On day two of my three days before being sent to Hell, I woke up late in the morning with Emerald in my arms. Her presence was comforting throughout the night and I didn't even find myself bolting up, covered in sweat thanks to another nightmare. For once, they stayed away.

When she felt me stir, she rolled over. "Finally, you're awake."

"How do you always wake up so early?" Unlike her bubbly voice, mine is groggy.

"I don't know," she says, kicking the blankets off us. "I'm just a morning person, I guess."

I'll never understand how someone can open their eyes in the morning and not feel at least a little sad that they couldn't have slept for a while longer. Even five more minutes can do some days, but other days I wish I could stay in bed until the sun goes down again.

"You amaze me," I say, getting up after her and snaking my arms around her waist from behind. "What do you wanna do today?"

"Well I'm gonna get a quick shower, but the rest is up to you," she says, then suggests, "We could go out for breakfast?"

"Good idea, Love." I kiss her cheek and then she goes off to my bathroom.

I quickly get dressed in something less elaborate than yesterday's outfit, simple jeans and one of Gerard's hoodies I stole months ago. When I go downstairs to find him sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee, he doesn't even acknowledge that I stole his clothes. He's used to it by now.

"Morning, Eve," he says, taking a sip of his drink. He doesn't look up, his eyes scanning the comics page of a newspaper. "Get a good night's sleep?"

I think back to late last night under the sheets when Emerald's body was pressed up against mine, our lips moving in sync, my fingers tangled in her hair. I can't say I got a full night's sleep, but it was definitely a good one.

I nod. "Yeah, Dad. We're gonna go to the café, okay?"

He peers up at me and I fight off a smirk at the way his eyes are squinting through his tousled morning hair. "The last time you did that some motherfucker dumped a smoothie over your head."

"It's not gonna happen again."

He pushes his chair away from the table and stands up, then wraps me in a tight hug. He kisses the top of my head and mumbles into my hair, "Okay, Evie. Be safe."

• • •

Em and I spent the morning first by going to the café we always used to go to before everything went wrong. We sat in at a table near the front window where the morning sun was streaming in and ate warm muffins, then walked hand in hand with our coffees in silence that would've been comfortable if it wasn't for the dwindling time we had together. We'd concluded that a long distance relationship would have to work and that she'd always wanted to visit Rhode Island anyway.

Why did she want to visit? I'm not sure. I didn't ask, assuming she was just saying that because she always saw the glass as half full. And why does my mother live there of all places? I'm not sure of that, either.

We went to the park. She started walking towards the centre, back to the bench we carved as snowflakes fell gently around us on one of the best nights of my life. It wasn't even two months ago, but somehow it feels like it's been an eternity. Seeing that carving, though, running my fingers over the paint-chipped wood, would be too painful. I don't think I'd ever leave. So, I pulled her off track. Through the woods we went, ducking under branches, following a path that had long overgrown.

What we found were the blackened remains of a place she'd never before gotten to see.

Maybe it was better off that way.

Back at home, no one bothered us when we went up to my room again. We stayed in each other's arms and talked about all the good times and none of the bad times. In the beginning, there were a lot of bad times.

"Just like this is gonna be, Evie," Emerald said. We were laying so close, our noses were almost touching and I had a perfect view of my favourite pair of eyes in which to get lost.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, this— you moving away— is gonna be a series of bad times in the beginning. For all of us. But it'll get better and easier by the day. Especially if she's gotten better like you say she has."

I didn't believe a word she said, yet I cracked a small smile to humour her and kissed her nose. "What am I going to do without you, always looking on the bright side of things for me?"

"Text me. Even if it's the middle of the night, I'll answer."

"Get ready to never sleep again."

"If it means I get to talk to you, I'll have a pot of coffee handy at all times."

Her mom hugged me before she left with Em that evening. She had to pry her daughter off me and my heart broke when I saw the tears in Emerald's eyes; a rare sight. The hug felt like what I knew a mother's hug should feel like, but something I'd never gotten from Laura Barry, and doubt I ever will.

That night, me, Gerard, Lindsey, and Mikey went to my grandparents' house for supper. This wasn't something we'd done many times before, but I wish we had and I wish this time could've been under any other circumstances.

I don't know what to say about my grandparents because we'd never gotten really close. I regret that. I took advantage of this relationship that came free with being adopted, but never bothered to grow it. Though, it makes me wonder: If my own mother's parents had been less shitty, what would've our relationship been? Maybe I would've been under their care and none of this would've ever happened.

After that, my teary-eyed grandmother promised to keep sending gifts on my birthday and Christmas, then we went home. We had the car windows rolled down and the music blaring, singing every word to Welcome To The Black Parade because that's what I insisted Gee put on. The overwhelming emotions I feel as I scream out the words remind me of the way I felt the first time I ever heard that song, alone in my room with headphones on.

Frank and Ray arrived at the house soon after we did and it was time for a good ol' movie night even though it was Tuesday and not the usual Friday. Naturally, we chose Star Wars (A New Hope, to be specific), and we acted like everything was normal. Like it wasn't the last time we'd be doing this for the next who-knows-how-long.

• • •

It's now day three of my three days before being sent to Hell. The worst day of them all and, obviously, not only because I have spent all of it packing. Every time I pick something up and drop it into a box or my duffle bag, a memory related to it comes back. The bear Em gave me, Jacques, with the green ribbon reminds me of how much better at gift giving she is than me. All my posters Mr. Miller gave me years ago bring bittersweet memories hurtling back, first of the timid little girl I was in that bland bedroom at the Miller's house, not knowing that she'd soon quite literally bump into a guy with jet black hair and sunglasses who held the power to change her life for the better, and then I'm hit with the memory of the morning of the crash.

"You'll probably be done packing by the time we get back. Or, at least you should b— Eve?" Gerard interrupts himself, pulling me from what I can only describe as the buzzing of my own mind as it goes thousands of miles a minute.

I snap my head up to look at him. "Yeah?"

"You were daydreaming. Did you hear anything I said?" he asks, a look of concern and sympathy on his face. It's all I've been getting recently: Sympathy. But I don't want people to pity me. It's useless.

"Um, yeah, go on."

Starting where he left off, Gerard continues. "You should be done packing by the time we get back, and Frank should be over soon. He texted me, said he was getting ready to leave."

It's not that I need a babysitter at sixteen years old, it's that I'll be home alone while Gee takes Lindsey to one of her appointments and no one wants me to be alone. I don't even think I should be left alone. I'm afraid of myself.

"Okay, sounds good," I say more flatly than I was intending.

"You know, we probably could've rescheduled," he says, lowering his voice so that Lindsey, who's getting ready to leave at the front door, won't hear.

He can tell when I'm on the edge of tears without even seeing my face. He knows if I space out too much and get lost in my thoughts more than usual something's wrong. Of course something's wrong, but I already insisted that they don't reschedule. Their lives can't stop just because of me, and they have to keep going once I've left.

"It's fine, go." I lie so he doesn't worry about me anymore than he already does, but truth is, I'm not sure what I would find myself doing if he hadn't texted Frank. At this point, the minutes I'll be alone before he arrives are risky. I had a great two days, but that couldn't last and I've been waiting for it all to come crashing down. At least he won't have to keep worrying about me when I'm gone. "Frank can help me finish packing."

Still, he looks at me with that same sadness, but shakes it off quickly. I can tell he's been trying to keep it together in front of me.

"Gee, we have to go!" Lindsey calls.

"Coming!" he calls back, then turns to me again. "Don't you and Frank burn the house down or anything while we're gone."

"We won't. Probably."

He hugs me and we say our goodbyes— or, "see you laters"— and only after he's turned away and the front door has swung shut do I tug on the sleeves of my flannel.

On the couch, minutes go by.

I can't be the only one whose mind wanders to places you never want it to be when you're alone.

When it's silent.

The perfect condition for thoughts to take over. So many thoughts, in fact, that they get all muddled together and turn into some torturous white noise. And having given up trying to pack the rest a long time ago, I have nothing to distract me. I feel like I'm drowning in these thoughts, these concepts, these too-real possibilities.

These ideas.

What if there's a way to escape my fate?

I know there is.

I've been sitting on the couch for over half an hour by now and Frank still hasn't shown up. But I don't know how much more of this I can take: just holding my head in my hands, my elbows resting on my knees, trying desperately to keep it together because I know he could walk through the door at any second, but my breathing is becoming quicker. My heart rate is steadily rising. My head is spinning.

Maybe he's forgotten or found better things to do.

Maybe he doesn't want to see me.

Maybe he won't really miss me like he says.

I bet none of them will. It's all an act and in reality they can't wait until I'm out of the way and forgotten. It won't take long for the press to find out that the Way kid is out of the picture. They'll have a field day. Fans will have outbursts online, headlines will be written, and then it'll all blow over.

It'll be like Evelyn Maia Way never even existed and the last three years were just some weird fever dream.

Just like it should be.