Well, here we are! It's been a rather bumpy ride, but thank you to everyone who has stuck with me through my sporadic updating habits. This is going to sound really corny, but I fell in love with Wendy while writing this story. I'm sad to see her go. Maybe in the future I'll write a one-shot for Wendy and Cam, but that's not my main focus anymore. Thank you all once again for your reviews and kindness. Enjoy!

When we reach my house, I hurry to unbuckle myself. Cameron grunts when I awkwardly throw myself onto him, but doesn't seem too bothered when I take his face into my hands and kiss him full on the mouth. He places one hand on the back of my head and places the other on my upper arm, gently pulling me in closer to him. The buckle of my seat belt continuously jabs me in the side. I guess that's what I get for leaning over the shifter tray between our seats just to kiss him.

"You've—got—to—go," says Cameron between rapid kisses. "Your parents are going to be suspicious with my car idling in front of their house," he adds, his lips gently pressed against my own.

"Just a few more seconds," I reply, taking his bottom lip between my teeth. "I'm really enjoying this," I whisper.

He pulls away from my mouth and looks me straight in my eyes. I remember them when we were at the top of the Sears Tower, how they looked so completely void of everything and anything. I remember how their iciness scared me. Well, they are anything but empty this time around. I see compassion, hope, happiness, and a small flame of courage. They look so beautiful that I almost want to take them out of his head and keep them in a mason jar or something.

"Come on, Wen," he says, carefully smoothing out the goose bumps on my arms. "Just be a good teenager for once and listen to me." Cameron pecks my lips once—that bastard—and gestures toward the front door with his head. "Come on, I'll walk you. If you're going to lie, it's gotta be believable."

I frown, but I don't argue with him. There would be no point anyway. I move away from him, string my sling bag over my shoulder, and open the passenger's side door to get out. Cameron's door opens and closes quickly. He is soon on my side of the car, slamming the door shut with the palm of his hand. I walk in front of him for the entire walk to the front door. As soon as I push the door open, my mother is suddenly in front of me, the entire phone set in her hand with the cord trailing from where ever she came from. Oh God.

"And just where the hell have you been?" she seethes, trying hard not to scream at me in front of Cameron.

"Cutting class," says Doug as he tosses an apple into the air, catches it, and bounds up the staircase. That's okay, Doug. I hope you enjoy the saliva in your pillowcase.

"You had better tell me that he's lying, Wendy Louise."

I cringe. Why does she always use my middle name when she's angry with me? "Sure, mom, listen to the pothead," I begin. Her mouth hangs agape until she quickly closes it. "I tried the lukewarm bath and got back into bed, but I couldn't go to sleep. I was so pained that I could barely move. I didn't want to risk driving myself, especially with how my car is at the moment. I didn't want to take you or dad out of work, so I just called Cameron and asked him if he could drive me to the doctor's office," I say, motioning toward Cameron with my hand. "The wait was crazy long for urgent care, so I just told Cameron to drive me back home." I motion to my spot on the rug at the front door. "So, here I am."

Her eyes are acutely narrowed. She opens her mouth to say something before my dad rounds the corner and throws his arms into the air with a smile on his face. "You're finally home, sweet pea!" he chirps. Gently, he puts a hand on my shoulder and begins to lead me away to the staircase. "I'm sorry that I couldn't answer your call earlier today, but I got the voice mail. I'm glad you have such a good friend like Cameron to drive you around while you're unable to." My dad turns around to face Cameron and sticks his hand out, clasping Cameron's in a firm handshake. "Thanks, son."

"Uh," Cameron mutters, dumbfounded. "It was no problem, Mr. Halifax. She's helped me out a few times, it was only right to return the favor."

Dad nods, grinning. "Well, thank you again. Get home safe, will you?"

Cameron nods. "Yes, sir. Of course." Cameron turns to leave, but quickly turns back around. "Feel better, Wendy. I'll see you later."

"Thanks! Bye, Cameron!" I call, trying not to stumble while climbing the staircase. My father's hand is still on my shoulder, guiding me up the stairs and to my room. He quickly pushes me inside and closes the door behind himself. "Dad—" I begin, lowering myself to sit on the edge of my bed.

"You owe me," he says strictly, pointing a finger in my direction. Promptly, he leaves the room with the door open.

That was way too close.

Later that night as I lay in bed, just on the verge of sleep, I hear the clink of glass. Clink. Clink. I rub my eyes tiredly. Sluggishly, I swing my legs off of the side of my bed, stretch my arms, and yawn. Clink. Clink. What the hell is that sound? I open my bedroom door and peek out into the dark, empty hallway. No one else seems to have stirred out of their sleep because of those sounds. I go back into my room and shut the door quietly before climbing back into bed. Before I even have the chance to throw the duvet over my head, the sound comes back, louder than ever.

"Wendy," I hear faintly.

My mind wrought with confusion, I get out of my bed once more and go to the casement window of my room. It's so dark outside that I can't see anything. Something clinks against the window again and I flinch away from it in surprise. Who the hell is throwing things at my window this late at night? I crank the window open and push it the rest of the way to its full width. I sit on the sill and stick my head out of the window just as a stone is thrown in my direction. It's small, so it doesn't hurt when it hits my face.

"Whoever is out here throwing things at my window, I'll kill you," I whisper venomously.

"Wendy!" A voice half-whisper, half-shouts. A familiar voice.

"Cameron?" I ask into the darkness. "Why the fuck are you throwing rocks at my window? Are you crazy? You could have woken up my parents!" There's a whimper in the dark. "Cameron? Cameron? Are you okay? Talk to me!"

"Can you let me in first?" Cameron asks.

I nod, although he can't see me. "Come around to the front. I'll let you in," I say while cranking the window closed.

Quickly and quietly, I tip-toe down the staircase with my hand following the banister in the darkness. I flick on the porch light before unlocking the front door. When I open it, Cameron stands in full view of the yellow light and in full view of me. I gasp quietly, both hands flying to cover my mouth. Cameron is covered in cuts and bruises. His white tee shirt is bloodied and ripped at the hem on the sleeve. He's missing one suspender strap and his tan khaki pants and stained brown with dirt. I try very hard not to lose my composure or cry.

He still manages a small smile through his split lip and keeps the glimmer in his eyes despite the black rings around one of them. "Hey, Wen," he whispers. I can tell that he's in a lot of pain.

I want to leap forward to hug him, but I fear that I might break him. "Cameron," I whisper, my voice breaking. "Come in. Come in," I motion him inside and close the door behind him. It is dark again. I find his hand and lead him quietly up the staircase and into my bedroom, closing the door. I flick on my desk lamp and take in his mangled entirely once more. "What the hell happened?"

Cameron shrugs, and then winces. "I stood up to my dad… and then he proceeded to beat the shit out of me," he answers, chuckling.

"I'm glad that you're able to be comical about it," I say, one hand still over my mouth. "Shit. I can't believe he did this to you."

"I can," he says. "I'm glad he did."

"Huh?"

He smiles, holding out part of his tee shirt to me. "This isn't mine," Cameron replies.

My mouth hangs completely agape. "You—" I cannot believe what I'm hearing. "You… hit your dad? That blood is from him?" He nods. "But—I—how—what the fuck?"

He takes a seat on the edge of my bed as to not dirty my linens. "I swung first," he answers, showing me his bruised, blood-crusted knuckles. "I told him about the Ferrari before he'd had the chance to see it. When he did see it, he completely flipped shit. I had never seen him so angry. I told him that I wasn't going to let him walk all over me anymore. I really gave it to him. Then he insulted you, all of you actually. Said that my friends were "fucking no good punks" and other shit like that. So, I hit him. I knew that if I didn't swing first, I wouldn't be able to get any hits in after that." Cameron laughs again. "He actually kicked me out of the door. Kicked me out with his feet. He told me to never come back, not even if my mother begs me to when she returns from vacation, never come back."

I don't know how to reply. I can't even begin to formulate a reply at the moment. My mouth opens, and then closes quickly with a clank.

"You don't have to say anything," he says. "I'm alright. I really am. You were the first person I wanted to tell."

"W—where are you gonna stay, Cameron?" I ask.

"Ferris and his family will have no problem putting me up until college," he replies. "It won't be long. I'm actually going to head over there in a few minutes to throw some rocks at his window too."

"My God," I say, turning around so that my back faces him. I hold my face in my hands and finally let myself cry, seeing as I am unable to hold everything in anymore. It's not long before I'm crouching on the ground, bawling into my hands. Cameron wraps his arms around me and guides me back to my bed where I sit on the edge with him.

"Hey," he says. "I should be the one crying," Cameron laughs. He rubs my shoulder and pulls me into his chest. "Come on. Come on. Stop crying. I'll be fine."

After a few more minutes of crying into a dry patch of his tee shirt, I wipe my face on the back of my hand. Sniffling, I ask, "Can I at least clean you up before you leave? It's the least I can do."

Smiling that Cameron smile, he nods and follows me into the bathroom. Occasionally, I plant gentle kisses on his neck while cleaning the cuts on his face with peroxide. He winces and holds onto my waist, slowly lifting up the fabric of my shirt to thumb small circles on my skin. This isn't the way it's supposed to be, but I must admit that for the time being, it's nice.