Maybe taking Scarlett to this party wasn't the best idea.

She's currently twirling random strands of her hair around her fingers while singing the Hannah Montana theme song.

To say she's drunk is an understatement.

I knew it was gonna be bad when Amanda started lining up shots of Tequila. Not to mention every time someone fed me a drink, I'd ask Scarlett if she wanted it, and she'd steal it right from my hands.

I never took her for the drinking type, but the girl is full of surprises. Watching her have a good time and be careless for a little while was so refreshing. She's always cautious and protective of her own heart. I wish she'd tell me why.

As I approach the stop sign just before Scarlett's apartment, she shouts. "Turn here!" Her hand swings out and points in the direction of her apartment.

"Why, thank you, cruise director." I grab her hand and kiss the top of it. I'm not even sure why the fuck I did that but whatever.

I pull into a parking spot and rush out of the car to grab her door. I open her door, and she jumps out, falling into my arms, giggling relentlessly.

"Oh, jeez," she mutters between laughs. "Walking. We're walking."

I laugh and throw her arm around my neck and place my arm sturdily around her waist to keep her upright. I kick the door closed with my foot and rush to get her into her apartment safely.

"Where's your key, love?" I ask, brushing the hair from her face.

"Love? I like that," she giggles.

I smirk. "Focus, love. Where's your key?" I repeat.

"Pocket purse. In the pocket of my purse," she slurs. I shuffle my hand around her purse until I hear the jingle of her keys. I pull them out and open her door, carefully walking us inside.

Jordyn and her boyfriend are sitting on the couch, looking caught as she readjusts her top.

Well, fuck. That's awkward.

"Zayn?" Jordyn asks, walking towards us.

"Hey," I mutter, bringing Scarlett to one of their stools. I lift her gently by the hips and place her onto the stool. "Stay upright."

I walk around the island, looking hopelessly at the cabinets. "Jordyn, where are your cups?"

"Top right cabinet," she points.

I grab a cup and fill it up with ice water, bringing it back to Scarlett. She smiles at me, her eyes squinted, not really focusing on anything.

"How did she get so drunk?" Jordyn asks. She's looking at me as if I purposefully intoxicated her best friend.

"We saw a party was going on at the banquet hall downtown and decided to go there instead of the other party. It was a divorce party, and Scarlett made friends with everyone." I explain.

"Scarlett? Making friends with everyone?" Riley says, finally emerging from the couch.

"That doesn't sound like my Scar," Jordyn adds.

Scar. I like that.

"When I say everyone, I mean everyone. She couldn't stop chatting, which led to doing shots and requesting fruity drinks at the bar." I defend. I feel like they're accusing me of lying, and I'm not standing for it.

I look over to Scarlett and see her staring into space, clenching her glass of water tightly. I walk over to her and gently rub her back. She looks as if she's not even present like her body is here, but she's not.

"I can take care of here," Jordyn says. "She's pretty drunk."

"I'm fine," she mumbles, turning to face her friends. "I want him to stay." She turns to me now, her eyes soft. Something's off. Her eyes are filled with sadness. I'd never noticed it before, but looking at her now, it's never been more clear. The beautiful golden brown eyes I've been staring into now hold something even more. Pain.

"You can stay, right?" She asks.

I nod. "Yeah. If you want me to."

Jordyn pulls me by my arm and drags me into the hallway leading to their bedrooms. She stops once we're out of sight and crosses her arms, scowling at me. "You better not be thinking anything even remotely dirty right now."

I stare at her, baffled. "Huh?!"

"If you're thinking that just because she's drunk and enjoys your company that you're going to get lucky you're complete-"

"Woah, let me stop you right there," I interrupt, holding my hand up. "First of all, I would never take advantage of a woman, ever. And I do not engage in sexual activity when my partner is intoxicated and can't always make sound decisions. Second of all, I'm fucking offended you'd even assume that of me."

Jordyn's eyes soften, and she looks down, seemingly embarrassed for rushing to conclusions. "I'm sorry. I just- she's been through a lot, and she really doesn't deserve another bad guy in her life."

"I get it. You're a good friend. Could you just give me a chance before you decide I'm a piece of shit? I'm really trying here." I confess.

I really want to be the guy that Scarlett can depend on. I hate the thought of some fucking guy treating her poorly in any way. It's actually making me angry thinking about it.

"Everything okay over here?" Scarlett waltzes over, stumbling a bit.

I smile. "Yeah, everything's fine." Jordyn smiles, too, and we all head back out into the kitchen. Scarlett gently tugs on my hand, causing me to turn around and look at her.

"I'm tired," she frowns. "Stay till I fall asleep. I mean, could you?"

"Yeah, sure."

We say goodnight to Jordyn and Riley, and Scarlett guides me into her room. Her room is simplistic. Her walls are white and bare besides the small paintings and pictures littering the wall. Her bed takes up most of the room. Her light purple comforter and millions of decorative pillows serve as the only splash of color.

"Change," she whines, opening and closing drawers. "So much work." She drops the clothes that she already pulled out and fell face-first into her bed.

"Scarlett, be careful," I rush over to her and gently turn her around. "Are you sure you don't want to change? You'll be uncomfortable in jeans."

She groans. "Ugh. Okay, I'll change. Shoes," she kicks her feet, which I take as her way of asking me to pull off her Converse. Once I pull her shoes off, Scarlett pops up off the bed and picks out her pajamas.

"Turn around," she orders. I comply and face the wall. I can hear her shuffling to change while she hums the 'Wheels on the Bus' song over and over. She doesn't announce when she's done and instead flops right back into bed.

I turn around again once I see her decorative pillows being thrown to the ground. "Will you lay with me?" She asks. She looks incredibly vulnerable with her sad eyes and messy hair.

"Scarlett, you're drunk. I don't want you to do anything you're going to regret in the morning." I say, sitting on the edge of her bed.

"You're so nice to me," she mumbles, laying down as her sea of pillows swallow her. "Can you stay? Just 'till I fall asleep?"

How could I say no to her? Her chocolate eyes are wide and staring into mine as loose strands of hair fly all around her face. She cuddles into her pillows and blankets, only her head popping out now.

"I'll stay," I say and kick off my shoes before resting my back on the headboard and sitting beside her.

She seems content with my answer and puts a pillow on my lap, resting her head on it. "Zayn," she sighs softly.

"Yeah?"

"I'm too sad for you," she slurs. I don't think she wanted me to hear her say that. It was quiet like she thought in her head and didn't notice she even said it.

Her eyes flutter closed before I can even think of a response. I gently brush my hand through her hair and watch as her breathing becomes even.

What does she mean by she's "too sad for me"? I knew she was hiding something behind those eyes, but I didn't want to think it could be the same thing as my mother. I hope to God it's not, and I'm not even religious.

No one should go through what my mother went through.

After about an hour and a half of holding Scarlett and making sure she was sound asleep, I headed out and sent a text, so she knew I was there.

A couple of years ago, I would've met someone like Scarlett and ran the other way. A girl like Scarlett deserves commitment and trust. I was never that guy before, but now all I want to do is be the person she turns to for anything.

God, I feel like I'm in a fucking chick-flick.

Normally, I'd drive home and try to pass out, but this week is different. This week holds a dark cloud over my head. This week is the thirteenth anniversary of my mother's death.

I want nothing more than to drown my sorrows with a bottle of whiskey, but for some reason, I don't. I just drive to the cemetery, walk up to her gravestone, and sit beside her.

"Hey, Mom," I whisper. "I know it's late, but hey, we were never the type to go to bed early."

Obviously, there's no response. The world is dark except for the single flickering street light, and the wind is blowing, flipping my brunette curls out of my face.

I don't cry, and I don't feel sad. I don't really feel anything anymore. Everything about this situation has left me numb. Losing my mother made me lose a lot of faith in the world. I'm used to the shitty cards the world likes to hand me. I see the evil in people every day in the courtroom.

The world sucks, and I can't get myself to care enough to cry anymore.

The sun is beginning to rise by the time I leave the cemetery. My eyes feel like they're on fire, and every fiber of my being is exhausted.

I practically fall out of my car and head to my mailbox, picking up all the mail I've ignored for the last couple of days.

I barely have time to unlock my door before my heart drops into my stomach.

What the fuck is this?

A card rests on the top of the pile that reads "Happy Mother's Day." The card is colorful with flowers and sappy quotes on the inside. There's no name or even an envelope to tell me where the card came from.

The only sign written by someone and deliberately placed to hurt me is the signature at the bottom.

Carlos Miller.

My father.

Happy Sunday! Thank you guys so much for 600 reads. I love reading all your thoughts and reactions to the story. It's only going to get better from here.