I woke up with my foot dangling off my bed, my hair stuck to my face, and a dry mouth. Not to mention a pounding headache amplified by the blinding sun streaming through my window. If I could turn the brightness down on that, I would. I'd turn it off indefinitely.

All the work I've done on my mental health in the last three weeks came crashing down last night. I felt myself desperately grasping for any sliver of control I had left, watching myself from the outside as I lost it, as it slipped through my fingers and I replaced the emptiness that was leftover with pain. The image of Gerard's eyes, hurt, or the sound of his voice in the back of my mind telling me to stop only got cleaner and sharper with every new cut I made, but I couldn't stop myself. The blood and tears fell faster.

My wrists and arms are unsightly when I kick off the blankets that I didn't already kick off during the night, and instead of immediately going down for breakfast I make my bed, replace all the pillows that fell off, then go for a shower. No amount of scrubbing I do washes away the guilt I feel about what I said last night, but also about what I did, knowing I'm going to have to come clean to Gerard and my therapist, and that I'm going to have a hell of a time trying to hide this from Laura, Ryder, and Raven, especially with the weather growing ever warmer. The guilt I feel from continuously hiding from Emerald makes it all so much worse.

The shower does manage to relieve the worst of my headache, though, even with the way the water takes about ten minutes to heat up and barrels down like hail. And, even if I'm feeling better, the girl standing in the mirror looks ill. The bags under her puffy eyes are prominent, her skin is pale, the red hair dye that was once vibrant and gave her life is almost completely washed away. Her hair falls in wet tangles, leaving damp spots on the shoulders of the hoodie she wishes smelled like home.

She can't bring herself to smile.

"Glad to see you're finally up," Laura says when I trudge into the kitchen and collapse at the table without meeting her eyes. "I made you breakfast." She puts a plate of buttered toast that, by now, has gone cold, in front of me and smiles sweetly which I only catch from the corner of my eye.

She's so two-faced. Her voice is pleasant, but I detect a menacing under tone, a "don't you test me today" undertone, the implication that she'll act the part of a perfect mother as long as I'm acting like a perfect angel.

"I could've made something myself," I mutter.

"It's an apology," she says and sits across from me, leaning on her elbows.

I look up at her, almost expecting that it wouldn't be her at all, but someone I could respect. "What for?"

"For yelling at you last night," she states simply.

"Oh."

I pick up one of the slices of toast and take a bite, chewing slowly, waiting for her to get up and get on with her day. She has a shift at twelve, which is one hour away. I soon realize she's waiting for something too, by the way she hasn't taken her eyes off me, and it takes even less time for me to realize what that thing she's waiting for is.

Even with all the regret I was feeling last night when I was crumpled on my bedroom floor, wishing I could've just kept my mouth shut, it won't form the simple words I'm sorry. If she'd given me time to prepare I could've written a monologue, but it would've been worthless and manipulative. "I'm sorry I'm such a bitch," "I'm sorry I couldn't keep my mouth shut," "I'm sorry the thoughts that'd been swirling in my head finally spilled from my mouth and you didn't like it."

When too many awkward seconds have gone by, Laura leaves me alone at the table with an, "I see how it is."

Every bite of toast tastes and feels more like glue, but I force myself to sit there until Laura has left for work without another word in my direction, and when she's finally gone I scrape my plate then collapse onto the sofa. I understand why she always sits here when I melt into the cushions, and kick my feet up on the coffee table, which she'd probably have a fit over if she saw me do.

I still don't have my phone and I doubt she'll give it to me before the weekend is over, but what she didn't do is formally take away my privilege of getting to leave the house. Now, I'm sure if she caught me outside she'd send me straight back up to my room, but her shift doesn't end until five. I have time to go to Raven and Ryder's place, hang out, and come back, and she won't even know I left.

It doesn't take me long to decide that that's exactly what I'm going to do, so I pick myself up and go back to my bedroom to get ready. As soon as I step through my doorway, something feels off. Everything in there is as I left it, as it always is, but the hair on the back of my neck is standing up.

I feel like I'm being watched.

With an excruciatingly slow spin, where my body feels paralyzed but the fast-paced beating of my heart, I turn towards my window. I'm on the second floor, all I should see are clouds, or birds, or—

A high pitched scream I didn't even know my body was capable of producing escapes my lips. Ryder's face on the other side of the glass, however, cracks into a huge smile before he starts laughing.

I dash across the room and pull the window open, silently thanking whoever built this house for not adding a screen but simultaneously cursing them for the bad painting job that made it stick and difficult to open, then yell, "How the fuck did you climb the side of my house?"

Ryder grunts, climbing into my bedroom, "Haven't you noticed the ladder against the wall?"

"No, I haven't," I say, sticking my head out the window to see a ladder leaning against the house, left from a half finished painting job. I guess I must be less attentive than I thought. "Next question, how do you know where I live?"

He dusts himself off and says, "Show me to the front door, Raven should be outside."

I leave the room and make my way back downstairs, Ryder close behind, but I won't let this go. "Seriously, how did you find me? I've never brought you guys here."

Ryder rubs the back of his neck. "We kinda followed you home that time we woke up late and Laura was mad at you for not getting home... just to make sure you'd be okay." When he sees my eyes widen, he adds, raising his hands in defense, "Don't worry, we didn't get close enough for her to see us, we just waited at the corner of the block and when we saw her open the door for you, everything seemed like it was going smoothly."

"That's still creepy," I mumble, swinging open the front door. Just as Ryder said, they're standing on the steps, their arms crossed over their chest while casting a pointed look at him.

"Are you happy you got your dramatic entrance?" Raven asks.

"Very," Ryder says, a goofy grin on his face. "I heard Way scream from outside."

"Me too!" Raven exclaims. "You could've given her a fucking heart attack!"

"But I didn't," Ryder says.

Raven scoffs and looks at me, begging me with their eyes to say something helpful.

I shrug. "He's got a point there."

I let the two of them in and once again go back up to my bedroom. After Raven looks around at my posters and compliments me on my music taste, and Ryder spots the homework on my desk and rants for a couple minutes about how he forgot to do his and probably won't do it anyway, I plop onto my bed. So does Ryder, and he makes himself comfortable by burying himself in pillows.

"Why did you even come here?" I ask.

"You didn't show up last night," Raven says without a second thought. "We were worried."

"Yeah," Ryder says. "Especially when you didn't even bother letting us know you weren't coming."

I lie back on my bed and look up at the ceiling, and with a deep sigh I tell them, "Laura took my phone away."

"You didn't even fail a test!" Ryder exclaims, raising his arms which makes a couple pillows fly off the bed. He's acting like the fact I don't have my phone is a personal injustice to him. "What the fuck is all that about?"

"I don't wanna talk about it. All I know is I need to get the fuck outta this house and see my dad and my girlfriend and people who actually give a shit about me."

"We give a shit about you..." Ryder trails off.

"I know, I know. It's nothing against you, but if I could escape to Jersey right now, I would."

When neither Ryder nor Raven says anything for a few seconds, both being uncharacteristically quiet, I sit up slowly, then look between them suspiciously. They seem to be having a conversation with their eyes, if not telepathically.

Finally, Raven breaks the silence when they say, "Okay, okay, I'll tell her."

"Should I be scared?" I ask, my nervousness already starting to bubble up, coming through in my voice.

"Oh, you're gonna love this," Ryder says, rubbing his hands together with a wide, suspicious smile on his face, but Raven doesn't look so sure.

"Don't get her hopes up, Ryde! Nothing is official." I'm on the edge of my seat by the time Raven says, "I got in contact with Krash."