my throat, fear prickling on my skin.

Charlotte presses a finger to her lips and slips out of bed, down the hall on her tiptoes. He's shouting louder now but I can't focus on the words, just on the desperation in his voice. It pleases me. Maybe this will teach him. Show him. I wrap my arms around my knees, hugging them to myself, ears straining.

There are whispered voices down the hall; Charlotte talking to her Momma. I close my eyes and hope they let me stay longer; I don't want to cause any trouble, for either of them.

I'm hardly breathing when Char creeps back into the room and closes the door softly behind her.

"What's-" I begin, but she shushes me, standing still in the shadows, phone in hand, 911 already lit up on her screen.

We listen silently as the front door opens and I hear her Momma speak, muffled through the walls and windows.

"The fuck you doin' bangin' on my door like that!" she exclaims. "It's two in the goddamn morning. You wanna wake the whole neighborhood up too?"

He doesn't apologize.

"Mia-she here? I need to-"

"There's no one by that name here. Now move along, before I call the police," she slams the door and I feel a rush of gratitude.

"I know she's here!" he shouts, and then there's a dull thud. A fist or foot slamming into the wall, I think.

Eventually, heavy footsteps descend the porch and a car engine starts up, roaring off into the night.

I don't sleep a wink after, and neither does Charlotte.

He texts me.

One line that appears before I can delete it.

Bitch

***

"Mia, come on, I know you're fucking there! I know you are, you ain't got nowhere else to go!"

A couple of days have passed, and he's come on a day whilst both Charlotte and her Momma are out at work. I'm sat curled up in the corner of her bed, wearing the hoodie Miles let me walk away in, fiddling with the zipper as he carries on shouting and banging on the door.

My heart beats loud, thudding against my chest so hard it rocks my body. I wonder whether he'll break in? I wouldn't put it past him if he's angry enough. He doesn't sound angry though, just dejected... frustrated, even.

The fact this is hurting him, the fact he's back again makes me feel like I'm the one in control for once. I kind of like that.

"I'm not going anywhere until you fuckin' talk to me. Babe-please!"

I squeeze my eyes shut, resistance ebbing away. Should I talk to him? Doesn't he deserve that much? Charlotte would say no, I know she would.

"I'm sorry, about the other day, OK? I'm sorry. I love you. I swear on my fuckin' life, Mia, I'll never hurt you again. Just talk to me! We can sort this. I wanna sort this."

I bury my head in the pillow trying to block him and his words out, holding onto the fact that he's never really spoken the truth to me. All the promises before... this is no different. He breaks all of them.

***

U ok?

I stare at the number. It doesn't have a name, but it doesn't need to. I know who it is. I read it over and over, even though it's only three letters and a question mark it makes my tummy twist funny; the fact that he's thinking about me enough to text.

I don't know how to answer him though.

"Ask him to go with you so you can grab your stuff? I'm sure he'd love to help a girl out," Charlotte suggests, arching an eyebrow as she eats noodles from a plastic pot, perched on a stool across from the bed.

I've been worrying about my stuff, at the apartment - some things can be replaced but there are others that really can't.

I shoot her a look.

"What? He's hot as fuck and he blatantly has a thing for you, if his lil stunt after the diner is anythin' to go by."

"It ain't, Char. He just feels sorry for me. I'm a mess, I don't need to get twisted over some other guy right now," I say, voice tinged with a little frustration.

"You're right," she sighs and fluffs up her hair. "Sorry.... but he did say if you needed anythin'... and I think it's stupid you trying to go up there alone when you know that dickhead is still around."

I don't reply to Miles. He can wait. There's just too much going on in my head right now.

***

The minute my eyes are open the next morning, I know I'm going to have a bad day. I lie still on Charlotte's bed, eyes adjusting to the weak morning light as it filters through tiny gaps in the blinds.

There's a gaping hole in my chest so big it wrenches me from the bed to throw my guts up into porcelain. I cry curled up on the bathroom floor.

Even though I know I shouldn't be feeling like I am.

And that makes everything ten times worse.

He's brought lunch today, and even a bunch of flowers, I can see them on the porch when I step close enough to the blinds in Charlotte's room to peek through them. I see him, on the steps, head in hands, so worn, so down.

My heart tugs.

"Mia, just-come on. After everything and you're going to cut me out like this? I love you. You remember what we said before we left Phoenix? Huh?" he says through the door, pleading.

I close my eyes. Of course, I remember.

We were young and dumb, or at least I was. In love, or what I thought was love. He's the tangible connection between life now and life then. He was everything. He was supposed to be everything, forever. That's what we said.

But forever isn't forever unless you try.

My resolve crumbles, little by little.

***

Curled naked against him, skin against skin, tracing my fingers lightly along lines and lines of ink, my head on his chest, his hand loosely trailing fingers along my spine. I'm buried now, in familiarity.

And all I can think is; what the fuck have I done?

Smoke curls into the air and he's looking over at me with red eyes as he brings a spliff to his lips.

"Who were you fightin' with?" I ask tentatively, looking over his busted face and dark bruises on his ribs. His eye is swollen, mottled purple and there's a cut to his lip.

"Vince's guys," he says, keeping the smoke in his lungs.

I tense slightly, thinking of Miles. Was it him? Who did this? I should be mad, if it was, but I don't think I am.

My hand trails up to brush through short buzzed hair. It makes him look even more like the delinquent I know he is. Travis did it after he got trashed. After he left me for days.

Apparently.

"I settled everythin' with them but they still wanted to teach me a lesson, I guess. I got off lightly." He laughs softly, leaning over and blowing smoke into my mouth. He plants a heavy kiss on my lips until I'm squirming, repulsion at the back of my throat.

"Gonna hit the shower," he says, rolling out of bed, offering up the rest of the spliff to me.

"OK," I say taking it, watching his lean naked body walk out the room.

I lie back, blinking at the ceiling, bringing the filter to my lips. It burns hot in my lungs.

This is forever what we've done.

Fuck then fight.

Fight then fuck.

It doesn't feel right though.

Everything feels wrong this time and it's like my whole being knows it.

I lean over, picking my phone off the bedside table, seeing Charlotte's tried ringing me.

I'm already cringing, imagining what she's going to say. She isn't going to like this at all and I don't want to call her back and have to tell her; I'm so weak. The minute I give an inch, he takes a mile.

Luke is persuasive. He always has been. Hooking up in his car the first day we met, the first time he got me spun, ditching school for him... I was rebelling, and he was more than happy to help. He even had Nonna wrapped around his little finger, before he tried to get us to leave. She didn't like that. No, she saw him then.

What I should've seen.

I should have listened to her.

And yet, here I am again.

I pull one of Luke's t-shirts on and get up, taking a drink of water, then inhaling smoke deeply, waiting for that hazy feeling to sink into my bones. Wandering into the living room, the sound of the shower runs in the background as I hit call on my cell, eyes closing.

She picks up in two rings.

"Mia, where are you? Are you OK?"

"Hey, yeah, I'm fine," I say walking over to the window and looking out at the street below. I pause, trying to think of how to say what I need to tell her.

"Where are you?" she asks again.

I sigh. "I, um, I've been talking to-to Luke..."

I trail off, but there's only deafening silence on the other end of the phone.

"What?"

I know she heard me. I know it. I fill my lungs with smoke again.

"Are you fuckin' with me right now?" Her voice is incredulous. I wince. "Mia, no, honey."

"Look, he's really, really sorry about what hap-"

"Stop! Just stop!" Char snaps down the phone, cutting me off. "I don't want to hear whatever bullshit he's fed you! You were doing so well, you were fine this morning and now you've gone back to him?! Mia! Seriously! What the actual fuck!"

She sounds like she's about to cry. I chew my lip, guilt swamping me. I feel like I want to cry too.

"I think he knows I'm serious. I've told him it's his last chance-"

"Mia!" she shouts. "He's not goin' to fuckin' change. I... I honestly can't believe this. I can't believe you'd be this stupid. Again. Do you not remember our conversation, like, four days ago?"

"Ye-"

"So why? Why do this to yourself again? Everything we said - it still stands, nothing has changed between then and now. Nothing. I don't get it! I don't understand, I thought you wanted to leave him?!"

"He knows it's his last chance, he knows it, Char... I've gotta, I've gotta give him that, after everything we've been through..." I say, feeling a little defensive, feeling a lot pathetic.

"Mia, please," she says with a sniff and I think she's actually crying now. "I can't watch you get hurt no more, I can't do it. I can't keep picking up the pieces every-fucking-time. I know you've had it rough, and he might've helped you then but you don't owe him nothin' after the moment he laid his hand on yous the first time."

"It's his last chance, I promise Char."

She breathes in deeply a pause so long I think she's hung up.

"I can't... I can't watch him do this to you again. You know this ain't - this shit ain't right. I don't care what manipulative bullshit he's fed you. I'm sorry. I can't."

Then she hangs up, for real.

I sit there for a while, cell in my limp hand, staring out at the street, chewing over her words. I don't even hear Luke coming over.

He presses a kiss to my neck, damp skin leaving wetness behind.

"You good?"

"Yeah," I lie.

***

I stay up till dawn breaks, chain-smoking, crying silently. I watch him sleep, unable to switch off. Thoughts and feelings chasing and rushing through my head, spinning me so dizzy.

My phone beeps and I grab for it, thinking it might be Charlotte. Perhaps she wants to apologize, not that I think she would. It isn't her though.

?

Miles. I glance over at Luke, warily. Hands flying over the keypad before I can stop myself. I pause, re-reading and then delete it, flopping back into soft covers and close my eyes.

***

Tara calls me in the morning.

"Babe, I'm here for you anytime," she says. "Char's just pissed, but I don't think she gets it. I do. You're like me and Joey in that way, we just go back for more even though we've done shitty stuff. Love doesn't make sense sometimes. Just give her time."

I'm not convinced this is love. I thought maybe coming back would make everything OK, but it's not really fixed anything. I don't feel any better. I don't feel happy. I think it's a mistake.

We haven't even really talked about it, about us. About everything that's happened, either. It's the huge fucking elephant in the room that both of us are avoiding. I can tell Luke just wants everything to fall back to normal, but how can it? And what's normal, anyway?

He's already disappeared.

That's normal.

He's gone out at some point this morning, leaving me sleeping until late. A note on the coffee table with money, telling me to treat myself to something, that he's busy sorting the refit out at the diner.

I'm not sure how true that is.

It's a nice thought, I guess. I need some new jeans now the weather is cooling, but it's something I'd normally do with Charlotte and the fact she's mad at me... I rub at my eyes.

I text her telling her I'm sorry and then scroll to Miles' text again.

My left hand tingles and I automatically flex it, making the feeling disappear. The wound is healing ugly and red and it shouldn't be too long before the stitches can come out but I think the Doc was right about the permanent damage.

I don't know what to say to Miles. Am I OK?

No.

I think I'm fucked up.

I think I've fucked up.

***

Miles messages again that afternoon, after I've clumsily got dressed. Ready to get some more dressings for my hand, pocketing the money Luke left this morning.

Let me know

I chew my lip, heart squeezing.

Sry. Lot of shit going on rite now.

I hit send. It's the truth, as best as I can explain it without explaining it.

His reply is almost instant.

But ur ok?

I breathe out a laugh. His persistence is kind of... unexpected. My mouth curves into a smile and it's the first time in days that it doesn't feel forced.

I'm gd Miles...chill x

I send it before I realize I've put a kiss and then I freak out for a solid five minutes. I'm an idiot. And I'm even more of an idiot for thinking he'd give a shit.

***

I pick my bag up from the floor, about ready to leave for the diner. It's been a week and Luke wants help deciding on some equipment for the refit. Where the money is coming from, I'm not too sure. He keeps telling me it's fine. I'm not sure on that either, but whatever.

I stop at the kitchen table, searching for the lip balm I know I have in my bag. It's not in the main compartment so I shove my hand into the front pocket, fingers brushing against paper.

Frowning, I bring out letters I put in there to give to Luke, weeks ago, now. I hadn't, with everything going on. I'd forgotten they were even there.

Now, my name peeks out at me, black against stark white. I don't get post... at all. Luke deals with all of the bills... so what the fuck is this?

I open one slowly, bad feeling building inside.

My eyes scan the page and I inhale sharply.

This can't be right.

There must be a mistake.

I dump the first one on the table and sink into a chair, tearing into another one, adrenaline surging. Then another, and another, until they're strewn on the kitchen table.

Clutching my face in my hands, I blink my eyes too many times.

This has to be some sort of sick joke.