"Jessica."

"Hmm?"

"I don't feel comfortable in this dress." It is a long sleeve, color of the sunlight. I had asked—no, begged—for something that doesn't show my arms. Jessica was fine when I told her the blatant lie that I was very self-conscious of my body. 

And this is the fifth dress I don't feel girly in. I feel guilty. For having fun. Not going to see my mother. I've done Homecoming once. And I regretted it when Mom was "sick." I pat my fingers against the material wrapped around my body. Legs, exposed. Chest, exposed. I feel horrible.

"Hmm," Jessica muses, circling around me in her mini skirt and tank top. She has already bought a dress that fits her. But none fit me. "You're an earth tone, not actually taking in some of these colors. Maybe we could fit one for the theme of this Homecoming. It's a Victorian King and Queen theme, god knows why they picked that."

I scrunch up my nose. I hope I don't dress in all poofy clothes. I hated that when I was a baby, I hate that now.

She snaps her fingers. "I got some ideas, but I gotta know if you're cool with us being like those two girls in that movie I saw."

I arch a brow. "Um."

"Hold on." Jessica says,and quickly leaves the dressing room, her tennis shoes hitting thefloor.

Once I'm sure she's out of shot, I take a seat on the almost vacant bench, my clothes in a scattered heap on my left, Jessica's bag for her dress on the right.I strip off the dress, and stare at the cuts that are along my arms while getting dressed. I haven't relapsed in over two weeks when Dad began to be better, and I've made sure not to cross any lines with Carlton, though I have been reopening a couple scars.

I run one finger over one dangerously close to my vein. I was so close to dying that day, but I kept myself conscious, thanks to sneaking in a drink of liquor. Or was it some drugs I still had in my system . . .

All I am hoping is that I have a good night. I can be happy. I hope. But I doubt it.

You shouldn't have done this.

A knock on the door makes me jump. "Are you decent in there, Autumn?"

"J-just a minute." I stutter, putting on my jacket over my clothes. It's started to get cold recently. Better than the heat wave we've had all summer. I smooth out my shirt and pants. "Come in."

She knocks again. "Um, you have to unlock the door, baby."

I get up to unlock the latch,and Jessica sweeps in with a dress that are the colors of the name I am born. It is long sleeved, the length long enough to reach my knees. Oh my gosh. "I..."

"Like it? Figured you will.Something autumn for Autumn." Then she giggles. "So, do you think it's right for you?"

I reach over to touch the dress, fingers shaking every single time I make contact with the inside of it. It isn't too revealing. It won't show my scars. I can wear this. "Yes," I say quietly.

"Hmm?"

"Yes."I repeat louder.

"Perfect! I also got you some black shoes. I'm a master of finding out which shoes fit for people." She waves the pair of black kitten heels in her other hand. "You are going to steal Spencer's heart!"

I blink at the notion of that. I can't steal his heart. I hate that heart he has. It's stitched on his sleeve and all I will do with it is cut it up, with a glass shard and thousands of lies and lies. I shake my head. "No, Jessica."

"Aw, damn. Well, whoever you wear it for, they'll fall for you." She picks up her bag of purchases, and draws her bottom lip with her teeth. "If you don't mind me asking, who are you wearing the dress for?"

I tilt my head. My silence is answer enough, but then I say, "My boyfriend."

This catches her attention. "Do I know of this boyfriend? Wait, let'stalk about this over some pancakes. I'm in the mood for some. You?"

I lift my shoulders in an attempt to shrug, but my stomach growls. I have avoided lunch because Carlton had said that I have gained weight last week. So I've eaten less, but it's made me crabby.

"Food it is. Come on. IHOP or Denny's?" She is talking a mile a minute, but she snaps her fingers. "Oh, I know this place a few miles from my house!"

"O-okay."

We leave the store with the dress and shoes, and I'm surprised that we've completed two things today. Got our tickets and paid for our outfits. And the dance is Saturday. Jessica drives us over to a small restaurant, and I am immediately overwhelmed by the smell of pancakes. Syrup.

"Jessica." I start.

"They have good food. I recommend you order some of their chocolate chip pancakes. Delicious!" she squeals as she hops out the car.

I was about to say that I'm still indecisive about who I should take to Homecoming, but then the mention of chocolate chip pancakes makes my stomach growl like a beast. We walk inside the cafe and sit in a booth. When the waitress comes by, I pull the menu up to my face.

I'm hoping I don't have a bruise on my face. But I hate being seen.

I am not pretty. Not like Jessica.

"Autumn, what do you want to drink?"

"Hot chocolate." I squeak.

The waitress nods, and writes it down, then walks to the kitchen to fill the order.

"So, do you want me to pick you up Saturday so we can get ready together?" Jessica suggests."Or should we just meet up at the school?"

"Um . . ." I look at the menu again. Everything looks good, but will I fit into the dress by next Saturday? "I think I'll have the chocolate chip, like you suggested."

"Autumn, did you listen to me?"

On instinct I cringe, dropping the menu with a soft  smack. I'm reminded of Carlton, saying those exact words. I was high back then, unaware of everything. Everything melts away, the cafe, Jessica, the menu, my clothes.

"Autumn, did you listen to me?" Carlton blows a cloud of smoke in my face. I'm on another plane of existence. I am separated from my body.

"I . . . don't know." I mumble. I'm naked, curled on the floor and listening to things I don't believe is here. "I hear a monster."

"Dumbass," he grumbles, pushing my arms away from my middle, exposing my body. "I said you're going to show yourself to a few friends . . ."

"I . . . Why?"

"You agreed to it, don't you remember? You want to show them the marks I made. You want to." He takes out his phone.

"I do..." I say. My head leans back against the wall, seeing sparkles fly all around me. Fairies. I can feel them tugging at my hair, light little tugs. It's comforting and I enjoy the feeling of my head flying back and forth. There's tiny bites of pain on my breasts, but I ignore it, seeing the fairies.

"Autumn, Autumn!"

I snap out of my trance, and stare right at Jessica, who has her arm reaching across the table,hand planted on my shoulder. She's touching me with concern. With worry. Stop, please, Jessica. Please.

"You zoned out for a moment," she explains blandly. "Is everything—"

"Yes." The word is out of me before I can hear the rest of her. I push her hand off of me.

I look at her face, stricken with worry, and then to waitress, pen raised above a piece of paper.Our order not complete. She too, is confused. "I'm fine." I smile, before turning to the waitress. "May I have chocolate chip pancakes, please?"

The waitress smiles lightly,before writing it down on her notepad. "Would you like a side of bacon or sausage?"

"Sausage."

Jessica takes a sip of her drink. Mine still sits, the whipped cream melting. "I'll have the blueberry pancakes with a side of toast."

That's a lot of carbs. But with Jessica's body, she'll have burned it off easily.

"It will be out right away," the waitress says, walking away on her heels, along with our menus.

Jessica props her elbow on the table, chin placed underneath her palm. "You've been spacing out, lately. What's up?"

I shake my head at her suspicion. I hate how she wants to be a police offer when she's older. She already has that intuition to find a liar. And I'm in her trap. "Nothing, I'm okay."

"Is it what I said earlier at Ross?"

I look over at the décor around the restaurant. Lots of . . . roosters here. "This has such a farm like feeling to it."

"Autumn." she presses, her knuckles rapping against the table. "Was it about me saying that Spencer will have his jaw drop when he sees you?"

I let my eyes shut, instead of envisioning Spencer I see Carlton, with his smirk. The haze in his eyes when he's stoned. The way his hands clench into fists as he bleeds rage from his skin. The words of degradation that comes from his snake of a tongue.

Heat pools in my face, and there is a sickness crawling in my stomach and my heart. "It's nothing."

Her voice is a soft whistle of wind. "You have a bruise. Right on your wrist."

I look down. Sure enough, the purple bruise from Carlton I expected on Tuesday has reared its ugly,misshapen head. "No—this is just paint from . . . Ceramics." I lie. Don't give it away. If you look at them in the eyes, they will see you for what you are. Never look, keep them away. Never look, keep them away.

Never look, keep them away. Never look.

"That would have washed off." She's still playing dumb because she knows she knows she knows. I grab the cup of hot chocolate, the liquid splashing on my legs. I grit my teeth through it.

Her knowing is pain enough.

"Your boyfriend, does he hit you? Or was this an accident from being a klutz?"

"Jess," There is an edge in my voice I've never heard before. It is the razor blade I keep in my drawer, it is the papercut I have from reading a book. It is me,in broken pieces. "Don't push it. Especially over pancakes."

Her face softens, and she leans back in the booth and sips her water once again. I've seen that look she gives Wyatt at lunch when they had an argument. One about whether Six Flags or Disney is the best trip for summer vacation. Her gaze is locked on me. "This isn't over. We talk in the car."

When the waitress comes with our food, she keeps up a smile. I do too.

Music blasts from Jessica's small Audi, the up type music that you laugh and sing along to in the car. She taps her forefinger on the steering wheel, head slightly bobbing as we hop on Sierra Highway to Lancaster.

My pancakes from the cafe sits in my lap due to the tightness in my stomach. I can't believe I decided to let my arm stretch through the small jacket, I decided to roll up my sleeves so they won't be dirty. I turned my wrist and now she knows I am being harmed.

But then, she's just assuming.

I flick my gaze towards the streets, the cars that fly on by. Are people arguing? Being happy?Talking to old relatives? Do they look at other people in cars,wonders what their lives are like? I push my hand towards my hair,which I hadn't tended to in quite some time. I see flakes of dandruff.

The music cuts, and the only sound is the car running on asphalt.

"How long, Autumn?"

No, no, no. I thought she would drop it. But I know that that isn't Jessica. She doesn't drop certain things, especially huge things. My hands fly towards my chest as something pounds and kicks at my ribcage. "Please, don't."

"How long has Carlton been beating you?" Her hands are tight on the steering wheel. I wouldn't past her to drive with max speed, but I want her to drive me into a ditch. "I need—"

"Don't tell anyone, please."

"But you have to. Just tell me how long."

"During my sophomore year, and his junior. It restarted when we got back together again."

She honks her horn at a driver, but otherwise keeps her eyes locked on the road. "When did that happen?"

I turn in the seat to look at her. "I thought you only wanted to know how long?"

"Autumn." She sighs, her lips moving like a horse when it sneezes. "When?"

"About two weeks after Spencer nearly got suspended for that fight when school started."

It's silent for five more minutes, the static from the radio soothing at my nerves; silence never really suits well for me, especially in car rides with another person. I don't know what to say, how to make conversation flow like a river.

"You're going to the dance with Carlton."

Not a question, not an accusation, not a statement. A fact.

"Yes." I say. "Spencer told me—"

"Does he know about your situation?"

I can only nod, hands tight on my box of food. It doesn't smell appealing now. It smells horrible.

"You know I'm looking out for you, right?"

I breathe out.

"Spence is too. He's like Superman, and you're his Lois Lane. He just has to save you."

My tongue is stuck inside the prison of my teeth, wanting to ask the most important question. Does Spencer know someone who suffered like I did?

"Does Spencer have a sister?" The words are out now.

The car swerves, and a horn honks behind, to the side of us. Jessica changes lane, pulling over to the side of the road, parking it. She is breathing heavy, hands tight on the wheel while she puts her head against the seat. "How do you know—?"

"I saw newspaper clippings, and pictures in his home. She's never mentioned, because I never asked."

Jessica looks at my face, hesitant to raise a hand. "May I hold your arm?"

I give a silent nod, allowing her. She holds my arm gently, pulling my jacket sleeve back. "You didn't answer my question."

"He had a sister. She's presumed gone; ran off with a hot shot boyfriend. Hot shot wasn't really hot shot, he had dreams but they were all pipe dreams." she explains, her eyes not even widening at the scars that are laced around my arm. "She left when Steph was eight, so she doesn't have fond memories. Spence was sixteen."

"I-I'm sorry."

"Not your fault." She raises a finger and presses the pad of it against my scar. It stings, just a little. "This isn't your fault, either. Can you do me a favor?"

My lips press together. It must be big.

"Talk to me whenever he hurts you in any way."

My arm falls limp in my lap as she restarts the car's engine, changing the ignition to drive asshe slowly gets back in the lane.

"Why do you care?"

"Because that's what girlfriends do for each other. We look out for another." she replies, and plays a song on the radio. She hums to the tune, and soon I'm humming.

Something in my chest loosens with relief at having a friend.