There was a ridge between us now, one that had steadily grown from spending eight years apart, and had been stretched even wider when Britt pulled her shit at school, but that didn’t change that fact that there was no place else I wanted to be.

Maybe I shouldn’t have brought beer over, but I wanted to forget about the world for a little while and she seemed to feel the same.

Besides, it was easier to be around her when I was buzzed. It took the edge off the crazy fucking feelings circling around inside of me.

The guilt.

When I'd found her in singing in the kitchen earlier, she looked just like she had when we were kids. So alive and in love with life.

She seemed to love music now just as much as she had when we were kids. Wherever she was, her beloved iPod was never far away, and in the past few weeks, I'd thought of a million different songs I wanted to play her, most of which included the lyrics 'I'm so fucking sorry'.

My guilt wasn't easing up in the slightest. The more time I spent with her, the worse I felt.

Knowing that she had walked those halls for two years thinking I didn’t give a damn about her hurt me more than it could ever hurt her. I was torn to fucking pieces over it.

Fuck…

On the upside, Rourke had managed to sort his shit out and tie Mercy down. Thank Christ, because if I had to look at him moping around for another damn day, I wasn’t sure I would've been able to handle it.

Whenever I looked at him with Mercy, I couldn't help the slither of jealously that rose up inside of me, though. I knew I shouldn't be feeling it. Rourke had been dealt a rough hand of cards, but it still made me envious. Because he got to kiss and touch the girl he had feelings for.

24 Daryl

"I hope you realize that I'm never gonna sleep again," Molly announced, several hours later, her bleary-eyed gaze glued the television screen.

It was dark outside and we were sprawled out on the couch in her living room, having made our way through all of the beer I'd brought over, and most of her father's top shelf liquor. Her Netflix app was open and playing episode five of The Haunting of Hill House.

"Hey, you picked the show," I reminded her. "I said Netflix and chill, not Netflix and terrorize. I told you it was a bad idea. It ain't my fault you're a masochist."

"I'm brave," she bit out, sounding anything but. "I can handle this."

I snorted. "Sure thing, Molls."

"No, Nell, no!" She grabbed a pillow and hid behind it as another freaky-ass ghost jumped out on the television screen. "Ahhhh," she screamed, burying her face in my chest. "That creepy little bastard!"

Chuckling, I draped my arm around her shoulders and finished my glass of…whatever the hell it was. "What am I drinking?"