In the days that followed my first group meeting, I tried to make sense of each of the steps Helen gave us. One stood out the most: distraction.

I paced the kitchen, reciting her words, my hands raking through my hair. Distraction. What could I do differently to keep my mind off everything that was weighing me down? My laptop called out as it lay open on the breakfast bar.

I typed a few keywords into the search engine and my eyes glazed over at all the results. I read through each one until I couldn't focus any longer. My eyes stung from the low kitchen lighting and the glare of the screen. I rubbed at them and huffed, leaning back in my chair.

"Oh, that's a loud huff. What are you doing up so early?" My dad strolled into the room, wearing his navy blue dressing gown and slippers. "Coffee?"

Standing as response to his question, I grabbed two mugs while my dad placed a heaped spoon of coffee grounds into the cafetiere and flicked the kettle on.

"I can't get my head around the advice from the counsellor mum sent me to see." His cheek scratched from his stubble when I kissed him. "Morning, dad."

"Morning, kiddo." He slipped his arm around my back and squeezed. "You could have slept for another hour before doing that."

"I was just laying there and my legs were restless. I had to get up and stretch them." Returning to my laptop, I clicked through another article. "Look at this one? Helen suggested we find distractions before any milestone relating to a death. But I can't see any of these helping. Gardening, yoga, walking?" I needed less time alone with my thoughts.

My dad peered over my shoulder. "Give them a chance and then make your mind up. It will probably surprise you. They are popular options for a reason. I could even do some with you. Look further down that list. Reading, exercise–" he nudged me out of the way and scrolled further down the page– "cleaning. Now I like the sound of that one," he laughed.

"Mmm, not my idea of fun. I want to feel again, get my heart pumping." I failed to mention that whatever I did needed to block my memories of Saffron.

"Exercise then."

"No, I need more." I gnawed on the inside of my cheek as I tried to figure out what that could be.

"Talking about counselling. Can you talk to your mother? She thinks you're upset with her. Tell her it wasn't that bad," he said as he tilted his head to the side and gripped my shoulders to turn me to him. It never took me much to get caught up in my internal battles and this was his way of making sure I would focus on his words.

"It's not that I am upset." I looked away and rubbed my arm, feeling my scar under my fingertips. "But she has to realise, she can't keep going behind my back with Dr Westcott."

"I know, kiddo. She only worries about you. She means well. Talk to her." My dad walked over to the kettle, poured the now boiled water into the pot and placed the lid over it.

Twenty-three and he would probably call me kiddo even if I was in my forties.

I pulled the bread out and popped a couple of slices into the toaster. "Toast?"

We moved around the kitchen helping each other make breakfast while Mum stayed in bed.

***

Halfway through my second round of jam on toast, an idea came to me. "I have to go. See you later." I bit down into the bread, balancing the slice in my mouth, snatched my laptop up and continued eating as I left the room, never giving my father time to ask why I was in such a hurry.

Once in my bedroom, I pulled up an article about extreme activities helping in some cases of anxiety and depression. Photos of cliff diving, whitewater rafting and bungee jumping off bridges rolled across the top of the screen. My pulse quickened as I realised I was probably on to something. All I needed was to find somewhere close by to do them.

Maybe I wouldn't start with cliff diving. That looked terrifying. I should find someone who would do them with me. It was one thing taking a leap into something out of my comfort zone, but it was something entirely different to do them alone.

I found my phone where I left it on my bedside table and dialled the number without a second thought. After three rings, they picked up, their smooth and slightly groggy voice causing my stomach to dip.

"Are you okay?" Matt's Australian accent was thicker when he first woke up and then I realised what the time was.

"I woke you." It wasn't a question I knew I had. He worked as a barman. Of course, he wouldn't be up this early, unlike me. "I'm sorry, Matt. I'll call you later."

Matt rustled around in the background and muffled a yawn, no doubt behind his hand or into his pillow. "No, I'm up. I'm up. Don't go. What's up? Are you okay?" Worry laced his voice, and that notion thrilled me.

"I am okay. It's not urgent. I just wanted to ask you something. Now we are friends." I picked at the hem of my sleep shorts and scanned the text on my laptop.

"Oh, what kind of favour are you after? As my friend." He yawned and apologised in the same breath.

"So do you remember when Helen mentioned finding distractions? Well, I wondered if you wanted to help with that."

Matt stayed silent for a moment and my breathing increased from the sheer fear of what I planned to attempt.

"Wasn't expecting this kind of phone call so soon," he said, his voice laced with amusement and it dawned on me what my request sounded like to him.

"Oh God, no. That's not what I meant. I want to jump out of a plane or swim with sharks, not sleep with you."

"Charming. I won't take it personally, Trixie, but you sure know how to bruise my ego."

"Sorry, Matt," I mumbled and moved to my bed, wrapping myself in my mint green duvet cover. "So do you want to help me? I want to do something different, feel alive again. I was thinking we could start small and work ourselves up to the scarier activities."

As I lay down and stared at the framed vintage magazine posters on my wall, I asked myself why I had automatically called Matt and not Zaire. Zaire would have been up for anything, yet I could only picture Matt by my side as I conquered each fear.

"I know I'm half asleep here but what do you actually mean?"

"Do you want to go zip lining or abseiling? My treat as I am asking you." Placing my hand over my heart, I felt each beat against my chest.

"Yeah. I'd be up for that, but I'm paying for myself."

"Just tell me when you're not at college or work and I'll book it. We can sort the rest later."

Matt hung up shortly afterwards and promised to text with the times he would be free.

Nervous energy zipped down my legs as I thought of our date. Well, not a date, our plans.

I don't know why I had crawled under the safety of my blanket while on the phone to Matt. Now the covers were suffocating. I kicked them off, pulled one of five envelopes out of my desk drawer and placed it on my open laptop.

I showered, dressed for the day and with the envelope stashed in my handbag, headed out of the front door without being noticed.

Being twenty-three, I didn't need to ask my parents permission to leave our house but if they found out where I was heading, they would have made me stay put or worse, come with me.

Thirty minutes into my walk, I had arrived at the one place that scared me nearly as much as the ICU at Stonefield Hospital.

My palms stuck together as I rubbed them, attempting to ease the pins and needles effect creeping up to my arms. I wiped them on my jumper and grabbed the envelope out of my bag.

The paper scorched the tips of my fingers and my chest tightened as I visualised each word on the page of my letter, having read over them many times to make sure my message was clear and truthful. I couldn't afford to have anything used against me.

I glanced up at the teal door, a door Saffron and I painted last summer on her mother's whim. The colour stood out against the red brickwork, and yellow climbing rose that framed the facade.

My steps slowed as I took in the car parked in the driveway. I would have to be quick. Saffron's parents would know I had been once they read my letter, but I didn't dare face them. Not when I knew exactly what they thought of me.

These letters were a way for me to get it all off my chest. There was a time they treated me like part of the family, but after the accident, all their love for me had died.

I knew we could never go back to how we were before but hoped we could at least stand in the same room without them seeing me as a murderer, someone who had stolen their daughter from them. I already hated myself for that night, I didn't want them to feel it too.

Curling my fingers around the edge of the letter, I fed it through the letterbox and pressed my ear to the door to listen for footsteps. Hopefully, they would still be in bed.

Once I was confident, no one was rushing for the door, I strode across the road and took the small footpath that led to one of the playing fields. I had a direct view to the Hayes' front door from there and was positive my location wouldn't be discovered.

It took about ten minutes before Saffron's mum opened the door to check if she could see me. After stepping out of her house, she glanced up and down the street. I crouched down and ducked behind the hedge, edging the footpath. Even from here, I noticed the fresh onset of tears streaming down Mrs Hayes' face.

My letter dangled down her side, between her fingers, telling me she had read it. When she disappeared back into her home, I steadied myself up and walked through the playing field, my shoulders hunched. I released a deep breath and refused to let myself cry.

Not today. Today, I would not allow myself to drown.

***