Trigger warnings: trauma, death, grievance, and drug references. If you will be triggered by any of those, even if you're not totally sure, please do not risk it for my shitty writing. I love you all, stay safe!

One night. One night full of mistakes and regrets, led me to the worst day of my life - that early morning in mid-July.

I had intentions of telling Ethan, I always knew I would at some point. Did I think I was going to do it this early? No. I'm not truly ready to either, but keeping it is killing me slowly.

Ethan had once said to me – "You're using drugs to cover up the fact you are obviously in pain. Not dealing with it is going to make this worse and worse until you can't deal with it no longer. It will only blur the pain so much, Francesca until it doesn't and then what? I am not judging you, we've all done the occasional drugs, but I am sincerely looking out for you. You are a beautiful, smart girl. You have a future, and I don't think your parents would like a phone call hearing that their daughter has overdosed over something she could have dealt with."

Those words have always stayed with me, even though he said it in an argument. Those words hit harder now than ever.

He warned me, he sincerely was trying to help and save me.

To have him still here, even after everything – it's enough for me to know I can trust him. I can trust Ethan; I can confide in him.

Suggesting the beach was spontaneous, and even shocked me a little when I blurted it out. He had questioned it, comforted me and assured that we didn't have to travel for this. But for me to be brutally honest, get this all out, I couldn't be in the dorm, his apartment, nowhere that he could leave me. I can't be alone after this, and as much as I believe he would never do that, there's the insecure part of my brain that overthinks everything.

We didn't go straight away; Ethan knew I wasn't ready. He wanted me to get some rest before we did anything, so without falling asleep at all because I couldn't, we laid in each other's arms for hours, watching Netflix. It was the early morning when I had turned to him and said I wanted to finally go. It was four AM – it was still very much dark outside; the snow had stopped however – but he didn't question it.

Emotionally and physically we both knew I wasn't able to drive, so I took my medication that I recently got, hating taking yet another pill today. He didn't hesitate my decision, he just helped me into a warm coat and made sure I was okay before we left. I nodded, he gave me a brief smile and then we went to his car, me getting into the passenger seat, leaving Princeton behind us.

Right now, I'm not feeling anything, I'm numb as we look out over the crashing waves, the sun rising in front of us – tears are streaming down my cheeks, as I fight myself with this, finding what words to even say.

"It was Monday, July twelfth when it all started..." I start, my voice incredibly shaky, and he looks over at me, tightening his hold on my hands. "The incident happened the early hours of the thirteenth."

~ Flashback to July 12th ~

Pulling the bottom of my dress down, I quickly slip out of the bathroom door, easing into the crowd, on my way to find Abby after the most horrible experience. Without question that the last straw when it comes to sex with the male species, I am fed up of it just been... shit. Simple mechanics and alcohol or males in general, just don't correlate apparently.

All I can smell on me right now, is male cologne, it simply won't fade and it smells awful, cheap. It's nauseating. In this moment, this is when I decide that I'm not sleeping with guys any longer. I don't care how nice, how hot or how persuading they are, I'm putting my foot down. No more guys.

I know my way around this house like the back of my hand, Abby's house is massive and for years I've been coming here. As much as I know my way around, I don't exactly know where my friends are because I may have snuck away. It was only a couple minutes; they won't be too mad.

On the contrary, Abby is whacking me on the shoulder multiple times as soon as I finally approach them. I can't hide the guilty expression, but I'm also laughing from the alcohol in my system.

"You're a dick, you know that?" Abby yells over the music, and I smile awkwardly at her, hoping she'll forgive me this once.

"Where were you?" Chris asks, his voice harsh, and my smile drops as I face him. We're no longer together haven't been for a full year now, but we decided to stay friends. It's awkward to say the least, but I try for my friends – even though they have said on several occasions that we could just kick him to the curb. I know he would have no one then though, so I simply put up with this.

"Getting fucked by Louis. I think you had sex with his girlfriend last year in our tree house, did you not?" I raise my brow, and Abby pulls me back, a calm expression on her face.

"Let's get a drink or something a little stronger?" She suggests, and I nod, rolling my eyes over at Chris.

Taking her hand in mine, Abby pulls me with her into the kitchen where a few people are standing around and chatting. She shoos them away, smiling at me when she unlocks the expensive liquor cabinet. I don't question it, she does this all the time, it always ending with her getting yelled at by her parents. She reaches into the very back, smiling wildly when she finds the white baggie, and she pulls a bottle of vodka out along with it.

"You got a card?" She asks, and I nod, grabbing my purse that has stayed on my shoulder for the majority of the night.

I take out an empty, used up gift card because knowing me, I'll lose my cash card if we use that. She looks back over the empty doorway, and I roll my eyes at her paranoia.

"No one is even bothered, they're either too drunk or high to give a fuck about you, no offense babe." I say, and she glares at me, opening the little baggie of cocaine.

"How many lines?" She asks, her brows raised.

"Three." I respond, knowing I'm not doing any more than that, not right now.

She grabs the two shot glasses from the side, pushes the bottle of vodka towards me, and gestures for me to pour us them, and whilst she's lining up, I might as well.

We down the shots first, them being extremely strong and rich, then she passes me a rolled-up note, and we take turns, doing the lines of cocaine – feeling the effect immediately, lifting my spirits. This is why she was my best friend growing up, I had someone equally as fun as me, ready to do these things, whereas Chris and Phoebe are very boring. They hated us touching anything remotely bad. In fact, he never knew I partied like this until we broke up.

We're young, we can be reckless like this and no one can stop us from doing so. We're living our life, we're having fun. It's freeing, euphoric and is an escape from everything happening around us. We don't abuse drugs, I hardly take them in fact, the last time before now was months ago, the last day of college with my friends from Princeton.

We took another shot of vodka together, our arms linked when we did, before we made our way into the living room, and started dance with everyone else.

Hours passed, drinks flowed, drugs were passed around. The party was still in full swing when I made the decision tonight was enough, and I wanted to go home. I was drunk, totally smashed, and I just wanted my bed, so I said my goodbyes without even having a drive home. That didn't fully sink in until now as I sit on the step of Abby's house, leaning onto the railing.

With my fumbling hands, I get my phone out of my bag and ring the only person I know that could pick me up and take me home – my mom. I would rather walk home and risk getting murdered than ringing my dad. He hates partying in general, especially when it involves me and underage drinking, drugs not even in the question. I'm nineteen, nearly twenty-year-old for Christ's sake, yet he still acts like I'm a child. Which I'm not!

"Fran?" Her voice comes through the phone, she sounds tired, and a wave of guilt comes over me when I realize that she's probably been up with Emma, my two-week-old baby sister. "Frankie, are you okay?"

"Can you pick me up?" My voice is slurred when I try for it to come out normal. Stupid alcohol deceiving me. She sighs in response, not irritated, sadder than anything.

"Baby, where are you?" She asks, and I have to think about it for a second, scanning my surroundings.

"Abby's." I eventually conclude. I don't know why it didn't click sooner, but it didn't.

"You're going to sit still, don't move, I'll be on my way." She tells me.

"What about-" I start.

"Dad is asleep, he can look after Emma for half an hour. I'll be on my way, don't worry about him. He won't find out." She assures me in a soft voice. This is why my mom is the best mom in the world – I truly don't know what I'd do without her.

"Thank you mommy, I'm sorry for waking you up." I slur, wiping my eyes tiredly as I fall into the railing again.

"Don't worry about that right now, worry about it at eight in the morning, when I have you doing chores and helping out with Emma, okay?" She bargains, and I don't like the sound of that honestly. "Get some water, I'll be twenty minutes."

"Thank you." I croak out before the line goes dead.

I'm in my own silence, staring into space for a good five minutes before I recall I need water, so I venture back into the party, heading straight for the kitchen and thankfully I get a bottle of water without bumping into anyone. I then sit back on the step – my new friend – and take slow sips of the water as I wait for my mom to come.

It feels like hours I'm waiting, I'm cold in my little black dress, but she finally arrives and she's holding a grey jacket for me when she gets out. I've sobered up a little since the phone call, and guilt of selfishness has stuck with me – she had a baby two weeks ago, she's tired and sleep-deprived, and me, her grown-ass child rang her because I'm drunk. I'm stupid and selfish.

"You look a mess." She comments, a tired smile coming to her face.

"And you didn't look like this at an earlier age?" I retort, going to stand and she takes my hand, helping me.

"You're getting older now, Frankie, you have to be careful. You're not going to be a teenager much longer." She says calmly, and I sigh, nodding. I know that, and I know she's only looking out for me, but I like having fun. I do agree I have to be more careful though. "We'll get you to bed when we get home."

The roads were eerily silent, only us on them at this early hour of the morning. We didn't speak, only her occasionally checking to see if I was okay every now and again. It wasn't until ten minutes into it when my travel sickness kicked in – strong waves of nausea continuously hitting me and being under the influence of alcohol is only making it worse. Usually I can try and focus on the road, but my vision is hardly straight when I do.

"If you're going to throw up, there's a bag at your feet." She tells me, keeping her eyes on the road until we get to the red light. I'm too out of it to even get it, so she reaches over and brings it to my lap, just in time for the light to blink green.

I don't process anything whilst I try to keep my eyes straight ahead, keeping everything at bay. The light had just gone green, we're travelling over the crossroads, and the next thing I know, the car is being struck sideways. We're spinning until we're not, the lights are bright until they're pitch black, and my ears are ringing until they're silent.

Her hand had grabbed for mine, her grip tight, mine weak. My head falls back on the seat, and that's the last I remember before I blackout, until I'm waking with a scream, maybe minutes later, I'm not totally sure.

Pain's coursing through my body, burning sensations in my chest and side, it sobering me up. I look over, my neck aching and my stomach drops, seeing my mom unconscious, her head against the window, blood coming from her nose.

"Mom!" I scream, making the move to get to her but the pain in my chest immediately stops me, and I choke on a sob. "Mommy, please!"

Her grip on my hand tightens, and I cry in relief, looking over at her, my head and neck being the only thing I can really move. I don't know what her injuries are, but considering we were hit at her side, I'm assuming a lot worse than mine.

"Mom, I'm going to get help. We're going to be okay." I assure her, attempting to grab my purse that had fallen, but the extreme pain stops me, I'm coughing immensely, catching my breath.

"Baby, I love you so much." She whispers, and my heart sinks when I look over at her, she's whitewashed, and exhausted.

"Stop it, you're not doing this." I shake my head; she's not saying goodbye.

"You're going to be okay." She croaks out.

"So are you, listen to me, we're both going to be okay." I tighten her hand, and her eyes washes glossy.

"I'm bleeding, Francesca." She says, and I shake my head, this can't be happening. "Ring nine-one-one, get yourself help."

"What about you!?" I scream.

"It's going to be okay; I promise you. I'll be okay." She assures me, her face wincing when she even remotely moves her head.

"Mommy, I'm not leaving you." I sob, and she tightens her hold on our hands.

"I love you, okay? Don't blame yourself for this, it was never your fault, you hear me? I love you, and I don't want to do this either. But just know you, I love you and I will never stop loving you." She's crying with me, and I'm defeated at her words. I can't do anything to help her, to save her.

"I love you too, so much. But this isn't fair, this isn't your time. What about Emma, you can't leave her? And dad, he loves you! You're only young, you can't leave. Not yet. Please don't go." I say, the tears never stopping. She coughs, blood spluttering out and my heart breaks as it sets in. There's no time.

She looks over at me, her tears streaming as she takes in a breath, forcing a broken smile.

"Please don't leave me." I sob.

"I'm sorry baby, I can't... I'm sorry. I love you." She tells me, her voice shaky and breathless.

"I'm sorry too. I'm sorry for everything. Please don't leave me, please just hold on. You're strong, I know you can do this. Someone will come, someone will ring for us." I assure her, not believing one word of them sentences but if it's enough for her to hold on, I'll say anything.

"Ti voglio bene." She whispers, the words breaking me more than anything. (I love you)

I take in a sharp inhale of breath when the grip on my hand slackens, and I shake her hand, getting no response.

"Mommy!" I scream, my cries are silent as I painfully sob in my seat. The pain from my injuries clear as day, as I grasp onto the last of her. "Please, you can't leave me."

I couldn't move to get my bag – I couldn't call for help. I was just sat aside her, sobbing and screaming for her to come back for hours. Until it got too much, I thought that my prayers were answered, that I was going too. I was begging anyone above, anyone that would listen, to just let me go with her.

Unfortunately life's unfair sometimes – I survived that night.

~ End of flashback, back to reality ~

I don't know how Ethan's going to respond, or if he'll still want to be with me. I don't know what I should or shouldn't say, so I start from the beginning.

"Just take your time." He whispers, looking over at me with a gentle smile.

"Abby had organized a party because her parents were out of town. The party was actually really fun, I had a great time aside from a quickie in the bathroom which was terrible." I roll my eyes at the memory, and he chuckles in response. "I had clashed with my ex somewhat, he just pissed me off for no reason, I just wasn't in the mood for him that night. So, Abby took me into the kitchen, we did some shots and then a few lines. We had fun, like a lot of it. We had gotten really drunk, and I took some pills later into the night. Something I'd do at parties, ya know?"

"No judgement, we've all done them." He nods his head, and I smile over at him, as I think about how I'm supposed to phrase the next bit.

"I rang my mom at three-oh-four in the morning, it's still logged in my phone. I rang her because she was a chill mom – one of the good ones, you know? It was a quick conversation, but she came. I didn't ring my dad because he was very uptight and hated me going out. My mom would always lie for me and I say I was at a sleepover when in reality, I was having fun... recklessly. I didn't really think much about my actions, I still don't as you can fucking see." I laugh dryly at my currently situation, as I prepare myself for the next part. "She picked me up, she brought me a jacket and everything. It was about halfway through the drive – we were stopped at the crossroads, and she had just given me a bag because my travel sickness had started. She waited for the green light, it was green, Ethan, bright green when she drove-"

"Hey, it's okay." He whispers, wiping my tears and I sniffle, taking a long sigh.

"A large truck ran the red light and crashed into us – it was like in slow motion when we span. As soon as the wheels landed back on the floor, I blacked out. It could have been minutes, but honestly, it could also have been ten or twenty. The road we were on was very quiet, and hardly anyone drove down there on a night. I woke screaming in pain, I can still feel how painful my ribs were, it was like burning, but it wasn't my priority. My mom was unconscious when I regained, and thankfully she did wake up. She wasn't in a good way at all. She told me she loved me and..." I take a few breaths, my voice breaking. "She held my hand whilst she took her last breath. I was screaming at her to come back, but nothing. I was stuck in that car with her for hours."

"Francesca." He whispers, his face soft and I shake him off.

"I need to continue, to just get the rest out." I say and he nods as I take a deep breath. "I never really thought of my injuries because I just wanted her back, I ignored the excruciating pain in my body, the blood that was pooling in my seat. I was just hoping, begging that I was going with her. I lost consciousness at one point, and I really thought that was it. I was happy to go, it seemed easier to die than to survive, it still does feel like that. But I woke up, life isn't that kind. I was alone in a hospital room. I was told the news I already knew. I had broken ribs, punctured the skin on one side – you've probably seen the scar – and a concussion. I stayed in hospital for a while, just less than a week but the days just faded into one. My dad didn't visit me... no one did. I had to get an Uber home because no one picked me up. When I finally got home, my dad yelled at me, he was broken, he looked like hell, he told me to leave. I couldn't though. I was broken myself. I couldn't walk. I was holding onto so much guilt, I still am."

I take another breath, blinking away the tears as I wrap my coat around myself, the air chilly on my skin as I force myself through the last part.

"For two months I was isolated to my room. He didn't fail to make me miserable within that time; blaming me for what happened; that I left Emma without a mother and making me feel so much worse. He didn't tell me when the funeral was, so I didn't get the option to go. I never got to say goodbye to her, not properly, and I had to deal with it alone. Completely alone. I had no one to talk to. No one even knows she's dead beside Abby, and now you. I act like she's alive. I talk to my friends and act like everything is so perfect. Everyone thinks I'm at home right now, not here with you in New Jersey." I ramble, breaking down as his arms come around me. "Emma, my baby sister, she was fourteen-days-old when she died. I took her mother. I ruined everything."

"Francesca." He murmurs, pressing his lips against my forehead, his eyes tired when he pulls back to look in my own.

"If you leave me, I wouldn't blame you. I literally murdered my own mother. My mom isn't here because I did something so selfish, so reckless. I hate myself, and you should hate me too because I'm a horrible person." I say, rubbing the tears away from my eyes.

"It was an accident, Francesca. An accident. It wasn't your fault. You can't blame yourself for something totally out of your control." He says, his eyebrows knitted together when I look over at him.

"She is dead because of me though. I took so much from everyone." I insist because it's true, if I hadn't rang, she would be here.

"You lost her as well." He says softly.

"Yeah, but it was my fault. If I-" I sigh when he grabs hold of my wrists.

"All your life you're going to be wondering the 'ifs', but it wasn't your fault. You and your mom were at the wrong place at the wrong time. If it was anyone's fault, it was the driver's for running a red light. Darling, don't blame yourself for this, please, not any longer." He murmurs, gently rubbing his thumb over our closed hands.

"I can't help it, Ethan." I sob, and he hushes me, pulling me into his chest. "If I had just got a cab, not gone out that night, she would be here. None of this would have happened, and there wouldn't be a battle going on in my mind, torturing me endlessly."

"Baby, please stop this, it's just going to make it worse." He whispers, and I look up at him. "You're the strongest human I've ever come across."

"I feel so weak all the time, I'm not strong at all." I whisper, and he tilts my head up.

"You just told me something so fucking heartbreaking, so hard for you to speak about, something that you have pushed away for months because you couldn't. Baby, you told me, and that is not weak. Francesca, you're not weak at all." He tells me, a sad smile on his face.

"I thought you would leave me." I admit, feeling guilty because of course he wouldn't.

"I promise to never leave you." He whispers.

"You can't promise me that." I say croakily and he wipes the tears from my cheeks.

"Through everything, I'm not leaving. Not intentionally." He tells me, and my heart believes him, my head wants to but it doesn't.

"I miss her." I whisper and he looks over at me, smiling slightly. "She was a character, which makes me wonder all the time why she was with my dad in the first place. He was quite boring, even when they were teenagers. She was quite like me, she used to go out, do reckless things."

"What was her name?" He asks cautiously.

"Francine – I was named after her. I guess that's why I love being called Francesca or Frankie because Fran just reminds me of her." I pick at my nails, mentally noting myself to do them again later.

"It's a beautiful name." He says, and I nod, it is.

"That morning I met you, I had gone to my first party back from that night, I took ecstasy but the reason why I did was because of the game truth or dare – this girl asked who I last rang and I had to call them again. That last call was to my mom, and I knew I couldn't ring her, even thinking about it made me somewhat spiral. I needed a distraction; drugs are the only thing I know how." I admit, feeling weirdly self-conscious in case he judges me for that. "I know it's not healthy but speaking to her, listening to her voice. It makes me feel less alone. More guilty about what happened but I guess that's another reason why I call. Not to torture myself, but to just suffer a little."

"You don't deserve that, Francesca, but I understand to an extent." He says softly.

"Thank you for being with me, for everything." I whisper, and he smiles down at me, tucking my hair behind my ear.

"I'm going to be here whenever you need me." He assures.

"Thank you." I repeat, smiling slightly before looking ahead of us, beyond the waves, the sky is white yet the sun is peaking through.

It's a beautiful winter's morning. Most people will be waking up, happy that it's one step closer to Christmas, and here we are, both of us dreading the day to come.

~~~~~

A/N

I cried until I was violently sobbing silently – like it was hard for me to write this chapter, but I did it!

Starting and coming up with this book, I knew this was happening from the get-go, this is what made the story unravel in my head. I've also known the ending from the beginning also. It has felt like it has taken forever to get to this place, yet it's taken such a short time also. I feel like I only just started this book.

I want to thank every single one of you for reading my book, if you're a silent reader or not. I appreciate you so much. As a writer, hearing feedback, one single comment boosts my motivation and doubts.

I am my own worst critic and will doubt every single thing I have wrote. My friends deal with a lot of my breakdowns and outbursts from this. Knowing that people are loving this, these characters and my writing, means so much!

Life update: I wrote this all in five hours or something, I am very tired after that, and I'm at work in the morning. There's nothing more to update you on aside from the shitty weather we're having in England at the moment.

Question of the chapter:

What gives you comfort?

Writing, reading a good book, or Gilmore Girls and Friends – they're my comfort shows.

I hope this chapter was okay!

Keep your seatbelt on, only four chapters left!

Thank you for reading! Please comment your thoughts, vote by pressing the little star, and if you want, you can follow me too. Xx

4593 words!

~B