"Who is this?" I already knew who it was. I recognized the face that I had looked at a million times.

"Bea, what are you doing? Are you okay?" Asher asked as he sat down beside me and read the page I was on. A Facebook page of Oliver P. Bullock was displayed, a profile picture of him with a cigarette and a bottle of booze on the screen.

"This is one of the guys," I said. "He was a part of the murder of Michael, Quentin's brother." I let out a long sigh.

"You found them? He told you not to -"

"I had to, Asher. It was eating me alive," I mumbled angrily and avoided eye contact. I pursed my lips and looked closer to the page. Asher didn't understand the guilt I felt. My dad did a bad thing allowing this boy to get away with murder.

"He lives in Washington State. That's three-thousand miles away," Asher deadpanned. I nodded my head and chewed on my bottom lip.

"Is that the only guy?" He asked, scooting closer to me on the bed. He smelled of sweat and deodorant and body spray from the band practice he just got out of. I spent the entire time hunting down this one person.

"Yeah, I just have to find them. If any of them live closer, I'm paying them a visit," I declared as I slammed the laptop shut and tucked it under my arm as I got off the bed, readying myself to leave. Asher shot up off the bed and grabbed my elbow, spinning me into his hard chest.

"You can't just show up at murder's house, Beatrice," he shook his head at me as if there was no way he was letting me out of his sight. At least he thought I was serious, which I was.

"I'll have cops with me, Asher. The whole nine yards," I tried to reason. As serious as I was about finding these, or this, person, I knew it had been too long for anything to be done. I sat the laptop on the floor with my backpack and sat on the chest by Asher's bed.

"I just want to give him comfort," I said sadly. "I'd want comfort."

"I don't think throwing those guys in jail would give him all the comfort he needs, Bea. Sure, it would be a start. But this is reality. Nothing would be done." He held both of my hands between his.

"I know," I sighed loudly and heavily. He stood up and kissed my forehead softly.

I hugged him, and we stayed like that for a while.

That was the day I showed Asher the Facebook page of Oliver Bullock. I wasn't sure how I'd found it, but I did. And I was staring at his picture now.

The only thing was that my brother was also in the picture.

"That's Oliver. He was my best friend," Luke told me quietly.

"Was?" I pointed out.

Luke shook his head, his cheeks reddening slightly. "It's a long story." He looked at me for a long moment before giving in. "He passed away a few years ago. Car accident."

"What happened?" I knew what happened, but I wanted to hear it firsthand.

"He came back to Pennsylvania with me the summer we graduated. I was going to see my dad and maybe head towards Ocean City. But one night of partying led to drunk driving. We collided with another car," Luke explained in a quiet, ashamed voice. I felt my heartbeat quicken.

Luke gave me a long, concentrated look as if he was trying to see if I was trustworthy. "Oliver drove us straight into the other car. He thought it'd be a good idea to race and... The other driver died instantly. I haven't seen Oliver since."

"Luke..." I started nervously, turning to look at him. "Re-remember Asher? His band was the one performing the night I met you."

He nodded his head. "Yeah, I guess. Why?"

"The boy playing the keyboard... his name is Quentin. He had a brother named Michael. He died of a head-on car collision." I sputtered. My nerves were pulsed.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Luke retorted defensively. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched me.

"He was in the other car that night." I knew I shouldn't have said that the way it came out.

"Why would you say that, Bea? How could you possibly know that?" He was angry now, the vein that lined his temple popped out.

"Because I found out a long time ago about Michael. I also found out that Dad was Oliver's lawyer and he was able to away with the whole thing. I felt bad for Quentin, so I asked Dad about it. He wouldn't tell me anything, so I did my own research and found Oliver on Facebook, using Dad's files." I explained, then raised an eyebrow. "I don't remember you being in the file, though."

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "This is ridiculous, Bea. I didn't call you over here to be interrogated about some random kid's death. I wanted to get to know my little sister."

"It wasn't some kid's death, Luke," I shot back. "He was a brother, a friend, a son."

"Don't you think I know that?" He shouted? I flinched at the sudden raise of his voice. He ran a hand through his hair and walked to the door, jerking it open. "You need to leave."

"I didn't mean to make you mad," I said honestly. "I'm sorry, okay?" I walked out of his apartment then, and possibly out of his life.

I found myself being dropped off a few blocks up from my apartment building. The weather was cold, the tip of my nose made me look like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and my blood was boiling. I was mad at myself as well as at Luke. He wasn't telling me everything he knew about Oliver and Michael. He had to know something else, like why was Oliver let off so easily by our father, and if Luke was in the car with him that night, why wasn't his name on the file? What was I missing that he wasn't telling me?

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I half-hoped it would be Luke calling to tell me he needed to tell me more. I wasn't disappointed to see Asher's name pop up, though.

"Hey," I answered, pressing the phone to my frozen ear. My fingers were red with the cold, making it harder to hold onto my phone.

"I sure wish you would've stayed a little longer," was the first thing he said to me, a happy tone drifting from his voice.

I didn't mean to huff, but my bad mood was as hard to get rid of as it was to hide. "I had some things to get done, I'm sorry."

"And it was a long way home, so you left early, right?" He asked me. "What if I..."

"What if you what, Asher?" I pushed after he contemplated for over five seconds.

"What if I stayed... with you? I mean, I don't want to push myself on you, but I also really want some more of the sleep I had last night. It was the best night I've had in a long time," he finally spat out.

I thought about it for a moment. My mind was already racing with anger and confusion, why not add more to it? I could let my ex-boyfriend whom I potentially still love come sleep in the same bed as me, or I could stay sane and let him try and find sleep in the comfort of his own home. I could do that, and keep both of us from getting hurt.

But would I be a human being if I didn't set myself up for heartbreak?

"Yeah, that sounds fine," I told him without much hesitation. My heart tugged in two different directions.

"Are you sure?" He asked again, sounding regretful.

"Yes, Asher, I want you to come and stay. You need your sleep and I need someone to put my cold feet on," I laughed and so did he.

"Okay, it's a deal," Asher said. "I'll talk to you later."

"Bye," I whispered before hanging up, shoving my phone in my pocket. I made it to the apartment building and ran up the steps, pushing open my apartment door. Everything looked like home again. I walked into my bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to laugh at myself.

Out of all the things to happen, my phone buzzed again.

For the sake of my nerves, I it ring. And ring. And ring.

On the fifth ring, I picked it up without looking at it and pressed answer.

"What?" I groaned into the phone. I guessed it could've been Asher or maybe Ellie, but, no. Of course it wasn't.

"Is that any way to talk to you father?"

I sat up immediately, feeling as though lying flat on my face was not the proper way to talk to my dad. The man with many secrets.

"Oh, hey, Dad," I stumbled over my words. "I thought it was someone else."

"Ah, I see. How's the New York life treating you?" He asked me. It almost sounded like he was trying to do something from the huffs of breath I could hear in the phone.

"Fine, I guess." I was in no mood to talk to my lying father. It was like that's all our relationship was based on – lie after lie.

"Don't sound so excited to talk to your dad, Beatrice," he said sarcastically.

I rolled my eyes. "Well, Dad, I'm not really that excited to talk to you."

"You're going to have to be," he told me and I stood up off my bed, pacing back and forth as he gave me all his bullcrap. "I want you and your mother and Lucas to meet me at a restaurant this week."

"I'm sorry, did you just say Lucas?" I choked.

"Yes, your mother told you I'm sure. I wanted to catch up with all of you, since you don't have the time to visit me as often anymore," he explained.

I felt disgusted at my father. I knew he wasn't always like that. Somewhere deep down he was a good man with good morals. He acted like Lucas had always been a part of his life and "catching" up with him was something they did all the time. And me, well, I was his daughter. I grew up in the same house he lived in, but we didn't live together.

"Does Mom know?" I asked. Dad had the tendency to just assume Mom could read his mind and know when things were happening.

"Yes, honey, I let her know beforehand. I'm going to call Lucas after we're done." I played with the strings attached to a throw on my bed. Having a sit-down dinner with my mother, father, and estranged brother made my stomach roll. I would have no back-up plan, no lifeline so that when things get complicated, I'll be able to relax knowing someone else is there.

"Oh, Dad?" I called before we hung up. "Can I bring someone?"

He breathed out heavily. "Sure, I'll see you there."

As soon as we hung up, I texted the one person I knew could handle my family.

Asher Hawkins.

*****

It seemed like a lifetime later when we reached Tuesday later that week.

I dressed myself in a pair of jeans, a long, knitted, gray sweater with a pink scarf to go with it. My brown leather boots smashed the thin layer of snow still piled up on the sidewalk. I pushed my curled hair behind my ears, trying hard to stay calm. My heart was fluttering in my chest like a baby bird trying to fly for the first time.

Standing in front of the restaurant doors in a pair of dark jeans, boots, and leather jacket with a cotton hood. I couldn't help but take in his appearance, especially since he wasn't looking at me.

"Hey," I said nervously. It felt as if the contents in my stomach were going to come up at any second.

"Hey." His crooked grin spread across his face. It soon faded though, and I guessed he could see the stress in my eyes. "What's up?"

"Um, well..." I started, but I couldn't finish. My heart was breaking my chest apart, my breathing was ragged as it entered and left my lungs. Asher saw this and wrapped his arm around me, pulling me into the restaurant. We avoided the waiter in front of us as we darted towards the bathroom. I didn't pay attention to which bathroom we entered when he shoved the door open.

Asher's arm never left my shoulders as we slid down the wall until our butts were on the tile floor.

"Take a deep breath, Bea," he whispered to me, pushing my hair behind my ears again. He rested his forehead against the side of my head, his lips hovering over my ear. As my heart slowed down and my breathing started to return to normal, I didn't use any muscles to keep my head up.

Panic attacks didn't happen as often as they used to. I was able to control my nerves most of the time, but when I can't, this happens. I let my head rest on Asher's shoulder as I closed my eyes, in, out.

In, out.

In, out.

"I don't know why I'm letting this get to me. It's just dinner with my parents... my judgmental, big-headed parents, and the brother I didn't know I had..." I gave myself a reason to have a panic attack.

"You have a reason to feel this way," he agreed.

"Yeah, but I don't need to do this anymore," I said angrily to myself. "I would rather feel numb than feel this." They were the most powerful words I'd said about myself in a long time. Why did Asher make me see the truth in everything?

"The minute you start feeling numb is the minute everything falls apart, Beatrice." I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and stood up, Asher right behind me.

"I can't do this right now." You're the one that needs saving, not me. I didn't want to think about the two of us at the moment – I wanted to think about getting this dinner over with. Asher nodded his head, lowering his eyes from mine. "I don't need you forthat." You need me for that. The lastpart came out just above a whisper and I secretly hoped he didn't hear it. 

As we walked out of the bathroom side by side, the first person we ran into was my father.

Talk about awkward.

A wicked smile appeared on my dad's face as he finished his conversation with the waiter and walked toward us. He glanced back at the bathroom door we had just come out of and then back to me. Our eyes connected and I felt myself melt away. My father had piercing eyes that could make anyone want to hide. I guess that's why he's so good at his job.

"Nice to see you Beatrice." He held his arms out and I hugged him reluctantly. Who am I kidding? He was my father and no matter what he did or said to me, I would always love him. I just didn't have to put up with him. "Asher." He nodded towards a very distracted-looking Asher.

"Mr. Montgomery," Asher replied, nodding and giving a small smile. He and my father would never get along, that was obvious. He looked at me for a moment and I searched his eyes for whatever it was swimming around in them, but I wasn't able to figure it out before my dad ushered us to our table.

With my hands still shaky from the incident I had just had, I pulled out my chair and sat next to Asher, opposite my father. It was like the first time he came over to my house for dinner, meeting my parents for the first time after we'd just met.

We ordered our drinks as we waited for our last two guests to arrive. Things were quiet between us all. My dad was probably thinking of ways to make sure this dinner went his way, Asher probably thought I was crazy from my sudden outburst, and I was thinking of a million different things.

Two things that clouded my thought train happened to be what dinner was going to be like with everyone – the second was of Asher. Ever since we got here, after he took my panic attack into his own hands, he's been acting differently. The look in his eye was distant.

My thoughts were interrupted when my mother arrived. After she took a seat across from Asher and beside Dad, Luke made an appearance. We were making small talk when he showed up, standing awkwardly at the head of the table.

"Are you all here, or do you want me to wait to take your orders?" The waitress asked a minute later, after Luke had taken a seat at the end of the table, between my dad and me.

"Yes, we're all here. Beatrice, you can go first," Dad prompted, gesturing to me. I gave the waitress my order and she continued around the table, taking orders from everyone until she was finished.

Everyone seemed to be in a completely different place. Luke glanced at me with wary eyes every so often, my father did the same to Luke, and my mother to Dad. It was a giant circle, and Asher was stuck in the middle.

I decided that it may have been a bad idea to ask him to come along for moral support. He was distracting me just by sitting next to me.

"So Beatrice, how are you liking New York?" Dad was the first to speak up, a king on his throne.

"I like it. I'm always busy," I told him, pursing my lips.

He nodded. "That's great." Barely emotion, a tug at the lips. "How about you, Asher?"

Asher snapped back to reality for just a few seconds, his eyes darting to my dad. He sipped his Pepsi. "My band's on a break right now before we start touring again." I admired his short and sweet answer, though it was much more than that. That much was obvious to me.

"That's... good. What do you plan on doing after your music career comes to an end?" Dad asked as he took a drink of his wine. The king on his throne sipping his wine.

"I don't have a back-up plan, sir," Asher sighed, like he'd went through this once already.

My dad looked at him for a second longer, a contemplating look on his face. He turned to Luke then. "Lucas, how has Washington been for you?"

Luke glanced at me darkly and back at our dad, a blank expression on his face. "Great, how's hell been?"

My mother gasped at the daring thing he had just said while I secretly wished I never heard it. Why couldn't I have a normal family?

Our food was delivered then, each item placed in front of us while we looked around, trying to find some sort of relief.

"Luke..." I trailed off through my teeth. He looked at me and rolled his eyes, leaning back into his chairs and crossing his arms over his chest.

"You really shouldn't speak to your father that way." I was shocked to hear that from my dad. How could he think he had the right to say that to the son he practically forced out of his life?

"You aren't my father, Jamie," Luke said with a hint of dead humor in his voice. "Maybe biologically. But that's it."

Dad cocked his head to the side, accepting the challenge thrown onto the table. The king on his throne sipping his wine and playing his own game.

To stop the fight I knew was going to go down sooner or later, I spoke up. "Mom, Dad, there's something I want to tell you."

I decided to tell them about my decision on art school. Becoming an artist was my dream, they knew that, but I know they won't accept it. It wasn't a random decision, though. I'd been thinking about since I found out I was having dinner with everyone. I felt like they should know my plans even if they didn't approve or like them.

"I tried to be your father, Lucas. Your mother didn't want me to take that kind of responsibility," Dad said, ignoring my statement.

Luke's face grew red with anger. "How could you say that? It's not true, and you know it. So does she." He pointed at my mom who looked like she was about to faint.

I finally stood up, planting my palms on the table and my feet firmly on the ground. "That's enough!" I exclaimed only loud enough for the people at my table to hear me. A few people turned their eyes toward me, but I was too angry to pay attention to them. "Besides your bickering, I'd like to cover something else in this family meeting."

Mom clasped her hands together, a relieved smile on her face. "What is it, honey?" I glanced down at Asher who was taking all of this in, a weird look on his face.

"I'm not exactly... going to be a therapist anymore." When I said it, I expected my chest to feel a weight lifted off of it. I guess there was more than just that weighing me down.

"What?" Mom asked. "I thought that's what you wanted to be?"

"I knew we should've sent you to law school," Dad mumbled annoyingly to himself. "You've wasted all your savings on something you knew you didn't really want to do."

I knew he was right, in a sense. I threw myself into becoming a therapist and was blinded by that to see what I really wanted to be. Although I was still pursuing those classes, I felt like I wasn't going to follow through with them. All those years down the drain. All that money wasted on a stupid decision.

But you learn from your mistakes. "I didn't want to be a lawyer either, Dad."

He then looked at me as if I was a piece of gum on the bottom of his shoe. The king was unhappy. "What are you going to do with your life, Beatrice?"

There were so many things to say to that. I'm going to love it, love the people in it, love the things I do, and make sure I do them well.

I decided to say something different. "I'm going to make something of it, unlike you," I said angrily. I felt their eyes on me: Beatrice is standing up for herself? Since when?

I pushed my chair behind me and stormed out, ignoring the eyes I felt in my back. Even though the air was freezing, my skin was on fire. My head was pounding and I wasn't sure if I was going to be okay.

When would I be okay? 

__________________

The gif is of Matthew Daddario who I chose to portray Luke! (He's smokin')  

So, you're finally getting to see in Bea's head a little more. She's coming to terms with not being okay and hopefully realizing it's okay to not be okay. Make sense? I hope so...

Anyway, thank you, thank you, thank you for reading, voting, or commenting! You all mean so much to me, as does writing these stories. So thank you for making my dream feel important to me.