Adam's POV

December 7, Saturday. 6:15 p.m.

I'm just letting myself into the apartment when my ears are met with the sound of a smashing mirror. Or a mirror smashing? Either way, it doesn't matter I guess; all I know is that I heard something glasslike breaking and Serenity's voice screaming in a freakishly high soprano, "She's stupid! She's stupid stupidstupidstupidstupidstupid!! IhateyouIhateyouIhateyouIhateyou. YOU. I...HATE...HER. YOU."

She's been here before. I've heard it, I've seen it. This isn't good. With my gut wrenched in an incomprehensible twist, I practically fly through the living room and hallway, locating the coordinates of the sounds. Her bedroom. She's in her bedroom.

I wrench the door open and stumble in, just in time to grab her away from a million shards of glass scattered across her bed and the carpet. Screaming like the insane girl that she is, she kicks wildly, crying out intense hatred for this you and her she keeps hollering about. It's all I can do to grip the fighting girl tightly and carry her to the bathroom. I set her in the tub, desperately trying to remove all pieces of glass from her clothes and skin, the pieces in her hair, the ones clutched in her hands. She screams in the most horrible, bloodcurdling way. It's almost deafening, and I have no choice but to yell at her. I mean really.

"No, don't do that to yourself! Hey! You have to snap out of it! Make yourself stop! Tell yourself NO! I can't let you do this!"

She fights until eventually—and to my relief—she breaks.

This is common. Her fits always end like this. Shards of glass litter the bathtub, along with crimson smears of her blood.

What a pretty story to tell my parents if they see it.

But I made a promise to her that I'd never tell. I'm going to live up to it. I'm gonna clean her up and the apartment. They'll never know.

They kindly let her live here after her house burned down. They can't know.

"Don't tell," she sobs, bloody hands drawn to her face. "Oh, I hate her. Adam, don't tell."

"Who do you hate?" I know I should promise her that I won't tell, but my curiosity is hungry today.

"The girl in the mirror."

"You hate the girl in the mirror."

"Yes. I hate her. She hates me. Everyone hates me. I hate me."

"I don't hate you. That means not everyone."

"You do hate me. You're just being nice because it makes you look good."

I pray for guidance and the right words, then shake my head sadly, lifting her out of the tub. Or trying to, anyway. She doesn't want to budge.

"Adam. Enough is enough. We all know I'm insane. Nobody loves me, and I'm going to die, and it doesn't matter, and nothing matters, and everything is so worthless, and I'm worthless, and don't argue with me because I KNOW IT'S TRUE AND EVERYONE THINKS THEY CAN JUST LIE THAT IT'LL BE OKAY!!"

"Ssh, don't talk like that. C'mon, Aminal. You're so much more than you think. I know it's all coming down hard on you. I don't blame you for going to the extents you have. But listen to me."

I lift her bloody chin with my sanguinary finger and look into her dark, pained, teary sapphire eyes.

"There's a better way. There's hope for you. Every day I see you getting better, even when you feel like you've scaled back by a million measures."

"It only gets worse every day," she sobs with a shake of her head, shutting her eyes against my gaze, and tears squeeze out. "Adam, you don't know what a monster I am inside."

"You're beautiful. And I'm not saying that because I'm a cheesy teenager. I'm saying it because it's true. You may think of yourself as a mistake, because all your life, that's what the world said you are."

"And they're right," she sobs.

"They're liars. They aren't right. You're not a mistake. God made you for a reason. You shouldn't listen to what the world says."

She shakes her head. "How can they be lying if everybody is saying it?"

"A lie is still a lie, no matter how many people tell it. Now—please, let me get you out of that bathtub."

"No. You put me here in the first place."

"So I did, but—"

"You have to face the truth at some point, Adam. I am nothing to you. You're smart, you have a life, a family, and a career all ready and waiting for you. There's only one thing holding you back from absolute greatness. And that's me. I'm holding you back. You have to let me go. Let me die. You...you don't understand."

"You're everything to me, Aminal. I'd throw away my brains and my career and my family and my life for you. I don't want to be all those things or have them all if it means letting you commit suicide because you're so deranged. I won't do it. Because if I do, your blood is on my hands, and I am subsequently guilty of murder, which is a stain on my soul. And if you commit suicide, you'll go to hell. You'll never know peace. You will only know endless torment and pain that you will never grow numb to. Never, Aminal."

"Then why did you try to kill yourself so many times?"

"Because I was a lost sheep," I reply patiently. "And you're not holding me back from absolute greatness. You're holding yourself back. It's time to let go."

"You act like it's easy," she fumes, reaching for a piece of glass.

With a swift movement of my catlike reflexes, I grab her arm. "No. I will not allow you to carry on destroying yourself. And I'm not trying to act like it's easy. Believe me, I've got a hell of my own. I've got problems I need to be dealing with. What matters is how you react to what you've been through. You and I have been reacting the wrong way. We turned to despair instead of people in our lives who can help us. All those years we were suffering, and no one even knew it, because we never talked to them about it."

"But I had no one to tell until you, and when I met you, all I wanted was to act better."

"You should've told me you were getting worse. I mean, I've never tried to stop you from coming to me. Ever. You avoided telling me like it was some plague, some disease."

"You ignored me, and you don't need to prove to me how horrible I am," she chokes. "I already know."

I pick her up, regardless how tightly she grips to the slippery tub, and brush the remaining bits of glass off her clothes. "Look. I don't know how to explain about the mirror. But I need to get you cleaned up and in my bed for awhile. I'm not sure when everybody's coming back, but I'm guessing it won't be long."

Holding her tightly by one arm, I manage to find a washcloth to soak with water. She glares at me, but since I've scared her by mentioning my parents, she lets me clean her up. Once she's bandaged and dosed with ibuprofen, I find her some different clothes and leave her in my room to change and get in bed, then I begin the tiresome job of cleaning up all those little bits of glass.

Little.

Bits.

Of.

Glass.

They say it's bad luck to break a mirror, and while I'm not superstitious, I find some truth to that. My parents are going to wonder what happened to this mirror at some point, unless I can find a way to fix it. But that would be extreme deception, and I don't feel comfortable about that. If they find out it's broken and get upset, well, that's bad luck for the person who broke it.

"Adam."

She's calling me now. Her voice is soft, but she sounds terrified. I drop a handful of glass shards into a paper bag and jump from the floor, hurrying to my room. She's peering out the door, glancing nervously at the hallway. "I think they're home," she whispers as I put my hands on her shoulders and gently nudge her back into my room. She becomes more upset as footsteps sound outside the front door. I talk to her gently and give her a hoodie. Once she's snug I tuck her into my bed, promising that nobody's gonna know as I poke my earbuds into her ears and turn on some music, leaving the device hidden snugly beneath the pillow. I shut the door and realize in a brief shot of panic that the bathtub is in a total state of horror. I cross the hall to Serenity's door and lock it because I can't take any chances, then step into the bathroom and lock the door behind me. There. Now they'll will be forced to think either I'm in my bedroom or in the bathroom. And they shouldn't find Serenity in my bed since no one's been allowed in my room after Dad came up with the 'no guitar after 8 o'clock at night' rule. I think it's unfair, personally—I mean, he could extend it by two hours at least, but since we've got whiny neighbors, nightly music production is just not permitted here. I miss the studio Tris let me set up in her basement. I could hang out there every night, but then my dad would probably come up with some stupid rule that I have to come home at eight o'clock and I'm not allowed back out until a designated hour in the morning. Freak.

Okay, I love and respect him, but honestly. He's a freak. Sometimes. Most of the time. At least where my musical endeavors are concerned.

There, a long rant in my mind to keep my thoughts off this bathtub I'm cleaning up. Bye bye, bits of broken glass.

"Addy? You home?"

Dylan's bizarre nickname for me is his way of revolt since I call him Pickles.

"In the bathroom. Painful situation. Be out in a moment or so."

"Is it serious? Do I need to tell Mom?"

"Nah, I think it was just a temporary issue. Should be fine. You know how some days are iffy for me."

"Yeah, cuz you don't sleep. And you eat dairy products when you shouldn't."

"Shut it. Don't broadcast."

"He still doesn't know about the insomnia?"

"'Course not. And I'd like to keep it that way, thanks."

"Well anyway, can I sit in your room?"

"No. Why?"

"I wanted to play an instrument. Keys, maybe. How come I can't sit in there? Not even to wait?"

"Look, dude, I'm washing my hands. I can run in and grab you a keyboard, but my room is very preoccupied...with...stuff."

"Not one of your cleaning adventures, is it?"

"Actually, yeah." I dry my hands and leave the bathroom. Dylan is leaning against Serenity's locked bedroom door. I feel sick just thinking about the disaster behind that door, but I feel worse knowing what's behind my bedroom door: the biggest disaster in the apartment. In the tiniest, most adorable package.

"You officially need help," Dylan shakes his head. "You clean your room way too often. You clean it more than a girl does."

"You're wrong about girls being neatnicks. Tris has seven daughters and over half of them never cleaned their rooms. Aside from that, I have OCD."

"Clearly."

"Mess ticks me off and then I'm like...you know what, never mind. I'm just gonna grab that keyboard for you. Which one do you want?"

"Can't I just come in?"

"Out of the question."

"You know, you don't have to be so touchy. I mean, I've seen your bedroom in all its terrifying glory, and it's not like I actually judge you for it."

"I know, I'm just extra sensitive today. You can't come in my room." I slip inside and grab a keyboard in the darkness, hoping not to wake Serenity if she's asleep, then eject myself backwards through the door and close it quickly, handing the keyboard to Dylan. He holds it with some expression of consideration and distaste, then hands it back. "Know what, I'm actually not feeling it anymore. Seen Amber around?"

"Yeah. She's...having a day. Won't come out."

"That's too bad. I was gonna ask her if she wanted to go skating."

"She probably isn't in the mood to go. I mean, you know how splenetic she's been lately." I look at him meaningly.

"Yeah. You're right. You wanna come?"

"Skating? Sure. Just as soon as I finish cleaning up. Same rink as always?"

"Yeah. I'll bring you a hockey stick." He disappears into his room, and I can't be more relieved. Especially after he closes the door. By mere habit he always shuts doors behind him, but it's kind of lucky for me. I have to be fast, though.

Unlocking Serenity's room, I hurriedly clean everything up and make sure there's nothing left to hurt her. I hide the frame of the mirror in my closet. I can probably fix it later, and it's just the one that was in her closet door, so nobody should know it's missing. I've removed all reflective items from her bedroom except the windows, because I can't exactly get rid of those without posing major issues. Mostly temperature-related ones. And the fact that it'd probably snow in here without them.

Now that everything's aseptic—including the sheets and blankets on her bed—I should probably bring her back in here. If she's asleep, she won't notice she's back in this cold room. On second thought, I don't care if she stays in mine. She's had a rough day, and I think I should just let her be. I'm going skating to recharge, because even serious guys like me need to have a little fun. Well...I'm seriously not a serious guy. I'm just quiet. Contemplative is more like it. And speaking of contemplative...I'd better just check on her anyway. To be safe, make sure she hasn't found all the potentially dangerous stuff I have hidden around my room. Stuff I experiment with. Not on myself, but on other things. Obviously.

Why am I getting so sassy? Right. Because I'm kind of exhausted. No sleep for three days so far and a crazy mental meltdown from Serenity this afternoon. Yup, I'm geared for success.

I poke into my dark room and quietly close the door, sneaking over to my bed on velvet feet. She's asleep, worn out from so much fighting and crying. The bandaged girl is curled in a fetal position with the covers drawn up to her chin, her tear-stained, freckled left cheek smashed against my pillow, one earbud completely dislodged and dangling over the edge of the bed.

Poor kid. Almost makes me want to curl up next to her and hold her in my arms, telling her that everything's okay and that she's beautiful because God created her.

Well, a nap's not this afternoon's agenda for me, unfortunately, though now I am tired enough to wish it was. I'll be a gentleman, give the girl space and let her be, and just go skating with the guys. Might play a little hockey, too, from the sounds of it.

Grabbing a beanie from my nightstand, I bend over and kiss Serenity's forehead gently. She may be a psycho but I really do love her. It's not that gushy stuff, either. It never has been, and that's what people really need to understand about me. My buddies all think I'm purely infatuated like any hormonal teenager, but I've known and loved this girl since I first met her. I can't explain it, there's just something about her that makes me feel complete.

   Slinging a pair of skates over my shoulder upon exiting the apartment, the realization suddenly hits me that our neighbors probably heard Serenity having her fit and it won't be long before we hear about it.

   Damnit.

7:02 p.m.

At the rink, Dylan and the guys greet me approvingly. They like it when I hang out with them. I know I've been a flake the past year or so, making up excuses because I just wasn't okay. I'm better now, though. Much better.

   My skating skills prove to be a bit rusty. It's been awhile since I've played hockey, and that becomes apparent as we get into the game. As Davy accidentally slams into me, I lose balance. This leads to Algie laughing from the goal, and Dylan watching in horror as I flip face-down onto the ice, cracking my left wrist against the frozen surface. The guys are around me in an instant, Dylan pulls me up and asks if I hit my head at all. I shake it, proving that I'm not in a concussive state, holding my wrist and hissing in pain. Every ligament screams trauma. Davy picks up something black, left where I'd fallen. My wristband.

Oh.

Shoot.

   Puzzled, Davy hands the pieces to Dylan, who also recognizes them. "Wait. Isn't this your...?"

   I nod, gulping, staring at the tiny blinking lights that imply the authorities have been notified of the unauthorized removal. And I didn't even intend to remove it! Unfortunately, the government is not understanding. Individuals have no voice, no opinion, no say. If you're accused of something and can't be proven innocent, well, tough.

   After Dylan explains a couple things to him, Davy raises the question we've all been thinking: "So...does that mean they're coming for you?"

   "I'm not exactly sure how that part works," I admit. "I've obviously never gotten to this point before."

   Algie just looks at me sympathetically. Davy looks guilty, and Dyl is terrified. Looking around in paranoia. Suddenly, his eyes snap in one direction. "Hey, why is Amber out here and why isn't she wearing a coat?"

   We all turn to look and she skids to a stop across the street as men flood from the sides, seemingly out of nowhere. My mind flashes through a million things and I can't even move as my buddies are held back and I'm rustled to my feet by men dressed in black. Serenity watches in horror, and as I'm placed in an armored truck, she breaks. Dylan wrenches himself out of his captor's grip to run to the girl and attempt silencing her, but it's no use. There's no stopping it. And I know now that he's going to tell. They all are. She's going to be betrayed without me there to protect her. She's going to be shut up in another asylum.

   Me, I'm going to be euthanized.

   That is, unless I can find a way out of here.