SOOT AND SEAWATER

He wishes he could hold her. Sometimes he reaches out to her and wants to so badly; she seems so arm, so open, so honest. She's everything he can never be, and he may be pathetic for this, but so much of the time he just wants to crawl into her where nothing can ever reach him again.

He can't.

Because it stings him to touch her; that small, bashful smile of hers makes his eyes bleed. He's nothing like her and he's never wanted to be, but when she looks at him like that it makes him want to be her, and he can't so he's not good enough to touch her. When she's with him, her body juts in at unnatural angles, pressing down and taking his space. He can't be mad at her for it, except he can because that's his space and he needs it.

When she kisses him, he wants to die. She's so open and kind, and wants to pour herself into him like he's a kindred spirit. All he can taste in her mouth is lime, and soot, and seawater, and other salty things he can't – won't – identify.

He pulls back, and he can see in her eyes that she's hurt. He doesn't even know why he cares. When Veronica came to school the Monday, after that party, he could see that he had more than broken her – he had destroyed her. He didn't care then; he almost thought she looked better, when she was part of the wreckage and he had covered her with ashes.

But Mac looks at him with those big, naive, pained eyes and he kicks himself like the guy who actually has a conscience or something. He doesn't want to hurt her; would do pretty much anything to protect her, and he thinks that's probably a weakness. He should cut it out of him, but he can't.

But she pushes and he can tell she wants more – she's trying not to pressure him, but she's kind of failing spectacularly. He thinks of it, and all he can see is the blazing inferno he wants to keep her out of – Veronica's white party dress with its torn strap, and that bastard-

But Mac asks questions, like she knows this isn't normal. He shouldn't be acting this way. He tries to avoid it, but she won't let him this time and he can't talk about this, not with her, not ever.

She says she asked Veronica, and he's not sure whether to laugh or be furious. He chooses the latter. He knows Mac and Veronica are friends, and maybe treading to close to what happened at Shelley's party was always a risk, but he had fooled Veronica Mars once and he could pull it off again.

Mac looks so worried, so sad, and he forces himself not to care. He just dumps her, says awful things - "Good luck getting laid," - and walks away. He can feel her heart breaking and her eyes welling with tears, and all he can hear is the crackling of his blaze.