I cock my head to the side as Mrs. Barnett calls out.

"I'll be out in a minute!" I reply in the best Liz impression that I can, "I'm just in the bathroom!"

I pull Liz's body into the bathroom, and lock the door. I'm trembling as I bend down to check her pulse. She's breathing. Phew.

I don't know what to do. Part of me feels like hightailing it and leaving her here, but I know that if I do, Liz will tell her parents everything. I need to think of a way to get her calmed down before I can leave.

I grab a washcloth on the counter and wrap it around her face, creating a makeshift gag so that she won't be able to yell when she regains consciousness. As much as I don't like her right now, I feel bad for doing this to her, as I know that I wouldn't like it very much if she was doing this to me.

I go to take if off of her, when her eyes open.

"Liz!" I exclaim quietly.

Her hands reach up and she takes the washcloth out of her mouth.

Way to go. I forgot to tie her hands.

"Shhhh," I crouch down and place a hand over her mouth, just as she's about to scream.

She gives me a look of loathing, but deep in her eyes I can see that she is scared.

"Listen, I'm not going to hurt you. I never meant to get into this situation but you have to hear me out," I say, her expression still angry, "If I take my hand off of your mouth, you have to be quiet so that I can talk."

She nods, and I slowly remove my hand off of her.

"What the hell Emerald?"

"I was just angry," I answer.

"Just angry? I lock myself in my room when I'm angry! I don't go around vandalising people's houses!" She retorts.

"Fine! I'll help you clean it up if you want!" I offer, "Just please, don't tell your parents that any of this happened!"

"Damn right you're cleaning up your mess!"

"You won't tell anyone?"

"When you clean up my room, I'll decide whether or not to tell anyone," She replies.

I guess that's as good of a deal as I'm gonna get, so I nod, and she tells me to wait here for a minute while she goes and talks to her mom.

When she returns I go with her to her room. I regret trashing her room, as it doesn't look like it's going to be very much fun cleaning it up.

Liz stands there with her arms crossed, as I take the comforter off of her bed.

"You're not going to help?" I ask her.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Whatever," I say as I return to the mess, "Where's your washing machine?"

"I'll take care of those," She offers.

I hold out the pile of blankets for her and she walks over to grab them, when she steps on a shard of glass. Her face tightens up, and she grimaces.

"Ow!"

Liz falls back into her desk chair, and I drop the pile of blankets on the floor.

"Are you okay?" I ask as I bend down to check her foot.

She pulls her foot away.

"Why do you care?" She glowers at me, "We're not friends anymore."

"So? I'd do the same for a random stranger on the street!"

"Well I'm not a stranger!" She replies vehemently.

I can tell that deep down she still wants to be my friend, but I don't say anything because it's probably best that I get myself out of this mess before I go around making friends again.

"Just let me see it!"

She grunts as I lift up her foot and examine her heel. It's bleeding, so I gently set her foot down, and cautiously make my way to the bathroom where I grab a towel.

Back in her room, once I clean up most of the blood on her foot, I realize that the piece of glass is still wedged into her foot.

"Hold still," I say as I pull the fragment out of her foot.

"There's a mini First Aid Kit in my purse,"

She points to where her Michael Kors handbag is hanging on her closet door, and I grab the kit out of it.

After her foot is wrapped up in gauze, she puts on a pair of slippers and picks up the pile of lotion covered bedding.

It takes another hour and a half to finish cleaning up, and when we're done, Liz tells me to wait in her room while she goes and eats dinner.

As she happily eats with her family, I'm left alone with my thoughts.

What if she brings her dad upstairs? What if she's been lying all along and she plans to tell her parents? Something tells me that she wouldn't do that to me, despite all of the drama that we've been through recently.

When she returns alone, the rest of my anxiety seeps away.

"Before I let you go, I want you to tell me everything." Liz says, and I sigh.

So I tell her everything. All of the major points, that is. I leave out the fact that I'm living with Amy, for I don't know if I can trust her or not.

She thanks me for telling her, and I apologize once more before I climb out of her bedroom window.

The fresh air feels good, having been inside for the past few hours. As I walk back to Amy's house, I think of how lucky I am for getting out of yet again another hazardous situation mostly unscathed.

The sky is dark, and only the moon and the streetlights illuminate the way home.

As I turn the corner onto Easy Street, another source of light introduces itself, at the top of the street. From the bottom of the street, I can't quite make out where the light is coming from, but I suddenly start to feel nauseous for no apparent reason.

I'm halfway up the street when I can finally see the source of light clearly. An ambulance is parked in Mrs. McKutch's driveway, and EMT's are running into the house.

My stomach rises up into my throat as I begin to run.

Knowing that I can't put myself into the spotlight, I hide around the side of the house in the shrubbery. A few minutes have passed when someone is wheeled out on a stretcher.

As much as I desperately want to know what is happening, I can't move, otherwise my cover will be blown.

The paramedics load the stretcher into the ambulance. I can see locks of grey hair peeking out of the blanket that she is under. It's Amy.

At least it's not a body bag.

After they're gone, I sit there in the bushes for a few moments to compose myself, before I go into the house.

I realize that this is the first time I've been in Amy's house alone, and it's very eerie not having another person here with me. I quickly forget about being alone, when I remember the events that've just happened.

I sit down on a chair in the kitchen, and I begin to sob. My body is shaking uncontrollably, and tears are spilling down my cheeks. I can't lose any more people in my life, I just can't. I've lost too much already: my mom, my dad, my house and school, not to mention my friends.

When there are no more tears to be shed, I blow my nose on my sleeve. It's gross, but I can't be bothered to get up to get a tissue. I rub my sore eyes, and I take a few deep breaths.

Out of nowhere I begin praying, something that I don't do often. I don't know what I believe in, to be honest, but I feel like the least that I can do for Amy is to pray.

"Whoever you are up there," I begin, sounding a bit conceited although not trying to, "I need Amy. This is not her time to die. If there's anything you can do to help her, please do it. I just—"

I sigh as I lose my focus. Praying has never been my strength, and I don't know where to stop, so I end with a simple "Thanks".

I'm so selfish. Instead of being here when Amy needed me the most, I was out dealing with my own stupid problems that don't even matter. Amy told me specifically not to get into trouble but I've disobeyed her again. This is all my fault.

I look over and on the floor there is soup all over the place. Did Amy spill it? Did she fall?

I clean it up, and then I head to my bed where I lie, knowing that I won't get any sleep.

Morning doesn't creep up on me like it usually does. Instead of waking up to see the light, I've been watching the sky transform from jet black to light blue all morning.

I've had plenty of time to think of all the horrible things that could've happened to Amy, but I guess I won't know for sure until she comes back, or... doesn't.

It's Tuesday, which means that tonight Amy's son Harold, who lives on the next street over, will be coming over sometime around five O'Clock to borrow her car to go to bingo.

I roll out of bed and manage to put on some clothes and brush my hair despite feeling like I could sleep for years.

As I sit at the kitchen table eating my breakfast, I can't tell if it's my mood that's making the food taste bad or the fact that it's not Amy's cuisine.

I try to perk up, but every time I do I remember how Amy is in the hospital and that there's nothing that I can do but wait.

They say that patience is a virtue, but all this waiting around is driving me insane.

So insane in fact, that by noon I've searched the house thoroughly enough to find forty-two dollars and fifty-three cents, which should be just enough to get a taxi to and from the hospital.

I've never been in a taxi before, and I guess that is evident by how I ramble on the entire time to the driver. I just can't keep my thoughts in my head any longer, and he doesn't say a thing the entire ride.

I get out after paying him, and walk up to the main doors of the hospital. Once inside, I go over to the main desk, where I ask the secretary where I can find Amy.

The lady points me in the direction of the Neuro-ICU, a part of the hospital that I've never heard of before.

When I arrive, I ask another lady at yet another desk the whereabouts of Mrs. McKutch. She walks me to a room where Amy is laying still on a bed.

I rush over to the side of the bed.

Amy doesn't look good. Her skin is pale, and her face is gaunt. Despite her eyes being open, she is not moving.

"What's wrong with her?" I ask.

"Mrs. McKutch had a severe brain stem stroke last night, and she's currently in a state of paralysis, called Locked-In Syndrome" The woman responds.

"Locked-In Syndrome?"

"Yes. Other than her eyes, she can't move. The doctors don't know how long she could be paralyzed for, but it's possible that she may never move again."