Dylan needed to know how I felt.

That was the first thing that I thought about when I rolled out of bed at one in the afternoon the next day. Last night, when I'd been halfway to needing to be hospitalised, we'd kissed. And after we'd kissed, we smiled and wished each other a happy new year and I knew that was all it was to him. A New Years kiss. Although, part of me had to acknowledge that he kissed me a lot harder than that.

I couldn't assume it was because he loved me. It could have been. But it could have been nothing. It could have been the moment. Who knows? What I knew, was that if I didn't tell him how I felt, I'd regret it. Because something about that kiss led me to believe that there might be more for us and I had a newfound sense of courage. Courage that I didn't have last night because I was drunk and drunk confessions never go well.

There's always confusion about if the person really meant what they said or if it was just the alcohol talking. Now that I was sober, albeit hungover, but still sober. I knew that I wanted to tell him. I knew that I needed to. My heart would literally come out of my chest if I didn't express that he was my entire world and more.

I slipped into the bathroom and got straight into the shower, thinking about what I would say or how I would say it while I lathered my body with bubbles and thought about that kiss over and over again. The weight of his body on top of mine. The feel of his mouth moving with mine, tongue tasting and taking. His strong back under my hands. It makes me clench my thighs and sigh with pent up need.

Perhaps I would ask him to go for a walk with me. Perhaps I would just spit it out in front of Charlie. A dramatic declaration. I wondered if it would rain today. I peered out the window while I towel dried and saw nothing but clear skies. Nope. It wasn't going to rain. There would be no movie worthy confessions going on.

After I was dressed in a cropped T-shirt and loose white high waist shorts, I combed my wet hair, put on some make up and decided that I would know the right moment when it presented itself. But it would be this afternoon and I would be unapologetic about it.

I passed the kitchen and went straight for the living area, a bounce in my step that soon faltered when I saw Charlie sitting on the sofa, posture perfect, gaze distant while she stared out the window and tears slipped down her cheeks. Dylan was no where to be seen.

For a moment, I considered turning around and going out the bedroom window again. But for some unexplainable reason, I moved further into the room and stood in front of her. At a reasonable distance of course. Charlie was frightening enough as it was. Who could tell how unpredictable she'd be when she was emotional.

"What's wrong?"

Her eyes snapped up towards me, rimmed red. Her lip quivered and she swiped at her nose with a Kleenex. "What do you think?"

"I don't think anything. That'd be an assumption and I don't like those."

"Oh shut up, Bea."

"Okay. Where's Dylan?"

She stood up, the blanket that had been draped across her lap fell to the floor and I found that she was still wearing her PJs. Which was weird. She hated being caught dressed down. I don't think I'd ever seen her without a full face of make up on either. She was still gorgeous.

"He's gone for a walk," she snapped. Her voice was laced with hurt and it hitched as she scowled. "To clear his head. Because once again, we're fighting and you won't believe who the root of the problem is."

Oh shit. What if he told her that we kissed. That hadn't even occurred to me until now. Dylan has always kept my secrets. Without fail. I could tell him anything and he would take it to his grave. But he'd cheated on Charlie. That wasn't in his nature. At all. It'd be just like him to come clean. I suddenly felt horrible for putting him in a position that bent his morals. My entire mood started to slip.

"Do you know how hard it is," Charlie's voice trembled and a fresh fall of tears blotched her raw cheeks. "To come second in your fiancés life, to another girl? I mean, I get that moms come first. But I should come second, Bea. Me. It should be his mom and then me and then you. But it's not and it hurts so fucking bad."

I was stunned. I had no idea what to say. She'd never been so vulnerable with me before and I wasn't prepared for it. I mean, hell, I felt bad for the girl.

"We've been best friends for a long time," I mumbled, no longer feeling like I could use that argument after what had happened last night.

"I get that," she sobbed. "I have never minded him having a best friend. It's the lack of boundaries that has been killing me, Bea. You guys sleep in the same bed and hold hands and cuddle and he jumps the second that you call. No matter what we're doing or where we are, you come first and it shouldn't be like that. You're not teenagers anymore. You're adults and there should be some respect for relationships. That's just how it should be."

"Yeah," I folded my arms and exhaled. "But those are your insecurities. Just because we cuddle and hold hands, that doesn't mean that we're like in love or something."

"Doesn't it?" She narrowed her glare.

We stood there for a moment. Silence apart from her occasional sniffling.

"Why would you want to be with someone that you don't trust?" I asked. She wiped at her cheeks again and shrugged her shoulders. "Why would you want to be with someone who doesn't put you first?"

"I love him. He's my first choice. My priority. I was just hoping that I might be his," her head dropped and her shoulders shook as she cried. "I kept hoping that you'd eventually fall in love with someone and let him go. Just a little bit. Just enough. But you sabotage all of your relationships and it's pretty obvious why."

I felt like I'd been slapped. She said something that should have been obvious all along but it hadn't registered until now. No one had ever been good enough for me because they weren't Dylan. A tear rolled down my own cheek and I stepped back. My legs started moving before my brain had time to catch up. But within a few moments, I was in the bedroom, shoving everything into my suitcase. Clothes, make up, toiletries. I didn't want to forget a thing.

"What are you doing?" Charlie said, still standing where I'd left her as I wheeled my bag past her and headed for the front door.

"I'm leaving." I sounded as robotic as I felt. I'd been so selfish for so long. "You're right. There should be boundaries. So, tell Dylan that I said goodbye and um I'm sorry."

"Bea."

I didn't wait to hear what she said next. Dylan and I hadn't even had a chance to be together and I'd already hurt him. I'd already caused him anguish. It was better that I disappear now before I hurt him even worse. Because that's what I do. I ruin.

For three days, I lay in bed, or at my window seat but I don't leave my room. I don't answer the door or the buzzer when Dylan spends half n hour outside, pleading that I let him in. I don't respond to his calls or text messages. Dad must have got so fed up with it that he sends me a text message and asks what the fuck is going on.

Nothing. Please just don't let him in.

Grow up Bethany.

The fact that he doesn't even want to come into my room and have an actual conversation should hurt. But I'm too full of the pain that comes from missing my person. I've been watching Grey's Anatomy. I like to watch lives that are worse than mine. Izzy lost the man that she loved before he even got to leave the hospital and then slept on the floor for like, ages. So I'd like to think that I'm not quite at level Izzy.

But Christina and Meredith register with me. The way that they call each other 'my person.' I get that. Dylan is totally my person. This show might be the one of the only ones that we haven't watched together. So it was the only one that I could handle putting on. If I wasn't such a mess, I might have loved it. As it was, I had to fight the urge to call him a thousand times and sit on the line while we watched it together. We did that sometimes with other shows or movies.

I didn't even realise what a huge part of my life he was until he wasn't in it anymore. I talked to him about everything. I called him when dad upset me. I called him about mom. I made him come over to watch movies in the dark with me when I was bored. I took him shopping. He made me the unofficial taste tester on all of his new menu choices. He took me shopping. He always asked for my advice when he drew up the menu board at work. He almost never hung out with Breck unless I came too.

But it wasn't even just the little things. It was the consistent text messages. The snaps that we'd send each other when we encountered something amusing. Or sad. Or cute. He once sent me a photo of seven puppies sitting outside of The Hot Plate eating mash potatoes off a plate that their owner ordered. Fine dining for pooches. Dylan made everything better. He made my life what it was and that was exactly the problem.

I didn't know how to live without him.

There was a tap on the door and I scowled from underneath my comforter, wondering for a moment if Dylan had found his way inside. But then I heard a female voice.

"It's Megan. Can I come in?"

"Yeah."

The door inched open and my new step mommy peeped inside. She'd had a hair cut. Her blonde waves sat at shoulder length. Her freckles were more prominent. Her skin was warmer. She smiled and held up the jacket that she'd borrowed from me last week.

"Just returning this," she draped it across the arm chair in the corner. I gave her a thumbs up. I'd forgotten all about it. "I got the job."

Finally, something worth sitting up for. I smoothed my hair down and quickly cupped my hand over my mouth to sniff test. Gross. Hopefully she didn't get too close. "Congratulations," I said and startled at the rasp in my voice. I hadn't spoken in a while. I cleared my throat and smiled. "That's awesome. When do you start?"

"Two weeks," she sat on the edge of my bed and clasped her hands together with excitement. "I can't wait. I have an office and a team and equipment. It's state of the art. And oh wow, the budget. It's unbelievable."

I was genuinely happy for her.

"How was New Zealand."

My smile fell. "I can't talk about it. Like, can't. I'm— New Zealand is beautiful. But I can't talk about it."

She pursed her lips. Sheesh. She was actually so gorgeous. Again, what did she see in dad? "I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

"Nope."

She giggled and I gave her a quizzical stare. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to laugh. You're just. . . honest. It's refreshing."

I shrugged and pulled the comforter closer, shielding my braless chest under my thin, worn tank top.

"Um Bethany," she looked at her lap, her fingers wound together and it made me realise that I'd been picking the skin on my nails again. Stupid anxious habit. "I know that it must be sort of weird. Ya know, I'm dating your dad and we're probably quite close in age. I don't want you to think of me as anything but a friend. Maybe? If you want. I'd never have any intention of stepping on your toes. This is your home and you're an adult. So I hope that we can be okay."

"Oh," I frowned and noticed the panic on her face. "I was just hoping that I could call you mom."

Her face was blank for a second. Blank and terrified. I couldn't help but burst into a loud laughter and she soon followed, clutching her chest as she curled over. "Oh wow," she gasped, still laughing. "I was like, what the hell do I say to that?!"

I covered my face and laughed so hard that I thought I was going to wee for a second. I loved it. I hadn't had a sore tummy laugh in forever. "Your face. Holy shit. Classic. Ah. I feel so much better. I also need to piss. Sorry excuse me."

I quickly stood up on my bed and ran across the mattress before I jumped onto the carpet and ran into to the en-suite. I was still giggling to myself while I stood in the mirror, washed my hands and brushed my teeth. Perhaps I'd ask Allie if she wanted to go and get a facial tomorrow. I needed one, bad. Id been living like a creature for the last three days and it showed.

When I wandered back into my bedroom, Megan was still there. She was leaning over, looking at the photos pinned to my board on the wall. Her smile was soft and thoughtful. I stood beside her and smiled as well. My old photos. Ones that I had taken with my camera in high school. Most of the photos were of Dylan and I. Brecken appeared once in a while. So did a few mutual friends that we shared. But my brows furrowed as I realised that I didn't have a lot of friends in high school. I didn't want them or need them. I had Dylan.

"He's cute," Megan commented. "You two look so happy."

I said nothing. I couldn't cope with explaining our situation to her. I couldn't cope with questions right now.

"Is that your mom?" She said, pointing at a shot of me and mom in LA when I was thirteen. Our last summer in California.

"Yeah," I said. "Beautiful, huh?"

"She was."

"Was?" I frowned and Megan straightened up, her expression uncertain.

"Your dad said that she died," she mumbled. "Ten years ago."

Red. I saw red. I saw red and then I saw the kitchen and then I saw dad's office door hitting the wall with a thud so loud that he jumped in his seat, ripped off his glasses and stood so fast that I nearly missed it.

"What the hell, Bethany?"

"Dead?!" I screamed. "You told her that my mother, your wife, is dead?! I can't fucking believe you! Just when I thought you couldn't get any lower. You actually disgust me!"

"Butt out, Bethany," he warned. It might have scared me if I wasn't so wound up.

"You are such a coward. A deceitful fucking coward. How long did you think that would last for?! Did you really think that I would never talk to Megan? She's a nice person. Not like those other girls that screw you for a career boost—"

"Shut the fuck up, Bethan—"

"Who knows what she sees in you. You sick stupid asshole. Well I get it now," I paced back and forth, wild and ready to hit someone. "Mom's dead to you. Dead. To you. You. Fuck. I've never met someone so low. So pathetic. I hope Megan takes this as a sure sign that you're nothing. You're no one. You don't deserve love. It should have been you! You should have been the one that fucking died!"

A sharp slap across my cheek stunned me into silence. Dad stood in front of me, breathing heavily. He hated me. He didn't have to say it. I could see it in his face. Suddenly a thin pair of arms wrapped around my shoulders and Megan started pulling me backward.

"Come on, Bethany," she murmured. "Let's go."

"You have a week to get the hell out of this house," dad said, red and full of rage. "You're cut off from here on out."

"Good."