Damn the Ryder's lack of use of nightlights. Their close family friends had been murdered in their own home in the middle of the night. Had that not formed a rational fear of the dark?

Tiny bladder forcing me out of bed earlier than I would have liked, on my way to the bathroom I ran into the hallway table. Vase atop the wobbling table shattering against the floor, I cursed at the loud bang. Grayson's room was only a few doors away from mine. I groaned at the realization that I had almost certainly woken him.

Just as I had allowed myself to believe that he was an incredibly sound sleeper, Grayson's bedroom door swung open. My dishevelled state and the mess of shards suddenly illuminated; my head jerked towards his doorway with wide, panicked eyes. Acutely aware of the horrible state of my hair, curly nest sticking out wildly, left-over mascara smudged across my face and yesterday's outfit wrinkled, I swallowed a humiliated moan. Just what I needed this morning. As if I needed anything else to add to my foul mood.

Stood in nothing but a pair of checkered boxers, groggily Grayson's gaze fell my way. Staring blankly for many moments, finally he rubbed his eyes and smirked.

"How many times do we have to tell you that you cannot simply walk-through things?"

The enhanced clumsy, panicked state that had resulted from his lack of clothing, vanished instantaneously. Yep. Revulsion restored. I narrowed my eyes, fixing him my best glare, before returning my attention to the broken vase.

"You need to buy nightlights," I grunted. "I can clean my own mess!" I added harshly, waving him away when he stepped forward to help. "I don't want— I... I—Don't need you. Just put a damn shirt on!"

Stuttering and fumbling clumsily with the shards, I watched him through my peripheral gaze, unable to relax until he reluctantly returned to his room. Forgetting about my urge to pee, I discarded the remains of the vase and collapsed in bed with the upmost conviction that living with Grayson would be a nightmare come true.

I hadn't required much persuasion to stay home. I couldn't fathom facing the chorus of questions and unrelenting staring that would result my return to school. I had yet to come to terms with the unfortunate turn in my life. I didn't want to have to explain what I still struggled to grasp, and I didn't want to face the pity that would almost certainly arise.

Claire and Calvin had offered to call in sick to work, but I begged them not too. I could tell it hurt them to walk out. They were so kind, wanting to do everything they could to help. But there was nothing left to do. The best thing they could do for me, was leave me alone with my thoughts. I needed to be alone to get a control of my feelings. And I couldn't let myself feel what I needed to in the presence of strangers.

Much to my relief, Grayson had put up an equally small fight towards going to school. It seemed that facing his proper first day of school as a transfer was less nauseating than spending the day alone with me. The decision he made was wise.

Though I could only manage a muttered, curt thank you, I was incredibly grateful for the boxes of my old belongings. I just didn't want to show Grayson my gratitude. Once he was gone, I followed his instructions of rummaging through his closet to find the cardboard boxes labelled Alexa's stuff. Initially I had paced unsurely at the front of his door. I had been given permission to enter, and I was home alone, but still there was something unnerving about entering his room. I didn't want to learn more of my supposed childhood best friend. I preferred to pretend he didn't exist. It was a lot easier that way.

Finally working the nerve to swing the door open, my nose crinkled upwards upon noting its state. He hadn't even bothered to clean. Walls lined with untouched boxes, he had barely unpacked. What had been unpacked was thrown carelessly around the room. Kicking a shirt and a pair of shorts out of my path, I made way for the closet, eyes fixed on my desired destination. I didn't dare explore Grayson's mess in a deeper depth. I transferred the boxes from his room to mine, with tunnel vision. Exploring a teenage boy's room? Bad idea. I certainly didn't want to find anything to further inhibit me from holding Grayson's gaze.

On my last trip, retrieving the last of my things, I made the mistake of letting my eyes wander. Catching a glimpse of a portrait of myself, I couldn't help but take a closer look. Nightstand probably the only neat thing in his room, on it, angled towards his bed, was a picture of Grayson and me. It couldn't have been snapped long before I was taken. We were thirteen, maybe fourteen. My raven hair was a lot shorter than it was then, but I didn't look much different. My face had thinned, and I had since gained a scar to my chin, but it was my eyes that caught my attention the most. They hadn't changed shape or color. But smiling at Grayson who had his arm around me, my eyes held a glimmer that I had never seen in myself. A glimmer of innocence and bliss, no crushing weight of lost memories.

Sat cross legged on my carpet floor, I flicked through hundreds of pictures with burning eyes. I blinked the tears away; too stubborn to let them fall. No one was here to witness it; it was ridiculous not to let myself cry. Still, I repressed the tears. The pictures were beautiful. My family was beautiful. But it felt wrong to cry. How could I properly miss something I didn't remember having? How could I grieve for the love I didn't remember experiencing?

Hours spent flipping through albums, heart heavy, my day disappeared in a flash and much too soon Grayson had returned. Still in my pyjamas, pictures and childhood toys covering the floor around me, I didn't bother to stand, having no intention to greet him. The pictures were proof that I had once cared a great deal for him. I had nearly as many pictures with him than I had with my family. I couldn't deny the fact that I had once considered him my closest friend, but years had passed since then. We were not who we were then.

I expected Grayson to keep his distance, to remember my cold shoulder and decide it wise to leave me to deal with my emotions on my own. I did not expect him to burst through my door unannounced and collapse exasperatedly on my bed. Sat on the floor, spluttering unintelligibly, I watched him in utter disbelief, too disoriented to complain.

Shooting into a sitting position on my bed, his blue eyes narrowed in accusation.

"What did you do?" he finally accused.

"Me?" I demanded incredulously.

"Katie said it was your fault that... Oh, what's her name? The—"

"You talked to Katie?" I spoke over him, eyes sharp with fear.

"She introduced me to your group." He didn't share my concern. Had no care that he was imposing on my friend group. "She invited me to sit with them and thank God she did. The blonde wouldn't leave me alone..."

I groaned in my hands, not bothering to hide my immense displeasure of Grayson befriending my friends. Of course, Katie had sought him out. She had probably pestered him with questions, and because of her uncontrollable curiosity, Grayson would be part of the group. I wouldn't be able to escape him. How was I supposed to avoid him, if he just so happened to be in my near vicinity at every waking moment?

Maybe with pity Amanda would take me back. She and I had once been friends. We had practically been attached to the hip after my transfer to Clearwood High. We had similar interests, hung out as much as my parents allowed, and in a flash everything changed. Amanda started dating a senior, she ditched the dark jeans and flannel shirts for short skirts and tight tops and joined just about every school sport's team. Dark locks bleached blonde and straightened, dark natural makeup turned vibrant, she seemingly did everything in her power to erase any of our similarities. She destroyed any hints of our friendship and replaced it with hatred, and still to this day I had no clue what I had done to offend her.

"Do you mean Amanda?" I asked, only then registering the nature of his accusations. She was surely the blonde that wouldn't leave him alone.

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "Katie said you're responsible for her— her—you know..."

"Flirting?"

"No." He scoffed, shifting uncomfortably. It shouldn't have but his uneasiness made me smile. "No flirting. She's just... overly friendly?"

I snorted. Overly friendly. That was one way of describing her. "I don't know what Katie told you, but I'm not responsible for Amanda's actions." Suddenly remembering that I was supposed to be angry with him, I narrowed my eyes. There would be no, friendly small talk. Not with him. "Now, get out."

"Get out?" he bellowed. "You don't get to be annoyed; I'm supposed to be the angry one. Your arch-nemesis is making me uncomfortable."

"I didn't do anything!" I retorted, throwing a rag doll at him. "Considering my current situation, I think I have every right to be annoyed. And you burst into my room uninvited!"

Lazily dodging the doll, he sighed defeatedly.

"Out," I repeated.

With a roll of his eyes, he did as I asked, stomping out of the room like a child. "Fine," he whined. "But this conversation isn't over."

Just as soon as I let myself relax; my door creaked open again. Tentatively poking his head inside, Grayson grinned vigilantly.

"You still like spaghetti, right?"

Wide eyes a result of his second intrusion, I nodded ridiculously.

With only a thumbs up, he was gone again. This time for good. I didn't see him until the awfully awkward supper.