"Heaven knows we belong way down below." –The Pretty Reckless, Heaven Knows

"Where were you last night?" my mother asked as she stirred her mug of coffee. Her voice was hoarse, and I looked up from where I was pouring a glass of orange juice. I realized with a jolt how much older she looked. Her hair was graying, and though she wore a sparse amount of makeup, you could see that the usually beautiful woman was showing her age.

"What are you talking about?" I replied, replacing the orange juice in the refrigerator and turning away.

"You think I didn't hear you come in last night? You left boot prints in the kitchen. I went to check on you last night. I found a full bath, but an empty bedroom. I'm not an idiot, Camila. Where were you?"

"There was something I needed to do," I told her in a low voice, refusing to meet her eyes.

"I don't appreciate being lied to, Camila," she told me. "I've been going through a lot lately, and now that your father is gone, I thought maybe this would be a good chance to solidify our mother-daughter bond. But I seem to be the only one putting in an effort."

"I apologize for the inconvenience," I replied curtly, sipping my juice and tracing patterns on the counter-top.

"You're getting sloppy, Cam," she murmured.

"That much is becoming apparent," I whispered.

"Where were you?" my mother asked. "No lies and no frills. Just tell me the truth, for once in your life. Where were you?"

"I had places to be."

"Where?"

"Does it matter?" I asked. "I was out, I came back at a respectable time, and no one was harmed. I'm fine. Let it go."

She slammed down the coffee cup, and I realized her hand was shaking. "Just tell me where you were!" she yelled, causing me to flinch. I'd never heard her raise her voice in such a way before. She usually left that for my father. "Why can't you be honest with me? I'm worried about you."

"Don't be," I told her. "I just had something to do."

"Please," she whispered. "Just tell me where you were."

"Why do you care?" I asked, throwing my hands up in the air. "It was one night. Please just let it be."

I went to walk off, when her voice stopped me in my tracks. "Do you even love me, Camila?"

I stopped and turned around. "What?"

Her lips were shaking, and the tears in her eyes shattered my heart. "Do you love me?"

"You're my mother," I replied in a hollow voice.

She shook her hair. "That doesn't answer my question, and you know it. Do you love me?"

"I..." I whispered. "Mom. I..."

"You can't even say it, can you?" she asked. "What happened to you that was so bad you're so broken? You used to be my sweet baby girl, and now I look at you, and I don't even recognize you anymore."

I looked away. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Tell me where you were last night. Tell me you love me. Tell me something, Camila; anything that lets me know my daughter is still in there."

I shook my head, searching for something to say. But I didn't even know what I was supposed to do. I couldn't tell her where I was last night, and I couldn't tell her I loved her. Did I even love her? When was the last time we sat down and had a real conversation? I didn't even know her favorite color! When had our family fractured?

Was it my fault?

"I should leave," my mother whispered, standing up and putting her mug in the sink. "I have things to do today. I'll see you tonight, Camila."

"Mom," I whispered.

The whole kitchen was silent as she turned to me. "I think you've said all you needed to say," she told me. "Goodbye."

She walked off, and I leaned against the bench, bracing my hands. I breathed heavily, squeezing my eyes shut to stop the tears. My whole body ached from the pain, and it felt like my life was crumpling. I had lost my parents, my dignity, and my life. I was a suspect in a murder investigation; and I was the killer. I had nothing left. My relationship was based on a lie, and I had half of my school thirsting after my blood. What did I even have left that was untainted?

The house phone rang, and I picked it up from the receiver. "Hello?" I croaked.

"Camila, it's me."

I recognized the rich and smooth timbre as my father's. "So not a good time right now. Don't call here again."

"Camila, wait!" he called, just before I went to hang up. "Please let me speak."

"What do you want?" I asked.

"To see you," he said simply. "I hate how we left things. Let's just meet up for lunch today and I can explain everything. We can have a normal conversation."

"I don't even know what normal is anymore, Dad," I whispered.

"I need to see you. You're still my daughter, Camila. Please. Let's just talk about everything."

"Richard? Are you coming?" a female voice echoed in the background, and my hand tightened around the phone.

"Are you with Janet right now?" I asked. "You are, aren't you?"

"Cam, please."

"Goodbye, Richard," I said tonelessly, feeling almost empty. "Don't call here again."

I hung up, and, in a desperate attempt to avoid temptation, took the phone off the hook. The house felt hot and cloying, and I knew I needed to leave before I suffered a breakdown. I grabbed my keys and my bag and took off, hopping into my car and allowing my instincts to lead me anywhere.

Anywhere turned out to be Perrie's house, and I recognized the familiar rosebushes and colonial setting she always complained about for being 'tacky', like something out of a classic novel.

I walked up to the door and let myself in with the spare key, knowing her parents would both be working. I opened the door and stepped into the cool foyer, shutting the door and throwing the keys into the floral ashtray on the table. I started for the stairs and took them one at a time, feeling angry and upset and guilty at the same time.

I felt like everything was eating me up, and I felt so sick I could throw up. I was a killer; I'd lost my mother and my father. I could never tell Zach the truth about me; he'd never speak to me again. Perrie was the one real person I knew I could rely on through thick and thin. The girl who stood with me through it all.

Her bedroom door was closed, but I could hear muffled noises from behind the door. I listened for a second to make sure she was alone, before knocking on the door. I couldn't cry anymore; I felt empty inside.

I heard footsteps, and then the door opened. Perrie stood before me, pale and weak. She looked older than eighteen, and her face immediately crinkled in concern. "Camila, are you all right?" she asked.

I looked up at her, desperate and alone and isolated. "Perrie?" I whispered.

She grabbed my arm. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I..." I whispered. I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror in her room. I stood there small and pale and tiny, with empty eyes and sallow skin. The girl with the confident smile and knowing eyes was gone, replaced with a scared little girl with nowhere to go.

"What's going on, Cam?" she asked, shaking me slightly. "What's wrong?"

I looked up at her and shook my head. "I don't know," I whispered. "I don't know who I am anymore."

~ * ~

"Cam, you're scaring me. What's going on?" Perrie asked as she led me into the room. It was an organized chaos; clothes thrown everywhere and bottles of polish and mascara lining the dresser. "Hey, talk to me."

She sat on the bed and dragged me with her, and I shook my head. "Perrie, do you like me?"

"What?"

"Do you like the person I am? Do you like the things I do; the way I am?"

"Cam, what is this about?"

"Answer me!"

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Of course I do. You're my best friend. What's going on?"

I shook my head. "Would you stand by me through anything? The worst thing I could ever do, the worst thing I could ever say. Would you stick by me through it all?"

"Of course," she replied. "You've stuck by my side through thick and thin. I owe you the same. Why?"

"I've done terrible things, Perrie," I whispered. "Things so bad I could never repeat them. Things that I could never redeem or repent. I lost everything that ever meant anything to me. I don't know how to be myself because I don't know who I am anymore. What do I do?"

"Camila, talk to me," Perrie said, taking my hands and squeezing tightly. "Let me help you."

"You can't," I whispered. "Nothing can help me anymore. I don't know what to do. I want to stop everything and save myself, but I can't. I can't go back. I'm an awful person, and I can never atone for that. What am I supposed to do? I have nothing."

"You have Zach," she replied. "He loves you."

"No, he loves the Camila he thinks he knows," I replied. "But that's not me. That's the shell of a girl—a girl I used to be. I'm a monster, Per. I couldn't even tell my mother I loved her. Someone hates me so much they hit me with a car. What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Camila, you will always have me," Perrie whispered. "You're my best friend, and I will always stand by you. But you have to let me in."

"I can't," I told her. "What I did... I could never bring it up again. I can't apologize... Nothing makes it better."

She pulled me into a tight embrace, and I hugged her as if my life depended on it. Everything in my life was crumbling apart. It turns out no matter how pretty life seems in Leighton Fields, even the most beautiful girls are hiding ugly secrets.

I pulled back and shook my head, pushing my hair back. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't mean to dump it all on you. I think everything just got too much. I'll figure it out." I stood up. "Thank you for being there."

"I hate it when you do that, you know," she called as I started for the door.

I turned around. "Do what?"

"Let me in and then cut me out," she replied. "It's like I get so close to finally knowing you, and then you rip it all away. I may be a mindless addict, but I'm still pretty smart. And I may look weak, but I'm actually pretty strong. Maybe if you let me in for a second you'd see that I can help you."

"You don't get it, Per," I told her. "Nothing can help me. I'm broken. And I can't be fixed."

"Nothing's ever truly broken," she told me. "You are so caught up in the bad that you never see the good you do. People choose to give you their secrets in return for favors. You never lie, and you never force anyone to come to you for help. They do it all by themselves. Humanity is flawed, Cam, not just you."

I smiled. "Thank you. It means a lot to have a friend like you."

"Next time you lose yourself, just remember I'm here for you," she told me. "And I'm never letting go."

I started down the stairs, feeling slightly more relieved now that I knew that Perrie would be there for me. What I would have to do next would be ugly, but hopefully it would mean I could start again. Once I knew who was sending me the messages—the one who knew about all the people I'd killed—I could finally end this. I'd pay them off, send them on a one-way trip to Prague... do whatever it took to get them out of my life. And once I'd done that, I could dedicate my life to trying to absolve the mistakes I'd made in the past. I could never truly atone for my sins, but I could try. I could even confess to the police what I'd done.

I was through trying to shelter myself from the world. I was broken; my mother had proven that this morning. This was never the person I'd wanted to be, and I needed to fix myself before I took the rest of Leighton Fields down with me. It would be a slow and ugly process, but it was something I had to do. I couldn't live like this anymore.

My phone beeped again, and I flipped it open. Once I read it, I felt my stomach plummet. I read it a few more times to make sure I had read it correctly.

This charade isn't over until I say it is.

The breath left me in a whoosh, and I felt like I really might throw up this time. Finally everything had come together; like puzzle pieces falling into place. Everything made sense.

I gasped. "I know who it is."