I have half an hour until Addie is due to arrive, and I spend it frantically cleaning. The kitchen, the living room, Illa, myself. Anything and everything. The only thing I don't clean is my room. I still haven't figured out how to re-gather Bailey's ashes, and I daren't let anyone know what happened. I simply shut the door.

I've just finished buttoning up my shirt when I hear a knock at the front door. I give myself one last check-over in the mirror, deciding to pull my hair back into a mini-bun at the last minute. I look presentable enough.

"Alex!" The grin on Addie's face when he first sees me is real. He's been really looking forward to this since we organised it in the car three days ago.

It must have been a good five months since I last organised for someone to visit. Before I slammed my doors and stopped seeing anyone. Anyone but my mother, who forced herself on me when no one else could. It's not been until the last two months that Tommy and Stella or Isaac started spontaneous visits, though even then they weren't often. Addie never took those up. He stayed away, waiting for the day I would ask him to come over myself. Looks like that day has finally come.

Our conversation in the car crosses my mind. Those kind of moments- these kind of moments- are when I know that I don't deserve him. He understood immediately how I had felt. He didn't blame me. When I tried to apologise, he shook his head, saying that there was nothing to apologise for. And then we went and got some food, and sat and talked in the car, pulled up at the curb.

"Do you mind if I use your bathroom before we settle down?"

I snap from my thoughts, absently nodding in response to Addie. "Of course. I'll go make us some coffee." He takes off up the stairs, and I wander into the kitchen, thinking about nothing in particular but still managing to be lost in thought. It's funny how our brains can do that.

I watch the steam rise from the kettle, fingers tapping out an irregular rhythm on the countertop. I start to whistle to keep myself occupied. From upstairs there's the sound of the toilet flushing, and then running water. The kettle's noise reaches a crescendo, drowning out my whistling until I eventually stop, unable to hear myself.

Addie shouts something down the stairs, but it's difficult for me to hear him over the kettle.

"What? I can't hear you, Addie."

"I asked if I could have that book back that I lent you. Don't worry though, I'll get it myself! I think I know where it is."

It takes me a moment to register what he's just said. The book he lent me. Which is in my room. Where the ashes are. Oh, my god.

I rush from the room, the kettle quieting behind me as it finishes boiling, clicking off. Taking the stairs two at a time, I shout ahead to him that I'll find it myself- but it's too late. I reach the landing to find my bedroom door open.

I nearly walk into Addie. He's stood barely inside the doorway, staring at the ashes scattered on the carpet in front of my bed. Not a sound comes from him. I don't speak, just watch him for a reaction, dreading it when it comes.

"Alex, what... what happened?"

I redirect my stare to a piece of empty carpet, obscuring the ashes and all of Addie but his legs from my view. I refuse to meet his eye right now. I've stressed and beaten myself up about this enough for a hundred people. He doesn't need to say anything to me.

"Did you... drop it?"

Yes, Addie, I dropped it. I bloody dropped it. Please stop reminding me. Is there such a thing as an ash vacuum? I really wish there was. Maybe I should get inventing; solve my own problem. Goddamnit I don't know what to do.

"Alex? Talk to me," he says, turned towards me now, I can tell because his feet are pointing directly at me. Accusatory. I still don't look up. I will not look up.

He crouches, and I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see his face. I know that if I do I'll crack. Why did he need the book back right that second? Why then? I should've figured out a way to lock the door to my bedroom.

I feel his hand on mine, trying to get a grip around my shaking fingers. His are so warm compared to mine. The contrast seems clammy. I pull away, taking a step back.

"If you don't want to talk to me about it, that's fine, but can we at least regather them together?"

I stay silent, and eventually I hear him sigh and walk further into the room, away from me. I open my eyes to stare down at my hands, picking at my nails. There's the sound of scraping slightly forwards and off to my left. I raise my eyes just enough to see Addie knelt on the carpet, scraping the ashes into piles. The air between us is strained.

I make myself move forward to help him, still keeping from eye contact even at such close range. We work in silence, methodically scraping the ashes into two piles- one each. The sides of my hands are burning from the friction, and the unevenness of the carpet makes it impossible to take a clean scrape of ashes without leaving some behind. I don't know how long we spend like that, but eventually we've gathered them all into two piles.

It takes Addie a moment to figure out where the urn is, but he finally does, and we start to pick up handfuls of the stuff, pouring it from cupped palms back through the rim. Thank goodness I went for metal, not ceramic, or the urn itself would have broken.

We end up with only a tiny bit left from each pile, almost impossible to pick up from the thick threads of the carpet, and those stuck to our hands. It puts me in mind of my nightmare- a thought which I quickly shut down- but it still creeps like poison through my head. I leave the room, desperate to wash my hands. Addie still says nothing.

I lock the bathroom door behind me for some privacy, and then wash all the ashes from my skin. I watch them run around the sink in a swirl of water, then disappear down the plughole. I feel guilt tear at me- that was Bailey I just washed away. I lean against the sink, hands clasping the cool metal and head bowed to avoid looking in the mirror. I don't want to look at myself right now.

I've left the water running, and the noise fills my head. It is both calming and infuriating. Makes me want to meditate. Makes me want to run and scream and rip something apart. Most likely myself.

I take a deep breath, turn off the tap, and unlock the door. I pull it open. Addie is stood on the other side, urn in his hands, scowling. He hands me the urn, nodding back towards my bedroom. I take the hint, and put it safely in one of my bedside drawers.

I'm just turning to leave the room when he appears in the doorway. "Alex. We need to talk." Oh, how I hate those words, but I don't protest as he leads me to sit on the bed.

"I'm going to be direct here," he swallows, face turned towards me but eyes staring up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. "It's been six months, Alex. We're all trying our best to help you get better. We're walking on eggshells around you, making sure not to say or do the wrong thing. But this has to end somewhere. None of us can live the whole rest of our lives like this."

He's still staring at the ceiling, his lips pressed firmly together, and he's clearly thinking about what to say next- or how to say it.

"I'm done with treating you like a kid, Alex. It sucks that she's gone. I won't try to say I miss her as much as you do, because none of us can ever understand the pain this has- and still is- putting you through. But there comes a point where you have to learn to live with that pain, Alex. Learn to live with it in a way where you can function like everyone else."

I was right- I don't like this conversation. I lay back on the bed, turning to be on my side and burying my face in Bailey's pillow. I wish she were here right now. But if she were, we wouldn't even be having this conversation.

"If you need to lay back to be comfortable during this, Alex, then do that. But you gotta listen, okay? I wanted to just have fun today. But this has been coming for a while, and I don't want to lose the opportunity today presented. Okay?"

His voice is so full of concern for me that it hurts; actually, physically hurts. I press a hand into my side, squeezing my eyes shut and blocking out the last of the light from reaching me. Just because I can't see him doesn't mean he can't see me, though. I will still hear the pain that is laced throughout his words like stitching through a blanket. It is stuck there. It is put there by my pain. That's how friends work. Maybe life would be easier without them.

"If we're going to help you, you need to open up to us. Show us when you're hurting, Alex. Let us help you through it. Don't just shut us out. That won't help any of us, and you'll just keep struggling. I know it hurts. I know it's hard. Please just try."

"I know it sometimes feels like the world's working against you, but me and the other boys, Stella and your parents- we're working for you. And we can't help you unless you help us help you."

I shift on the bed, hating every second of this. He says it so simply. It's not that simple. And he talks like he knows exactly what's going through my head. No one but me knows that, and it infuriates me that he is trying to guess my thought patterns.

"You missed someone off that list." Why did I say that? I know where I'm going with this, but I refuse to admit it to myself. My voice comes out muffled through the pillow, but he hears. I can almost hear him stiffen.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, I presume that your new girl is going to be 'there for me' too? And I presume that you did plan on telling me about her yourself?" I cannot keep the accusatory tone from my voice. I just had to go there. I've stuck my foot in it and I know it, however I feel nothing but fury.

I sit up on the bed, using Bailey's pillow in my lap to rest my arms on. My back is to Addie. I can hear both of us breathing.

"How did you find... That's not what matters here," he pauses. "Yes, to both questions. Of course she'll be there for you. I had plans to tell you today- myself."

"How long have you known?" My voice is low, words quiet. Anger simmers in me, slow and hot like an oven. I am slowly being baked alive in its heat.

"Since a few days before you last came over to mine."

Four weeks. He has known for four weeks. And I found out two weeks ago. From Tommy. How is this even real?

"Okay."

"Okay," he says, mimicking my tired tone. He stops talking for another moment of silence and I wish he wouldn't. I don't like his words but I dislike the silence more.

"I can see your pain, Alex. I see every drop of it, and I feel it just as much, in here." He reaches forward and takes my hand, pressing it to his chest. Still, I refuse to turn around.

"It's time for healing, Alex. Tell me how I can help you. I'll do it. Anything. I just want to see you smile again." His voice, so full of— It burns.

"I think that you should seriously consider seeing a therapist."

My insides swell, like the crescendo of a piece of music. I stand from the bed and unsteadily but determinedly walk towards the door on shaking legs. The pillow is still in my hand.

"Alex. Don't leave. Alex-" I hear him stand and speed up, feeling his fingers brush my arm as he falls short of grabbing me. I will not stay here.

"You know perfectly well what happened last time. No way am I doing that again."

"Alex, please! I'm trying to help you!"

I'm out of the room, running down the stairs. I don't bother with shoes. Grab her jacket from the peg instead of my own. Pillow clutched tighter in my fist. Try to block out the anguish in Addie's voice as he calls after me.

"Alex! Alex!"

The front door is open and I'm halfway down the garden path. Addie's voice is raw and thin from calling out for so long. It makes guilt rip through me; just another layer of pain. I could not tell anyone what is running through my mind right now, what emotions are leaking from my eyes and my mouth. From every orifice of my body pours forth a torrent of pure emotion. How do I stop its flow?

I can't.

"Alex!"

His voice cracks, and his words ring through my head. He was just trying to help you, Alex. Why do I always do this?

Echoing footsteps down the street, stones jabbing my bare feet so that I stumble with every desperate step. It's ripping me apart, these emotions inside of me. Shaky breaths to match a shaking body. Instincts kick in with my running, guiding me along invisible pathways. It does not reduce the strain on my numb body.

Addie has stopped calling out. I can no longer hear two sets of footsteps- only my own. A tear falls, and I angrily wipe it away. But I cannot stop the flood that is coming. It pours down my cheeks, my sobs ringing loud in the empty street.

Now, instead of footsteps, I can hear two people's sobs. Two aching hearts, one breaking and the other already broken.