Unforgivable Mistakes

| Chapter 19 |

The most frustrating part of the current situation on my behalf was the fact that Vincent dodged all of my questions, claiming that he'd explain everything once we'd gotten Dean's unconscious body inside the car -- something that'd proved to be a challenge.

Carrying his limp tall frame was the biggest challenge. However, what felt like an even bigger challenge was having to touch him, my skin crawling as it came in contact with his. I was forced to drape his arm across my shoulder, wrapping one of my arms around his waist to support half of his body weight against my own, Vincent doing the same, except on the opposite side of his body. I wanted nothing more than to let him drop to the floor as the smell of alcohol mixed with cologne filled my nostrils, but I decided against it, seeing as he'd already been hurt enough for one night.

The relief that settled into my stomach as I pushed Dean's body inside the back of my brother's car was immense, my eyes lingering on his beat up figure a few moments before I shut the door, Brianne entering from the other side of the car, thankfully leaving me to sit in front with Vincent.

It was only around five minutes into the twenty minute drive that I snapped, the curiosity seeming to have piled up inside my body until it overflowed. "Vincent, what happened?"

My brother's gaze flickered to my tense frame for a second before he focused it back on the road, a tired sigh escaping his lips. "I don't know exactly," He began, his furrowed brows indicating that he was deep in thought. "When he got to the party, a few hours after we did, he seemed really stressed about something, and so he started drinking and doing all sorts of drugs like weed and coke, apparently trying to forget. Once he was really high, and I'm talking this dude's smacked, Ara, he blabbered on about all this fucked up shit. . . Man, I really don't blame him for acting so stupid," His last sentence came out as a mutter, my curiosity spiking up even more, if possible. "Anyway, I went off for a bit, and by the time I saw him again, he was picking a fight with some dude, and here we are."

I took a few moments to take everything in, Vincent's explanation answering many questions, though also creating more. My eyes inevitably drifted toward the review mirror, Dean's slumped figure reflecting on it, his split bloody lip and swollen black eye standing out even in the warm lighting of the car. "What could possibly be going on that would make him act this way?" The words were flying out of my mouth before I could stop them, or even analyze what I was saying. To Vincent, I was referring to the fight, the drugs, everything that had happened that night, but Brianne and I knew what I was truly referring to --something much more serious than all that, much more scarring than one night's rebellion.

"His little brother is dying, Arabelle," Vincent let out after various moments of hesitance, my breath hitching inside my throat at the words that'd escaped his mouth, eyes wide at the realization. "Cancer. His little brother has cancer."

At that moment, it all made sense. The conversation I'd overheard Mike and Dean having when I was kidnapped, when they mentioned a boy named Dylan and how he'd die if they didn't get the money, it all fell into place, as if that final explanation was the last piece to the puzzle that'd remained unsolved until that moment.

* * *

Against each and every single one of my complaints, my brother insisted in letting Dean stay the night, seeing as he was, after all unconscious and Vincent apparently didn't know how to get to his house. I'd thrown dozens of excuses at him, none of which seemed to work, and I eventually resolved in sending a now more sober Brianne desperate looks that pleaded for help, only earning a sympathetic look in response.

The mere thought of Dean Wilkins sleeping inside the same house that me repulsed me to no extent, because regardless of the new found information I'd only recently taken in, there was no excuse to what he did to me, and I wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.