Wednesday, February 12th, 2020

I'd been walking to school every day since the beginning of the week. Well, sort of. It might have seemed insane, but really, it mattered to me. I couldn't stand taking Nix's car, not yet. I wasn't ready for that.

My parents liked to think that it was a good step in the right direction but it was only sending me spiralling backwards.

So, every morning, since Monday anyway, I've been driving two blocks from my house, holding my breath to stop myself from smelling the lingering stench of bleach. Then from there, I walk to school.

"Hey," Sydney nudges me, "you're nodding off. Did you sleep last night?"

That was the other thing. Everyone was picking up on my tiredness now. Mostly because since the car was brought home, I've been sleeping less.

I hate knowing that it's just sitting in the driveway, waiting for me every day. Waiting to be driven places. I know it's ridiculous to hate an inanimate object, but I do. I had to hate something, after all.

"Sorry," I smile meekly. "I haven't been sleeping. Not used to the new house yet."

It was an easy lie, something I found myself getting better at. I wasn't sure if I should be proud of that development or not.

"Well, you don't want to miss today's lesson," Sydney beams, linking her hands together on the table. "We're learning about—"

"Sydney," Mrs Montgomery snaps. Sydney stops talking, rolling her eyes. Hate her, she mouths, directing her insult to our psychology teacher.

"Today's class is always my favourite to teach," Mrs Montgomery practically shouts and I instantly feel bad for the first two rows who are probably being hit with her flying spit.

It was common knowledge that you never sat in those rows, Sydney had told me before our first lesson. You always had to make sure you arrived for class early or you'd be out of luck.

"The mind of a killer is always up for debate. Studies have shown that an aspect of their brain is..."

It doesn't matter what she says next, because I can't hear it. My ears are ringing. I can feel my hands shaking and I can't seem to stop them.

Sydney's hand lands on my arm and I look over at her worried expression. "You good?" she whispers, her eyes drawn over to Mrs Montgomery briefly to make sure she isn't listening to us.

I shake my head, then nod. I've completely forgotten how to act.

"You've gone pale, Lon. Are you sure—"

"It's alright. I'm alright."

I don't want to sound rude but I can tell that Sydney knows to keep quiet now. I close my eyes, breath in slowly and then out again. Count to five, breath out again.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't take it out on you," I apologise.

She smiles solemnly at me like she understands what I'm going through. I really hope she doesn't.

"I get it. Teenagers need 8-10 hours of sleep and it's hard to function when we only get a minimal amount. But what do they expect? These are the most important years of our lives. We have to live them."

I wasn't sure if I agreed with her about these being the best years of our lives, but she was distracting me from listening to the lesson nonetheless.

Then Sydney gets in trouble again. Mrs Montgomery gives her a warning this time and then everything comes tumbling back.

Mrs Montgomery is projecting two brains, side-by-side. One from a person seen to have a normal, functioning brain and another from a serial killer.

"Scans of serial killers show low Orbital Cortex Activity. The scans have also shown that serial killers are less likely to develop a sense of attachment, meaning that they aren't likely to empathise with their victims."

"Did your brother ever harm you in any way, London?"

"No. Well...no not psychically and no more than any other sibling. Sibling's fight sometimes. It's normal."

"Was his behaviour towards you normal?"

I can't take anymore. I already knew all this. I'd researched after Nix died, looking for signs that I may have missed. I never found anything that helped me.

My shaky hand goes up in the air and Mrs Montgomery looks over at me, smiling. She thinks I'm going to ask a question.

"Can I— can I get a drink, please?"

Sydney looks over at me, her expression grave. I must look even worse than I feel.

"Alright, London. Hurry back though please."

I try to nod, but my head feels fuzzy. I must stand up too suddenly because before I know it, I'm on the ground. Sydney shouts my name and my vision goes black.

The room is all foggy when I try to sit up. My head is pounding. I have to squint, my eyes burning from the white lights above.

"Easy does it, London," a voice soothes. A woman comes into view, smiling at me. I don't recognise her.

"What...happened?" I croak.

"You fainted. Accelerated heart rate. Possibly low blood sugar levels, but we can't test that at school. I've rung your parents but they haven't picked up. Are they at work?"

I nod but stop when I feel dizzy.

I must have been in first aid by the looks of it. The room was covered with hospital and health-related posters. There was a big red cross painted on the door, the words nurse's office printed underneath.

"How long have I been out?" I ask, my voice sounding scratchy.

"Roughly five minutes. When you collapsed in class, Sydney came to get me and we put you in a wheelchair when you didn't respond straight away. You were beginning to wake up when I brought you over here, but I think you were just exhausted. Have you been getting enough sleep?"

I read the name badge on her white polo shirt. Mrs Taylor.

"Same as usual," I answer honestly. I'd learnt to give non-answers since my last named changed to Hall.

Her mouth pulls into a thin line, her nude lipstick almost disappearing into her pale skin.

It was hard to tell how old she was. Maybe forty, maybe older. She had perfect porcelain skin, her black hair pulled back into a tight bun that pulled at the edges of her forehead.

"I'm going to write you a slip to take the rest of the day off and I'm going to try and get your parents to come and collect you," she squeezes my shoulder reassuringly before walking out of the room.

I sit up from the bed, dragging my feet over the edge. They dangle just off the floor when she steps back inside, eyebrows furrowed.

"Still no answer. Do you have anyone else I could call for you?"

I almost say Nix. Then I remember where I am. Did I hit my head when I landed on the ground too? Was I concussed?

"No," I whisper.

She nods sadly, like this news pains her somehow. "Alright, well, I've left a voicemail advising them on what has happened and I told them that I think it would be best if you went to the doctors to get some blood tests. Just as a precaution."

I nod, tucking my hands under my thighs. I just wanted to collapse back against the bed but I was trying my best to listen to her.

"You'll just have to stay here until the end of—"

"I can take her home."

I look up to see Harry standing in the doorway, shoulder leaning against the frame. His brown hair curls slightly around his ears from the summer heat.

Mrs Taylor's smiles, glowing when she notices Harry standing there. "Mr Coleman, I can't let you cut class and take—"

"I have a free period," he grins, despite the concerned look he keeps giving me.

Mrs Taylor looks apprehensive like she wants to believe him but can't quite bring herself to do it.

Harry brings his hands up like he's surrendering. "You can check my timetable, Mrs Taylor. I wouldn't lie to my favourite nurse though, would I?"

Mrs Taylor laughs heartily. "Alright, Harry. London, if you're alright with that I can give you a slip to go to the office."

"Sure," I smile, getting up slowly.

Mrs Taylor stands close by me, ready to catch me if I decide to faint again. "Get some sleep, London. And eat some food."

Harry walks next to me as we exit first aid and head towards the office. "Syd told me that you guys were learning about serial killers. Weak stomach for that kind of thing?"

I almost say yes but then think better of it. "Just tired. Maybe a little dehydrated."

Harry nods, head turned towards me.

I deliver the slip to the office before they sign me out, messaging my parents and notifying them that I was leaving home early due to illness.

Today was a scorcher of a day, the sun instantly drawing beads of sweat to my forehead. Harry and I exit the school, heading towards the carpark. He guides me towards his car, his arm lightly brushing my back. I pretend not to notice.

"You don't have to do that," I say. "I'm okay now. I'm not going to faint again."

He drops his arm and I almost regret saying anything.

"Just making sure. Wouldn't want you to hit the concrete. It wouldn't be pretty."

I smile weakly at him, wrapping my arms around my abdomen.

"Has it happened before?" he questions, just as we reach his car. He opens the passenger side door for me before jogging around to his side.

"Fainting? No. Never."

Twice before, actually. The first time was when I was identifying my brother's body in the morgue. I clearly remember the bullet hole that had been cleaned, perfectly centred between his brows, where he'd pulled the trigger. The second time was at his funeral when I was watching the reporters ask my parents questions.

"Did your son ever show signs of violent behaviour? Did your son ever harm anyone before this? Did your son ever threaten you? Did—"

"You've got that face again," Harry whispers.

I swallow, picking at my nail bed nervously. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise, I just wish you'd say what you were thinking about every now and then."

I wish I could.

"I don't even know most of the time. I kind of just get lost in my own memories and can't seem to stop."

I wish I'd learn to just shut up. Harry didn't need to hear all this. Harry didn't need to know about the deepest, darkest parts of my mind.

"Bad memories?" he asks, eyebrow cocked.

He reverses out of the carpark before turning out of the school and towards my house.

"I wouldn't be contemplating them if they were any good," I say.

"Do you know what your problem is, Lon? You're too honest. Learn to lie a little."

"Shut up, Nix. I'm not that honest."

"Did you wish it didn't happen? The memories coming back, I mean." he asks.

He's pulling up at the red stoplight, his eyes still focused on the road.

This was getting dangerous. Nix was right all those times he said that I was too honest. Sometimes the truth can hurt more than a lie.

The silence slips for too long and I pretend that I haven't just ignored him. I pretend that my answer isn't written in my silence.

He pulls into my street and I start to unbuckle my seatbelt.

"Can't wait to get away from me, huh?"

"It's not that, I—"

"It's alright, I get it. I pushed too hard. Sorry. I just...I think I understand."

"What do you mean?"

"About the memories. The daydreaming. Whatever they are, however hard they are to remember, I think I get why you still let yourself think about them."

My breathing stops and I hold onto the door handle like my life depends on it.

"No matter how difficult they are, you don't want to let them go because you know that when you do, it'll all be over. You'll have to forget and that isn't an option. Not yet anyway."

I'd never felt so torn open in my entire life. I should have expected this to happen. I'd let myself get attached so quickly because I was craving attention, I was craving anything to stop me from feeling lonely. I hadn't had friends in ages, not since Nix's destruction. I had my parents but I couldn't talk to them about my problems. They already had enough to deal with.

I can feel my hands shaking, the tears pooling in my eyes. I look in the rearview mirror and notice the stuff sitting on his backseat.

"You weren't kidding about your hat collection I see."

I needed to distract him, to stop him from thinking he was somehow working me out.

"What? Oh, yeah. Those three are from Liam and the rest are just some that I brought for myself, besides that beanie with the flowers embroidered. That is not mine. That's Kennedy's. She always forgets it in my car. It's been there since last Winter."

I watch him as he smiles, looking back at his collection. I can't help but notice the way his eyes linger in the corner, where he's stacked up the three baseballs caps from Liam.

"I only keep them in the car because I've kind of ran out of room in my wardrobe. It's a pretty bad obsession. I think I might need someone to stage an intervention soon."

"Well, you did give me one of your hats to keep. So at least you know that you aren't a hoarder. I don't think hoarder's like people taking their stuff."

"Gee, that's a relief," he jokes, pretending to wipe his brow.

I laugh lightly, the weight slowly starting to lift off my chest. These were the types of conversations I liked having, ones that didn't involve my past. Ones that didn't jeopardise everything I'd worked hard to cover up.

"Do you happen to collect things?" he ponders, his arms draped over the steering wheel as he turns to me.

"I used to collect stamps. It started because of my grandpa. He always wrote letters to my grandma when he was conscripted in the Vietnam War. She started cutting off the stamps and keeping them in a box. He died when I was eight and she gave me the collection. There was at least a hundred of them. Then I just kept on collecting them whenever I could."

"Why'd you stop?"

I think about it for a moment, wondering if I actually had a good enough answer to give him.

"I don't know really. I guess I just outgrew it. My parents kept the box though, with all my grandpa's stamps. They have sentimental value."

It was weird talking about normal things like this. I missed it.

"It's just that one," I say, pointing to the house with the low brick fence and freshly weeded garden.

He pulls into the driveway, switching off the engine. He frowns and I know what he's about to say before the words even leave his mouth.

"I didn't think you had your car at school today. Where'd you park it?"

"Oh, uh, it's at the mechanics. Needed a service."

"So you walked?"

"It's only twenty minutes, Harry. You're making it sound like I had to travel hours."

He shakes his head. "You're getting a lift with me until further notice," he says, like he's ordering it to happen and I can't say no.

"You really don't—"

"I'm not taking no for an answer. It's too hot in the mornings. It's practically 40 degrees Celsius before 8 am now."

"I think that's a slight exaggeration."

He waves my statement off, shaking his head. "I'll pick you up at 8:30 tomorrow, alright?"

He wasn't going to budge on this so I was going to have to compromise.

"What about if I just walk over to yours and then you give me a lift from there?"

He cocks an eyebrow. "You really don't want me near your house, do you?"

I cringe. "No, it's not that. I just..."

"Parents?"

"Yeah," I breath. "They're just...a little full-on. They worry a lot."

"Is it because I'm male?" he says and I can't help but laugh.

"Something like that."

It probably wouldn't matter if he was male or not. I just didn't want them to see that I was getting attached to people here.

"Alright. I'll see you at my house at 8:30?"

I nod. "Sounds good. And thanks. For today. For right now too."

I realise as I climb out of his car that this complicated things even further. Now I'd have to drive the car two streets away, get out, walk to Harry's and go from there. And for how long? How long could I pretend the car was getting fixed without drawing suspicion to myself?

Well, my life was complicated already. I guess a little more couldn't hurt me now, right?