I returned two days later. The original plan was to go the very next day, but my sleeping schedule only gave me a small window of daylight, and my dad had offered to take me out to dinner.

There were only a small handful of restaurants in a thirty-mile radius, most of them diners designed for truckers.

Which means going out to eat is a silver dollar pancake fest.

"Are you excited for college?" This is most of what my dad talks about anymore. Mostly because he dreads it, which makes my heart ache every time he brings it up.

"Yeah, it should be fun."

"You'll do great, I mean you got into Chapel Hill, you've got brains," he took a huge bite of scrambled eggs, "you didn't get that from me."

I cringed, my father wasn't dumb by any means. I figured he put himself down so much as a result of my mother's condescending nature.

"You're not stupid."

"Thanks Bowen-arrow." He used one of his personal favorites from my long list of nicknames.

I would miss him, my sister lives with my mom most of the time. He would be lonely without me there, and the guilt got worse with every day.

I shivered at the memory of it as I made the trek to the shack the next day.

Honestly I didn't look forward to college. I hated school. I mean I could do it just fine, in fact I was considered good at it. But I hated it with a fiery passion. College just sounded like being trapped in misery for four years.

Don't get me wrong, I knew I needed to do it. But it killed my soul a little.

The little house was the exact way I'd left it. Which made me feel a little more secure to some degree.

I walked in, greeted by that horrible and familiar smell. Rounding the corner, I found the same body in the same position.

I held my breath as I approached the body and knelt down next to it.

The bicep where I'd jabbed the Bobby pin was healed up, covered by nothing but thick pink lines. Looking down I saw the pin lying near my foot.

With shaking hands, I took a picture of the same bicep.

I was right, but now what?

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