The judge struck the gavel three times and demanded order in the court.

On our side, stood me, Gerard, and our lawyer. We had Mikey, Frank, Ray, and Lindsey as our witnesses. The four told the judge the whole truth and nothing but the truth about how Gee had been clean and sober for years and that I had been in good hands.

Laura didn't have any witnesses to bring, only a lawyer that did his research.

Things were looking up for us and a bit of optimism sparked somewhere in me for the first time in much too long. No one could deny the years of abuse she'd put me through, or the ungodly amounts of alcohol she consumed, or the drugs she dealt all while I was in her care. If you can call it care.

What I didn't know, was that while all my life I thought my mother's sallow face and sickly figure were in result of the drugs that, looking back, it was natural to assume she was abusing, there was so much my naïve little self didn't know about yet. She was sick, she was skeletal, and she was suffering. That hit me hard. She sold drugs to keep me fed with a roof above my head. And as for all the time she spent with all the men she kept bringing home, during which she'd hide me away in my room... well, let's say she sold herself, too.

But she really, truly, got better. She got healthy, sober, she did community service, cleaned up her act, and got a job at a bookstore. It sounds odd. The woman who neglected to teach me how to read, working at a bookstore.

As the hearing drew on for a near-unbearable few hours, it was like getting a slap to the face over and over again.

Like I said, the lawyer Laura hired did his research. He knew about Gerard's past struggles with alcohol and drugs, he knew about the bullying I'd endured at the school I still attend, he knew about my hospitalization.

I felt sick.

The points they made gave me no indication of what direction this was going to go in or where I'd be by the end of the week.

"My client did not begin to develop her eating disorder under the care of Mr. Way. She likely would've fallen ill a lot quicker if it wasn't for the care she received after being adopted."

"Mr. Way and the gentlemen he brought as his witnesses are all in a successful band, yes? How, then, do they have enough time on their hands to care for the child? She needs a parent who will be present, not one who can be found across the country at any given moment at a concert."

That one was ridiculous, of course. They weren't always on tour. Of course, they dedicated a lot of time to their music and were working long hours most days. But, besides, if going on tour was really such a hassle, they could take me with them.

Taking me with them was not the right thing to mention, apparently.

"So, she's missing valuable education time to be paraded in a bus from city to city?"

"She's old enough now to keep up on her education outside of school. May I remind the court that taking classes online is an option, as well? A teacher doesn't have to be present in order for a student to be educated."

It was like watching a ping pong match. They went back and forth, all the while never calling me by my name, always "she" and "the child" and sometimes "the girl". It felt degrading, like they were talking about someone who wasn't even there.

It was when the words, "Recent report of abuse," were spoken, that I almost lost my composure. Out of everything that happened in the past, all the memories I was forced to relive, this was the point I was most scared would come up. I could've broken down in tears dozens of times, or fainted, or tried to straight up run away, and this was the moment all of those seemed like the most viable option.

Eventually, it was my turn to make a statement.

I stuttered throughout the whole thing, and despite my best attempts did not succeed in making it anything but a poorly-scripted sounding plea coming from a little girl desperate to get her way. In other words, I begged. I begged anyone who was listening not to let her take me, and looking back, maybe that was my downfall.

No one was going to believe me. I'd been manipulated too many times in the past, I had too many issues to count including my depression, anxiety, OCD, PTSD, and eating disorder. I was known to have skipped school, my grades are short of what they were before I was adopted. When I was hospitalized I had been in the mental health and addictions ward while under Gerard's care where I stayed for weeks and was a borderline flight risk— something I haven't recounted to anyone but my diary— and now all these people knew it.

Gerard's case apparently wasn't solid enough when his past was taken into account. Plus, he was deemed too busy as a touring artist to care for me properly, the fans knowing about my existence brought along the conclusion that, "A life under the spotlight would not be the ideal situation for this child," and then there was that recent report of abuse that somehow wasn't cleared up.

And, of course, judges often favour the maternal figure's side.

"Custody of Evelyn Maia Way goes to Laura Barry. One weekend visitation per six month period with Gerard Way is permitted."

At that, I really did faint.

• • •

"Evie?"

My eyes flutter open.

At first, I think— or hope beyond hope—that perhaps it really was a bad dream. But at the sight of Gerard crouched next to the couch, still in the sleek attire he left with this morning, but looking a lot more disheveled, I know that this is reality. For once I wish it was a nightmare. One that's left me with a sour taste in my mouth and a pounding in my head.

"How are you feeling?" Gerard asks, squeezing my hand. When my eyes adjust, I briefly notice Lindsey, Mikey, Frank, and Ray standing solemnly a few feet behind him, but I don't even bother acknowledging them. There's only room for one thing in my mind right now.

Ignoring the question, although the answer would be an easy, "I feel like complete shit," I ask shakily, my voice barely above a whisper, "She really won?"

Gee nods, pursing his lips tightly like he's trying to hold back tears.

I don't have the words describe the way seeing that nod felt, even if I knew it was coming. It was like confirmation that the world really is out to get me, that I'm cursed and simply not destined to live a normal, happy life. And although I'm used to my world getting turned upside down, this time it's so much worse.

I shake my head. "N-no, Dad, please don't let her take me."

"I'm sorry, Evie," he says, his voice on the edge of breaking.

"Please, I-I can't go back with her."

"We did everything we could, darling. We really did."

"But Dad, p-please, they can't... it's not fair!" I yell and everyone flinches.

I feel like screaming, or breaking things and hurting myself in the process, or just hopping off the couch and running away without looking back. Instead, though, I wrap my arms around myself tightly to keep from falling apart as I dissolve into sobs that wrack my body. I catch Mikey turn his face away and Frank and Ray pulling him away to the kitchen, and the tears already shining on Lindsey's face. She soon follows the others and Gee and I are given privacy (or as much privacy as we can get when the kitchen is the next room over).

"It's not fair!" I wail, over and over again like a child kicking and screaming in the aisles of a Target after being told "no" to a new toy. But I wasn't denied a toy, an object that holds joy only until it breaks or gets lost, but to the rest of my life.

Because if this is how my life is going to go, I don't think I want it anymore.

"I know, darling, I know." My head buried in the crook of his neck and Gee holds me tighter than he's ever held me before. It seems he, too, is afraid that I'll fall apart. "But we have to make the best of the time we have left."

"Wh-what do you mean?" I ask between sobs. "How- how much t-time?"

He inhales before saying quietly, "Three days."

A fresh set of tears pour down my cheeks and it'd be pointless for him to try and wipe them away.

I have three days left with the family I'd come to think of as my "forever family". The one that was different to all the broken households I'd been forced to reside in for the first thirteen years of my life. A place where I could be myself and where the people around me were accepting and open-minded and just as weird, creative, and spontaneous as I could be.

Three days to spend with Gerard and Lindsey, Mikey, Frank, and Ray, my grandparents whom I regret not spending more time with, and my Emerald.

"That's n-not long enough, Dad! Can't they- can't they just give me a-a week? Just a week, just a few more days!?"

"We tried, Eve, we tried everything." He squeezes my shoulders. "We did everything we could. Every-fuckin-thing."

"I don't wanna leave you, I don't wanna leave, Dad. It's not fair!" I sound like a broken record: it's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair.

Some might say fairness doesn't exist. I didn't believe in fairness, but I've changed my mind now. If fairness doesn't exist, then neither does the absence of fairness, but what else am I supposed to call this situation? I'd now define fairness as, at its most fundamental level, the obvious.

Obviously, people should have equal rights.

Obviously, everybody should have access to basic life necessities like food, water, and shelter.

Obviously, I should remain with Gerard, the best thing that's ever happened to me.

But I can't and it's not fair.