The moment I stepped foot inside the house both my parents and the deputies looked to me. Relief crossed my father's face, the two officersstraightened and headed for the door, but Mom just remained on the arm of the couch, gnawing on her fingernails as she watched Dad close the door behind them. I waited until Dad had locked the door behind them to throw my hands up in exasperation.

"Seriously?"

Mom finally shook herself from her trance and looked to me in the center of the living room. "We had no idea where you were, Everly. You weren't answering our calls or texts."

I looked between them, an emotionless laugh breaking passed my chapped lips.

"So you guys decide to care now? Or were you just worried it'd just add to the list of things you feel guilty for if I didn't come back home?"

"We love you, Evie." Mom said, standing. The action was so quick that she nearly fell face first into the carpet at my feet, and likely would have if Dad hadn't reached out to steady her. "I. . .I can't lose you too."

I crossed my arms over my chest, tears stinging my eyes as I watched her body tremble under my father's touch. A once incredible strong woman that would work double shifts and still manage to be up and ready to get us to school was crumbling before me.

"Since you obviously haven't come to the outstanding conclusion because you've been so caught up in babying a murderer, you lost me a long time ago, Mom." I took a step froward, closing the distance between myself and my parents. "And I think deep down you know it too. I think you felt it the moment I forced myself out of that school, clinging on to life. I wasn't your daughter, not anymore. I was just the shell of the girl I used to be."

My mom averted her gaze to the carpet. "Everly, honey—"

"Do you know who did this to me, Mom? Do you?" my voice rose with every word that escaped me. "Your precious son. He beat me, he shot me, he traumatized the ever-living shit out of me, but you choose to still parent him over the child that's still here, right in front of you."

She opened her mouth once more, attempting to respond, but I pointed my finger at her accusingly and interrupted before she could get a word out.

"I know it would have been easier for the both of you if I'd died that day. You wouldn't have to pretend everything is okay, you wouldn't have to parent this. . . this zombie I've become. You would be able to go play Mommy Dearest to Clark without feeling any remorse or guilt. You would be free."

Dad cleared his throat and looked at me with guilt entering his eyes. "You know that's not true, Evie."

"Don't even get me started on you, Dad! No, you didn't force Clark's hand in the decision he made, but you sure as hell didn't make him a better man. Everywhere he went, every step he took, he had to look over his shoulder for your fist." I shouted. "You want the cold, hard truth? You're right. You did have a part in what Frankie and Clark did. So did I. So did half the school! There is no speculation anymore if we knew he'd do what he did, if he showed signs, but come on, Dad. We aren't oblivious, as much as we try to act like we are. Deep down we knew something wasn't right with him and we were just too afraid to admit it to ourselves."

Mom had fallen into another one of her breakdowns in Dad's arms, and every word that left me had his face growing a deeper shade of red.

"That is enough, Everly Hope!" he snapped through his teeth.

I ignored his comment and pressed my index finger against my chest, "In case either of you were wondering, I wish I died that day too. The entire week I laid in that hospital room in agonizing pain, both mental and physical, I prayed to God and begged him to take me too. To free me from the horror I was living through every moment of every fucking day. I thought that with time I'd get better, that maybe by the grace of God that I'd wake up one day and be ok. But I'm not. I'm not okay! I'm not progressing! I'm not getting better! I still can't eat or sleep or breathe right. I get flashbacks every day of that day, I see Miles' brains all over the tile every time I shut my eyes. And I hear the screams. Oh, the screams I hear, the pleas for help. I just want it to stop!"

The anger had drained from my father hearing my cry for help, and he extended his free hand out to touch my shoulder, "We can get you help, Evie, we—"

"That's what you don't understand, Dad." I retorted bitterly. "You can't. You could shove hundreds of pills down my throat and force me into therapy sessions every day, but it won't help! I am already numb. I don't need the pills to take away the pain and do it for me. And absolutely no medication will take away the memories, the images, that will forever be in my fucking brain, Dad! So no, you can't help me. There's only one way to truly escape it all and every day I'm driven one step closer to it."

*

Garrett answered his door the second time I pressed my finger into the doorbell. He must have seen something in my expression because he didn't even bother to question what I was doing at his house at nearly midnight, he just pulled me into the house and pressed the door shut gently behind me.

"What's wrong?" he asked, peeking out his blinds to ensure I wasn't being followed. "Are you okay?"

I shook my head, trying to find the words to verbalize my emotions without scaring him.

"Everly, should I call an ambulance?" he asked, catching my hand. I hadn't realized I was shaking so bad until he caught my hand in his own.

"I had to get out of that house." I finally managed to get out. "All the prescription bottles. It'd be so easy, to just grab one and—"

Garrett tensed at my words, grasping my shoulder. "Everly, no. That's not the answer."

"It sure as hell feels like it!" I cried. "How else can I get it to stop? I can't keep doing this. I can't keep living like this."

He wrapped one of his arms around my waist and touched the other to the back of my head, his fingers raking through my hair. "I'm proud of you for coming here."

"I didn't want to." I breathed into his bare shoulder blade. "But I don't want to die either, Garrett. I just want it to stop."

"I know." he whispered. "I know, Ev, and I'm so sorry I can't stop it for you."

I felt Garrett move one of his hands from around me, and he turned his head in the opposite direction and snapped, "Go back to bed, AJ."

"What's going on?" the boy whispered, approaching with a hesitation in every step, his big blue eyes on me. "Why are you crying?"

I prayed that the sweet, innocent boy would never have to even think about half of the shit that was going on in my head.

"I can help." AJ continued, pushing the hand Garrett had extended to keep him at a distance away and approaching us. "Mommy says that my hugs have the power to heal everyone. She says it's my superpower."

Something flickered in my chest I haven't felt in months hearing the sweet words. Garrett stepped back, allowing a gap between the two of us so AJ could approach. I lowered myself down to my knees, reaching out with a shaky hand to brush the seven-year old's dark bangs out of his eyes. He immediately stepped forward and threw his arms over my shoulders and hugged me. A quiet, muffled cry escaped me at the action, and I clutched the little boy against me, one of my hands in his hair as he squeezed me tighter every time another sob would escape.

"It's going to be okay." AJ promised. "You're going to be okay; I promise."

*

I looked to Garrett on the bed to my left on top of his black comforter, his head propped on his elbow, eyes so heavy that every few seconds they'd flutter shut before he'd jerk awake again and look to me. It was a little after one in the morning and I knew without a doubt he was beyond exhausted after the last twenty-four hours, but was trying hard to stay awake to be sure I was ok.

"Ev." he muttered groggily. "Lay down."

I shook my head, "No."

"Everly. Lay." He repeated, a little more awake this time.

I moved toward the headboard, flipping the blanket up so I could climb under it. Garrett must have momentarily dozed off, or maybe he was waiting until I was in the bed, before he started talking again.

"Your dreams and nightmares stem from your subconscious. What you think about before you go to bed." he explained, yawned, then continued, "I'm not saying you have a lot of control over that, but trying to put your mind in a better place before you try and sleep might help."

I rolled over on to my side, meeting his half open eyes, his eyelashes covering the little of them that was open. "I can't. Every time I shut my eyes I see flashes of what happened."

"You can only think of one thing at a time, Ev." he said through another yawn. "Think about the good things. Think about the you in that photo with your boyfriend. Think about the girl that was so drunk in love she saw nothing outside of him. Think about every little detail you put into that drawing of him you showed me."

I tried to do as he said, but every time I thought of Miles, the mess he was in the cafeteria was all that circled my thoughts.

"You have far more good memories with him, with your friends, than what you experienced at that school, Everly. I know it's hard but try and dig deeper and pull them out." Garrett encouraged. "I know she's still in there, the girl from those photos. I still see flickers of her in you, Ev. You just got to let her back in."

I reached across the top of the comforter and touched my hand to his. "Thank you, Garrett."

"Of course." He mumbled.

"No, I mean, thank you for. . . for being you, I guess. For helping me, standing by me, when nobody else will." I said, my voice catching. "You're a good friend."

A half smile tugged at the right side of his mouth as he rested his head fully down against his pillow. "I got you, Everly."

Within seconds, he was out, hair curtaining his closed eyes, lips slightly parted, only enough to let out a quiet wheezing sound with every breath he took. I reached to the end of the bed where he'd left the fleece throw he'd grabbed for himself and pulled it over him. It was laying on the other side of Garrett's bed, that I saw him for the first time. Not the kid who'd went out of his way to befriend me, to have my back without knowing anything outside of what the news had spat out onto every station and article in existence the last few months.

I saw the teenage boy that had his entire life laid out before him, that in less than six months would be walking across the stage for graduation and would move on to live a life that my boyfriend would never get to see. But it was in that image that I finally understood what Garrett and my father had been trying so hard to get me to understand.

I wouldn't get anywhere, no change would be made, if I continued to sit and isolate myself from the world. I had walked out of Lincoln Heights alive for a reason. I couldn't let all those lives just be another old news article nobody looked back at until another tragedy brought it back to light. I had to be the change, I had to live for all those who would never get the chance to.