How could Henry do this to me? What have I ever done to him? The whole town thinks I'm a murderer and attempted to kill him. They think I have a death wish. These past few days, I've been striving to get people to like me—to accept me. All wasted time. Down the drain—like that. Everyone hates me now. No one wants to be near me. No one wants to look at me. Henry painted me as a villain in a town of supposed heroes. They'll drive me out of Storybrooke like Emma drove me out of the loft. That was only the beginning.

I'm going to die alone. There's no longer anyone on my side. All my friends think I'm going to cross them off. I'm alone. There won't be a soul at my funeral, considering there is one. They'll probably ditch my body somewhere—maybe in the woods—and let Hortense feast on my corpse.

Henry has shattered my newfound life. He's stripped everything away from me. I want to push him down that stupid well. I should confront him and wring his neck...In my head, of course.

I'd like to talk to Delilah, but I still don't trust her, which leaves Hook as my sole alternative. I need to speak with him and convince him I'm innocent—that I would never kill a person, especially not one of my friends...He won't quit being mine, will he?

Lugging my duffel and guitar to the docks, I glimpse him strolling up the boardwalk, the post cap lights casting a ghostly pallor around him.

I stop in my tracks.

Talking to him may not be the best choice. I don't want to know what he thinks of me. I don't want him to think ill of me. What if the news reached him before I could clear my name? What if he's already concluded I'm a murderer? What if he wants nothing to do with me anymore?

My heart tears itself open as though something inside claws its way out. Hook's my friend. A good friend. A weird friend but a good friend. It's been ages since I've had someone to confide in, and now I have him. And I can't talk to him.

What if I did kill Chloe? I didn't help her when the window wouldn't open. I didn't try hard enough to pull her up. Did I try? I can't be sure. I may have only prolonged the inevitable. What if, deep down, I wanted her to die? I was jealous of her. Maybe I loosened my grip just enough to let the bracelet slip off.

It's my fault. It's my fault she's dead.

I wish I could ask the Wizard of Oz for the courage to confront the man who sees something in me I may never see.

But there is no Wizard of Oz, and there is no courageous bone in my body.

Before Hook can see me, I speed-walk back the way I came.

* * *

Where am I supposed to sleep tonight? My car's still at the Marine Garage, one place I've passed by countless times tonight. I can't afford a room at Granny's Bed and Breakfast, so what am I supposed to do? Sleep on a bench?

As I roam the streets of Storybrooke, my sunglasses serving as a shield and disguise, a thought I hate creeps into my head. I don't want to listen to it, but...I have to. There're no other options. It's a long shot, but I have to try. If it doesn't work out...well, it's not like I expect it to.

I knock on Regina's door, sunglasses perched on my head.

This is such a terrible idea. The absolute worst idea known to man. Regina hates me. And now, with those dreadful rumors circulating, I can only imagine her loathing has intensified. There's no way she'll agree to this.

The door opens, revealing her stern face. "You. You're still here."

"Did you really think I'd leave because you keep threatening me?"

Her scowl deepens. "I was hoping for it. You have some nerve coming over here."

My jaw hinge tightens to where I can't open it. I can't speak. And, yeah, I do have some nerve coming here, but what else was I supposed to do? "I was wondering if, maybe—"

"No."

I pause, her immediate response throwing me off. "You didn't even hear what I was going to say."

"I don't need to. Emma kicked you out, and I assume you're here to ask if you can stay at my house. Well, the answer is, 'No.'"

"Please."

She crosses her arms, an infuriated expression taking over her face. "I will not be housing a murderer under the same roof as my son. You almost killed him."

"But I didn't." That was the worst possible thing to say.

"Get off my property." Regina attempts to shut the door, but I wedge my foot in the gap and wince at the pain. Ow.

"I have nowhere to sleep."

"That isn't my problem," she states with a contemptuous smirk.

A tightness forms in my chest from her shutting down my plea. Her bee sting of rejection swells my desperation. She has to help. She has to do something. I'm sure buried beneath all that animosity, there's a speck of sympathy for a young girl with nowhere to go.

"Can't you get me back my old room at the inn?"

"No." She stands before me with her chin lifted, appearing quite pleased with herself.

Doesn't she have empathy? How could she look herself in the mirror, knowing she turned away a helpless teenager without a single place to sleep? Would she give her reflection the same sneer she's giving me in satisfaction?

I need her to budge. I need her to give me a bed.

I have one last trick up my sleeve. "Please. If you do, I promise to leave Storybrooke if the test results come back negative."

"As tempting as that offer is," she shakes her head with a derisive squint and hisses, "I can't accept." She looks out at the road and gives a slight nod. "Now, I suggest you leave town before the others have a riot. They won't hesitate to drive out a villain. I should know."

Henry could convince her. He has to.

"Is Henry home?"

Regina's attention snaps back to me. "Stay away from my son. Go back to wherever you came from. You're not wanted here." She slams the door in my face, leaving me helpless and alone.

How is it possible for life to change so fast? One moment, I believe I've found a family, and the next, that family shuts me out. They've tossed me to the street like an unwanted puppy.

Speaking of puppies, did that cop do what I asked of him?

On a bench that may be my bed tonight, I search the pet shelter in Cedarsville on my phone. Soon enough, I find the golden retriever under the "New Additions" tab. I smile, knowing that dog will find his home. It's ironic how our lives switched within a matter of days.

I've got nowhere to stay. I doubt Granny would give me a room for free. And there's no way I'm asking Hook for a room on the Jolly Roger. That would be awkward. Too awkward. That's not an option. Yet I do something even less of "not an option." It's better than asking Hook for a cabin.

* * *

I shift in the morning, dim light filtering through my eyelids. With a soft sigh, I nuzzle deeper into the throw pillow, trying to get comfortable. This is nothing like my bed at the apartment, though it's still better than the one at the foster home.

I can't go back to sleep from the roughness of the pillow, so I flutter my eyes—but they snap open when I find Mr. Gold seated in front of me, staring down at my surprised face. His presence startles me, and I jolt back. His hands rest atop his cane, planted between his slacked knees. He sits there, nonchalant. I can't tell if he's mad or not.

"Morning. Sleep well?" He pauses, waiting for me to respond, but I'm too shell-shocked. I expected to be long gone before anyone discovered me here. I must've slept in, too tired from the Hortense ordeal.

Gold looks off to his right, his voice a touch musing. "Normally, I would expect this behavior from Claire Fairchild, not from a princess who went to such lengths to uncover the truth behind her aunt and uncle's voyage, all for her cousin."

I blink several times, undoubtedly resembling a deer in headlights. How pathetic I've become? Was breaking into Gold's shop better than asking Hook for a room on his ship? At least then, I wouldn't be committing a felony...again.

"I see the cat's got your tongue. What are you doing in my shop before the open hours?"

His question hangs in the air like a challenge, and I'm compelled to tell the truth. There's no wiggling myself out of this one. "Emma kicked me out."

"I see. And you thought you could break in here and sleep on my cot?" It's a rhetorical question, but if I go silent again, it'll increase the awkwardness of the situation.

Hang on. I've broken into this shop not once, but twice—and even stole something. The library has a silent alarm, but what about here? Storybrooke sees it a better fit to protect books over irreplaceable antiques?

"You should consider getting an alarm," I say, flat to counter his irritated tone.

"The idea has crossed my mind." He says it in a way that lets me know he's playing along but also that he's in charge.

I want to let him know I'm not a senseless, repeated intruder. I had my reasons. "I had nowhere else to sleep."

He barks, his jaw tightening, "How about a bench?" How dare he suggest I sleep on a bench in a town that's still unfamiliar to me with flying monkeys on the loose? They could still be out there.

I need to take control of the situation. "The idea has crossed my mind."

He grins, amusement in his eyes. "You're not as different from your counterparts as you're led to believe." Counterparts? Plural? What's Henry not telling me? "I suspect you must be hungry." Odd, this guy. First, he snaps at me for breaking in, which I expected, then he plays along with my banter, and now he's asking if I'm hungry?

I nod because I'm starving. I haven't eaten since The Rabbit Hole.

"I'm sure Granny's has something satiable."

"Thanks."

Gold stands as though his bones wear him down. "Remain low." He takes his cane in his hand and hobbles toward the door, speaking along the way, "I don't need Storybrooke thinking I'm harboring a murderer."

The word strikes me like a blow.

Murderer.

Once alone, the dam bursts, and flashbacks from the night of Chloe's death rush back again. The police showing up, questioning me, and making me wait in the cruiser while they spoke to witnesses. Then, they watched the neighbor's security camera footage, proving my innocence.

But the evidence did nothing for me at school.

People glared at me, shunned and bullied me. I was a murderer to them, even though they knew she fell. They must've thought I led her to it. Or they didn't believe the footage caught everything. Most likely the latter since someone painted "We know you killed Chloe" in red on my locker.

It's true when they say the past comes back to haunt you. It's always haunted me, but it isn't me reminding myself about it anymore. It's the whole town. They know. It's not my secret. It's no longer in my head. And now it's affecting my life again.

Instead of switching schools, Emma kicked me out of Mary Margaret's apartment.

I'm losing friends, if I haven't lost them already.

Worst of all, I'm back to the survival mode I've always known. Life will always be about surviving, won't it?

I should've known life could change this fast. It did when Henry showed up and brought me to Storybrooke. It did when I met everyone and befriended them, especially Hook. Now it's transformed again, but in the most horrible, darkest of ways.

I don't want to survive. I want to live.

That's not my choice.

God! I'm so mad I could burn the planet. My skin heats at an incredible speed, and my blood boils beneath it. I could erupt and tear this room apart. I could punch holes in the walls until my knuckles bleed. I could scream at the top of my lungs until I could never sing again—

Never sing again? Am I that mad? That I would consider ridding myself of the one thing that still makes me happy?

Tears pool in my eyes, and I let them fall. "Fall" is an understatement. I sob like a freakin' baby. Streams spew from my eyes, and I drop into the throw pillow. I soak it with salt water. My chest heaves, pain radiating through my lungs and shoulders, my entire body wracked with agony. My heart clenches inside. New walls build themselves with more armory and stronger reinforcements.

I've cried before, but this is different. All the other times, I opened the bottle a smidge. Now, everything I've kept inside shoots out like a kid's volcano project.

I don't have parents.

I was never wanted.

I don't have a home.

Diane and Curt are terrible and treat me like shit.

Agatha's a bitch, and she would've gotten my songbook burned.

Max destroyed Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone.

Chloe's death.

I'll never fall in love.

No one loves me.

Emma kicked me out.

I don't know who I am.

I shut out Hook and Delilah.

I can't live good moments.

I must always survive.

Hope fucking sucks!

I hate myself!

It's been years of overdue cries. Years of absorbing punches and slashes and thrown bricks. Years of holding in my emotions because I had no one to talk to.

It all comes out. A mess from a bigger, hotter mess. My heart's scars reopen, and I bleed into the pillow, trembling, my brain still saying, "I've got this," as it probably will forever.