Songs for this chapter are:

Endlessly- The Cab

 Mine- Taylor Swift (Sue me:)

I'm yours- The Script

Hardin's POV.

The cold water blasts from the faucet onto my torn flesh. I stare  down at the drain, watching as the red stained water laps around the metal. 

Again, this shit happened again? Of course it did, it was only a matter of time.

The bathroom door is left open so I can easily access the room across the hall if I hear any screaming. I have no fucking idea what I was thinking when I called that bitch. I shouldn't call her that.. but she is one so..bitch it is. At least I'm not saying it in front of Tessa. When I called her, I could only think of Tessa's void expression and naïve remarks, "He's not doing drugs," she tried to convince herself. I knew she would come undone at any hour, and for some stupid fucking reason I thought her mum being here could possibly help her.

This is precisely why I don't try to help people, I have no experience in it. I'm pretty damn excellent at fucking shit up, but I'm no savior.

A flash of movement catches my eye in the mirror and I look up to see Richard's reflection staring back at me. He's leaning against the narrow door frame, his expression wary.

"What? Did you come to try and lunge at me again?" I flatly remark.

He sighs and runs his hands over his shaven face, "No, not this time."

I scoff, half wishing that he would try and come at me. I'm certainly wound up enough for a brawl, or two.

"Why didn't either of you tell me?" Richard asks. Is he fucking serious?

"Why would I tell you? And you sure as hell aren't stupid enough to believe Tessa would tell her father some shit like that," I turn the faucet off and grab a towel to apply pressure to my knuckles, they have stopped bleeding for the most part. I should learn to switch hands, punch with my right from now on.

"I don't know.. I feel blindsided, I thought you two were just opposites attracting but now.."

"I'm not asking for your approval, nor do I need it." I walk past his body in the doorway and hurry down the hallway. Landon's shoes are no longer next to the door and the bag of burnt popcorn still rests on the floor.

"Let hers be the only voice in your head," Landon's voice echoes through my mind. I wish it were that easy, maybe it will be one day.. I sure as hell hope so.

"I know you don't, I just want to understand all this shit. As her dad, I feel obligated to beat your ass," he shakes his head.

"Right," I huff, bending down to pick the bag up off of the floor. I want to remind him that he hasn't been her father for over nine years.

"Carol was a lot like Tessa when she was young," he says. I recoil, the bag nearly slips from my fingers.

"No, she wasn't." There is no way in hell that could be true. Honestly, I used to think Tessa was just like the prudish, bitchy, woman but now that I actually know Tess, that couldn't be further from the truth. Her struggle to appear perfect stems from the woman but Tessa is nothing like her.

"It's true. She wasn't quite as nice, but she wasn't always.." he trials off, grabbing a bottled water from my fridge.

"A bitch?" I answer for him. His eyes dart down the empty hallway as if he's afraid she will appear and toss him around again. I'd like to see that happen actually..

"Yeah. She was always smiling, her smile was something else. All the men wanted her but she was mine," he smiles at the memory. I didn't sign up for this shit.. I'm not fucking counselor. Tessa's mum is hot as hell but she's got a constant stick up her ass that someone needs to remove, or maybe the complete opposite..

"Okay.." I don't get the point here.

"She had so much ambition and compassion then. It's really fucked up because Tessa's grandma was just like Carol if not worse," he laughs. I cringe. "Her parents hated, I mean hated, me. They never hid it either, they wanted her to marry a stockbroker, a politician, anyone except me. I hated them too, may they rest in peace," he looks up at the ceiling. As fucked up as it is, I'm grateful that Tessa's grandparents are not around to judge me.

"Well obviously you shouldn't have been married then," I close the lid on the trashcan and lean my elbows on the counter. I am pissed at Richard and his stupid fucking habits that are upsetting to Tessa. I want to kick his ass out, send him right back onto the streets, but he's almost become like a piece of furniture in this apartment. He's like an old couch that smells like shit and always creaks when you sit down, and it's uncomfortable as shit but for some reason you can't throw it away, that's Richard.

"We weren't married," his face falls and I slightly tilt my head out of confusion. What? I know Tessa told me that they were..

"Tessa doesn't know, no one does. We were never married legally. We had a wedding to please her parents but we never filed the paperwork, I didn't want it."

"Why?" Why am I so interested in this shit? Minutes ago I was imagining slamming Richard's head through the drywall, now I'm participating in gossip like a fucking teenaged girl. I should be listening at the door of my bedroom, making sure Tessa's mum isn't filling her head with bullshit to try to take her away from me.

"Because marriage wasn't for me," he scratches his head, "or so I thought. We did everything as a married couple, she took my last name. I'm not quite sure how she pulled that off, but no one knew the sacrifice she made for my selfishness."

I wonder how Tessa would feel about this information.. she's so obsessed with the idea of marriage, would this diminish her obsession or fuel it?

He continues, "over the years, she grew tired of my behavior. We fought like cats and dogs, and let me tell you that woman was relentless, but I took that from her. Once she stopped fighting me, that's when I knew it was over. I watched the fire slowly die out in her over the years," he's removed himself from this room and launched himself into his past, 

"Every single night she would be waiting at the dinner table, her and Tessie both in dresses and hair pins, only for me to stumble in and complain about the burnt edges of lasagna. Half the time I would pass out before the fork hit my mouth and every night ended with a fight, I can't remember half of it."  A visible shudder passes over him at the recollection.

A vision of a young Tessa, dressed up at the table, waiting excitedly to see her father after a long day, only to have him crush her makes me want to reach across and strangle the man.

"I don't want to hear another word," I warn him, meaning it.

"I'll stop now," embarrassment is plastered on his face, "I just wanted you to know that she wasn't always like this, I did this to her. I made her the bitter, angry woman she is today. You don't want to repeat history, do you?"

 No, no, I don't.

Tessa's POV.

My mother and I sit in silence, my mind reels and my heart pounds while she tucks a thick lock of blonde hair behind her ear. She's calm and collected, unlike my overwhelmed state.

"Why would you let your father come here? After all of this time? I can understand you wanting to see him more after running into him on the streets, but not allowing him to move in," she finally speaks.

"I didn't allow him to move in, I don't live here anymore. Hardin let him stay out of kindness, kindness that you exploited and threw in his face." I don't hide my disgust of the way she treated Hardin. 

"What is it about him that makes you so quick to defend him? You turn against everyone, even your own mother to defend that boy," Zed's words echo in my mind and I scowl at the memory. Neither of them will ever understand. It doesn't matter though, because I don't need them to.

"He called you because he thought you would be there for me," I sigh, mentally deciding which way I want to try to steer the conversation before she bulldozes me in her typical Carol Young fashion.

"You didn't answer me, why do you turn against everyone to defend him after all he has done to you? He's put you through so much Theresa," her blue eyes are somber, cast to the ground.

"He's worth the defending, mother. That's why." I clip.

"But-"

"He is." I interrupt her, "I won't keep doing this with you. I told you before, if you can't accept him then I cannot have a relationship with you. Hardin and I are a packaged deal, whether you like it or not,"

"I once thought that about your father," I do my best not to flinch when she lifts her hand to smooth the front of my hair.

"Hardin is nothing like my father," I quickly stammer.

A light laugh sounds from her painted lips, "yes, yes, he is. He is like him in so many ways."

"You can go if you're going to say those things,"

"Calm down," she repeats the smoothing action against my hair. I am torn between being irritated by the condescending gesture  and being comforted by the decent memories it brings. "I want to tell you a story,"

I'm intrigued by her offer of information but very skeptical of her motive behind this, "It won't change my mind about Hardin," I tell her. She needs to know where she stands before she wastes her time.

The corners of her mouth turn up slightly, "Your father and I never married,"

What?

"What?" I sit up straight on the bed. What does she mean they never married? Yes they did, I've seen the pictures. My  mother's lace gown was exquisite, her belly slightly swollen, and my father's suit wasn't tailored properly, it hung off of him like a potato sack.  I used to love to look through those albums and admire the way my mother's cheeks glowed as my father looked down at her as if she were the only person in his world. I remember the panic that ensued when my mother found me looking through them one day, she hid them away and I never saw them again.  

"It's true." She sighs. I can tell this disclosure of truth is humiliating for her. "We had a wedding but your father never wanted to be married. I knew that, I knew that if I wouldn't have gotten pregnant with you he would have left me much earlier. Your grandparents pushed the marriage onto him. You see, your father and I could never get along, not even for a day. It was exciting in the beginning, thrilling even," the blue of her eyes is lost in the memory, "but as you will come to see, there is only so much that one person can take. As the nights came and went and the years passed, I prayed to God every night that he would change for me, for you. I prayed that one night, he would walk through that front door with lilies in his hand instead of liquor on his breath," my mother's confession has me rendered silent. She has never been one for open discussion, especially when the topic is my father. The sympathy that I feel for this cold woman brings me to tears.

"Stop that," she scolds me before continuing, "every woman hopes to be the one to reform her man, but that's all it is, false hope. I don't want you going down the same path that I did, I want more for you." I feel nauseous. "That is why I raised you to get out of that small town and make a life for yourself,"

"I'm not-" I begin to defend but she raises her hand to silence me.

"We had our good days too, Theresa. Your father was funny and charming," she smiles midsentence, "and he was trying his best to be what I needed him to be but his true self overpowered that and he became frustrated with me, with the life we shared for all those years. He turned to liquor and it was never the same. I know you remember," her voice is haunted, a shred of vulnerability is laced through her tone and shining in her eyes, but she recovers quickly. My mother has never been fond of weakness.

I'm once again taken back to the screaming, the breaking of dishes, even the occasional, "these bruises on my arms are from gardening," and my stomach ties into knots.

"Can you honestly look me in the eyes and tell me that you have a future with this boy?" She asks as the silence ticks on.

I can't respond. I know the future that I want with Hardin, will he be willing to give it to me, is the question.

"I wasn't always like this Theresa," she gently dabs both index fingers under her eyes, "I used to love life, I was always excited for the future, and look at me now. You may think I'm a horrible person for wanting to protect you from my fate, but I'm only doing what is necessary to keep you from repeating my history. I don't want this for you," I struggle to picture a young Carol, happy and excited for each day, I can count the times that I've heard the woman laugh in the last five years on one hand.

"It's not the same mother," I force the words.

"Theresa, you cannot deny the similarities."

"There are some, yes." I admit more to myself than to her, "but I refuse to believe that history is repeating itself. Hardin has already changed so much,"

"If you have to change him, why even bother?" Her voice is calm now as she looks around the tainted bedroom that once was mine.

"I haven't changed him, he's changed himself. He is still the same man, all of the things that I love about him are there, only he has learned to handle things differently and has become a better person,"

"I saw his bloody hands," she points out.

"He has a temper," I shrug. A massive one, but I won't agree with her putting him down. She needs to understand that I am on his side and from now on, to get to him she must go through me.

"So did your father."

I stand to my feet, "Hardin would never purposely hurt me. He isn't perfect mother but neither are you." My confidence is remarkable as I cross my arms and match her glare.  

"It's more than his temper, think of what he has done to you. He humiliated you, you had to change colleges," I don't have the energy to argue with her statement, mostly because it holds a lot of truth. I have always wanted to move to Seattle, but my bad history in Pullman gave me the extra push that I needed.  "He's covered in tattoos, at least he removed those hideous piercings," her face twists in disgust.

 "You are not perfect either mother," I repeat the words. "The pearls around your neck hide your scars just as Hardin's tattoos hide his."

My mother's eyes quickly flicker to me and I can clearly see the words repeating through her mind. It's finally happened, I have finally made a break through.

"I'm sorry for what my father did to you, I really am but he isn't Hardin." I sit back down next to her, I dare to place my hand over hers. Her hand is cold under mine and to my surprise, she doesn't pull away. "And I am not you," I add as gently as possible.

"You will be if you don't get as far away from him as you can," I remove my hand from hers and take a deep breath to stay calm. This conversation has gone much better than I ever anticipated and I would like to keep it that way, if at all possible.

"You don't have to agree with my relationship but you have to respect it. If you can't," I struggle to stay confident, "then we will never be able to have a relationship."

Her head slowly shakes from side to side. I know she was expecting me to give into her, to agree that Hardin and I could never work, she was wrong.

"You cannot give me that type of ultimatum,"

"Yes I can. I need as much support as possible and I am beyond exhausted with battling against the world,"

"If you feel as if you are battling alone, perhaps it is time to change sides," she raises an accusatory brow at me. I stand to my feet again.

"I'm not battling alone, stop doing that." I hiss. I'm trying my best to be patient with her but my patience is wearing thin as this long night comes to an end.

"I'm never going to like him," My mother says. I know she means every word.

"You don't have to, but you won't be spreading our business to anyone else. That was incredibly wrong and not in the least justified,"

"Your father had the right to know what he has caused,"

She doesn't get it! She still doesn't understand. My head is going to explode any moment, I can feel the pressure building in my neck.

"Hardin is trying his hardest for me, he has never known any better," I tell her. She doesn't say a word, she doesn't even look at me.

"That's it then? You're going to take the second option?" I ask.

She stares at me, silent, the wheels of her mind turning and turning behind her heavily shaded eyes, "I will try to respect it. I will." She has no color left in her cheeks, despite the rosy blush swept across her cheekbones when she arrived.

"Thank you,"

I don't know what to make of this.. truce with my mother. I'm not naïve enough to believe it until she proves it but it still feels pretty good to have one of the heavy stones lifted from my back.

"What will you do about your father?" She joins me on her feet. She towers over me in her four inch heels.

"I don't know," I have been too distracted by the topic of Hardin to focus on my father.

"You should make him leave, he has no business being here clouding your mind and filling it with lies,"

"He has done no such thing," I fire back. Every time I believe we have made any type of progress, she uses her sharp heel to kick me back down.

"He has! He has strangers showing up here asking for money! Hardin told me all of it,"

Why would he do that? I understand his concern but she hasn't helped the situation one bit.

"I'm not going to kick him out, this isn't my place and he has no where else to go."

My mother's eyes close and she shakes her head at me for the tenth time in the last twenty minutes, "you have to stop trying to fix people Theresa. I tried to fix your father and look how I ended up."

"Tessa?" Hardin's voice calls from the other side of the door. He opens the door before I respond and his eyes immediately scan my face for distress.

"You okay?" He asks, ignoring my mother's presence completely.

"Yeah," I gravitate toward him but avoid throwing my arms around him for my mother's sake. The poor woman has already been dragged through twenty years of memories.

"I was just leaving," my mother runs her palms down her dress once more, stopping at the hem to repeat the action, a frown settling on her face.

"Good," Hardin rudely remarks, quick to protect me. I know he assumes she has upset me during our conversation.

I look up at him, silently asking for his silence. He rolls his eyes but doesn't say another word as my mother strides by us and down the hall. The obnoxious clicking of her heels sends me into a full migraine.

I take his hand and follow in silence. My father attempts to speak to my mother but she brushes him off.

"You didn't bring a coat?" He unexpectedly asks her.

She is just as puzzled as I am when as she mumbles "no" and turns to me. "I'll call you tomorrow, answer this time?" It's a question instead of a demand, this is a start.

"Yes," I nod. She doesn't say goodbye, I knew she wouldn't.

"That woman drives me damn crazy!" My father shouts when the door closes, his hands flying into the air in exasperation.

"We are going to bed. If anyone else knocks at the damn door don't answer it." Hardin grumbles and leads me back to the bedroom.

I'm beyond exhausted, I can barely stand on my feet.

"What did she say?" Hardin lifts his sweatshirt over his head and tosses it at me. I detect a flicker of uncertainty as he waits for me to collect it from the floor. Despite the glossy butter smeared on the black fabric, I gladly remove my own shirt, along with my bra, and pull it over my head. I breathe in the familiar scent of Hardin, it aides in calming my nerves.

"More than she has in my entire life," I admit. My mind is still reeling.

"Did any of it change your mind?" He looks at me, panic and fear fills his eyes. I get the feeling my father must have had a similar talk with Hardin, I wonder if my father shares the same grudge against my mother or if he admits that he is to blame for the turmoil in both of their lives.

"No," I pull my loose pants down my legs and place them on the chair.

"You're sure? Aren't you worried that we are repeating their-" Hardin begins.

"No, we are not. We are nothing like them." I stop him, I don't want anyone else getting into his head, not tonight.

Hardin doesn't look convinced but I force myself not to focus on that right now.

"What do you want me to about your dad? Kick him out?" He asks. He moves to sit on the bed with his back against the headboard while I grab his dirty jeans and socks from the floor. Hardin's arms lift to rest behind his head, fully displaying  his toned, inked, body.

"No, don't kick him out. Please," I crawl into bed and he pulls me onto his lap.

"I won't," he assures me, "not tonight at least." I look up for a smile but there isn't one.

"I'm so confused," I groan into his chest.

"I can help with that," he lifts his pelvis and  l'm forced forward, using my palms to steady myself against his exposed chest.

"Of course you can," I roll my eyes. He takes my chin between his long, busted fingers and I shift my hips, rubbing against him. I'm vaguely aware of my period, I know Hardin certainly doesn't mind it.

"You need sleep baby, it would be wrong to fuck you right now," he softly says.

I shamelessly pout, "no it wouldn't." I slide my palms down his stomach.

"Oh no you don't," he stops me. I need a distraction and Hardin is the perfect fix.

"You started it," I whine. I sound desperate, because I am.

"I know, and I'm sorry for that. I'll take you in the car tomorrow," his fingers slip under the sweatshirt and begin to draw unnamed shapes across my bare back. "and if you're a good girl, I'll even bend you over the desk at my father's house, just the way you like," he says into my ear. My breathing hitches and I playfully swat at him and he laughs. His laugh is almost as equally distracting as sex would be. Almost.

"Besides, we don't want to make a mess in here tonight do we? With your father out there? He will probably see the blood and assume I've killed you," he bites the inside of his cheek.

"Do not start that." I warn him. His cheesy menstral jokes are not welcomed right now.

"Ahh baby, don't be like that," he pinches my behind and I yelp, sliding further into his lap, "go with the flow," he grins.

"You've used that one before," I smile back.

"Well excuse me for not being on point with the jokes tonight, with the way you're straddling me I'm afraid you'll drip on me,"

I groan in disgust and try to roll off of him but he stops me. "you're disgusting," I scold him when he nuzzles into my neck.

"Yeah, I'm just an old bloody rag I suppose," he laughs and presses his lips to mine.

I roll my eyes at him, "speaking of bloody rags, let me see your hand," I reach behind my back and gently grab him by the wrist.

His middle knuckle is the worst, a thick gash spreads from knuckle to knuckle. "You should get this looked at if it doesn't begin to heal tomorrow,"

He groans, "I'm fine,"

"This one too,:" I run the pad of my index finger over the mangled skin on his ring finger.

"Stop fussing woman, go to sleep." He grumbles. I nod in agreement and drift off to him complaining about my father eating his frosted flakes again.

(I'll be out of town tomorrow and Monday, but please vote and comment. Is everyone ready for their trip to England? :) I am! xo)