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October 3

It's Marla who's going to talk to Riley. After I tell them what I learn from Shane -- without actually mentioning his name -- Marla decides she should be the one to talk to Riley. Even though I have my doubts because Marla -- despite her good intentions -- can be a bit challenging, I let her do it her way.

As expected, it doesn't go as well as we'd hoped.

"She thought I was making things up," Marla exclaims, throwing her hands up as she paces relentlessly in the school parking. "She said I'm stooping this low because I'm jealous that she's found love when my boyfriend is so far away. Like seriously? She actually has the nerve to liken my relationship with Hashir to whatever toxic issue she's having with Carlos? What a fucking joke."

I sigh, resting my chin in my hands as I sit and wait for Racheal's mom to arrive. Racheal and Marla have taken it upon themselves to take me home and today is Racheal's turn. I hate it, to be honest, but no matter how many times I argue, they're firm that they don't want me going home alone, especially after what happened with Riley's dad.

Not to mention Marla's suspicion that Carlos might try to kill me because I'm messing up his relationship.

And then they say I watch too many mystery shows.

I'm actually happy I no longer have to walk twenty minutes every day to get home. My legs can't take much more of the unwanted exercise.

Racheal's mom, a pleasant old housewife who loves talking about her cats and the dozens of plants she takes care of, insists we stop off and buy some cat food on the way home. I don't mind since I don't have anyone waiting for me at home. After making sure I'm fine waiting in the car, Racheal and her mom go into the grocery store. I wait in the backseat, resting my head against the window and focusing on the nice, cool sensation spreading through my skin is.

Something catches my attention and I stare through the window at the guy standing next to a familiar convertible. I recognize him instantly as Carlos wraps his arm around a girl I haven't seen before. Using my quick thinking, I pull out my phone and snap a picture, hoping I'll be able to show it to Riley and get her to come to her sense before it's too late. Regardless of how bad I'd feel breaking my friend's heart, she deserves to see Carlos for the man he is. The sooner she comes to realize he doesn't deserve her, the better off she is.

I send the picture to Riley along with my current location so she'll know I'm not making anything up. Burying my phone in my pocket again, I smile when Racheal and her mother return.

"You're not too bored, are you, love?" the woman asks me.

"I'm good, Mrs. Marshall, thank you." I smile as she revs the car to life.

They drop me home a few minutes later, refusing to have tea or coffee because Racheal's mom's cats are probably lonely. I don't say it, but I think they're more afraid of the cats taking over the house and refusing to let them back in unless they bow to the supreme creatures.

Once they're gone, I sit in one of the kitchen chairs. Bored and alone, I sip the orange juice Racheal's mom had got me on her way out of the store so I wouldn't feel left out. She got me a funny pair of flipflops as well which I'm sure I'll never use but kept because I didn't want to let her down.

The door of my house opens and Mom enters. I watch her make her way toward the kitchen, smiling distantly when she sees me.

"How are you, honey?" she asks, opening the fridge.

I stare at her, wondering how she can be so calm. It's frustrating how Mom thinks adding words like 'honey' can somehow make me feel like she's still my mother regardless of how much she ignores me. I can't remember the last time we had a mother-daughter talk. Sitting here now, I realize I haven't even seen her in almost a week.

"I think I have cancer," I tell Mom.

She freezes halfway through her task of pouring herself a glass of wine. Her eyes come to rest on my face and I keep my face as calm as ever.

"What did you say?" Mom breathes, forgetting to sound unaffected as usual.

"I think I have cancer," I repeat slower.

"What is the meaning of this?" Mom asks, her brow furrowing as she tries not to panic.

As bad as it sounds, I'm almost glad to be getting a reaction out of mom. I've become so desperate that even seeing mom get mad at me for talking about cancer like this is reassuring. Maybe I haven't lost her completely yet.

"This is not a joke, Taylor," Mom says, her breathing coming ragged. "You don't say these kinds of things like that."

"Are you for real?" I ask, jumping off the seat because I find it unable to stay seated anymore. "Then what am I allowed to say, Mom? Am I allowed to tell you how terrible I feel that my friends have to drop me home because my parents don't care enough to come to my school? Can I tell you how much it bothers me that you seem to have forgotten I even exist? Is it okay if I actually speak up about how quiet and dead this entire house is? How much it kills me because I'm completely alone here?"

My voice rises but Mom remains frozen, staring at me like she barely sees me. My chest aches and I don't know why it hurts. I'd thought I'd feel better after I say it but I only feel worse because saying all this somehow makes it seem more real. It feels like a fact.

"Or maybe I'm not even allowed to tell you that it's like you and dad buried me with Carter when he died," I conclude, my voice breaking.

Mom slams the glass on the kitchen counter, pursing her lips and blinking. She stares at the ground, and I can tell she's barely containing herself. As for me, I don't care how she feels about this. She needs to hear it. She needs to wake up and see that she's losing her daughter because she's too busy mourning the loss of her son. It's been five months. I spent five months trying to pick up not only my own pieces but also hers and Dad's. What about me now? Don't I deserve someone to look at me and see me too?

"Go to your room, Taylor," Mom says at last and my heart breaks a little more.

"That's it?" I ask, my voice thick with tears. "No sorry, no 'I'm here for you', no nothing except --"

"I don't want to talk about this right now, Taylor, go to your room."

"Then when will we talk about it?" I demand, my eyes stinging.

Mom exhales a shuddering breath, leaving her unfinished drink on the counter and taking quick steps toward her room.

"Mom!" I call after her but she doesn't hear me, going into her room and slamming the door shut.

My face crumples and tears leak out of my eyes. I wipe them away in anger, refusing to break down and cry.

"You can't ignore me forever, mom!" I call after her even though I'm sure she won't respond. A part of me hopes she'll hear me. "You can't pretend I'm gone. Carter's gone, not me! Can you hear me, mom? Can you hear me?"

I yell but she doesn't react, no answer coming from her room. I don't hear her sobbing or her yelling. I don't hear things breaking or a person struggling to keep herself whole.

I'm the only one yelling, the only one crying, the only one breaking.

"I'm tired of being invisible," I yell to no one in particular. "I'm real, can't you see? I'm still here. I'm right in front of you and I'm slowly giving up. I'm dying and I ..."

I stop talking because nobody hears me. Nobody responds to my cries and desperate pleas for help. Maybe this is how Carter felt before he took his own life. Maybe he felt so lost and so gone already. Maybe that's why he decided that death will hurt less than life did.

Lowering my gaze to my feet, I stand in the kitchen and wish I was somewhere I mattered. I wish I was back with my brother, when everything was okay and when I still existed.

Closing my eyes, Iwait for the tears to stop coming. They stop after a while but the paindoesn't. The hollowness inside me, the sense of loss, it doesn't go away.Neither does the dread and loneliness that has become a part of my life now.

All I want is to have my happy family back. All I want is for things to go back to how they used to be before death knocked at our door. All I want is to matter like I used to, to exist as a whole and not a mere ghost of Carter and a reminder of him.

All I want is to be seen as me again.

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A/N: This chapter wasn't planned but just came so here you are. I might cut it out later. Do you sometimes say something because you think it will help but it only makes things worse? What's better, voicing your concerns or keeping them inside?