A sense of guilt nags at me, deep down in my chest, until my heart feels almost too heavy to beat anymore. Taking a deep breath, I hold it in my lungs as I close my eyes and slip under the water. I can hear it as the water sloshes it out, hitting the floor, the sound magnified to my clogged ears, like ocean waves crashing around me. Slowly, I open my eyes beneath the water, blinking away the sting as I stare up at the hazy ceiling.

I count in my head.

Ten.

Twenty.

Thirty seconds.

My chest already feels like it wants to explode. The pressure is too much to contain but I press on, continuing my methodic counting. I wonder if this is what it's like to suffocate . . . to really suffocate.

I wonder what would happen if I never resurfaced, if I just parted my lips and let the water rush in, flooding my lungs as I float away to nothing.

I wonder if it would hurt.

By the time I reach forty, I'm done. So done. My chest can't take it and my heart . . . my heart hurts.

It's a scary sensation, one I don't dwell in, because a loud banging on the bathroom door jars me right out of it. The air leaves my lungs in a startled whoosh, a frenzy stream of bubbles surrounding me as I resurface.

Inhaling sharply, I wipe the water from my face as I try to shake it off. The knocking continues, quieter once my ears unclog, as Holden's voice calls out. "Gracie? You okay in there?"

"Fine," I lie.

Is it a lie?

I don't know anymore.

"You almost done in there?"

"Uh, yeah," I say, shivering despite the warm air. Jesus, what the hell's gotten in to me? "I'll be out in a minute."

I listen to his footsteps as he walks away before I reach over and pull the plug, letting the water out of the tub. I watch as it circles the drain with such force that it creates a tiny tornado, imagining myself disappearing along with it.

Who am I kidding?

I've already disappeared.

I get out of the bathtub once the water is gone, wrapping a towel around me as I dart across the hall to my bedroom. I throw on clothes, more of the same, before pulling my hair back up and heading out to face reality again. The moment I hit the living room, I hear the dull groan, feeling the blast of cool air coming from the window.

Holden is in the kitchen again. I stroll to the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, and watch as he paces around in front of the table. His service-issued Blackberry is at his ear, but he's not talking. He pulls the phone away after a moment to press a few buttons before bringing it back up, waiting for something or someone.

I don't know.

I take a seat at the table and glance at the manual for the air conditioner as it lays open in front of me, flipped to the page on how to operate it. Like I couldn't figure that out on my own. I pick up a pen Holden had been using and start doodling in the margins out of boredom.

"Yeah, is the line secure?" Holden asks after a moment to whoever's on the phone. "Ten minutes? Yeah, that's great . . . transfer me."

I cast him a curious look. I've heard him request secured lines before, usually when he's calling somewhere where he thinks people might be listening, going around his ass to get to his elbow to ensure the phone line is untraceable.

"We're connected? Great . . . go ahead and put him on." He pauses for a beat. "Just one moment. She's sitting right here."

I glance up with surprise just as Holden turns to me, holding out his phone. I stare at it for a second, not moving, until he pushes it toward my face, silently telling me to take it. My heart stalls for a beat before kick starting in my chest, thumping wildly.

"Ten minutes," Holden says quietly. "Watch what you say."

The phone feels heavy when I bring it to my ear, like it can't possibly sustain the weight of whatever this phone call brings. My hands tremble, the pen shaking as I absently scribble, willing my goddamn heart to quit banging in my ears and clogging my throat. I'm so nervous because of the what-ifs that it takes me damn near a full minute to get my voice to even work. My brain tells me this is just some routine gotta-talk-to-a-shrink-since-I'm-worried-about-you call, but my heart . . . my heart is frantic because of his words.

Watch what you say . . .

It's somebody who can't find me.

Somebody who isn't supposed to know where I am.

Put him on . . .

"Hello?" I say quietly, silently cursing the sound of that meek voice. I wait, the second of silence that follows absolute torture, before I'm put out of my misery by the wrong voice greeting me.

Disappointment is a son of a bitch.

My father walked me home from school every day.

Every. Fucking. Day.

Every afternoon when I stepped out those doors, he stood there, in the same spot, waiting for me. He probably thought it would thwart me from seeing Cody, but the fact was he couldn't watch over me every hour of every day.

Thank God.

I breathed a sigh of relief one Friday after dismissal when I didn't find him standing there. He said he wouldn't be. He said he was going out of town with Cormac. Usually I hated being left alone during his trips, but after his recent bout of hovering, I was grateful for a reprieve.

It was cold, so cold I could see my cloud of breath. Even bundled up and wearing thick black tights, I was still shivering. I walked fast, trying to make it home quickly, but my footsteps stalled when I neared my apartment building.

Cody was there.

He was wearing jeans and his black hoodie, his hands in the pockets and the hood up over his head. A brown paper grocery bag sat at his feet as he leaned against the old brick by the entrance.

I smiled as I approached him, calling out his name, but my expression fell when he looked over at me. His eyes were bloodshot, part of his face swelling, a deep reddish hue covering the left side of his face, the darkest of it along his cheekbone.

"Cody? Are you okay?"

Rushing forward, I reached for him, cupping his cheek and lightly stroking the bruised skin. He grabbed my wrist, pulling my hand away, as a smile touched his lips. It was sullen, not the happy smile that made my knees weak. "I'm good, Gracie."

"You don't look good."

"But I am." Pulling my hand up, he lightly kissed the back of it. "I'm always good when I'm with you."

I stared at him, studying his face. The bruise was fresh, the edges of it still framed with pink, not even old enough to turn purple yet, but it would. It was going to be a doozy.

"What happened?" I asked. "Did you get in another fight or something?"

"You could say that," he said. "Not a big deal, though. Looks worse than it is. Asshole just sucker punched me."

"Who did?"

"Doesn't matter." He sighed, dropping my hand to pick up the grocery bag. "I heard from a reliable source that the old man was out of town, though, so I was hoping we could hang out for a bit. I could use the company."

Before I could even ask what was in the bag, he tilted it so I could see inside, bottles clanking as he did. A six-pack of Guinness. I wasn't sure if this was a celebration or a pity part, but I wasn't going to deny him either way. Cody was usually the one comforting me. Anytime he needed it in return, I would be his.

"Do you want to come up to the apartment?"

"Sure." There was no hesitation this time. He didn't need ten seconds to think about it. "Do you want me to take the fire escape?"

"No need," I said. "You can use the stairs."

For the first time ever, I let someone through the front door of the apartment, someone who didn't have a warrant to enter. Before I might have been skirting rules and twisting words, but this was blatant disregarding, and I didn't feel a stitch of regret about it. Cody walked over and plopped down on the couch, setting the bag on the floor by his feet. Without hesitation, he pulled out a beer. "You wouldn't happen to have a bottle opener around here, would you?"

"Of course," I said, heading into the kitchen to grab the bottle opener from the drawer. I brought it out to him, watching as he popped the top. "Do you want me to put the rest of them in the fridge?"

"Nah, don't bother." He grabbed my arm and yanked me onto the couch beside him. I laughed, relaxing as he put one arm around me before taking a long pull from the bottle, grimacing. "It tastes like shit, whether it's warm or cold. This way we won't have to keep getting up."

"If it's disgusting, why do you drink it?"

"Why do you drink coffee?"

"Because I like it."

"Well, I like Guinness," he said. "I drink it for the feeling, not the flavor."

I snuggled up against him as he drank. He offered me a sip and I took it, confirming what he said: disgusting. I wanted to ask him more about what happened, who he got into a fight with, what happened to his face, but I didn't want to push him for answers.

"You know, when we were kids, I used to think you were just fucking with me when you said you didn't watch television," he said after a moment as silence enveloped the room. "I mean, who the hell doesn't watch TV, you know? It still blows my mind."

My father didn't own televisions.

He wouldn't have them in his house.

He said reality was twisted enough . . . he didn't need our minds warped with fictionalized accounts of it. I'd seen movies of course, ones I'd snuck into with Cody without my father knowing, but otherwise it was off limits.

Most electronics were, frankly.

No cell phones.

No computers.

I lived in the technological Stone Age.

"It's not hard to go without when you've never had," I said. "It's when you get a taste and then you're denied something that you start to crave it."

Cody smiled then, the smile I loved, before laughing lightly. "Don't I know it, baby."

He drank while we relaxed, talking about everything but nothing of importance. I knocked out my weekend homework while he helped here and there, giving me answers to my math when I stumbled over problems. Cody was smart. If he could only stay out of trouble, school would be a breeze for him.

I was finishing up a worksheet for history when Cody ripped a piece of paper out of one of my notebooks. From the corner of my eye, I saw him fold it into a small triangle before fishing around in my school bag, pulling out a pair of scissors. Smiling, I watched as he started cutting it, randomly making jagged edges and patterns along the sides of it. He unfolded it when he finished, opening it up to reveal an elaborate snowflake.

He made them all the time when we were kids. He'd write along the edges and slip them to me, little presents of love whenever he could tell I was feeling sad. It had been years since he'd made one, though. That was before he began to sneak out at night, back before he learned the art of scaling fire escapes and tapping on windows.

I used to try to return the gesture, try to make him one, but mine were always an utter mess. I accidentally cut them in half most of the time.

Reaching over, Cody grabbed a pen from my bag. I wondered what he was writing, what sort of secret he was spilling along the edges of the paper.

When he was finished, he handed it to me. I took it carefully, regarding him for a moment before glancing down at the snowflake, reading his writing.

I really want to touch your boob.

Laughter burst from me. I shoved him playfully, and he wrapped his arms around me, knocking my homework onto the floor. The sky outside was starting to darken while in the living room his hands started to roam. He groped and touched me through my clothes, getting exactly what he wanted, before his hand ran beneath the fabric of my skirt, slipping into my underwear.

I didn't stop him.

His lips met mine, his kiss frenzied. Discarded bottles surrounded us, scattering when I accidentally kicked some trying to take off my tights. I started to fully undress but he stopped me, whispering against my mouth. "Keep the uniform on."

My cheeks burned from blush, but he didn't see. It was dark and he was too occupied with other parts of me. He rubbed and rubbed and rubbed between my thighs as he sucked on my neck, teeth nipping the skin. He was going to leave a mark, but I didn't care.

That was why they invented turtlenecks.

The pressure inside of me built and built, like nothing I'd ever felt before, until it built so much I couldn't contain it anymore. I cried out when pleasure rushed through me. Before I could even get a grip on what I was feeling, Cody unbuckled his pants and pulled me onto his lap.

Panic seized me for a split second as I slid down on him. It was uncomfortable again, not as much as last time, but I still wasn't used to the feeling of him being inside of me. I didn't know what I was doing, so I just moved my hips, hoping he was getting something out of it. His lips parted and he let out a soft sigh as he closed his eyes, leaning his head back on the couch.

"Just like that, Gracie," he whispered. "Fucking perfect."

It didn't take long again until he grunted, gripping my hips tightly and thrusting up a few times, finishing. Afterward, we lay on the couch, me in his arms, as that word echoed through my head.

Perfect.

Fucking perfect.

Except . . . it wasn't.

Perfect would have been us not having to sneak around. Perfect would have been him without a black eye. Perfect would have been my wish coming true.

"Did you get suspended again?" I asked curiously after a while. We were both dressed, for the most part. "Did they kick you out for fighting?"

"No, this didn't happen at school."

"Oh, so school is still going okay?"

"I wouldn't know," he said. "I haven't been."