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Epilogue
ALEXA KING
-One year later-

Alexa King's house
September 5, 2019
10:35 a.m.

IT'S BEEN A YEAR since I found Melody's lifeless body lying on a pool of her own blood. A year since her paintings and letters sent me on a quest to avenge her murder. A year since I picked apart my friends, peeling layers and layers of darkness to reveal their true selves. Ten months since Mr. Ellis was arrested. His arrest was supposed to bring justice and comfort, but all it left in its wake was trauma and death.

The full-length mirror stands in front of me. It's the only thing left in a room that was once filled with life and joy. Everything that breathed life into this place is packed inside several boxes, all taped and stacked in my father's trunk waiting for a place in our new life.

I'm wearing my red blouse, the long-sleeved one with a V-neck that I wanted to wear last year for Sebastián's bash. It used to be tight around my torso, accentuating the nice-looking swell of my breasts, putting in full display the embarrassing excess fat around my hips and the small pooch below my navel. I used to hate how it tried to shape my body into the perfect hourglass figure, all for the sake of a slimmer waist. All it did was exaggerate the largeness of my breasts to the point where they looked vulgar and enhance the unflattering parts of my belly.

Maybe I didn't hate the blouse's attempt at a slimmer figure, only its failure to make me look like one of the pretty girls. Girls like Melody, who were thin enough to be models, whose milky white skin turned rosy on summer afternoons, and whose small, perky breasts made them look classy. I've never been one of those girls, couldn't possibly be one of them no matter how much I tried. I've always been too grotesque --- my breasts too vulgar, my hair too big, my lips too full, my skin too dark.

You're beautiful.

Did you really think so, Christopher? I was going to wear this blouse to get your attention, to finally be the girl who was worthy of the heaven that's always existed inside of you.

I do like everything about you. Down to your ugliest secrets. I like the darkness in you.

I still love everything about you. When will you stop hurting?

The blouse doesn't fit me anymore. It's not tight around my torso, my belly so thin that my ribcage is visible under my dark skin. There's no excess fat around my hips, the one that once upon a time revealed that the blouse was a few sizes smaller. The small pooch below my navel has disappeared. My breasts aren't as prominent as they used to be. They went from full Ds to small Cs in less than a year. They don't look as vulgar, I guess. The blouse is just filled with empty spaces, hollow fabric. My belly is lost in its redness, my breasts hiding in the cleavage, no longer wanting to burst out.

The blouse went from exposing my fullness to revealing where I lack, but that hasn't stopped me from wearing it every once in a while since the murders. It has nothing to do with beauty and everything to do with keeping Melody close to me. She wore it on the night of her disappearance and had it on when she came back. If I had known she was going to get murdered a few weeks after, I wouldn't have washed it. Still, her fruity and flowery scent lingers on it. There are a few holes here and there, and some parts are lightly ripped, but this blouse is what comforts me on the nights where sleep seems like an impossibility. Wearing my momma's gown and hugging Christopher's sweater provides the same comfort.

It all depends on my emotional state.

I've become a hollow vessel; a shadow of who I used to be. Maybe not a shadow but something more ephemeral, like a memory. My momma and Melody's murders rendered me a shadow, but everything that's happened after them? I don't know who or what I am anymore. Everything connects me to murders. All paths lead to murdered bodies. My past is filled with blood and death. I'm a walking tragedy, a catastrophe waiting to happen; a ticking time bomb, an explosion once you get too close. Everywhere I go, darkness follows.

No, I'm not the same girl anymore. It's been a year already. Nothing tragic has happened after U's arrest. Nothing but my deteriorating mental health.

My phone rings inside my pocket, that ting-ting-ting I chose a couple of months ago to track any news of the trial. Key words selected for tracking: Levittown, Tryniski case, Levittown's KKKult, Unpolluted, Brown case...

With a lump in my throat, I turn away from my reflection in the mirror and grab the phone. An article pops up, its headline reading: JOSIAH ELLIS IS FOUND GUILTY! I swipe the notification away with a sigh, no longer interested in the trial or the outcome or justice. I know I should be exhilarated, but all I feel is empty. It just doesn't seem right that, after all he did, he still gets to live, and they don't. How is that fair? Where's the justice in all of this?

Before his sentencing, Mr. Ellis was facing the death penalty. Instead of owning up to what he did, he pleaded insanity. The judge denied his insanity plea, asserting that there was enough evidence that indicated that all the crimes committed were predetermined and planned with ill intentions. He went through the effort of creating a cult that targeted minority groups, especially African Americans. He really thought he could get away with the insanity defense.

Intent on not dying, he made a plea bargain with the Brown and Shaw families. In exchange for a sentence that didn't include the death penalty, he agreed to confess his guilt in Janet Brown's murder, as well as indicate where he buried her, and comment on what really happened to Christopher. His sentence was reduced to life in prison without the possibility of parole.

I'm convinced that Mr. Ellis is a psychopath who doesn't care about anything or anyone, much less hold an ounce of remorse. But if I were aware that I killed my own son, I would want to be dead. This just shows how heartless and coldblooded he really is.

Inspired by W.S., he killed Janet Brown close to the riverbank and buried her body behind the monster house hidden in the woods. The Brown family, although heartbroken, stated that they could now move forward and bury their daughter properly with all her friends and loved ones. They will remain advocates for the lives of Black women all over the world.

Christopher's case is more complicated. My heart breaks every time I think about Mr. Ellis' confession, my lungs suffocating against the indescribable pain that swells in my chest. I was there the day the bastard confessed what he did to Christopher. I was there as a witness, waiting patiently for my turn in the witness stand.

Unpolluted⸺now known as Levittown's KKKult thanks to pop and woke culture⸺was threatening Christopher since Mel's murder. The tasks started small, but they escalated to a point that Christopher didn't want to reach. Mr. Ellis had him do a couple of things for the cult, like plant the ominous note in my locker. That explains why he was there to stop me from punching Polly and not in football practice. It came to a point where U wanted him to use me for information. They knew I had the paintings and letters, but they didn't know how to find them. Christopher was supposed to provide that information for them, but he refused. He remained forever loyal to me.

You shouldn't have told me.

You should've lied, Alexa.

No, don't tell me who has the paintings.

What do I do? What do I tell them? Fuck, you shouldn't have told me.

Everything makes sense now. He was trying to tell me all along. I just didn't know how to listen. Maybe I did, but I was so transfixed with him, so in love, that I couldn't see past my feelings.

The night we made love for the last time⸺I refuse to remember it as the night he died⸺Mr. Ellis made one last threat: Christopher had to either lure me to the monster house so U could murder me, or Mr. Ellis was going to murder him. He only gave him a couple of hours to decide. I don't know what Christopher was thinking during those last few hours, and I don't like to think about it either.

If I have to guess based on his suicide, he put me before himself. He was thinking about how much he loved me. He sacrificed himself for me. Although it pains me to know that I could've prevented his decision if only I knew what was going on, I know that he gave it a lot of thought. Christopher is⸺was, I tend to forget⸺too proud for his own good, the kind of guy who puts his life above anything else.

Dark. My skin is the cause of Levittown's darkness. It elicits hate and murder. My existence is dangerous, the missing piece that flips the switch from normal to murderous in some white man's deranged mind. That doesn't seem right, but somehow my mind always finds a way to incriminate me for what happened. Dr. Hayward, my new psychologist, says that I'm self-inflicting guilt to cope with tragedies that were neither my fault nor under my control. According to her, white folks who are so blinded by their ignorance and racism that they think they have the right to belittle, oppress, and kill black folks are the ones at fault.

Her words sound right, small lectures aimed to alleviate my guilt and substitute the internal racism that this town has cultivated in me for a chance at self-worth and self-love. It's been hard to deconstruct the notion of the racial dynamics that put me in a disadvantaged position, but I'm working towards unlearning the self-hatred that Levittown has promoted ever since W.S.'s racially targeted murders. It's even harder to keep the memories away, quiet the violent flashes that threaten to awaken the monster in my chest. It usually takes whispered promises of I'll deal with you later to silence their voices and shatter their images.

Memories are supposed to fade over time, but mine become more vivid. You're supposed to forget the date first, distort the details, then forget the feeling it evoked.

September 5, 2018

October 27, 2018

October 28, 2018

It's the opposite for me. The dates have become a mantra, a tradition that, if broken, could erase them from my mind forever. Through my repetition of the dates, they live through me and what was done to them is not forgotten. The details are still fresh, mostly because I've had to repeat them to the police and relive everything in court. And the feeling... it still stings in my chest, right where my heart is. It doesn't matter how many times I have to retell the events of October 28, 2018 to the court, the jury, the judge, I still cry as if it were for the first time.

During these last couple of months, I've asked myself, when is it supposed to stop hurting? My guess is never. You just learn to live with it. Live, as if to say handle. You just have to handle it as you live. Even then, the word live doesn't fit quite well. How can you live when you're already dead? That's how this pain feels, like death.

There are moments where I find myself enjoying the moment and living in the present without the past rearing its ugly face or the future its unknown one. But then the past clouds my mind, seizes my throat until I can't breathe, and painfully spreads around my chest as if it's its rightful home. The future settles unpleasantly in my stomach, spreads all over my body, and reminds me that my friends won't be in it⸺reminds me of their palpable absence.

The past comforts me with my friend's presence but tears me apart with their violent deaths. The future comforts me with its possibilities and new beginnings but tears me apart with their irrevocable absence. The present leaves me stuck between the two like some sort of limbo, never quite being the past or the future. It can't take me to the past to fix my mistakes, and although it gives me the opportunity to start anew in the future, the future becomes an intangible place where I can run away from my past.

My phone rings again, the fairy-like notification tune letting me know that it's a text message. There once was a time where I got excited over the simplest request at a social interaction, but now it seems more a chore than anything else. Just the thought of reading whatever it is that was sent to me, from someone I don't particularly look forward to talk to, drains me. Truth is, I know it isn't a quirky text from Mel inviting me to recklessness or a witty message from Christopher filled with double meaning. Life without them just feels empty.

I turn away from my reflection, from the empty spaces in the blouse where a body once filled them and pick up my phone. The three-letter nickname appears among my notifications, popping to the top for my full attention.

Meet me at the riverbank in 10

Sept 5, 10:55 a.m.

I type a quick 'ok' and stuff my phone back in my pocket.

"Ready to go?" my father says, poking his head inside my room.

I take one last look in the mirror and with a sigh that's more a farewell say, "Not yet. There's somewhere I need to go first."

Levittown's riverbank
September 5, 2019
11:11 a.m.

THE RIVERBANK STANDS AS we left it⸺beautiful and furious and forever ominous. It continues without us⸺despite us⸺as if we were only spectators of its immortality. None of us were vital for it to run its course, a course it's taken for years and one it will continue to take for years to come.

We became dependent on something so independent, all for the sake of glorification and symbolism. Now, a year after the tragedies that compose the mosaic of my trauma happened, I can see it for what it truly is. The riverbank was just an escape, a way to cope with Levittown's darkness and its effects on our lives. It became a symbol of hope, something solid we knew was always going to be there for us.

Well, it stands alive without caring about those little kids who used to ride their bikes to it. It stands alive after being a witness to Melody's disappearance, a shelter where she could make love to her killer. Alive and glorious despite my friends' murders, aware of the evil that was plaguing Levittown for years. We thought it was our ally, but in reality, it's loyal to no one but itself.

"It's strange, isn't it?"

I turn around, my curls bouncing all around me from the sudden action and see Sebastián approaching me. He's fresh out of rehab, a whole new man. His dreadlocks are now shoulder length, half of his hair tied up atop his head. His hazel eyes shine bright against the sudden glow of sunshine that wrapped itself around him, eyeballs white and gaze focused. No more redness or irritation or popping veins caused by the drugs. His olive skin looks fresh and smooth⸺no more blemishes or ashy spots or irritated nostrils. Although everything about him screams sober and healthy, what captures my attention more is his bright and joyful smile.

That smile... it's like the drugs were sucking the life right out of him, but now that they're no longer in the picture, he has the opportunity to cope and live.

"What is?" I say, my smile mirroring his own.

He wraps me in a warm hug. I stiffen at first, my heart picking up pace as I remember Mr. Ellis' arm wrapped around my neck, the gun against my temple. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. That's all there is to it. In times like this, Dr. Hayward encourages me to go to my happy place. That place is somewhere in my mind, a corner that should alleviate my acute anxiety by providing nurture and safety and happiness.

I would never admit this to her, but my happy place is with Christopher near the riverbank. Dr. Hayward says that my happy place shouldn't be with anyone or anything that's related to what happened last year. While emotionally depending on someone who is alive is destructive, depending on someone who's dead is suicidal. I guess I understand what she's trying to say, but it's difficult to find a place in Levittown that's not related to my friends, the darkness, or anything that happened. It's impossible. I've tried so hard, looked far and beyond for a place beyond all my sadness, but the only thing that comforts me is Christopher. I only see my mother in nightmares and Melody in dreams.

Christopher is there waiting for me, almost looking like something mythical, an angel. His blue eyes follow me everywhere I go, wait patiently for me to walk to him. That smile, that crooked, boyish grin, greets me as I grab his extended hand. He embraces me, and I'm suddenly wrapped inside his warm body, a body full of love. He whispers, I love you, in my ear and kisses my temple, replacing the feeling of the gun. It always ends with a kiss on the lips, his hands on either side of my face, the grin accompanied by the tears.

A farewell.

I relax in Seb's embrace. He needs this hug as much as I do. There's something else different about him. His scent is no longer of the citrus from the weed he smoked every day, but rather of an old spice cologne.

"Being back here after everything," he mumbles, disentangling from our embrace to stand beside me. Now we're both looking at the riverbank. "The fact that the riverbank is still standing, unscathed, despite everything."

"I know exactly what you mean," I say, laughing a little. "Everything in our lives is fucked up, but the riverbank is still perfect. It didn't pause, didn't disintegrate, for any of us. You know, this is the first time I'm here in over a year. I just couldn't bring myself to do this alone."

He shakes his head a little, short dreadlocks barely moving. His smile is still intact. "I would've done the same thing if I stayed here after everything. This place is just too painful. Too many memories, good and bad. Talk about nostalgic and traumatic, huh?"

We stay in silence for a little while, letting the words sink in as we both immerse ourselves in different memories⸺different times.

"Sobriety looks good on you," I say, smiling up at him. "Rehab seems to be treating you well."

"Six months clean," he says, a proud smirk brightening his face. He throws me a gold chip that has 6 months sober engraved in its metallic surface. "I only have forever to go."

"Is it hard?"

He shrugs, his smile faltering a little. It's not a lack of happiness, more a smile that remembers something with tenderness and longing. "It's excruciating. It's hell. But, you know, it gets better with each passing month. Easier. More bearable. I won't lie and say that I don't miss it. Especially on the days when she hurts the most, when everything comes crashing back. When it feels as though the pain will kill me far worse than the drugs." He flickers the chip around his fingers, the golden 6 glistening against the sun. "Every time I think about giving up, giving an entrance to the drugs, I think of her. I think of the last conversation we had and remember that I'm doing this for her. For myself. Melody keeps me strong."

"God, I'm sorry for asking."

"Don't be." He smiles down at me, puts the chip back in his pocket. "I need to talk about my problem or else I'll go back to that dark place where I thought there wasn't one in the first place. And y'know, that whole near-death experience really put things into perspective."

Sebastián was declared dead after he was wheeled out of the monster house. He was dead for ten minutes and then, as something that everyone around town and the media could only call a miracle, came back to life gasping for air. If the paramedics weren't quick enough to give him oxygen, he would've been dead. But now he's here, alive and grateful for it.

"Did you see the sentencing?" He gives voice to what we were both afraid to ask.

I nod, clicking my tongue. "I did."

"The cabrón is gonna rot in jail for life!" He laughs, but there's a meanness to it. "All those little fuckers who helped him⸺Polly, Tara, the rest of 'em from school⸺will have it easier in those psych wards. Just for being minors. The only thing that gives me comfort is that they'll never have a normal life. They have forever to think about what they did, the monsters they are."

He sounds so excited, but then again, I can't determine his mood based on that simple statement. Maybe it's the exhilarated tone of his voice that's throwing me off, but for the life of me, I can't share his enthusiasm. Everything just feels anticlimactic. This is not my life. It's the life of an alternate Alexa, her world plagued with loneliness and emptiness and eternal sadness.

I wonder if there's another version of me out there, a happy version that lives in a more progressive Levittown. This Levittown is all about accepting diversity and prohibiting the infestation of darkness. In this alternative world, Christopher and Melody are alive.

"It doesn't do much, right? Nothing has changed. They're still dead... and we're still traumatized," he whispers, as if reading my mind.

"I thought⸺" I pause, take a deep breath. "I thought that his sentencing would fix everything. Melody and Christopher and all the minority groups he targeted would get justice, and we would have our happily ever after. My trauma would go away, and I'd go back to being the girl I was before any of this shit happened. A Disney type of ending, where you only get to see the positive and are obscured from the negative that comes with the hardships of life. How childish of me."

Seb shakes his head. "Nah, not childish. Optimistic, hopeful. Proof that you'll one day get better. You will get that happily ever after. It might take time, it might take a couple of more heartbreaks, but you'll get there. So will I."

I nod out of courtesy. It's impossible to think that I will ever find love again, that I would ever be completely happy.

"It's hard for me too to think that I'll ever fall in love with someone other than Melody. It's even harder to imagine that the pain will someday be tolerable and that these will all just be memories. Happiness takes time, and it's not perfect. Within it, there's sadness and hardships and imperfection. I think I'm on my way to find it."

A lump forms in my throat, pressing itself against the skin of my neck to shoot a pain so unbearable that it reaches my eyes. They fill with tears, and this time, I let them fall. Sometimes I forget that Seb and I are in this pain together. I lost the love of my life last year, and with him myself, but so did Seb. We are the only ones who can understand this pain.

I bite my bottom lip as I teeter between the truth and what's expected of me, before settling for what I feel in this moment. "I'm opening myself to the possibility of happiness."

"Then that's all that matters." Sebastián smiles at me. "I'm happy that you got into college. You're going as far away from here as possible, starting over, creating a new life, making something of yourself."

The thought of college and life at New York makes me dizzy. Imagining my new life there is like a rush of exhilaration that courses through my body, beginning with the fluttering in my stomach and ending with the warmness on my cheeks. When I received the letter of acceptance from John Jay College of Criminal Justice, I didn't know how to feel. I guess I didn't really think I'd get accepted. Out of five acceptance letters, I picked the one that would take me as far away from Levittown as possible.

While other kids my age were looking for the best college in their field of study, I was looking for the best location to set me free. Now I get both.

I imagine Christopher and Melody on their way to college, just like we are, leaving their childhood behind in Levittown. Christopher has a full football scholarship somewhere in Ohio or Michigan or California.

Melody is on her way to NYU, daydreaming about all the sex she's going to have and her Art degree. She's in a yellow Volkswagen, her head sticking out from the open window so she can feel the wind caressing her delicate skin, sifting through her long strands as they dance around her head. Ideas already swarm her mind, colors and strokes and lines and shapes merging into her next artistic creation.

Everything is perfect.

"What about you?"

"I'm deferring college for a year. I don't know what I want to do with my life just yet, and I'm in no hurry to find out. The whole world waits for me, and I'm ready to explore. I'll be traveling around while in the program. My advisor will hold two weekly meetings with me via Google Meets. Technology is a wonderful thing."

"So, this is goodbye?" I whisper, a pleasant ache settling in my chest. The bittersweetness of letting go.

He grins, eyes filled with tears. "Don't be silly. We're forever bound by Levittown. I'll be traveling the world, remember? That includes New York. I'll come visit you sometime."

We both know that's not true. Just an empty promise. The false niceties that you acquire once you grow up; once reality settles in, disrupts the perfect bubble of innocence. In order to leave the past behind, you must let go of everything that forms part of it. That includes Seb. That includes me. In our individual journeys toward happiness, the presence of the other only brings back sadness and darkness. We must cut each other off to grow into our new selves. And that's okay.

"Before I leave, I have something for you."

He takes out a folded envelope from his pocket and gives it to me. I frown, unfolding it. My name is scribbled on its front, the A bigger than the other letters and the X written with a little swirl on the right. It's Christopher's writing. He's the only one that writes my name like this. A sob gets stuck in my throat, sounding like an ugly choke.

"What is this?" I whisper, looking up at Seb. "Where did you get this?"

"I found it while I was picking my stuff from the summer house. It was hidden inside one of my drawers. I don't know how it got there, but I figured Christopher put it there before his death," he says, offering me a kind smile. "Don't get mad. I didn't give it to you then 'cause you were such a mess. You needed healing before reading it. Now I see you're stronger, more hopeful. I'll leave you alone so you can read it."

"You won't stay with me?" I whisper, almost panicking.

He shakes his head. "I think this is something you should do alone."

My eyes follow him as he leaves, cementing this moment in my mind forever. This is the last time I'll see Seb, healthy and happy and hopeful. I hope he stays like this forever. I can't help the tears that stream down my cheeks, first individually and then like torrents. Since I've started seeing Dr. Hayward, crying is a normal occurrence. I don't hold it in anymore.

I open the letter before I regret it.

Alexa, my only love:

I won't write the obvious. You know why this letter exists. I hope Sebastian gave it to you once you were happy and on your way to success. This is not a goodbye; in case you were expecting one. This is a reminder of why you're special, not only to me but to the world as well.

You're absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful. Never doubt that. Your dark skin is beauty, history, and hardship. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. Don't be ashamed of it. Even more important than your outer beauty is your inner beauty... that's why I fell in love with you. Why I'm in love with you and why I always will be. You're such a pure soul, despite Levittown's darkness. If someone deserved better than what they got in this whole story, it was you. And yet, you were the one who endured the most... the one who suffered most, not only for herself but for others, too. You're so much stronger than you know. You're the definition of an empowered and brave woman.

Even now as I write this, as I think what will become of me in a few hours, I can't help but think about a future with you. Wishful thinking. It was cursed from the start. Even if I lived, I know you're not mine. You are meant for greatness. There's someone out there that'll love you wholeheartedly, without fear, without darkness. Someone as pure as you. The thought kills me, but it comforts me to know that your life will go on even after me. Despite of me. Because of me. I'm doing this for you.

Please don't blame yourself for what will happen. None of this is your fault. Your existence matters. Your skin matters. You matter. I see you. I hear you. I love you. I love you so damn much it hurts. It hurts to leave you behind, but it has to be done. I want the best for you. The only thing I ask of you is to not forget me. Don't forget our laughs together. Don't forget the first time we met, the butterflies in your stomach when you knew you liked me. Don't forget how we passionately made love, how you were the only woman I loved. Don't forget our conversations and our fights and our constant teasing. Don't forget me. Remember me as the boy who loved you for who you were and not as the son of your mother's killer.

I wish you a long and happy life filled with love and self-acceptance. If you ever forget how special you are, come back to this letter. If you miss me during one of those lonely nights we all get and nothing comforts you to sleep, come back to this letter and feel me. If you ever begin to forget how I looked, how I made you feel once upon a time, come back to this letter and look at the picture of us I taped to its back. I'll love you even after death, in my next life and the ones after it.

This is not goodbye. This is I LOVE YOU.

Your first love,

Christopher.

The wound left behind by Christopher has never healed, but now that I have this letter, it stings a little more. It scars a lot deeper. It ruptures open to give way to a new kind of pain, a nostalgic one filled with pain but also love. I smile, my lips trembling, as I flip the letter over. My breath gets stuck in my throat.

A picture I've never seen before is taped to this letter. Whoever captured this moment did it on the same day I took the picture of Melody that was later used during her disappearance. In this picture, my arms are wrapped around Christopher's neck. My head is thrown back, curls bouncing behind, as I laugh wholeheartedly. My eyes are closed, and I can almost remember the moment, almost sense my laughter filling the whole frame.

What was so funny?

He's looking down at me, a warm smile softening his face. I never noticed it before, but his eyes are looking at me with pure and unhidden love. His hair is disheveled and dripping with sweat. His arms are around my waist, his naked torso glistening with sweat. The picture was taken while we were still moving, so some parts are blurry with motion. We were probably stoned or drunk or both.

We were so in love. I know that someday I'll remember this moment. Someday I'll remember what he said to me, what made me laugh out loud. Someday I'll remember this picture, the more I look at it, the more I miss him and use it for closure.

I press the picture to my chest, close to my heart, and collapse to the floor. The riverbank flows, the wind sings a melodic tune, the woods stand behind me in its immense vastness, and I'm small in the middle of it all. I let the pain overtake me for the last time, collapse with the memory of Christopher and Melody and momma, and even let myself miss this place for the good things it did give me.

I'm free from Levittown's darkness.

On the road
September 5, 2019
12:47 p.m.

YOU'RE NOW LEAVING LEVITTOWN.

We pass the sign, a weight suddenly lifted from my body. It doesn't feel real yet. It feels as though Levittown is going to suck me right back in, one way or another. The invisible string that attaches me to this dark place breaks. If I stay as far away from here as possible, I'll never get lured back in.

Still, there's something that's preventing me from enjoying this moment. I'm scared to leave them behind. They'll rot as I live on, blossoming and discovering and aging and feeling. It doesn't seem right.

"I feel guilty," I mumble, looking at my father.

He frowns, keeping his eyes on the deserted road. "You shouldn't feel guilty, darling. A new life waits for you, and there's nothing wrong with feeling eager about it."

I sigh. "It's just⸺it doesn't seem fair. Why do I get to leave this town and live my life when they can't? I'm leaving them behind, abandoning them."

My father looks at me with tenderness before averting his gaze back to the road. "Your friends would want you to be happy. I'm sure of that. Wherever they are, they're celebrating this moment with you." He smiles, so sure of his words. "You're not leaving them behind. They'll live in you forever and that's how you keep them alive."

His words resonate through my body, vibrations that give new meaning to life. I smile, bright and big and hopeful, and roll the window down. The wind breezes through my curls and caresses my skin as I poke my head out, filling my lungs with the air of possibility. I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. This is the last time I'll be looking at myself as Levittown sees me⸺a scared, defenseless little girl who attracts darkness.

I'm ready to see myself in a new light, somewhere out there that welcomes me with hope and showers me with opportunities.

THE END

•Word count: 6,003•

I was teary-eyed as I was writing this epilogue. I shrieked when I typed the words 'THE END'. I'm now nervous to read what you all think of it. You guys don't know how much of an accomplishment this is to me. Not only because I finally finished my first ever novel, but also because it's been a rough year filled with writer's block and a meaninglessness job requiring overtime. I'm happy to say that I'm finally my writer self again (bye-bye writer's block!) and I'm done with that job that was taking so much of me... so much of my creative self.

It's been almost A YEAR since I published Levittown's last chapter. Almost a year since I promised to publish the epilogue. I'm sorry for the long wait and hope you're still here. It's finally here! 6,000 words that flourished from me with ease after months of being away from these characters and days where I felt I no longer had the ability to write.

Questions: What do you think of this epilogue? How are you feeling? Was it worth the wait? What do you think of Alexa's decision to study Criminal Justice? What do you think about Sebastián's recovery? About how these characters are handling their trauma? How do you feel about Christopher's letter? What do you think about the sentencing? Tell me everything and anything that comes to mind!!!!!

IN AN INLINE COMMENT HERE, write all your questions and doubts so I can answer them in the Q&A + tying the knots chapter.

Remember that in the ending author's note I will ask you to post, in an inline comment, any plot holes that you noticed, how you think the story can improve, what you most liked and disliked about the book, etc. So please read the ending author's note!

Thank you, thank you, thank you all for your endless support! ♡ To think that my goal was 10k reads by the time I finished the book, and we're almost 50k reads in!!!!!!!

Feel free to correct any grammatical errors, but be kind about it. Tell me what you think of this epilogue.

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