Soon after my first year of college ended, I started reading a lot more of Blake's books. Occasionally when I was reading, I'd have flashbacks to when Blake and I would read together as children. If I read too much now, I would get dizzy, and I would feel extremely nauseous. I couldn't control my panic attacks, because I hadn't taken my medication in weeks. I had promised Jackson I'd begin to take them again, but I didn't keep that promise. I had to stop reading Blake's books because I was too scared I'd have a panic attack. I never wanted to stop reading the books, but I knew it was the best thing I could do.

It was difficult to make my way through the books Blake had left. One afternoon, I was doing my best while trying to read through a long book of Blake's when I felt dizzy and couldn't think straight. I put the book down on my lap and was taken from my thoughts.

I sat in my room one night, hearing the rain pounding on the window of my bedroom. At six years old, I was scared of the rain and hearing thunder. The lightning snapped, flashing into my dark room that dreary night. It was almost midnight, but I couldn't sleep. I was bawling, and my cries got louder after I heard the boom of the thunder outside. I curled up into a ball, holding my teddy bear tight.

My bedroom door clicked open, and the gap between the doorframe and the door slowly got larger. Through the tears, I could see a little figure standing at my door. I hiccupped as I cried and sniffled every once in a while. When the door was halfway open, a short child began to make his way through the door and walk toward me. He climbed onto my bed, and when he was close enough, I recognized him as my little brother Blake, who was five at the time.

Blake embraced me in a tight hug. I could tell he was scared as well, but he did his best to comfort me anyway. I managed to show him a smile. He grasped me as hard as his minute arms would allow.

"Read to me?" he questioned, and I nodded. Slowly, I pulled out a book from underneath my bed and began to read to him with hesitation. He encouraged me to continue, and I made it through the book. When I finished the short, illustrated story, I gave my brother a quick kiss on the forehead. Then he was gone.

The incident shook me up, and I was unable to read any more of the books for a while after that flashback. I remembered it as if it was yesterday, but I knew nothing like that would ever happen again. It had been more than a year since my family passed. Blake was not going to ever be able to comfort me again. I couldn't read to my little brothers anymore. It broke my heart, so I tried my best to think about different things, anything but my family or Blake's books.

I decided to think about Thomas, even though he wasn't my favorite subject. I hadn't talked to him since that day, and it had been months. I refused to talk to him because of what I knew he had done. He hadn't said anything to me about it, and he hadn't ever apologized to me. It upset me the most that he didn't even try to bring it up. I had so many questions, but I couldn't bring myself to ask for answers.

Why was he on our side of the road? Did he know it was my family? He had to know because he'd had both of my parents as teachers during high school, and there was no way he hadn't seen them in the front seats of our car. I constantly wondered how he got away without being hurt at all when all of my family was killed.

I knew that he knew he'd hit my family because of the way he acted around me. Ever since I met up with him again in Applebee's that one day, he was different, and he acted nothing like he did in high school. I saw the way he acted around his other friends, and it was a lot less awkward than he was with me.

Jackson didn't know about what Thomas had done. I refused to tell anyone that I knew, especially because Thomas had realized what was going on with me. Because of how I reacted every time I saw him, I knew that he must know that I'd figured it out.

I woke up one morning about a week and a half after classes were over for the summer. When I pulled off the sheets, I realized I'd left my window open the night before. A light, calm breeze was blowing through the window. My curtains were gently waving in the wind like a flag. Sunlight was spilling into my room, illuminating its white interior. The only color in my room besides the aqua blue curtains was provided by my comforter, the deep purple that now covered only half of my full-sized bed.

I swung my legs to the side of my bed and pushed myself up into a sitting position. I breathed in the early morning air and stood up from the bed after sliding my feet into my black, fuzzy slippers. As I walked toward my bathroom, I rolled my neck, trying to stretch it. I pushed my arms out in front of me and stretched them as well. Reaching for the bathroom door, my hand touched the cold doorknob. I turned it and walked into the bathroom without taking my slippers off.

Ready to get into the shower, I kicked my slippers toward the door and stepped into the shower. The warm water felt so good on my skin that felt tight. I knew I must've slept the wrong way the night before. I squeezed some shampoo into my hair after wetting it and scrunched my long hair together to get all of it washed. I scrubbed my head, making sure I got every inch of it and my hair clean. After I rinsed the shampoo from my hair, I put conditioner in. Suddenly, I heard a loud knock on my door.

Grumbling, I quickly washed the conditioner out of my hair. I stepped out of the shower and dried off with my towel in record time. The knock came again. I groaned as I heard it.

"I'll be there in a minute!" I exclaimed. Once I finished drying my body off, I squeezed my dripping-wet hair with the towel and folded it all up on top of my head, knotted in the towel. I wrapped my fluffy white robe around my shoulders and pulled it around me so it would cover my whole body. I tied the rope round my waist and slid into my slippers. As I walked out of the steamy bathroom, I heard the knock once more.

"I'm coming, I'm coming! Goodness!" I exclaimed as I placed my hand on my apartment's door knob. Without undoing the slide lock, I opened the door forcefully. It stopped abruptly against the chain of the slide lock. I sighed and looked to see who stood outside of my apartment. I only saw a fraction of someone's body, but I could tell it was Jackson.

"Hey, Devyn," he smiled as he looked at me and chuckled. "I didn't mean to interrupt your morning routine," he apologized.

"It's fine," I shrugged and tapped my foot. "What did you come here for?"

"Could I come in?" he questioned. I stared at him for a second before closing the door, undoing the slide lock, and opening the door completely.

"What is it?" I asked as he walked inside. He sat down at the bar and I stayed in the kitchen, putting some water on the stove to make my morning tea.

"I just wanted to come and see how you were doing. I haven't seen you since I stopped coming here every day after classes. It's been about two weeks, and I haven't seen you face-to-face. I wanted to make sure you're still doing alright," he informed me.

"You drove twenty minutes just to ask me how I was doing?" I wondered.

"Well, no, I didn't. I don't live twenty minutes away from you." He shook his head. I looked at him for a minute to see if he was just joking. He looked back at me with a straight face. There was no way he was joking.

"I thought you told me you lived a little less than twenty minutes from here?"

"Actually, I only live about twenty seconds from your apartment," Jackson told me, and he turned his head from me for a second before looking right back at me.

"What do you mean? You moved?"

"Yeah. Down the hall, actually." He smiled. It took me a minute to realize what he was saying. He lived in my apartment building now, and I was so glad he was closer. We hadn't seen each other over the past few weeks because of the distance. I lived about two minutes from campus, and he lived around fifteen minutes farther than that.

"Awesome! When'd you move in?" I asked yet another question. His expression told me that he was getting tired of answering my questions, so I told myself I'd stop.

"I moved in yesterday, actually. I'm still unpacking my things, but I thought I'd stop by this morning and tell you that," he grinned widely, and I returned the expression.

"That's great. We'll see each other more often, then, I guess." I looked into his eyes as if to ask him if we would see each other more often now. Not seeing him for almost two weeks was enough. We were such close friends that I didn't know how we handled not seeing each other for that long.

"Yeah, I'm hoping we will. And we don't always have to hang out here, then. We could hang at my place sometimes. You'll have to come see it once I get everything unpacked."

"I definitely will. I can't wait!" I paused for a second before speaking again, "So what are you planning on doing today?"

"I was just going to spend the day unpacking. Would you be willing to help me?"

"I'd love to, Jackson, but I think I need to get outside some today. It's such a nice day, and I haven't been spending much time outside lately like I should. I think I'm going to go for a drive, and I might go for lunch. Want to drive around with me?"

I knew I couldn't give up on my drive that day. If I didn't leave the apartment building, I wouldn't leave for weeks following that. I was going to force myself into the outside world, away from my brother's books for a few hours. I needed out of my thoughts, and that's exactly what I aimed to do.

"I would, but I've got to work more on unpacking. I will go to lunch with you, though." He nodded as he looked up at me. I poured the boiling hot water into a mug and placed my teabag in.

"That's going to be nice, then." I smiled. "Would you like some tea?"

"No, thanks." He pushed himself up out of the chair at the bar. "I've got to go anyways. I should get to work now if I want to be able to go to lunch with you. I'll see you at noon at... where?"

"Applebee's?" I suggested, and he nodded.

"Applebee's it is," he agreed as he walked out of the door. Calmly, he shut the door behind him, and I pushed a piece of bread down into the toaster as I steeped my tea.

When I was little, I always asked my dad to pick me up so I could push the lever, lowering the bread into the toaster. Sometimes I would push it down, but I would stop before it would click just so I could see the bread come back up before I repeated my previous actions. I often did this too many times that my dad would shake me playfully, telling me to get moving. I'd giggle and push the lever down as far as I could until it clicked, and the soon-to-be toast was going to be in the toaster for the next few minutes.

I became so lost in my thoughts that I almost hit the ceiling when the toast popped up. It was golden brown, just the way I like it. I spread butter on it and topped it with strawberry jam, a nice complement to my caramel-flavored tea. I crunched into my toast after placing my tea bag in the trash.

I sat at the bar with the sliding door in the living room open. I breathed in the morning air while I sipped my tea and chomped on my toast. The scent of strawberry jam surrounded me, and it reminded me of another part of my childhood.

The night that Sawyer was born, my parents didn't wake any of us kids up. The next morning, I woke up to see that my parents weren't in the house, but my grandparents were, my dad's parents. My grandma and grandpa had made breakfast for us, and I walked out to the dining room where my other brothers already were.

My grandma greeted me and smiled, beginning to butter a piece of toast for me. My grandpa walked out of the kitchen with a pan of eggs in the one hand and Alex, two at the time, in the other hand. He sat the eggs on the table, then sat down beside me and began to put things onto my plate. I'd never been more confused in my life, but I loved it.

Blake, who would be turning four in only three weeks, was shoveling hash browns into his mouth when I looked across the table at him. My grandma continuously told him to slow down as she continued to meticulously butter my piece of toast. She put some eggs onto her plate then started my plate with some. She added hash browns, and I grabbed a few pieces of sausage myself. I watched her pull out the jam, some that she'd brought from home because she wouldn't eat store-bought like we had at our house. She wouldn't even feed us grandkids store-bought. We had to eat her homemade jam, and I didn't mind one bit. I'd always loved the smell of her jam, and I licked my lips when she popped the jar open.

My brain was stuck on repeat. I heard the popping of the jar time and time again. It wouldn't stop clicking. Four-year-old me was cupping my little ears, trying to block out the sound. That didn't help one bit, and the sound began to get overbearing. My younger self tried screaming, but I couldn't even hear the scream she let out. The jar popped over and over again until a thump and a splat interrupted my thoughts.

I opened my eyes and saw the floor lying right next to me. The hardwood of the floor now didn't feel as hard; it felt more comforting than it ever had. I wanted to lie there for as long as I could. That is, until the ground got cold underneath me and pushed me off of it. I was standing upwards in a flash. The actions happened to quickly that I was dizzy after they occurred. I stood still for a second, trying to see everything straight. When I finally could, I looked down at my feet to see my bread upside-down on the dining room floor.

Even though I was still in shock from my flashback, I picked up my piece of toast, threw it away, and wiped the jam off of the floor. I made myself another piece of toast and ate it instead.

Whenever I finished my toast, I walked into my bathroom and took my robe off before making my way into my room to get dressed for the day. I chose a light blue ruffled tank top with tight shorts that reached down to my mid-thigh. I slipped on one of the many pairs of sandals that I owned and walked into the kitchen from my room.

As I ventured past the bar, I grabbed my purse then my car keys from in the basket that lay on the countertop. I made my way out of my apartment, making sure I locked it. Jackson hadn't mentioned which number he was, but I could hear furniture moving in the apartment three doors down from mine on the opposite side. I knew it must be Jackson's new apartment.

Moving extremely slowly, I walked past Jackson's new place. I debated on whether I should or shouldn't cancel my drive to help him, but I knew I needed to get outside for a little while. It had been too long. As I reached the staircase, I looked back at the apartment, but I continued to walk into the stairwell.

I made my way down the stairs and toward the exit of the apartment complex. When I walked out of the building, I saw Jackson's car parked close to the entrance. I forced my feet to move toward my car, and when I reached it, I opened the door. Now, I knew for sure that I needed this. I wouldn't be trapped inside any longer.

I sat in the driver's seat and put my keys in the ignition. When I turned the keys, the car came to life. Pressing my foot to the pedal, I eased my car out of its parking space. My car dinged to remind me that it needed gas. Well, that'll be my first stop, I told myself as I drove out of the parking lot.

Since I had driven a lot in the neighborhood I lived in, I knew exactly where the closest gas station was, and I knew which gas station had the lowest price most of the time. I wasn't sure if I had enough gas to get me to the station with the low prices, so I didn't take the risk. I played it safe and went to the one that was closest and cost the slightest bit more.

After filling up my gas tank and paying for it, I made my way back onto the road. I told myself that if I could drive past where my family died that I would be able to get over it. Deep down, I knew I'd never be able to get over what had happened. All I was doing was hoping for a way to forgive Thomas for what happened. I continued to ask myself, How can I do that? He doesn't even have the courage to admit to me that it was him! I would do whatever it took to forgive my friend from kindergarten, but I wasn't ready for what had to happen for that to occur.