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Part 2

Connor watches from several feet away, until something clicks with him and he strides over to me – hesitantly at first, then with purpose.

"Whoa, whoa, are you okay?" he asks with genuine concern. I lift my head up to where he's standing and display the hot tears streaking down my face. "Yeah, you're not okay. Dumb question," he mutters, mostly to himself. I try to reply, to tell him that I'm fine and that he can go. I try to not be a burden on him, but all I can do is choke out heavy sobs. I let my head fall back down, ashamed. Connor seems uncomfortable, so I take every single ounce of anything and everything I have left in me and I tell him he can go, that I'm fine. He looks at me with disbelief for a second, then does something that I would never have ever expected from Connor Murphy, of all people.

He extends his hand to me. My heart races faster, but I don't think this can possibly get much worse. So I reach up and take it. He pulls me to my feet, but my legs give out. Connor catches me and lifts me up off the floor. One of his arms is under my knees and the other is supporting my torso. Awkwardly, I reach around his neck to hold on. I hate myself for it, but it has to be done.

"Did you drive here this morning?" he asks. I nod weakly. It registers with him and he marches me out to the parking lot. When we arrive at my car – well, my mom's car – I realize he's also carrying my backpack, which is slung over his shoulder. I tell him that the keys are in the front pocket, and I don't know how he manages it, but he unlocks the car, deposits me into the backseat to lie down, and gets in the driver' seat. I close my eyes as the car starts, not caring where he takes me anymore.