Tuesday evening, April 21st, 2020

School had been back for two days now. Unsurprising, I'd missed both.

I hadn't seen any of my friends since the fundraiser two weeks ago. I hadn't been able to face them. Instead, I had lied and said that I was going back home to visit family.

They hadn't questioned me, because why would they? They had no reason to think I was a liar.

I'd pretended to be sick yesterday and I was doing the same thing now. My parents hadn't seemed fazed. They probably liked the idea of keeping me inside, away from prying eyes.

My phone has been ringing non-stop for the past 48 hours. I hadn't answered a single call from anyone. I'd only briefly messaged Kennedy to inform her that I was 'sick'.

I knew that I was only putting off the inevitable. Sooner or later, I'd have to return to school. The last thing I needed was to fall behind.

But for right now, I just couldn't. How was I supposed to look at Harry without seeing Liam and everything my brother had inflicted?

After Asher had dropped me home that night, I'd done some more research. Of course, when I typed in Liam Coleman, everything that popped up was either about his charity work or the day he was killed. By my brother.

Article after article described him as a hero who had protected others from being shot that day. I had slammed the lid quickly after that. I couldn't take much more.

Despite how awful it sounded, I wish that I had remained ignorant about Liam. I wish I hadn't known about him at all.

I'm scrolling through Aubrey's petition about me, noticing that it's gained another 4,000 people, when the front door slams.

I jump, checking the time on my phone. It was just my parents, arriving home from work.

I can hear their murmuring voices as they walk throughout the house. I can hear footsteps suddenly nearing my door before there's a knock.

"Yes?" I call gently, clearing my search history and putting down my phone. I didn't know how far my parents would go these days to keep tabs on me.

Mum opens my door, pushing it all the way so that I get a full view of her.

"I think we should all talk."

So today was the day. Today they'd finally sit down and talk about the fight we had.

"Sure," I agree, shuffling my way out of the door.

My mother waits for me to walk into the room before her. My dad is already seated in the lounge room, his arms resting against his knees as he leans forward in his armchair.

"London," he greets me. "Are you feeling better?"

"Sort of," I mumble, shrugging. I fake my best cough.

My mother walks over to my father, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"What is this, an intervention?" I unintentionally snap.

"No," mum sighs, taking a seat next to me. "We just wanted to..."

"Apologise," my father adds. "We wanted to apologise.

I stare at my lap, entwining and untwining my fingers. My bracelet continuously falls down my wrist.

"We don't want to go on like this, Lonnie," my mum says, reaching out to grasp my arm.

"We don't want to feel disconnected from you. We want you to be able to talk to us."

"I have! I did! It's literally taken you over a month to have a serious conversation with me. How am I at fault here?"

"We never said you were at fault. Don't twist our words."

I roll my eyes, anger beginning to corse through me.

"If anything, it's your fault that you feel like I'm disconnected."

"We know," my mother whispers. "We know we haven't been good enough these past few months."

"But we're trying," my dad adds. "We are just trying our best."

"Your best?" I jump up, pointing a shaky finger at him. "All I'm hearing right now is that I'm disconnected. Why don't you just tell me the truth, for god's sake!"

"Lon—"

"No! You don't get to do that! You still can't admit that you think I'm going to turn out like Nix, can you?"

"We—"

"You're afraid I'm going to be him. I see it. I have seen it since he died."

"Enough!" my father shouts, rising from his seat. His stern look makes me pause and I cower back down.

I didn't often hear my dad yell, but when he did, you knew it was serious.

"If you would just listen to us for one second, you would realise that we are sorry for all of it."

I don't reply. My father takes my silence as his time to speak.

"We are sorry if you think that. We never wanted you to feel like we didn't trust you because of Nix's actions."

"Too late for that," I mumble, hugging myself.

My mother squeezes my arm and when I look up, I notice that she has tears gathering in her eyes.

"We've only been trying to protect you. We don't want to lose you too."

"You're not going to lose me," I sternly say. "Not if you just let me live. I'm not like him. I'm not."

"We know," my mother whispers.

"That's the thing," I say, standing up again. "I don't think you do."

"Lon—"

"Please let me just say this, okay?"

They don't answer, so I take that as my invitation to continue.

"You're both afraid I'll end up like Nix. You're scared because you trusted him too. You thought you knew him too. But you didn't."

"London, we—"

"No," I hold up my hand. "It's alright. I've come to terms with it. Because I'm afraid too. I'm afraid that maybe you're right. Maybe I will be just like him."

My parents stare at me in shock, not sure how to continue.

"The thing is, we all know that at one point in time Nix was good. But he snapped. He snapped one day and what if that happens to me too?"

Despite being almost eighteen, I'd never sounded more like a small child in my life. In all honesty, I was terrified. Terrified that I didn't even know myself.

I don't realise that I'm trembling until my mother wraps her arms around me.

"You are not like him, do you hear me?" she says, sharply.

"But—"

"No, London. You are not like your brother."

"How do—"

"Because," my father interjects, "you have never hurt anyone. You would never hurt anyone."

"Nix had never hurt anyone until..."

I don't need to finish. They know what I'm going to say.

My father sighs, rubbing his jaw. His eyes land  on my mother and I recognise that look.

"What aren't you telling me?" I ask, pulling away from mum.

"Your brother...he showed signs of— of violent behaviour from a young age."

My heart begins to thump louder. My palms begin to sweat.

"What are you talking about?"

Dad claps his hands together, leaning forward in his seat. "When your brother was seven, he broke his arm."

I furrow my eyebrows, nodding. "Yeah, I remember that. He fell off his bike."

Dad shakes his head. "That's what we told you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I question, my voice shaking.

"Nix broke his arm on purpose," my dad says.

"And do you know what he said when I asked him what happened? He smiled at me, despite his arm being completely shattered. Then he said that he wanted to know what it was like to inflict pain."

My breath catches in my throat. I look to mum for reassurance, but she won't meet my gaze.

"But when he was with me, he never seemed like that," I croak, tears gathering in my eyes.

"There is no doubt that he loved you, Lonnie. He would never have hurt you," mum whispers. "He would never have hurt us."

"But he did, didn't he?" I say. "He did hurt us. He is hurting us right now. His actions will hurt us forever."

I watch my father's tired eyes blink back at me. "Your brother may have been unpredictable, but we never imagined he'd ever go— ever go that far."

"Did he ever...do anything else?"

My father nods. "We started taking him to a therapy. After a few sessions, she began to tell us that Nix had started to draw things."

"Things?"

"His thoughts. Monsters, mostly. But something darker. People being murdered violently."

I gulp, trying to stop my hands from shaking.

"We may have just blamed the video games he had started playing if he hadn't already proved to us that he liked to feel pain."

"Why are you only telling me this now?" I ask, balling my fists. "Don't you think I had a right to know? For months I've thought that what he did was completely random."

My father sighs. "We didn't want you to know because we knew it would only upset you more."

"It's a bit late for that," I snort. "My brother is a murderer. His reputation couldn't get much worse."

They're both silent for a moment, which only fuels my disbelief.

"So this whole time you just knew that something wasn't right about him? Did you try to change his behaviour?" I whisper, holding tightly to my resolve.

"Of course," my mother sighs. "We thought— we thought he was beginning to change. He started drawing happier things and making heaps of new friends. He never once hurt anyone and we nearly forgot his drawings ever happened in the first place."

"Until last November," I add.

"Yes," dad croaks. "He must have gotten better at managing it. Better at— at...hiding it."

"I can't believe this," I whimper. "I can't believe that I thought he was a kind person once."

"Your brother had his moments," my mother reassures me. "He was kind most of the time."

"Most of the time? Are you defending him?" I laugh angrily.

"No," she snaps. "I would never defend his actions."

"His actions? It's like you're trying to separate the boy from his behaviour. That is not how it works."

"London, please. That isn't what your mother is saying."

"Then what is she saying, dad?" I shout.

For months, I had thought that I'd known my brother once. Now I've come to realise that I'd never known him at all. He hadn't just been a monster for one day of his life, he'd been one his entire life.

"Just because he was your son, doesn't mean you have to defend him."

"We're not," my father snaps. "What your brother did was a henious, violent, inexcusable crime. We know that. But what you don't understand is that he was our son once, London."

My father didn't cry often. He'd cried at my grandmother's funeral, but aside from that, I had not recollection of his tears. But at this very moment, his voice breaks completely.

"We brought him up with the right morals, the right skills, the right way to live. We thought that we could have saved him. But we didn't."

I should have seen that I wasn't the only one in this family who thought they could have saved Nix. I should have known that we all wanted the same thing.

I should have believed in myself, too. I should have seen that I wasn't Nix, that I never would be. But deep down, I still had this lingering feeling. I still felt myself listening to the doubtful voices in my head, the negative thoughts of the people who hated me.

"You're just like him."

"You know what he did."

I didn't know if I'd ever truly be able to trust myself and that scared me. Telling people they could trust me was only slightly helping my conscious but I was still scared.

What if I didn't just know my brother, but also myself too?

"Dad, you can't think like that. It wouldn't have mattered how well you raised him. From what you've just told me, Nix was always going to go down the wrong path."

He nods, bringing a fist to his mouth.

"I'm sorry, okay?" I sigh. "I shouldn't have said all of that just now. But I just want you guys to realise that you can trust me."

"You don't have to tell us that, Lon. We know we can trust you," my mother says, wiping a stray hair from my face.

"Good," I nod. "Because right now, I need my parents."

"Oh, honey," my mother whispers.

I begin to cry quietly, my shoulders shaking violently.

They both gather me into a hug, holding me tight.

Despite still having a rocky relationship with my parents, all I need is their love and support.

And they've just proven to me that they will always be there for me.