I wake with a start at the sound of something hitting the floor and nearly fall off the couch. I catch myself, though, and prop myself up on one elbow. Raven, on the other end of the couch, is still asleep somehow, with one leg dangling off the edge.

"What the fuck was that?" I ask no one in particular, looking around bleary eyed until I see a heap on the floor.

"My shirt fell on the floor," Ryder groans, sitting up and rubbing his shoulder.

"That sounded bigger than a shirt," I say.

"It's 'cause I was in it."

Krash bursts out laughing. I didn't even notice him leaning against the front door until now, his hair disheveled. He looks tired, like he could use a long, deep sleep, but happy. Happier than I've ever seen him. His dark, serious eyes even have a spark in them.

"What time is it?" I ask, squinting my eyes when I turn my head toward the window and see the sun streaming in.

"I don't know," Ryder says. "We kinda figured it was time to come back when we saw the sun coming up."

Suddenly, Raven is wide awake. "You stayed out all night?" they ask, wiggling their eyebrows. "What'd you two get up to?"

Ryder bites his lip and glances at Krash who blushes and exclaims, "Don't give them any ideas! We just went exploring. He showed me around the neighbourhood, you know?"

"More like exploring each other's mouths," Raven mutters under their breath.

Thankfully, I'm the only one who caught what they said and I slap a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. Ryder's eyes dart between the two of us, wondering what's so funny, but Krash still leans against the door, not paying attention. He runs his fingers through his long hair with one corner of his lips turned up, looking like he's living in a dream while simultaneously done with me and Raven's shit.

It turns out it's seven in the morning, which is much earlier than I usually like to get out of bed, but since we're all awake we decide to get up and have breakfast. When I roll out from under the blanket and land on the floor, I realize I'm not wearing my hoodie. I took it off last night because it was so warm.

My arms are on display for everyone to see.

I notice their eyes scan the scars and scabs briefly, then quickly look away. No one says anything, but it doesn't stop my heart from twisting in my chest or anxious butterflies from erupting in my stomach. I quickly snatch my hoodie off the floor and put it on and when I look around again, they're all busy rummaging in the cabinets for something to eat.

All Raven and Ryder have for breakfast food—other than the half empty carton of eggs in the back of the fridge that went off about two weeks ago— is sugary cereals that remind me of the ones Gerard likes to buy. The kind with toys in the box and games on the back because they're made for kids, but really anyone can enjoy them.

We all decide to sit on the floor with our bowls of cereal. Lucky Charms, to be specific.

"Are you eating all the pieces of cereal before the marshmallows?" Raven asks, eyeing me.

"Yeah," I say through a mouthful.

"Yeah," Ryder echoes.

"Kids," Krash sighs, shaking his head, but I catch him cast a furtive glance at Ryder, a fond look in his eyes.

• • •

I go home soon after breakfast and when I get there Laura has already left for work. I don't know why she wanted me home early if she wasn't even going to be here, but I brush it off. I've decided to stop analyzing her and her intentions, assume that they're good even if I don't understand them. She left a note on the table, written in black pen, neat letters.

Leftovers in the fridge for lunch. Be back around 5 :)

She also left me a glass of water and my pill I take once a day. She hides the full bottle somewhere in the house. I have no idea where. I've never stumbled upon it, not that I've ever gone looking for it. But anyway, I swallow my pill then go up to my room, then quickly encounter the same problem as I do every year as soon as school is over for the summer: I go up to my room, expecting to have homework or studying to set my mind to, and then I remember it's over. I don't have to do anything that has to do with school for another couple months. And now I don't know what I'm supposed to do with all this free time.

I end up sitting on my bed, and before I finish by staring at the wall, alone with my thoughts and thinking myself into an existential crisis, I stand up again.

I don't know what comes over me, but suddenly I'm tiptoeing down the hall even if no one is home to hear me, and standing outside Laura's bedroom. The only room in the house she's ever specifically told me not to enter, which has only made me all the more curious about what I might find in there.

At first, I only push the door that was open a crack lightly, barely touching the wood with my fingers. The hinges creak until I can poke my head in. It looks like a boring old bedroom, nothing out of the ordinary.

I step inside.

The bed is made more neatly than mine, the vanity is dusted and the mirror is shiny. The room is pristine with white pillows and sheets and curtains and a rug on the hardwood floor. It's almost sterile.

I'm disappointed when I open the closet door and find nothing but clothes hanging up, shoes lined up on the floor. I don't know what I was hoping for, though. Maybe a terrible secret that would give me good reason to leave here?

Standing in the centre of the room, I spin slowly, looking it up and down one more time. There's generic art on the walls, bookshelves filled to the brim. Taking a step closer to the books out of curiosity, I spot a section that brings an unexpected sinking feeling in my stomach.

Parenting books line that shelf. Generic titles about raising teens, "The Angst of Adolescence," "Parenting the Teenager," "How to Talk so Teens Will Listen & How to Listen so Teens Will Talk." I count half a dozen in total, all with pink sticky notes sticking out from certain pages that Laura must've found particularly helpful and important. That familiar sinking feeling of guilt tortures me because those half a dozen books are solid proof that she really put effort into this whole situation. She's really been trying.

This is nothing to cry over, it's nothing to back out of the plan over, it's nothing to have made Krash drive all this way and then tell him I've changed my mind over. We'll only be gone for a few days, she won't even know we're not in the state. And when we get back I'll put some effort in too.

I leave, first making sure that Laura's room looks like I never even thought of going in there, leaving the door open just a crack like it was, then go back to my room. I know just what to do with my time now. Tearing a blank piece of paper out of one of my notebooks, I sit at my desk and grab a pen. Immediately, I begin to write.

Laura,

I don't even know how to start this, or what I'm really going to say, or if I should even say any of it at all. There's so much, it's a mess in my brain, piling up, and now I have to pick through it and get some of it on paper before I explode.

The main thing is that I want to say I'm sorry. I want this guilt I'm feeling for having been distant and not opening up to you and sometimes just being a plain bitch to go away. But I can blame myself over and over again, apologize and try and lift this weight off my shoulders, and it never does go away.

I've thought about this a lot, and I've come to the conclusion that I'll never feel relief as long as I keep thinking about my wants instead of focusing on my needs. The weight on my shoulders is so much heavier than whatever I've done in the last few months, it's not just about my own behaviour. And since I know I'll freeze up, or trip over my words, or just start crying and hate myself for it if I try and have a conversation about it out loud, I guess I'll write it down.

I know you've been trying your best. I know you worked on yourself, got better, made a better life for yourself, and waited until all that happened to try and bring me back into it. And I know you regret the past, and that you're sorry. I have no doubt that you want to forget it as much as I do— even go back and stop any of it from happening.

Despite any regrets, any amount of apologizing, there are just things I can't forgive you for. I hope you understand that. I think you do. There are things that are burned into my memory, that I still see and feel when I close my eyes. Things that still haunt me to this day that I needed to develop the shittiest of coping mechanisms to deal with.

The way I flinch at loud noises, things flying at me too quickly, panic at the smell of alcohol on someone's breath, start overthinking and spiraling into this cycle of blaming myself, then hating myself, then hating myself some more for overreacting if someone just gets home a little too late, loses track of time, had a change of plans. I've been scared of losing people— of being abandoned or given up on— all my life and it's gotten in the way of things.

Things were finally looking up for me. I was the happiest I had been in years with Gerard and Lindsey and everyone else, and then we got that letter. That's when everything started going downhill again because I just didn't understand how you could neglect me— abuse me— for all that time, and then suddenly want me back. I still don't understand it, but, again, I know this has been your way of trying to make it up to me. I just don't think it's going to work because of everything else.

All that being said though, I'm not writing this in an attempt to guilt trip you. I just needed to let it out and be honest. I spent a lot of time being dishonest, keeping secrets, being bitter and angry all the time, and I don't want it to be that way ever again.

I also want to let you know that I'm ready to start opening up a little more as long as you understand that there are some things you aren't forgiven for and probably never will be. And also that I'll always think of Gerard as my dad even though I'm living with you now. I've accepted that there's really nothing I can do about it and the situation is out of my hands (not that it ever was in my hands).

And I guess one more thing before I end this: thank you for trying so hard. I appreciate it even though I don't show it. I just wish things could be different, whatever that means at this point.

Evelyn.

• • •

i'm sorry to say there are only a few chapters left, guys :( just thought i'd give you a heads up