"Yeah, I'm getting there," I replied softly, not completely lying.

I may still have that vice threatening to strangle me, the pressure on my chest, the pain in my soul, but I also had Asher. I really had him, and he really wanted me. The thought warmed the ice of my grief.

Aiden smiled warmly at me. "Good," he proclaimed and paused. "You're not still with that biker are you? That was just a phase, a response to the turmoil in your life?"

I sat back, pursing my lips at his condescending tone. I knew he meant well, but I couldn't help being pissed right off at the way he decided to show concern. It wasn't the first time I'd felt patronized by him, I had come to accept it as part of who he was, before. But now, I felt unable to timidly accept it.

I pushed my hair back in frustration. "Asher is not a phase," I began tightly, about to launch into an uncharacteristic monolog about what exactly Asher was to me.

I stopped because Aiden's eyes focused on my forehead and bulged out in horror.

"He did that?" he exclaimed in fury. "Jesus, Lily."

"Of course he didn't," I snapped, letting my hair fall back down. "What, because of something you think you know about what he is, makes you think he's capable of violence against women?"

Aiden's face turned icy. "I know he's capable of violence. I know what his gang gets up to. They're scum, Lily. The dregs of society. You should not be with the dregs. Your friend no doubt introduced you, those are the kind of people she ... entertains," he spat.

I stared at him, not recognizing whoever just uttered those words. "You should go," I told him firmly. "I've got a lot of studying to do." I looked down to my books. I had to. Otherwise, I might just reach across the table and strangle him.

Aiden's eyebrows shot up. "You're dismissing me?"

I glanced at him. "I'm informing you of the fact I'm quite eager to pass this paper, and to do so I need to study, and also not get kicked out of the library for breaking your nose with this textbook," I said flatly. "Which is exactly what I'll do if you say another word about my boyfriend or my best friend."

Aiden gazed at me in amazement. "I'm trying to look out for you, Lily," he explained.

I raised my brow at him. "Uh-huh. I'm quite capable of doing that. And capable of deciding who should be and should not be in my life," I said pointedly.

He stared at me in silence for a moment and stood up. "I really wish that were true," he uttered with disappointment.

I stared at his retreating back, the exchange leaving a sour taste in my mouth. I thought Aiden was my friend. Things had gotten mixed up when we tried to make it more, but I thought he was a decent guy, and I'd missed him. I found myself questioning whether he had ever been a decent guy. Maybe now, I had taken off whatever glasses I'd been looking at the world through before. Maybe now, I was stripped down bare, I saw people for what they were. Or maybe Aiden was just an asshole. I couldn't ponder it. I had books to bury myself in for the remaining hour I had left before I had to rush home to change and go to work.

I got home expecting to be greeted with a giant bloodstain staring at me. I was surprised when my gaze hit the clean carpet, with a faint ring of pink where Dylan had been shot. Other than that, nothing.

I glared at Bex, who was lounging on the sofa.

"What?" she asked defensively. "It wasn't me. I listened to your strict instructions and haven't moved my ass off the sofa," she informed me. She nodded to the silent man sitting in the armchair across from her. The one who had shocked me for a moment until I spotted his prospect patch and remembered Asher calling earlier today informing me they'd have "someone on us" until they could be sure Dylan wasn't going to do anything further.

"Stan over here did it, quite impressive really, he could have a career in stain removal if the biker thing doesn't work out," she mused with a straight face.

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks, Stan," I addressed the skinny redhead staring blankly at the television. He surprised me, not looking like a biker at all. But I wasn't one to judge books by their covers.

His eyes cut to me. "You're welcome, Ma'am. But my name's not Stan," he informed me. "It's Skid," he added.

"Oh, okay, sorry, Skid," I said quickly, feeling my face flame slightly. I glared at Bex. "Why are you calling him Stan?" I hissed under my breath.

She glanced at him. "Because I refused to believe his actual name is 'Skid' and he won't tell me his real name. Ain't that right Andrew?"

He didn't move his gaze from the television, just shook his head slightly.

Bex grinned. "It's a game we're playing," she informed me.

I rolled my eyes before narrowing them on the nasty purple bruise on her face and the ring of red around her neck. I flinched slightly.

"How are you?" I asked in a softer voice, stepping forward to bend down in front of her.

Bex's grin dimmed slightly. "I'm fine," she reassured me. She shook a little bottle in front of me. "Silas brought me the good stuff." Her gaze went to the corner, where she must have gotten another imperceptible head shake.

I frowned at the bottle, snatching it off her to inspect the label. I was just reading about prescription medicines. "Don't take too much of that, these are strong and easy to get addicted to," I said seriously.

Something had flickered in her eyes before she snatched the bottle back from me.

"Okay, okay, Nurse Ratchet," she teased. Her face turned serious once more, and she pushed my hair back and flinched when she saw my head. "I'm sorry, Lilmeister," she whispered.

I squeezed her hand. "I thought we agreed this was not your fault," I told her firmly. "I've got to change for work, you two okay here?" I asked, my gaze darting between them.

Bex's smile returned. "Me and Jordan are fine."

I shook my head. "Have you spoken to Carlos about not being able to work?" I asked with concern.

She scrunched up her nose. "Yeah, I did talk to that weasel. He said he was disappointed in me for letting him down, as if turning into a dickwad's punching bag was my decision," she scoffed.

"He's a dick," I informed her.

She nodded. "That he is," she agreed. "But he's a dick that signs my paychecks. Or he will when I can get back to work. Until then, he's got me on unpaid leave."

My back straightened in anger. "Unpaid?" I repeated. "You're entitled to paid sick leave."

She shook her head. "I'm not entitled to shit, I'm lucky I've got a job to go back to. Not that Carlos has much choice, I'm one of his top earners...." she paused, worry tainting her face slightly. "This better get better, quick smart," she gestured to her body, "my rainy day fund is seriously lacking, and by lacking I mean nonexistent." The bravado in her voice was long gone and now only worry remained.

I grabbed her hand and squeezed once more. "Don't worry, I've got us covered," I reassured her with a smile.

She frowned at me. "I'm not putting my shit on you. I don't want you working yourself into the ground. You've got enough crap to deal with. You've got college to ace, a sex hunk boyfriend to ravage. I'm not your responsibility," she said quietly.

I smiled at her. "Newsflash. You're my best friend. You're the only family I've got left. I'm taking care of us," I told her firmly. "And to do that, I've got to go get ready for work," I continued. And before she could argue, I rushed into my room to change so I could make it to work.

It was hours later when I had tried to distract myself from being dead on my feet and field lame pickup lines from sleazy guys that I thought of the answer to our problems.

Mom's house. A lawyer had called days ago about her "estate." Not that there was anything left. Bank accounts were all but drained from medical bills, and what little that was left I spent on her funeral. The only thing she had left was her house. I didn't think of that before. I couldn't. I couldn't go back to the place I'd grown up in after we escaped my father. The place that held so much happiness within its walls. Now it was a tomb, a tomb of memories that would haunt me if I went in there. But I had to. If I wanted to continue college without failing, I had to cut down hours at the bar. I couldn't do that if I had to keep paying rent for the place we were in now. Unlike Bex, I had a rainy day fund. One that would be dry when I had to cover the both of us. But if we moved to the house my mom owned, my house, we wouldn't have to worry about rent. I just had to find a way to walk through the front doors without being ripped apart by the memories within its walls.

One Week Later I stood staring at the door. I must have stood there for minutes, but it felt like hours. I squeezed the key so tightly I felt the jagged edges imprint in every one of my fingers. I stared at the swirling colors on the wood. Mom had painted it when we moved in. My gaze moved to the flowerbeds, once blooming with the same color that Mom filled her life with, dead and wilted. It would all be like that. Inside, all the color would be damp, lifeless.

I didn't want to go in. The heaviness on my chest was almost too hard to bear. I almost reached into my bag for my inhaler, but I stopped, having to remind myself this wasn't a physical problem. The air trapped in my chest was not a failure of my lungs, but a failure of my mind. Trapped in my own head, I was the only one who could repair it.

I wished Asher was here. That Bex was here. That I could have them beside me, borrow their strength. But Bex was back at the club, practicing her routine for the next night. Her bruises had finally faded, and Carlos had grudgingly taken her back as if she'd inconvenienced him by being brutalized. Asher was away on a "run." I didn't get much more of an explanation, only that he would be gone for a few days. We had just lost our constant shadow "Skid," as Asher had been reassured we'd seen the last of Dylan. He left three days ago, and although he called me every day so far, I missed him. That too had left a sour taste in my mouth. Three days. Three days I felt lost without him. How would I handle the rest of my life when something happened to tear us apart?

So I had to find the strength to walk through that door and to withstand the memories. So then I could try to build my life around the ghosts that haunted me. The pain that plagued me. I ignored the pressure in my chest as I took a tentative step forward and put my key in the lock.

I pushed through the sweaty, inebriated sea of people toward the line for the bathroom. I too, may have been slightly inebriated. I situated myself at the end of the line, trying not to focus on the fact that I was alone in the crowded bar, drunk as I may be, being in a place full of people I didn't know, dressed like I was. It had ants tickling the bottom of my belly. I had to find Bex. She had melted away with the crowd when we were dancing, I hadn't been able to find her in what felt like hours. In reality, it was probably only a handful of minutes. Time moved differently when you were full of alcohol, and when people kept bumping into you, stumbling around. Apart from this small detail, I was happy with the way alcohol was making me feel. Or more accurately, not feel. The afternoon sorting through Mom's stuff was nothing short of torture. The pain, I thought could never have gotten worse, showed me a newer depth and a further emptiness. Asher's absence contributed to it. So it had been a small victory that Bex's demeanor seemed to mirror mine when I got home and she declared we get, "shitfaced."

If I'd been of a more stable frame of mind, I might have asked her what haunted her eyes. But I was too wrapped up in myself. A fatal mistake.

I took another deep breath as my eyes darted around me in a line that felt like it never moved.

"Do you think he's good looking?" a girl in front of me asked her friend.

Her friend squinted over my shoulder, looking toward the bar. "Yeah, I think so...." she paused, swaying slightly. "Definitely."

The other girl followed her gaze, her eyes glazed over with the slightly vacant look I had seen on myself in the mirror at home. The one where alcohol made everything fuzz at the edges.

"Yeah, I'm so taking him home tonight," she exclaimed before they both burst out laughing.

My mind started to wonder about my current situation with a man who I didn't have to ask anyone about his looks. I knew he was swoon worthy. Sexy as sin. I had known for years. Now he was back in my life. Somehow wanted to be part of the mess that was my life.

The dull ringing of my phone was almost lost underneath the pounding of some song I didn't recognize, the only way I noticed was the buzzing coming from the tiny bag I had clutched to my side.

"Hello," I shouted as I fumbled to answer it just in time.

"Where are you?" a voice growled on the other end of the phone. His husky voice seemed to cut through the music, the conversations around me.

I stepped forward as the line moved, taking me into the bathroom and away from the music.

"Where am I?" I repeated. "What kind of way is that to begin a phone call? Most people go with 'hello,'" I half snapped, surprised at my irritation. Why was I irritated? The sound of his voice, even laced with anger calmed the churning feeling I was battling with being in this place alone. Maybe that was why. He had the ability to control something even I couldn't grapple with.

"Hello, flower," he said slowly.

I smiled slightly, despite myself. I took a look in the mirror, the smile was slightly wonky, and my eyes did indeed have that vacant look the girl in front of me was wearing.

"Hello, Asher," I replied.

There was a pause. "Where are you?" he asked again.

"Why do you want to know where I am?" I hedged, frowning at the fact the dirty bathroom only had two stalls, and only one seemed to have women coming in and out of it, hence the reason for the long wait.

"You're in a club," he surmised.

"What makes you think that? I'm not," I lied, for what reason, I had no idea. Maybe it was the undertone of disapproval in his voice that penetrated my haze. Since we'd officially become a "couple," I'd tamped down on my short-lived partying lifestyle. Snuffed it out completely. I didn't need it with Asher. But without him, even for three days, after today, I needed something. To feel nothing.

"I can hear the music in the background, flower. I know what a club sounds like," he clipped.

"I could just be playing loud music at my apartment," I protested. He was away God knows where with God knows who, why I was lying was anyone's guess, but I didn't want to have an argument over me being out. I didn't want to hear the disappointment in his voice at my choice of coping mechanism. I wished I were stronger to not need this, that I could wade through the thorns of grief that surrounded me without anesthetic. But I wasn't.

"You're slurring your words," he pointed out, sounding exasperated.

"I've had a couple of wines," I replied. It was the truth. A couple of wines and a couple more cocktails.

"Okay, well, I'm standing outside your apartment, which is silent as a crypt," he half growled.

Shit. He had me there. I didn't exactly expect to outsmart him, but I hadn't exactly expected to be talking to him, but I didn't have the presence of mind to screen his call. Despite being caught out, a small feeling of elation bubbled in my stomach. He was back. At my apartment. I'd see him. I glanced down at my attire. Me seeing him meant he'd see me. I was wearing a tight, body con dress that clung to every bit of my curveless body. My makeup and hair was used to disguise the toll grief had taken on me. To hide me from myself. Not recognizing myself when I looked in the mirror was a good thing. But I felt ashamed. Looking into Asher's eyes was like looking into the truest mirror that showed me without the trappings I used to run from myself. I couldn't see myself right now. Not after this afternoon.

"What is going on in there? People need to pee, like badly," the girl in front of me pounded on the stall which hadn't opened for the entire time we'd been in there.

I frowned at the door, something starting at the pit of my stomach. Something that wasn't connected to social anxiety and crowds. Something I had trouble inspecting under the cloud of drunkenness I was struggling to escape.

"Lily, where are you?" Asher demanded, his voice sharp.

My back straightened with irritation. "Why do you want to know?"

There was a loaded pause, even on the other end of a phone call after more than a couple of wines, I could feel it. His intensity.

"Seriously, Lily? Could you stop with this shit? I want to know because you're mine. Because I want to see you. Because I haven't seen you four days and I want to touch you, taste you. At this moment, though, I want to make sure you're not about to be fuckin' groped at some fuckin' club," he bit out.

The girl in front of me went into the only stall that seemed to be working. Again, I frowned at the door that hadn't opened since I had gotten in here. I bent down, not too keen on getting any closer to the grime and who knows what on the sticky floor, but needing too at the same time.

"Lily?" Asher snapped in my ear, sounding concerned.

"Shhh," I commanded, bending enough so I could see underneath the stall. So I could see the shoes I'd helped Bex pick out tonight underneath. They were laying at a weird angle. Something sank in my stomach, I shot straight up.

"Bex!" I pounded on the door urgently.

"Flower, tell me what's going on," Asher asked, his tone hard.

I ignored this, my stomach curdling at the silence beyond the door.

"Bex! Open the door, now," I yelled, not caring that the other women in the stall were staring at me.

Again, nothing.

"Lily," Asher repeated urgently.

"How do you pick a bathroom lock?" I asked him, staring at the door in desperation.

"Why do you want to know that? Are you okay?" his voice was alert.

"That's not an answer," I snapped with impatience, looking behind me for some help. I didn't think the women behind me would be much help, considering they looked worse than I did. Ditto with anyone working in this bar, and even if they would help, I'd have to wade through the crowded dance floor.

"I'll have to kick it in," I whispered to myself.

"Jesus, kick what in? Where the fuck are you, Lily? Tell me so I can help," Asher's voice turned soft at the end, I could tell he was trying to mask the glimmer of panic in his voice.

I ignored him again, pushing at the door with my shoulder. It looked flimsy and moved slightly even with the small amount of pressure I was exerting. Maybe my laughable strength would be enough to get me in.

"Bex, I'm coming in," I yelled again, hoping I wouldn't give her a head injury if I did by some miracle get the door open.

The silence at the other side of the door gave me the strength I didn't think I had. I slammed against the door with all my might, stumbling slightly as it gave way, swinging on its hinges. It took me a moment to focus on what I saw.

"Oh my God," I whispered in horror. "No, no, no," I chanted, kneeling beside Bex's slumped body.

"Lily!" Asher shouted, but my phone tumbled out of my hand as my shaking fingers went to the needle at Bex's arm.