"I'm glad you're here, Ken." Rosalyn curled into my arms with a giggle. "I've missed you, boy."

My muscles tensed. "Missed you too, girl." I held her close.

Darian and I were driving for the first time today, but I decided to stop by to see Rosalyn beforehand. If I could decide to drive, I could decide to confront my shame. I thought I would be relieved to finally face her, but it only made me feel worse. She was so carefree and forgiving. So Rosalyn and so ignorant. Ignorant to what I'd done.

I didn't deserve her, and I was even more disgusted with myself.

"There's no vacuuming today," I said, trying to keep my mind occupied with conversation. Silence surrounded the Alvarez house. Mr. Alvarez was at work while Mrs. Alvarez lounged upstairs. Rosie and I were watching American Horror Story: Asylum at my request.

I wasn't in the mood for anything gleeful. 

"She got past her cleaning phase," Rosalyn said. "Now, she mostly stays in Camila's room."

That was an improvement.

"It's kind of creepy actually," she said. "She watches TV there even though she has a TV in her room. I wouldn't be surprised if she talks to Camila while laying on her bed."

I scrunched my face. "Rosie, stop. Don't be so mean to your mother."

"Me?" She watched me with her eyes wide. "Mean to her? She's the one who's mean to me! Oh wait, she barely even talks to me. Too busy talking to her dead daughter," she mumbled under her breath.

"Rosalyn!" I yelled, and she shrunk into my arms. "That's a little too far, don't you think?"

"It's been more than two years," she said with her features unreadable. "We're all trying to heal from this. We're all trying to cope. How can we do that when she keeps doing shit like that? When she keeps dragging us two steps back every time we take one step forward? How, Ken?"

"Everyone copes differently."

Mrs. Alvarez was doing well.

Who cared that she wanted to spend some time in her late daughter's room?

If that was helping her, so be it.

"Ever since college started for you guys, my mother has been fixated on Camila," Rosalyn said. "First, she was obsessed with her death. Now, she's obsessed with her life. Out of nowhere, my mother loves Butterfingers, even though she hated Butterfingers while Camila was alive. She only eats it now because Camila used to. Also, the few times she's around me, she always gears the conversation towards Camila—telling me about some fond memory that makes her laugh hysterically. And lately, she's been asking about you guys." She motioned at me. "You and all of Camila's old friends. She's wondering how you guys are doing, even though she's never cared before. She doesn't cry or act sad anymore, but this feels worse."

"How?" I asked. "She isn't sad anymore. How is that worse?"

There were certain aspects of Camila's death that I hadn't faced yet—aspects I wasn't ready to face—and they saddened me. I couldn't imagine what Mr. and Mrs. Alvarez were going through. 

Rosalyn pulled back to sit up. "I know it's her coping mechanism," she said. "I know it's her way of accepting this, but it's hurting the rest of us. She isn't sad anymore, but she also isn't moving on. She's clinging on—onto someone who can never come back. It's making me want to cling on too, and I don't want that. I'm happy again." She sent me a small smile. "It was hard, but I survived it. I refuse to have that sadness come back. Right now, Camila is a closed wound. A wound that on some days, I don't even know it's there, but if you keep picking at a wound, it may open again."

"You survived it."

"Just because you survive something doesn't mean it won't come back," she said. "That doesn't mean you're safe."

That struck a chord. Where we ever safe?

"No one really thinks about me, Kenji. I can't understand the anguish of losing a child, but no one thinks about the fact that I lost my sister." Her voice wavered at the end. "I lost the one person who's been my best friend since the day I was born."

I hated to admit it, but she was right. I knew Rosalyn lost her sister, but I never put too much thought into it. Not like I did with Mr. and Mrs. Alvarez's loss. Not like I did with my own pain over losing my friend, and that was selfish of me.

I couldn't imagine losing Honoka.

We had our moments, but I loved that girl.

She was my nee-chan, and I was her otouto.

Rosalyn lost her nee-chan.

"No one thinks about the fact that I was the one person closest to Camila," she said. "The one who knew her better than anyone else. More than my mother. More than my father. Even more than your 'crew.'" She placed air quotes around the word.

I wasn't even fazed by the fact that she was belittling our group.

I didn't care.

"No one," she whispered with her eyes dropping to her lap as she fumbled with her fingers. "My whole life I was always Camila's younger sister. That was all I was, and that was all people saw me as."

I opened my mouth, but I couldn't say anything because I fell into that category as well. That was what Rosalyn was.

Camila's younger sister.

That was all she was to me until there was no Camila.

"That was my role," she continued. "Now that Camila is gone, I'm not that anymore. I'm just Rosie. Nothing more."

"Rosie is more." I squeezed her hand, but she pulled it away.

"Bullshit," she muttered with an exhausted sigh. "Rosie is nothing." Her words sent a jab at my heart. How could she say this? "Alive or dead, she'll always be better. She'll always come first."

"We're really back to this?" This reminded me of her birthday, except worse.

"We never left this, Ken!" She scooted away to face me with a shattered expression. "How am I not supposed to believe she's better than me when everyone acts like it?"

"How do we act like she's better?!" I rose my voice, getting a feeling she was adding me into this. "I loved Camila. I love you. Are we not allowed to love her for you to know we love you? What have we done to make you feel this way?"

I knew I was losing my temper with her, but this was bullshit. Usually, I could handle this, but not now. I didn't feel like being attacked. I didn't feel like picking someone up when I was barely keeping myself together.

"You all say this," she sneered. "You guys say you love me as much as you loved her, but your actions don't add up. My mother barely talks to me!" She pointed to herself as tears pooled in her eyes. "She talks about Camila more than she talks about me, even though I'm the one who's alive. My father mostly drinks his beer and watches football. He was so strict on Camila, but he allows me to do whatever I want, almost as if he doesn't give a damn." A single tear rolled down,  followed by more. "Then there's you." I could barely make out the words as she sobbed quietly.

"What did I do?" I asked while wiping her tears away, even though I knew.

What I did was despicable. I was despicable. Despicable to the one girl who was kindest to me.

"You knew Camila first, and you knew her longer."

"Why does that matter?"

"I'm in your life now, but she'll always come first when it comes to you. I wouldn't be surprised if you only started paying me attention as a way to 'replace' her."

That hit home. "How can you say that?" I was offended, and most of all, hurt by her accusations. I reached for her.

"You've been so weird lately," she said as she pushed my hands away. "Avoiding me. Being distant. We barely have sex anymore."

"Who gives a damn about sex?"

"I do!" she shouted. "At least when we're having sex, that's the one time things are okay. The one time we feel like we did before. The one time I have you—all of you."

        What?

"We shouldn't need sex to be okay."

Now, I felt like one of those douchebags who girls gave sex to in order to be loved. I loved Rosalyn, with or without sex, and it pained me that she couldn't see that.

"Things don't feel the same anymore," she said with a pout. "It's like you're tired of me." She sniffed.

"I'm not." I focused on the carpet.

"Your words mean nothing when your actions say otherwise." Her sniffling turned to weeps. "You'll never do this to Camila."

"Can you stop talking about Camila?!" I yelled, and she pressed her lips together. "This isn't about Camila. This is all on you, Rosalyn."

"Excuse me?" She slit her eyes.

I grabbed her hands in mine. "You can't blame Camila for what's making you feel this way, and you can't blame us either." She curled her lips into her mouth to suppress the tears, and it broke my heart seeing that look on her face, but she had to hear this. "You say your mother is obsessed with Camila, but maybe you are, too."

I knew I was being harsh, but this was for her own good. I refused to allow her to continue this path of self-pity and self-hatred.

"You've always lived through Camila, and you continue to do so because you don't want to live through yourself," I told her. "You don't love yourself enough to live as Just Rosie. To live without Camila. All of this is because you think she's so much better than you, and that's bogus." She watched me as the tears reached the brim of her lashes. "We love you so much, Rosalyn, but until you love yourself that'll never be enough, and you'll never appreciate our love."

"I feel like I'm losing you." The tears flowed again.

I felt like I was losing it.

"You haven't been yourself lately," she said. "Something isn't right."

I wasn't right. I was wrong. I was worthless.

This whole situation wasn't the problem at all.

        I was the problem.

"I'm okay," I said. I wasn't. "This is about you, not me."

"What about us?!" She stood up, glaring down at me with her eyes red and puffy. "You're acting as if I'm the only one with a problem here, Kenji, but what about you?"

"I'm fine." I stood up as well.

"No, you're not!" She threw her arms out. "You say you're fine even when you aren't. Hiding your problems doesn't mean they're not there, Kenji."

"I don't have a problem," I said through gritted teeth.

"Of course." She forced a chuckle. "Because you're so perfect." Her face dropped, morphing into a frown. "Perfect clothes. Perfect hair. Perfect everything! Kenji perfect Kai."

"Why are you acting like this?" I asked as she approached me.

"Because we're not fine," she bit out. "Something is wrong, but you won't talk to me."

My pain was private, and Rosalyn had seen enough of it.

She pressed her fingers to her temple. "I'm off. We're off. Even you're off, and you're you."

"I'm not perfect," I muttered. My fingers creeped into my pockets.

Again, I felt nothing.

"You are," she said. "More perfect than me. More perfect than a lot of people."

"I'm not perfect," I repeated, staring at nothing in particular.

"You're the one thing, Kenji, that I appreciate most about myself. The one person I can be most comfortable with, and the one person who makes me believe I'm special, even if only for a minute. You're my rock."

        No.

I wasn't.

She was mine, but I wasn't hers.

I was no one's rock.

"Rosie..."

"The rock is withering away." She cupped my face in her hands. "We're withering away, Kenji. Me. You. Us. We're broken." My throat constricted. "When you were broken, I was okay, so we were okay. What do we do now?" I stared into her moistened eyes. "What do we do when we're both broken? When we're breaking?"

"I'm not perfect!" I freed myself of her hold and took a step back, and I grabbed a fistful of my hair. "I'm not fucking perfect, Rosie." I glared back at her, not out of anger but out of frustration. "Why can't you see that?"

Why was she doing this now?

We couldn't both be like this.

She was the strong one. She was the one who was always kept-together. She was the rock. Not me. She was so much while I was nothing.

I couldn't be there for her the way she was for me.

There was nothing perfect about me.

Coming here was a mistake.

"I need to go." I grabbed my phone as she silently watched me with a numb look.

"What's going on?" a familiar female voice said, and I glanced up.

Chiyo.

       Kill me now.

She stood on the stairs with her eyes flickering between us. "Did I walk into something?" Her attention zeroed in on me.

"You walked into nothing," I replied while passing a motionless Rosalyn. "I'll see you later, Rosalyn." She didn't respond, and I zoomed past Chiyo as well.

I fumbled with putting on my Jordan's at the door, but black church shoes came into my line of vision. I looked up to see Chiyo peering down at me with her hands on her hips. "What did you do?"

"Not now," I snarled while standing up.

She perked a brow with her head to the side. "I don't trust you, Kenji."

"I honestly don't care."

"Something's up with you," she said, and my blood ran cold. "Something's not right, and I may not know what it is. Rosalyn may not know it either, but it'll come out." I stopped breathing momentarily, and Chiyo leaned in to whisper in my ear, "The truth always comes out, and your little Jordans won't stop that."

She pulled away with her arms crossed and a sick smirk on her lips, and I sent her a narrowed look. "Screw you, Chiyo."

She smiled. "Says the boy who's screwing himself."

I had no words to that, and her smile only broadened.

I felt sick. I literally felt sick.

When I couldn't handle her eyes piercing through me anymore, I yanked the front door open and walked out. The slam of the Alvarez's door didn't comfort me. It only made my heart pound faster as I made my way to the bus stop.

I didn't want to close the Alvarez's door. I didn't want to walk away.

But I wasn't perfect.

I wasn't perfect for Rosalyn.

I wasn't perfect for anyone.

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* So, Kenji's a mess, and Rosalyn doesn't seem to be in any better shape. What do you guys think about this mess? The situation with the Alvarez? Chiyo's brief appearance/threat?

* This part of the book was short but super important, especially for Kenji's character. I gave a lot of hints throughout this about future events and even about Kenji's character. Anyone have any guesses or thoughts?

* Song is "Sledgehammer" by Rihanna because I listened to it a lot while writing this.

* Third part of this chapter will be up eventually, no later than this weekend, but probably before.