Leah sat in her bedroom, letting the smoke from her cigarette drift out the bedroom window. She'd let Trigger fall asleep to the television in the living room, and was now thankful for the blissful quiet. Although she loved Trigger, he left her with so little energy at the end of each day, and at night, she could only stomach quiet.

If she were one of the normal parents, one of the rich parents of the Lake End district, she wouldn't be having a pity party in her cramped room. Instead, she'd be at Escape Room Night, maybe volunteering.

It was a life she didn't want, and yet she did fantasize about it, and often. Why? She couldn't explain it to herself.

It hadn't helped that certain parents had actually started treating her like a person over the past few days. She felt sure Ellie was to blame for their changed behavior. The way they'd been treating her had made her feel like she could actually belong here in Mountain Springs.

It was an illusion, though. She could never belong. The mothers of Lake End would never understand the things she had gone through, the things she'd overcome. They'd never understand true pain—they actually thought their own anxieties surpassed her own.

In reality, the only reason she'd ever befriend any of those foul-mouthed women would be to take vengeance on them for all the ways they'd wronged her. Some things just couldn't be forgiven. Thinking of Trigger, she clenched her teeth. How could anyone be so cruel as to try to oust her little boy from Lake End, just because he was a little different?

Maybe she should leave. Maybe she should take Dylan's invitation, go with him and leave this place in their dust.

But these thoughts just made her clench her teeth harder. Leah didn't need a man, especially a man who went kissing his stepmom behind Leah's back. It was the only reason Ellie was being nice to her; the woman felt guilty. The thought of their lips being drawn close together made her squeeze her left fist in frustration; she put out her cigarette and went down on her floor, pulling a shoebox out from under her bed. Removing its lid, she found her collection of lighters.

What she was about to do was a terrible habit. An impulse. The safe housing staff had given her coping mechanisms for dealing with dangerous impulses.

But she would ignore those mechanisms, and give in to her impulse, because it gave her the feeling of control.

She wondered, which one shall I use?