Rose

I'm just starting to feel the exhaustion from crying so hard when footsteps outside my door make me snap to attention.

"Mom?" I whisper, wiping my eyes quickly as someone turns the doorknob. "Is that you?"

"Guess again."

"Sam!" I rub my eyes to better focus on my brother's silhouette. He shuts the door to our room again without turning on the light. "What are you doing back? I thought you were staying the night at Dan's."

"Yeah, well...." He kicks off his shoes and slides into his bed without undressing. When he turns to face me, the moonlight leaking through a gap in the curtains hits his face in such a way that I can see the shine of tear stains on his cheeks. "It didn't end up working out that way."

The tone of his voice does nothing to soothe my concern; he sounds like he has been crying harder than I have. "Sammy, what hap--"

"I don't want to talk about it," he says quickly, pulling up his covers and turning away from me. "Maybe later."

"But--"

"Later, Rose."

I fall silent.

I briefly think about speaking up again, just to tell him about Mom. About how Dad is apparently "taking a break" for awhile, and how just the sight of Mom's face earlier scared me enough that I almost called Sam and begged him to come home. I think about telling him how terrified I am just being at home right now, and that I wish we could run away and live anywhere else.

I also want to tell him about my afternoon with Lucas, so I can share how proud I am of myself that I was able to answer so many questions about being trans without feeling dysphoric at all. But then another part of me, a part that is wracked with the guilt of lying, wants to tell him about gym class, and how I got the bruise on my face that is still covered by makeup as I lay here in bed, and about how I might even ditch gym tomorrow because I'm so scared.

But instead, I keep my mouth shut. I figure that Sam has enough to worry about right now.

------------

Sam

The next day-- the first day in a series of days that make up one of the worst months of my life-- begins with a heavy silence between me and my sister.

I don't think either of us is certain of the reason behind the silence, or even of what kind of silence it is. To me, it doesn't feel awkward, nor does it feel tense or nerve wracking. It's nothing like the silences that weigh the air between us when we're fighting, or when we're scared, or when we're just tired. This is different, and it frustrates me that I can't explain it.

We wake up, stretch, check the weather, and go through our morning routines without making eye contact. She clears her throat a few times, but I don't respond to it. She spends an hour in front of the mirror plucking her face, moisturizing with a pomegranate-scented lotion that Mom gave me for Christmas, and putting on makeup. I do a few sets of sit-ups next to my bed before taking a steaming hot shower that burns my skin raw, and I try to forget the sound of Dan's voice cracking when he begged me not to leave last night.

Rose and I don't speak on the walk to school. I'm hoping that I won't have to explain to her why Dan doesn't meet up with us on the usual street corner, and luckily she doesn't ask. I hope that she'll just infer the truth, that I'll never have to explain it.

Neither of us say a word until we find Cody waiting in our usual area of the commons. He is slumped against a pillar with his head down, his backpack by his feet and the hood of his grey jacket raised up over his head.

"Hey," I greet him in a dry voice.

He lifts his head slightly.

Rose makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a scream. "Jesus! Cody....what happened?"

"Don't worry about it," he mutters, pulling his hood down further over his face.

I would say that I'm too shocked to speak, but I'm actually too numb to be shocked. Besides, is there a single person we care about who hasn't had their face beaten to look like burnt meatloaf this school year? It was only a matter of time before someone got to Cody, too.

"Who hurt you?" Rose tries again. "Was it--"

"I don't want to talk about it," he snaps, snatching up his backpack as if about to leave.

"Wait!" Rose grabs his shoulder. "What the hell has gotten into you? I just want to know if you're okay."

He shakes himself out of her grip. "Leave me the fuck alone." And with that, he's walking away from us without looking back.

Rose looks after him, her mouth agape. "Wow. What an asshole. And here I thought we were friends."

"Don't take it personally," I assure her. I don't have the slightest clue what happened to his face, but after Dan and my Mom, I'm not sure if I want to know the story behind this one. "He has a lot going on."

"What do you know about this?"

I shrug, pulling out my phone nonchalantly. "Nothing really."

Making sure Rose can't see my screen, I text Cody. Let me know if you need anything.

-----

But Cody never texts me back. I check my phone repeatedly throughout the morning, even smuggling it out of the locker room during gym in an attempt to distract myself from the fact that Dan never shows up.

Unfortunately, Coach Wheeler catches me almost immediately.

"Put that away, Sam!" she barks at me within the first five minutes of the period, making me jump. "You've got a mile to run!"

"I was just--"

"I don't want to hear it. If you can't keep it out of sight, I'll hold it until the end of class."

I begrudgingly put the device into Coach Wheeler's outstretched hand, knowing I wouldn't be able to focus otherwise.

I give the mile all I've got, pumping ever step full of yesterday's rage and releasing sadness with every breath. And without a certain emo creep sucking up all of my attention, I end up scoring my best time of the school year.

Coach nods approvingly as she returns my phone to me. "Very nice, Sam. See me after class sometime, would you?"

I hardly hear the compliment, let alone her following request, I'm too busy checking my messages. But there's nothing. Not from Cody, or from anyone else.

Then comes lunch, which for the first time in what seems like a hundred years, consists of just me and my sister.

"Is Lucas not joining us today?" I ask Rose, not particularly caring.

"He has art stuff to work on," she explains quickly, then leans forward. "Dude....are you ever going to tell me what happened between you and Dan last night?"

I stare down at my lunch tray which consists of a dry hamburger, bruised peaches from a can, soggy green beans, and a tube of cherry-flavored ice that is supposed to be some kind of popsicle, but that just tastes like frozen cough medicine. It is all about as edible as it sounds.

"Sam?"

"No," I respond simply, jabbing my fork into food that I have no intention of eating.

Rosie presses her glossed lips into a thin line. "Okay....Well, from what I can guess, you two are fighting."

No shit, sherlock, I want to respond, but I keep my teeth clenched together and continue stabbing the shit out of my peaches.

"What are you fighting about?"

As I stab my fork into them, the peaches take the forms of various people's faces: Callie Dunham, Edgar Thompson, Warren Hawk. Daniel Albright. All of the people who have wronged me in some way or another.

"So are you guys broken up, or....?

I slam my fork down onto the table. "Christ, would you let it go? I don't want to talk about it!"

Rose huffs exasperatedly. "Of course you don't. God, you and Cody are like twins when you get pissed off. Maybe you belong together after all."

"Oh fuck off, Rose."

"Gladly." She picks up her tray and moves somewhere away from me, I don't look up to see where.

Good. I can use some alone time anyway.

-----

Journalism is especially difficult because Cody sits right next to me, but won't even look at me, much less say anything. His hood is still up like it was this morning.

"Hood down please, Cody," Mr. Neely calls him out before the bell even rings.

Cody lowers his hood, and though it's the second time I've seen his bruised face, I grimace.

Mr. Neely doesn't react too well either, his horror at the sight etched clearly on his face. He comes up close to where we're sitting, and speaks in a low voice so that other kids don't hear. "Cody, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, sir." His tone is almost robotic.

"Are you sure? If you need to go talk to a counselor or anything, just let me know."

"I'm fine," he repeats. "Can I put my hood back up, though?"

Mr. Neely sighs, clearly worried, but resigned to the fact that Cody will keep insisting that he's fine. "Sure, kid." He then returns to the front to prepare for today's lesson.

Cody raises his hood again and lays his head down on the table.

My heart hurts for him and whatever situation he is currently in, but I know better than to ask about it. Though a part of me will always want to nudge my best friend and beg him not to shut me out, I know exactly what it is like to want to be left alone when depressed. So instead, I just pat him on the shoulder. "Let me know if you need anything," I whisper, repeating my message from earlier.

And like before, he says nothing.

------------

Rose

I try to go to gym, I really do. In fact, I make it all the way to the locker room.

It's the voices that make me freeze up:

"Holy shit, he's wearing makeup again!"

"No way. No way."

"Oh, you're just itching for a beating, ain't you Georgie?"

Aaaand, that's about all it takes for me to nope the fuck right out of there. I turn on my heels and practically race from the locker room, various jeers and slurs following me out the door and halfway down the hall.

I'm not really sure where I'm going, just that I'm not going to stop until I'm as far from the gym as I can possibly get. It slowly dawns on me once the halls clear and the late bell rings that I am technically ditching, but that doesn't slow me. In fact, it speeds me up.

I make it all the way to the bathrooms by the science wing, and by now, my heart is pounding and I'm almost out of breath. This has less to do with my speed-walking and more to do with the thrill/fear of skipping class.

Shit, I'm actually skipping class. Wow, this feels.....weird. So unlike me. Crap, what am I doing?

Oh relax, it's just gym. I tell myself as I take a long drink from a nearby water fountain. And you're doing it for your own safety. If anyone asks, you can can just tell them that. Tell them it was a safety concern.

Wiping my mouth with my sleeve, I lean back against the wall next to the water fountain and sink to the floor. I realize that I'm shaking slightly and wonder if I'm having a panic attack. Maybe I should text someone....

But who? I'm still pissed at Sam, and he's probably still pissed at me. Cody seems pissed at the whole world right now, and who the hell knows where Dan is at. And....shit, those are literally my three main contacts, and I can't text any of them.

The thought almost makes me laugh out loud, not that there's any humor to the situation. It's just that I've never felt so unlucky to have so few friends.

"Hey," an unexpected voice yanks me from my thoughts. "It's, uh....Rose, right?"

I look up to see a familiar bespectacled face framed by two blonde braids. It's Faith Jones, from my baking class. "Faith? What are you doing here?"

She points to a nearby classroom with the door open. "I was in Bio. I just came out to get a drink. Question is, what are you doing here?"

"I, uh...." The smartest way to answer this would've been to say that I was also currently in a nearby class, but by the time I realize this, several incriminating seconds have already passed. I have never been a good liar.

Sighing, I tell her the truth. "I'm ditching gym class."

"Wow. And here I thought Sam was the rule-breaker out of the two of you."

"He usually is."

Faith raises an eyebrow. "He?"

Dammit. "Oh yeah....Sam is trans, too. Not sure if I ever mentioned that part." I wonder if I should feel bad about outing him, but then it occurs to me that I no longer care. At this point, the people in our school who know the truth about us, those who don't know, and those who know but don't care enough to acknowledge it, are all starting to blend together like a badly done watercolor.

"Oh. Well....that's cool too," Faith responds. "Doesn't matter to me. But anyway, why are you ditching?"

"Why do you think?" I snort, pointing to the makeup on my face. "I'm like a bully magnet walking into that locker room. I might as well be wearing a neon sign that say faggot alert, please punch."

Faith smirks. "Funny. Uh, the remark, I mean. Not the situation. That part's pretty messed up."

"I know. Thanks."

I expect Faith to head back to class now, but to my surprise she joins me on the floor next to the water fountain.

"Won't you get in trouble?" I ask.

"Won't you?" she counters.

"Touché."

"Besides," she shrugs. "I'm not missing anything. It's the evolution unit, nothing but common sense."

"Ah, right. My class also started that this week. I swear, the first day of that unit is always so dramatic, and then it just gets boring from there."

Faith giggles. "Hey, were you in my science class in seventh grade with....oh god, what was her name...Jenna McPherson? That girl who was all like 'the Bible don't say nothin' about no human-monkey half-breeds!'"

I laugh out loud, remembering exactly what she's talking about. "I was! God, that girl was so triggered by that whole lesson."

"Right?! And Mrs. Donner had to spend, like, thirty minutes explaining to her how evolution actually worked, and she just wouldn't accept it! I almost died."

"Me too!"

Faith and I both collapse into laughter now at the memory. At the same time, I find myself desperately trying to recall knowing Faith back then, or even knowing of her. But I just can't remember. Not for the first time, I find myself blushing at the realization of how self-absorbed I was in middle school. My memories of those years consist of no one but me, Sam, and the bullies we were constantly on the run from.

"Man, I wish I knew you better in middle school," I find myself voicing aloud once our laughter subsides.

Faith gives me a smile. "Same. You seem pretty cool."

"No, I mean it," I tell her, all seriousness. "Sometimes I feel terrible when I think back and realize how many people from my own class I just can't remember. All I ever focused on were the negatives, the people who bullied me and hated me. I think after awhile, I just started lumping everyone but Sam into that category." I gaze at the floor in guilt. "I wish I had taken more time to look around for the nicer people. Maybe I would've found you."

When I look up, I'm surprised to see that Faith looks guilty as well. "Don't feel bad Geor-- sorry! I mean, Rose." She laughs nervously at her mistake, twirling one of her braids around her index finger. "Don't feel bad, Rose. It's not like I never noticed how other people treated you guys. All the nasty rumors about the Wyatt twins, and the gang of kids who would chase you guys after school....I may not have contributed, but I didn't try to stop it, either. I mostly kept to myself back then. And the more I get to know you, the worse I feel about never saying anything when I could have."

"Hey, a lot of people could have said something," I assure her. "But in all fairness, it was middle school. No one wants to commit social suicide in middle school."

Faith snorts. "Like I had a social life anyway. But it doesn't matter. What I'm trying to say is....I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," I respond without hesitation. I offer her a hand to shake. "Friends?"

She shakes it firmly. "Friends."

"Now you better get back to class before they notice you're missing."

Faith stands. "I guess you're right. I'll see you in Baking later. That is, if you don't decide to skip that one, too."

I laugh. "I won't."

Faith starts to head back to her classroom, but I stop her when I get an idea. "Faith, wait! Can I ask for a favor before you go back?"

She halts. "Yes?"

I blush instinctively at what I'm about to ask, but try my hardest not to feel embarrassed. Faith is nice. You can trust her.

"Would you, uh...." I clear my throat and nod towards the restrooms. "Would you mind checking the girls' room for me, just to make sure it's empty? I want to hide in there until next class."

Thankfully, Faith doesn't laugh at me. She just smiles and strolls casually to the girls' bathroom. She enters for a quick spell, and emerges a few seconds later. "All clear. I checked under all of the stalls, too, just to be safe."

I laugh with relief. "Thanks!"

She winks at me and gives me a thumbs-up before heading back to class.

-----

By the time I'm heading to math, I'm feeling a lot better. Not only did I get away with ditching gym, but in the fifty minutes that would have been spent being tormented by bullies while the teachers turned a blind eye, I made a new friend and got to hide in the girl's restroom and draw in my sketchbook. 10/10 would do again.

When I reach the classroom, the first thing I notice is that the projector, which normally displays the title of the day's lesson before class even starts, is currently off. Also, Mr. Smith is standing at the door and taking attendance on a clipboard, which is something he normally does on his computer about halfway through class.

"Don't bother sitting down," Smith rattles off to me and another group of students coming in. "MAP testing today." He repeats the statement with every group of kids that arrive, and groans echo across the classroom.

"Hey Rose," Sam greets me in a panicky voice. "Sorry I snapped at you earlier. We cool?"

"Uh, sure."

"Sweet. Now for the love of god, help me prepare for this!"

"Sam, it's just a MAP test," I sigh, getting déjà vu from the past several years that I've had to say this to my brother. "You're going to be okay."

"I hate these fucking things!"

"I know. You're going to be fine though." Even as I say this, I know that I'm going to be repeating it all the way down to the library.

MAP tests, or Measures of Academic Progress, have been the bane of Sam's existence for as long as I can remember. One of many standardized tests given annually across the nation, this lovely American invention is meant to track the progress of each student in the areas of reading and math as they advance through their schooling. The reading doesn't bother Sam nearly as much as the math, of course, but my brother has always had test anxiety. It is one of the few anxieties that he experiences and that I do not.

The reason for this is simple: To me, tests have always been easy and straightforward. You learn, you study, you take the test, you get a grade based on your effort, the end. But it has never been that easy for Sam, who stresses out even over tests in his best subjects. Put it on a computer and call it a standardized test, and you might as well inject Sam with panic-attack serum.

"Carly Adams!" Mr. Smith calls out, still taking attendance at the front of the room. "Is Carly here?"

No answer, meaning she is absent and will have to be pulled into the office to take this dumb thing at a later date.

"M'kay, what about Daniel Albright? Has anyone seen Daniel today?"

There are a few scoffs and some joking murmurs, but otherwise no one responds.

"Crap, is Dan still not here?" I ask Sam without thinking, but bite my tongue when I remember that this is a sensitive subject right now. Dammit, when is he going to tell me what the hell happened between them???

"And finally....Rebecca Talley? No? Well, these kids chose the wrong day to be absent." He marks something on his clipboard before tucking it under his arm. "Anyway, for those of you who haven't heard or figured it out yet, today is everybody's favorite day of the year: MAP testing!"

The groans are louder than ever, and for once me and Sam join in. Though truth be told, the test itself doesn't bother me too much. The only part of MAP testing that bugs me is that it takes up an entire class time which could be spent on an actual lesson. I know this is an incredibly nerdy thing to say though, so I wouldn't ever say it out loud to anyone.

On our way down to the library in a single file line, I notice Sam shaking beside me. "It's okay," I continue to assure him. "You're going to be fine."

"What if I do so bad that they put me in remedial math?"

"You literally worry about that every year," I remind him. "And has it ever happened?"

"No, but this is high school. They're going to notice when my score shows that I do math at a third-grade level."

"Sam, just because math isn't your best subject doesn't mean you do it at a third-grade level," I assure him patiently. "And you won't get bumped to remedial math."

"You don't know that."

I don't respond to this, because Sam's right. The truth is, I don't know that. I sure as hell hope that, though. Sam and I have been in the same math class since kindergarten; it's one of those few constancies in our lives that we have grown to count on, even though it doesn't quite make sense. Much like how we still share a bedroom, even though our parents have offered countless times to make their office into a bedroom for one of us. It's just one of those things that is not worth changing, because we're so comfortable with it.

Once we're all sat in front of computers, Mr. Smith gets started reading the printed-out script of instructions. I zone out during this part, bouncing my pencil up and down on its eraser, while to my right Sam continues to panic. I reach over and give his arm a squeeze. "You're going to be fine," I whisper.

"And....begin," Mr. Smith commands finally.

For me, the next fifty minutes pass smoothly. Click. Next. Click. Next. Simple, easy, straightforward. This is math, and math is what I do best. To my right, Sam clicks through questions much more slowly.

Every now and then, I find myself sitting back and thinking about the incredible differences between my brother and I. I mean, between me and my brother. Or however the fuck you say that.

Like the fact that Sam can write so freaking well. I remember way back in third grade when we all had to write a poem for Earth Day, and Sam's poem was so good that not only did Mrs. Wilson frame it and hang it up on the wall, but she submitted it to the newspaper and it actually got published. I remember how jealous I was, even though I literally had no reason to be. I blame that entirely on me being a kid. Kids get jealous for the stupidest reasons.

Meanwhile, I could always draw, and I'm sure that Sam was sometimes jealous of me for that too. Again, no reason to be jealous. We both had our talents: He was the writer, I was the artist, and we both did these things with passion.

But artistic talents aside, I was the one who got labeled Georgie the Genius from about fifth grade on, because I was the one who got straight A's. And in school, that's what mattered. Nobody cared that my essays couldn't hold a candle to Sam's in actual quality, because I was the one who hit all of the requirements. So even though English and writing were what Sam excelled in, he might get a B-plus while I got an A, and all because he valued sending a message while I valued getting all of the points on a rubric.

School is what I do best, not just math. School is simple and straightforward. Learn, study, test, grade. And because that is how I see it, I get to be Georgie the Genius.

But Sam is good at so many things, like I so often tell him. As clever as I appear on paper, Sam is ten times cleverer in speech. He is tough and insightful and witty, and god damn the boy can lie himself out of any situation. His street smarts outweigh mine by a metric ton, and emotionally, he is so much stronger than me.

I wish I could tell him all of this now, as he sweats his way through this stupid test that doesn't mean shit in the long run. Instead, all I can do is give him as many supportive glances as possible, and hope that my message translates.

------------

Sam

That stupid fucking MAP test was honestly just the cherry on top of what was already an incredibly shitty day. That much I know for a fact. And as I lay my head down that night, knowing full and well that sleep will not come any time soon, I can't help but catalog everything that made today horrible.

The fact that people kept looking at me funny in all of my classes, as if they knew my biggest secret, and how I knew it was Rose's fault for coming out, but I couldn't be mad at her for it. Then there was Cody, who wouldn't look at me all day, let alone talk to me. Then there was Dan....just not being there.

No, I don't care about that. I'm too pissed at him to care. Daniel Albright is a fucking lying asshole, and I'm glad he wasn't at school today so that I didn't have to see his stupid fucking face.

God, I still can't believe he lied to me about being recovered. That FUCKING ASSHOLE.

Huffing angrily, I toss and turn in bed, but no position is comfortable enough to soothe my rage.

"You okay over there Sammy?" Rose asks from her side of the room.

"Fine." But the anger in my voice is obvious.

Rosie sighs. "Well, I won't make you talk about it. Just try to get some sleep."

"....Thank you."

"You're welcome."

I fall silent then, but sleep never comes.

-----

Dan is not at school the next day, either. Not like it's the first thing I notice, or anything. And Cody still isn't talking to me or Rose, not that this concerns me either. I don't give a shit about Dan, and Cody is his own person who can make his own choices.

The week dies and gives birth to the weekend, which is weighed down by a silence similar to the one from just the other morning. A silence with no rhyme or reason, but that is definitely heavy.

I read and write, mostly, and do some homework. Rose texts Lucas way too much, which I only know because she reports to me whenever he sends something "so freaking cute", which happens far too often. She also works on another painting, this one surprisingly not of a rose, but of a tree. I look over at it once in awhile and compliment her progress.

Mom checks in with us occasionally over the weekend, and cooks dinner in way too much makeup. Nobody mentions Dad.

I do not obsessively check my messages at all over the weekend, nor do I stalk Dan's facebook profile for any activity, nor do I feel any anxiety whatsoever when I find that he is never active online. I spend no time at all wondering if my boyfriend is dead.

As you can tell, it is a very chill and stress-free weekend.

------------

Dan

The morning after Sam found out the truth about me, I decide that it might be good to take a mental health day.

It starts when I wake up at half past eight with a dry throat and aching eyes from having cried myself to sleep the night before. It was a difficult night, that much I can tell you for sure, though I can't say how many hours I actually slept in between all of the nightmares. I vaguely recall hearing my alarm go off and slamming the snooze button before letting sleep pull me back under. Now it appears that I'm already late for school, and I still cannot even fathom leaving the safety of my bed.

"Daniel?" Gabriella calls, knocking on my door. "Are you there?"

I make sure that the covers are pulled all the way up to my neck before giving her the okay to come in.

The door cracks ajar an inch or so, and I see Gabby's worry-etched face peer through the gap. "Shouldn't you be in school already?"

"I don't feel good," I tell her in my best sick voice, which I don't even have to work that hard to fake since my throat is already so dry. And I'm sure that my eyes are red enough. "I'm staying home today."

She presses her lips together, clearly unconvinced. "Hmm. Do I need to check your temperature?"

"It's just a cold," I explain, throwing in a cough for good measure. "I think I just need to take a day to rest." Honestly, I don't even know why I bother lying to her anymore. This woman has known me since I was nine, and can smell my bullshit from a mile away.

She opens my door wider, leaning casually against the door frame with one hand on her hip. "Are you sure this has nothing to do with Sam leaving angrily last night?"

Dammit, she's good. "No Gabby. I just need the day off. Would you please leave me alone?"

"Would you please open up to me?" She counters, still glaring hard with those invading brown eyes of hers. "I am not asking for much, Daniel. Just your honesty. It isn't fair that, after everything I have done for you, I don't even get to know that you are okay."

My heart clenched with the iron fist of guilt, I move my gaze to the floor. For a tiny woman not even ten years my senior, Gabriella has this magical way of acting like the mother I have always needed. This includes being kind and understanding, but also guilt tripping the hell out of me when I keep things from her.

Suddenly the self-inflicted wounds I am hiding beneath my bedsheets all seem to flare up at once, like a million tiny fire ants gnawing their way through my torso.

I swallow the lump in my throat and force myself to meet her eyes. "Okay. Fine. Truth is, I'm not okay. But I can't talk about it right now, so please don't fucking make me. I just..." My voice cracks and breaks off, and I can't look at her anymore. Like a child, I pull my blankets all the way up over my head and turn away. "I just want to be alone, okay? Please."

Through the thick veil of my comforter, I hear Gabby sigh. "Alright, Dan." Her voice has softened dramatically. "Get some rest. Let me know if you need anything." She mutters something in Spanish as she leaves, but I don't care enough to try translating it.

As soon as she's gone, I throw the covers off of my body. The cold morning air provides slight relief to those glistening fire ants, but does nothing to sooth the pain inside.

Hot tears sting the corners of my already-sore eyes. Fuck, I've never felt so much pain in my life. And not just from the fifty cuts I made all over my torso, shoulders, and arms after Sam left last night, no. Those are nothing compared to the aches inside my chest, which hurts as if someone set loose a pissed-off MMA fighter inside of my body who is pummeling me nonstop. The pains of guilt, of loss, and of heartbreak beat me senseless with every breath. I hate it, and I want to die just to escape it.

But at the same time, I know that my heart has no right to hurt. I was the one who did the hurting, and I shouldn't soon forget it. Not while that pile of broken glass from the mug that Sam threw still sits underneath my window, and the echoing crash from when it shattered against the wall still sounds off repeatedly inside my skull amidst his screaming accusations.

"You lied to me!" 

"You've been fucking up this whole time?!"

"Do you even really love me?"

And the image of Sam's eyes when he first felt the cuts beneath my shirt, his hazel irises so full of hurt and betrayal, will haunt me forever.

Pulling my blanket back all the way up over my face, I begin to cry again. Of course I love him, but how the hell can I make him believe it now? I did lie to him, and there's no undoing it. He hates me now, he never wants to see me again.

Fuck, how can I blame him? I don't even want to see myself again.

Might as well go back to sleep.

----

I would say that the first day is the worst, but the following several days are not any better. My mental health day turns into a mental health week, and I can count on one hand the number of times that I leave my bed. It helps that I don't eat, so I hardly need to even use the bathroom. I don't check my phone, not like anyone is going to message me. Least of all Sam. I don't even open my eyes if I can avoid it, there is no use looking at a world that I don't deserve to be in.

I also don't cut myself once after that first night, and I decide at some point during the hundreds of hours I spend lying in bed that I will never do that to myself again. Not only do I deserve to feel this agonizing guilt for being a shit person, but I shouldn't get to cut for relief, like I've always done to cope with such things in the past. And just to make sure I really commit, I even take it upon myself to drop the knife I've been using out of my bedroom window. I do this on my second "mental health day", and that is the only time I leave my bed that day.

Twelve hours after ditching my knife, the itchiness starts to set in.

It's different from the normal itchiness-- the kind that always accompanies healing skin. This kind is different, because it almost seems to be affecting the inside of my body as well as the outside. I toss and turn in bed for hours, I'm so fucking itchy. I want to scratch my arms, legs, and chest, but also my muscles, ribs, and bones. But more than anything, I want to cut.

After the itchiness comes the cold sweats, the first of which happens on a particularly chilly night when I have no reason to be sweating. My first thoughts are somewhere along the lines of, What the fuck, it's January. It shouldn't be this hot. and Well shit, now I'm itchy and sweaty.

And of course, next to greet me are the pounding headaches and the unreasonably strong and painful fits of longing.

"God fucking dammit!" I find myself screaming to the heavens on a Sunday morning, clutching my head. Luckily Gabby is at church, so she can't hear my blasphemy. "God-- fuck! Oh, fuck oh fuck! Ahhhh!" The screaming does nothing for my headache, of course, but I can't help it. I want to cut so fucking bad.

I want my blade back. No, I need it.

"No you don't," I tell myself aloud in between panting breaths. Though honestly, I feel like Spongebob on that one episode where he tries to convince himself that he doesn't need water, even while he is clearly shriveling up in a dome full of air. I don't need it. I don't need it. I don't-

But I do. In fact, I should just climb out of my window and go get it....

Suddenly-- and with remarkable speed for someone who has barely moved for almost a week-- I'm out of bed and rushing towards the window. I throw it open against the chilly wind and scan the leafless bushes two floors down. Please still be there, please still be there, please....

But it's gone. At least, I can't find it. Groaning in anguish, I slam the window shut again and return to my safe haven under the covers to resume my suffering.

It's probably for the best that the blade wasn't there anymore. Knowing my weak ass, if I had spotted even a glint of silver in the grass, I would've ran to it without hesitation and made all these days of agony worth nothing.

------------

Rose

LUCAS: How's the art project coming along?

ME: Ugh, it's hard. Eyes are the worst. Idk why I decided to do this.

LUCAS: Lol. Well then it's good that Miss Vaughn let us take it home to work on it this time, huh?

ME: Yeah, but I felt like a total dork carrying around this ginormous canvas to all my classes today.

LUCAS; It's cool. You look like a total dork all the time, so it was no different ;)

ME: Thanks Lucas.

LUCAS: Anytime. How's Sam?

Wondering the same thing myself, I lift my head to look at my brother. He is sitting at his desk on the other side of our room, some homework spread out in front of him, but is paying it no mind. Instead, he stares absentmindedly out the window while fidgeting with his phone between his hands, which he has seemed to be doing a lot lately.

I sigh exasperatedly. "Sam, if you're so worried, just text him."

"How can I?" He responds without looking at me. "It's been two weeks, Rose. What am I supposed to say after two weeks of nothing?"

I shrug, even though he isn't looking. "I dunno. You're the one who started the whole silent treatment."'

He whips his head around to look at me finally, appearing furious. "I started it? Rose, you know what he did to me!"

Yep, after several days of pestering him, Sam finally opened up to me about what happened between him and Dan that night when he was supposed to stay over at his house. And though I have been doing a very good job at hiding my opinion about the whole situation, as I'm sure Sam has no need for it right now, I personally think that my brother is overreacting.

I mean okay, Dan did lie to him about being recovered, and I guess that it's fair for Sam to be pissed about that. But the way I see it, he clearly did it because he cares a fuckton about Sam, and didn't want him to worry or think any less of him. Like, I'm a fairly emotionally detached person at this point, and even I know that every decision Dan makes revolves around Sam because he is so fucking in love with him. And for that, I think the kid deserves a break.

But like I said, Sam doesn't need my opinion.

"I know, you're right," I tell Sam, backing off immediately. "He did a shitty thing, and I'm not saying that you started the fight. Just that you started the silent treatment--"

"But I didn't!" Sam argues still. "He started it by not showing up to school! And if you think that after two weeks, I'm going to go groveling back to him--"

"Okay okay, chill!" I backtrack again. The last thing I want to do is get into another fight with him when he's already so volatile. "I wasn't trying to suggest that either. Do whatever you want."

Sam goes back to messing with his phone and I resume texting Lucas.

ME: Not good. He's still stressed as hell about Dan.

LUCAS: I figured as much. What about Cody, have you guys heard anything from him?

Good question.

"Heard anything from Cody lately?" I ask Sam.

"No," he sighs, and I'm relieved that he doesn't sound angry anymore. "I see him in class and everything, but he won't respond to my texts."

"Same here," I tell him sadly. Just this morning I sent him a giant paragraph about how much I miss him, practically pouring my heart out in a single text, and still he left me on read. I'm trying my best not to let it piss me off, because Sam said he might be going through something that he can't tell me about.

ME: No news there either. He's just closing himself off from the world, I guess.

LUCAS: Damn. I really liked those two.

I smile as I fondly remember Lucas's first day at lunch with us, when he was able to so easily lighten the tense mood with his corny humor. Cody and Dan had seemed to like him too, which is why it's such a shame that, for the past two weeks, lunch has basically consisted of just me and him.

Well, Sam is technically there too, but hasn't exactly been mentally present since Dan's been gone. He mostly just sits there and picks at his food, never really engaging in conversation with the two of us.

A knock on our door makes me yelp.

"Sam and George," Mom says softly. "Can you both be downstairs in a couple of minutes? Your father and I want to speak with you."

Sam and I share a look. Ever since Dad came back home, things have been....tense, to say the least. We are back to having family dinners, but they are fairly quiet and end much earlier than they used to. Mom and Dad have also been shutting the door to their room and having late-night talks in low voices, extremely hard to eavesdrop on through the walls.

Still, we have our guesses.

"Ten bucks says they're getting divorced," Sam mutters, standing up from his chair.

I stand as well, my heart pounding. "Hey now, don't sound so confident. Maybe they're about to announce a family vacation to Disneyland."

Sam snorts. "Yeah, that's about as likely as Dan showing up to school tomorrow."

The bitter change in his tone from the beginning of his sentence to the end keeps me from responding as he leads the way downstairs.

Mom and Dad are waiting for us on either side of our beige leather three-seater, one full cushion left in between them, both wearing identical serious expressions. Not a good omen for my Disneyland prediction.

"Have a seat, kids," Dad says. His tone is cautious and unsure, carrying none of it's commanding nature that we're used to hearing from our militaristic father.

Sam and I plop down into the two-seater directly opposite them. He gives my wrist the briefest of squeezes, which I sincerely appreciate, as my heart is still pounding to the beat of a marching band drum.

Mom and Dad share a look, probably similar to the one Sam and I shared moments ago. "I'll start," says Mom, then looks at both of us. "Both of you have always been very observant. And I'm sure it hasn't gone unnoticed by you that your father and I have been having some....difficulties lately."

Sam snorts. I elbow him before he can make the sarcastic comment that is undoubtedly forming behind his lips.

"Which is completely normal, by the way," Dad jumps in. "Married life has its rough spots. You two being teenagers, I don't expect you to understand. But I hope that you'll try to."

I can see Sam's hands forming fists at his sides, and I don't blame him. I'm also infuriated. Oh, so now it's "completely normal" to beat up your wife when you're angry? Good one, Dad.

"Exactly," Mom nods in agreement, and to my utter disbelief, she puts a loving hand on Dad's arm. "But anyway, all of that is in the past. We took a little bit of a break, talked a lot about our issues, and we've decided that we're going to keep trying to make this work."

I inhale a sharp breath, but manage to bite my tongue before I say something incredibly stupid.

Sam, unfortunately, has no such forethought. "You have got to be fucking kidding me."

Mom blinks in shock. "Samantha, language!"

I pinch my brother's arm in a vain attempt to silence him.

"That is not my name," Sam growls, not backing down an inch. "And you know it."

Dad clears his throat. "Listen Samantha--"

Sam leaps up from the couch suddenly, five-and-a-half feet of pure rage. "Stop that! This is ridiculous. You've never had a problem calling me Sam before!"

"Just listen," Dad commands in his drill sergeant tone. "And sit down when I'm talking to you."

Knowing he has every intention of turning this into a full-blown screaming match, I grab my brother by the back of his shirt and pull him back onto the couch.

"Listen to me," Dad repeats calmly. "Both of you. Your mother and I aren't blind. We recognize that while we've been going through something, you guys have too. This past year clearly hasn't been easy for any of us."

"Right," Mom agrees. "And we were both teenagers once as well. We understand that sometimes going through a rough time means rebelling against your parents. And I know that in this generation, kids like to use things such as gender and sexuality as tools to do this--"

"What?!" Sam tries to stand up again, but I keep my hand on his shoulder.

"And we're not mad at you!" Mom adds quickly. "We understand that it's just a phase, and it will pass. So we're actually going to try to work on being more understanding. Right, honey?"

Dad clears his throat again and directs his gaze to Sam. "Exactly. And Saman-- uh....Sam. I know that I probably overreacted about the haircut. I understand now that you're just a normal fourteen-year-old trying to express herself."

Thankfully Sam keeps his mouth shut this time, but I can practically hear him grinding his teeth in an effort to stay silent. And his white-hot rage is palpable, like standing next to an open flame.

"And Georgie," Mom says, now directing her words at me. "I know that you've been doing certain things to express yourself, too."

Fear washing over me, my hands instinctively move to my face to make sure that I remembered to wash my makeup off when I came home today. Luckily, I did. She couldn't know about that then, could she?

"So we want you both to feel free to experiment with clothes and hair and....whatever else," Mom continues. "And we will try our best to stay out of your way."

For the first time since sitting down, Sam and I lock eyes. I see my own disbelief reflected back at me. Could this be for real?

"Within reason, of course," says Dad, narrowing his eyes slightly at us. "Like for example....George. I won't make you get haircuts anymore, okay? But for god's sake, I'd still like it if you looked like my son," Dad ends the sentence with a chuckle, as if the concept of me looking like anything else is utterly ridiculous.

And just like that, my fists are clenched to match Sam's.

"Anyway," Mom says in a concluding tone. "The point is, we don't want you guys to be afraid of expressing yourselves. And I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky that this is how you're choosing to rebel, instead of drinking or doing drugs. But please remember that we are still your parents, and you have to follow our rules. Sound good?"

I don't respond, and neither does Sam.

"Good. You two are dismissed."

I stand to leave the room immediately, planning on keeping my lips pressed tightly together until we reach our room.

Sam apparently has different plans. "You really don't believe me when I tell you that I'm a boy?" he asks in almost a whisper. His voice cracks from emotion.

Dad opens his mouth to respond, looking frustrated, but Mom speaks first. "Sweetie, it's not about that. We understand that both of you are going through a phase right now, but--"

"A phase?" Sam repeats incredulously, then laughs. "Sure Mom. Whatever helps you sleep at night. But honestly, I think you know the truth. I think you've always known. In fact--"

"Sam," I cut him off firmly, to the surprise of everyone. "That's enough. Let's go."

He hesitates for a long moment, his angry gaze snapping between Mom, Dad, and me. Finally, he stands up.

I'm sure he's going to follow me, but instead of turning to go up the stairs when I do, Sam marches straight for the front door. When he leaves, he slams it shut behind him.

Mom and Dad stare after him in shock.

"Don't worry," I tell them with a sigh. "He'll be back."

"That's not the point!" Dad shouts. "You kids think you're allowed to just storm out of the house without saying where you're going! This isn't--"

"Eli," Mom says softly, putting a hand on his arm. "We talked about the yelling."

Dad nods, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Right. I just don't see why she has to be so disrespectful. I sure as hell didn't raise her like this."

"George, will you at least follow her?" Mom asks me politely.  "It's going to be dark soon, and I'm worried about her being out so late."

I shake my head. "She's already mad, it's best to just leave her alone when she's like this. I promise, she'll come back." He wouldn't run away. He wouldn't leave me all alone here with you guys.

Mom laughs, shaking her head almost in awe. "You both know each other so well. I won't lie, I'm extremely grateful for that."

Dad actually nods in agreement. "Yeah. Clearly we don't always do everything right, but at least we can trust you guys to take care of each other."

I shrug. "What can I say?" I mutter, pulling out my phone to shoot my brother a quick text saying Please let me know if you're okay. "We're twins."

------------

Cody

I've been spending a lot of time at the library lately, so much so that my parents have stopped asking where I'm going when I leave the house randomly. They just assume.

And I have a lot of reasons to leave the house randomly.

Like today, for example. I came home from school exhausted, looking forward to going straight to my bed and taking a long nap , only to find my parents waiting for me at the kitchen table, looking solemn.

"Young man," Dad started, a phrase which always lets me know he means business. "We need to talk."

"Can we not right now?" I responded. "I'm really tired."

"We know," said Mom, looking at me with compassion. "That's kind of what we want to talk about. You've been tired so much lately."

What, is being tired a crime now? I wanted to shoot back, but I didn't. I just nodded.

"Are you doing okay?"

Again, I nodded.

"If you're not okay, you can tell us," said Dad, his voice thick with an emotion that I couldn't quite place. "We know that our family has gone through a lot this past year, and--"

"Are you still thinking of pulling the plug on Sunny?" I blurted, keeping my damp eyes to the floor.

Mom and Dad were silent.

"That's what I thought."

"We haven't even signed the paperwork yet."

"But you've given up on her," my tone was strong and accusatory, and Mom didn't dare cut me off. "I can tell. You guys don't hide things very well."

"Cody," Dad said carefully. Everything he does-- everything both of them do-- is so careful nowadays. Like they're afraid they might make one wrong step and lose their only remaining child.

Sometimes, I wonder if they're quite wrong to feel that way.

"It's been almost a year--" Mom tries to explain in a quiet voice.

"And? So what? So that's all it takes for you to give up on your own child?"

"Dr. Kendall says that her brain is almost completely dead!" Dad's tone was angry and defensive, but I could also tell that my words hurt him. "The only thing that has kept us from making the decision already is wishful thinking."

"Nice," I laughed bitterly. "Real nice. I guess it's good to know how long you guys will give me if I ever end up in a coma."

"Cody." Dad said again, but I was already out the door.

And that's the story of how I ended up doing my homework in the library instead of my bedroom. Not for the first time, either. As I mentioned before, this has become pretty routine.

I like the library for a lot of reasons. It's quiet, it's warm, it has lots of comfy chairs, and of course there's that wonderful old book smell that permeates the air. There's even a vending machine downstairs if I get hungry. I could spend hours here, days even. Hell, maybe I'll just move in here.

What I like best about this place is that it's very unlikely that I'll run into anyone from school here. I can just enjoy the solitude, without having to worry about being disturbed by--

"Hey."

A sudden, familiar voice from behind my left shoulder causes me to tense up. God dammit.

"What are you doing here?" The voice asks.

It takes a lot of willpower not to instinctively look at a person speaking to me, but I know that it's Sam, and I have been doing so well at avoiding eye-contact lately. So with my pencil frozen to my notebook, I remain hunched over as I respond in a monotone, "Homework."

"What homework?"

"English."

"Do you mind if I sit with you?"

I hesitate before just blowing him off like I've been doing without fail for the past two weeks. Like I've been blowing everyone off, because I'm just too damn sad and angry to deal with anything anymore.

"Come on, Cody," Sam sighs while I'm still thinking of how to respond. "Can we please just talk? I miss you."

And it is those last three words-- even though they have been both whispered and texted to me by Rose countless times since I've gone silent-- that finally break me. I pull back the chair directly to the left of me as a gesture for him to sit, and he takes it.

"Thank you," he says.

We just sit for awhile, in complete and total silence, with me trying (and failing) to resume my homework. Unfortunately, I am all too conscious of Sam's heavy breathing next to me, and can't help but notice the redness in his eyes and face when I dare to glance sideways.

When I can't take it anymore I finally sigh, put my pencil to rest, and turn my chair completely towards Sam. "Why are you here?"

He smirks . "Finally cared enough to ask, huh?"

Not sure how to respond to this, I simply inhale deeply and wait.

"You want the long version or the short version?"

I think on this for a minute, trying to read something in his expression that might tell me which one he wants me to pick. He wears a poker face.

"What's the short version?" I try.

"I walked out."

"Ah." Should have guessed as much. "What, did your parents piss you off too?"

He cocks his head at me. "Actually, yes. That's what happened to you?"

I pause. "Uh....yeah. I guess so."

"....Huh. Interesting."

More silence. My gaze turns toward the big glass wall beside our table, through which I can see the light outside quickly fading. It's too cloudy for a sunset. My chest aches.

"So are you gonna tell me--" Sam starts, but I don't let him finish.

"I'm sorry I've been a jerk," I cut in. "Home has been hell lately, and so has school to be honest. I've been feeling worthless and depressed, and I wasn't sure how to talk to your guys about it for awhile. I kind of just wanted to disappear. But that isn't an excuse for me being a jerk. I'm really, really sorry."

Sam pauses to consider all of this for a minute, and I let him. During the extended silence between us I try to reabsorb myself in my Romeo and Juliet essay, but I'm finding it nearly impossible. All I can focus on now is the extremely loud presence of Sam beside me: His still-heavy breathing from the walk over, the faint music blasting through his earbuds, the vibrations from his restless leg syndrome underneath the table. I wonder if he even realizes how noisy of a person he is, or how impossible it is to focus on anything when he's around.

God, I've missed him.

"So Sunny's still alive then?" he asks in a low voice, speaking up at last after several minutes.

I blink, his question legitimately startling me. "Yeah. They haven't finalized anything yet."

"Okay," he nods. "Good. I mean....for awhile there I was worried that--"

"You really think I wouldn't tell you if it happened?" I ask, slightly astonished. "You're literally the only person I have to talk to about this. No one else knows."

Sam shrugs, messing with his phone to avoid looking at me. The tempo of the music echoing from his earbuds changes to something more ambient, with what sounds like piano. Still just as loud. "I dunno," He mutters. "You were shutting me out for awhile there. I figured that was the only explanation. I mean, I always figured you'd tell me, but....I just didn't know."

"Well again," I respond, guiltily. "I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have isolated myself....It's not like it helped me feel any better." I add the last part before exhaling a heavy sigh, one that feels like it's been stuck in my throat for weeks.

Sam lays a gentle hand on my shoulder, causing my muscles to become stiff. The two of us don't touch each other a whole lot, which I'm guessing is due to our not-so-distant history. But now he does so confidently, and with a smile. "Hey, don't worry about it. I forgive you. I've just missed you a lot is all."

I breath another huge sigh, this one out of relief. "I've missed you too. I promise to never shut you out again."

His smile widens. "Good."

We're quiet again for a moment, and it's then that I notice his hand is still on my shoulder. I shift in my chair awkwardly, and he gets the hint and pulls back.

"Uh, anyway," he says, wiping his hand on his jeans for some reason. "You should probably apologize to Rose next. I don't know if she'll be as forgiving as me."

"Ah. Right." I'm definitely going to have a harder time with her. Rose's last text to me, which was several paragraphs long and contained a lot of curse words, said something along the lines of 'you better explain to me what's going on soon, or don't bother ever talking to me again.' "That's going to be fun. I'm sure good old Daniel hasn't missed me at all though, huh?"

Sam looks at the floor, appearing troubled. "Actually....he hasn't been around much either lately."

Whoa. Guess I really have fallen out of the loop by avoiding the cafeteria. "Really? Are you guys....?"

"Um...I'm not sure. I hope not, but....I think, maybe? I don't know." He ducks his head, but not before I catch the glistening of tears forming on the brims of his eyelids.

"Hey," I start, almost putting a hand on him this time, but I think better of it. "Do you want to talk about it. Because we don't have to--"

"No," he says firmly, rubbing both of his eyes with the backs of his hands. "I....I think I need to talk about it. With you. With my best friend."

It takes me longer than it should have to realize that he is not referring to two different people, and after I'm done being shocked I can't really decide how I feel about it. So I just nod, and stuff all of my homework into my backpack as a gesture of being ready to listen. I say, "Okay."

He takes a breath as he sets his phone on the table and pulls out his earbuds. Harsh piano still plays through them, and he never pauses his music. "So it all started about two weeks ago, which I think was also one of the last days you talked to us. It was the day after I came out to my parents. I never actually went home that day....."

------------

Dan

Withdrawal symptoms are still ravaging my body at the end of my second week of absence from school. I have no plan at this point, and no motivation to form one. I care about nothing. I am almost completely dead to the world.

I say almost because if I don't interact with Gabby at least once a day when she comes into my room to check on me, she has threatened to call my parents and tell them that I need to return to L.A. immediately.

Once she figured out that this is something I would very much like to avoid, she was able to use that same threat to make me do basic things to take care of myself. She was finally able to make me take a shower after over a week of laying in my own sweat and grime, as well as eat at least one meal a day while she sat in my room and watched me. A small price to pay, in my opinion, to avoid going back to live with my parents. As miserable as I am right now, I would be twice as miserable there. And hey, at least cooperating with Gabby has made her stop questioning me about what happened with Sam.

Or so I thought.

"Daniel?" Gabby calls my name as she knocks, right before opening my door.

She finds me as she always does: Staring at my ceiling with unblinking eyes, gripping my sheets tightly under the comforter as I try to focus on my breathing. "Yes?"

"Tengo tu tarea," she tells me as she enters with a stack of papers in her arms. "Y les dije a tus maestros que estás enfermo."

"Uh....thanks," I respond, after taking a minute to translate her words in my head. I sit up to take my homework from her, trying not to let it show that the mere change in position gives me a head rush. "Why are you speaking Spanish though?"

"Because while I was talking to your teachers, I also looked at your grades," She tells me with a frown, speaking in a tone that warns me I'm about to get scolded.. "How is it that you are failing? And Spanish, of all classes. You are practically bilingual!"

I look away shamefully. "I dunno. I suppose I've probably missed a test at this point."

"You are also failing math and science, two of your best subjects. And you have C's in all of your other classes."

I cringe at the news, realizing that I've been so caught up in being depressed that I haven't even thought about how my absences are affecting me academically. "Well....fuck."

"I am very disappointed in you, Daniel."

"Alright, would you cut the mother act already?" I growl, not in the mood to be made to feel even shittier than I already do. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"Yo quiero que regreses a la escuela!"

I jump at her commanding tone, which sounds even harsher in her native tongue than it does in English."I....I can't do that."

"And why not?"

"Because--" But my voice breaks off, abruptly ending whatever bullshit excuse I was about to spit out. Clearly she knows that something happened between me and Sam, but I cannot possibly explain to her what.

She waits for a full minute, staring at me with angry and expectant eyes.

I stay silent, merely shaking my head at her.

"So what, are you planning on remaining in bed for the rest of the month? Of the school year? The rest of your life? You are wasting away in here!"

"I'll go back eventually," I whisper, hating how I sound like a little kid, but unable to sound any different when I'm trying so hard to hold back tears.

"¿Cuando?"

I groan at her stubbornness. "No se, okay? I'll have an answer for you by the end of the day. Now please leave." I just want to cry in peace already.

She shakes her head. "No,. Enough is enough. I will not have two weeks turn into three. You will go back to school tomorrow, or I will call your parents."

"Gabriella, please!" There's no stopping them now; the tears have shattered their barrier and flow freely down my cheeks. "Don't do this to me. I can't go back."

"Yes you can," she insists. Her tone is softer, but loses none of its sternness. She grabs my phone from my bedside table, where it has sat untouched for almost the entire two weeks, and tosses it onto my lap. "Call him," she urges me, to my surprise. "Message him, or message somebody. Do what you have to do to prepare, but you are going back to school tomorrow. I would be a terrible guardian if I let you miss one more day because you want to stay here and feel sorry for yourself."

I clench my fists, furious at her unsympathetic wording, and get ready to yell back a defense.

But she cuts me off with a raise of her hand. "Do not argue with me. Just call him." And with that she leaves at last, shutting my door tightly behind her.

I can't help but call her several terrible names in my head, in Spanish and in English, as I wipe my eyes angrily with my fists. Who the hell does she think she is, accusing me of feeling sorry for myself? Unless she equates constantly wishing for death to self-pity, her accusation couldn't be further from the truth.

Still, her command echoes inside my head as I twirl my phone around in my hands. Activated by the motion, my lock screen lights up to display an extensive list of missed notifications from the past two weeks. I cringe, having to resist the urge to throw the device across my room. I suppose it is finally time to review all that I have missed while I've been dead to the world, as much as I've been putting it off.

Finally unlocking my phone, I ignore the red badges over Facebook, Twitter, and Reddit. I have eyes only for the bright green messages app at the corner of my screen, and a tiny gasp escapes me at the sight of the number 10 in the red badge on the corner.

"Holy shit," I say aloud. Thumb shaking, I open the app and start from the bottom.

First three are from a kid named Albert Grant, whom I exchanged numbers with back in, like, August. We used to sit at the front of Math class together, before I moved to sit with Sam and Rose.

ALBERT: hey dude I kno its been a while but just thot id let u kno that you missed a map test today

ALBERT: also u think u could help me with the hw? u seem gud at math

ALBERT: dude r u ded?

Rolling my eyes, I scroll up to the next oldest conversation. I apparently have messages from three different random numbers.

UNKNOWN: omg is this Dan???? I saw your fight a few days ago, and found youre numbr. date me plz!!!

UNKNOWN 2: My boy John wants you to kno that next time he won't go easy on you. watch your back, Albright. we know where you live.

UNKNOWN 3: Your so fuking hot. Ditch your lezzie girlfriend and come to my party on Friday. 2427 Spring St.

Well. Clearly I need to update my security settings on social media.

Next.

NOAH: Parents want to know if you have plans for Spring Break.

This one really irks me. Maybe because I'm imagining how my oldest brother undoubtedly rolled his eyes when Mom or Dad told him to send me this text. Because my parents are apparently so fucking busy that they can't even text and ask me this themselves.

I'll bet Noah waited a whole four business days after being asked before he sent me this annoyingly curt message.

Next.

EDGAR THOMPSON: Get back to me at some point, dude. We need to talk.

This is the first message that makes me feel something besides annoyed. At first I'm shocked; I didn't even know I still had this douchebag's number.

Then I'm nervous. What the hell does Edgar Thompson want with me?

Maybe it was a fuckup, he probably meant to send that to someone else. Right? Hopefully.

Quickly, I scroll up to the next and final rectangle on my conversations page. My most recent messages.

My heart speeds up. The messages are from Rose, and they're from ten minutes ago.

ROSE: Hey Dan? Are you there?

ROSE: I know you probably don't want to talk right now, but could you just text me back so that I know you're alive?

Before I can fully process what I've just read, another message pops up on the screen.

ROSE: Please. I promise, I won't tell Sam that you talked to me. I just want to know for my own peace of mind.

For the first time in what feels like ages, I actually smile. The action feels almost foreign to my facial muscles.

ME: I'm alive.

She responds in seconds.

ROSE: Thank fucking god.

ROSE: I ought to reach through this phone and smack you, though.

I chuckle, another action that my body doesn't quite understand.

ME: Please don't. I'm coming back tomorrow.

ROSE: Good. And I hope you know that if you wanted to get back at him for storming out on you, you totally have. I don't think I've ever seen him more distressed. I think he also thinks you're dead, but is too afraid to say it.

Shit, Sam's actually been worried about me? That wasn't what I wanted at all, though I'd be lying if I said that learning this doesn't bring me just a tiny bit of joy. Not at the thought of Sam in distress, of course. More at the thought-- at the hope-- that maybe our relationship isn't as doomed as I thought it to be.

Suddenly, one more thought crosses my mind.

ME: Wait, you aren't mad at me?

ROSE: Why would I be? You didn't do anything.

Not gonna lie, her response shocks me. Though instead of arguing for why she should, in fact, hate my guts, I decide to just be grateful that she doesn't.

With a heavy sigh, I put down my phone and sit up in my bed. My head swims, and I wait for it to calm down before I try standing.

It takes me several minutes, but I finally leave my room for the first time in two weeks.

The house is dead silent, but for the hum of the heater. I'm guessing that Gabby went to get groceries, which can only mean that it's Sunday.

Curious, I make my way downstairs and to the kitchen and check the calendar that Gabby has pinned up next to the refrigerator. She likes to put big X's in red sharpie on every day that passes, which is how I see that it is February 3rd.

Man, you really lose track of time when you shut yourself off from the world. I wonder if the groundhog saw his shadow yesterday.

Judging from the gray, dead-looking world outside, I'm guessing we have at least six more weeks of winter ahead of us. I can almost feel the upcoming cold days in my soul.

I shiver, though admittedly, it probably isn't as cold as I think it is. This is just the first time I've left the warmth of my blankets in so long.

I decide to make myself some tea while I'm in the kitchen, though the thought is immediately followed by a sharp pang in my chest as I remember the last time I had tea: the last time I saw Sammy.

Darjeeling was what I had. He drank camomile, which I remember because I made fun of him for it.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I reach for a box of Earl Gray.

I set some water to boil, and as I reach for a mug my eyes glance over the place on the wall where the kitchen knives all hang in a neat little row. Stainless steel, all twelve on them.

All twelve of them.

I freeze, turning back to count, even though there very clearly is not a space where there formerly was, after my shameful theft. They're all here, all shiny and pristine in their normal places.

Gabriella must have found it at some point.

------------

Sam

I fall asleep easily on Sunday night for the first time in ages.

I ended up venting to Cody for hours, basically until the library closed, and damn it felt good. I forgot what a good listener he was, and how well he could handle me when I cried. He isn't one of those annoying people who tries to hug you, or gives you those sad eyes, or offers you a box of tissues. Instead, he just listens and nods, never once offering an opinion, and when you're quiet for a long time he'll say, "Do you want to know what I think?" He was exactly the friend that I needed in that moment.

And I did want to know what he thought, actually.

"I think you have every right to be as upset as you are," he began. "Your feelings are totally valid, and what you do from here is up to you. But it also sounds like he's pretty destroyed over hurting you."

I snorted. "I'm surprised you're being sympathetic towards him. I thought you hated him."

He shrugged. "It's hard for me to hate anyone nowadays, even Daniel Albright. But honestly, after what you've told me, I kind of regret being so harsh towards him. I never knew he was suffering that much."

I cringed then, feeling a little shitty for having told Cody about Dan self-harming. But it was kind of essential to the story.

"Anyway, like I said," he continued. "Whether or not you forgive him, or keep dating him, or whatever is up to you. All I'm saying is.....it sounds like he could use somebody right now. At least you've got me and Rose. Who does he have?"

Who does he have?

These were words that I turned over and over in my head as I walked home that night. More like, is he even fucking alive? was the more prevalent question in my mind, though never voiced this to Cody.

Mom and Dad greeted me somewhat awkwardly when I came through the front door, as if I had just come home from a friend's house instead of after storming out on them hours ago. I ignored them, going straight up to my room.

Rose's greeting was more enthusiastic. "Sam!" She exclaimed, jumping up to hug me. "I'm so glad you came back!"

"Of course I came back. Like I'd ever run away without you."

For the rest of the evening as we prepared for bed, she seemed suspiciously giddy. "What's up with you?" I asked her at one point.

"Nothing," she responded, though still unable to wipe the smile off her face. "I just....have a good feeling about tomorrow."

Why she would say that, I have no idea. Though sleep does come easier to me tonight than it has in recent weeks, I'm still fairly anxiety-ridden as the shadow of the upcoming Monday looms over me. I'm not ready for another day of school, another day of Dan not showing up.

Another day of wondering if my boyfriend is dead. If he killed himself because of me.

--------

Monday morning comes, much to my dismay. And even worse, the pain of missing Dan isn't the only pain that plagues me this morning.

"Fuuuuuuck," is the first word out of my mouth as I open my eyes to the too-bright light of my room.

"What's up?" asks Rose from across the room. Already dressed and doing her makeup, of course.

I don't answer, just continuing to groan as I curl up in my bed. For the first morning in a strangely long time, I can feel everything that's wrong with my body at once. And I mean everything. Specifically the lumps on my chest that feel twice their normal size this morning, but also my freakish hips and scrawny arms, and the place between my legs that is just so fucking wrong I can't even describe it.

"Sam?" Rose asks, her concern clear as she closes her makeup and turns towards me. "What's wrong."

I can't tell her. I'm so dysphoric that I can't even say the word.

Luckily, it doesn't take her long to realize. "Oh." Is all she says when she realizes, her face sympathetic.

I wave her away, "I'll be fine," I lie easily. "Just give me a minute."

I want to cut so bad. I know that will at least dull the pain for awhile.

But of course, I don't. In fact, I haven't done it since I found out about Dan. I even tried to after his fifth or sixth absence, because I was so depressed and missed him so much, but I couldn't do it. Every time I pick up a blade now, all I can see is Dan's fucked up chest and ribs in my mind and I just can't do it. I start to cry instead.

One might say that, in some twisted fucking ironic way, he cured me of my addiction.

Eventually, I make it out of bed.

Rose watches as I stumble to my closet and search desperately for clothes that are baggy enough to hide my disgusting curves. I end up settling on a faded plaid flannel, about three sizes too large for me that I picked up from Goodwill last summer, much to my mother's disapproval.

But what to wear under it?

"Sam, no," says Rose, practically reading my mind as she sees my eyes wander to my bottom dresser drawer.

"Rosie, you don't understand," I argue desperately. "I need to bind today."

"I do understand, actually," she responds, almost offended. "I know what dysphoria feels like, Sam. But you know how dangerous--"

Ignoring her completely, I pull my ace bandage from it's hiding spot, still unraveled from the last time I stuffed it away hastily. Just the sight of it relieves me

I move to take off my shirt, but not before Rose grabs my wrist. "Sam, it isn't good for you. Not for an entire school day"

I tear my wrist from her grasp. "Neither is wanting to rip my fucking chest off, yet here we are. Talk to me when you're a trans guy, Rose. You don't understand."

Blinking, she steps back. "Please don't tell me we're back to playing Who Has It Worse?. Because I am not doing that again."

"Why?" I can't help but egg her on, frustrated that she's calmer than I am right now. "Because you know I'd win?"

Her eyes narrow, and she huffs angrily. "Okay, fuck you Sam." She retreats to her side of the room.

Satisfied, I take off my shirt and begin the painstaking process of binding down my chest. I can already feel the aches that I'll be experiencing later, but I don't care. I can handle this. I just have to make sure I take a break sometime in the middle of the day, maybe during lunch. Yeah....yeah, that's a good plan.

Rose and I almost make it out the front door before Mom sees us, like we've done so well at for so many weeks. Almost.

"Have a good day you guys!" The phrase she normally calls out to us from a separate room, our mother now says as she is on her way up the stairs with some laundry, and we are on our way down.

She almost passes us with nothing more than a glance. Then stops. Does a double take. Turns around completely. "George?"

Rose and I freeze, now at the bottom of the stairs and facing away from our mom.

Rose sighs, having known this day would come eventually, and turns around. The large canvas she holds under her arm makes this hard to do in the stairway, but she manages. "Yeah?"

Mom takes a minute to absorb what she sees: Her "son" with overgrown hair brushed over and clipped in a feminine style, and with a full face of makeup complete with eyeliner and lipgloss. The heart-shaped necklace that she had given me as a birthday present clearly hung over the chest of the wrong twin.

I feel tense, though I'm not even the one under the microscope. This moment of Mom staring at Rose seems to last forever.

Until finally, she shakes her head. "Nothing," she responds, turning around and continuing up the stairs with the laundry basket. "Have a good day," she repeats, though it definitely sounds more forced than before.

Once we're outside, I put a supportive arm over Rose's shoulder. "You handled that like a champ, sis," I tell her. "I'm proud of you."

She shrugs my arm off of her shoulder. "Thanks, but I'm still mad at you for binding."

I roll my eyes. "Oh get over it, would you? It's my problem, not yours."

"That's right," she agrees. "So don't come crying to me when you faint in the middle of the hallway."

"Oh my god, that's not going to happen!"

"We'll see."

------------

Rose

Lucas meets us about halfway to school in the mornings now, just like Dan used to. Truthfully, Lucas meeting us makes more sense, since he lives way closer than Dan. But the fact that Dan would wake up early and make the much longer walks in the morning just to see Sam always used to warm my heart.

I really hope those two get back together.

"Hey kid," Lucas greets me, canvas in hand. "Got your finished thing?"

"Yep." I hold up my canvas. "And in art, we call them pieces."

Lucas rolls his eyes. "Pieces, things, same diff. Imma call it garbage after I get my grade on it."

"You're really going to throw it away?" I ask him in disbelief.

"Oh, definitely. It's no good. I'm not gonna have this second-rate junk taking up space in my room."

"I don't think it's junk," I tell him with a frown.

He shrugs. "Well, it doesn't matter what you think, does it?"

It doesn't take long for Sam to walk ahead of us as Lucas and I continue talking. I'm not insulted by it; I used to do the same thing when he started walking with Dan. But a part of me still feels bad because I know that this is what he misses. And frankly, I also miss overhearing his banter with Dan. Listening to their hilarious back-and-forth was sometimes the best part of my day.

Again, I cross my fingers that everything will be resolved today.

The three of us reach the building at about the same time, and when we reach our normal spot in the commons, we are greeted by not one, but two faces we haven't seen in awhile.

"Well hey, haven't seen you two in awhile," Lucas acknowledges with a nod.

The two he is referring to are Dan, who is leaning against a pillar with his hands in his pockets, wearing a blank expression, and Cody, who sits on the table next to his backpack, smiling sheepishly at me.

"Cody?" I say at the same time that Sam says, "Dan?"

"Hey Rose," says Cody, looking a bit awkward. "Um, I guess I have some apologies to make."

"Ya think?" I snap, way over the shock of seeing him and back to being pissed at him. "What have I sent you, like, twenty texts? What is it with you being an asshole for two weeks, huh?"

Lucas pats me on the shoulder. "I'll be in the art room," he says before leaving. God bless that kid

"I'm sorry," Cody says to me. "I've been in a really bad place lately, and I didn't know how to talk about it. But you're right, I was an asshole for not explaining. I'm sorry."

Though my instinct is to forgive him right away, I don't want to let that on. "Well," I start, keeping my tone cold. "Are you ready to talk about it yet?"

At this, Cody looks down. He seems almost ashamed. "I'm not sure, honestly."

"Why, you don't trust me?"

"No! I mean, that's not it. Of course I trust you."

"Then what is it?" I demand. "Why the hell did you shut me out for so long? Why did you ignore all of my attempts to talk to you? That was pretty rude, you know."

"I know," says Cody. "And again, I'm sorry. I hope you'll forgive me, but of course, you don't have to if you're not ready."

God dammit, why does he have to be so freaking mature about everything? It's honestly so annoying.

I sigh. "Of course I forgive you, you stupid dork. Come here."

We hug, briefly but tightly, before finally turning to watch the show that's going on next to us.

Okay, I guess it isn't much of a show after all. Sam and Dan are just staring at each other, several feet and a heavy silence still laying between them. Cody and I stare, waiting for it to get interesting.

Finally, Dan takes a step forward. "Sam--"

"Are you still doing it?" My brother asks before Dan can say another word.

Dan, of course, knows what he's talking about. "No. Not once since that night."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

Dan laughs, almost cruelly. "You wanna fucking inspect me again, Officer?"

"Hey, don't you dare be mad at me for that," Sam growls. "Not after you lied through your teeth for months."

"I'm sorry," says Dan, with so many more emotions than Cody had voiced those same two words with just before. "How many times do I have to say it?"

"How about one for every time you did the very thing you told me you weren't doing."

From the way Dan's eyes widen, I can only imagine how many times he cut himself.

"Yeah," says Sam. "There you go--"

"I'll do it!" Dan exclaims suddenly. "I will, if that's what you want. I will tell you I'm sorry....five-hundred and twenty-four times."

My mouth drops open. "Jesus, you really count?" I can't help but ask.

Dan frowns, looking at Sam. "Doesn't everyone?"

From the way Sam presses his lips together, I can tell that Dan is right.

I turn to look at Cody, wondering how confused he must be right now, but his expression is totally unreadable.

"Sam, I'll do whatever you need me to do," Dan says desperately. "But if you can't forgive me.....Fuck, I don't know how I can go on like this."

The bell rings then, and kids start to file through the commons in large crowds.

"Wait--"

"I have to go to class," Sam says, his voice thick.

"Sam please--"

"Bye Dan." He rushes off, but not before I catch the tears brimming over his eyelids.

Dan is also crying, more overtly, I might add.

"Fuck," he mutters, pinching the inner corners of his eyes, as if to stop the tears.

I put a hand on his arm, which makes him jump. My skin is freezing compared to his.

"Sorry," I mutter. "Anyway. I'm glad you came back, Dan."

"That makes one Wyatt twin," he groans, then casts his teary gaze over to Cody and chuckles. "Bet you're not so thrilled to see me, huh Foster?"

"Actually," says Cody, in his maturest voice. "It's good to know that you're okay. See you in class, when you get there." He gives me a one-armed hug before heading off.

"We're in the same first period," Dan explains to me, glaring after Cody. "Damned nerd, always on his fucking high horse."

"I think he really is happy to see you," I tell him. "And so is Sam. He's just so stubborn when it comes to forgiveness."

Dan sighs. "I know that's not it though. I think he also saw this." He holds out both of his forearms to me, revealing thick, but faded pink lines.

"So?" I ask, trying to hide the shock from my voice. "Those look old."

"But I never used to cut there before," he explains. "I saw him glance over my arms for a second, and I think he knows I did these after he left that night."

"Well shit, he probably feels guilty then," I realize aloud.

Dan looks confused. "I sure as hell hope not. I did this to myself, it's my fault. He better fucking know that by now, he's been pissed at me for this long."

"Oh! Oh, Dan." Suddenly, I think I finally realize the miscommunication that has occurred here. "You think this whole stretch of silence has just been him being mad, don't you?"

"Well....yeah. Because he is mad."

"Oh yeah, he's furious. But he's also guilty as hell."

"Guilty?" Dan looks honestly appalled. "For what?"

I shake my head at him. "Oh Daniel. Clearly you don't know my brother at all if you don't know about his guilt complex."

The late bell rings as I realize that the two of us are left standing alone in the commons, but it's clear that neither of us care.

I continue my explanation that seems to be blowing Dan's mind right now. "Look, it took me years to figure out my brother as much as I have, and I still feel like I'm shit at understanding him sometimes, so I honestly don't blame you. But as far as this goes, I can explain it to you with something resembling a physics problem: For every outward emotion that Sam expresses, there is an inward emotion of equal or greater intensity going on simultaneously."

Dan stares at me blankly. "So you're saying.....what?"

I sigh. "I'm saying, that as angry as he has been at you these past two weeks, I can almost guarantee that he has been hating himself even more. He probably feels like a bad boyfriend for never noticing that you were cutting, and now feels even more guilty knowing that him lashing out at you made you miserable enough to skip school for two weeks. And he likes to bury his self-hatred by channeling it all into anger, which is making him act more angry at you than he actually is."

Dan stares, but now with an expression of understanding. And of shock. "But....no! He should know that none of this is his fault! How do I make him not blame himself?"

"Now if you figure that one out, let me know," I laugh. "Anyway, I think we should both get to class. See you later?"

"Uh, yeah. And thanks, Rose. Damn, you're a genius."

I grin at him. "That's me alright. Rosie the Genius."

------------

Dan

"You're late," Mr. Green is quick to remark when I enter his classroom, pausing in the middle of his lecture to do so. About twenty heads turn my way, and a sea of whispers is quick to follow.

My face floods with warmth. "Sorry Mr. Green," I mutter.

"Do you have a pass?"

"Um, no."

"Then that's a tardy. Please take your seat."

I don't bother to conceal my glare, knowing full and well that any of my other teachers would have given me a break, seeing as how it's my first day back after being "sick". Green just wants to be an asshole, as usual.

I retreat to my normal seat next to Cody, still the only empty chair in the room.

"Hey," says Cody in a hushed tone.

"Piss off," I respond simply.

And just like that, it's like I've never been gone.

--------

The wait for gym class is agonizing; it's as if time is moving three times slower than normal, just to torment me. I suffer through first and second periods in desperate anticipation, dwelling on my fears instead of paying attention.

What if Sam never forgives me? What if I've lost him forever, and there's nothing I can do about it? How the hell am I going to handle it if I get to gym, and he won't even look at me? What the fuck am I going to say to him anyway?

At long last, the bell rings signaling the end of second period.

I swear I am probably halfway down the hall before anyone else has left their seat, my heart hammering against my ribcage at a frightening rate. Can you die of a heart attack at fifteen?

"Albright," Coach Hill calls me out the second I slide to a halt in front of the double doors to the gymnasium. "Nice of you to finally show up. We were starting to wonder if you had died."

"Sorry Coach," I mumble lamely. "Been sick."

"So I've heard. Get changed, then we're doing weights today."

In the locker room, I am greeted by backslaps and friendly shouts from guys I barely know, which I respond to with awkward smiles and nods. I take my clothes into a stall to change, a decision which none of my classmates have ever questioned.

Interesting how that works, huh?

Leaving the locker room in just my regular gym shorts and t-shirt, I find myself feeling strangely naked. I'm starting to wish that I had brought a long-sleeved shirt to wear, even though no one but Sam will be observant enough to notice the faded pink lines across both of my forearms.

As the coaches lead us through our warm-ups, I desperately try to make eye contact with Sam on the other side of the gym, but he keeps his head down. Whether consciously trying to avoid my gaze or not, I'm honestly unsure, but I can only assume the worst. His eyes are downcast, his expression looks pained, he hardly seems to be able to do his stretches today.

And it's all because of me.

Fuck.

"Alright everyone, to the weight room!" Coach Hill announces.

Across the gym, Coach Wheeler orders her girls (plus Sam) to follow her to a separate room on the other side.

"Wait, are the girls doing something different today?" I remark aloud, counting on literally anyone to answer my question.

"Why fag, you wanna join them?" One of the boys jokes from the back.

"The girls usually do yoga during our weight unit," Coach Hill replies, completely ignoring the homophobic comment.

I frown, legitimately upset by more than just the fact that I won't be able to see Sam today. "That's a little sexist, don't you think?"

"Women require different strength training than men," Coach Hill barks back, a bit defensively. "They'll have their weights unit later on. Shouldn't be a problem anyway, we don't need you boys and girls to be flirting all day instead of focusing on the unit."

Groaning amidst the other boys' laughter, I glance around our schools' weight room, realizing that I've never been here before.

Everything in the room is either gray, silver, or black, which makes the whole atmosphere feel somewhat dusty, even though all of the equipment appears well-used. There is a long rack of free-weights in front of a wall of mirrors, several benches for the heavier weight-lifting, three treadmills in the back, and countless more machines that I can't even name. Many guys among us eye these machines hungrily, anxious to prove themselves as the strongest once we begin.

"Don't get too excited now," Coach Hill reigns them in quickly. "We still have to go over rules and expectations first...."

He babbles on for a little while, but I cannot get my mind off of Sam. I wonder if he's wishing that he was here right now, or if he's glad that he doesn't have to see my face at all during the period, even if it means doing yoga with the girls.

No. If I know him at all, he's miserable right now. He probably wishes he was running, more than anything. Sam loves to run.

"Can I use the restroom?" I blurt, raising my hand before even thinking about it.

The coach grunts in response, clearly more irritated that I interrupted him than anything. Seeing as how I'm not exactly one of his star pupils, he doesn't care where I go. I'd even wager that I could get away with not coming back at all for the rest of class time.

Once I am out of the ashy weight room and through the double doors of the gymnasium, I feel like I can finally breathe. But as soon as I start to breathe, I can feel the tears pooling.

Dammit, how the hell did Sam Wyatt manage to turn me into such a little bitch? I never used to cry this much, I'm sure of it. Yet here I sit, leaning against the lockers in the hallway outside the gym, barely managing to keep from bursting into tears. This feeling in my chest....it's killing me.

I need to cut.

NO. NO I DO NOT.

Deep breaths, Dan. One....Two....Three.

Good.

"Hey Albright," says a voice at the water fountain to my left.

I practically jump up off the floor, giving my face a good once-over with the back of my hand to make sure that it's dry. Making my breaths heavy, I pretend like I'm just resting out here after a good workout.

"Thompson," I greet him with a nod, once I see that it's Edgar at the water fountain. I maintain my toughest, blankest expression.

"Did ya get my text from a few days ago?"

I make like I need to think about it for a sec. "Uhh....yeah. Yeah, I think so. What did you want?" I don't pretend to be polite. It's not as if we talk very much nowadays, though he was one of the first friends I made at this stupid school.

"I need to talk to you."

I roll my eyes at him. "Yeah, I figured that much. My question still stands."

"It's about my brother, Andy. About something you might think you saw him do last October."

An icy feeling spreads like a fire in my stomach, and then through the rest of my body all the way to my extremities. RIP my poker face; I'm sure my shock at what he is bringing up is written all over me. But he can't be. He can't possibly be talking about--

But as I finally look to take in Thompson's expression, I see that it is one wracked by fear, anxiety, and possibly several sleepless nights. "You know what I'm getting at, right?" He says, in a voice as strained as his face.

I gulp down the block of ice in my throat in the effort to make some sort of comprehensible sound. "Erg, um. Uhh...."

Thompson's eyes narrow. "You know, I don't think you know what I'm getting at. This must sound like total gibberish to you."

Wait....what? "Actually--"

"I mean," Edgar continues, never dropping his sharp blue eyes from mine. "Nothin' happened in October. Not that you can remember, anyway. You and your shitty memory. If anyone were to ask you about a certain night....well, you wouldn't know what to say, would you?"

His condescending tone fires me up enough to make me find my voice immediately. "Actually Thompson, I know exactly what you're referring to," I tell him, my hands balling into fists as details from the night in question flash through my mind. "Why do you bring it up?"

For a moment, time seems to freeze with Edgar Thompson's eyes widened at my bravery. Then, next thing I know, my back is being slammed up against the lockers.

"You listen to me Albright," Thompson spits through gnashed teeth, inches from my face. I can smell the grape energy drinks on his breath, and it distracts me from the fact that my feet are no longer on the floor. "My brother is being investigated right now. There have been fucking cops prowling our house for weeks--"

"Barely?" I manage to gasp, even though talking is really hard when a meaty hand is closed around your neck. "What took them so long?" If I'm going to die, I might as well go out being a sarcastic fuck.

Sure enough, Edgar's grasp tightens. "Don't be smart with me, jackass. Let's just say, nobody talked before. But apparently somebody's talking now, and with all the evidence, it's not looking too great for Andy."

Good, I want to say, but can't because I'm choking.

"Now let's go through this again," he grunts. "If an officer approaches you with questions: You saw nothin', you heard nothin', you know nothin'. And you better be fucking convincing about it, cuz if my brother goes to jail....let's just say, it won't just mean the end of your life. Understood?"

Honestly, I would still try to spit out something sarcastic if I didn't feel like this evil son of a bitch was going to kill me right in this hallway, with not a teacher in sight. So I just nod.

"Good." He drops me, and I'm left gasping for air.

"Agh....aw, fuck. Ouch," I mutter, massaging my bruised neck. That's going to leave a mark for sure.

Still wanting to have the last word, I open my mouth to let Thompson know exactly what kind of endings his brother will be getting when he's behind bars. But when I look up, the hallway is empty. He has already made his escape.

------------

Sam

Yoga. Fucking yoga. I have never hated gym class more than in this moment.

"Aaaaand, reach up," says the lady in the video, and across the room with mats all over the floor, my classmates mimic the stretch.

Everyone except for me. I sit against the wall in the back of the room, arms crossed and pouting like a child, not even caring when Coach Wheeler told me that I would lose my points for the day if I didn't participate.

"This is a week-long unit, Sam," Says Coach Wheeler, who stands next to me in the back of the room. "You really want to lose participation points every day for a week? That'll bring you down to a B in gym, and let's face it, that's just sad."

"I don't care," I grumble. "This whole thing is stupid. Why can't we just do weights with the boys?"

"Because the curriculum has archaic views about gender," She grumbles back, to my total surprise. She seems almost as upset about this as me. "You think it doesn't grind my gears that we don't get a weights unit? I'm sure you would excel in that too, by the way."

I'm speechless for a few seconds, still shocked that a teacher is agreeing with me on something. "Um....thanks."

"By the way," she adds in a low voice, leaning down to my level. "How many times have I asked you to see me after class now?"

"Um...." I have to think back through the past two hellish weeks and try to recall all of the times that I've ignored my gym teacher, whether subconsciously or otherwise. "....More than once, I guess?"

"Uh huh. So what gives with you ignoring me?"

I blush. "Usually when a teacher asks to see me after class, it's nothing good," I admit to her.

Wheeler surprises me again by offering me a soft smile. "I see. Well in this case, it's quite the contrary. For weeks now, I've been trying to offer you an opportunity."

My head snaps up. "Huh?"

She wastes no time. "Sam, what would you think about trying out for track and field this spring?"

She pauses to let me absorb her question, and meanwhile my mind is racing. Track and field? Tryout? Me????

"I've seen the way you run," Wheeler continues. "And the team could really use you. I'm head coach for the girls' team, of course.

My heart, which I hadn't even realized was racing with excitement, deflated at two words: girls' team.

"Oh," I say, trying not to let my disappointment show. "Um, thanks for the offer, I guess. But I don't think I'd fit in very well on your team."

"What do you mean?" Coach argues. "You haven't even met them. What, you think my runners are all like these pansies?" She motions unabashedly at the girls in front of us, who are so engrossed in trying to do the warrior pose that they don't hear her. "Trust me, Sam. You might find you have more in common with my girls than you'd expect."

"I really don't think that's going to happen," I shoot back, respectful but confident. "Again, thanks for the offer though. In another universe, I might accept. Track sounds....cool." I trail off with a sigh, not worrying about hiding my feelings anymore.

She raises an eyebrow at me. "Then why don't you do it?"

Though I appreciate how much she wants me, I really wish she's stop pressing. "I'm telling you, Coach. I won't fit in with them. Just trust me when I say--"

"So what?" she interrupts.

"What?"

"Who cares if you don't fit in?" She stares straight ahead as she speaks to me, her demeanor tough and uncaring as always, but her words seems to be pumped with more weight than usual. "All that matters is that you enjoy it, and that you're good. Screw what everyone else thinks. That was my motto in high school."

I stare up at her in disbelief. "But...but what about how important it is to be a team player? And how your team is your family, and all that crap."

She smirks. "'All that crap' will come with time. Like I said, you shouldn't judge my team before you get to know them. They really are nice young ladies."

I cringe at another two words now. Young ladies. "Coach....I can't be on a team of girls. I just can't."

She shrugs. "Hey, it's your choice. I can't force you to join the team, as much as I'd like to threaten you with losing more participation points. However, I can promise you that we have had students come in thinking there's no one like them, and end up having their minds blown. Don't be so self-centered, kiddo. Give other kids a chance."

She leaves me then, going off to bark at someone in the front who's on their phone, and I am left alone with my thoughts.

I imagine, just for a moment, that I did suck it up and join the team. That I force myself to deal with locker rooms full of girls who parade around, unashamed of their bodies, and whom I will undoubtedly feel like an outcast among. I imagine racing with girls, competing agains girls, being in a group that is addressed as "ladies" by our coach....

I imagine competing, and I imagine winning. I fantasize about being apart of something that involves me having a reason to not go straight home after school, but to stay after and work towards something. My head dreams up a scene where I've just won an event, and I see my family cheering me on from the stands. And Rose is there, and our parents are happy, and Dan is there, and he runs up to me and hugs me, not caring at all that I'm drenched in sweat, and he kisses me right there in front of everyone, but it's totally cool because everyone thinks that I'm a girl.....

BRIIIING.

The ten minute warning bell yanks me from my fantasy, and I blink as Coach Wheeler flicks on the lights.

"Enjoy the rest of your day," she tells us all as she dismisses us to the locker room. She looks at me and gives me an acknowledging nod, but doesn't ask me if I've made up my mind yet. She must know that I'll let her know when I'm ready.

Once I'm changed, instead of returning to the gym to wait like we're supposed to, I go out into the hallway to breathe some non-stuffy air. And it's out here that I find Dan slumped up against the lockers, looking a bit frazzled.

We make eye contact, and I find that I want nothing more than to run into his arms and kiss him like we do in my track fantasy, but that's before my eyes wander to his bare forearms. The dying fire inside of me reignites. How could he?

"Sam," Dan starts, reaching out. Making the lines more visible.

Glowering, I turn away.

"Please, just wait!" He begs. "Just listen to me tell you how sorry I am."

"I've heard enough of that," I scoff, even though all but maybe two of my brain cells are screaming, Oh, just forgive him already you stubborn asshole!

"Then at least just answer me this, because this questions has been eating me alive for two weeks: We're not broken up, are we?"

The question is so bold, so straightforward. Two things that I've always loved about Dan. But there is nothing I love about this question.

"Fuck, I don't know!" I yell, making him flinch. "Why do I have to be the one who decides that?"

"Because you walked out on me," he responds, his voice breaking slightly, though he tries to hide it with a cough.

Suddenly, I'm confronted by the same imagined scene that assaulted my mind earlier this morning, when I first saw Dan's newly cut forearms. I imagine him breaking down after I left that night (even though he cried and begged me to stay, I had left), and reaching immediately for his blade and cutting in places that he hasn't cut for god knows how long.

The guilt I feel threatens to suffocate me.

Luckily, the bell rings right then. "I can't talk about this right now, Dan. I need to get to class--"

But he grabs my arm, bold and straightforward as always. "Just tell me Sam, for the love of God! I need to know if I've been crying like a little bitch for no reason, or if it's justified."

I blink. "You've been crying still?" I thought I was the only one.

He looks at me like I'm the world's biggest dumbass. "Duh. You really don't think I care about you as much as I've said?"

Not if you'd do something like this. "Dan...." I sigh, looking up to meet his eyes. But before I can say anymore, I catch sight of an enormous red mark spread all across his pale neck. That definitely wasn't there this morning. "What the fuck is that?"

His hands move immediately to his neck, like he knows exactly what I'm talking about, and flinches at his own touch. "Ow. Right, there's another thing I need to talk to you about."

"Who did this to you?" That's my first question, and the only one I care about right now. My hands are tightening into fists, already prepared to punch somebody's lights out.

"Settle down, tiger. There's a backstory involved," he says in a serious tone, though he can barely contain a smile. He's clearly satisfied that I still care about him enough to be angry that someone hurt him.

And I cannot deny it. I am angry. "Well? I'm listening."

"This is something for you and Rose to hear," he tells me, all traces of a smile gone from his lips.

And that's when I understand how truly important this is. But the crowd is starting to thin, and I can't be late to English again. "Tell us at lunch?"

"Sounds good," he nods.

The two of us part ways once again.

--------

Before I go to English though, I have to stop around the corner near the bathrooms, just so I can collapse against the wall without Dan seeing. My chest is so fucking tight, every breath feels like my ribs are being crushed by a ten-pound stone block.

You can make it. You can make it. I repeat to myself over and over. You don't need to take it off.

--------

But by the time fourth period is almost over, the chest-crushing feeling has worsened tremendously. I can't focus, I can't breathe, I can barely even think. The teacher's droning voice sounds like a distant buzzing, as all of my perceptive lobes are entirely occupied with focusing on the pain in my chest.

Alright buddy, I think it's time to take it off.

But just as I finally acknowledge this, the bell rings for lunch and the hallways are flooded with people. As, I'm sure, are the bathrooms. Crap, never mind. Maybe later.

------------

Rose

One of the most exhausting parts of coming out has to be when people around you use your incorrect name or pronouns, and you have about two seconds to decide whether you want to correct them or not. That's way too much pressure for me, so I must admit that most of the time, I have been letting it slide.

Like in Art this morning, when Kelsey actually spoke to me for the first time in weeks (just to say, "George, would you pass me that paintbrush?"). I froze for what felt like a year, sweating and agonizing over whether or not to correct her, before deciding against it and simply handing her the paintbrush....which I ended up regretting immediately.

Luckily, Lucas was there for me. "Her name is Rose, actually," he said casually, not even looking up from his project.

Kelsey did a double-take. "I'm sorry.....what?"

"Her. Name. Is. Rose," Lucas said again, more slowly. Still not looking up. "Hey Rose, could you please pass the green paint?"

Grinning ear-to-ear, I complied with his request and tore my gaze away from Kelsey's shocked expression for good. Who the hell cares what she thinks anyway? Who cares what anyone thinks? I find it hard to when I've got Lucas on my side.

This interaction got me through the rest of the morning, as did Miss Vaughn giving me a hug after class and telling me, "There are no words to describe how proud I am of you, Rose."

Even English class didn't kill my good mood, like it normally would, because Cody was talking to me again. It also helped that Edgar wasn't there today, and when he's gone, the kids who normally follow his lead tend to leave me alone more.

So by the time lunch comes around, my mood is pretty stellar.

"Well, this is nice," Lucas remarks as Cody, Dan, and Sam all take their seats around us. "Actually feels like I have friends again."

"Who did you sit with last semester, Lucas?" I ask him, out of curiosity.

He cringes. "Not important," he replies, suddenly becoming very interested in his pasta.

Across the table, Dan clears his throat. I can't help but notice that there's an empty seat in between him and Sam, and my heart sinks. I was hoping they would have made up by now. "Speaking of things that are important," he announces. "There's something I need to share with you guys. Well, Sam and Rose at least. Not sure if it applies to you two." He motions to Lucas and Cody offhandedly.

"What's it about?" I ask him. "I don't care if they know."

"Not sure if you'll be saying that in a minute," says Dan. "Actually, could I talk to the two of you alone?"

"Why?" asks Sam. "Dan, just tell us. What is this about?"

"Hey, if you don't want me to know, I'm cool with that," says Lucas casually, grabbing his tray as if to move somewhere else.

I pull him down. "No, it's okay Lucas. You're my friend, and I have nothing to hide from you." Not sure if this is entirely true, I examine Dan's face in an attempt to gather clues about what he needs to say.

All I can see is that he is clearly fighting a war behind his face. "Okay, if you guys are sure. All I need to tell you is....Edgar Thompson sought me out during third period today. He says that they're investigating his brother. He borderline threatened to kill me if I said anything."

Lucas and Cody both look appropriately confused in response to this vague information. Meanwhile across the table, Sam's face appears to have drained of all color. "So wait....is someone going to be asking you questions?"

"I'm not sure," Dan replies. "From the way he was acting, I think so. But all he told me was that 'someone talked', and now there's policemen all over his house."

"Hang on a second," says Cody, still squinting with confusion. "What the hell are you guys going on about?"

Neither Sam nor Dan answer him. They're too busy eyeing each other, seeming to be communicating entirely through facial expressions now. Then, all of a sudden, their eyes are on me.

"What?" I ask

"Rosie," Sam says softly. "Are you okay?"

"What do you mean?" I laugh dryly, digging into into my pasta with my fork. "I'm fine. I don't even know what you're talking about."

Sam and Dan definitely share a look, but I only catch sight of it in my peripheral vision. I'm way too focused on my pasta.

"Are....are you being serious right now?" Someone (I think Dan) asks me.

I don't answer. This fucking pasta is getting on my nerves. I keep stabbing at the noodles with my plastic fork, put none of them want to stay on. I stab at them harder, but it doesn't help.

"Rosie? Rose?" A hand waves in front of my face, and I refuse to acknowledge it. Can't they see I'm focused on the pasta?

"Dammit, she's shutting down. Why did you have to bring this up now, Dan?"

"Seriously, you think I should've kept this from her? She has to know that the case is still open."

"What the hell does it matter to her if she's never going to say anything?"

"Hold up. What are you talking about?"

"None of your business, Foster! If she wanted you to know, she would have told you."

Suddenly I feel a warm hand on my arm, and Lucas's voice cuts through the void like a butcher knife through a cloud of smoke. "Kid?" His dorky, affectionate nickname for me reigns me in from my hyper-focus on my pasta, and I'm able to tune into his voice. "Do you want to go somewhere else?"

I think I must nod in response or something, because next thing I know I am standing up with him.

"I think we're going to take a little break," Lucas tells our friends.

"Hold on Rose," I think it's Dan who says this. "You're starting to scare me a little bit. You do remember what happened to you last October, right?"

I'm not sure if I actually don't remember, or if I'm simply trying to convince myself that I don't. All I know is that my brain is grasping at holographic straws, and that every time an image from that night is projected against the inside of my skull, a blinding white light intercepts it. There is something there, I know there is, and I believe that I know what it is, too. But I don't want to know that I know.

Lucas leads me far away from the cafeteria, down the hallway on the right side of the commons, and pulls me all the way to the end. I'm still only semi-aware that were even walking.

"What is it?" He asks me quietly. "Did something happen to you? Are you okay? Should I be worried?"

Lucas is a blurry figure in front of me, and I barely even register his questions. My eyes are stinging.

"It's okay," he says quickly. "You don't have to tell me. All I care is that you're okay. Are you okay?"

I don't answer. White lights keep intercepting all of these images in my head. I want to scream, but instead I cry.

"Can I hug you?" he asks.

My arms envelop him within seconds of his question, and I bawl silently into his shoulder.

------------

Sam

Rose and Lucas don't return for the remainder of the lunch period, but I have to trust that my sister is taken care of.

Right now, I'm a bit preoccupied with Dan and Cody.

"Okay, someone has to tell me what the hell happened the night of homecoming," Cody snaps at long last. "Until now, I've been fine with what I've guessed. But now I need to know for sure."

"And why exactly do you need to know?" Dan growls, his eyes narrowed as he glares at Cody with absolute disgust. "Its not like you were ever there to help. All you did was fuck shit up and leave, like the cowardly little bitch that you are."

"Dan, stop!" I yell at him, angrily. "Don't say anything if you're just going to be a dick, alright? No one wants to deal with that right now."

"So how bad was it?" Cody asks me, already looking horrified. "What they did to her, I mean. Like I said, I've had my guesses, but--"

"It was bad," I cut him off, closing my eyes against the memories of when I found her surrounded by those bullies on that frigid October night. "No, it was horrifying. What they did to her....was sexual assault."

From the look in Cody's eyes, I can tell that he already knew. But still, hearing it be confirmed couldn't have been easy for him. "And I'm guessing she never reported it."

"She never wanted to," I explain with a heavy sigh. "But from the sound of things, the case has been reopened because....."

"Because somebody talked," Dan completes my thought. "Recently. And it had to be someone with evidence, so maybe one of Thompson's friends."

"Which one of them would have developed a conscience four months after the incident, though?" I wonder aloud.

"No idea," says Dan. "But that's not really what I'm focused on right now, to be honest. While Edgar was strangling me against the lockers earlier, he said something along the lines of...'If you talk, it won't just mean the end of your life'. I'm guessing that was a threat toward either you or Rose. Or both." His eyes seem to darken at the thought.

"Jesus," says Cody.

The three of us are stuck sitting in silence when the bell signaling the end of lunch finally sounds. Cody stands, to leave, but I don't follow suit. My chest is aching worse than I ever thought possible.

"I'll meet you in class," I tell Cody. "I need to take care of something first."

Cody looks at me suspiciously. "What's up?"

"I'll explain later, just go on."

He sighs, but heaves his backpack over his shoulder and leaves without me, leaving only Dan sitting beside me. I open my mouth to tell him that he can go on to class, but he cuts me off before the words leave my mouth.

"Not a chance," he says. "You look like you're about to pass out."

I think I am, I don't say, but I don't get up from my chair either. Slowly, the cafeteria begins to clear out around us, only to be refilled by the next lunch hour.

"Come on, we should get out of here," Dan finally urges me, grabbing my hand to help me up.

I yank my hand away, still trying to be mad at him, though I'm not really sure why anymore. I use the back of my chair to help me stand up, and try to look as if I don't feel like I've just been shot in the chest.

Apparently, I do a terrible acting job.

"Sam, you look like you're in pain," Dan says, his tone full of concern. "Is this still about what I just told you, or is there something else?"

I can only grunt as I attempt to walk away from him, shifting my bag from one shoulder to the other....until the pain is just too much.

"Sam!" Dan cries, as I topple to the floor just outside of the cafeteria.

Finally unable to hold it in any longer, I cry out in pain while clutching my chest. "Fuuuuck, I can't take it anymore!" I cry, tears streaming against my will. "Get it off of me!"

"What's going on over here?" asks an official sounding voice. A teacher seems to have come across my predicament. My eyes squinted in pain, I'm unable to see who it is.

"Nothing, sir," says Dan. "My friend isn't feeling good. We're on our way to the nurse's office."

"Hmm, alright. Be sure she gets there safe."

"Yes sir."

Next thing I know, I'm being hoisted off the ground by cold, surprisingly strong arms.

"What are you doing?" I groan, still with my eyes closed.

"Taking you to the nurse," Dan explains.

"You don't have to fucking carry me. You'll just get tired."

"I'm sorry, would you like to try walking?"

".....No."

"That's what I thought. And anyway, you're actually surprisingly light. Have you been eating enough?"

"Fuck off," I spit through my pain.

He just laughs in response. "God, I've missed you."

He carries me away from the lunchroom and to the more silent hallway on the way to the nurse's office. Once we're in the quiet, I finally open my eyes and allow myself to stare up at Dan's face, which I am closer to than I've been in what feels like forever. I feel a strong urge to touch him....so I do.

Clearly surprised by the feeling of my cold palm across his cheek, Dan stops in place and looks down at me in his arms.

"Can you put me down for a minute?" I ask in a soft voice.

He does, and we both take a break right there in the empty hallway. After looking around to ensure that there is indeed no one around, I reach underneath my shirt and unfasten the ridiculously tight ace bandage around my chest.

"Ahh, there we go," I moan in relief, pulling the bandage out from under my shirt, allowing it to unravel as I do so. My chest is still killing me, but at least I won't have to answer too many awkward questions when I get to the nurse. I'll just have her assess for broken ribs, and then I'll be good to go back to class.

"What's that for?" Dan asks, observing the long strip of bandage that now sits on the floor in front of me.

I'm quick to shove it into my backpack. "A homemade binder," I explain. "For dysphoria."

It only takes him a minute to understand. "Ahh. I thought your chest looked flatter today. Wasn't going to say anything though."

Sighing heavily, I lay my head on his lap and massage my severely bruised chest.

"So....I'm guessing you're not mad at me anymore?" Dan asks, gently stroking my hair.

"I'm fucking pissed," I grumble, in probably my least-ferocious voice. "Why did you have to disappear for two weeks, Danny? I thought you were dead, for god's sake. I've never been so scared in my life."

"I....I couldn't face you," he admits, his voice full of shame. "Not when you hated me as much as you did. I didn't even want to be alive in a world where you hated me. It hurt too much."

I'm silent for a few moments, the pain of guilt now worse than that of my bruised ribs. "I'm so sorry," I tell him at last. "I mean, yeah I was mad. I still am, really. But I never should have left you thinking that I hated you. I was just sad, and hurt. I felt betrayed by you. I couldn't believe that you would lie about something so big."

"I shouldn't have lied." His voice is so small and innocent, I can hardly believe it's Dan speaking. "I should have told you the truth from the beginning. I just didn't want you to know how weak I was."

"But you're not weak," I tell him, stroking my thumb across the faded lines on his exposed forearms. "You're the strongest guy I know. You make me feel so safe, and so loved. And when I'm not with you....I feel weak."

He takes my hand gently from his arm, and turns it over so that my forearm is exposed. He gently rubs my weeks-old scars. "But you're so much stronger than me. You think I'm the one protecting you? You've got it backwards, Sammy boy. Trying to live without you for two weeks wasn't living. Did I tell you I barely even left my bed?"

I stare up at him in disbelief. "For real? Dan."

"I'm serious when I say that I love you, Sam." His dark eyes, warm like a fresh pot of coffee, never leave mine once. "I know I'm only fifteen and shit, but I know what I feel. And honestly, at this point, I don't care if you never say it back. Especially after what I put you through. I just need you to know how I feel."

All of the negative feelings I've retained towards Dan throughout our time apart thaw away under the gentle heat of his words. I can feel them in my heart, in my soul. I can feel that he really does love me, and I was an idiot for ever doubting it.

"I will say it back," I tell him, reaching up to touch his face like I had done in the beginning. He leans into my touch. "I'll grow the balls to say it one of these days, I swear I will. Until then, just know this--"

I say no words, but lean up and kiss him as hard as I can. He kisses me back, hand on the back of my neck, pulling my entire body towards him as he devours me. God, I almost forgot how good of a kisser he is. With his hot breath on my lips, and his hand twisted up in my hair, it's almost as if I never left his bed two weeks ago.

It takes all of my strength and willpower, but I break away after a few seconds. "There. That should tell you plenty about how I feel."

He just stares at me, mouth still partially open, appearing too bewildered for words. Then he says, "We should probably get you to the nurse at some point."

I chuckle, leaning back onto his lap and pulling his hand so that it rests right on top of my heart. "Honestly? My chest feels fine now."