There's an incessant tapping of knuckles on my bedroom door.

I don't even want to know what time I've slept in until today but my eyes are heavy and it still feels early. I'm also pretty sure it's Sunday, although it's easy to lose track of the week when your only plans are hiding under your duvet. I ignore the interruption and roll over.

The door creaks opens anyway.

"Not yet, Addie." I mumble into my pillow. I love her dearly but she has little to no concept of privacy or personal space. "Five more minutes."

"It's not Addie." My eyelids fly open. The hesitant tone does not belong to my excitable best friend - it's my mother.

We've hardly spoken since my sessions with Dr Thestle. I'm mad that she shared personal details about Harry and I with a woman neither of us know anything about...even if Thestle did make me realise that I've been in denial about Harry being the cause of my misery.

"Hi." I croak and watch as my mother strides across my bedroom and pulls my curtains open. I'm surprised to see her without a tray of food.

"Jules flies back tomorrow." She informs me and in the light from the window, I realise how tired she looks. The guilt constricts my chest. She'll struggle without her sister here, I know she will. "Marley's opens in half an hour. I was thinking the three of us could go for breakfast...like old times."

I'm stuck in that limbo of not wanting my mother to think she's off the hook but also wanting to please everyone given the stress I've put them under. Plus, I'm not going to see Jules again for months.

I press my fingertips into my temples and exhale. "Ok, sounds good."

It sounds like my mother exhales too; probably out of relief that I've actually agreed to do something with her that doesn't involve ignoring one another or yelling until we're blue in the face. The childish part of me still wants her to be reminded that this situation is not ok but I don't want to give her another reason to send me back to Dr Thestle. The last thing I need is that thin-lipped twig telling me I have 'issues letting go of my anger'.

"Great." Her voice is about as tired as her expression. "Can you be ready in half an hour?"

Half an hour? Does she think I'm superhuman or something?

I know there's no point in arguing.

"Sure."

The door clicks behind her and she's gone; blanketing me in the comfortable silence of my bedroom that I've become accustomed to. I don't really want to leave it; don't want to face the outside world that's too busy, too built up and too loud.

There's no sand out there. No ocean. No Harry.

And in the grand scheme of things - yes, it was only three weeks. It could have been months or even years before we were discovered. But I've already been home for three weeks and somehow this feels less real than the sand, the ocean and...Harry.

I push the covers away from me and pad over to the chest of drawers on the other side of the bed. Harry's hoodie is still folded on the wooden chair beside it, untouched since it came out of the washing machine three weeks ago. I've been tempted to wear it so many times, especially when I've felt at my lowest, but I just can't bring myself to do it. It feels like I'd be letting him off too easily as well.

And yet I can't get rid of it or even hide it from sight.

Aside from the nightmares and the memories and the ghost of his lips against my own - this is all I really have as solid evidence that Harry and I did share a bond for that month. And if it stays here in this room... then Harry hasn't completely left me.

I know my mother and Jules are probably sat waiting for me downstairs and I haven't a clue how much time has already passed since I was woken up. I tear my eyes away from what's left of Harry and haul underwear, jeans and a light sweatshirt out of the wooden drawers and change into them hastily. It's warm out but the English sun has felt cold since I got back. I'm not sure it'll feel truly hot ever again.

I run my straighteners through my hair and hover my hands over my makeup bag. Can I really be bothered? Do I really want to look good when I don't feel at all good on the inside?

No.

I lace myself into my converse; they're shiny and squeaky and the logo on the back looks a little too new for my liking but they were a 'welcome home' gift from Jules who had learned of the fate of my previous pair.

"Ready Sarah?" My mother calls up the stairs. I can see the two of them waiting by the front door the moment I step out onto the landing. Their arms are linked as if they're about to go out on an adventure and I wonder if they bonded much in my absence.

I think it's always bothered my mother somewhat that Jules and I are so close. I think their ten year age gap makes their differences outweigh their similarities but looking at them right now; huddled together in the doorway with their matching smiles and crow's feet - you'd never know. Surprisingly it feels like some of the weight that's been pressing on my chest for the last three weeks has lifted.

"Ready." I breathe when I hit the bottom step. They're both still cautious around me; hesitant to get too close or say something that'll send me spiralling into the rage I felt following the Late Late show airing. I hate that things are different now.

Jule's opens the door and gestures for me to lead. I step out into the sunshine and take a deep breathe as it envelopes my face. It's nothing like the burning sun that blazed over Harry and I; singing our skin and leaving us parched with thirst. It's almost baffling that it's the same sun. The sun that saw me at worst...although, is right now any different?

Marley's is only a short walk around the corner and one I know like the back of my hand. I've walked this route hand in hand with my parents and Jules, side by side with Addie and even alone before school or work when Shreddies and Coco Pops just weren't going to cut it for breakfast. It's not long before the sign looms up in front of us; red and white with the outline of a pancake stack drawn beside it.

I push the glass door open and am hit with a wave of nostalgia. It's been months since I came in here and it doesn't look at all different. It never does. My mother requests a table for three and we're escorted over to one by the window; overlooking the quiet street. I must have sat at every table in here, probably twice over too.

A menu slides across the table to where I'm sat and I look up to find my mother smiling at me. It looks a little forced. "What are you going to have, Sarah?"

Jules snickers from across the table and picks her own menu up. "I think we all know the answer to that."

She's right, I don't even have to look at the menu here, although I'm not entirely sure how hungry I really am. I smile weakly at the pair of them and lower my gaze to the laminated sheet in front of me; 'coconut porridge' seems to leap out from the page and my stomach performs an anxious somersault.

I don't think I can eat.

"Good morning, guys!" The voice is far too chirpy for my state of mind to handle right now. "Are we ready to order?"

The waitress is young; probably sixteen. Pink brackets line her teeth and her Marley's staff t-shirt is about three sizes too large for her petite frame. She's almost bouncing with eagerness to take our order and I think I've realised too late that I'm not even remotely ready for socialisation outside of my family and Addie.

"I think so!" My mother informs her before doing that typical thing where you look around the table for confirmation. "My sister and I will share a pot of tea for two and I'll have the cheese omelette with mushrooms, please."

I know my mother and Jules' orders as well as my own. Jules is about to get the full English without the tomato.

"And I'll have the full English, please, but could you take the tomato off?"

Called it.

"Sure, not a problem." The waitress chimes. Her tongue is poking out as she scribbles on the notepad. "And what can I get for you?"

I really don't want anything. Coming here was a huge mistake and as much as I don't want to disappointment my mother and Jules, I'm not sure I can go through with acting like everything is normal again. I don't feel even remotely normal.

I look up from my menu and they're all staring at me expectantly. My mother looks like she might be holding her breath and Jules' eyes have narrowed as if she knows exactly what I'm thinking. She usually does. I shake my head.

"She'll have a strawberry milkshake and the blueberry pancakes, please." Jules voice cuts through the awkward silence and suddenly my escape back to the comfort of my room is a distant memory. The waitress scribbles again, takes our menus and disappears. My lips slip into a pout.

"I know what you're playing at." She says through gritted teeth; leaning across the table and pretending to be looking at the condiments while my mother rummages through her handbag hunting for lip balm. I lean back in my chair, away from her and fold my arms across my chest.

I don't want the plane crash to define myself or the rest of my life but sometimes I just want to stand up and scream DON'T YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO ME? DON'T I DESERVE TO DO WHAT I WANT JUST FOR FIVE MINUTES? CAN'T YOU JUST GIVE ME A BREAK?!

I wouldn't dream of making a scene here - I probably wouldn't at home either - but I just feel like 'normal life' is being forced on me and I'm not ready. It's been three weeks but I. Am. Not. Ready.

The chinking of glass and china to my left confirms that the bubbly waitress has returned. She distributes our beverages and I manage to force out a reluctant 'thanks' before she disappears again with the promise of bringing our food over shortly. Jules is no longer watching me like a hawk; she's now showing my mother how to fix something on her phone while my mother pays no attention at all and pours tea into their mugs.

I roll my eyes.

Jules is now irate that my mother has asked her to repeat everything all over again but thanks her for the pouring the tea anyway. They look my way briefly before returning back to the task at hand and I start fiddling with the cream table cloth. I wonder what Addie is up to this morning and whether she is sick of trying to cheer me up everyday.

I know I would be.

"Ok! So, we've got the cheese omelette." She's back but only with two of our orders. She places a steaming plate down in front of my mother and then Jules. "And the full English without tomato."

They thank the waitress and immediately seize up their cutlery, poised to eat. I puff my lips out impatiently. I just want this breakfast to be over.

"Which leaves the blueberry pancakes. I've been told they're the best."

Jules drops her fork and gawps over the top of my head.

I know that voice.