The club was dead by 2 AM. Chris was passed out in the corner booth, his cheek pressed against a napkin filled with new slogan ideas. Sam crashed on the armrest of the couch and Jon used his outer thigh as a pillow. Hannah smiled at the scene, took a picture with her phone, then cuddled deeper into the leather lounge.

Gavin helped Aimee dry the dishes and organize the liquor.

"Thanks for the help tonight, bebé," she said.

"Anytime, Aim."

Across the room, Hannah peeled herself from the chair, ran a hand through her midnight hair, and tottered to the couch to kiss Jon on the forehead. She noticed Gavin and Aimee watching and raised her hand goodbye.

"Think she's okay to drive?" Gav asked.

"Wouldn't count on it," Aimee replied.

Hannah was sitting in her Civic and staring at the steering wheel when Gavin found her. He tapped the window and she rolled it down.

"Feeling okay?" he asked.

"I dunno if I should drive."

"That means you shouldn't." He pulled a handful of change from the pocket of his blazer and dropped four quarters into the meter. "Wanna walk it off?"

* * *

The night was alive everywhere but the beach. Skyline windows sparkled gold and silver like confetti for the T4 celebration.

Hannah's navy halter billowed in the breeze as the deep V and open back flaunted patches of fresh goosebumps. Gavin offered his blazer. She accepted, drawing it over her shoulders like a 40's Hollywood starlet. She checked her phone for the hundredth time.

"I'm sure your dad is fine, hon," Gavin said.

She nodded, then stowed her phone in her purse. Her gaze returned to the helicopters. "I've been taking care of him for the last year. I make sure he eats right. I take him to the doctor for checkups. I crush his meds and hide them in his food. Now it's going to be... different."

"This happens to everyone at our age. You love your family and you want to take care of them, but at the same time you need to break away and start your own life."

Hannah's path wavered along the Lake Michigan shore. "You're right. And I feel horrible for leeching off him."

"You're an artist. If you don't leech, you die." Gavin stopped to remove his shoes and socks, then wiggled his toes in the cool sand. (If Gavin was Jon, Hannah may have removed her shoes too. They may have dashed side by side along the shore, dodging waves and splashing each other.)

Hannah unsnapped her purse and tore a sheet from her notebook. She creased the page along the short edge, ran her tongue along the fold, then gently tore it apart to form a perfect square. Her next sentence came out of nowhere and stopped Gavin's heart. "You stole my phone."

He couldn't respond.

"At Aimee's. You stole my phone."

She could see everything. "How... how'd you know?"

"I didn't... 'til now." She grinned. "But I had my suspicions when you ran to the bathroom."

"I'm sorry, Hannah."

"You saw the email?"

"I'm so sorry—"

"Quit apologizing. I forgive you."

Gavin tried to form a cohesive explanation for his sin, but Hannah's forgiveness was swift and he lost the impulse to make excuses.

"So," she said, "you know about my decision."

He nodded. "Is it really what you want?"

"I've been debating it for weeks."

"What were the reasons you wanted to get it?"

"Nothing original. I guess I just have the same fears as everyone else. I don't want to worry about death. I want to make Dad happy. And if my body is going to stop aging, I want it to happen while I'm young."

"Makes sense."

"Like I said, unoriginal." The paper square had become a mess of symmetrical folds in Hannah's nimble fingers. Her eyes maintained tight focus on her project, but Gavin could see the anxiety inside.

"There's gotta be more than that," he said. "I know you, Hannah. You have an original response to everything."

She scored the paper between her nails. "There are things I haven't told Jon."

"You can tell me anything. I won't judge."

"I have bad thoughts... you know that better than anybody. And if I ever get that feeling again..." Her sentence disappeared into the crashing waves.

"Feeling?"

"Don't make me remind you..."

They had never spoken about that night. Gavin wasn't even sure she remembered the call.

"If I ever get that low again... if I ever feel that urge... I want to be absolutely certain there's nothing I can do about it. If I had T4... I wouldn't be able to hurt myself."

Gav was pretty sure a person could still hurt themselves after receiving The Vaccine, but this wasn't the time to argue.

"I keep telling myself it'll make me feel normal. And I want to be normal. I want Jon to see me as a reliable woman, not some freak-show time bomb." Three more folds and the paper transformed into an origami crane. Hannah barely looked at her handiwork before tucking it above her ear. "But then I realized I have been normal. I haven't hurt myself since we've been together."

A picnic table appeared like a mirage on the dark shore. A mylar birthday balloon danced in the breeze.

Hannah plopped down between the balloon and a demolished tray of cupcakes, then rested her feet on the bench. She swiped the tray to the ground, and Gavin took the gesture as an invitation to sit.

"You and Jon..." he said. "Are you still... refraining?"

"God. Can you believe I've been celibate for over a year? I'm not saying I was a slut during college, but if you asked me two years ago if I could go this long without sex..."

"It isn't something you want?"

"Hell no! I want him now!" Joy bridged her face from ear to ear. "Don't get me wrong, I love my detachable shower head. But it's hardly an adequate substitution."

Gavin covered his wince with a laugh.

Hannah's voice returned to a serious tone. "I thought The Vaccine would be the only way I could stay sane... but Jon is a much sweeter safety net."

"He's a good guy, but you can't rely on other people for your wellbeing. If you think T4 will keep you from hurting yourself, you shouldn't let a boy stop you."

She scoffed. "What kind of woman needs to choose between a man and a drug to feel normal?"

"Have you tried relying on a higher power?"

She pursed her lips to the side. "My grandma was Catholic, but only when she needed to be. I remember wondering why she always carried a necklace around. I asked Dad about it after she died and he told me they helped her pray. I could tell from his voice he didn't believe it."

"I believe prayer works."

"Yeah?"

"The night at the hospital; I asked God to give me the strength to stop Grandpa's car. Less than a second later, I yelled louder than I've ever yelled in my life... and he swerved. You're my miracle."

For a split second, Hannah's eyes met Gavin's. And even though the notion was far fetched and rooted in some guttural infatuation, he was certain the look on her face was an expression usually saved for Jon; eyes smoldering like a woman, teeth biting her lip like a girl. But Hannah wasn't a girl. She was twenty-three and smart enough to know Gavin's needs. And even if she didn't, the crane on her ear did.

Hannah broke the moment with a rapid intake of air. She snapped the balloon's ribbon, meticulously tied it to the paper crane, looked up, and released bird and balloon to the darkness above.

* * *

Katrina Banks laid face up on Gavin's bed. Black panties pulled to the side, ankles squeezing his ears; she writhed and stretched as Gav tamed her buck with a rodeo grip.

She screamed. He was close.

She screamed again and he covered her mouth. Above his pinky, her eyes held his with a gorgeous mix of longing and pain, then she bit his finger—hard—and smiled against his palm.

It was the smile that finished him. He fell to the sheets—chest heaving—and listened to the sound of her pant.

"Holy hell," she said.

Gavin breathed through his nose. On the nightstand, his phone buzzed.

"Who's texting at three in the morning?"

"Chris." He scanned the text: "cant sleep. have ideas. call me."

"What does he want?"

Gav tossed his cell beside the lamp and looked at Katrina. "I love you," he said.

"No, darling, you don't." She slid the covers from her breasts. "But I'm ready again if you are."

He rolled away, stood, and snapped off the condom. "I need a shower."

* * *

"Gaviiiin. Answer your damn phone."

Gav ignored the ringing in his left ear and the voice in his right.

"Gavin..." Katrina groaned. "Make it stop..."

He batted his hand around the nightstand until he found the source of the noise, then held the screen to his face. It was Hannah.

He sat up, cleared his throat, and answered. "Hello?"

No response, only muffled sobs.

"Hannah? Are you there?"

Katrina rolled over. "Hannah? What does she want?"

He pressed his finger to his lips. "Can you hear me? Is everything okay?"

Between rustles and static, Hannah answered. "Gav?"

"Yeah, hon. I'm here."

"I... I think I need your help."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm at Dad's. He called me... he begged me. He was crying. He wants me to get it and I don't know what to do." She inhaled a series of short, rapid breaths. "I need it, Gav. I didn't think I wanted it, but I do. And I..."

"You what?"

"I did it again."

"Shit." Shit!

Katrina's eyes widened as she searched his face for answers.

"J- Jon can't know," Hannah stammered. "He can't know..."

"I'm getting dressed. I'll call back when I'm in the car. Understand?"

She didn't respond.

"Hannah? Do you understand?"

"I understand."

He slammed his phone on the nightstand, leapt out of bed, and turned to Katrina. "I need to go."

"Why?"

He stepped into yesterday's jeans.

"I'm your girlfriend, Gav. If you can't take sixty seconds to tell me why you're abandoning me to see another girl, we're going to have a problem."

He buckled his belt, threw on a tee, grabbed his cell, and marched to the door. "I'm sorry, Kat. You can let yourself out."

* * *

Hannah was tucked between the toilet and sink when Gavin arrived, head in her hands and blood at her feet. He confiscated the X-acto knife from the toilet seat and knelt to her level. He checked her wrists. They were clean. Her feet were cut with jagged lines still forming crimson beads. "Oh, Hannah..." He tilted her chin with his finger. Messy hair. Cheeks crusted with eyeliner. Puffy red eyes. "What happened, honey?"

"I need a shower."

"Can you stand?"

"Don't leave me."

"I won't leave you." He wedged his hands beneath her arms and lifted her body.

She shifted her weight to the ball of her heels and stepped toward the shower. "They hurt."

"They look like they hurt."

"I'm so stupid."

"Don't say that."

"I'm so fucking stupid."

"No you're not."

She pulled off her shirt and dropped it in the sink. Tattooed strawberries adorned her left shoulder and curled up to the base of her neck. "You didn't tell Jon?"

"No."

Perched on the edge of the shower, she wiggled her jeans to her feet and lifted her ankles. One at a time, Gavin held each leg open so the fabric wouldn't touch her wounds, then slid them off to reveal scars across her toes, feet, and ankles.

Hannah turned on the faucet and held her hand under the water. She removed her bra and underwear, then used his shoulder as leverage to step inside.

Gavin closed the curtain, adjusted the painful swelling in his pants, and opened the cabinet drawers. He found a brown bottle of peroxide and a carton of bandaids too small to cover her cuts.

"Gav?" she said from the shower.

"I'm still here, hon."

"Will you hold me?"

Hannah's request was sweet and desperate and tore through Gavin's insides like a pair of horny squirrels. "Of course."

He set the peroxide and bandaids on the floor beside the tub. He stripped to his boxers, then cautiously drew back the curtain to reveal Hannah hugging her knees on the floor of the tub, strawberries stretched across the canvas of her skin.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

She nodded.

Gavin stepped in the shower, sat behind her in the warm water, and positioned his legs around hers.

She leaned into him, her tender back and flat moles searching his chest for a comfortable resting place. Water from the shower turned blue after running through her hair, watering the strawberries and leaving rows of colorful drops along her shoulder.

He plucked the bottle from the floor and twisted off the cap. The peroxide soaked her cuts—bubbling and flushing away the toxins—and her nails bore into his flesh.

When both feet were clean and the tub had become a cauldron of water, blood, peroxide, and dye, Hannah raised her arm behind her neck, found the back of Gavin's head, and pulled his face to her shoulder.

He kissed her.

She tightened her grip and pried his kiss wider until his teeth were against her neck. Her head dropped to the side and she pulled harder until the kiss became a bite. She whimpered. Her body slackened. And Gavin obliged her silent request again and again across her neck and shoulder and back and arm.