I leaned against the door, trying to catch my breath and stop the tears that are flowing down my face. He hasn't knocked on the door to ask or check on me or interrupt or anything. I don't know if that should hurt or if I should be happy that he's giving me my space.

"Clara?"

Nevermind, I should have just been happy that he was giving me space.

"Just a second!" I cleared my throat, trying not to sound like I was crying but I already knew that I sounded and looked the part. I splashed water on my face and then turned to leave.

Then I saw the candle and the wax pooled around it. I looked around but there was no matchbox or lighter. He must have needed it while he showered but... how did he light it?

"Clara?"

"Yeah, yeah," I said quickly, looking around in confusion while twisting the lock open. I opened the door and looked at him, almost bumping into him because I didn't expect him to be right at the door. I thought he would have taken a few steps back after I unlocked the door.

"Are you okay?" he asked hesitantly.

I nodded, "It was just... weird. I haven't spoken to anyone other than my dad about it. I mean, everyone wanted me to go to therapy but..." I trailed off with a shrug.

I probably shouldn't have said that to him.

"Well, I did go actually. Just once. And I mean, getting diagnosed with PTSD and anxiety the first time you see the woman, doesn't really make you want to go back though, so I never went back."

He looked at me, a little surprised but nodded slowly anyway.

"And I probably shouldn't have said that. And now I'm rambling, sorry," I sighed, rubbing my hands on my thighs. "I'm so sorry, God." I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. "I should go."

"Um, you—"

"I should really just go," I nodded, not even letting him talk. I have never been so flustered, embarrassed, and humiliated all at the same time. "Yeah, I'm just going to go."

"No."

"What?" I looked at him in confusion.

"No, you're not going anywhere."

"Oh, because of the blackout, right. Sorry. I'll just... sit here then," I nodded, sitting back down on the floor where I was sitting earlier.

"Okay," he said slowly, sitting beside me this time. "You're not staying here because of the blackout."

I turned to look at him in confusion. "Oh?"

"Oh," he nodded. "We're going to talk."

"About?"

"Anything and everything."

"I'm a little lost," I mumbled.

He cleared his throat, "You never spoke to anyone about this. So, you got a little emotional, that's okay. If you want to keep talking about it, we can. And if you don't, then um..." He reached up without looking and grabbed a book. "Here. We'll talk about Alice In Wonderland," he said, handing me the copy.

"You have a copy of Alice In Wonderland?" I laughed, taking it from him.

"It's a comfort book. My mom used to read it to me as a kid."

I stared at the cover for a while. "Which character do you think you resonate with most?" I asked, turning to look at him.

"Here at Arcane? Mad Hatter," he sighed. "Do you have a favorite quote from the book? I do," he said, raising his eyebrows at me.

"And it is?" I smiled.

"A dream is not reality. But who's to say which is which?"

I nodded in appreciation. "Through the looking glass, yes. That one's kind of deep, huh?"

"In a way, yeah. Have you got one?"

"If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?" I grinned.

"Complicated. Did you ever understand that? Because I think I get it but I'm not too sure," he chuckled.

"No, I don't get it at all, actually. And every time I think I do, I get too lost in it and then lose the meaning all over again. That's why I like it. Because I can never understand it."

"Weird reason to like something," he said pointedly.

"Yeah. But I tend to like things I can't understand."

Like him.

"How come?"

"Because when people don't understand something, their curiosity always gets the best of them. And they keep working to understand it. And when you keep working towards something, you don't lose sight of it. It's always there. I always think it's best to go after things you can never have, actually. It's better if you don't know that you can never have it. Because you keep trying anyway."

"What happens if you know you'll never have it and you still keep going after it?"

"Then at least at the end, when you finally cave in and give up, you know you tried your best," I shrugged.

"Sometimes our best isn't enough," he mumbled, staring ahead of himself.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Sometimes it isn't. But... it's never really enough, Callum."

He turned to look at me.

"And if it's enough for you, it won't be enough for someone else. And if it's enough for someone else, it might not be enough for you. You just have to be happy with what you do. Satisfy yourself, not others. You can't make everyone happy, but you can make you happy," I chuckled.

He gave me a small smile and I swear my heart stuttered. "That's really nice. Where did you hear that?"

"My mom used to say it," I grinned. "You can't make everyone happy, but you can make you happy. So do it. Make yourself happy." I laughed, "And anyway. If we always go after the things that are so easy to get, what are we living for? If we're not dreaming of something that is incredibly unrealistic and impossible, then what the hell are we living for? It's always good to dream big."

"You know what my dad says?"

"What?" I asked.

"What's the point of a dream if you can't forge it into reality?"

"If we forged our dreams into reality then what's the fucking difference? If dreams become reality, they wouldn't be special. And anyway, a wise man once said, 'A dream is not reality. But who's to say which is which?'" I smirked.

He chuckled, shaking his head slowly. "You're really weird."

I shrugged. "Your dream can be your reality if you want it. But you know what?"

"What?"

"Whenever we have dreams and we accomplish them, we lose motivation. When we want something, and we get it, we don't value it as much. And then it's gone before you know it. Then you really miss it. Never complete a dream that's too big. Let it be a dream. Some dreams are better off as just that. Dreams."

We sat in comfortable silence and I started thinking about the accident again. I was reliving it in my head.

"What are you thinking about?"

I turned to him. "You know, I always thought that the five minutes I spent trying to wake her up... I thought it was a mistake. I thought, maybe if I called for help before those five minutes, she would be alive. And I thought that even after knowing that she died on impact. It wasn't my mistake. It wasn't my fault. I know that," I nodded. "But I don't believe it."

"Clara. Did you cry because you remember it?"

"No," I shook my head. "I cried because I don't remember her voice anymore," I whispered, staring at the book that was still in my hands. "I cried because I'm forgetting her and I really don't want to." I let out a shaky breath. "I mean, I would be a horrible person to forget my mother who died right beside me. She's my mom. How can I forget her?"

"Sometimes things are easier to move on from once you forget them. If you don't forget it, you can't move on. Just... remember the good parts. The good memories. That's all you can do."

"I know that's what everyone tells you to do. But you know what they don't tell you, Callum?" I asked rhetorically while a tear fell on the cover of the book and I wiped it away carefully. "They don't tell you that when you remember the good and none of the bad... you start missing them a lot. Because you want to make more of those memories. And when you realize you can't, you miss them even more.

"I remember talking to her on the phone once. I was at a friend's house but she called her boyfriend over and ditched me in her living room. And my mom stayed up the whole night talking to me over the phone. And now? I don't even remember what she used to sound like. I really want to hear her again. Just once."

I wiped my cheek. "I should have just taken her fucking phone and thrown it out the window. I wish I did that." I turned to look at him. "Sorry, I'm getting all sad again." I took a deep breath. "Tell me, Mad Hatter, how do you like our very own Wonderland that is Arcane High?"

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