Sunday, June 7th, 2020

I'd given my parents his letter.

Schizophrenia. Without a diagnosis, it could never be determined if Nix had it, but it was plausible.

I knew my parents were upset that they hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. He'd been able to cover up his feelings so well. They may have believed something was wrong in the beginning, but he'd hidden everything.

He never seemed to be hurting.

My parents were taking a drive today. Mum needed to get out of the house and dad had offered to take her to some waterfall she had always wanted to go to nearby. They'd asked me if I wanted to go but I still had a lot of packing to do. Besides, I knew they needed some time together.

I had gotten as far as packing up my wardrobe. The only thing left inside was the box of things that reminded me of Nix. Photos, mostly. And now, his letter.

As much as I had wanted to, I couldn't get rid of it. I had thought about burning it but then I saw mum's face when I read it to her. Something changed in my parent's last night. I'd never seen them so quiet.

Mum was different this morning, almost like her old self again. I had seen her changing over the past few weeks. I had started to notice how she'd been calling me pet names again, which may have seemed insignificant. It just wasn't insignificant to me.

I close the lid on his box, ignoring the photos that used to hang on my wall. Those were from the past, a life that I felt detached from now.

It wasn't just my parents who were acting different since the letter, I felt different too. Somehow, the letter made me realise just how little I could have done for my older brother.

For months I had been fighting a battle within myself. I had truly believed that I could have been influential enough to stop him. But I know now that my brother could only listen to himself. No one could have stopped him.

Some people can only truly be helped if they ask for it. Others are just good at hiding it until it's too late.

Mrs Thornbury was right about one thing. I'd only ever truly be at peace with myself when I accepted who I was. No amount of counselling sessions could have fixed that.

But a letter did. It brought me closure. The type of closure I didn't even know I had needed.

I'd taken up Mrs Thornbury's advice at 2 am, researching university courses. I'd never looked before because I had never really thought about my future beyond finishing year 12. For the past six months, I have just been taking life day-by-day but now I was ready to really start living.

I'd researched for hours, only stopping when my eyes were so raw that I could hardly focus on the screen anymore. But I knew roughly what I was interested in doing.

Clinical psychology had never been on my radar much. Not until this year, anyway. But now, I realised I wanted to help people. Just like how Mrs Thornbury helped me. I want people to know that they had someone they could talk to no matter what.

My phone chimes with a message from mum. She's sent me a selfie of her and dad, standing in front of a waterfall. It takes my breath away when I see them smiling. They truly looked happy.

Your dad and I are just going to stop for dinner. We'll bring you home something to eat too. Won't be long!

I smile at her message. I text back that there is no hurry, to enjoy their time together.

I close my messages, opening my music. I connect my phone to my speaker, turning up the volume to Cannonball by Damien Rice. I begin to tape together a box, the music soothing me.

I look around the room, overwhelmed by the number of things I was going to need to pack up.

"Well," I mumble, "I better start somewhere."

I wake with a jolt. I groan, stretching out my limbs.

I'd successfully packed up one half of my room. But I'd clearly passed out from exhaustion, uncomfortably falling asleep against one of my boxes.

I stand up, wiping my eyes and reaching for my phone. I'd only been asleep for about half an hour. There's a message sent five minutes ago from my dad, informing me that they were stuck in some traffic.

I yawn, plugging in my speaker which must have died whilst I'd been sleeping. I reach to turn the power point on when I hear a sound.

I hear it again and I stand up straight. The hairs on the back of my neck have risen. I try to calm my breathing, but the silence makes it seem so loud.

I hear it again and freeze, craning my ear to listen. The sound is quiet, but loud enough to alert me. Something wasn't right. It sounded like feet on the hardwood floor. I hear a floorboard creak again.

My heart is beating so fast that I feel as if it is going to explode out of my chest.

One thing that I don't think would ever change, even with time, was how cautious I became after Nix's death. I was always aware of my surroundings now. Every little thing could make me flinch or jump. It seemed to be built into my DNA.

But for the first time, I felt grateful that I had become so alert. Something wasn't right and I knew it.

I reach for my phone, trying not to make any sudden movements. I unlock it, ready to call dad but I stop. What good would it do? They were stuck in traffic and I'd only scare them. They couldn't help me right now.

I think about calling the police but then something occurs to me. What if it's just one of my friends saying goodbye? What if—

"No," I whisper to myself. "They would've called first."

I hear the creak of the floorboards again. It seems to be coming further down the hallway, closer to the kitchen.

I pocket my phone, shaking out my hands so that I can reach for my door handle. I pull on it diligently, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. It whines and I cringe, pausing.

I peek out into the gap, but I can't see anything. I open the door slowly, leaving it halfway. I squeeze out, stepping into the hallway.

It was growing dark outside. The house seemed emptier at night and right now, I'd never felt more alone.

The front door was slightly ajar. I curl my hands into fists, internally cursing myself for not locking it when my parents left. Not that I thought that someone would try and break-in, but you can never be too careful.

I listen closely. I couldn't hear anything now. I wasn't taking any more chances, though. The front door was ajar and I was getting the hell out.

I briskly walk towards the door, ready to slip between the gap when I hear something click behind me. I freeze, the blood draining from my face.

"Turn to face me please, London."

I turn around slowly, my hands raised. I'm shaking but I try to hold it in.

"Did you really think I'd just give up that easily?"

I face her now, the barrel of a gun pointed right at my head. I don't blink, I don't breath. Any sudden movements could cause a reaction from her.

My tongue seems to stick to the roof of my mouth, but still, I'm able to get out one, single word.

"Aubrey."