ships of heaven } hayden

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: d3d3d3; width: 370px; padding-top: 10; padding-bottom: 20;] wretched, look at me, i've lost it melting on the table, in parking lots and markets. Tears had created a constant stream over the creases in Tiffany's face all day. In fact, the sorrow had hung in the air for the last couple weeks. Her elder brother was living no longer, and it was all her fault. If she would have been a little more persuasive, he wouldn't have ventured to the abandoned house with their parent's liquor. They wouldn't have found their way to a game of truth or dare. In the end, he wouldn't have fallen; therefore, he'd still be the Neal everyone knew and loved. At the very least, he'd be breathing instead of lying still in a dark coffin. Earlier that morning, Tiffany woke up in her bed with the same heaviness holding her down as it had since the morning after Neal's fall. Other than that, she couldn't say her routine was deeply altered by the detour to the local church. People were scheduled to arrive at nine o'clock in order to dodge the heat of the Chantilly summer. And they did. Dozens of cars poured into the quaint parking lot of the church to commemorate the man that Neal Kenneth Prescott had been. The very sight of people Tiffany and Neal had grown up since they were in diapers brought tears to Mr. and Mrs. Prescott's eyes. Tiffany needed to exercise her strength to hold back the tears as well. From the get-go, her cause was lost, but she pushed herself to stay solid for her parents until her defenses were exhausted. Only then did her tears fall without ever truly pausing. The elaborate ceremony carried out by local churchgoers touched the Prescott family. Their community had united for a meaningful occasion, and the amount of love Neal had accumulated over the years was present in the wet eyes of his friends and family. Tiffany imagined Neal wouldn't want to be remembered any other way had he been apart of the decision-making process. As morbid the thought, anyone who knew Neal Prescott would agree. The small details weren't worth his time if the result wasn't grand and intimidating. All Tiffany's life, she'd listened to Neal preach about the world and what he'd one day conquer. He'd never have the opportunity to live out his well-charted plans now. He'd been robbed of the many years he deserved, and Tiffany held herself responsible. During the burial, she felt obligated to say a few words about her deceased kin. After all, she knew him better than anyone in the crowd. Hayden was an undeniable second, but she was unable to find him at the end of her speech. Teachers, childhood friends, and their grandmother opted to say their kind words about Neal in Hayden's absence. Tiff found his disappearance strange. Hayden was Neal's best friend. There was nothing one would do without the other, and to be honest, Tiffany was offended by his weakness. If she managed to put on a brave face in front of everyone, she was absolutely positive Hayden could have done the same. She was sixteen years old. The death of her only sibling was not a tragedy she was supposed to live through during her youth. The box containing her brother was slowly lowered into the grave, Tiffany turned away. Once more, cars were loaded and led to a new destination. This was the final destination of her brother's ceremonies. There would be food and photographs. Memories were supposed to resurface in order to (hopefully) end the day's course on a high note. To be honest, Tiffany wasn't sure just how peppy anyone could be on the day of an eighteen year old's funeral. Neal hadn't even lived a quarter of his life according to the average lifespan of human beings those days. While her parents interacted with people, she stole to a quiet balcony in the building her parents booked for the day. Once alone, Tiffany looked out over the people clustered below. Their voices were distant from her perch. She couldn't have asked for a better moment to be on her own to once again try to come to terms with her brother's fate. words 687 | tagged hayden scott | OUTFIT notes </3 and SORRY FOR THE RAMBLE! made by owlgirl of caution 2.0

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[atrb=valign,top][STYLE=background-color: f8f8f8; width: 230px; padding: 10px; height: 250px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; line-height: 10px; color: 2c2927;]Of the worse events in Hayden's life, he had to admit that losing his dearest friend at the ripe age of seventeen was number one on the list. At eighteen, Neal Prescott had taken his own life. Hayden wished he could dramatically say, "I remember it clearly," but he could not. The moments were a blur, the police sirens fuzzy in his memory. If he could go back to that night, he would -- he had secretly Googled time travel on his laptop for the past few weeks. It seemed silly, but to Hayden, any solution would do. Neal and Hayden had been two peas in a pod since elementary school. Other bonds were created and teammates were encountered, but no one could possibly trump their bond. Now that Neal was gone, Hayden couldn't help but selfishly think about what he was going to do without him. Maybe it was his way with coping with the undeniable guilt in his heavy chest. His best friend had died before his eyes and, dammit, Hayden could not have done anything to save him after the conception of the tragedy. As Hayden sat in the very back of the chairs set down at the formal ceremony, he couldn't help but look at the mixture of friendly and some unfamiliar faces. Most of them he knew: Mrs. Baumgartner, his kindergarten teacher, Karen York, his next-door neighbor, Kenneth Stone, his current science teacher -- the faces were numerous and solemn, each honoring the death of one of the best men Hayden would ever know, even if he barely qualified in terms of age. Neal had died at such a young age. "Hello everyone," a voice said, provoking the mic's disgruntled squealing. A few people shifted while others covered their ears before it died down in a matter of seconds. At the podium stood a small figure. Even from the distance, Hayden could see Tiffany's bright blue orbs scanning the crowd. What she was looking for, he would never figure out. Seeing her made him feel worse about even coming there. He was commemorating a death that he had caused. It felt twisted, like a celebration of someone's passing. Hey guys! I did it! I killed my best friend! Hayden thought sardonically, buting his lip to stop himself from crying. Hayden had not cried for his friend just yet. Hayden wasn't a crier, but the devoid look on his face was also accredited to the fact that Hayden had no trouble with distracting himself. With youth group, sports, and chores, he had successfully dodged the thought of this day. Now that he was here, he was confronting stale emotions that were going to eat away at him for years to come. Nothing could soothe it, nothing but that feeble yet incredibly powerful smile of hope that Tiffany rewarded the group of people with. Hayden smiled almost bitterly and stood, making his way back to his car. He could handle it, yes, but something about listening to people say these great things about Neal made him feel dirty. He hated funerals. He despised the day he had to look down at his grandmother's dead body and wonder why people had to decorate her and make her out to be some angel. Even after death, people were people, human as human can be. Neal wasn't perfect. If Hayden could say a few words, he's laugh about how Neal used to stick twizzlers up his nose and get angry over stupid things. Then he'd tell them about how great Neal was. But doing one or the other seemed criminal, irritating even. His angst brought him to the mustang that was parallel-parked beside the funeral building. He stayed there until the crowd came out of the place, then he looked for Tiffany. After thirty minutes of walking around in the grass out front, no sign of her came up, so he chose to head back and meet her later -- that is, if she even wanted to talk to him. Hayden had abandoned her, a fact that he understood. As he drove to the rented structure where the Prescott family was hosting a final goodbye, he tried to remember what they had been doing that night. It brought him back to a thousand memories, numerous summers, and Christmas gifts shared between their families. Nothing could bring Neal back now. Had he been alive, he would have been in the passenger seat talking about world domination or pretty girls in their short shorts. No music came to fill that silence that came with Neal's absence. It was Hayden's personal form of minor punishment. The rest came later. Hayden parked far from the place, aware that he would probably be one of the first to leave. He checked his phone to see that his parents had been calling him since the funeral. When he saw their faces inside, he could see that his father had been drinking and that his mother was still crying and trying to discuss how much Neal meant to her to the Prescott parents. Tiffany was apparently on her own, which startled Hayden. He walked for fifteen minutes in a loop, wondering where she would choose to go. Thinking like Tiffany wasn't easy, so it was a relief when he saw blond curls and her black dress standing on the balcony. She was trying to get away from everyone. "Not thinking about jumping that, are you?" he asked without realizing how inappropriate the joke was. As he approached her, he bit his lip. "Bad joke. Sorry," he apologized. He put a hand on the small of her back as if it were his best option. He waited for her to turn to him. Did she have something to say to him? He waited for the pang of a slap on his cheek. [/style][STYLE=background-color: f8f8f8; width: 230px; padding: 10px; height: 30px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; line-height: 10px;][STYLE=background-color: 2c2927; color: f1f1f1; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: -1px; overflow: auto; height: 20px; padding: 5px; text-align: center;]tagged char as tiffany prescott ● notes One order of intensely tragic feels coming up. ● words 975[/style][/style]

[STYLE=font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px;]made by made by minnie of neverland[/style][/center]

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: d3d3d3; width: 370px; padding-top: 10; padding-bottom: 20;] wretched, look at me, i've lost it melting on the table, in parking lots and markets. Tiffany wasn't sure what she wanted more. On one hand, she couldn't possibly wait for the ceremonies to conclude. Speaking of, thinking of, and seeing Neal everywhere was beginning to prod awake a dangerous monster in the midst of her heart. In contrast, she hoped for Neal's memory to thrive. Honoring him helped him receive the justice he always boasted about but never truly acquired. Besides, the condolences of Chantilly's locals were almost therapeutic for her mother and father. People in the Virginian town certainly knew how to put her disgruntled parents at rest. Unfortunately, any solace from Tiffany's end was brushed away. Her words were rarely sincere. She'd always been an avid liar, but admitting Neal's death had been an accident tasted chemical on her tongue. Neal's death wasn't an accident. She'd killed him, watched him die. She was a monster. Seclusion was her punishment of choice. The silence allowed self-degrading thoughts to fester. No one deserved to live more than her dead brother. He'd been everything she wasn't: courageous, talented, animated, and dependable. Neal had been greedy in a way most immature teenage boys were. Despite his flaws, he never left anyone hanging. Neal was the perfect golden retriever puppy with stubborn streaks. He was the epitome of an all-American boy with an all-American dream to match. Not many knew of Neal's dreams beyond the superficiality he often preached. Tiffany had to pry Neal's mind open with tooth in claw in order for him to spill anything heartwarming and she was his sister! After awhile, she figured learning Neal's deepest, most personable secrets was too much work. She wished she had tried a little harder now that he was gone. Tiffany liked to believe that Neal's spirit still hung in the air. She'd never thought much of salvation and the process of earning her right into the gates of Heaven. Her time used to seem so far off. Neal's death proved her so very wrong, and she wondered just what sin she committed to earn a punishment so dire. Her parents would probably chide her for blaming their tragedy on faith alone. Tiffany thought she could shoulder the blame on her shoulders where it rightly deserved to be, but the grief was subsiding. Her mind, normally numbed with fault, was building immunity against the thoughts pointing an arrow in her direction. She was learning to escape her nightmares through the living, breathing world. Recalling Neal's obnoxious laugh was more impossible to do as each day passed. What would that mean in ten years? Would she be able to recall Neal's wide smile, his floppy blonde hair, or the way his eye twinkled when he thought of the future? "Not thinking about jumping that, are you?" came a voice, one she knew well. Tiffany banished the flutter of her heart to the back of her mind. Hayden Scott had arrived, and she couldn't decide whether to be angry or relieved to see him sticking around. His words finally registered. The balcony. The height. Tiffany shook her head, feeling the tears collecting in her eyes once again. A hand on her back forced her entire body to become tense. Had Hayden approached her a few weeks back and done the same, she probably would have died and revived in the exact same moment. Today, his touch felt cold and unwelcoming in the pit of her chest. He left her to fend for herself during the funeral. He just couldn't be trusted. Not anymore. "Neal wouldn't have wanted that," she said, her voice soft and broken. She laughed, bitter. "Besides, that would be too easy, wouldn't it?" Tiffany glanced at Hayden beside her. Her tear-filled eyes took in his wholesome frame. He was very much alive. His chest rose and fell with every breath. Her heart grew frantic as she realized just how close he was. Even in mourning, Hayden managed to ignite a fire Tiffany hadn't learned to extinguish. Hayden had been the object of her affections for so long, and now that Neal was gone, the simple possibility that no one was holding her back anymore tempted her to hang her head in shame. Tiffany laid her hands at her side. She caught sight of her mother and father holding hands, speaking with a group of people. She knew that she should be down there with them, but she couldn't bring herself to enter the shrine the event resembled. "I thought listening to stories of Neal would make me feel better, but it's only made me feel worse." She shook her head. In her mind, she was nothing more than Hayden-- a coward. words 773 | tagged hayden scott | OUTFIT notes D; SO SAD. SAD THOUGHTS. made by owlgirl of caution 2.0

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[atrb=valign,top][STYLE=background-color: f8f8f8; width: 230px; padding: 10px; height: 250px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; line-height: 10px; color: 2c2927;]Hayden didn't know Neal's little sister very well, but he could pick out details: Tiffany was pretty intelligent, studious, and not the kind of girl he would bring to a run-of-the-mill celebration. She wasn't a hard drinker. She was like most teenage girls, though, in the fact that she was constantly changing. Hayden had known her since they were children, but Tiffany seemed to be a pretty dynamic person. At her age, it made sense, considering the fact that Hayden's own personality alterations reflected hers. The only person who had a personality that would stay the same was Neal, and the only reason that was true was because he was dead. He had no more time to change, no more chances to become a different person. In Hayden's opinion, though, Neal was the perfect friend. His flaws only added to his character. He wouldn't have been the right kind of Neal Prescott otherwise. "Neal wouldn't have wanted that," a nearly unfamiliar voice responded to his foolish question. He bit his tongue, scrambling for a mildly competent reply. It didn't sound like the usually bubbly Tiffany he got to talk to. "I wouldn't either," he replied, almost out of breath. What was he supposed to say to the only person who could understand the way he was feeling? What else could he tell someone who was there to witness the exact same events? He had to comfort her. She was the only one who would ever understand what the two had seen on that fateful night. Additionally, she was in need of someone who could understand her. He took a look down from the point where they stood. Everyone looked so... normal. At that moment, Hayden realized that most people would move on. A lot of people were going to forget about Neal Prescott. They wouldn't remember his laugh, smooth as silver. They would forget about his senior prank ideas, girl advice, and love for his sister. In all truth, these details were what made Hayden certain that he would never, ever move along. Hayden didn't know what would be easy. After losing Neal, every choice, every action was a struggle. Life was never going to become easy for either of them, which they didn't know would come to prove true. Hayden would go on to become an aspiring doctor and foolish actor. Tiffany would become an incredible writer after graduating from Princeton. These choices would be affected by Neal's life and death. Neither of them were aware, but they were the two people who would be most altered by Neal's final breath. "Death doesn't sound so fun," he said dryly. He almost laughed out loud at how Neal would describe death. Maybe it was sick, but Hayden wanted to keep Neal in his mind. It was, counter-intuitively, his only shot at staying sane. "I, uh, couldn't even listen. So I guess you're the stronger of the two of us." His right hand rubbed the back of his neck while the other hung off the side of the balcony. Hearing Tiffany's wobbling voice was disconcerting, but he tried to stay at an arm's distance. They weren't best friends, so he couldn't gauge her emotions exactly. "Tiff," he started. He tried to catch her blue eyes with his own. "Look, I know..." What did he know? That the two had been the cause of Neal's death? They should have saved him. They shouldn't have been there that night. Had the two been more intelligent, Neal would have been with them. They would have been exploring the town, partaking in their usual adventures. Hayden felt as if he had been shot in the heart; he would have no one to share amazing moments with. Neal was the only person who Hayden thought would be in his life forever. "I can't believe he's gone," he breathed. [/style][STYLE=background-color: f8f8f8; width: 230px; padding: 10px; height: 30px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; line-height: 10px;][STYLE=background-color: 2c2927; color: f1f1f1; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: -1px; overflow: auto; height: 20px; padding: 5px; text-align: center;]tagged char as tiffany prescott ● notes Ohhhh, gosh. Char, your writing gets more beautiful with every post. ● words 642[/style][/style]

[STYLE=font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px;]made by made by minnie of neverland[/style][/center]

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: d3d3d3; width: 370px; padding-top: 10; padding-bottom: 20;] wretched, look at me, i've lost it melting on the table, in parking lots and markets. "I wouldn't either," Hayden replied. Tiffany's eyes shot to his face as soon as his words clicked. She was mystified by his honesty. As "in love" with Hayden as her friends claimed she was, she'd long since decided that Hayden was the one man she'd never intercept. How did she expect to measure up to his level when he was constantly spending his time with the better of the Prescott children? She was also one year his junior. He was more than likely interested in the college prospects he had yet to explore. They were fresh meat for him to stick his teeth into, and Tiffany was no more than a shriveled up steak, dried from the years of their affiliation. Out of all her schemes to grow closer to Hayden, none could trump the heart-wrenching scenario God had chosen. If Tiffany could choose between Hayden's affections and Neal's life, she'd choose the latter a thousand times. In fact, she'd take an eternal life of celibacy over the late death of her brother. Anything could be better than the cards she had been played. To Hayden's honesty, Tiffany didn't have an answer. The dreamer within had taken a vow of silence in honor of Neal. He had a point, however. Death sounded horrible, permanent, and incredibly daunting. If Hayden thought she was about to jump down to the formidable ground underneath their feet, he thought so very wrong. "I'm sure Neal would have liked to have a choice," she agreed. Her throat oozed bitter resentment. If they hadn't been so irresponsible and reckless, they wouldn't be at some freezing cold funeral home observing sorrow in its purest form. No, they'd probably be sleeping until noon, dressing, and heading off into the city for some odd, unjustified reason Neal came up with. He came up with the most outrageous justifications. Once, he'd pulled out Tiffany for the heart implant of their aunt in Nebraska. For awhile, people actually bought the silly excuse. Their reign of amnesty ended only when the principal asked Mrs. Prescott about her sister's surgery. In addition to a week of detention, the Prescott children were condemned to restriction for two. The same, old heartthrob pumped through her veins as the memory surfaced from who-knows-where. Not even ten seconds later, Hayden was confessing to the one thing Tiff thought he'd never admit. Her attention was instantly snatched. "Neal wasn't just my brother," she reminded him. "He was my best friend, too. I would have regretted keeping my mouth shut so I had to, even if it hurt to share his memory." She hastily brushed away a tear escapee. Her bloodshot eyes looked straight into Hayden's. "You should have said something, too," she told him earnestly. Her anger was beginning to bloom in the core of her being. "He referred to you as his best friend, and you couldn't even share a few words about him. Alex Daniels even went up and said something but you didn't." She shook her head. Alex Daniels was probably one of Neal's greatest rivals. Apart from being equally attractive and athletic, their egos clashed harder than two mountain goats atop the Rockies. Afterwards, she grew quiet. Very quiet. Hayden continued to fumble with his words, but she didn't pay too much attention to what he was saying. Alongside the guilt of Neal's horrible end, a new brand of guilt was beginning to stake its claim. She'd never snapped at Hayden before. If anything, she was always striving for the exact opposite. Bitches just weren't attractive. Tiffany ran a shaking hand through her golden locks to distract herself. The more she thought about previous wrongs, the more nervous she became. "I can't believe he's gone," Hayden finally breathed. Tiffany glanced in his direction only momentarily and nodded. "I went in his bedroom for the first time since..." She couldn't bring herself to say it. "... Since... y'know..." More tears streamed down her cheek, so she washed them away with her forearm. "And of all the things I could have thought, the first thing I noticed was the smell." Tiffany shook her head and dared to laugh. "The smell of a man," Tiffany recited, using her brother's precise words. In reality, it was nothing more than the scent of body odor and pizza, two things her brother wasn't ashamed of. words 734 | tagged hayden scott | OUTFIT notes your writing is always superb<3 made by owlgirl of caution 2.0

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[atrb=valign,top][STYLE=background-color: f8f8f8; width: 230px; padding: 10px; height: 250px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; line-height: 10px; color: 2c2927;]Contrary to popular belief, Hayden Scott had no idea about Tiffany Prescott's schoolgirl crush on him. They had known each other for so long that such a suggestion was ludicrous. If it made a difference, Hayden had never considered it in seriousness and considered Tiffany a friend, even a little sister sometimes. He felt protective of her when Neal wasn't around to watch over her. When she came to the high school, he made sure that no one messed with her. These intentions were never revealed, though, and he liked to keep them to himself. She meant something to him, though he didn't look at her like a woman to be in a relationship. Then again, Hayden only looked at Janine that way, a fellow senior who was in his math class. They hooked up here and there, and Hayden found himself vaguely attached, but it was high school. Now that Neal was gone, Hayden was certain that he wouldn't stick around Chantilly for long. He had things to do, places to see, so the ghost of Neal could live vicariously through his living, breathing counterpart. The words that escaped Tiffany's lips in response sent chills through Hayden's spine, but he concealed them well -- a natural actor's instinct. He didn't even try to smile meekly at her, deciding that it was useless to be the stronger of the two. He didn't even know her well enough to be a true source of comfort. She had every right to be angsty; she had every right to strike Hayden. In a way, that's what she was choosing to do: lash out at the person who had it coming for him. He had abandoned her. That fact banged on the walls of his mind, relentless. The bags under his eyes were a clear indication of his lack of sleep. The guilt of Neal's death and the Prescott family's pain haunted him. Awake or asleep, Hayden was subject to the torture of a nightmare. Nothing, though, could equate to what he could see in Tiffany's blue pools of eyes. Tiffany's words bit at Hayden's conscience, repeating the same words that he had been hearing in his mind since his dearest friend's death. He was quiet for a bit after she cut at him. What was he supposed to say? "Sorry" was nothing in a time like this. Nothing Hayden did could fix it. He was given one shot to speak for his best friend at the damn kid's funeral, and what had Hayden done? Bit back tears and watched his family cry? Judge Scott even spoke, and Hayden had been sitting in the back like the coward he was. Alex Daniels was Neal's known enemy, meaning he and Hayden were the two who knew Neal best on a primal level. They were the two guys who were responsible for carrying something from Neal's life to the rest of the world. What made matters worse was the fact that, in Hayden's darkest times prior to Neal's passing, he had considered Death knocking on his door. At those morbid times, Hayden knew that Neal would stand at his funeral to speak for him. Now that Neal was gone, the day would never come. Now that it was real in a flipped, fucked up version, Hayden knew that he had failed the only person who could have needed it. Words didn't come from Hayden as he stared at the handle of the balcony. He gripped it until his knuckles turned a milky white color. Hayden looked up when she spoke up again, and he was shocked to see the tears falling freely from her eyes. Even with her smarts, Tiffany had always been such a fun-loving person. He could remember going to movies as kids and playing with gumball machines. She was number two on the list of people who had more energy than Hayden, second only to her older brother. Today, she was a broken bundle of loss. He felt like he was standing beside melting ice as the tears ran down her face. She wiped them away, but her cheeks glistened with saltwater. She could never wipe those tears away, not completely. Hayden found himself putting an arm around her without even thinking about his movements. His jaw was clenched in an effort to prevent himself from reacting the same way. Now that she was breaking down, he had to be the strong one. He had to do it somehow because he had failed her so many times before. Neal would have wanted someone to protect his baby sister. Hayden didn't pull her too close, allowing her room to wiggle free. Hell, he didn't know if Tiffany even wanted to be comforted. If she didn't, he wasn't going to force her into his arms. He smiled a bit at the thought of the scent of Neal's headquarters. "Sweat and pepperoni," the boy recalled out loud. Hayden's room smelled like body odor and gas; essentially, the place was a replica of a locker room. Dirty clothes was usually strewn on the floor, stained with beer, vomit, or blood. In comparison, Neal's room was a garden. "What are they going to do with it?" he suddenly wondered. What would become of Neal's bedroom? [/style][STYLE=background-color: f8f8f8; width: 230px; padding: 10px; height: 30px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; line-height: 10px;][STYLE=background-color: 2c2927; color: f1f1f1; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: -1px; overflow: auto; height: 20px; padding: 5px; text-align: center;]tagged char as tiffany prescott ● notes Aw, thank you! <3 ● words 877[/style][/style]

[STYLE=font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px;]made by made by minnie of neverland[/style][/center]

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: d3d3d3; width: 370px; padding-top: 10; padding-bottom: 20;] wretched, look at me, i've lost it melting on the table, in parking lots and markets. There was something victorious about silencing Hayden, choking words from his throat. There really wasn't anything he could say from running away when he was needed most. He'd live knowing that his greatest friend was sent away without his support. Morbid and maybe a tad melodramatic, yes. Tiffany participated in theater for a reason. The entire trio played a part in the high school drama department. Many were surprised by Neal's dedication to the fine arts. It was so easy to assume he was nothing more than a jock, but he was so much more than that. He'd been one of the most talented actors on stage, next to Hayden. Tiffany always thought Hayden was a more passionate actor. Neal's thick head prevented him from truly accepting roles he'd been assigned. Even Mrs. Harold, the old director at their high school, agreed with her observations. At this point, Tiffany wished Hayden had some sort of legitimate excuse for skipping out on her brother's ceremony. She had no desire to contaminate the image she had painted of Hayden in her mind. He was hard-working and loyal to so many activities. Their church had a strong youth group because everyone pitched in. The small-town sports teams were brilliant by default. When there was little to do in a town, the high school athletic department became a whole head more interesting. As much as she loved Chantilly, though, Tiffany couldn't wait for the opportunity to escape. From that moment on, she wouldn't be Tiffany Prescott, that cutie down the street. Her reputation was tarnished by Neal's death. From that moment on, she'd be Tiffany Prescott, the sister of that hot, dead dude. Neal. Tiffany sighed. The months ahead would be the hardest she'd ever endured. Between the tacit sympathy and the hardships she forced herself to endure, many nights were spent in tears. Hayden's departure at the end of senior year would tear her apart, too. In her current state, feeling worse seemed unimaginable. Hayden's presence was annoyingly pleasurable. She couldn't put any amount of words together to describe just how she felt. And in turn, she was annoyed all the more. Hayden's arm wound its away around her then, as if knowing that her mind had been on him. Tiffany should have shaken him off, told him off, and stormed away. She couldn't. Her energy was depleted, and storming off meant rejoining the crowds with running mascara and tears staining her cheeks. Hayden's embrace was exactly what she pined for, and she wrapped her own arms around his frame, hugging him. This, of course, was one of the few "long" hugs she'd ever received from Hayden Scott, "long" hug being the term she used to gush to her friends with. Under normal circumstances, she may have sought out her best mates and retold a play-by-play. Today, in mourning, she wouldn't. Heather, a leggy junior who adored Neal, was stricken with grief. Tiffany had a hunch there was something more than obvious chemistry between her brother and the junior. With Neal, there was always a frightening possibility of more than "just friends". Tiffany preferred to keep her nose out of Neal's sex life. The first time she'd spotted a condom in one of his trashcans was evidence enough. Not once did she ask him about it. That was for him to know and for her, as his baby sister, to never find out. Neal's room had him written all over it, just as Tiffany's said a lot about her. "Sweat and pepperoni," Hayden confirmed. Tiffany nodded, unraveling her hands from his waist and turning from him. She'd been expecting his next question, and she wasn't sure she could answer him. "Nothing, yet," she replied sadly. "If I were to guess, I'd say my parents will probably make his room into an office. That's what they were going to do with it once Neal jet off to college." Her eyes glanced cautiously at the ground below, so menacing. She took a step back and peered at Hayden, shrugging. "I think it's better that way," she admitted. "My parents don't deserve to be reminded of him every time they pass by his room. They're good people." A thought passed through her mind, equally twisted as the rest. After a bitter chuff, she muttered, "Makes me wonder how I could have possibly turned out so rotten." words 733 | tagged hayden scott | OUTFIT notes sniffle.</3 made by owlgirl of caution 2.0

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[atrb=valign,top][STYLE=background-color: f8f8f8; width: 230px; padding: 10px; height: 250px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; line-height: 10px; color: 2c2927;]In the small town of Chantilly, death was not taken lightly. With Neal’s passing, people were reeling, unable to accept the truth that life was short and so easily demolished. All it took was a breath escaping from Hayden’s mouth to realize, as he stood on the roof of that abandoned building, that his best friend was gone. He remembered the numbness, the pungent smell of alcohol, and the darkness below. These memories made him shudder still. When he would be able to stop thinking about Neal, he had no idea. How does someone get over death? By the way Tiffany was behaving, Hayden was aware that death was an inescapable tragedy. The feelings would fade, yes, but Neal’s presence would never be filled. No friend in the future would fill that void. Selfishly, Hayden thought of what his summer would like without Neal. Little did he know, his parents would find plans for him before his senior year began. An office? Hayden’s inner monologue was incredulous. Hayden tried to put himself in their shoes and was unable to imagine turning his late son’s room into some boring, cold office. It would have been alright if he were leaving for college, but now that the place was stained with a dead boy’s stench and character, it seemed nearly inhumane to change it. Hayden wanted it to stay the same until he could just leave Chantilly. He wanted Neal to last in all other ways because he couldn’t last in his bodily form. If the room were altered, Hayden would lose a part of Neal that he would have been able to hold onto. Hayden opened his mouth to speak to the back that faced him until Tiffany spoke up. "Makes me wonder how I could have possibly turned out so rotten. He shifted his weight. The two were rotten together. What did they think they could do, just run away from the situation at hand? Did they believe that they could live their entire lives, enter college, and make families with this secret on their chests? How was that possible? The blame was theirs, but they were escaping it. Accidental or not, Hayden knew how wretched this awful deed was. It would always haunt him. He could feel its weight making a permanent home in his chest. Hayden realized that he had spent the one hug that would have been appropriate, so words were what he would have to lean on from here on out. With a particular strength in math and no help in literature, he felt clueless as to help her out with pathetic sentences. Most of what Hayden expressed was clear-cut, inappropriate for the ordeal that stood in front of him. He was supposed to say words that were soft and compassionate. He couldn’t think of them. He had been silent for a while now. ”No one deserves to lose someone,” he said simply but sadly. ”You’re not rotten, by the way,” he added as he stretched his arms into a straightened position and stretched them with his hands gripping the balcony. The words were casual, but Hayden’s eyes were anything but. The light blue had shifted to a broken hazel. They looked cloudy with worry. He shouldn’t be here. If Tiffany needed someone, it couldn’t be Hayden. It had nothing to do with those feelings she had for him, the connection that she felt for someone who was barely paying attention. She needed someone better, someone who could actually conjure words that could ease her pain. Nothing could come to Hayden’s mind, and he was near giving up. Of the two, Hayden was aware that Tiffany was far more linguistically adept than he. He could literally count how many times she had finished Neal’s sentences with better words than he would have used. He used curse words in abundance when he was in the mood. Hayden looked down at the crowd below him, wondering if he should let her go back to her family. By the looks of things, it seemed like it was the last thing she wanted to do. He was shocked that he wasn’t being shoved away for her to stand in her solitude. He wanted to help in whatever way he could – to heal whatever was broken inside of her – but he was aware that mending a broken heart was only possible from the inside. To fix her was to save what was left of the sweet Tiffany. He didn’t’ realize it then, but the bubbly, humorous girl next door was hardening a cold shell around her. ”Do you think it’ll ever get better?” [/style][STYLE=background-color: f8f8f8; width: 230px; padding: 10px; height: 30px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; line-height: 10px;][STYLE=background-color: 2c2927; color: f1f1f1; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: -1px; overflow: auto; height: 20px; padding: 5px; text-align: center;]tagged char as tiffany prescott ● notes y we such a good team ● words 772[/style][/style]

[STYLE=font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px;]made by made by minnie of neverland[/style][/center]

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: d3d3d3; width: 370px; padding-top: 10; padding-bottom: 20;] wretched, look at me, i've lost it melting on the table, in parking lots and markets. Tiffany was nailed to a railroad junction. Her mind refused to make way for the train to travel in either direction. Although she pined to hold onto Neal's memory until the end of time, living in the space where he had slowly matured towards the man he'd never become was agonizing. Sixteen years of her life had been spent observing Neal in a setting everyone took for granted. Rushing down the stairs on Christmas morning to scope out their presents under the tree, splitting the wishbone of a turkey on Thanksgiving Day, and hunting for Easter eggs in the backyard were all occasional memories that their weathered home held. Selling that sanctuary of bottled memories bought freedom from constant reminders. There was no amount of money Tiffany could pay to bail herself out of the guilty prison she'd created behind closed doors. A cup of bleach could do wonders to silence her thoughts, or perhaps a knife through the heart. She wasn't sure how fond her parents' insurance company would be if another Prescott fell cold to the Grim Reaper's wrath. Funerals weren't exactly cheap. Then again, suicide wasn't exactly an option, either. The coroner had ruled Neal's death a suicide. Murderous rumors circulated the town for weeks until Mrs. Prescott asked the police to stop searching. Tiffany had been one of the prime suspects in the case simply because her fingerprints had been read off of the bottle she, Neal, and Hayden had been binging off of. Hayden had probably been interrogated, too. She couldn't be one hundred percent sure. Hayden had been Neal's buddy, not hers, and his death had torn the gap between them wider. Aside from casual run-ins on the street, Tiffany hadn't spoken to Hayden at great length until now. Admittedly, his presence felt reassuring, as if not everything had been lost that night. Tiffany could feel Hayden's confusion radiating off of him like a heat wave. Words had never been his forte, nor Neal's. Literacy was purely hers, and that made her feel better. Writing was the only aspect of Tiffany Elaine Prescott that set her apart from her peers. When Hayden insisted that no one deserved to lose anyone, she nodded. "You're right. No one deserves to lose someone," she replied. "Neal didn't deserve to die in the first place. It should have been me. If this funeral was predestined, it should have been mine." Without a doubt, the turn-out wouldn't have been half as much. There was a reason why people referred to her as "Neal's little sister." Either a) they always saw her with Neal and they didn't know her name, or b) she possessed Neal's good looks and they didn't know her name. Sometimes, c) both a and c, applied. Neal had been a superstar in the small Chantilly community. Tiffany was a wanna-be groupie, the sidekick. She didn't know it then, but she'd one day grow into her potential. As a Princeton graduate, she'd set out to accomplish the goals she had set with Neal, and one day, she'd see her name scroll across the big screen. She was sulking now because she'd spent all her strength gifting solace to others. Her candid comments to Hayden were surprising even herself. He'd been the first to hear her thoughts aloud. He'd been the first to see just how much her bubbly demeanor had been lost along the way. She nearly spat at the idea of their situation improving. Do murderers deserve salvation? she nearly answered. The thought died away on the tip of her tongue, mouth agape with her unspoken words. "Things can only get better from here," she said instead. Hayden had officially become just another recipient of her half-heartened idioms. Tiffany wished to spill her thoughts all over the walls and floors, but she couldn't. No one deserved to learn of her labyrinthine mindset, not even Hayden. words 636 | tagged hayden scott | OUTFIT notes tortured souls... made by owlgirl of caution 2.0

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[atrb=valign,top][STYLE=background-color: f8f8f8; width: 230px; padding: 10px; height: 250px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; line-height: 10px; color: 2c2927;]Young death was the worst kind for obvious reasons: the parents and loved ones of the deceased human would constantly think about what kids like Neal could have become. He would have been a Hollywood actor, not some useless busboy. He was going to do things with his life. He was going to get some nice scholarship and go to a nice school and learn how to act like the stars. Now that he was gone, Hayden felt sickly inspired to do great things. While the two were extremely ambitious, they were still foolish, hotheaded boys who wanted nothing more from youth than booze and hot girls. Now, those pasttimes seemed so petty and revolting to Hayden. Little did he know, he was going to go deeper into his obsession with the loss of his dearest friend. In fact, he was a little bit shocked that he wasn't at the abandoned building with a bottle of Jack Daniels and tears streaming down his cheeks. Why wasn't he crying? The small blond figure beside him was obviously broken, even after speaking at her brother's funeral. What did that make Hayden other than absolutely pathetic? Tiffany's irrational words made him realize the depth of her self-inflicted wounds. She was blaming herself. Hayden was blaming himself. The two would never truly forgive themselves because death allowed no closure, not ones like Neal's. He was suicidal to the idiotic town of Chantilly. Hayden's mouth filled with bitter saliva that he wanted to spit down at the so-called guests of his best friend's goodbye party. They seriously believed that? What was worse is that Hayden had been questioned about the matter to see if he was even involved. His fingerprints had been found, of course, and Office Donovan had questioned him relentlessly for thirty minutes before Judge Scott, Hayden's father, had stepped in. How Hayden felt about the influential figure in town was complicated. He wasn't exactly a "dad" to Hayden, instead a man with meaty, strong hands that could move the whole town in whichever direction he wished. Hayden was from a well-to-do family. He had one younger sister, just like Neal. Maybe that was why Tiffany and Hayden got away with everything. He still remembered the questions and the guilt and the nightmares and the cold sweats. It all rushed to him again as he leaned against the balcony beside Neal's little sister, who was now alone with no older brother to hold her hand through life or make sure she didn't date bad guys. "Neal couldn't have lived without you," Hayden thought out loud. It was true. Maybe Tiffany could survive without Neal, which she would learn to do, but Neal wouldn't have. Neal was far less rational than the young girl and would have been suicidal if her blood had been spilled on his own hands. The thought shot chills through the upcoming senior's spine as he stared at the stone of the balcony. "I don't know if I could have dealt with you leaving, either. I don't even know how I'm dealing with this. I'm... I guess I'm not dealing with it at all." Hayden had no closure: no tears, no real goodbye, not a word to his parents about the matter other than the "I want to go to my room" excuse. They couldn't get him to talk, not if they tied him up and tortured him to his last strand of life. Admittedly, Hayden knew Tiffany as Neal's little sister. In little time, he would come to know her as her own person. She would break out of that shell. In all honesty, nobody would ever know if that would have occurred without Neal's untimely death. "These people are going to forget," he nodded in response to her marginally optimistic comment. She couldn't have meant it because, if her heart was in the same condition as Hayden's, she could see no end to this pain. Hayden's heart felt like it was a permanently clenched fist: painful, relentless, and constricted. He felt like no blood was flowing and no tears could fall. He was cold, but that would wear off. Tiffany, on the other hand, didn't have the same fate. "You're not staying up here forever, Miss Tiffany. I won't allow it," he smiled meekly, tapping her hand as if he would drag her down. [/style][STYLE=background-color: f8f8f8; width: 230px; padding: 10px; height: 30px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; line-height: 10px;][STYLE=background-color: 2c2927; color: f1f1f1; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: -1px; overflow: auto; height: 20px; padding: 5px; text-align: center;]tagged char as tiffany prescott ● notes y we such a good team ● words 726[/style][/style]

[STYLE=font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px;]made by made by minnie of neverland[/style][/center]

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: d3d3d3; width: 370px; padding-top: 10; padding-bottom: 20;] wretched, look at me, i've lost it melting on the table, in parking lots and markets. Wow, the death of her brother really did knock Tiffany out of whack. Wondrous fantasies of she and Hayden eloping in the countryside weren't flashing through her mind. The gentle tug inside her to finally kiss him wasn't taking its effect, either. Silence. The department in charge of obsessing over all-things-Hayden was given a day of rest in honor of Neal Kenneth Prescott. May he rest in peace. Without the foolish need to impress him, Tiffany felt relatively refreshed. She wondered if she'd always feel so desolate in Hayden's presence from that day forward. Was her brother's death the nasty remedy to the fever only Hayden Scott infected her with? She sighed. Her mind ached with all of the philosophical questions she'd been firing, one after another. After awhile, wear minds grew tired, and Tiffany didn't have the motivation to continue questioning God's true purpose for life. She'd probably learned about His motives somewhere along the line. Alas, she could not recollect such topics. Instead, she mulled over Hayden's last words. It turned out she couldn't look at words for what they were. Her analytical mind instantly picked apart his sentences on auto-pilot. Neal couldn't live without you. Sure he could. He had thrived as a young infant. For two years, too. For whatever reason, she didn't find his confession genuine. The last portion seemed honest enough, but there was no possibility he'd be abashed by her departure. He didn't see her any different than anyone else. To Hayden and the rest of the word, she was Neal's little sister, she thought again. His strained effort to bring hope to the dark cavern her mind had transformed into was gracious. His work had no effect whatsoever, but the thought alone meant wonders to her. Tiffany was sick and tired of hearing "I'm sorry for your loss." First of all, someone had to be sick and full of hate to not feel sorry about an eighteen year old boy's demise. Secondly, Neal wasn't simply her loss. Chantilly in its entirety lost a strong, determined individual; not just her. As much as Tiffany wanted to boast about how she was handling Neal's passing, she couldn't find the words to speak. She hadn't mastered the deathly art of grievances. If anything, grief had conquered her, not the other way around. Their pain was relentless, infinite. No matter how fast she ran, the ghosts would always be quicker. There was no escaping the truth that she'd been laced with the murder of her brother. Judge Scott's influence in the case probably saved her more than anything else. Neal had never been in trouble with the police directly, but he'd come close had he not been able to talk straight lies. He'd been an honest man with an uncanny ability to speak in riddles. Tiffany wasn't sure how he managed to follow through each time. She was a bit of a saint when rules were concerned and Satan simultaneously in more ways than one. "Yeah," Tiffany replied, incredibly late and distant. Her mind was on one person and one person alone. Neal. Below, more food was beginning to pile onto the tables. Their guests looked ravenous from her perch. Lines formed on each side of the buffet table, and the sound of plates and silverware soon followed. Up until that point, Tiffany didn't realize how hungry she'd been. Her stomach gurgled in agreement. "You're not staying up here forever, Miss Tiffany. I won't allow it," Hayden interjected into her thoughts. Tiff scowled. The very idea of joining all those people, eating some of Neal's favorite dishes, washed away her hunger in an instant. "I won't stay up here forever," she insisted. "I'll just stay until everyone leaves..." Her bright blue eyes met his sheepishly. She doubted Hayden would agree with her weak excuse, but her faith never wavered. He had to know how it felt to yearn for solitude. words 657b| tagged hayden scott | OUTFIT notes can i just love them forever? made by owlgirl of caution 2.0

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[atrb=valign,top][STYLE=background-color: f8f8f8; width: 230px; padding: 10px; height: 250px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; line-height: 10px; color: 2c2927;]As children, Hayden and Tiffany had been inseparable along with Neal and Peyton, Hayden's little sister. Peyton had developed a small crush on Neal (as most Chantilly girls had grown accustomed to doing) and was in the crowd below, mourning the young man's death. Now that the four were older, their childish behaviors were banished with parties, school, and sports to replace them. They no longer played pretend or threw sand at each other on those rare family vacations at the Virginia Beach. Now that they were aged and just a tad bit jaded, they felt empty, devoid of those silly dreams. Even possibilities that had been realistic were now useless to Hayden. What would the world be without Neal Prescott? What could Hayden do if he didn't have his best friend with him to pay half of the rent while they lived in LA and chased incredible acting careers? They used to joke about sleeping with gorgeous supermodels and drinking thousand-dollar wine. Now, those dreams were buried six feet under the ground with the friendships that were losing their flavor. Now that the three survivors of the fantastic four were almost adults, it seemed ludicrous to feign friendship. That was why Hayden was questioning where he stood. Tiffany had every right to despise him. Despite that thought's insistence in his mind, he was standing beside her, saying words that probably meant close to nothing to her. Maybe Hayden thought it'd be nice if she could just listen to someone talk and to let someone distract her from the awful vultures below. It felt like a crime to even consider leaving her when she was in this state. He couldn't remember seeing Tiffany cry outside of her youth. He was sure that she had cried at some point at a party; Neal liked fights and most teenage girls couldn't handle too much alcohol. These images, however, didn't resurface as he considered how downright rare it was to see any Prescott cry. He felt like his only offer was to hold her, but it just didn't feel right -- not here and not now. Instead, he was a useless figure, a nearly motionless silhouette. There was nothing he could do to soothe her sickness. Only time could do that. Hayden felt like it should have been raining. It didn't feel right for it to be such a nice night. For a Chantilly summer, it was pleasant. The sky was clear enough to display the stars above. Hayden knew that he would probably be breaking into the football field that night to look at stars and talk to God. He had some cuss words to throw at the big man upstairs. Hayden was full of faith, but he had something bottled up inside of him that was knocking on the door to come out. He would throw rocks at the sky and ask what he did to deserve this loss, what Neal did to deserve the worst kind of death in the pile of small-town occurrences. Then, God couldn't tell him anything reasonable, and Hayden's parents would drag him to the old church at the end of his street like they did every Sunday. It would take a few years until his faith would feel any better. Loss had a tendency to do that to someone. Hayden could smell the food from their throne of grievances, and he had to admit that he was famished. He heard Tiffany's stomach mumble an agreement. She denied his invitation to go down and stick it out. Maybe it was Hayden's turn to be the brave one, considering she had taken the post for speaking at a dead boy's funeral. She deserved to make a choice, and Hayden was in no condition to actually drag her down. He took the hand that had brushed hers and adjusted his tie. He saw his mother waving him down. Of course, they weren't exactly in an inconspicuous place. The adults knew, though, that Tiffany and Hayden probably didn't want to be bothered. It probably looked suspicious, but Officer Donovan was too busy drinking and flirting with someone else's wife. Hayden turned to Tiffany. "I've got your back, then," he offered valiantly. He cocked his head to the side. "Don't you want me to bring you something to eat?" he asked her politely. [/style][STYLE=background-color: f8f8f8; width: 230px; padding: 10px; height: 30px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; line-height: 10px;][STYLE=background-color: 2c2927; color: f1f1f1; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: -1px; overflow: auto; height: 20px; padding: 5px; text-align: center;]tagged char as tiffany prescott ● notes BOO! ● words 723[/style][/style]

[STYLE=font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px;]made by made by minnie of neverland[/style][/center]

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: d3d3d3; width: 370px; padding-top: 10; padding-bottom: 20;] wretched, look at me, i've lost it melting on the table, in parking lots and markets. Tiffany knew her cover would have eventually been blown. She'd chosen an obvious place to watch over her town, reveling in Neal's memory. In a way, her silent vigil reminded her of the extensive games she used to play as a toddler. Much like other little girls, she was a firm believer in playing games with imaginary friends, sparkly tiaras, and inflated princess-inspired gowns. Her stuffed animal collection had also been replete. From puppies to unicorns, Tiffany had them all. If Tiffany could warp time and return to that day and age, she probably would. The acne of puberty and her first heartbreak were hell to tolerate at the time, but she'd give anything to have her brother in her arms again. She'd warn him of the dangers of alcohol, specifically outlining his unfortunate fate despite the possibility she'd create a paradox. Any measure to ensure Neal lived longer than he had in this life was an improvement. Not even Dylan Lawlor could have shattered her heart into so many pieces. Here she was, sixteen and broken. Tiffany wasn't sure where she wanted to direct her life now that the compass she'd relied on for so long was broken, dug deep under the ground. She'd given up her own map a long time ago to take a tour on Neal's outrageous tour. At the time, everything had been glamorized. Large mansions, red carpets, and the Grammy's sure did fit nicely into the dreams of four ambitious teenagers. Tiffany always told her brother that he had a fair chance in retail if acting ever fell through. He'd usually glare. Neal had a deeply-rooted hatred for price tags and dressing rooms. "I'm glad you have so much faith in me, Tiff," he'd say. Her alleged compliment was an insult to his ego. Tiffany realized her wrong a little too late. Personally, any job would be just dandy in her eyes. She'd always embraced the small town stereotypes fondly. Marrying a childhood friend, having children, and bringing them up in her own hometown weren't ideals she despised. At the beginning of the year, she couldn't say she'd be happy anywhere else. Tiffany was aware of Neal's vivid dreams, but she'd never believed their wishes would be granted. Her head had obviously been screwed on tight. Neal chased unrealistic dreams because he couldn't stand Chantilly. Tiffany pined for literary recognition, but the fact of the matter unveiled that she'd be perfectly happy taking on a position at the local paper. Not anymore. Over the course of a few weeks, Tiffany had decided that she'd be anything but content spending her years in the town she was born and raised in. As obnoxious as Neal's aspirations were, he wouldn't have obsessed over them if he didn't believe they were attainable. Tiffany wasn't worth two cents as an actor, but she knew how to write. She'd go on to become one of Hollywood's best, or so she hoped. Mrs. Scott's arms waved from below, and Tiffany visibly flinched at the recognition. She wasn't as invisible as she wished she could be. At the moment, she wanted nothing more than to be transparent. "I've got your back then," Hayden told her. This response, she wasn't afraid to say, surprised her. Neal would have dragged her down the stairs by the hair if he'd spotted her standing alone. He'd probably accuse her of stalking someone below and proceed to assure her that he knew a great therapist in town. "Don't you want me to bring you something to eat?" he asked. Tiffany gnawed on her lip. A million and one ideas were rushing through her mind. Finally, she shook her head. "That won't be necessary," she told him softly. Her idle hands returned to her side. "I'll probably regret hiding out up here. Besides, I need to be down there for my parents." She smiled weakly and offered him her hand to hold. The gesture was uprooted from innocence, mostly. As far as she was concerned, her flame had been spluttered. Neal's tacit objections had been the only factor holding her keen interest. words 690 | tagged hayden scott | OUTFIT notes TWENTY. and hopefully not too rambly. made by owlgirl of caution 2.0

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[atrb=valign,top][STYLE=background-color: f8f8f8; width: 230px; padding: 10px; height: 250px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; line-height: 10px; color: 2c2927;]Having Neal as a friend had changed Hayden beyond compare; now that he was gone, Hayden felt like he had lost that compass he had relied on for so many years. He remembered allowing the other boy to pick his fights for him. Even if Hayden had a temper of his own, a great deal of his life had been so influenced by Neal that the two had few, though distinct, differences in their personalities. The two were temperamental and undoubtedly idealistic, yes, but Neal had retained far more initiative than his younger counterpart. Even as Peyton's older brother, Hayden didn't feel like he had much responsibility when it came down to being the head of the house. Judge Scott was always on top of the manly matters, fulfilling the stereotype of a typical American dad while retaining his passion for law and order. In Chantilly, there were few people of influence, but each of them knew each other. Most of them, in fact, lived on the same street. When murder struck the small town and the Prescott's were under intense inspection, Judge Scott and his wife felt inclined to hold their hands. Even from the distance, Hayden Scott could see the sadness and despair in his mother's eyes, Peyton's distraught movements as she picked up food he knew she probably didn't have the appetite to eat, and, oddly enough, his own father's grief-stricken, slumped body. Hayden was beginning to wonder if they would ever be the same again. When Tiffany Prescott finally decided to come with Hayden for food after a bit of consideration, he felt relieved. Selfishly, he thought of how convenient it was that he didn't have to be responsible for a young woman's empty stomach. More importantly, though, he could see that Tiffany just needed something to relax her. When Hayden felt like he had demons to resolve, he tried to find an algorithmic solution. When he exhausted his options, he tried using a logarithm. In this case, he could see one clear-cut choice: the two had to face the music. Hayden didn't know it then, but there would be a day in his life when he would realize that Tiffany would be the only person who could understand Hayden's death. Without that support, he would have nowhere to reach to when it became a grueling effort just to look in the mirror. Nothing he did would ever make up for basically murdering his best friend. The thought gave him chills, and when he looked at the hand that stretched out to hold Tiffany's, he wondered how it could look so young. He should have had the hands of Death. Hayden thought nothing romantic of the gesture and took her hand with a smile. As oblivious as he could be, he had been told my a few sources of Tiffany's minor crush on him. Unaffected by such claims, their friendship had been successful. Now that they had gotten through the very worst of it together, Hayden didn't know what could happen. Would they be able to look at each other's faces after the storm passed? Now that Neal was gone, would he adn Tiffany have anything to talk about? Would they have anything in common? He was a math prodigy while she was bound to be an English major. In the long run, it seemed illogical to even attempt to continue his relationship with this girl. Whatever they had once shared seemed like two wooden planks in the ocean, held together by a wad of gum. It was bound to snap at some point. Even with this thought in mind, Hayden led the younger girl down and into the crowd. "I hope you're ready," he breathed close to her ear, his heart suddenly rising. "I, uh, don't know if I am." Seeing the familiar faces caused a rush of blood to the head, and as he glanced at Tiffany, he wondered how she could have mustered speaking in front of them. Some faces looked blank while others looked confused. He spotted his parents and made sure his hand stayed in contact with his friend's as the two approached the adults. "We were looking for you everywhere," Hayden's mother said in a gentle voice. "Oh, we were just talking," he replied politely. He and his mother were always cordial, but he didn't like getting close to adults. He reeled against authority. Peyton approached the group that had formed, and Hayden could just see how lopsided their family-friend dinner nights would become. Without Neal, they had become an odd number. [/style][STYLE=background-color: f8f8f8; width: 230px; padding: 10px; height: 30px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 9px; line-height: 10px;][STYLE=background-color: 2c2927; color: f1f1f1; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: -1px; overflow: auto; height: 20px; padding: 5px; text-align: center;]tagged char as tiffany prescott ● notes Delayed! ● words 762[/style][/style]

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