It doesn't even cross my mind to use the front door, despite the fact that I obviously know Vaughn isn't home. I follow my routine of putting the outdoor trashcan under Winter's window and climbing up on top, then grabbing the window sill for leverage and pulling myself through.

I don't land on the carpet. I land on the hardwood floor, groaning and rolling over.

Winter is at my side in an instant.

"Des! Oh my god, that was fast." She's already talking in a rush, voice wobbly. When her face comes into focus, it's red and blotchy, mascara likely from the night before stained on her cheeks.

Within seconds, the girl is in my arms.

I'm still on the floor.

She knocks the wind out of me, since I wasn't expecting the attack so soon—I thought she'd at least wait for me to be on my feet. I probably should've known better, though, since she isn't typically this upset. Especially over anything Vaughn or I did, though she obviously wishes we got along better in general.

I slowly incline myself to a seated position, the girl sliding down until she's sitting on her heels, looking at me in expectation. She doesn't acknowledge her wrecked state, so I don't either.

She does, however, acknowledge mine. "Oh my god, Des, what happened to you?"

Winter is finally able to take in my appearance, and I watch her slowly pull herself up to a standing position. She then holds out her hand, and if I were to grab it and actually allow her to attempt to pull my full weight up, she would absolutely fall. Still, I know she wants to be helpful, so I grab her hand for the illusion before getting up myself.

"Are those boxers? Did you meet my dad like that? Did—oh my god, did he do that?! No way, there's no way he's that mad at you—"

"Yeah, they're boxers," I decide to interrupt before she nervous rambles herself into a frenzy. That actually reminds me of the other reason I came here. I walk over to her closet and begin to sort through her pants, looking for Hello Kitty pajama pants because it would be funny. I don't find any, unfortunately, but she does have like three other My Little Pony pairs, as well as one with a bunch of cartoon fruit creatures on it. I decide to stick with the My Little Pony theme.

As an afterthought, I answer her other questions. "And no he didn't, he just yelled at me."

I resist the urge to tell her about the whole confrontation, the wall pinning and throwing me around and everything. I'd likely go into too much detail. Like, a suspicious amount of detail. Way too descriptive, vocabulary words I didn't even know I knew. It's ridiculous. I've done it before.

"But you met him like that? In boxers with half of your face bruised? Oh my god, there's blood coming out of your mouth."

What? I'm still bleeding? Well, I guess the aforementioned throwing around thing didn't help. I wish I could be mad about it, but I doubt Vaughn even noticed my condition to begin with. It was really dark in there. Not that he'd have cared.

Winter doesn't question me further on my fucked up physical state, since it's not exactly uncommon for me to randomly look like I got hit by a bus. Instead, she decides to focus on my clothing situation, eyes flicking down to the pants I'm stealing from her. Hopefully these don't get ruined by blood like the last ones.

"It's fine."

"Why the boxers?"

"They're long enough," I tell her, rolling my eyes. This specific pair of boxers is at least a size or two over what I typically wear, they go down to like my knees. Also, my hoodie is massive. These are my winter clothes, since it's November. Although it's not all that cold out due to the ridiculous climate of San Lucille. Whatever, she's overreacting.

"Des. Why."

"Raccoons took over my closet, I already told you."

She frowns, looking disappointed when it hits her that there isn't much she can do. All my clothes are ripped to shreds, they've been turned into a raccoon nest. If there were any other reason she probably would've just offered to wash them for me or something.

"We need to go shopping," she decides absentmindedly, after a moment of thought. Before I can attempt to get out of it without revealing the fact I was mugged again and have no money, she continues. "Later. Tell me what my dad said."

I really don't want to tell her what her dad said.

I really don't want her to cry again.

Which I'm scared she will, if she finds out the ultimatum I was given and how impossible it actually is. One doesn't just... leave racing. Ditch Belladonna. Quit Jane Doe. Doing so would only put Winter and Vaughn more in danger, especially since I'd probably die immediately from paranoia alone. However, if I don't, I lose them. Which I was prepared for, but...

I can't stand to see Winter like this. So upset, so heartbroken at the concept of losing me. I don't understand it, I never will, all I know is that I have to at least try. I'd rather try and fail to be who Vaughn wants me to be than just give up now. Not with Winter in the state she is, at least.

"He basically told me to get my life on track," I keep it as vague as possible while still technically telling her the gist of the conversation. I know that even that wasn't vague enough, however, when her expression falls. I decide to elaborate, which is probably the worst thing I could've done and doesn't help anything.

"In a month. I have to drop the racing and the dealing, and get a real job. Whatever that means."

Probably something with a payroll. I don't know.

This absolutely doesn't help, judging by the frown that takes over her face, as well as a brief hint of hopelessness in her eyes. It doesn't take long for her expression to shift more analytical, and I already know what's going through her mind. She's looking for loopholes.

Winter is kind. She's beautiful, she's empathetic, caring, and just generally an amazing person in every way. That's not what's important, though—no, she's also smart. A genius, actually, which is part of why her bullying was always so bad. She's had straight A's her whole life, she drowns herself in schoolwork, and is on track to have a full ride scholarship because of all the hard work.

Honestly... if anyone is gonna find me a way out of this, it's her.

"Did he elaborate on what a real job is?" She asks me after a moment, which is something I keyed in on as well. I shake my head in the negative, and she goes back to thinking. I imagine equations being written, flying around her head while floating in the air.

Then, she seems to come up with something. "What if you just worked at the shop?"

I freeze, mind practically screeching to a halt. The equations disappear so I'm only looking at her face, which is genuine. She means it, she's being serious. The hope is back.

That's the worst idea I've ever heard. Of all time. Ever.

"What."

"Come on," she says, tone changing to one a bit more lighthearted and convincing. She smiles a bit, which is nice to see after her being so sad all morning. "You already know about cars, with the racing and stuff. Maybe if he got to know you better, he would realize how great you are... Yeah, I'm gonna talk to him."

"Don't talk to him." The walls are closing in. Working in Vaughn's mechanic shop? That sounds like a death sentence. He will end up killing me, I know that for a fact. Well, that or he'd catch on to my real feelings.

Oh, god. I'd prefer the death option.

"I will not change his mind, there's no fucking way—"

Winter frowns. I need to stop freaking out. There comes a point where I can't reason myself out of caring so much what Vaughn thinks of me. I cut myself off, pursing my lips and taking Winter's idea—imagining a situation where Vaughn takes the place of Sharp. Belladonna. Jane Doe.

Oh god. He'd destroy me. I'd probably enjoy it, too, which is worse.

"How about I give you some advice? Or ideas? Ways to make him like you more? Or at least some sort of approval." Winter offers, looking hopeful. She seems to really like this new idea of hers, and I'm not exactly in a position to turn her down. Still, this could go so wrong. No, it will go so wrong. One way or another I'm gonna fuck this up, and there goes my best friend—whether it's due to her hating me for me being in love with her dad, or her dad hating me for any of the hundred reasons he already does.

"Like what?" I ask, at a loss for what information or advice she could possibly give me in terms of interacting with her father. It's been three years. I'm damn near the sole reason his daughter was almost shot in the head right in front of him. I'm pretty sure he's already made up his fucking mind, it's a little late for me.

That seems to stump her, which I expected. Vaughn isn't exactly an open book, I don't know anything about him. I've barely even been in his house. I've never met another member of their family, ever. I don't even know any basic random facts or preferences, like his favorite color or something. And honestly, from what I have gathered, Winter herself doesn't seem to know all that much about the man either—well, considering her relation to him.

"Well... your best bet is probably cars. That's the only thing I can think of that you guys have in common, right now." She supplies, still deep in thought. She's hunched over with her chin resting on her palm, eyebrows furrowed. I'd find how seriously she's taking the situation to be endearing if I wasn't currently about to pass away. Or transcend. Or go into cardiac arrest.

Also, what is she talking about? I know how to go fast in cars. I know how to hotwire them. I know how to steal them, how to bypass car alarms, and some basic maintenance stuff. Nowhere near enough to fit in or hold a conversation with  a mechanic. Also, all of my knowledge is corvette-based. That's all I've ever had, and all cars are different in some way.

"I guess he's also pretty traditional. Maybe drop the eyeliner?"

"No."