"We're home!"

Evelyn immediately jumps away from me and yanks her sleeves down to her fingertips. I've seen her pull her sleeves down so many times in the last few weeks, I can't believe I didn't put two and two together. I can't believe we were all so blind that this girl has been spiralling to the point of self destruction while we all sat and watched, blissfully unaware.

Her breathing picks up and the panic is clear on her face.

"Hey, it's gonna be fine, alright?" I tell her. "Would it be easier if I went downstairs first?"

She nods, burying her head in her knees again. "Just tell him everything for me, I don't even care anymore," she says, her voice muffled and defeated.

"First of all, I know that's bullshit. Second, I can't tell him everything for you, but I can—" I sigh, taking a moment to think about what I can tell him. This isn't a situation I was ever prepared for, and now that it's arrived I wish I could do more for her. It's a whole new reason I wish she wasn't setting off for Rhode Island tomorrow morning. "—I can tell him enough," I decide finally. I'll figure out what that actually means when I come to it.

"Just him, though."

"'Course, who else am I gonna go talk to? Santa?" I cross the room, but stop in her doorway for one last thing. "What are you gonna do for the next couple minutes?"

She shrugs, then looks around the room at the half filled boxes and piles of stuff that still need to be packed. Gesturing vaguely at everything, she says, "Finish this shit, I guess."

I nod, then meet Gerard at the bottom of the stairs. He has one hand already on the railing as though he was about to come up and find us.

"Is the packing all done?" he asks casually. It's as though she's packing up for summer camp. He's hiding his feelings by pretending everything is fine and normal, is what's going on, but as soon as she leaves he'll be a mess. We all will.

"We, uh, didn't really do any packing at all," I say awkwardly, leaning against the banister. I stick my hands deep into the pockets of my jeans. In the right one, I feel the blade. "But she's working on it now."

Gee raises his eyebrows. "What happened? She didn't have that much left to do when we left."

As per Evelyn's request, I beckon him upstairs to his office, well out of Lindsey's earshot. I understand that Eve doesn't like to let too many people in on her weaknesses. She likes to appear strong and lets things eat her up inside before ever considering telling the truth, but maybe it waters down to her being that afraid of disappointing anyone.

The room is a perfect representation of everything Gerard is and what he likes. Creative, cluttered and slightly messy but still organized, just in a way that he knows exactly where everything is and where it should be. I wish I could say the only reason I was in here was to flick through the comic-stocked shelves of which there are many.

He leans up against his desk, papers and pencils covering the surface, and I stand a few feet away, my hands still in my pockets. I chew my bottom lip nervously and stare at the floor, Gerard's piercing gaze painfully obvious as he waits for me to say something.

"Frank, what happened?" he asks, running his hands through his hair. He's getting impatient. Anxious to go greet his daughter. "I'm gonna go see Eve if you're just gonna stand there."

He tries to get by me, but I hold an arm out, blocking his path to the door. "Wait, there's something you need to know first."

He looks at me, the expression on his face screaming, "Well!?" and I decide to get straight to the point. I take the razor blade out of my pocket and hold it out to him between two slightly trembling fingers. "I took that from her earlier."

I'm confused until my eyes focus on the object Frank is holding out to me. When I realize what it is and the meaning it holds, my heart sinks.

"I walked in on her crying on her bedroom floor, holding that and—"

"She didn't... did she?"

"—it took a lot to get her to give it to me—"

"Frank, did she fucking use it?"

His gaze drops back down to the floor and the subtle nod makes my heart sink even further, if possible. "It- it's pretty bad, Gee," he says quietly.

I close my eyes, exhaling deeply. "I'll go talk to her."

"Wait," he says again before I can get out the door. "Don't take that with you." He nods at the blade still in my hand. "Don't let her see it again."

I drop it in the trash on my way out and the metal clangs on the bottom of the empty trashcan. I leave Frank in my office without another word. My heart is pounding, but I focus on the steps I take to my daughter's room, feeling slightly lightheaded like it's taking too much for my brain to process what he's just told me.

There are so many things I wish could've gone differently. I wish she'd confided in me sooner, told me about the way she was feeling before she ever decided to hurt herself, never had felt such pain and desperation for a way to cope in the first place.

And I wish I hadn't continuously been so blind to how much she was really struggling.

I don't bother knocking when I open her bedroom door slowly. I don't know what I was expecting to see, maybe an inconsolable Eve crying into her pillow, or her figure, knees drawn to her chest, in the middle of her bedroom floor like Frank had described. But, no, she's piling books neatly, transferring them from her shelf to a cardboard box on the floor at her feet.

I clear my throat and she looks up just as she's about to grab The Hobbit. She drops her hand to her side.

"Hi," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. I can tell by the redness of her eyes and the faint tear stains on her face that she'd been crying. Instead of saying anything, I cross the room and wrap my arms around her, wishing I could stay here and never let her go. All I ever wanted was to keep her safe and I keep failing.

She doesn't return the hug, but instead stands rigid with her arms glued to her sides.

"Let's have a talk," I say when I pull away.

She nods slowly, her face unreadable. We sit across from each other, her bed frame creaking. The many blankets and pillows I'm used to seeing piled high on the bed have already been packed up and only a few sheets remain. Just enough for her to sleep under for one last night.

She plays with her hands in her lap and exhales deeply. "Are you... are you mad at me?"

That alone would've been enough to make me start crying on the spot if I wasn't so determined not to. I've had to be the one to stay strong for her sake, but it's getting more difficult by the minute. "I'm not mad at you at all, darling."

"Not even a little?" she asks, surprised.

I shake my head.

"You should be," she mumbles. "I just keep fucking up. Everything I do is wrong. I make you worry and I keep you up at night with stupid nightmares and I ruin my stupid court case and then I go and..."

"That's not true..." I want to start my speech about how she doesn't ruin anything, how she's worth so much more than she thinks, and how nothing the world throws at her is worth hurting herself over, but I trail off because it's too late. Instead, I reach forward slowly and take one of her hands. With my free hand I push up her sleeve delicately, holding my breath. She doesn't pull her arm away like I thought she would, but bites her lip and turns her face away as she lets me reveal weeks worth of damage she's managed to do to herself. She was probably trying to hide them, but I saw the tears shining in her eyes.

I inhale sharply against my will when I see. Every scar, every cut, like a stab to my heart. Frank's words replay in my head. "It's pretty bad, Gee."

I realize, as much I've wanted to protect her, I could never protect her from herself.

I can't bare to look him in the eye when he rolls up my sleeve. I bite my lip because it stings, but also because I'm sick of crying. All I do is cry and I wouldn't be surprised if they're all glad to get rid of me just because they're sick of it too.

Was I really stupid enough to think that no one would find out? What did I think was going to happen when summer arrived and it got suspicious, or when my sleeve might accidentally roll up, or when someone might walk into my room at the wrong moment?

Gerard's gasp makes me flinch.

"Why didn't you come talk to me?" he asks so gently and quietly it's like I could hear his heart breaking behind every word.

I sigh shakily. "I... I just couldn't. I guess I just didn't want to disappoint you."

He stays silent.

I've disappointed him.

"I'm sorry," he says eventually, his voice breaking.

"What?"

"I'm sorry you felt like you had to do this to yourself. No one should ever feel that way, especially not you, Eve. You don't deserve any of it. And I'm sorry you felt like you couldn't come talk to me. And I'm so, so sorry I failed you and I couldn't protect you like I promised."

His shoulders are shaking, his face is in his hands, and the sight makes the tears I was fighting to keep from falling flow freely down my face, too. "No, Dad, you- you didn't fail," I insist. "The world is just out to get me, it- it's not your fault... I know you tried your best."

This time, I'm the one who takes him into a hug.

"I'm gonna miss you so fucking much, Eve," he says through his tears.

"I'm gonna miss you too, Dad. But we're seeing each other again, remember? In- in six months. We just have to wait six months."

Ideally, it'll be a lot sooner.