a/n: 

it's been a while. and by that, i mean, a really, really long while. i haven't updated in over a year and to be honest, i haven't been writing much for some time now. (when all you do at work is write, the last thing you want to do when you get home is stare at the blinking MS word cursor.)

but this story does have a special place in my heart. it's a struggle to write, mostly because the issues i'm trying to talk about here are issues i've been facing, and i've yet to personally make sense of them. i'm not sure if i can do it justice, but here's to trying.

this chapter has one of the most long-awaited confrontations, so i hope that makes up for the long hiatus this story has been in.

as always, thank you and i hope you enjoy!

sam xo

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E I G H T

COLIN USED TO BE a very difficult kid. At least, that's what his parents always say. They would talk about how often he used to throw tantrums, and how he would sometimes break his brother's toys whenever he got jealous or mad.

One of the stories often passed around whenever they had a big family reunion with all the aunts and uncles was how, back when Colin was five, he tried to get rid of his younger sister by writing to Santa and asking for him to take her away because, his parents quote, "she cries too much."

Everyone would laugh when they got to his parents' favorite part: Him crying on Christmas morning when he actually thought Santa took Cindy away. They said he looked all around the house and cried and apologized over and over to his parents. Turns out their uncle just took her out for a drive because she was being fussy and wanted to open everyone's presents.

Colin vehemently denies it, though the letter—which his parents kept all through these years—pretty much speaks for itself, grammar and spelling errors notwithstanding.

In any case, back when he was a kid, he was always jealous of his brother. He looked up to Clark and often tried to be like him. He wanted the same toys, the same friends, the same clothes—and most of all, he wanted his attention. He hated it when Clark chose to play with Cindy over Colin... which was probably why he wanted to ship her off to the north pole back then.

Point is, Clark has always been the better kid. He was the one everyone just adored, whether it's teachers or parents or classmates or even waitresses. He ate his greens, studied well, and did his chores without complaint.

Between the two of them, Colin was the one the adults had to keep an eye on—so imagine everyone's surprise when Clark decided to drop out of college right before his senior year, pack his bags and go off to god knows where.

It's been a while since he heard from his brother. These days, much of what he knows about Clark's whereabouts come from what he sees on Facebook, and that Sunday morning, Colin stumbles across photos of Clark in hiking gear, standing atop a mountain of some sort. He came with a group, and the grin he proudly wore in each photo irked Colin.

In the aftermath of his brother's sudden departure, Colin was forced to step forward and fill the shoes Clark left behind.

Things between the two of them have gone downhill since.

Colin had just woken up, and was yet to gather enough willpower to leave the comfort of his bed when he stumbled on the stupid photos. It felt wrong to think so, he can't help it: Clark shouldn't be having this much fun, right?

Seeing his brother's stupid grin so early in the day had effectively ruined his mood. It certainly didn't help that when he threw his phone aside, his eyes ended up latching on the bunny plushie he had grudgingly won from the arcade.

The peach monstrosity sits atop his desk, almost as though Sadie made sure it would be the first thing he'd see the moment he sat up. He scowls at it for a considerable amount of time, thinking back to the night before and cursing how his friends (if they even deserve to be considered as such) had practically manipulated him into getting the wretched thing.

He gets to his feet, picks up the stupid bunny, and stares at its perpetually smiling face before throwing it all the way across the room. It lands with a muffled thump by the door, and he would have been satisfied if it hadn't landed face-up. He grinds his teeth and walks over to it, turning it over so that he wouldn't have to look at its stupid smile.

But then he starts to feel bad. And silly. He stares at the bunny's butt, and after a moment of consideration, he picks it up against his better judgment and places it back on the desk. He sets it down next to Sadie's laptop, but his fingers accidentally graze over the touchpad and the screen comes to life.

Colin has never been one to snoop, and on any other occasion, he wouldn't have paid it any mind.

But his eyes snag on the familiar web page.

It's their university's online portal and he is, he belatedly realizes, seeing Sadie's grades for the past semesters. And he doesn't mean to, but it's hard not to notice—

There were red marks all over it.

◇

Sadie is failing college—and she's failing hard.

Her first semester had been spectacular, just as he—or anyone who was unfortunate enough to have known her in high school—had expected of her, and it didn't make any sense to Colin when his eyes found the red marks the following semester. She'd flunked two of her classes and dropped out of one; and it only got worse from then.

Some of the professors left their remarks, noting that she had incomplete requirements, or that she'd missed an exam, while others complained about her attendance—or lack thereof.

Colin almost cannot believe it.

But he'd seen how Sadie had been acting in the past two weeks. He'd seen her cry, for fuck's sake, and anyone who knew Sadie Reynolds before college would know how big of a deal that was.

All this time, he thought she was acting this way because of what went down with her and Daniel, but whatever's wrong with her, it occurs to Colin now, goes beyond their dumb breakup.

He bristles with unexplained rage. It swirls in his stomach, hot and scalding, and he tries to ignore it but he can't. Not anymore. He has never been good at keeping himself in check, and he finds himself storming out of the room before he can even fully process the situation.

He scans the common area for Sadie. Drew, for reasons unknown, is curled up on the floor, fast asleep—despite the fact that he has a perfectly good bed inside the room he shared with Perry.

Just when he's beginning to think that Sadie had gone out, the bathroom door opens. Colin takes a breath, ready to launch headfirst into a poorly thought confrontation, but he stammers when she emerges with nothing but a towel on, her hair still dripping wet.

"Hey," she says. "You're up."

He looks away and clears his throat. "Get dressed," he tells her, keeping his eyes trained on his bare feet.

"Is something wrong?"

"I don't know," Colin tells her. "You tell me."

◇

Never in his life did Colin ever think he would end up willingly spending time with Sadie alone. Hanging out with her with a bunch of their friends is already too much for him, and being alone with her is proving to be all kinds of stressful.

He drags her to a nearby café, the two of them walking in silence.

"Did you have breakfast yet?" he asks once they get there. "Anything you want?"

She shakes her head. "I'm not hungry."

The whole not eating thing still irks Colin, so he ignores this and orders bagels and coffee for them both, ignoring her protests. She gets them a table while he waits for their order at the counter.

He watches her from the corner of his eyes as she settles for a booth. She catches his eye and gives him a little wave, as if to tell him she'd found them a spot.

He'd been thinking about what, exactly, he should say to her ever since they left the apartment, but even as he takes the seat across from her, he couldn't quite find the right words. He hands her a bagel and takes one for himself, reaching for the cream cheese served alongside with it.

"I said I wasn't hungry."

"Try it," he urged her. "I already paid for it anyway."

He fixes her with a stare and for a moment, she just stares right back at him. Heaving a sigh, she relents and reaches for the cream cheese as well.

"So what's up?" she asks him. "It's rare for you to ask me out like this. Am I finally rubbing off on you?"

She gives him a smile, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. Colin knows she's just putting up a front. She knows something's up, he realizes, and is trying not to show she's worried.

It should not be him sitting across from her right now. He knows this, but what can he do? Her friends are miles away and he's the only one who can see how things have changed for Sadie—a girl who, in his head, has always been strong and confident in her own right.

Not a lot of things make sense about this situation. That much is clear to him. He would rather be back in bed feeling bitter over Clark's photos, but how could he just turn a blind eye?

Fuck it, he thinks, and decides to just get it over with.

"I saw your grades," he finally says.

Her smile fades.

"I didn't mean to," he quickly jumps in. "You left them on display."

She doesn't say anything for a long time. Colin can't quite look at her, so his eyes fall on her hands. They're shaking, he realizes, and he finds himself clenching his own under the table.

Silence falls over them like a heavy blanket, and when she finally breaks it, all she says is, "Please don't tell anyone."

Was she talking about Perry and Drew? Or Aanya and Hadley? Has she told anyone at all that she's quite possibly failing college? With those grades, it's a wonder the department hasn't kicked her out already.

"Please," she repeats when he says nothing.

Her voice is barely a whisper, and something about it tugs at Colin. She looks at him with pleading eyes and he feels like he's stuck between a rock and a hard place, with no space for him to wiggle out and walk away from this conversation—a conversation he had willingly walked right into.

She looks at him like her life depends on his reply and all he can say is "Fine."

Relief floods her face. "Thank you," she begins to say. "I—"

He cuts her off. "But you have to tell me what the fuck is going on."

She averts her gaze. "There's nothing. Everything's fine." She clears her throat. "I'm just having some trouble catching up with some of our classes."

Colin can see right through the lie. She's one of the smartest people he's ever met—and one of the most hardworking as well. Failing a class or two may be surprising, but nonetheless believable, but with the state of her grades right now, there's no way in hell he'd believe that everything's fine.

"Cut the bullshit, Sade."

"I'm handling it."

"Are you really?"

"Everything's fine," she insists, her voice firm.

"Stop saying that when you know it's not true."

"Why do you care?"

"Because," he begins to say, only to stop in his tracks. He steadies his breathing, wondering for a moment why he's getting so riled up. "Because I'm sick of you acting like this," he finally says. "How can you say that everything's fine when it looks to me like you can't get your shit together at all?"

The look on her face almost makes him want to take it back. She's looking at him like he'd struck a nerve and her eyes begin to water. He holds her gaze, daring her to say something—anything—but she looks away first, biting on her lower lip as she turns to look at the window.

She blinks and a tear rolls down her face. She immediately wipes it off and looks up the ceiling, as if to stop the rest from following

Colin's nails dig into his palms. He feels a wave of anger wash over him, but fights to keep it at bay. He sits there, trying to ignore her trembling hands, her stubborn tears. He's fuming, he realizes, because why the fuck is she acting like this?

More importantly, why on earth can't he find it in himself to leave her be?

He tries to collect his thoughts, to find a way to let the conversation move forward, but he's grasping at straws.

But just when he's about to give up and tell her to forget he ever said anything, she speaks.

"I'm trying." Her voice is almost inaudible. "I keep trying and trying to get my shit together, but I'm just so, so tired. I don't know what's wrong with me."

Colin stares, waiting for her to say more.

She heaves a breath, blinking back tears. "I wish I did, but I—I'm at a loss. I feel like everything's spiraling downward and I'm walking in a dark tunnel and I can't see a light at the end of it. I can't see a way out and I'm just so tired."

She shakes her head, and this time she looks at Colin. He can see, quite clearly, the desperation in her eyes, and something about her wavering gaze tears at his chest.

"I just want to stop," she tells him. "Please make it all stop."