"I can't believe we're finally done with those goddamn exams!" Alexa breathes out in relief. "I haven't partied since forever!" She grouches, casting about her bag for something mysterious.

I admit that I was as ruffled by those exams as her. However, our rationales are a bit diverse. She wanted to fled college to party and have fun. I wanted to fled the entire city.

For good.

We both amble down the corridor, headed to the stairwell, and I can't help but feel discouraged. I know I haven't been in Seattle for long, but a wistful feeling keeps pricking me. My plans have already been set into motion, and I know that abandoning them would do me no good, but there is still that part of my heart that keeps aching whenever I remember Dylan, in spite of those detrimental things he has put me through.

I have been through so much pain, that I've become a chattel to it.

"Candice!" A quiet, mellow voice pulls me out of my thoughts, prompting me to swerve immediately.

"Claire." I only state, tilting my head to the side. Ever since what happened at my place, I never thought she would approach me, even after I decided to spare her from any legal proceedings. It stands to reason that my grandmother wasn't very satiated by my determination, which drove her to persecute me all the time, glozing it over by her excuse: She's worried about me.

And I—with little effort—eventually gave in, and decided to go live with her. I figured that I no longer want a life in a city that fractured me deeply, and I knew she coveted the presence of family so much. Though she's the reason behind everything that's happened to me and those I love, I still felt like I owed her that small indulgence before her curtains are lugged shut.

Claire's eyes sprint from me to Alexa, silently asking her to give us some time alone. Alexa quickly catches the hint, retreating. "I'll wait for you in the car." She informs me, turning to leave.

Shifting my attention back to Claire, I wait for her to spit it out. I know how she's struggling to say something, and I can understand how egotistic she is, and how she feels the need to downscale herself enough to talk about a mistake she has perpetrated. She clears he throat, shuffling her feet, before she meets my eyes. "Look," she starts, swallowing. "It's really hard for me to-

"To apologize?" I fire my question, cutting her off.

She gapes at me for a moment, before she nods. "Only because an apology wouldn't suffice, after what I've done." She shrugs.

"Give it a try." I shrug right back.

She clears her throat, seeming to be trying to contrive an appropriate apology. "Well, I'm sorry. I really am. You might not believe this, but I never meant to hurt anyone." I raise a skeptical eyebrow at that, invoking a flush to shawl her face. "Well, I did, but not like that! I was driven by boundless anger at you after that video, and I found myself bargaining with that guy."

"You mean the guy who beat the shit out of me, before he tried to rape me?" I taunt, just to see that flush grow, before I shake my head, needing to end this conversation as soon as possible. "Let's be logical here. When I spared you, I didn't do it for you. I did it for a normal college girl who still had a future before her. However, that doesn't mean I'll forget about it, and I know that you can't care less. So, you can just move on and try to remedy your friendships with those I've stolen from you. I won't be there to compete anymore."

The last part seems to tickle her interest. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that I'm transferring to another college. You can go back to your old life now." I lift one shoulder in a shrug, before I position my satchel onto the other shoulder, ready to follow Alexa. "Goodbye."

With that, I walk away, and it feels like I'm leaving more than a terminated animosity. It feels I'm saying goodbye to a life I wanted badly to undergo; one that has no loneliness and melancholy, yet here I am, submerging in both.

________________________

"Do you want me to help you pack?" Hannah asks from the doorway. She looks her normal, flawless and reluctant.

I give her an amicable smile, standing straight. I silently groan, feeling how tender my back is. "No, it's fine. I'm almost finished anyway."

"You're never coming back, are you?" She questions again, this time his voice betraying a slight inkling of dejection, like she's going to miss me. It's almost ludicrous. I never showed any inclination to be friends with her, always casting her attempts away. I don't even remember having an omnibus conversation with her, and now she's disappointed that I'm leaving?

I shrug. "Guess Seattle is not for me."

"It's just another part of the world. Don't think Tacoma will treat you any better. You can run from the past, but that doesn't mean it can't catch up with you."

My eyebrows shoot up, and I resist spouting a quip, only because I know she's right. But I'm not ready to admit it out loud. I'm not ready to show her how much of a conceited wimp I am. It's ironic that I'm running back to the city that brought my family's demise, with no one, but the person who induced it. "Not really. I just think it's time for me to go back with my grandma. With how decrepit she is, I'm really surprised she can still stand on her feet."

She opens her mouth to say something else, and from the look on her face, I know it's just another demur, before the door ring chimes in, interrupting our unwanted exchange. She's the one who volunteers to open the door, striding toward the front door. I expected the interposer to be my grandmother, since she mentioned last night that she'd be coming by to ensure that everything is disposed. However, the voice I hear engenders an abundance of worries and pain to settle onto my heart. Dylan.

"Where is she?" He inquires forthwith, and I imagine Hannah flushing at his unrefined, cutting tone. I, myself, lower upon hearing it, wondering what actuated that crude attitude again.

"She has a name!" I holler, hastily walking out of the room, not wanting him to see my belongings packed up like that; howbeit, he meets me halfway, coming to a stand directly in front me.

His face looks like it's going to splinter, deep red with unprecedented anger and travail. His body is so rigid and dithery, his hands balled into fists. I see raw feelings, all beautifully, yet unnervingly depicted all over his body and face, and I know.

He knows.

He knows I'm leaving, abandoning everything behind, including him.

Let me guess: my grandmother. She's the one who's been pushing me to tell him, saying that it won't be fair to leave him like that, regarding how he has been helping me since Chavez's incident. Little does she knows about his relationship with him.

He doesn't say anything, staring deep into my eyes, and I can almost feel that spleen and hurt he feels. I can almost taste the bitter tang of goodbye on my tongue; the same tongue that wants to stir and tell him that I love him; that I'd do anything for him. That I never wanted to leave him.

But I have to. I have to run again, this time leaving a scary imp, back to the monster I left in the city where I was brought up. I have to watch him hurt and shatter in front of me, while I curb how I feel; while I appear self-possessed.

Watching us for a moment, I can feel how uneasy Hannah feels, before she chooses to leave us alone. I want to stop her. I want her to leave. I want to pull him close. I want to propel him away. I want everything and nothing.

The moment Hannah she disappears into her room, he opens his mouth, speaking for the first time since her barged into our apartment, and his voice slowly cuts through my heart, making it hard to keep my fake demeanor seamless. "You weren't planning on telling me, where you?"

I swallow, emanating a sigh. "I don't like goodbyes."

"Yet, that's what you're doing; saying goodbye, except that you don't think I'm worthy of one." His rough, grave voice is stripped of any veneers. It's rare, seeing him losing control like that, and for the first time since I've met him, I want him to build them up again. I want him to hurt me and leave. I want my guilt and love to be replaced by hate and anger. For the first time in my life, I want to be the victim.

"It's not what you think, Dylan." I shake my head, silently willing the universe to provide me with words to say, but I'm left speechless.

He arches one brow, taking a step closer. "Are you leaving or not, Candice?" He queries, the edge to his voice growing even harsher, and I know where he's going with that question.

"Yes, but-

"But what?" He snaps, causing me to wince, falling a few steps back. "You're fucking leaving! After everything, you are! You were leaving without thinking of me!"

That gets on my nerves, and I snap too. "Look who's talking! The one who left me a stupid goodbye note on the bed, after a full night of agony! Who the fuck do you think you are, judging me like that? What gives you the right to make me feel like shit for leaving, even though you were the one who left first?" That control I've been thriving to maintain? It's gone with the wind, replaced by wrath that hopefully will blanket that sorrow I feel.

"I came back!" He exclaims, throwing his arms.

"You did?" I cross my arms. "Weren't you the one who had my friend on his lap that day? Aren't you the one who treated me like shit, and left? You never even apologized!" I grab my hair, frustrated enough to not care about how bonkers I must look. "You only came back after what that son of a bitch did to me!"

He closes his eyes momentarily, and I'm not sure if it's to express his grief, or just to placate his fury at me. "I fucked up. Big time." He nods, his afflicted eyes meeting mine once more. "And I want to redeem what I did." He closes the gap between us, grabbing my hands, enclosing them with his big ones. "I want a life with you, and I want to make everything right, Candice. Just let me." His eyes pierce mine, vulnerable and begging. "Please."

I'm torn. Completely torn.

I want to step onto my toes and kiss him, to ease that distress we both feel. But I can't. If there has to be martyr to love today, it can't be me.

Snatching my hands away, I firmly move back, hardening my gaze. "I can't." I shake my head, my gaze flitting over to my room. His gaze follows suit, discerning what makes his face fall even more. "I'm flying to Tacoma with my grandma tomorrow." I brief, escaping into my room.

I hear his footsteps shadowing mine. "Have you forgiven her?" He questions, his voice pensive.

I turn to face him. "You think I should?"

He opens his mouth to say something, before he clamps it shut, and I have a feeling about what he was going to say. He wanted to say no. He was willing to cross his hallmarks just to make me stay. I don't know how much time passes, before he steps further into the room, taking a seat onto the edge of me bed. "I think everyone deserves a second chance."

I nod, strolling closer to where he's sitting. "Then I think you deserve one too."

He looks up at me, his sad eyes looking like those of a baby, and it takes every fiber of my power not to cradle his face in my hands and comfort him. "Then give me one."

I sigh, shaking my head. "No, Dylan. What I meant is that you have to give yourself one. You've been torturing yourself, drowning in guilt for long. I think it's time for you to repudiate those demons and move on."

He lets out a grim, humorless laugh. "You think, huh?" He stands, and all of a sudden, everything changes. His crestfallen expression dissolves, and with it his emotions dim. I watch him constructing his walls back, and with it his sunless, inscrutable posture, and I can't help but feel like I've lost him. "Do you know what I think, Candice?" He grills, his eyes searing into mine. "I think it's time for you to stop shoving you nose in my business, now that you'll be out of it."

He doesn't wait to regard my reaction, power walking out of my room. I stalk after him, catching him just before he steps out of the apartment and slams the door shut. "You're leaving." I merely observe, the volcano of pain inside of me starting to erupt.

"No, Candice. You are."

______________________

Tacoma

Fun fact about Tacoma, is that it's called the City of Destiny. The irony is not lost on me. I don't believe in such lunacy, but if I did, I think I would reckon that whatever brought me here is destiny, dragging me back to the doom I have been avoiding for long.

Home—a word that might thaw your cold with its charged sentiment; however, it doesn't make the chill vacate my bleak body. I have only been here for a few days, and the frost is already chowing down on me, and it has nothing to do with December's cruel weather.

"Candice?" A knock sounds on the door, fishing me out of my thoughts. I spy the door knob turning, before the door pushes open, revealing my grandmother in a black palazzo jumpsuit, her feet adorned with a pair of round-toe pumps. "Haven't you finished, yet?"

I glance down at my own figure, examining the dark burgundy, maxi dress that hugs my curves perfectly. The velvet fabric feels so delicate beneath my touch, and I can't help but feel bodacious in it, especially with the slit that bares half of my thigh, along with the high ankle-strap heels that upholds me a few inches above my sawed-off height. Adhering my gaze to my reflection in the mirror, I finally respond. "I'm just going to apply the rest of my makeup, and then follow you downstairs."

She nods, exhibiting that benign smile of hers. "Alright. Hurry up, though. I want to introduce you to some of the guests, before we start the countdown."

"Yeah, whatever." I mumble, before I start coating my eyelashes with a few layers of mascara, hearing my grandmother strolling out. For some reason, I keep impeding my movement, not wanting to go downstairs and face people who will never understand me. I would be forced to smile and greet them, even though all I want is to gallop back to the Emerald City; the place where I fell deeply in love, and the place where I was severely devastated.

Per contra, I force myself to go downstairs, and before I get a chance to view the crowd, my grandma beckons me to join her and her peers. Exorbitant, pristine tuxedos, extravagant, elegant dresses, and fake smiles. Though I feel out-of-place, I blend in so well, feeling like a particle of this forged showpiece. I have always wondered what it would be like to be a part of such an opulent world, and I can't help but feel disillusioned. I roam around, my eyes scanning faces and faces, the names I hear going into an ear, and out of the other. My grandma finally excuses herself to go upstairs for a minute, promising to come down before the countdown, and I finally find myself discharged of my strait, even for a while, sipping on a flute of champagne.

I have always wondered why people do that countdown before the new year starts, finding it ridiculous how they anticipate another year of torment with such alacrity. It's like you-

"You don't look like you're having much fun." Teases an amused, silken voice.

I freeze, thinking the alcohol is playing tricks with me. I swerve immediately, my eyes widening when I come face-to-face with my own treasure trove. "Dylan?" His name comes out as a squeak.

A diminutive smile tickles the side of his luscious lips, and a series of figments glimmer inside my head, making me harken back to those moments when I took my time exploring those lips. Without awaiting my permission, my eyes travel down, and I find myself one moment away from hyperventilating.

Dylan. In. A. Black. Tuxedo.

It's like a fantasy coming true, except that reality looks so much more enthralling. My eyes linger everywhere, savoring each inch of him, as if he were the pièce de résistance.

"Why, you look surprised to see me." He muses, and from the dark look in his eyes, I know he caught me scrutinizing him.

I gulp. "What are you doing here?"

"Your grandma invited me."

"Why?" My eyebrows knit together.

His smirk grows. "It was just a party invitation, and I decided to show up and have some fun." He leisurely saunters closer, his voice lowering, and I find myself stiffening. "What, Candy, afraid you won't be able to resist me this time?"

I scoff, quickly withdrawing away. I have to keep my distance around him. "Well, I hope you enjoy the party." And I'll make sure my grandmother regrets that decision.

"Nice dress." He remarks, his carnal eyes inspecting me.

I merely shrug.

"Why, your manners are still shocking. No thank you?"

I roll my eyes. "I didn't make the dress. Technically, you just complimented the couturier, not me."

He chuckles, before he leans closer, his lips nearly touching my ear. "It wouldn't have looked as good on anyone else."

I shiver. "Why are you here, Dylan? And don't feed me the invitation bullshit."

He retreats, casually surveying the vast room. "Let's say that I'm here to make myself clear. Consider it a warning."

"Warning?"

He hums, nodding once. "It offends me that you think I'll give up easily, and I'm here to remind you:" His hazel eyes darken, burning into mine with such intensity that makes my skin prickle. "When I want something, I get it." He declares, leaning closer. "And I'm here to forewarn you, Candice: I'll get you back, no matter what the cost is. Now, consider yourself notified." With one last assertive look, he seizes a champagne flute from a waiter who happens to be passing by, before he parades away, leaving my mouth hanging open.

I don't know for how long I stand here, dumbstruck, my eyes glued to him as he wanders around and converses with the guests like an old friend, before a tap on my shoulder jolts me. "My apologies, but Mrs. Woods has been absent for so long, and the countdown is about to start." Mr. Dobbins—or Dobkins, smiles politely at me, flashing me teeth that don't belong to a geriatric like him.

I smile back, excusing myself to go upstairs to see her. I climb the stairs with such force and celerity that would make my heels bust, my temper sizzling as I walk into my grandmother's room, not bothering to knock. How dare she invite him and ruin my plans like that?

Abruptly, the voices of the guests start to bellow, chanting their trivial countdown. "Ten, nine, eight, seven-

My eyes hastily prospect the room for any trace of her, but I'm sorely disappointed—and even more angered—when I find the room empty. Spinning, I stride to the door once more.

"Six, five, four

I pause for a moment, my eyes noting the bathroom door, before I extend my arm, giving it a push, only to find her sprawled onto the ground. I rush to her, crouching. I start to shake her, gently at first, but when she doesn't move, I become relentless, violently shaking her shoulders until my arms ache. My heart starts to race, and I find myself touching my index and middle finger to her pulse.

"Three, two, one-

Except that I feel none.