Three years ago

61 sheep.

62 sheep.

"All you ever do is think about yourself." Her voice is sharp as a knife, and even though it's directed at my dad, it's my heart that starts bleeding.

63 sheep.

64 sheep.

"Myself?" His raised tone startles me, sending shivers down my spine. "I'm working my ass off to make sure you can live the life you want." My dad screams and between every single one of his words, I wish for it to stop.

65 sheep.

66 sheep.

"If you'd ever be here to listen you'd know what I want. Then you'd know this isn't it." Her hands slam down on the kitchen counter and tears spring in my eyes at the sound, ripping my heart in two.

67 sheep.

68 sheep.

My dad's eyes land on me and his face immediately softens, yet before he can clarify anything I just heard, I remove the lump from my throat to whisper hoarsely, "I'm going to Brooke's sleepover. I'll be back tomorrow around noon."

69 sheep.

70 sheep.

A tear rolls down as I open my eyes, hoping the memory would stop flashing through my mind. I push myself up from one of the two mattresses that are covering the floor and glance over my shoulder at a spooning Brooke and Lucie. An immediate warmth pushes away the ice inside my veins as I watch them peacefully snuggled up to each other and I bite back a chuckle when a few loud snores originating from Lucie's small body vibrate through the room.

I feel blessed.

The moment I arrived with red, puffy eyes, they threw their arms around me, and the second I felt their love through their hug, I showed the crack that had been created moments before.

I had been cracked like a glass hitting the ground at a perfect angle. And if it bounces back and hits the ground a second time, the glass would break into a million pieces. However, before I could hit the ground a second time, they caught me in their arms and didn't let go. They didn't force me to talk, they just hugged me, silently whispering they'd listen if I wanted to talk. And when I muttered I just wanted to forget everything, they swamped me into a girl's night without questions.

We watched Starstruck and sang along with every song, we gushed over Christopher Wilde's blue eyes and how badly we wanted to be Jessica Olsen. We overate on popcorn, pizza, and candy, and somewhere in the middle of our late-night talks, they'd fallen asleep from a sugar overdose.

I, on the other hand, am still wide awake.

As silently as possible, I stand up, deciding to head downstairs for a glass of water since my 70 sheep didn't do the trick.

After accidentally stepping into a bowl filled with popcorn leftovers and almost dying when I hit my little toe against Brooke's bedframe since I don't want to wake them by turning on the light, I reach the end of her room and step into the hallway.

I descend the modern black stairway that ends in between the living room and open kitchen. Halfway down my eyes land upon a small bonfire in the garden accompanied by only one dark figure.

As I approach the large half-open sash window the shadow slowly uncovers itself. First his manly figure, then his dark curls falling onto his forehead as he stares deeply into the fire.

As if Colin senses my presence his head slowly lifts to meet my gaze and I quickly cross my arms in front of my body as I realize I'm not wearing a bra under my oversize shirt. "Ari on her nightly stroll trying to invent her next life lesson?" Even though his face is barely lit, I can see the smile forming on his lips.

"Says the one who's trying to extract the meaning of life from a bonfire by staring at it." I nod towards the small fire as I lean against the window frame.

He tips his head to the side considering my answer. "You got a point there." The corner of my mouth twitches, in spite of the scene involving my parents still haunting my mind.

I zone out, drowning in the flames as their screams ring through my head and I clench my teeth trying to suppress the tears daring to fill my eyes.

"Join me." He hums, snapping my thoughts away from my family.

I hesitate.

My mind should be running crazy with thoughts and alarm bells, yet it's blank when I let my eyes linger on him.

And then, even though my gut is telling me I shouldn't, my feet lead me to the big wooden chair next to him. The warmth of the fire embraces me as I settle myself sideways to face him. I pull my knees up to my chest and onto the chair. He shuffles in his seat and when I steal a look, I see him reaching for a bag with a picture of different types of nuts on it resting between his feet. He tilts the opening of the bag toward me, yet I shake my head to decline his offer. He then grabs a handful of nuts and throws a couple in his mouth.

I prop my elbow on the armrest and lay my head on top of my hand before staring into the fire. A couple of moments pass us by as we sit in silence, both mesmerized by the flames.

"Brooke told me you're moving in a couple of weeks." I absentmindedly announce.

"Yeah, I got a scholarship at Willamette River University."

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "You're that good, huh?"

He blows out a chuckle as he shakes his head like my conclusion is too ridiculous to even assume. "Without my team, I probably wouldn't be going to Portland. We were a well-oiled machine." He shrugs it away, downplaying his accomplishment.

"Are you going to miss it?"

"Definitely." He replies quickly as if the answer he gave me was the only possibility. "It's weird to think I'm not going to be on the field with them anymore. Don't get me wrong, I'm super excited, yet," he's quiet for a moment and I wonder which thoughts are running through his mind. Which emotions are tearing up his words, making him silent whilst he's trying to tape them back together.

"I don't know. It's just that there was this form of comfort when I walked into a game. Not only because I knew we'd have each other's back, but playing with them made me feel like I was nine years old again. Just fooling around with a football and ringing on everyone's door to ask if they wanted to come outside to play a game." I smile as an even more goofy nine-year-old version of Colin enters my brain. The fact he used to visit every one of his friends' houses to drag them outside somehow doesn't surprise me. I can perfectly envision him running through the woods, covered in mud and not caring, just as much as I imagine him playing soccer on the street until late at night.

"Do you think you're going to lose that feeling?" I carefully ask, studying the change in his expression. His nostalgic grin changes into a frown as he lets my words sink in.

"Honestly?" His eyes meet mine for a mere second as if he wants to check if I meant to ask the question. If I want him to share his thoughts or if I want him to keep it short and superficial. And however scared it makes me, right now, I hope he can read my mind like he once joked. Because I don't want to limit the conversation to small talk. I don't want to talk about the weather or how quickly the year's gone by. I want him to share the thoughts that keep him up at night. I want him to share his fears and dreams. I want him to share them with me.

"A part of me is scared I will." He admits.

"Why?"

He slowly raises one shoulder as he inhales and as he lets his breath go and drops his shoulder back he reveals what's knotting his stomach. "Division one soccer is for some a step to building a career. It's a hobby, and a passion, yet there's no avoiding the underlying competition because only the best get playtime. I wouldn't be the first one to lose the love of the game because of the constant need to push myself or the fact that the focus is on the result instead of enjoying the ride, as they say. So yeah, I'm scared I'll push myself to an extent I lose sight of that nine-year-old boy just wanting to have fun."

I consider his words before asking, "Do you want to be in that competition?"

He glances in my direction. "To be the best?" I confirm with a nod. "I mean, I'll always push myself to be the best player I can be, however, going pro is a whole other thing. But who knows, maybe I'll wake up one day with the same drive and persistence Daniel has."

"The goalkeeper right? Daniel? Or am I now making up names?" I vaguely remember Lucie mentioning him, yet I'm unable to put a face on the name. The sudden thought of Lucie causes me to shift in my seat in order to enlarge the space between us. Because even when the distance between us is far from crossing the line, every inch closer to him is an inch more that makes my stomach flip in a way I want to avoid.

His voice is dripping with sarcasm when he answers, "Yeah, you're totally hallucinating." I roll my eyes before shaking my head whilst our chuckles vibrate between us. And even when they slowly die down, I'm unable to wipe away the little smile resting on my lips.

I like it there. I like how he can put it there without even trying.

"Which major are you going to choose?" I lay my elbow on the armchair and let my chin rest in the palm of my hand while my fingers are trying to cover up the effect he has on me.

"I wish I knew, but I have no fucking clue. No rush, though, I've still got time to figure out what I want." I wonder if he's actually that chill with not having any idea of what his future looks like, or if he's just saying it to comfort himself. Yet, before I can dig deeper, he switches the focus of our conversation to me. "So what is it that you want in life?"

"That's a big question."

He grins as he responds, "Blame it on my curiosity."

"Well, first, I want to get into Willamette River and graduate with microbiological sciences and immunology as my major, and then I want to get into Verndell University for a Ph.D. in immunology." I vaguely sketch my life plan, leaving out the boring details regarding figuring out a way to pay for my living expenses at both universities.

"Verndell? That's impressive." Verndell University belongs in the top 10 universities of the world and claims its place in the top 3 of New York. Its scientific research is top-notch, making it the main reason why I have my heart set on attending Verndell. The fact it's located in New York City is the cherry on top of a very delicious cake.

"I know the chances of getting in are close to zero but if I work hard enough, I might get there."

"You've got it all planned out, don't you?" The teasing tone of his voice makes me purse my lips together.

"There's nothing wrong with having a plan." I cross my arms, daring him to say different.

"I didn't say there was." He raises his hands, his face still covered by a bemused expression. "I bet you have one of those agendas with all the color codes."

"I do not." I snap, even though his words hold nothing but the truth.

He narrows his eyes whilst studying me and I press my lips together in an attempt to bring out my poker face. "You're a bad liar." A grin is dancing on his lips as he draws the conclusion. I don't know what I expected because my poker face is close to non-existent.

"Tell me something I don't know." I roll my eyes.

"Did you know Abraham Lincoln was a wrestler before he was a politician?" He pops his head on his fist as he rests his elbow on the armrest next to mine.

"What?" I blurt frowning, not knowing where the hell that random, yet interesting fact came from.

He shrugs as if to say 'what did you expect' before clarifying himself. "You told me to tell you something you didn't know, so I did."

My snort evolutes into a loud laugh. "Wow, okay, smartass." I huff whilst an enormous smile is covering my face. "Did you know that giant migrating contractions of your colon occur two to 10 times a day?" He crunches his nose in absolute disgust as he is probably imagining his shit being pushed through his whole body. His eyes fixate on the nuts in his hand and I can see him debating whether his appetite is still present.

Wonderful.

"Is that information you voluntarily look up?" His expression is a mixture of confusion and revulsion with a hint of amusement.

And I can't help to answer, "What if I say yes?"

He quirks up one eyebrow as he slowly brings his hand to his mouth to let a couple of nuts fall in. "I would start to wonder what other hobbies you have."

"I don't have other hobbies. Looking up information about the making of shit is what I do all day, every day." His disgusted expression intensifies and I would lie if I say I'm not enjoying it.

After a couple of seconds filled with silence and his horrified face gaping at me in concern, he shakes his head. "Bull. Shit." He exclaims. "Or should I say human shit?"

My hand slams in front of my mouth as I snicker, "You just did not." Giggles are bubbling up and the longer I gawk at his smug face, the harder it becomes to hold them back.

"I guess I did." He laughs, apparently not at all ashamed of the pun he tried to make.

"And I thought my humor was below the level of acceptable." My humor is at the level where I tend to laugh harder at my own jokes than the people I'm telling them to.

"Oh really?" He raises his eyebrows. "Hit me up. Give me your best joke."

I furrow my brows before raising one. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Okay," I hesitate, waiting for him to stop me. "You asked for it." I elevate my hands to apologize in advance. "How much room do fungi need to grow?" The grin on my face is growing as I watch cluelessness overruling his face. "As mushroom as possible."

Ba Dum Tsss.

The moment I say it I burst out laughing and not a second later I hear his deep chuckles harmonizing mine.

"I didn't expect you had such," he pauses and looks at me and I shoot him a warning look, "wonderful humor." I would be deaf if I hadn't heard the sarcasm in his words, yet I don't care. He can mock me all he wants, I'm never going to give up on my, as I say so myself, hilarious jokes.

"Well, there is a lot you don't know." I rest my head on the edge of the chair and drown in the night sky covered by small lights.

"Enlighten me then." I can see him leaning on his armrest in the corner of my eye. "Tell me something I don't know." He demands, yet his voice is nothing but a soothing hum.

I scramble through the messy library in my head stacked with scientific facts. "Did you know that the cells in our body- "

"Something about you." He interrupts me and I slam my mouth shut.

I twist my lips in different directions as if it would help me to figure out which part of myself I want to share. "I love desserts," I reveal.

"Which one is your favorite?" I huff at the sound of his question.

"I refuse to answer that question." I quickly shoot back.

"Too personal?"

"No." I shake my head. "Asking me that question is like asking a parent which child is their favorite. You don't." Even if I would play favorites, I would never be able to choose.

"I am sorry if I offended you." He lays his hand on his heart, closes his eyes, and dips his head to show his sincerity.

"Apology accepted." I bow my head as I forgive him, copying his movement.

"Anything else I should know? Wouldn't want to offend you twice, now would I?" He grabbles in the bag he's still holding to pull out another handful of nuts.

"You definitely don't want to do that, but it's your turn." I gesture my chin towards him. "Tell me something I don't know about you." His puzzled expression tickles my curiosity, making me lean forward to encourage him to answer my request.

"I admire the way you know what you want in life." He pauses for a mere second before finishing his confession. "I kind of envy it, actually."

"You envy me?" I exclaim in disbelief. "The guy who got a scholarship to play for Willamette River? Are you kidding me?"

He chuckles at my reaction and shakes his head. "The fact that I got a scholarship doesn't mean I know what I want to do, it just shows that I love soccer." He shrugs as he pronounces his last words and before he can continue I jump in to finish his sentence.

"And that you're pretty good at it. That you're compassionate, persistent, and that even though you might not know what you want to do in the end, you know what you want to do now." Silence settles between us as his eyes seem to be stuck on mine. "What?" My voice is small as I ask.

"Nothing. I'm just not used to your compliments. Insults, yes," he nods furiously, "compliments on the other hand." He grants me a grimacing face whilst tilting his head slightly to the side.

"Shut up." I roll my eyes whilst shoving his shoulder causing him to chuckle. The sound is warm, humble and the corner of my mouth unwillingly quirks up.

"Your turn." He nods in my direction. "Why immunology?"

My answer comes naturally. "Because it fascinates me," I begin, gazing into the fire as I let the words flow out of my mouth, "diseases and how we fight them, how our body is this little machine with countless mechanisms so carefully constructed that they prevent us from dying. But it's not only the body's mechanisms that intrigue me, it's everything. How bad cells come to exist, how they can destroy our body, and the best part, how we can outsmart them." When I finish my little appreciation speech, I turn my head towards him. His eyes are fixated on me and when I'm unable to read his expression, I whisper, "What?"

"Nothing." He mumbles back. The sputtering of the bonfire in front of us mixed with the silence settling between us quickens my heartbeat and heightens my nerves.

I patiently wait for him to clarify himself like he previously did, yet when he doesn't, I manage to mumble, "Then why are you looking at me like that."