I could hear my phone ringing over the sound of the running water while I showered later that day. I was battered and bruised from our hike but, true to her word, Melanie had taken me to get lunch afterwards. Although as I scrubbed vigorously behind my ears, I couldn't help but feel a bit conned. I still wasn't convinced that anything organic, vegan, and gluten-free could really be called food but Mel had assured me that the ultra-healthy restaurant she'd taken me to was one of her favorites. If I'd been paying, I probably would've protested but anything free automatically earned a four-star rating in my book.

My phone rang again as I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist. The mirror had fogged up and droplets fell from the ends of my hair, coursing their way down my face and body until a pool of water had gathered around my feet. I wiped the glass with the back of my hand and thought about letting the call go to voice mail when an optimistic thought crossed my mind.

Maybe...

I dashed from the bathroom, slipping on a puddle and tripping over the running shoes I'd kicked off the moment I'd gotten home. I flailed as I pitched forward, clutching at my towel with one hand and grabbing for the door handle with the other to stop myself from landing on my face. I righted myself once I came to a stop and, convinced I'd escaped death, cursed whoever had chosen to call at such an inconvenient time.

Moving slightly slower than I had been, I made my way towards the jingle that chimed from somewhere in the folds of my bed's blankets and plopped down onto the mattress, feeling for my phone's thin plastic casing. My heart pounded wildly when I saw the name that flashed on the screen and I blinked twice to make sure I wasn't seeing things.

"Hello?" I said. Silence greeted me. I tried again. "Sophie?"

"I hate you, Parker." The words were drawn out and so heavily slurred that I could barely understand her when she spoke. "You're the worst person I've ever met."

"Sophie, are you drunk?"

Giggles came over the receiver. "Of course not," she said, hiccups punctuating each lazy syllable. "Why haven't you called me?"

I lowered my phone for a moment and stared at it, torn between a desire to chuck it at the wall and scream that I had called her almost every single day for weeks. Instead, I counted to ten and said, "Sophie, it's five o'clock. Where are you? Are you okay?"

Her laughter had dissolved into a mixture of sniffs and gasps and I realized she was crying. "No," she said, the word no more than a whimper.

"Are you at home?"

"Why didn't you call?" she asked again, her sobs and hiccups intertwined.

"I'm sorry, Soph," I said, not bothering to argue with her. I grabbed a rumpled shirt from the floor and pulled it over my head. Then, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear, I rummaged through my dresser for underwear and socks before finally stepping into a pair of passably clean jeans. "Where are you? Are you out? I'll come pick you up."

"Out?" she echoed, as if the concept were foreign. "I'm at home."

I winced when I heard a thump followed by something shattering in the background. I was moving then, grabbing my keys from the kitchen counter and stuffing my wallet into my back pocket as I sailed through the room. "Are you hurt?"

That made her laugh. "Why do you care?"

"Sophie, cut it out. You're definitely at home?"

"Yes... I-I'm not -- don't come."

"I'm coming," I said, wriggling my feet into my shoes and racing out the door. "Can you just stay where you are? Please?"

"Okay," she said. Her voice sounded far away and her breathing deepened, almost like she was about to fall asleep.

"Don't hang up," I said but a horrible clattering noise came over the line and I knew she'd dropped her phone. "What the hell, Soph," I muttered, jumping into my car and pulling out of the carport.

I drove as fast as I could without drawing the attention of L.A.P.D., even rolling through stop signs when I was sure no one was looking. The excitement that I'd initially felt at the prospect of talking to Sophie had turned into a frenzied panic. By now I knew my way to her house by heart and deftly turned off the main drag of Beverly Hills towards the private streets and ornate estates where she lived. I waved to Frank when he opened the gate to let me drive through, though I didn't dare take the time to roll down my window to talk to him. Once Frank's security hut had faded from sight in my rear view mirror, I put my foot down on the gas pedal, my SUV rattling angrily as it soared over rows of speed bumps. I pulled in front of Sophie's pristinely kept mansion, halfway out the driver's side before I'd even turned off the engine.

The gate that led to her driveway was slightly ajar and I jogged up the long path, willing her front door to be open, too. I tugged on the handle when I reached it and was dismayed to find that it was locked. I rang the doorbell twice and then began pounding on the frame.

"Sophie? Sophie, it's me, let me in."

I tried the doorbell again, once, twice, three times. If she really was inside, it didn't seem like she was planning on answering. I looked around; she had to keep a spare key somewhere out here. I flipped the doormat, hoping to find it underneath, but all I found was dust. She didn't keep any potted plants on her doorstep and searching under the artistically arranged rocks in the front yard proved fruitless, too. Having exhausted all of the potential hiding places, I sighed and began pounding on the door again.

"Sophie, come on," I shouted. "It's Parker. Please let me in."

I held my breath and strained to listen for signs of life inside. I thought I could hear the faintest sound of someone crying but it disappeared when a gust of wind rustled the leaves of the yard's manicured trees.

I stepped off the porch, annoyed but unwilling to give up. I circled the house looking for a side entrance, an open window, anything that I could use to slip inside. The pitiful sound of Sophie's wailing grew louder as I reached the back of the massive property and I felt myself relax slightly. At least now I knew where she was. I hurried towards the sliding glass door that led into her kitchen and peered in. Aside from the light that leaked in through the windows, the room was dark. I squinted, just able to make out the form of a thin figure hunched over the kitchen table. Sophie's knees were pulled up to her chin and her face was buried in her arms. I tried the handle of the door and my mind flooded with relief when it gave way.

"Sophie," I said, stepping inside and almost immediately bringing a hand to my nose as my nostrils were assaulted by the acrid smell of tequila. My stomach churned. "It's me, I'm here."

My greeting was met with phlegmy sniffles. "Go away."

"I'm not going anywhere." I looked around. The cabinets were open, half empty dishes strewn across the counter tops. On the table directly in front of Sophie was a flask and I walked towards her, stopping when I heard crunching beneath my sneakers. I looked down to see that I was standing in a pool of clear liquid that had seeped from the shattered remains of a Patrón bottle. Only the little round cork stopper remained intact and I realized that was what I'd heard break when we were on the phone earlier.

I reached out to put my hand on her shoulder. "Sophie--"

Sophie's head jerked up when I touched her and she looked at me with wild eyes. She reminded me of a feral animal, scared and angry... and thin, painfully thin. Her collar bones jutted out like daggers and the bones in her chest seemed to ripple when she breathed. Without moving from where she sat, Sophie tried to shove me away, her outstretched palms making weak contact with my midsection. Taken aback, I wobbled but regained my balance and moved towards her again.

"Hey," I said, grabbing her hands and holding them between mine when she reached out to hit me again. "Don't push me. Okay? Calm down."

Sophie's breathing was ragged and her unfocused eyes swam in pools of red. Tears streamed down her face and she looked down to break our gaze. I loosened my grip, not wanting to hurt her. "Are you alright? What's going on?"

Sophie's long ponytail whipped from side to side as she shook her head. "I can't do this, I can't."

She sounded even more intoxicated than she had thirty minutes before and I prayed that my role in this wouldn't involve me calling an ambulance for her. Each word that came out of her mouth sounded like a laborious struggle to make intelligible.

"What can't you do?"

She twisted out of my grasp and reached for her flask. "Woah, stop," I cried, grabbing the sleek metal container and stuffing it into my free back pocket. From its weight and the sounds of the sloshing liquid inside, I guessed that it was almost empty. I clasped her hands in mine again. "What can't you do?"

"Any of this." She let out a terrible moan and shook her head. "I hate everything, don't you get it? I hate Richard, I hate my friends... I can't do it anymore." The sound of her sobbing was so desperately primal that it broke my heart. She continued, "I miss you. I really miss you."

"I'm right here," I said, stroking her knuckles with my thumb.

Sophie sniffed loudly. "Why do you always have to be so nice to me? Why are you even here?"

"Because I care about you."

There was a long pause while Sophie chewed on her bottom lip while staring into the distance and the silence rang in my ears. I wanted to say more. I wanted tell her just how much I cared about her, for once and for all, but the risk of her not remembering anything I said was very real. I knew that this wasn't the time. She began swaying gently and her eyelids started to droop, lower and lower until her eyes finally shut. I listened while her breathing slowed until her head lolled onto her shoulder.

"Sophie? Soph?" I sighed. "Come on," I said, hooking my arms under hers and hoisting her up. "Time for bed."

A garbled sound escaped her mouth.

"What was that?"

"Shoes," she mumbled, sinking back down onto the seat. The slurring was so heavy now that I really struggled to understand her when she spoke.

"Huh?"

"No shoes."

I glanced down and, sure enough, she only had socks on. I had to admit that, given her state, I was impressed she even realized that the bottle she'd broken posed a danger. Glancing around, I knew there was no way that she'd be able to make it out of the room without cutting herself on the glass.

"Where are your shoes?" I asked. Sophie shrugged, head rolling from side to side. I rubbed my eyes and pushed my still damp hair back from my forehead. Just looking at her was making me feel drunk.

The romantic thing to do, I realized, would be to gallantly lift her into my arms and carry her to her bed. I was sure I'd seen something equally cheesy happen in one rom-com or another but I pushed the thought from my head. Realistically, she had a better chance of doing back flips out of the room than I did of carrying her anywhere, no matter how skinny she may have been.

If I couldn't find her shoes and I couldn't lift her, I'd have to resort to the third option.

"Soph, can you sit like you were before? Can you bring your knees--yeah, that's it. Stay like that."

With a deep breath, I held onto the chair's seat back and dragged it along the tiled floor. The wooden legs made a horrible screeching sound against the marble and I paused to make sure that I wasn't leaving behind a trail of scratches. Once I was satisfied that my method wasn't causing any permanent damage, I carried on until we reached the hallway. Safely out of harm's way, I tugged on Sophie's arm.

"Hey, can you walk?"

She nodded, staggering to her feet. I reached out to brace her and couldn't help but flashback to the moment that I'd taken her home from the club so many months before. It was hard to believe how much had changed since then, though clearly some things hadn't changed at all. I held her up by wrapping one arm around her waist and although she reeked of booze, I could still smell the gently intoxicating scent of her shampoo. It was almost as if someone had poured a bottle of agave over a lavender field.

We took the stairs slowly and Sophie tripped when we reached the landing, falling to her knees. She let out a startled yelp but I knew the plush carpet that lined the second story's halls had broken her fall.

"Which one is your room?" I asked when she'd regained her footing. I tightened my hold on her so that she wouldn't fall again. With what seemed like enormous difficulty, Sophie motioned towards the far end of the corridor.

Of course it is, I thought, wondering why I couldn't ever catch a break. Sophie paused to gag every few steps but eventually we made it to her bedroom. I guided her to the massive canopy bed that stood proudly in its center and once she'd collapsed on top of the rumpled sheets, I looked around, disappointed that the room was as sterile as the rest of the house. I'd always imagined that her bedroom would be an explosion of color and trendy knickknacks, maybe a little messy, but artsy, sort of like how I guessed the inside of her mind would look like.

Instead, I found it decorated in the same style as the foyer: everything was stark white save for the occasional piece of light blue furniture, though I noticed that she'd also incorporated crisp black accents into the scheme. The room seemed so cold compared to the lively girl that slept in it, almost like she didn't belong there at all. In fact, the only homey touch was a framed black and white photo of her kissing Vinny's cheek. Sophie looked no older than fifteen in the picture and the DJ's trademark mane only reached to his chin. Tearing my gaze away, I stepped into the en suite bathroom and filled a glass that she kept next to the sink with water.

"Here," I said, bringing the water to Sophie's side. She shook her head and made a lazy attempt to swat it away. "Seriously, drink it."

Reluctantly, Sophie took the glass and brought it to her lips. She drank two long swallows and then moved to set the cup onto her nightstand. She missed and I watched the glass tumble to the ground below, water spilling onto the side of the bed and spreading over the carpet. I rolled my eyes and returned to the bathroom to grab a towel to clean up the mess.

Sophie watched me with bleary eyes, yawning while I dabbed at the excess water soaking into the floor. "Parker," she said as I stood up.

"Yeah?" I set both the towel and cup down on the nightstand that she'd originally been aiming for.

With great concentration, Sophie moved to a sitting position and reached for me. I swallowed when her arms settled around my neck. "Why are you here?" she asked, closing her eyes.

"Why are you so wasted?" I asked. "Huh?"

I waited for her to respond but no answer came. I studied her face, noting that her eyelids were swollen, cheeks ruddy from crying; even her nose was slightly pink. Her mouth, however, was perfect. Her full lips were smooth and I had no doubt they'd feel amazingly soft pressed against mine. I imagined that even if her breath smelled of liquor, her lips would still taste like the vanilla-flavored Chapstick I knew she kept in her purse.

Sophie's face was inches from mine and I wanted to kiss her--I desperately wanted to kiss her. Her lips parted slightly and I could see the tiniest flecks of spittle pooling at her mouth's corners. She tugged at my neck, urging me closer, and, for a brief moment, I closed my eyes and wondered what would happen if I just gave in...

But I shook my head and pulled away. "Not now," I said, ruffling her hair. She sank back down into the tangle of sheets, the alcohol dulling her reaction to the fact she'd rebuffed. After a few moments of silence, Sophie bolted upright again and frantically pawed at my arm. "Parker?"

I bent down.

"I'm going to be sick."

Sophie leaned over the side of the bed and, with the explosive force of a tidal wave, the contents of her stomach spewed from the same lips that I'd been thinking about kissing just seconds before. I stepped back in an effort to save myself from being drenched and dry heaved when I caught a whiff of the rancid scent.

"Sorry," Sophie murmured before rolling over, oblivious as always to the damage she'd caused. I stood for a long beat and stared at the puke covering her carpet until I heard her begin to snore.

"Great," I muttered before sinking to my knees again.

While I knew Sophie wouldn't blame me if I left the mess for her to clean up, for some reason, I felt obligated to do it for her. And although I'd be lying if I said that crawling around on the ground to wipe up vomit didn't make me want to throw up myself, I also couldn't help but laugh as I rinsed the heavily soiled towel out in the bathroom sink. "This is so disgusting," I said aloud, holding my breath. Disgusting, but not particularly surprising. I'd come to accept that any time Sophie and alcohol met unsupervised, something bad was bound to happen.

I washed my hands with aggressive fervor and then laid the dirty towel across the bathtub's side to dry before creeping out of Sophie's room and back downstairs. Despite searching high and low, it took me nearly an hour to find a broom and dustpan hidden in the deepest recesses of her garage. Both were still wrapped in their original packaging and I wondered when the last time was that Sophie had done her own cleaning. Judging by the housekeeping service's magnet that she kept on her refrigerator door, my best guess was that it had been awhile.

Careful not to miss any of the glass slivers that had splintered from the bottle, I ran the broom across the kitchen floor twice, humming a made up tune as I went along. When all the visible pieces had been picked up and dumped in the trash, I wet the lone sponge that rested in the sink's basin and scrubbed the tiles, just to be sure. Once I was convinced that there was nothing left for her to cut her feet on, I straightened, put away the cleaning supplies, and returned to Sophie's room to check on her.

Her snoring had quieted to a gentle series of puffs and I sat down at the foot of her bed, watching her chest rise and fall. Sophie shifted and her toes peaked out from underneath the down comforter she lay curled in. I tucked the blanket around her again, noting that the perfectly kept polish on her toenails matched the mint color she wore on her hands. I watched Sophie sleep until the sound of her breathing began to make me drowsy. I stood and rubbed my eyes, feeling for my keys and finding the flask I'd confiscated from her earlier. Confident she wouldn't try to drink anymore, I set it down on top of the nightstand and turned to leave, though I stopped as Sophie's slender fingers reached out and wrapped around my wrist.

"Stay," Sophie murmured. Her eyes were closed but the word sounded lucid. She moved slightly, making room for me to climb into the bed next to her.

My heart skipped a beat. "Sophie..."

"Stay," she said again. I shook my head.

"I can't."

Sophie whimpered and I glanced around the room. There was a thick sheepskin rug on the other side of her bed and I crossed over to it, sitting down. "I'll stay here, okay? Just over here."

She didn't respond but I ran my fingers along the soft fleece surface and felt my weariness return. If I'd been having trouble sleeping before our fight, nothing could compare to the insomnia I'd felt since. The feeling of exhaustion was actually a welcome visitor and I decided that I'd take a nap and sneak out once I was sure Sophie would be alright.

I laid down, placing my hands behind my head. "I'm right here, Soph," I said again. "Wake me up if you need anything."

I yawned and my eyelids fluttered closed. My mind was reeling with the events of the day and I realized that although it had come in an unconventional way, this had to be my second chance with Sophie. I wasn't going to let opportunity slip through my hands again, no matter what.

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A/N: Another massive shout-out of thanks to Chameleon13 for being awesome and giving feedback on this chapter and the next one. :D Also, thank you to everyone who's been reading, voting, and commenting. You guys are so nice. :3 I've been trying to thank everyone personally but sometimes things get super hectic and I can't. :'c Just know that I'm always appreciative.<3