He believes me. Scott believes me. I could cry. I think I am crying. This is all I've wanted for so long. It can't be real.

It isn't real.

Ice crystallizes in my veins as I begin to understand. It pierces a thousand sharp, stinging holes in my heart and draws long, thin cuts through my arteries. He can't see it, but I'm bleeding out. This is what he wanted. This is his revenge. This is what I deserve.

He doesn't believe me. Scott Hoying will never believe me, because he's not just broken, he's mangled and maimed and suffering, and I left him. He shut me out after that, and I kept acting like I wanted him back, but when he finally healed enough to approach me, I rejected him in the cruelest way. He thinks I'm still trying to hurt him, and now he's trying to hurt me, and it's working. For a moment, I thought it could be okay. I thought it could be over. My tears sear my face, and a tiny sob rips through my throat. I need to breathe, but I can't, because he's come around the table to stand by me and rest a hand on my shoulder, and it's crushing me.

"I believe you," he says softly. "I believe you."

"No," I choke out, too loud.

"Yes." He pets my head and rubs my back. It's not true. It can't be true after all this time. It's not true. He doesn't believe me. He was hurting, and I only hurt him more, and now he's responding in kind, fulfilling my dreams only so he can shatter them. He doesn't believe me. If he believed me, it would mean he was wrong. It would mean he had driven me away for no reason. It would mean he put me through this for nothing. If he believed me, he would be apologizing right now. He's not.

I wrap my arms around his waist anyway, because it doesn't seem to matter how much is wrong; it still helps somehow. Besides, he's the only one I have to hold on to right now, and his shirt is the only place I can hide my face and muffle the pathetic noises I can't hold back. He's standing and I'm sitting, but I still fit just right, and I would give anything for him to be telling the truth. "I swear," I whisper, too quietly for him to hear. It's not like he ever listened anyway.

"I believe you," he tells me again. "I believe you." His voice comes close to cracking, but he holds it together. I hate how true it sounds to my desperate ears.

"No. You don't."

"You wouldn't have done that." I let go of him and hug myself. He sits down beside me and puts an arm around me. I can't trust him. I can't handle any more devastation right now. This is too much. "Neither of you would have done that to me." Both of us hurt him. He can't be sure. "I believe you." Make it stop. "Mitch—" No.

I push back my chair and stand. I should pay the bill, but it's not like Scott can't afford it, and it will delay him just enough while I escape. I hurry to the exit, then pick a direction and walk away with my head turned down and my arms squeezing my core. It's cold and dark. I run to warm myself, but I can't seem to get anywhere in this little city that I don't recognize. I'm sweating soon, but I'm still cold. The pain in my lungs and my ears makes the ache in my throat feel more at home. I want to go home.

I'm not going back to my hotel. Baz probably gave Scott the address. No, knowing Baz, he probably got Scott a room across the hall from me, and only because my own room doesn't accommodate two. I head for the nearest nightclub instead. Maybe Scott won't follow me in there. That's low. It's the only place I have to go, though. After about ten blocks, I'm at the door.

The bouncer puts a hand on my chest to stop me. What is this? I've been here half a dozen times, and I've never been stopped before. This isn't even somebody new. What's his problem? I am not about to grease palms like an underdressed, first-time loser.

"Mitchell." It sounds like Meeet-chell when he says it. "Bad day?" Yes. Bad day. "Good night, okay? You take, amico." He slips something into my palm and pats my back, ushering me forward. I shuffle through the crowd to the bathroom, where I can inspect the gift, a tiny ziplock bag with two powdery white tablets inside. They look like mints, but they're embossed with gold-leaf mermaid icons. No one's ever given me drugs this fancy in the States.

I almost feel guilty about flushing them down the toilet. One of these days, I'm not going to have the willpower for this anymore. I'm sick of everything bringing me down. I deserve to be happy, don't I? Maybe not. One day, though, I'm going to try it anyway, and that will be the end for me. There won't be anyone around to stop me from losing myself completely.

I push back through the crowd and head up a dark, narrow, wooden staircase to the VIP lounge. There's a lip-locked couple in the far corner, but otherwise, it's empty. I curl up on a sofa to sleep. My phone rings. Why can't I just run away? I should never have let him be a part of me. I can't help wanting him back, though, because it's too late now. I won't be able to sleep if I don't pick up. "Scott."

"Mitch! What's the matter?"

"You said you believe me." Maybe I was too harsh. Maybe he only said it because he wants to just put it behind us. Maybe I should just accept it, pretend to believe it, move on. If he can't believe me, maybe pretending to is as good as it will ever get.

"I do believe you."

"If that were true, you would be apologizing."

"No."

"No? I'll go first if that's what you want." I certainly have enough to apologize for.

"I can't."

He had better. "Give me one good reason why not."

"You'd forgive me."

He believes me. He believes me.

We're going to be okay.