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"What are you doing here, Clay?" The party thumped loudly downstairs, with a bunch of teenagers consuming too much alcohol and smoking too much weed. Clay's head whipped around. He thought the hoodie did an okay job of protecting his identity, but maybe Tony had a point. Perhaps he should invest in a superhero mask or something. "Man, I never would have figured I would see the great Clay Jensen at a rager. It must be like an aurora borealis event or something." He looked at the girl speaking, and didn't bother covering up the once over he did. Short brunette hair, short shorts, black hoodie, complete with a red Solo cup. "I come to parties sometimes.""Yeah? Which ones?" Her mouth quirked as she took another sip from her cup. She was very pretty, and talking to him. Was this what he came here for? He half-smiled in return. "Study ones, usually." She gave a barking laugh at that, nodding in approval. "Yeah, that sounds right." She turned to the liquor table and poured a few more shots into her cup, with an inkling of generic cola, before turning back around and grabbing his hand. "You and I should have a private conversation, Mr. Jensen."If Clay had to figure out why he was letting this mystery girl whisk him away to a private room upstairs, he could pinpoint a few reasons. He wanted to forget, and strangers are a good way to not have a past. He was starved for human contact. He wanted to not be good for a little while. This particular decision had many little reasons behind it, and hell, since he was aware of at least most of them... why not?They settled on a room with a king bed and a lock, leading both of them to believe that it belonged to the parents of the purveyor of this little shindig. Mystery girl made a run for the bed, jumping and somehow not spilling any of her drink. Once she settled in, she patted the spot beside her. "Come on, Clay. I've got enough liquor and room for two." He hesitated a moment, trying to figure out if he was ready for this. He had no condoms, she seemed like she was already tipsy, and oh yeah, he had no idea who this girl was. Maybe he'd seen her in between classes a few times, but that told him nothing of her character. What was her goal here?"Clay. I'm not going to bite. Please, just sit down." He let out a breath, and sat next to her. She put down her cup, laced her fingers in her lap, and then looked at him "So. Hi.""Um... hi.""You don't know who I am, do you?"He hesitated a moment before responding, "I'm sorry. No." She grinned, and let out another bark of a laugh. "No no, that's okay. That's good.""Well... who are you?""What if I don't want to tell you?""Look, I'm sorry, I don't know what you want from me, but-""You volunteer at the crazy hospital, right?" A sudden chill went through his blood. He hadn't even told his mother about his volunteering. Well, he had... he just never specified which hospital. "It's okay that you do.""How did you know that?" The sound of vigorous thumping swept through the air, and the girl kept picking at a thread on her sleeve. If he learned anything at that place, it's that picking at clothes or other items is usually a sign of anxiety. What does she have to be anxious about? She's the one that trapped him here.Well, maybe that's the cause for the anxiety. "Can I ask you something, Clay?""You haven't answered a single one of my questions.""Why there?" He froze. "I mean, you were in love with Hannah Baker. You lost your shit when she killed herself, and I know Tony. You almost did it too. So why volunteer at a place with nothing but people who want to die?""I guess... I guess..." All he could hear was the blood in his ears and Hannah's voice in his head, and he had nothing else. "I guess I just want to help people so they don't feel that way.""What about you? Do you still feel that way?""No, I-""Because I've seen you bum around parties with eyes like empty glass, and that doesn't look like someone who's feeling okay." Clay stared at the patterns on the comforter and tried to quiet the noise in his head. How could he be okay? Hannah Baker was dead, and every single thread in her case was left ragged, left out to dry in a hurricane. How the fuck was he supposed to be okay?"That's fair." Shit, did he just say all of that out loud? His eyes snapped to hers, and he suddenly became very aware of how close she was sitting. "Tell me, have you ever heard the doctors in there say 'it's okay to not be okay?' Because I think that's my favorite line." Tears started to roll down his face, and the mystery girl took his hand. "I've been watching you for a while now." She glanced over to see if he would react. His face gave nothing away. "I never knew Hannah, but sometimes I feel like I did." This he reacted to. His hand gripped hers tight, and his gaze shifted to her face. Her eyes were staring at a painting in front of them. Some Pointillism piece of a mother holding her young daughter's hand. "What do you mean?" He watched as her pink tongue licked her lips, and he began to recognize that far-off drunken glaze to her eyes. She carried herself well for someone who was intoxicated enough to pour six shots into her cup, but Clay knew. He'd been around enough teenaged alcoholics in his short time on earth to understand her red flush and candid speaking, but he still gripped her hand tightly. Something about her tethered him to the earth instead of the other way around, and this caused him to reach over and pick up the red cup. He took a large breath, thought about pink-edged daisies, and chugged the contents. He would need water after that little stunt, but at least he could be on a level playing field with mystery girl. At least he would be able to stay toe-to-toe with her and her life. She watched his display with sunken doll eyes, and for some reason, felt so safe. "You didn't have to do that.""It is a party.""That's not why you did that and we both know it.""Why are you here? Why did you come find me?" At last, a small spark, a flicker of light in the sconce. "Because Clay, Hannah is not the only Hannah around." His eyebrows furrowed at the statement, but the lack of food in his stomach made his mind go fuzzy. That was quick. "What do you mean?""Clay, I only wanted to tell you that when people tell you that you can't blame yourself, they're right." She searched his eyes, trying to make sure he was still listening, that he would hear this. "I tried to kill myself about a year and a half ago."She paused for a moment to gauge his reaction. He looked so sweet, so hurt. His hand left hers and wound itself around her shoulder, and she leaned in. A comforting wash of laundry detergent came over her, and she kept going. "I know I have people that love me. I knew it then, too. I had a therapist. I had medication. I still tried, Clay. Because no matter how many reasonable voices chime in, no matter how much alcohol you consume to dull the noise... it doesn't go away. The noose tightens over a period of time, not events."It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's." His head swam, and the girl's plump lips were inviting. But she was talking, and this was important. If this was Hannah...If this was Hannah..."What can I do? What do you need me to do?""Tell me it'll all be okay."He searched her eyes, and suddenly he felt as sober as her eyes looked. No glass now. Was it all an act? No, suicide is sobering. He knew that. "It's going to be okay... what's your name?""Rachel.""Rachel. It's going to be okay, Rachel." Her eyes searched his, and she saw his mouth part. "Kiss me."His mouth slid over hers, and the hand on her shoulder curled into her hair. ---"That was some fight, huh?" Clay barely registered the voice as he watched Skye walk away. It was another fight about how he wasn't asking her out, and he didn't know how to reject her without hurting her feelings. Why is it so hard to explain to someone that there's nothing wrong with them, they just aren't right?"Because people need reasons and someone to blame. No reasons means nothing they can change." He finally tore his gaze away from Skye's retreating back and settled it on the source of the voice. There she was, this time wearing black jeans and a black hoodie. "Why are you wearing that thing? It's like 90 degrees out." She smiled, and started picking at the cuff of her jacket. "Have you ever had an article of clothing where you're so set on wearing it, because you love it so much, that you just vow to yourself, 'I will wear this jacket on this day no matter what because I want to?'" It was Clay's turn to smile, because he in fact did have an article of clothing like that. "I concede your point.""What's wrong with you and that girl?""Well, to be honest, you seemed to have a pretty firm grasp on the situation.""That's what she said." A giggle emerged from Clay's mouth, before erupting into full-blown laughter. She laughed with him, obviously proud of her joke. They continued on for a minute or so, before the laughter died down to an intermittent chuckle. "Say, uh," she started. "Do you want to go get some coffee? I could use some coffee." "Yeah, definitely." He took a pause. "Just, um... not Monet's, if that's okay?""I have a coffee pot. And my parents aren't home." She looked at him and gave a small smile. "Not that I'm suggesting anything lascivious, it's just that being alone in a house with parents is somehow not nearly as private as being at a table in a coffee shop.""I concur. Shall we?" He held out his hand, and she wasted no time in grabbing it. "We shall." -Despite the promise of nothing lascivious, Clay found himself on top of this girl, in her room, on her bed. He carded his fingers through her hair and reveled in her breathy moans as he kissed along her neck. Her skin was a perfect alabaster, with a few smatterings of freckles. He inched his mouth closer to the neckline of her shirt, and her moans grew louder. She gripped his neck as his hand slid up her shirt, stopping to rest on top of her bra. "Clay."A creature of training, his head popped up immediately as his hand disappeared from her body like a magic trick. "What's wrong, are you okay?" She smiled at him softly, sitting up to face him. "You still haven't stopped to wonder why I'm here?""Well it's... I mean, it's your house, right?""Right," she began slowly. "But how did I find you? How did a Hannah replacement come to you?"Truthfully, Clay did wonder. He wondered if maybe it was all a hallucination; or, perhaps he did jump that night, and this was all a comatose dream. He also wondered if Hannah's story had just attracted a bunch of like-minds looking for someone to save them. He wondered if this was his second chance to not fuck up this time. "I've thought about it. I've been curious." He sat back on his heels, and in the back of his teenaged mind, wondered why it was so difficult for him to get through the act of getting laid. Her brow furrowed, and he thought it was remarkably cute. Surely they could wait to care for another hour or so?"Kiss me."-------"What if you're my dream girl?""Excuse me?" "Hear me out." He put down his pencil and closed his book on it before looking into her eyes. He had seen them before. He wasn't sure where, but he had seen them before, and he wondered if perhaps the soul of Hannah was housed somewhere in there. "What if you're my dream girl? And Hannah was like... she was like... preparation. She was who showed me who I was supposed to be with, so I could be ready.""I think that might be the most fucked up thing you've ever said, Clay." Her eyes flashed with anger, and suddenly, Hannah was gone. It was just him and this girl he met randomly at a party, who knew more about him than she had the right to. "Well then what the fuck?" he gritted out. "What is this? What's going on?" Someone shushed him in a far corner of the library, but he had enough. There were enough mind games played with him these past months, enough mysteries with barely any clues, enough emotional strife and second-guessing. Why couldn't things just be normal?""You wonder why things can't be normal, yet you don't question how I answer your deepest darkest secrets like I have the script of your mind with me."At this, Clay's jaw clenched. "You wonder why it feels like Hannah is housed within me, and you don't stop to think that maybe, she's housed in you. "Every time you jack off and every time you see my hair and you ask me why I'm wearing a long jacket in the heat, you don't wonder why the universe drew this parallel for you. And you don't stop to think why every time we end these little discussions, you ask me to kiss you."---"Kiss me." He would not stop this time. His mouth slid over hers, and his hand went under her shirt with conviction. Her moan set his nerves on fire, and he felt tight in his jeans. He kissed down her neck, nipping at where the neckline of her shirt covered the rest of her chest. She wasn't stopping him this time, and somehow, he knew she wouldn't. He pulled her shirt off and clumsily unhooked her bra, and she unbuttoned his jeans and yanked them off with his boxers. Clay felt like he should grab the condom from his pants, but knew it would not be unnecessary. When he glided inside of her after the fourth time trying to figure out where he was going, they both let out a breath they didn't know they were holding. Clay held her face in his hands, and kissed her temple. They both quickly became sweaty, but he felt so amazing when he figured out that she really didn't care. She smiled up at him, and he smiled back. Clay slowed his thrusts, and she murmured her discontent. He slowed, and slowed, until both of them were still in the night air. Her eyes glowed gray in the moonlight, and the sweat glistened on her forehead. She was beautiful, she was angelic. She was everything. "I love you." It came out softly, naturally. With her head cradled between his hands, he continued to thrust. A small smile graced her lips, and her hands locked around his neck. "I love you too, Clay. Kiss me."-----Clay woke up; not with a start, but with a sigh. He felt her all around him, and finally, he could say her name. "Rachel."