I was on autopilot the minute the first half-naked girl hopped out of the bed of Sam Hill's black Tundra and started dancing around giddily on the curb. Though they were the first to arrive, I knew it wouldn't be long before half our school was loitering in front of my house with no consideration for anyone or anything else. The aftermath of every party Sam's thrown has always left my own front yard a dumpster, and knowing better than to let my father set eyes on the mess it was whenever he rolled out of his own bed of vomit, I spent the hour before sunrise cleaning.

Tonight, would be different. Not only was this Sam Hill's last end-of-summer party before he took off to college across the country next May, but my aunt would be here any second with my younger brother, and I'd have to join the world of the living-and face the same peers that I spent every waking moment trying to avoid.

Just as I was pushing myself from my perch on my window sill, my eyes found Sam and my heart sped up just the slightest and the sight of him.

He'd discarded his shirt sometime in the hour and a half since the party had started, and in nothing but lowriding black swim trucks in his driveway, leaning into his truck with one arm resting on the toolbox and the other securing a red solo cup that was so full that with every small movement the alcohol splashed over the rim and onto the concrete under his black sandals. A quick wisp of dark blonde was my cue to fully turn my back to the scene and head for my bedroom door.

Maybe in some parallel universe there was a Destiny Mathers who was brave enough to cross the yard and slip under Sam's arm, rest my head against his chest, and try and converse with my peers. Maybe there was alternate version of me that confessed my feelings for him and they rode off into the sunset under a double rainbow on a Pegasus.

But in this sad reality, he'd never know me as anything more than his reclusive next-door neighbor who'd broke down in his arms for hours in January.

I felt the slight vibration of my phone notifying me of my aunt's arrival in my back pocket, but I didn't bother to pull it out, and continued my trek to my front door. Though my father wouldn't be home for at least another five hours, I still walked the hall with a flightiness in every step and threw a quick look over my shoulder every few seconds. I'd made sure Dad wouldn't be home when Aunt Kara had called with the exciting news that they'd be releasing my younger brother, Dylan, into her custody and she'd be dropping him off.

It'd been six months since I'd last seen my little brother.

It'd been six months since I'd found him dead on his bedroom floor.

Bracing myself for the inevitable attention I'd receive as soon as I was outside of the house, I turned the knob and slipped onto my front porch. I immediately wished to sink into the ground when heads started to whip in my direction, most eyes full of curiosity or familiarity, but to my relief, nobody said anything. I pulled at the sleeves of my burgundy sweater, so it was covering both hands, not immune to the heat beating down my back and sticking it to every inch of my body. The entire trip down my driveway, more attention was drawn to me and I silently prayed someone would make a scene and distract everyone.

I knew how it looked; sweater and sweatpants in some of the hottest weather we'd had in over a decade. I just didn't care enough about everyone's perception of me to do anything about it. The only person's opinion I valued would never see me as anything more than a pitiful little girl, and I'd come to accept that.

Only, just as I slowed to a stop on the curb at the end of the driveway, I heard approaching footsteps and lifted my head to find Sam closing in on me.

He looked a lot older than he had in January, but I'd assume the scruffy five o' clock shadow he sported had a lot to do with that. Possibly his hair too. It'd been in a well-kept fade then and was now a tousled mess just past his ears. His thick brows drew as he halted and took in my appearance. I didn't even need to meet his eyes to know there was likely a mix of concern and confusion in them. I'd spent the better part of the last four years fantasizing of those beautiful almond shaped golden eyes.

The last time I'd been within such a close proximity to him, I'd been clutching his basketball jersey in my hands and crying. It hadn't been the hardly visible or audible kind of crying either. But the loudest, most agonizing, body shaking guttural sobs. I hadn't even known I was capable of crying as much as I had that morning. Though we'd been friendly enough prior, a quick nod in greeting in the halls at school and smiles exchanged when I picked up my little sister from his house, it'd never gone beyond that. January had been the first we'd ever spoken more than a few words in passing to one another-and the first and only time I'd allow myself to be emotionally vulnerable in front of him.

"Hey, Des." he greeted with a crooked smile, shoving his hands into the pockets of his swim trunks. I averted my eyes before they could linger too long.

"Hey." I whispered, shifting on my feet, continuing to keep my eyes trained straight ahead in hopes I'd catch sight of Aunt Kara's car.

I caught him shift awkwardly himself out of the corner of my eye before he finally extended a hand and touched my shoulder. In his mind, I was sure he thought after the way I'd completely collapsed in his arms that nothing would come of his fingertips brushing my shoulder blade. But just the sensation of his fingertips through my sweater sent me stumbling back a few steps and I felt warmth creep up the back of my neck immediately.

"How are you doing?" he asked, though the look he sent my way I think he was starting to regret approaching at all. "I know we haven't really talked much since. . . since January. Sorry about that. Just been busy."

I crossed my arms and shrugged a shoulder. "It's fine. I'm okay. My aunt is about to drop Dylan off."

Though he tried his hardest to mask it, the surprise broke through and his eyes widened. I couldn't blame him for it; the last time he'd seen my brother he was on his side in the hallway unresponsive and hardly breathing. Though I'd mentioned my brother's admission to rehab in passing to his mom one night picking up Dahlia, she must have not said anything to him.

"Oh, that's great!" he made a gesture over his shoulder with his thumb. "If you want to stop by afterward, I'll save you a drink."

The offer and sediment were sweet, so despite having no desire, I responded with a small smile and nod. "Thanks."

As if it weren't bad enough that the guy I'd been in love with for six years had seen me an emotional wreck seven months ago, he closed the distance between us and hugged me against his bare chest. The last time we'd been in such a compromising position he'd been wearing his jersey and I'd been in a thick sweatshirt. Now there was no more than a thin sweater between us and I could feel every hard, toned muscle pressing into me through the fabric.

"He's going to be ok." Sam reassured as he pulled away, "If I don't see you tonight, I'll see you Monday."

With that, all six-foot-three of Samuel Hill spun on his heel and jogged back to his front yard. The moment he stepped foot on his patio, Prom Queen two years running and Sam's on-again-off-again girlfriend, Shay Fisher met my eyes, wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled him down for a kiss. All while looking at me. Then she threw her thick, blond braid over her left shoulder and leaned into him as he dropped her arm over her shoulder. Completely oblivious to his girlfriend's jealousy, he sent me one last nod and grin, and ducked back into his house.

"Still lusting after Hill, I see."

My head whipped to the right the moment I heard my brother's voice. Though it was strained and gruff, and far from the quiet, soft spoken boy's voice he'd left me with, I would have recognized it in a room full of people.

Sometime during my conversation with Sam, my aunt had pulled into one of the few vacant spots a few houses down. All I could see of my mother's beautiful younger sister was her lower half as she dug through the back seat of her Range Rover for my brother's things. Dylan was leaning into the back of the car, one elbow digging into the taillight, his other arm dropped limply to his side. My eyes immediately went to the scars lining his inner forearm-injection scars I thought would have long since faded by now.

"Are you just going to stand there?" Dylan asked, straightening himself and opening his arms expectantly. "Because I really need a fucking hug from you, Des."

I shook myself from my daze and rushed to my brother. Little five-foot-five Dylan had shot up another few inches in the half a year since he'd been gone, and I now only reached his chest. It was odd, having my little brother clutching me to his chest and burying his face against my neck. I'd spent so many years cradling him to my own that it felt foreign.

Though I'd promised myself I'd make the drive out to visit him, I'd never had the chance. Between school, our sister, and work, I had never been able to fit in a time to visit before hours were up. I'd had to go through Aunt Kara to relay anything I had to say, and it had absolutely devastated me knowing my little brother was locked in this place with no familiarity whatsoever. We hardly knew Aunt Kara outside of the few times she'd visited when Mom was still here-and she was the only face Dylan had seen for the last six months.

"I'm so sorry." my brother whispered against my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Des."

I shook my head and backed away, taking his head between my hands, "Don't apologize. You're here. You're alive. That's what matters."

His ear length hair had been buzzed recently too; the second my hands brushed against the light peace fuzz on either side of his head I felt a sob in the back of my throat.

The man before me looked nothing like the teenage boy they'd thrown into the back of an ambulance and revived halfway to the hospital.

"Good God, Destiny. Why in the world are you wearing long sleeves in this weather?" Aunt Kara finally poked her head out from the car and walked around to join us, lifting my arm, and staring at my sleeve as if I'd sprouted another.

I caught Dylan flinch out of the corner of my eye, but he quickly recollected himself and averted his gaze to Sam's house over my shoulder.

"I just run a little colder, I guess, Aunt Kara." I responded, leaning in to hug her. Her red hair tickled my nostrils, and I quickly pulled back to find her blue eyes raking me.

It was in there. That look. The same look that'd always kind of resided in those beautiful blue eyes anytime she saw us. As if she knew what Dad did behind closed doors. But she never went further than just staring at us in sympathy. She never took the next step to call authorities, she always turned a cheek and acted as if everything were fine. Maybe in her pretty little head it was.

"No, baby, you're going to get heat stroke in that thing." she shook her head, curtain bangs falling into her eyes. "When I get back home, I'm going to order you girls some new clothes ok? I know your Daddy has no idea how to shop for girls or women. But right now I need to hit the road again before traffic keeps me back. I love you guys."

She yanked both of us into a bone crushing hug-which was honestly impressive considering the woman was four-eleven and wouldn't hurt a fly.

Once she'd climbed back into the range rover, Dylan stepped back up on to the curb with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a grimace. I waited until she honked to join my brother on the sidewalk and leaned against his shoulder. I allowed the thoughts to escape my mind for a few minutes and the rap blaring from Sam's house to drown them out. Even if it were only temporarily.

*

I waited until everyone had filed out of Sam's house and yard to take him up on his offer. I grabbed a spare trash bag from under my kitchen sink and headed over to the small fence leading back to his pool. I slowed to a stop, mouth agape, when I saw the mess the pool deck and water were. Trash, beer bottles and cans, bikini tops, boxers; anything and everything were being fished out of the water by Sam with a net.

"Hey." he said with a quick glance in my direction before he returned to cleaning. "I was wondering if you'd show up."

"I'm not really a party person." I answered quietly.

His nose scrunched in disgust as he retracted the net and dumped it into a trash bin to his left. The action was cute, but I knew better than to let my own emotions show on my face and I looked away. Once he'd returned the pole back to the water, he responded. "Yeah, I've gathered that. I don't think you're much of a people person. Don't you have like, one friend?"

Ouch. Actually, hearing it aloud made my chest sting a little, especially with it coming from him. The king of our school. But he was right, Chance was my only friend, and because he happened to play ball with Sam, they crossed paths often.

"I mean, people are drama." I defended with a one shouldered shrug, crouching down to pick up trash. "The less people you have in your circle, the less problems you have."

"That's true." Sam mumbled, but when I lifted my head he was leaning into the end of the net, head tilted to the left. "A lot of people talk about you, you know. I mean, they always did, but after what happened with Dylan, it got worse."

I knew that. Chance was constantly defending me and had finally gotten me to a point where nobody really looked in my direction before Dylan's overdose.

"People are going to talk regardless." I whispered, then a little more confidently added, "People talk shit about you too."

"I know, I know." he replied. "I just. . . I always try and defend you, you know. Because you've always been sweet when you pick up Dally. But I don't really know you enough to say anything."

I swallowed hard and threw the cans and bottles into the bag before I finally said, "That's for the best."

I just wasn't sure if it was the best for him or me.

The only reason I'd let Chance in is because he'd been my friend before Mom left and was the only thing that kept me pushing once she was gone. He was my best friend, my other half, and I'd always been comfortable living in his shadow and not needing anyone else, even with his persistent pestering that I should step out of my comfort zone and live a little before the end of high school.

He was also the only person that knew of my father's abuse.

He'd accidently walked in on me changing four years ago and had seen the bruises. And when he'd confronted my brother later than day, he'd seen fresh ones on him. It'd taken over two months of begging and pleading on my end for him not to run to the police with the information.

"One day he'll kill one or all of you, then what, Des?"

The words had hit a hundred times harder when I'd found Dylan with a needle in his arm, but I'd promised myself that I would file for custody when I turned eighteen in October. Then my siblings would be free and safe with me.

"I dunno." Sam said now, reminding me he's there and where I'm at. "I think you'd be a good friend."

Friend. The one word that had the power to make me feel almost as shitty as I did when I was cowering with my seven-year-old sister in my arms in my closet.

"Why are you wearing that?" Sam diverted the subject momentarily. "The long sleeves. Why do you always where them? It's hot as shit out here. You've gotta be dying in that."

I'd learned a long time ago to ignore the heat and sweat. Keeping myself hidden and away from wandering eyes outweighed feeling a little uncomfortable.

"Do you like. . . hurt yourself?" he finally managed to get out, approaching me. I dropped the trash bag in my hands and stood, falling back a step. "You can talk to me, you know."

As much as I wished I could, I knew absolutely, without a doubt, that Sam would go to authorities and his parents with it. Not to mention getting attached to him and allowing myself to feel more than infatuation from afar would be a huge hit to my already fragile psyche.

"I don't think Shay would like that very much." I said, and though I tried to keep the bitterness out of my retort, it still came through. "I appreciate the thought, Sam, but I'm fine. Don't worry. Let's just clean up, okay?"

He didn't look convinced nor happy with anything that'd left my mouth but was either too buzzed or too exhausted to continue to pry, because he nodded slowly and went back to fishing dirty laundry from his pool. As I stood on the other side of the deck cleaning, I eventually found my eyes drifting back to him. His dark hair was matted to his forehead with water and sweat, lips pursed in the same concentration that left lines along his forehead and crinkled the corners of his eyes just the slightest. Every move had his biceps tightening and releasing. He was perfection in every definition of the word; something that I could never obtain.

I would never be the rich Daddy's girl driving a Camaro to school every day. I'd never be pretty or athletic enough to be an equal to Sam. Being his acquaintance was the best I could achieve, and I wasn't willing to let go of that. Even with the knowledge that I'd never be anything else, spending any amount of time with him was enough. He was a small, flickering light in my darkness, and even if it were only momentary, I needed that warmth to keep me going.