I turn, but he grabs my hand.

“Hannah.”

His voice is soft and gentle, and I hate him for that, for his kindness that might be pity, but might not be. I try to shake him off, but he holds on.

“What the fuck, Drew?”

“I’m just trying to watch out for you. I have to be able to sleep at night.”

“Me, too,” I say. “That’s why I want the goddamn pills.”

“Let me help,” he says.

“This—the pills—this is how you help me, Drew. Okay? You said you wanted a role, right? That’s why you do this. Tell your Jiminy Cricket to shut up.”

“I don’t—I think I should…” He takes off his beanie, runs a hand through his midnight hair, a mess of waves.

He’s not going to give me the pills.

I will spend the rest of this freezing-as-fuck night looking for a dealer in a city I don’t know and I am so sad and I hate myself and I broke the entire International Space Station and—

I burst into tears. I can’t help it.

“Hannah, no,” Drew says, eyes wide. “Hey. We can … Please don’t cry. I’m sorry.” He takes my coffee and sets it down on the ground, then wraps his arms around me. For some reason, this makes me cry harder. “I’m really sorry. I’m just worried about you.”

I hear Micah: I can’t carry you. Drew will realize that soon enough, too.

I push him away.

“I have to go.” The first raindrops begin to fall. And of course I don’t have an umbrella because, where I come from, rain doesn’t exist. “You know, you should find a new role, because this one? You suck at it, Drew.”

He pulls an umbrella out of his back pocket. “Here.”

“I don’t need your umbrella.”

He bites back a smile. “Yes, you do.” Then he looks at my feet—a pair of flats, no socks. I can’t feel my toes. “Hannah.”

It starts raining harder now, but I can’t carry you.

“I can take care of myself.”

Let the tigers come with their claws!

He opens the umbrella and holds it over me. “Just so you know, I find your stubbornness really attractive. So you might want to tone it down.” He wraps an arm around me. “Come on. I’ll walk you to the T.”

We walk. Through the garden paths, onto Beacon. Past the pretty shops and old stone churches. I am so cold. He is so warm.

“My sister found them,” I say. “She flushed them. And I—I got so mad and I…” A sob breaks out of me. “I did something horrible to her. And I can’t fix it.”

Drew stops. It’s raining harder now, the drops playing a soft, insistent song against the umbrella we’re squished under.

“Hannah?”