Holding Infinity 3s411e

Holding Infinity

Astro Polaris

Ukiyoto Publishing

All global publishing rights are held by

Ukiyoto Publishing Published in 2021

Content Copyright © Astro Polaris Cover Illustration by Canva Lineart

ISBN 9789814989572

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a

fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated, without the publisher’s prior consent, in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

Suddenly, you're ripped

into being alive. And life is

pain, and life is suffering,

and life is horror, but my

god you're alive and it's

spectacular.

—Joseph Campbell

Acknowledgement

While this is my debut novel, I don't think it's acceptable to love a book this much. Oddly enough, there are people who love these characters and their stories almost as much as I do. Thanks to them, my dream has come to realization!

But first I would like to say my thanks to God for life and good health, and for filling me with the drive to complete this project.

I would also like to say a special thank you to Abrial, David, Elle, and Victor, for listening to my non-stop rants and feeding me with good advice. I love you guys!

To my readers on Wattpad, I appreciate your .

And to my internet friends, I must say I huge thank you—especially to Alex, Ellie, Annie, and Nush. Your is immense. I thank you for it.

Alyssa, thank you for walking me through the publishing process. I couldn't have made this decision without your help.

Chapter One

Orion

My mother always used to say; things have to get worse before they can get better, but in relation to health, I can't seem to believe it. Although she seems fine—Mom's still up and doing, making dinner, holding potlucks every weekend —she isn't. And that fact keeps haunting me because I don't know how much time she has left.

"Hey, boy," I whisper. I'm crouched down, ruffling Draco's fur. He likes it a lot, so he wags his tail appreciatively. Draco is my four year old Dorkie—he's a mixed breed—and I love him more than I ever thought possible. He's been with me through thick and thin, so it's only fair I return the favour. The favour being dog treats. "You want a biscuit?" I hoist him up and cradle him in my arms as I make my way into the kitchen.

Mother is in there, all her attention focused on the pot she's currently stirring the contents of, so she doesn't notice me until Draco barks.

"Are you making dinner already?" I ask incredulously. Draco jumps from my arms and onto the kitchen counter. I reach for the top right cupboard and pull out a bag of his favorite treats.

Mother finally turns to me. "Mi hijo." Her words are drawn out and she sounds

weary. I smile, trying not to pay attention to the dark circles under her eyes. "I was at the hospital earlier today." She's staring ahead now, eyes on the wall. A minute es before she speaks again. "How was school?"

I set the bag of treats on the counter and fetch Draco's food bowl. "School was a madhouse, as usual. I guess being seniors really gets into students' heads." I slide the bowl in front of Draco and return the bag into its original position. "I'm supposed to be working on something for the final paper, but I have less than no inspiration."

With her back still turned to me, she says, "I'm sure you'll come up with something. You just need to put your mind at ease."

Nodding absentmindedly, I thank her for being here, even though I still have nothing in mind for my paper.

"I'm going to the roof now."

Mother turns to me again. "You're not skipping dinner again, are you?"

I sigh, manage a small smile, then make my way out of the kitchen without giving her a proper answer.

My brother Lynx is a theatre kid. Was a theatre kid. Now, he's a theatre adult, and he thrives on making me miserable. Not that I need his help with that; I'm pretty good at being miserable on my own. It's one of the perks of growing up

with trauma. It teaches you. I doubt I've learned anything from my experiences, because I keep making mistakes over and over again. I can't help it.

My phone beeps next to me, but I ignore it for the time being. If it's important, the sender will place a call. I won't answer it, though. Not unless it's my best friend.

Holden Foster and I have been best friends since the eighth grade when he first moved here. Our friendship came out of nowhere, really. Two rich kids, not a lot in common. . .Holden is painfully neurotypical, and I guess I can't blame him for the way he thinks. Most people see life one-directionally. He just so happens to be stuck with me; someone who doesn't.

Lynx comes to get me about an hour later. He smells like weed and aftershave. My nose scrunches up.

"You couldn't bother to take a long bath, and I don't know, brush your teeth, or something?" I sneer. When I gather my bearings and shove my thoughts aside, I slide through the open window and back into the attic. Lynx stands there, hands poised on the hips. He's wearing a smile that looks too mocking to be genuine.

"I'm pretty sure your senses are the problem here. You really think Mom would let me in if I'd done weed?"

I lift my shoulder up slightly in a shrug. "I don't know anything anymore. Mom's different now. Besides, you're all grown up and adult-y." He moves aside so I have access to the hatch that leads to the staircase. "I don't even want dinner. Why'd you come up here?"

Lynx doesn't answer me until we get back to the ground floor. He digs his hands into his pockets and looks up at the ceiling. "I'm going back to California."

I don't even have to pretend to be devastated. It's like my heart folded itself and shriveled and died, and I can't breathe properly anymore. It's not the first time Lynx has had to leave, but with Mom's heart condition only worsening, it's only a matter of time until the worst hits. I don't want to imagine how I'd feel then. I've never been the type of person to have a lot of friends, so I'm used to being alone. Now, it seems like I'm going to get a few lessons in the art of coping with loneliness. Maybe it'll be the same as when dad died.

I swipe my tongue over my upper row of teeth. "What's going to happen if Mom. . .you know?"

Lynx places a hand on my shoulder as if to calm my nerves, but he should know better. I don't get nervous, I get anxious. And right now, my heart's racing faster than a cabbage at a groundhog convention.

"Nothing will happen, Orion. I'll be here, and you will be fine." Then, in a whisper I can barely catch, he adds, "as long as you don't relapse."

Cue my inevitable groaning. I pry his hand off my shoulder and toss it as harshly as you can toss a non-disembodied body part. "All right, fine. You still think I'm a loose cannon? An out-of-control nutcase? You know what? That's perfectly fine." I say all this through gritted teeth. He knows I'm upset, there's no need to hide it. I don't know how to hide my emotions. "I'll see you later. Tell Mom I'm not staying for dinner."

***

Holden has played basketball for as long as I can . Going in accordance with stereotypical classifications—which I do not believe in—he would be a jock. And I. . .I would still be me. I don't fit in anywhere, so maybe I'd be a wallflower. I don't know. I don't think I blend in with the crowd.

The orange basketball shoots past me, and before I can what's happening, Holden is on the opposite side of the court, and he's knocked the ball into the net. Of course, there's a reason Boston University offered him a scholarship, and I can see that he clearly deserves it.

"Dude, can you not bounce the ball so hard when I'm trying to think?" I wince and flinch back when Holden whizzes past me again.

Holden chuckles and tosses the ball at me. I catch it with both hands. "I think you need to chill. You always think. Give yourself a break, man."

I frown. "Holden, you leave for Boston in how many weeks? Five or less, and Lynx is heading back to Cali. Mom's health is quickly deteriorating, and it's only a matter of time until everyone leaves for college. What am I supposed to do while everyone else is working to become a better version of themselves? Sit around and mope? How many shooting stars do I have to wish on until I get a miracle?"

The ball is out of my hands in a flash. "Just stop, okay? We haven't even had

finals yet and you're already stressing." Holden sighs. "You applied to different Universities, Curtis included. And you'll get in, I promise."

"Kinda how you swore I'd get a girlfriend while in highschool. Look how that went."

We share a short laugh, and Holden punches me in the shoulder. "You can't blame me for that. There's only so much a wingman can do."

"High School girls aren't my type. Neither are college girls. They're all too happy."

Holden pauses as if to assess me. "Yeah, I guess." He bounces the ball once more and catches it in mid-air. "I wanted to ask you—is it okay for me to break things off with Maeve? I don't think she would be okay with long distance, and I honestly don't want to go to college with a girlfriend who's back home."

I bite the inside of my cheek. Holden keeps asking me for life advice like I'm some wise sage his mother's instructed him to look up to, when in reality I'm just a boy who's made a lot of bad decisions in the past. Decisions that have almost gotten me thrown in a mental health facility. I swear to God, I'm normal, but people—neurotypicals—get the notion that when a person attempts to take control of their destiny by putting a stop to it, they're defective. So that's what I am. Defective.

The word is acid on my tongue.

"You know what I think?" I pause momentarily to allow my words to settle between us. The court is dull and silent, the sunset's hues not doing a lot to stir up vibrance. "I think you two should talk it out. Hear what she thinks, then work something out."

Holden nods, drinking in my words like I'm a psychic and just told him what'll happen in the near future. "So, how's that paper coming along?"

***

At two minutes past four in the morning, I pull a jacket over my body, readying myself for a walk.

The sound of nails scratching against wood floats into my ears. My bedroom door is pushed open, and Draco struts into view.

"Hey, I can't take you out at this time." I lower myself to his level, ruffling his fur. "When I get back, I promise I will."

Trying but failing to make it out of the house without an interception, I groan and cross my arms, leaning back on the nearest surface. Lynx is in the kitchen, head positioned right in front of the open fridge.

"Where are you going at this time?" he asks, eyeing me suspiciously. I should be the one looking at him that way.

"What are you doing up?"

"Midnight snack," Lynx replies. "I'm doing midnight snacks. Interpret that however you want to, but keep in mind that I can't fuck a sandwich."

I grunt and pull at my hair. "Don't tell mom I went out. And, um, don't wait up for me, okay?"

"Hey, no, wait. Where are you going?"

I'm already slipping on my Vans. "Out, duh." I don't have to look back to know he's rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, no shit," he says, "where exactly are you going? When will you be back? You're taking me to the airport today; you can't do that if you go missing."

Standing up slowly so my body can stretch itself out, I say, "I'm not gonna go missing."

"No one ever thinks they're gonna go missing."

"Lynx, please don't do this." I look to my brother with pleading eyes. "I don't want you to worry about me. I'd be better off if you didn't even care. I promise I won't get in trouble."

Lynx sets a loaf of bread on the counter and exhales. "Call me if something happens."

"Nothing's gonna happen."

Chapter Two

Orion

I'm pretty convinced that I'm an uninteresting person, and I'm more than okay with it. So is everyone who knows me. Either that, or they've all found something about me that they think is promising and worthwhile, but I have my doubts.

I always have doubts.

Today is the last day I'll get to see my older brother until he's done filming whatever movies are on his agenda for the next year. In all honesty, it doesn't bother me as much as it did yesterday. I just really hate it when people leave me, but now I have to get used to it. Even if they don't leave, I will. It's pretty much the same thing since I'll be without them anyway.

"Hey, Orion? I need you to sign my petition."

Of course it's not a surprise that people know me; I just don't enjoy pointless conversations. I spin in a half circle to find Auni, one of the few people I actually talk to, holding a clipboard and a pen out for me. My eyes settle on her hair for a millisecond longer than they should. I've always liked her hair. She's creative, and I guess dying it was the easiest way for her to express herself since she claims to hate make-up. "It's for graduation and the non-existent art club."

"Good causes." I take the pen from her. "Was it your idea or Maeve's?" She hands me the clipboard and I scribble a messy signature on the clipped sheet.

"The petition actually goes against Maeve's ideas. It's an anti-Maeve agenda. That's the only reason I have so many signatures." The clipboard and pen switch hands once again and Auni flashes me one of her signature smiles—where her eyes clamp shut and form upturned crescents—before turning on her heel. "Thanks for adding your signature," she yells over her shoulder, the hand that holds the pen is in the air, throwing me a peace sign.

I have always found Auni adorable, in a good way, but she doesn't hit me like the kind of person to enjoy the company of sad people. She likes serenity and solitude; it helps her get her head in the zone, but I don't offer either of those things. At least, not in the way she would want them.

There's nothing to do at school anymore. We have finals in a bit, and our syllabi are done, finished, dusted. I don't see the point of coming to school, especially when I'm not in any functioning groups, but Mom makes sure I leave the house everyday.

I'd have ed the music club, but I really hate playing in groups. If it's not a solo performance, chances are I'll mess it up badly. I'll just keep my talents stored away until I can unleash them on the world. I have better things to do than play in front of highschoolers and their parents.

When the bell rings, I practically zip through the doors and hoards of students. I didn't drive today because I was scared, so I have to walk home, and fast. I know Lynx won't be leaving until I arrive—I'm the one who's driving him to the airport

—but I need to get home early, shower, give myself a pep talk, and ride out the high of my inevitable anxiety attack before I can even think about getting behind the wheel.

The day will most likely end with me decapitated.

I slow my pace. The sidewalk isn't very busy, probably due to it being the middle of the week, so I can walk freely without bumping into anyone. I'm already dizzy, which is always a bad sign, but there's nothing I can do to help myself.

I'm not just a burden to society, I'm a burden to Orion, too.

"Everything will be fine. Todó estará bien."

A few deep breaths and I'm able to pick up my pace and maintain it until the Alsephina house comes into view. A sigh escapes my lips and I hurry inside before anything can start up again.

The house itself doesn't calm me down, it's the memories. But sometimes, the memories are what rile me up. I don't want to face my mother now, don't want to see the worry in her eyes, so I head up into my room and throw myself on the bed.

"God, I hate my life."

Next to me, I hear a soft thud. It's Draco, my Dorkie, and he has a black notebook hanging from his mouth. I want to reprimand him for destruction of important property, but I don't, because he's trying to help me.

Instead, I ruffle his fur and take the notebook out of his toothy hold. "You're a good boy." He's scooped up into my hands. "You want a snack? Has Mom fed you yet?" I hope I don't sound stupid talking to my pet, but at least no one can see me. Draco might not speak human, but he understands, and that's good enough.

"Orion, are you home?"

I groan and bounce Draco up on my knee. "Yeah. In here."

Lynx walks in with a half smile and his blond dyed hair in a complete mess. "This goodbye is hitting way harder than the other ones I've done." He walks towards us and falls backwards onto the bed like a sack of laundry.

"Maybe it's because there's the possibility that the next time you check in—" The look on my brother's face shuts me up for the meantime.

"Thank you so much for not finishing that sentence. It's hard enough already. I don't want to be a crying mess." He sits up. "I'm not you."

"Classic Lynx." I snort and crouch down to let Draco run free. "How're we doing this? Who's initiating the tear fest today?"

"Stop saying that like we have brotherly crying rituals every few weeks." He props his head up on my thigh. His Adam's apple bobs up and down like a yoyo. It's disgusting, really.

"We pretty much do. I cry, and you try to pretend like it doesn't faze you. Kind of a shitty thing to do, but it's not like you asked for a defective brother."

Silence.

Lynx moistens his lips. "You're not defective. I don't think you are. It's not your fault, anyway." He stares hard at the door. I say nothing, because I have nothing to say. He slaps me on the back like that's supposed to help calm my nerves. "Take care of yourself. And of Mom."

I arch a brow. "You're not secretly living with a debilitating disease, are you?"

Lynx doesn't answer. In fact, he's unable to utter any words for the next five minutes. He doubles over, coughing incessantly, and I have to get him a few glasses of water. It pains me to see him like this, because I've been through this before, and honestly, I don't want to experience loss any time soon. But with Mom's health condition, it seems like later is going to come sooner than I want it to.

"Lynx, you know you're not supposed to be smoking weed. Hell, you're not supposed to smoke at all." I hand him the third glass of water. He downs it without hesitation.

Lynx's eyes are rimmed red, and it's sort of like I can feel his headache. Either way, he needs parental supervision way more than I do, because the worst that could happen with me is that I yeet myself off a bridge, but Lynx is old enough to make his own decisions, and he's choosing to murder his lungs. I wonder what they ever did to him.

He tries to make a sentence, but ends up coughing again, so he settles for a glare.

"I'm clean, you idiot," he finally says, but with this little coughing display, there's no way I'm buying his story.

I sigh. "Just go. Take care of yourself and fix your shit. I swear, if you die in Cali, I'm coming to murder you."

***

Who ever would have thought that candy and chocolate would one day not be enough to calm my nerves?

Despite eating my way through a month's supply of oddly expensive chocolate based snacks, I'm still the same shaky mess I've always been. Maybe Lynx spiked my supply with coke, because I feel like I've just had a monster x coffee cocktail.

"No, you stay with Mom, okay?"

Draco keeps trying to get out of the house, but I can't let him. I'm unstable, and if he runs off at the airport, then I probably won't ever see him again. "I love you." I press my lips to his fur then set him down on my bed. If I'm not here to hold him, then he can pretend I am. I'd like to believe that my room smells like I do.

"Are we good to go?" Lynx is standing at the doorway, leaning on the doorframe. His hair is less of a mess, though still very nest-like. I wonder how long it took him to get it this way. Lynx always has bad hair days.

"Yeah, we are." Before I follow him out, I pat my tro pocket to make sure I have at least something that'll help me stay normal for as long as I'm in public. If I break down in the car, I'm fine with that, but only after I've dropped Lynx off. I don't want to be the reason he dies early.

Soon we're crossing the patio and making our way to the garage where my dad's car rests. He handed it down to me in his will, which I think is awfully sweet, but I haven't driven it much. I'm too scared to.

I slam the door to the driver's side. Lynx follows suit. We sit in silence for a good minute.

"All right." Lynx lets out a grunt. "I'm ready to get out of this boring city."

"You mean the same boring city you grew up in?" I turn the key in the ignition and back into the driveway.

"Yup. It's way too quiet for my taste."

***

There's something about packed spaces that gets me feeling light-headed.

"Damnit, dumbass. Do you really have to take everything you own?" I ask through gritted teeth. I'm exaggerating, but Lynx might as well have packed his whole closet. He's got nearly fifteen giant suitcases, and the worst part is that I'm not even kidding.

"You, mister Alsephina, are talking to a Hollywood star. Respect the icon."

I roll my eyes. We're in the waiting area, and we've just offloaded Lynx's luggage onto the baggage carousel. At least I don't have to offload them when he lands. He can face the consequences of overpacking on his own.

"Well, the "icon" still has to learn how to pack a suitcase. I'm going to take a wild guess and say you have more than one fully stocked closet in California?"

Lynx's lips curl upwards. "You know me too well.”

Sighing, I mutter under my breath and take a seat at the far end of the waiting

area. I have to get the situation to sink in so I can take advantage of it. I don't think my brain understands what's happening yet.

I'm being watched.

Lynx has gone off to reclaim his baggage, and I'm being watched. I'm not that bothered, but it feels different because I'm too close to having a breakdown. I don't want to be watched while I'm fighting off my demons.

Still, there's nothing I can do, because there's no way I would walk up to my stalker and ask them to stop looking at me.

"Where the hell is Lynx, already?" I bury my face in my hands and try to fight off the feeling. I can feel their eyes on me, and it's not very comforting.

By the time Lynx returns, they're gone, and my chest feels constricted. It's a feeling I know all too well, which is a terrible thing in itself. I don't know how to control it, so I'm going to have to postpone it.

"Hey." Lynx shakes my shoulder and I lift my head. "I'm about to go. They just called my flight number."

This is really happening, and I don't want to believe it.

"Wake me up when you're back in West Abrigale. I'll spend the next year locked

in my own headspace if I have to." I shake him off and lower my head again.

"Orion," he says in the worst sing-song voice ever. "This is your last chance to say goodbye."

My head snaps up and I frown at him. "I don't love you. Have a safe flight. Try not to miss home too much, and call me whenever you have an important decision to make. Adiós, hermano."

The truth is, I'm dreading the official goodbye. I always dread good-byes—who doesn't? And the current circumstances have me constantly petrified. That could be a different problem, but I bet it's a contributing factor.

Also, I'm going to throw up.

"Lynx, please go. You can't miss your flight because you got cursed with the world's worst brother. I'll tell Mom you love her. You'll call me when you land. It'll be easier that way." It'll be easier for me, is what I don't say. I don't need to, because he knows. He always knows, and I'm not okay with that.

He lets out a breath so heavy his nostrils flare. "I'll be damned if you don't give me a hug before I walk out of here."

"Oh now you're not getting a goodbye." I stand up, hands raised in surrender. "That's it. No hugs. Go fuck yourself."

When I turn away from Lynx to complete my unnecessary dramatic fit, I lock eyes with them again. I don't know if I should walk up to them and compliment them, so I stand rooted in my spot, unable to look away for reasons mostly related to a possible hypnosis.

It is impossible to have a crush on a person you haven't even met yet. Celebrity crushes aside. Come to think of it, I've never even had a celebrity crush.

Lynx pulls me in for a hug, forcing me to break eye . Honestly, I'm grateful, but that doesn't mean I'll show it. I pry myself away from him, the frown still on my face.

"Dude, get a girlfriend. You're hugging me very homosexually. That's incestuous."

I should probably ask Lynx for advice before he leaves, but just because he's older and has had like, twenty-four girlfriends, doesn't mean he's more experienced in the art of talking to girls. It's a college thing: you can't go to college and not get that college experience. My brother was probably too busy getting wasted to actually attend any classes. He's lucky he's talented.

Lynx releases me and I stick my tongue out and sneer at him.

"What? It's not like you hate hugs." He nudges me slightly, then ruffles my hair. "Be safe, campeón. And take care of Mom for me."

Something tells me Lynx wants to kiss my hair like he always does, but for some reason, he doesn't, and it throws a tarp on my already shitty mood. I might not be the biggest fan of public displays of affection, but what if this is the last time I ever see him?

The final announcement rings through the waiting area. I watch Lynx walk away. He doesn't look back, which is for my own good. Soon, he disappears into the advancing crowd.

As if on cue, the palpitations start, and I'm gasping for air.

Chapter Three

Orion

There's close to no oxygen in my lungs, and it feels like my limbs have been detached from the rest of my body.

I've always wanted to die, always wondered what death would feel like, but this feeling is familiar. Too familiar.

I'm in bed. How did I get into bed?

The sound of a door creaking pulls me back into reality. I sit up and rub the sleep out of my eyes.

A girl walks in. It's her, the girl from the airport. I don't know how or why I'm here, but she definitely has something to do with it. That is, unless we've both been kidnapped.

I spent the night here?

The room I'm in looks as though it could be hers, so I cross that last thought off my mental list. Pastel pink lines the walls that aren't covered in mint green, and white fairy lights hang from the top corners. It's got more life than mine does, and I immediately decide that I like it.

"Um, hi?" I wave. She still hasn't made a sound—or a move—since I sat up, and it's getting freaky. She keeps staring with me with her large brown eyes, and I'm transfixed. I swear, it's like voodoo. "Hello?"

She blinks when I snap my fingers. Her whole body jolts like something snapped inside of her. A smile creeps onto her face, causing her eyes to twinkle.

She's cute. And, she's coming closer.

"Hi " she settles down at the foot of the bed. "Are you okay?" Her eyebrows furrow until they meet.

It's a wonder how I can find my voice so easily.

"Yeah, I am."

"Good." She sighs in relief, rolls her eyes, then runs a hand through her voluminous hair. It matches her eyes. "Now, you can get out of my house."

I press my lips together. "What?" I ask incredulously. My eyes meet hers again,

and time freezes.

There's something about her that's reeling me in, and I don't like it one bit. It's like she's hiding something, but in plain sight.

Her eyes look vaguely familiar. Vaguely, which is a huge deal, considering the fact that I'm not the type of person to stare into people's eyes unless I'm silently trying to plead with them.

"I said get out of my house."

"But you brought me here. I didn't ask you to."

"That's because you were unconscious. I did what any decent person would have done." She adjusts herself on the bed and crosses her legs Indian style. "What's up with that whole fainting thing, anyway? You a druggie?"

With not so much as a snort, I shake my head and start to get up. She places a hand on my thigh, and my breath hitches. There's only one thing on my mind, and it's that I really don't like this—from the buzzing feeling on the skin under the material of my jeans where her hand rests, to the knots in my stomach. It's too similar to the symptoms of an anxiety attack. I just recovered from one of those. I can't out again.

"Oh, you're trembling," she says. Her eyes hold a bit of worry, but the emotion behind them might as well be mockery. I've never been great at reading people at

first encounter. "Will water help?"

I shake my head. "I need to get home." Just a few moments ago, she pointedly asked me to leave. Now, she wants to entertain me like I'm a guest? Is that how quickly girls switch up?

"My aunt's downstairs. She might make you stay a while." She's back on her feet and she takes a step back. "I'd like to get to know your name," she says. "I think it's only fair since I saved your life."

"Orion."

It's until she says my name that I realize she has a slight accent. It's almost unnoticeable, so I don't mention it.

"Orion," she whispers my name like a silent prayer, letting the sound of her voice linger in the air for more seconds than necessary. "Your parents are into stars?"

"I really don't want to be here," I complain, struggling to get to my feet. At first, I can't find my balance, but after three seconds of side hopping, the dizziness stops, and I can walk straight. I glance up at her. "Will I be allowed to go home?"

She nods gingerly, lips pulled into a semi pout, and hair bouncing off her shoulders with every jerky head movement. Somehow, it all looks graceful, when in reality, her neck probably hurts from all the excess motion.

She stops nodding. "You can, but before you do, is it okay if I, I don't know, get your phone number?"

I think it's sad that I can't ask her myself. I won't necessarily text her, ever, but it'll be a pretty addition to my list.

I shake my head. "No, thank you. There's no reason to twine our lives together. We only just met, and I don't even know your name."

I don't tell her that I don't want to know her name. I don't want to know anything about her. I don't want to be here. I don't want to exist. But of course, I don't say that, and she doesn't tell me her name.

Maybe it's for the best. This way, there will be no accidentally running into each other, and we'll be fine living our separate lives.

Her aunt is in the kitchen. She has earphones on. My mother always says to be attentive and alert, which is why she doesn't allow phones in the kitchen. This girl's aunt is breaking the most basic culinary code there is.

I am in no mood for pointless conversation—I never am—so I'm thankful that she doesn't notice our presence. We easily pad through the living room and out onto the front porch.

"You still haven't given me my keys."

"Right." She excuses herself and disappears into the house. It's a bungalow. A very petite bungalow. Honestly, I think it suits her person.

She's back, and she's dangling my car keys from her index finger. "You drive a Ford?"

I snatch the keys before she can stop me. "Yeah." Insert momentary pause because I like to be dramatic. "Do you drive?"

"Nah." She shakes her head minutely. "I'm a minor. Haven't sat behind the wheel with the intention of driving yet."

I nod. I'm sincerely disinterested in waiting around, but for some reason, it feels rude to leave without any appreciation.

"Thanks for catching me, . . ."

"Autumn. Autumn Carmichael."

Chapter Four

Orion

Autumn Carmichael is a pain in my ass.

She's seated in the enger seat of my car, legs up on the dashboard despite the number of times I've warned her about the hazards. If the airbag under that thing gets triggered, her legs will go bye-bye.

"So, where are we headed?"

I haven't moved the car from their driveway yet. Right when I was about to, she hopped in. I can't leave with a juvenile; that's pretty much kidnapping.

"Well," I begin, "I'm going home so I can study for finals, and you are getting the hell out of my vehicle because I said so."

She shakes her head and turns on the radio. "Actually, I was thinking we could go out." Her slender fingers work the dial expertly, and I sit there and watch, ittedly mesmerized by her gentle movements. "You know,"—she turns to me, big bright brown doe eyes staring right into my own—"like sightseeing. I'm new here, and my aunt's too busy working secret jobs to take me anywhere.

That, and, I don't have any friends yet."

I should refuse. I want to refuse. I have to study and mope and be depressed. I don't have time to show random girls around the city. But instead, I find myself saying, "All right, fine. Just. . .keep your feet on the ground. Crutches aren't as aesthetic as they seem."

The twinkle in her eye is back. She claps, a wide smile overtaking her face, and her legs drop from their position as if on command. I almost smile.

I can't believe I just agreed to this. What if I get us lost? Or worse, what if something happens to Mom while I'm away?

My head drops to the steering wheel, and I nod several times, making sure not to hit too hard so it doesn't bruise. A sigh emanates from my lips and I turn the key in the ignition.

I run my tongue over my bottom lip. "Do you like Ruth B?"

The sound of her voice flows through the speakers and fills the air around us with life, but the best thing about it is the look on Autumn's face. She doesn't need to utter any words; I've already gotten my answer.

I really should stop looking at her.

"I love her." She sounds out of breath. "She's easily my favorite female artiste. Her singing is so effortless, and her lyrics. . .don't even get me started."

Autumn falls back and sinks into the chair, a loopy grin on her face. If she es out in my car, I'll be damned. Mom will murder me with a wooden spoon, and her aunt will probably have me arrested.

"You're not—you're not going to fall asleep, are you?"

"I don't know. I normally wouldn't, but I might, because of jet lag."

I don't know what to say or do. I don't think I've ever gone this long alone with a female.

"Is it okay if we stop by my house before your tour extravaganza?"

Autumn places a hand on her heart and shuts her eyes, muttering incoherent words under her breath. Her eyes snap open, then she turns to me. "As long as your house doesn't have a red room, I'm fine."

Of course I want to ask what she means by "red room". I also want to ask why she would think of that, but I don't, because I can't. I'll bury it in the past with every other unimportant piece of information I've ever gotten. Besides, it's too soon to ask personal questions.

We sit in silence for the rest of the drive, and I'm more than grateful for her not breathing down my neck. She has a dazed look on her face—she keeps falling asleep and opening her eyes in shock every few seconds. . .I'm scared.

But of course, I say nothing.

As the Alsephina house comes into view, I involuntarily perk up. I shouldn't be getting so excited, but a huge part of me yearns for the slightest bit of normalcy before I have to show Autumn whatever it is that she wants to see.

***

Mom is seated on the balcony upstairs, her hands cradling a cup of what I presume is chamomile tea. Mom prefers tea to coffee, and although I see no sensibility in her choice of beverage, I don't argue over it. Coffee is more detrimental to her health, anyway. It agitates, tea soothes. I like her better when she's calm and her heart isn't racing.

I like her better when I'm not scared she's going to die.

"You coming?" I ask Autumn. She's still in the front seat, knees lifted up to chin level. Her eyes are unfortunately shut, and her lips are pulled into a pouty flat line. "Guess not."

My mother would reprimand me for leaving her out here, but what else can I do? She's a total stranger, and the minute she gets in—if she can manage to be

attentive to her surroundings for even a second—she's going to scream her head off. It's what they always do.

I've never brought a girl home before, but Lynx has, even more times than I can count. You'd think I'd learn a thing or two from my "ladies man" older brother, but it seems to me like useless tips, because I don't see the hype about getting a girlfriend.

Or getting laid.

Especially when STIs and teenage pregnancies are all the rave.

Draco attacks my legs the minute I open the front door.

I remind myself that I'm not here to replay the scene that happened earlier today; that I'm not going to that Lynx had to leave. But reminding myself not to is as good as recalling the memory.

"What am I doing?" I mutter. I pull the door of the fridge open and poke my head in.

I have an unconscious girl in my car.

My mother is upstairs. Possibly in pain.

My brother is on a different continent.

I'm on my own.

Draco must be able to sense whatever it is I'm feeling, because I don't know what I'm feeling, but he nestles himself between my feet.

My lips curl up in a smile.

The fridge is freezing cold, which surprises me enough to pull me back into reality. I had no idea I'd spaced out.

There's a lone bottle of whiskey sitting alone at the top right corner, right in my line of sight. My fingers itch for it. I look away, opting to scan over the fruit salads and smoothies my Mom makes in excess. I take nothing from the fridge.

Because I can't.

I can't stomach anything. Whatever goes in will only end up in the kitchen floor, in the kitchen sink, or somewhere down the drain.

I hate that I can't eat.

Not that I want to.

I feel Mom's presence behind me before she even makes a sound.

"Mi hijo," she says, her voice weaker than it was yesterday. "How are you feeling?"

She takes my hand and guides me to the counter, gently pushing me backwards so I fall into a chair. My eyes are on Draco the whole time—he hasn't noticed I'm no longer next to him.

For a minute, I forget about Autumn and the possibility of getting arrested. For the next few minutes, I don't care about Autumn and the possibility of getting arrested. I only care about my mother, and I want her to be okay.

But she's not, and I have to live with that.

"Mom." I clear my throat. "Mom." I let out a gust of air from my nostrils. "Mom. Mom. Mom." My fingers tap against the marble counter. I don't look up, I don't need to. I know Mom has a smile plastered on her face. It makes me happy. Fills my chest with warmth.

"You think you'll live long enough to watch Lynx get married?"

All the hope I have left is barely enough to be called a thread. Yet, that grain of hope lies solely on her answer. I know what's at hand, and I'm not going to ignore reality. But if her answer is yes, then I'll have a reason to hold more hope.

The answer lies behind her green eyes. Those green eyes that are frighteningly similar to my own.

"Orion," she says. I immediately tense up. Mom never calls me by my name. Not unless it's important. "It's sad that I won't get to see my sons become men." I want to interrupt her. I don't want to hear her next words.

But I'll be damned if I have to live every day of my life knowing that I let my mother's possible last words remain lodged in her throat.

Her hands take mine, and I almost lose it.

My mother isn't old. She isn't weak. She doesn't deserve to die.

Neither did my father.

I force a smile to encourage her to continue. It works.

"Orion, I want you to be happy. You don't know how to be happy. You're the most miserable young man I've ever known," she says. She's gutting me. She smiles, baring her teeth.

I love her even more now. Her death is going to hurt even more now.

"You have a big heart, mi hijo. Put it to good use. Fall in love. Be happy." She reaches for my hair. It feels like an intimate moment.

I wonder if she had one with Lynx.

"I know you would rather spend all your days surrounded by music and the trinkets that remind you of Amaré, but it will be more beneficial—to yourself, myself, and the world—if you would allow yourself to let loose." She brushes my hair back. "You're a goddamn hurricane, moonchild. Tear through the oceans and the seas. Lift the tides and steer the waves. Flow, Orion, and cover the earth in your magic."

Did I ever mention that I love my mother? Because I do. More than I know how to express.

Chapter Five

Orion

It's eleven twenty-three in the morning, and I am not okay.

My body craves antidepressants and anxiety relievers, but the sad fact is that I can't have them. I'm allowed to, I was actually prescribed them, but I don't have any, and there's no way I would get some myself.

I can't even make conversation with my peers.

I'm seated in the booth opposite Autumn. We're at an ice cream parlor, mostly because I'm a mainstream person who never goes out in public. I think she likes it, though.

Her eyes flicker from end to end, from corner to corner, and from face to face. It's like she can't focus her attention on anything. She's buzzing with excitement and a bit of something else I can't name when her order arrives.

In an attempt to make conversation, I part my lips to allow words tumble out. I just hope I don't ruin whatever this might turn out to be.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

Oh, God, I sound confident. Too confident. It's not me, at all.

My anxiety spikes again, and my heart rate shoots up. Autumn stares at me, her tiny spoon suspended in mid-air, her pouty lips slightly parted. . .

"What makes you think that?"

She answers my question before bringing the spoon up to her lips. Her gaze is unwavering, like she actually enjoys staring at me. Her eyes are boring into mine like she's trying to read me. I want to tell her there's nothing to read.

"Well," I drawl. Maybe if I drag this on long enough, she'll get tired and want to leave. "You don't hit me like you're from here. No local would ask for a tour."

She laughs, and it's the most musical thing I've ever heard.

"I pretty much outed myself with that one." She dunks her spoon in the wad of ice cream.

"You have an accent."

I wasn't supposed to say that. I told myself I wouldn't mention it. I don't even know where the accent is from. I want to get the hell out of here.

Her brow arches. "Do I? I never noticed."

I can't tell if she's being sarcastic or not, but if she is, she'd better stop soon. I'm starting to think I have a thing for sarcastic brunettes. I don't want to have a thing for sarcastic brunettes.

"It kinda jumped out at me when you said my name," I say. I want her to say my name again. I like the way it sounds when she says it, and the way her lips move when she tries to get it out right.

"Orion?" she tests, looking at me for confirmation.

I nod. "Exactly like that." I don't want to tell her that I like hearing her say my name. It's too weird for me to delve into. I don't want to have a relationship, and it wouldn't be fun to fall, and then try to pretend like I feel nothing.

I've always been in tune with my emotions. It sucks because I feel a lot, and I feel with full force, so whatever happens hits me pretty fucking hard, and I usually don't know what to do.

Kind of like now.

Thankfully, she asks me a question. I don't know how awkward this conversation would be if it was left solely up to me. I wonder how it's possible for me to be friends with a guy like Holden when I'm so closed off and mute.

"Are you in high school?"

"Senior year." I tilt my head to get a better view of her face. "You?"

"Junior." She scoops a bit of ice cream and eats it off her spoon. "I start my senior year next semester, though."

Of course, she does.

"What school will that be?"

"Primwood." She groans, like the name sets her off somehow.

I notice my fingers have been rapping against the table the entire time we've been here. I notice that she's noticed. I notice that she doesn't comment on it.

"That's the school I go to," I say. "A real shit-hole. I love it there."

Her lips stretch out of their default pout. Then, they curve upwards. Her smile makes me smile.

"So we're not going to have accidental run-ins in the halls." She nods carefully. Her spoon nods, too. "That's a huge buzz kill. Would've been fun to watch you without having you get suspicious."

I frown. "I was curious as to why you were watching me at the airport. I'd still like an answer."

She looks uncomfortable. "Sorry about my stalkerish behaviour. I thought you were hot."

"And?" I push, waiting for her full answer. The answer I know is coming. The answer pretty much anyone would give.

"I thought you looked familiar."

There it is. Sort of.

"Familiar how?" I have to be sure before I let my thoughts run free. I can't allow myself to become attracted to someone who's probably only into me for looks and money.

Fucking hell, I'm too young for this. Aren't people supposed to put off dating

until they're at least twenty-five?

"I believe we've met before, but my memory is hazy," she says. I'm about to call her out on her bullshit, but she beats me to it. "I know you're the son of Micaela and Amaré, but I have met you before."

I like that she said my mother's name before my father's. She's scored a bit of my respect for that.

"Maybe at one of my parents' functions?"

She shakes her head. "I'm not a huge enough fan to go out of my way and attend concerts. I'm also not big on culinary arts." She's nibbling on the inside of her lip. "I know your brother, though not personally. I've only seen him on television."

She says television instead of TV. Another score.

"Did we have an encounter?" I ask. She looks at me with her beautiful big brown doe eyes. "Did we talk?"

"Yes, Orion. We met on a yacht about six years ago." Her expression darkens and her eyes turn misty. "At your father's funeral."

Chapter Six

Orion

Even though I feel a lot, I can decide when I want to be expressive with my emotions. Right now, I want nothing more than to scream.

I'm parked in front of Autumn's house, and although today's outing felt different enough to be a date, I'm glad neither of us are calling it that. I don't know her well enough to.

We didn't talk more about our first encounter. When she mentioned it, the memories hit me like a ton of bricks, flooding my brain like a goddamn tsunami.

I wanted to cry.

I didn't. Not because of a façade, or because according to the media and societal norms, the male species aren't supposed to cry. I'm pretty sure there was a good darn reason God deemed it fit to bless both man and womankind with the ability to produce tears.

I didn't cry because it didn't make sense to. I'd cried my heart out over the last six years, and I sure as hell didn't have any more tears left in me to spend on my

father. I love him, but I'm keeping my stockpile for when the inevitable happens.

Mom deserves both fresh and fermented tears.

I sound so pathetic. I am so pathetic. This is exactly what Mom was talking about when she said I was more miserable than most, but I can't blame myself.

Not a lot of people have to live through what people call trauma—experience loss—and not a lot of people have to live through it at a slightly young age.

Hell, it's not even the traumatic trauma. I'm not traumatized. Nothing bad happened to me, but no one believes that. The truth is that it took doctors longer than necessary to find what was wrong with my brain, and based on the circumstances back then, they attributed it to trauma to save themselves from the stress.

In my opinion, I do not have posttraumatic stress disorder, but the licensed, certified psychiatrists don't think that. My dad died (technically) naturally—I didn't watch him get shot. It didn't mess with my head in the way they think.

Of fucking course, my Mom still paid the damn hospital bill. I'm just glad they didn't chuck me into therapy. I wouldn't have been able to handle it.

Autumn hasn't tried to talk to me since she brought up my father's death, and I'm grateful, but at the same time, I'm not.

A part of me wants to hear her voice.

A bigger part of me wants to bury that other part.

She throws the door open but pauses before hopping down. I probably should have gone down to open it, but I really don't care enough for pretentious chivalry. That, and, I don't want her to think I'm doing nice things because I like her. I might think she's pretty, but that doesn't mean I like her.

"Can I get your phone number now?"

A few seconds . I'm looking right at her. She's looking right at me.

More than a few seconds . I gulp, feeling more self conscious and more self aware and more in the moment and more grounded in reality than I have ever felt.

"Why do you want my number so bad? Isn't it enough that we keep running into each other?"

I'm starting to doubt that she believes in kismet, because she wouldn't keep asking if she did. Things will naturally fall into place, permitted humans do not obstruct the universe's plans.

Nature has a course. All we have to do is let it run it.

"Seeing as it's been six years since I last ran into you," she begins. She pauses. Stops. Smiles so brightly that her eyes form upturned crescents again. I'm beginning to really like that smile. "I don't want to wait another six years."

"We live in the same city now." My voice is. . .different. It's low. "You'll be seeing so much of me, it'll be sure to drive you nuts."

Her eyes trail downwards, settling on her hand that's resting on the console between us. The smile I like is gone, replaced with a half one.

"Believe me, you're not fascinating enough to drive me crazy."

The only thing I'm sure of now, is that Autumn is undeniably sexy. How can a person just become sexy? It's like her sex appeal shot through the roof, and I'm staring at her with a million thoughts running through my head.

None of them are even the least bit inappropriate. How ironic.

"Are you taking a dig at me?"

I'm honestly not sure how to feel towards her. I certainly don't believe in love at first sight, and the concept of love itself is almost ruled out for me, but there's still something about her that compels me to act, and that's probably the only reason I've spoken to her today.

"No, Orion," she says my name again. "I'm just being honest."

Sighing, I open the door and touch my feet to the earth. Mom can survive a few more hours alone with Draco. Plus, she knows to call me if anything is wrong.

"Will you be honest with me, then?" I'm treading waters I can't tell are safe or not. I feel like I'm moving too fast, when in reality, the problem is me. She doesn't like me. I don't like her. She's not attracted to me. I'm not attracted to her.

I hate that I keep having to remind myself that we met just yesterday. If my brain can every single nasty detail that serves to haunt me for the rest of eternity, then it should that I do not have emotions for practical strangers.

Of course, I wouldn't not be strangers with anyone if I never got to know them first, but I don't want to get to know the girl who just stepped down from my car. And I sure as hell don't want to get close to her.

Then why the hell am I following her back into her house?

For fucks sake, Orion, it's okay to make friends.

***

This time, her aunt's in the living room. And this time, I have enough time and patience to assess the living room.

The first thing that catches my eye is the antique clock in the corner. Save for that, the scene is quite bland, like someone just moved in and hasn't had the time to decorate.

It hurts my eyes, the lack of colour, but that's because I was born and raised by my biological mother. Even her dishes had bursts of colour.

If Autumn's personality is anything like her aunt's interior decorating, then I'm far from interested. On another hand, her room is so fucking pretty. So I guess I might be interested.

"I was wondering where you two went."

Her aunt's apathy makes it hard for me to trust her, but there's something oddly comforting about her voice.

"Orion took me to get ice cream," Autumn says, balancing herself in the centre of their couch. "I sort of made him do it, but that's not important."

I don't know what to do besides stand there awkwardly. They seem like nice people, but I'm too awkward for this world. I don't know how to be comfortable.

Luckily, Autumn's aunt senses my discomfort.

"Why don't you take a seat? There's plenty of room, so you don't have to sit next to her if you don't want to," she says, wiping her palms on the material of her jeans. "I'm Lou, by the way."

I smile. "Nice to meet you. You already know my name."

"I know more than just your name." She sounds a little too smug when she says this, and I don't even want to know what she means by that. I'd change the subject, but I don't want to talk, either. "That was creepy as hell. Didn't mean it that way." She throws me a small smile and saunters into the kitchen, her fiery red hair trailing after her like a blazing hot scarf.

Autumn's holding the television remote in her hands. She turns it on. Her hands look soft, but I don't want to confirm that hypothesis. I want to leave this place and find Holden. Or Maeve. Or both of them.

"What are the chances of me running into you after today?"

"Autumn, I am not giving you my phone number. You can drop it. Nothing's gonna change my mind."

She scoffs. Her fingers thread through a web of tangled brown hair. Brown eyes roll into the back of her head.

"I don't want your number anymore. I know where you live. You'll probably be seeing me pop up in random places." A smile overtakes her face as she says that. "Not in an obsessive psychotic way," she says with a sigh, "I'll probably just want to talk."

Of course I notice the way her expression falters. The strange emotion is back in her eyes, and I can see it glaringly when she faces me. It's a good thing there's distance between us, because I don't want to be that houseguest who kisses their host out of nowhere.

"What's stopping you from talking now?" I raise a brow and inch closer like it'll help me hear her better. It's a pointless action, but I'm unbothered. My body was starting to cramp, anyway.

"I don't know you well enough."

As soon as the words leave her mouth, I find myself wishing I ed our encounter on the yacht. More importantly, I want to why my dad's funeral had been held on a yacht, because it seems to me like a very stupid thing to do, but then again, my dad was full of stupid ideas and even worse decisions.

"Do you want to get to know me better?" I know I should shut up, but I can't. My brain isn't giving commands anymore. I don't have control over my words, but at least I can still control my actions.

She breaks out in a smaller smile than her signature one. "I'd love to. The problem, though, is you."

I was waiting for that. "It's about time," I say. "I know I'm not easy to talk to, mostly because I pretend to be apathetic almost always, but I swear I'm actually interested. At least, I'm interested in whatever's bothering you."

She doesn't say that it's weird or too soon. She doesn't call me out. I think that's a good thing.

"And what makes you think I'm going to tell you just because you want to know?" she asks, her smile teasing. She's turned this around and is toying with me now. I face the television instead, keeping my eyes trained on whatever show she put on.

"I think it was the fact that you said you'd turn full stalker just so you'd get to talk to me."

She flicks her wrist at me. "You're not that great."

I don't argue because she's right. "I know. Never said I was."

Chapter Seven

Orion

I don't see Autumn for the next two weeks.

It's the third week of exams and Maeve is still an egotistical smartass. Holden, on the other hand, won't let us study. Not like I was getting anything done; I haven't been able to think straight since Lynx left for California.

"Would you please keep the noise down?" Maeve asks through gritted teeth. I can see the frustration on her face, and she's not trying to hide it. That only serves to make her scarier, but not to me.

Holden doesn't look fazed in the slightest. He's still throwing his basketball at the wall and catching it as the wall sends it back to him, intentionally ignoring his girlfriend's frustrated outburst.

I love Holden.

Maeve looks like she's about to burst at the seams. Her jaw is probably hurting from the teeth gritting she's been doing all day, and there's a fire in her eyes that only comes out when she's angry, hungry, or feeling competitive.

Right now, she could be feeling all three at once.

"I don't know what you're talking about, babe," Holden says.

The ball is in his hands now. His skin is glistening with a thin layer of sweat, and quite frankly, he needs a long shower. Or a bath. Or both.

Maeve screams out. I hide my smile behind my hand.

"You're an asshole, Holden." She slaps her chemistry textbook shut and rolls off the bed. Her hands fly up and she reties her ponytail, giving it a bit more bounce effect so it does that swish when she moves. "You can calm yourself outside. The court is waiting for you."

The Tremblay family is nuts or something, because they have everything. They're filthy rich, and Mr. Tremblay decided that spending his money on shit no one ever uses is a better idea than giving to charity, so I hate him.

Holden grunts, his expression slowly learning towards pained. He gets up and walks to Maeve, the basketball tucked safely under his arm.

I know how this will end. I've seen it too many times not to. I should leave, but I'm rooted in my spot. I'm also too dizzy to stand, so I have to stay and watch.

I blink, and before I can open my eyes, he's kissing her. I can only hope it doesn't get too heated, because I'm in Maeve's bed, and I don't want to have to get up and leave when I can't even stand.

Watching Holden and Maeve sometimes makes me want a girlfriend, but I don't have a girlfriend because I don't want a girlfriend.

"Wait," I begin. "Before you guys start whatever it is you want to, can one of you please help me up?"

My interruption throws a tarp over the atmosphere, but it had to be done. I have a very important chemistry exam in a few days, and Maeve is fully prepared and still stressing, while Holden doesn't even give a damn. I have close to nothing at stake, but I don't want to risk it.

I also don't want to watch my two best friends have sex.

Holden glares at me, and this time, I don't hide my laugh.

***

I'm able to make it to my car before my legs decide to give out.

As the school year advanced, I honestly thought things would get easier. After all, there's no more learning, and exams have always been fun for me, but now

it's stressing me out and I can't help anything. Although the stress factor could be me over analyzing the possibilities of my Mom staying alive for another year.

I should probably stop thinking about it.

A micro jolt runs through me when I see Autumn's house up ahead. My first instinct is to review my level of craziness whilst making a U-turn, but I ignore it because it's too dramatic. Instead, I slow my pace so I can try and come up with a reason for my being here.

By the time I pull up in front of their lawn, I have zero excuses.

The voices inside my head are still telling me to go back when the front door swings open, revealing Autumn in a beige sweatshirt and a pair of pale blue jeans. I don't move, but she sees me either way. A smile is thrown my way, then she lowers herself into the porch and slips on a pair of matching beige boots.

She's got great fashion sense. I'll give her that.

I don't know whether to approach her or not, so I'm standing next to my car and staring at her like a creepy idiot.

When she's done putting on her shoes, she flips her hair over her shoulder and jogs up to me. Her lip gloss-coated lips curl upwards, and there's no missing the gleam in her eyes.

She's going to tease me about something. And I'm going to let her.

"Look who couldn't stay away, after all," she says, amused. Her brows are furrowed together in a way that makes her smile look brighter than it really is.

She's not even smiling with her teeth.

"I'm only here for business related reasons."

Her brows shoot up as a look of minor shock overtakes her face. "Oh? And what business might that be?"

I should really learn to watch my mouth. It's not the first time I've dug myself into a stupid situation, and Autumn doesn't seem like the type to let things go. I have a feeling she'll keep bringing this up until she's satisfied with my answer, so I have to say something that makes sense.

"I . . ." I tilt my head up and focus my vision on the sky. "You have a lovely view here. Do you gaze up at the heavens often?"

"Orion." She pokes my side. I thought she was more of a punching person.

I ignore her. "I'd love to take some pictures. Honestly," I say. "If I'd known about this place sooner, your aunt and I probably would have been best friends."

"Orion!"

"What?" I yell with equal volume.

Her breathing is hard and shallow, the rise and fall of her chest exaggerated to the point where it's almost comical. It's only then that I realize how close we are. She's right in front of me, breathing like she just ran a marathon—I am, too, but that's not as important—and her lips look so inviting, and—

"Did you just stomp on my foot?"

"I don't know, maybe?" Her brown eyes are glaring at me. "Depends on whether or not you were staring at me like you haven't eaten all day and I'm the only slice of pizza you can find."

I bite down on my lower lip and let go. "I don't like pizza."

"And I don't like you." She huffs, marches to the enger door, and throws it open. I can feel the corners of my lips tug, so I bite down on my tongue to hide my budding smile. I might look like I'm keeping a small animal hostage in my mouth, but I don't care. Autumn can not know that I'm attracted to her.

Wait. . .I'm not attracted to her.

She flips me off before getting into the car.

"You know, it's cute how you pretend to hate me but still want me to offer you free rides," I say when I get into the driver's seat.

She's quiet for a while. I think it's weird how she didn't fire back at me. She always has words in her arsenal, and she definitely isn't afraid to use them.

I restart the car. She sighs. I put the car in drive. She sighs again, a heavier one this time. I rev the engine a bit. She sighs even heavier.

I stop. Breathe. Pinch my eyes shut. If she wanted my attention, she could've just said something.

"Autumn, what's wrong?"

She doesn't even look at me. All her attention is on the front door of her aunt's house.

"What makes you think something's wrong?" She picks at the hem of her sweatshirt, failing to find any loose threads. This frustrates her even more.

"Where were you headed?"

"That's none of your business."

"You're in my car, and you obviously want me to take you there. It sort of is."

She releases a heavy breath. "It's personal stuff."

"I doubt you're listening to me," I say. "You're going somewhere?"

"I was coming to yours, okay?" she shoots at me. Her eyes flash a vibrant golden for a millisecond, then return back to normal.

It's a beautiful sight. One I don't think I'll ever get to witness again.

"And you were coming to mine because?"

I don't know what to expect. I don't know what I want to hear. Today was merely another coincidence. Either that, or she's got witchy shit going on and she summoned me in the spiritual realm, because I hadn't planned on making a detour to visit her.

Okay, maybe I did.

"I already told you I'd stalk you all in the name of having a private conversation.

What else is there to say?" She finally looks at me. "I don't have any friends here, and your company isn't all bad."

"So you'll talk?"

Lips pursed, she nods.

I breathe a sigh of relief and lean back into my seat. I hadn't realized we were still in front of her house, unmoving. I'm glad we are, though. Else, we'd most likely be dead since I wasn't paying attention.

"My ex texted me last night, and he wants to get back together?"

I raise a brow. Was not expecting that.

"Are you—do you want to get back with him?"

"Pfft, no. Gross. Ew. Never. Didn't even want to be with him in the first place," she says. "Thinking about it, we were never official. Everyone just thought we were. Everyone including him."

"Okay. So what's the problem here? You moved, right? Block him and end that."

"You don't think I tried?" she asks. "I was practically forced to hang out with him. I have the worst parents." She sighs again, shutting her eyes. She runs a hand through her hair then ties it up in a very messy knot atop her head.

I don't know what to say. Despite the fact that people keep coming to me for advice, I don't have any words of wisdom. I think I'm all out of them.

"And guess what? My parents think he's some fucking saint that can do no wrong." Her head slides off the back headrest and onto the window. Her eyes are still shut. "What mother forces her daughter to date a guy she has no interest in? More so at the age of fifteen? And you know what's more unbelievable? It's the fact that she's Asian."

I frown at her words. What does being Asian have to do with anything? I'm Puerto Rican; and I'm pretty sure my parents could do the same if they were shitty people.

"Mom doesn't fit the stereotype. She doesn't even act like a parent. At least not with me."

It surprises me that her eyes are still shut, and her voice, still fairly neutral—not shaky as I would expect. She's not exclaiming, not even close to yelling; her expression is docile, but her persona is anything but.

I have so much to learn.

"I'm just gonna say fuck it and go with yours. Sorry about that, though. No one should be forced into a relationship."

She shakes her head in annoyance. The bun loosens and brown hair cascades down her shoulders ungracefully. "God, you're so generic."

"Oh, sorry, your highness, the Queen. What was I supposed to say?" I take a turn at a roundabout. I know where I'm headed, and I don't care if she doesn't want in, she's getting it anyway. "That you should have been forced into one? Maybe one that's highly toxic and violent? With a guy who wants to choke you until you vomit blood?"

I look at her and she's smiling at me, eyes finally open.

"That's awfully kinky, sir."

I set my jaw. "Screw you."

"Whenever you're ready."

Chapter Eight

Autumn

I can't believe I just spilled a tiny secret to a complete stranger. I would say I'm losing my shit, but I didn't have my shit together in the first place.

Orion parks his Ford at the foot of a clocktower. Bell towers are more my style —because they're less modern and more english—but this works, too.

"This is your idea of a getaway?" I ask him.

"It's my idea of a hideout." He turns the engine off and pulls the key out of the ignition. "Now, let's go. We're wasting daylight."

"Go where?" I ask and hop down. "It's a damn clocktower. Where could you possibly take me that's better than this?"

Orion snickers. "Is that a challenge, Carmichael?"

Shit. His tone of voice is teasing, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a turn on.

"Depends on how you look at it." I want to say his last name, but it seems too far out. His family's name is still an important factor, so it might seem suspicious on his part if I show any signs of interest.

Not that I'm interested in him, of course.

"I'm taking it as a challenge," he proclaims, hand raised in the air to perfect his act. He pauses, does a one-eighty degree spin, then takes a step forward. He's invading my personal space, and I don't mind it one bit. "You, me, this Saturday. I'll pick you up." He turns back and walks towards the clocktower, leaving his scent hanging in the air that surrounds me.

For the love of God. . .His scent is intoxicating. It's petrichor.

"Did you just ask me on a date?" I speed up my pace so I'm jogging. When I get to him, it slows down to normal. "I literally just told you about my ex."

"Will you shut up and relax? It's only a date if you want it to be one."

Of course, I want it to be one. I don't say that. Instead, I run ahead of him.

"You brought me to an abandoned place. What now? I don't see any places you can bury a body."

He looks at me. Like, really looks at me, then he blinks, shakes his head, and looks away. "If I wanted to kill you, I would've."

"So you don't want to? Meaning you like my company?"

"Autumn," he says. "In all seriousness, you annoy me. But you're also a cheery person who's a tad bit fun to be around. That is all. End of story."

We climb up the flights of stairs until we reach the clocktower itself. The clock is fucking huge, but I don't point that out because Orion doesn't look interested in conversation. Also, my head hurts from thinking too much about Titus.

The view is breathtaking. It's easily better than anything I've ever witnessed in my life, and while that's a bit sad, it's also a good thing.

I feel a presence loom behind me. Orion's fingers trail down my arms until they meet mine, and he holds steady, silently asking if it's okay to hold my hand.

I can't fucking breathe.

With the most miniscule of motions, I tip my head downwards, and he slips his fingers into the spaces between mine, curling them upwards to secure our hands together. He rests his chin atop my head. "It's even prettier at night," he says. I can feel the vibrations of his voice coursing through me. "Can you stay a while?"

My heart is rapidly slamming against my ribcage. I'm surprised he can't hear it beating. Maybe he can and he's just good at not showing it, but whatever the case, I'm grateful for the lack of special attention.

"Depends. Are you willing to defend yourself when my aunt asks questions?" I know that Lou won't give him a hard time. It's not that she doesn't care; it's more that she believes I'm responsible enough to fend for myself. If not, my parents won't have allowed me to move here.

Technically, they didn't, but I'd be damned if I spent another day in their house after what happened.

"I'm more of an artful dodger kind of guy. It comes with being a wallflower."

I want to snort, but I don't. I don't know how I'm able to piece words together. I'm even more surprised that they're coming out so easily. My heart is going haywire, and my lungs have long failed me, but somehow, I'm still keeping my composure.

We watch the city in silence. I feel like a protector, or a superhero, or something, even though I know I couldn't help someone to save my life. I've never been the type of person to willingly step into another person's business and try to solve their problems, so I'd be likely to make the world's worst superhero.

Orion breaks the silence. I decide it must be as heavy for him as it is for me. "Want to get something to eat? We'll come back here afterwards." He presses himself closer to me until we're leaning on the railing. One sharp move and we fall to our death. Or at least, a hospitalization.

"I'm not hungry."

"Neither am I, but sooner or later, you will be." He pulls away, leaving me with the scent of petrichor, again.

His words settle in my brain and I realize he only offered food for my sake. It's still light out—it's four-thirty-three—and the city below already looks like it's about to fall asleep.

"Is it fun here?" I ask him without turning to look. I can still sense his presence, so I know he's behind me. It doesn't feel creepy that he might be watching me.

My hands are on the iron bar. I stand on the tip of my toes and hoist myself up so I'm standing a little taller. I'm not short, and there's really no obstruction, but the possibility of me being swept up by the cool evening breeze is enough to make me feel like I'm soaring.

"Fun, how?" There's a slight hesitation in his tone.

"You know, nightlife. The kind of buzz you get from doing stuff after dark. Like. . .Adrenaline."

Orion laughs, and it's the sexiest thing I've ever heard.

"Yeah, we've got all that. I'm not really into it, though. I prefer solitude and quiet; it helps me think straight." He s me by the railing, only, instead of standing behind me with our bodies pressed together, he's taken the space next to me. It's probably for the best. "Why do you ask?"

"It looks a bit sleepy from here."

He takes a step back and lowers himself onto the bar so that his elbows are pressed onto the surface and his hands are holding up his head. There's a wistful smile on his face. I tear my eyes away from him and focus on the traffic instead.

"You're not used to it. West Abrigale is very quiet, I'll give us that, but that doesn't make it a boring place to be. It's pretty, so the whole damn city is a giant tourist attraction, which means we get a shit ton of visitors. The tourists come for the sights, but they stay for the activity," he explains. "It might not look like it, but a lot goes on in these parts." Pause. "I'll take you one of these nights. If you're interested. If I have time."

I try not to think about the fact that he's asked me on two dates already. I gulp, taking in the sights of the flickering traffic lights as the sky dims, covering the roads with a warm-looking hue.

"Does that mean a lot of people come here?" I motion to the floor of the tower, doing my hardest to ignore the tension in the air. Chances are, I'm imagining the whole thing. Orion looks like he would have a girlfriend, but I don't see how she would let him go on dates with a random girl.

There's also cheating, but he doesn't hit me like the type to do that.

"You really think my favorite place would be one that's often visited?" His tone makes me wince. "I just told you I like being alone."

Sighing, I turn so my back is facing the city. I would sink to the floor—my legs are getting tired—but it doesn't look comfortable enough to sit on. "Sorry." My stomach releases a low rumble. I pat it. "Question; do you have any hobbies?"

Orion reaches into his pocket for his phone. "What kind of pizza do you want?" he asks without looking at me. His hands are trembling as he tries to work the device.

Ignoring the subject change, I say, "I thought you said you don't like pizza."

"Of course, I don't," he says. "Well, not exactly. But this one's for you. I'm not hungry."

I don't want to push further, so I don't. I cross my arms over my chest and finally dare to sit on the iron bar floors. It's not the most comfortable, but it's my only option.

"Barbecue. If they have that," I tell him. He nods, then presses his phone to his ear. His hands are still shaking, but it's not as noticeable as it was before. I make a mental note to ask him about it.

A few minutes and he slides down next to me. "I ordered a large one

because I don't know how much you eat. It'll be here soon, so we should probably go down and get it."

Cue the deafening silence.

"Why did your parents name you after a constellation?"

"Why did your parents name you after a season?"

I sneer at him. Immature, yes, but I'm pretty much still a kid. "I asked you first, but to preserve sensibility. . .I was born on the first day of fall about sixteen years ago." My head falls into his shoulder. He doesn't flinch or push it off. "Your turn."

He shifts on the uncomfortable bars, making sure my head doesn't roll off his shoulder. "They like stars. Dad, most especially. He wrote Mom a song filled with celestial metaphors. Turns out Mom was fascinated by them, too. That's why my brother and I are named after constellations." Pause. "So is Draco, my pet Dorkie."

I say nothing. A million questions are running through my head, but I don't know how to place them.

I think the pizza has arrived, because Orion shifts my head off of him and lies me on the floor, using his hoodie as a makeshift pillow. I'm awake, but he doesn't know that. Maybe he does, I really can't tell.

My phone cries out from underneath me as I wait. I ignore it, but the shrill sound pierces through the night air yet again. I answer it out of annoyance.

"What?"

"Autumn, darling!" It's Lou. "Look, it's getting late, and I have no idea where you are. I'm not gonna be home tonight, but the spare key is on the front yard somewhere. I didn't have time to bury it, so I just tossed it on the ground."

"Why would you leave our key out in the open?" I sit up slowly, confusion evident on my face.

"Because I was late!" She sounds like she's in a hurry, so I'm going to drag out this phone call for as long as I can. "Just. . .stay safe and make sure you eat dinner. Okay?"

I want to see how far I can push her, possibly drive her to the point where she screams at me, but I hear footsteps approaching, so I say, "Sure. Orion's buying me pizza." And move to hang up.

Lou's words stop me from doing so. "Where are you guys?"

"At the clocktower," I answer just as Orion comes back into view. "And before you ask if it's safe to be here, I want you to know that I can't answer that. Orion's been here lots of times, though, so I'd say it is. Have a wonderful night, Lou. I

love you."

"Love you too, pansy." She makes a kissing sound. I don't mention that I hate her nickname for me. It's actually a great one. "Have fun."

Orion shakes the box of pizza. He did get a large one. I hang up and set my phone on his hoodie so it doesn't fall through any of the spaces between the bars. He smiles when I pat my lap, and hands the box to me.

"Is there any way I could get you to eat a slice?"

"I could eat one, but I wouldn't enjoy it. I like homemade foods better." He occupies the space next to me again. "I'll have one when I'm hungry."

His foot taps on the bars in a rhythmic manner, and through my peripheral vision, I see that his hands are trembling again. It's worse this time, and it clearly bothers him. His eyes are trained on his shaking arm extensions; he's biting down on his lip like it'll help matters.

It doesn't. If anything, it intensifies it.

"Think you'll be fine on your own? I have to run to the store."

"I'll come with you," I mumble, nearly choking on my mushed up pizza. I swallow, then crane my neck up at him. "I can't stay here." The box of pizza

slides off my thighs. I quickly grab it before it goes through the bars.

My words elicit a groan from his lips. I bite down on mine to prevent any facial reactions from surfacing.

"Please don't ask questions," he says, eyes clamped shut. His head has fallen backwards so that his chin is tilted upwards. "But I need to know if you happen to have any antidepressants or anxiety relievers. Or, you know, any over-thecounter medication. At all. I'm desperate."

"I have gum. I heard it helps with anxiety, but I don't know if it's any good in the middle of an attack."

His head spins to me. "I am not having an attack." He rubs his palms on the material of his jeans. "I'll be fine in a bit. I can't leave you here, and I can't drive with a enger," he says. "I don't want to be responsible for your death."

This pizza box is starting to inconvenience me. I set it aside, then crawl in front of my fidgety companion. "I could drive us."

Orion laughs in my face. "Sorry. Sorry." Successfully, he stifles it. Good thing, too, or I'd have had a good reason to give him a black eye. "You're a minor, Autumn. Getting arrested is way worse than dying." He says this with a poker face, and I can't help but grimace. How does he look so damn serious when he was laughing just a second ago?

Snorting, I lean back onto my feet and get up. "Believe me, it's not."

He stretches out a hand and I take it, using it to pull him to his feet. He stumbles a bit before gaining full balance. "Believe me, it is," he finalizes, blowing a breath on my face. It smells like orange Gatorade. "Dying isn't so horrible if you think about it. It's retribution, remission. It's also inevitable, unlike getting arrested. I'd like to prolong your death date. We're staying here."

"Lou wants me home," I blurt.

"No, she doesn't." The corners of his lips quirk up. "We could spend the night here."

"Hell yes."

The sun is setting, and Orion is still fidgety, so I reach into my stockings for a small pack of tic-tacs and hand it to him. "For your problem."

Eyebrows raised, he takes it from me and pours out a few onto his palm. "I heard sour candy works. It's supposed to distract the brain, but I haven't tried that out yet." He glances at his open palm, then at me. "These are the orange flavoured kind?"

"No, I like to mix them together. Shake things up a little bit so I don't know what to expect."

He leans closer so he's all up in my personal space. His hands are occupied, but I can see he'd rather have it otherwise. There's still a chance of him falling over, and if he keeps looking at me like that, I just might fall over, too.

Actually, he'll most likely fall on top of me and fracture my skull.

"On a scale of one to ten," he begins, retreating to his original position—away from me. "The urge to kiss you is definitely a ten." He throws the tic-tacs into his mouth and pockets the rest of it. "C'mon. Let's go raid a store for cheap candy. You can drive if you want."

Chapter Nine

Autumn

Orion is acting...weird. Like someone flipped a switch somewhere inside his brain. And well, I like the spontaneity. For the meantime, I'll ignore the part where he said he wanted to kiss me.

"Before I start this vehicle, I think we should both say our prayers. Just in case." I'm seated behind the wheel, hands on. I'm not nervous. I'm never nervous.

Orion chuckles. He sets the tic-tac on the console between us. "Will it help?"

"Maybe." My hands take hold of the steering wheel. Through the rearview mirror, I see Orion's grey hoodie and the box of pizza nestled in it. I'm still hungry, but I'd rather get a driving lesson before dark than eat my weight in barbecue pizza.

With a ginger smile, Orion pours four tic-tacs onto his palm. He sets the packet on the seat and moves to pick one off his palm. "Open your mouth."

My eyebrows furrow in a frown. "No."

A huff, then, he shoves the tic-tac in my mouth. "Start the car, Autumn." He's facing forward, thankfully, so he can't see the slight reddening of my cheeks. I know it's there; I feel them heating up by the second.

I turn the key and the car roars to life. Honestly, the buzzing feeling is electric, and it's doing a great job of drowning out my insecurities. "Good enough?"

"No. You only proved you know how to turn a key," he says. Another tic-tac is occupying the space between his thumb and index finger. "Open up so we can get this over with. I don't know what will happen to me in the next five minutes."

"I'm not going to drive us into anything," I say defensively.

He touches the tic-tac to my lips, grazing them with the tip of his finger. "I'm not worried about you crashing, Autumn."

I chew on my bottom lip. Him saying my name is so. . .nice. It's like he wants me to know he's talking to me, even though it's just us—holy shit. It's just us.

"Then what's the problem?" I manage to get out. My hands are no longer steady on the wheel. I think my heart skipped a few beats. I'd take the tictac, but I don't want my lips touching his fingers. I'd end up licking them and coming off as strangely unalluring.

"Autumn, if we don't get me some medication soon, you're gonna have to be an

instant Mom. Being a Mom is hard enough, but it's even worse when your kid is an irresponsible eighteen year old." He pushes the tic-tac into my mouth before I can react. "Let's go. I believe in you."

"You don't."

"I do."

"You don't have to lie, you know." I throw my hair over my shoulder, then put the car in drive.

"Wait," Orion calls out, hand poised. "Seatbelts. Airbags. Mirrors."

Frowning, I gesture to my seatbelt. "Already done." Then to the mirrors. "You left them in a good position. I don't know what you mean by airbags."

He shrugs. "I guess we won't be needing them." He holds up another tict-tac. "Just pay attention to the road, and open your mouth every fifteen seconds until we run out of tic-tacs."

"And when we run out?"

"We'll probably have gotten to the store. If we haven't," he pauses, swiping his tongue over his lips, then placing the remaining tic-tac on it. "Then I could help."

"What do you—"

"Don't finish that sentence. Don't mind me." He jerks his head up at the windshield. "Keep your eyes in front of you."

Is it just me or did he switch up again? I keep my questions unvoiced, instead focusing on the road ahead. Orion parked in a weird spot, so I have to reverse. I don't know how to reverse. The wheel's turns confuse me.

"Sorry. I can't do this." I throw my hands up in the air. "Let's just wait it out."

"Why? What's wrong?" He's reaching for the tic-tacs. I place my hand on his to stop him. "Autumn," he starts.

"Orion," I counter. I have him in a fixed stare. The rise and fall of my chest is slowly becoming exaggerated once again; I don't know how much more of this I can take. "I'm sorry. I'm going home." I dash out the door before he can what's happening. I know I shouldn't leave him here, but I can't spend another second in that car without doing something I'll regret.

When I don't see him coming after me, I slow down.

Maybe something is wrong.

Something is definitely wrong. My heart rate speeds up as I turn back to the car. The enger door is slightly open, and Orion's leg is hanging out. His hand is on the handle, but he's just...sitting there with his eyes closed.

Holy shit. "Orion!" I yell, stomping my boot clad feet on the ground. He doesn't budge. I open the door wider and he almost falls out. "Orion, wake up." I press my palm to his forehead: it's not warm. Then I check for a pulse, a heartbeat. . .anything.

"Goddamnit, Orion, wake up!" I'm screaming out in frustration, thankful that no one is around to witness my hysterical behaviour. Though, it would help if someone were here to help.

As realization dawns on me, I become frantic. "I just…have to...figure out—" I place his legs together and shove them inside the car, uncaring whether or not he's comfortable. He's unconscious, so he probably doesn't feel a thing.

For a brief second, I consider tying his limbs together—respectively—but that thought is crushed when I I don't have any rope. "Fucking hell. You're such a huge dumbass," I scream, then slam the door shut. "Who the hell doesn't to carry drugs in their car?" I'm talking to no one at this point, but I'm too frustrated to care.

Maybe I could use it to my advantage.

I start the car again. I glance down at the gear. My heart begins a slow thud. Boom, boom. Beat. Boom, boom. Beat. I can't help but feel like it's irregular. It probably isn't, I wouldn't know. I'm not bored enough to pay constant attention to

what my heartbeat sounds like.

I inhale a breath to calm down my nerves and fill my lungs with much needed air, and then, I get the hell away from the clocktower.

***

"I don't know what happened, Mrs. A. One minute, he was telling me to check my seatbelts, and the next. . .this." I run a hand through my hair. Orion's mother takes my hands and guides me to the living room to sit down.

Mrs. Alsephina looks everything like she does on television. Maybe even a tad bit better. I can see where Orion gets his eyes. But of course, now is not the time for me to compare features.

"Hija, Orion is a grown up. He can take care of himself. What bothers me now is why you two were alone in the middle of the city at this time of the night." Slowly, she releases my hands, gliding her fingers over them. I take in how soft they are, making a mental note to check if Orion's are soft as well. "Where is he, by the way?"

"Outside in the car. I couldn't carry him this time."

"This time?" She's up on her feet and striding towards the door. I follow behind her. "How did you two meet? He's never mentioned you."

I can't help but feel like that should have stung, but I'm sure Orion has better things to talk to his mother about. Honestly, I don't think he spends a lot of time with her. I don't know anything for sure. We're not close enough to share personal information and naked truths yet.

"At the airport. I think he dropped off his brother, then he ed out," I answer. Come to think of it, this has happened on both occasions we've been together. I don't know if it's my fault, but I'm hoping it isn't. The last thing I want is for his Mom to forbid me from seeing him.

The woman sighs. "If he were miraculously awake, I would beat him with a spatula. He doesn't care about his health in the slightest." She opens the door gently, like she's afraid it'll fall off if she uses normal effort. "It shouldn't take a lot to wake him, but get me a cup of water, just in case."

Everything about the house is so normal. From the photo lined walls, to the lightbulbs. For some reason, it seems ethereal; too good to be true. My eyes linger on a framed picture of the Alsephina family. Clearly, it was taken years ago—Orion looks about six or seven. His two front teeth are nowhere to be seen.

I tear my eyes away from it and scurry into the kitchen. I'll have time for this later, when Orion's conscious again, and his Mom and I are best friends.

"Fuck," I whisper through my teeth. I step on something fuzzy and nearly trip, but manage to hold on to the counter, preventing a nasty fall. It's a dog. I stepped on its tail. It's staring at me with large brown eyes.

I ignore it and fill a cup with water, maneuvering my way around the kitchen so I

don't accidentally step on the dog again. I manage to escape the house without completely spilling all the cup's contents, and I smile, relieved.

"Is he . . ." Orion is conscious, but he's doubled over and clutching his head and his abdomen. I quickly hand his mother the cup of water. She strokes his back, holding the cup up to his lips. "Is he going to be okay?"

If I had a lot of questions before, it's nothing compared to now. I have the worst luck. Sure, I happen to know a sort of famous person, but he's got problems I can't by. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I can't yet tell if this is the worst of the worst. I hope it is.

"Can you have Holden get you a refill?" she asks him. "I don't want you going anywhere for the next two days."

I feel like I'm intruding on a private moment. They look so intimate.

Even with the after effects of his attack, coupled with the ache he's most likely experiencing, he's still able to find it in him to glare. His eyebrows meet, his forehead creased, his nose turns up. "I have to go to school. Finals, ?"

His mother rolls her eyes. Orion grins, but only slightly. "You're not fooling me, hijo. I have your schedule framed in your father's room," she says, patting his head. "You're staying here, with me. The sooner you get your medicine, the sooner you're allowed out of the house."

"Mom, I'm eighteen—"

"Yes, and you're very manly looking, but I won't let you go anywhere. It's not safe." She sounds like she's pleading. She is, but with her eyes. They share a silent conversation, then Orion sighs.

"I'll get the meds, but we're compromising. I'm staying a day. I owe Autumn a few dates."

Did he really have to shine the spotlight on me? My eyes are clamped shut. I wince, slowly opening them. I don't have a problem with attention, but having them watch me with their identical smiles and identical eyes is too jarring, even for me.

"I'd love to be that Mom, but I have things to take care of."

Something switches in Orion, again. I can see it in the way his eyes flicker. They're darker now. "Don't tell me it's work." His voice is emotionless as he steps on the freshly cut grass. He straightens up, stretching his neck that had been craned for so long that it's bound to be hurting. "You're not supposed to work."

She dismisses him with a flick of the wrist. "It's not in your place to worry about me. I've told you; stop being miserable. Being an overprotective son is a sign of miserableness."

A snicker threatens to through my lips, but I cover it up.

"Plus, it's almost nine. I'm not going anywhere," she adds, quite unnecessarily. "Goodnight, hijo." A kiss on the forehead, and I'm tempted to look away, again. "You too, hija." She waves at me, unsure whether a forehead kiss would be appropriate. I want to tell her "yes, you may do whatever you damn well please", but I keep my mouth shut, and settle for a single nod.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Orion's Mom."

Chapter Ten

Orion

One of my flaws is not being able to show appreciation.

The clock struck midnight moments ago, but I'm still awake. It's not weird, it's just my norm. I've been a night owl for as long as I can . I've also been a morning person. I work overtime, never sleeping, never catching a break—it's starting to get to me, and boy do I hate it.

Autumn has taken it upon herself to tour around my house, so I left her to her adventures. Draco is snuggled up next to me, snoring softly. I run my fingers through his fur, wondering when last he had a trim, when Autumn saunters into my bedroom. She finds the light switch and flips it on, illuminating the room.

"Orion, I have something important to say." She nears the bed, glances once at Draco, then turns her attention back to me. "You were a very good looking kid." She's seated on the bed now, opposite me, legs crossed. "That's not what I wanted to tell you, though." She rubs her forehead, then her eyes. I don't point out her obvious exhaustion.

"Do you want to follow in your father's footsteps?" She's looking at me with interest. I immediately decide that it's uncomfortable, and I shuffle in my position, contemplating repositioning Draco just to give myself a distraction.

"Sorry if that's a weird question," she rightfully adds.

"It's fine." I almost don't recognize my voice. I hadn't uttered a word since Mom went to bed. "And no, not necessarily. I just want to write lyrics and sing them. Preferably solo, since I'm too antisocial to be part of a band."

She nods, tapping her fingers against her Jean clad thigh. "Do you miss him?"

I don't answer immediately, and I can see the regret in her eyes. She would take back the question if she could, mostly because it's stupid and unnecessary, but it's already out there, and she's waiting for my response.

"More than I should." I crack a small smile. Just like that, the floodgates are open. My head is instantly bombarded with thoughts, feelings, memories I don't want to recall. Instead of lashing out at her like a crazed lunatic, I bury my face in my hands and sigh. When I come back up for air, she's looking right at me. Our eyes lock for more than a few seconds. I'm first to look away.

"Have you ever been in love?"

My mouth twitches. "Does family count?"

Slowly, she shakes her head. Her hair bounces off her neck like a graceful, voluminous yo-yo, only to cascade down her shoulders and back like a flowing river. "You can't fall in love with your family, Orion. That's messed up."

I wasn't expecting that. "I thought you were going to say they don't count because we're obligated to love the people we've lived with our whole lives," I say. "I was looking forward to proving you wrong."

Something about her changes, and this time, it's not just her eyes. "I think I have enough of an argument to prove that theory wrong." Her smile falters. She can't force it back on fast enough. "Family is a tie that brings people together, but only because they're connected by blood. Not a lot of people are happy, and not many families are perfect. Some aren't even close to functional." She sighs heavily, like she's deflating. I half expect her to be a flattened human balloon when I look at her.

"Is this about you? Is something wrong at home?"

Come to think of it, she's here with her aunt, supposedly she traveled on her own, and not once has she mentioned any parents or siblings with a happy tone. When she told me about her ex, I assumed she left to get away from him, but considering what she said about her mother, I can't help but think there's more to it than an obsessive boyfriend.

"No," she blurts, eyes wide. Her hands pull on the hem of her sleeves, covering up what little view of her arms I previously had. "I don't even know where home is anymore."

God. I don't think I want to have this conversation. But seeing as I have nothing better to do besides study for my highly important exams and work on my equally important paper, I give in. There's no time like the present.

"Autumn," I call. My voice is steady, calm. Nothing like the war that's waging in my head; nothing to express the thrashing of my heart around my chest. I know what I'm about to ask, and I consider it highly forward, but she's here, in my house—my room, to be exact—and she looks amazing under the lighting. "Come here?"

My question perfectly showcases my uncertainty. This might be a mistake. A terrible idea. She just got out of a relationship. It is a terrible idea, but I'm not going to put a fork in it.

Without question or much hesitation, she leans forward. I slap my notebook shut and set it on the other side of the bed, next to Draco, then pat the space between my legs. I can feel my heartbeat in my ears, a churning in my stomach, a faint echo in my mind telling me; "this is a bad idea."

I grab her waist as gently as I can and lower her onto the space I made for her. I hope my chest is comfortable, because she's going to have to use it as a backrest for the meantime. As she settles into position, I can't help but feel like I'm on cloud nine. I've hardly ever been one to talk to people, more less people I'm attracted to, but here I am.

I guess Mom was right.

"What are you doing?" she whispers.

I frown. I can't answer that; I have no idea what this is or how we got here. "Shh." I press a finger to her lips, ignoring how that single touch makes my heart explode. "Just listen to the beating of our hearts. It's supposed to calm you

down," I say in what I hope is a reassuring tone. "I want to know what your deal is, Autumn, and I think you'll feel lighter if you share."

"It's too soon for vulnerability." She tries to get up, but my grip on her tightens, and I pull her back down, wrapping my arms around her like a boa constrictor.

"Tell me a secret. One of yours. I want it to be deep, dark." I press my lips to the skin of her right earlobe. "I want to get to know you."

She draws in a long breath. "If you keep doing that," she starts with a shaky voice. "I'm not going to be able to form coherent words."

Are those words supposed to be funny? Because I chuckle without meaning to. I kiss her delicately on her earlobe, then kiss the area below it.

I really should stop hanging out with Maeve and Holden so much. They're making me want to try out all their couple-y things.

"All right." I stop with the kisses. Autumn is not my girlfriend, she's a stranger. I shouldn't have a stranger in my bed, and I most definitely shouldn't be kissing them. So what if we met years ago? I don't her. Our lives are hardly connected.

A part of me wants to change that, but my reasonability is screaming in opposition.

"Did you run away from home?"

"Yes, and no." A sigh. "I already told you about the whole ex boyfriend ordeal, and about my parents' involvement. Lou thought it a good idea for me to come over when I reached out to her, but I had to cook up a story and guilt trip my parents into playing along. They let me leave so easily, it's like they wanted me out of the house. I didn't pay much attention to it then, but I've had more than enough time to reflect on my thoughts since I moved, and well, let's just say I don't think I'll be going back for another hundred years."

I don't laugh. "Do you have any siblings?"

"Yes!" Her excitement surprises me. "I have four. I'm the middle child. That's probably why my parents hate me so much." She bites down on her bottom lip. "I bet I was a mistake."

I bet you weren't.

"You love your siblings?"

"More than I should." She leans into me, making me wish it would be appropriate to turn this around and plant my lips on hers.

"Would you go back to see them?"

The silence lasts longer than should be comfortable, but it never for once seems off-putting.

"Maybe sometime in the future. For now, I want to revel in this reality." She runs her hands over the length of my arms. My breath hitches in my throat; I feel like I'm going to die by burning. My skin is on fire, and Autumn is an arsonist. "I'm happier than I've been in a while."

"I want to pry, but I think I've asked enough questions."

"You're right about that." She yawns, prying my arms off her so she can move. This time, I let her. She's exhausted, she drove a ed out teenager without a license, and—

"Did you get to finish your pizza?"

She freezes for a second halfway through getting up, then she relaxes and slowly readjusts herself on the bed. She's facing me now. I think I like it better that way.

"No."

I nod. "I'll go get it. You stay here and make friends with Draco."

"Draco?" She leans closer to get a better look of the sleeping Dorkie. "I'm sorry I stepped on your tail earlier."

As I make my way back into the house, it crosses my mind that I never did say "thank you" to Autumn for driving me home. Sure, I made her talk about herself while offering what I hope was comfort, but I don't know if that's the same as spewing the actual words.

"Here's your order of a large barbecue pizza. My girlfriend got hungry and ate a slice on our way. I hope nine slices is enough to satisfy your hunger." I toss my keys on the bedside table as she takes the box of pizza from my hands with a wide grin. Draco is thankfully, still asleep, so I settle in next to her and rummage through the bedside drawers for my cell phone.

"Does your girlfriend appreciate being left alone in the cold?" She opens the box with a small frown. "Can we reheat this? I'm not the biggest fan of pizza that's so cold it might as well be cardboard."

"I'll let you in on a little secret," I whisper, bringing my mouth down to her ear. "I don't have a girlfriend."

The forces of attraction are definitely in play tonight, because Autumn just became a million times more fun to look at. I'm not a tease—I actually don't have it in me to flirt—but something about her brings out the parts of me I never knew existed. I've already had a lot of changes recently; I don't want something as huge as a personality change.

"Isn't that so hard to believe." She shoves me playfully, laughing through whatever this is. I like this better without a title, I think. Labels confuse people and fuck things up. I'll do what she said, take her indirect advice. I'll revel in this reality while I'm living it. After all, it's only a matter of time until mother's

illness gets worse and my façade shatters.

Chapter Eleven

Orion

A feeling of dread floods my stomach, spreading through my body from the center. I hate being in the kitchen when I haven't had any medicine. I hate being in the kitchen when Mom isn't down here with me. I'm scared to be in the kitchen alone with Autumn. She's already seen me at a low—it's too soon for her to witness anything else. She hasn't even had any reaction time.

At the sight of the knife she's holding, my stomach lurches forward and I'm afraid everything I've eaten will end up somewhere in this kitchen. My worry lessens when I I haven't had anything to eat, only stemming back when I realize that this could cause more anxiety attacks.

I have to feed my stomach. I'm not even hungry.

"Why do you need a knife?" I question, looking on as she fingers it. My whole body is on high alert; there's nothing I can do to distract my brain.

"Usually when I reheat pizza, the cheese melts even more, and I don't know about you, but I can't lift a whole pizza at once." She faces me, her eyes holding a hint of worry. "Is something wrong?"

I feel like I'm being choked. I can't get air into my lungs. "No. I'm just not the biggest fan of knives, that's all," I manage to say, excusing myself from her presence. That's two things that put me on edge all wrapped up into one goodlooking present. Autumn holding a knife is the last image I want to see.

"Fuck."

I hear the clatter of metal hitting ceramic, but I don't look back. Her eyes most likely hold regret, and I'm not in the mood to see that.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know."

Sighing, I lean on the wall and face. . .nothing. I'm looking at everything and nothing all at once. If Autumn feels like she's walking on thin ice every time she's around me, then we can't be friends. I'd hate for her to start taking extra precautions for my sake. The point of being friends is for people to be their realest selves.

When I don't reply, she stalks up to me, placing a hand on my available shoulder. "Orion."

"Autumn."

"What's your deal? Tell me a secret."

I groan and shift into a better position, sliding down to the floor instead of leaning on the wall. This way, my legs and shoulders will be spared the unnecessary strain. She takes the spot next to me.

"I'm surprised you haven't figured it out yet."

She smiles, nudges me with her shoulder and an exaggerated head motion. "Humour me," she says with a laugh. "Is it gonna be long? Should I get the pizza?"

"Food is messy."

"All right." She nods. "Talk to me."

"You already know about my father's death, and you're smart enough to know what happens to a kid when they lose a parent." She leans into me, makes herself comfortable like I'm a safe haven. I'd kill to be a safe haven. I only bring odd vibes and untimely deaths. It's why my parents are cursed; because they were unlucky enough to bring me into existence.

I shove that thought out of my head before it can sit and fester and spread around my being like a viral infection. No way in hell am I letting myself get lost in thought tonight.

"Can we talk about something else? I promise I'll give you a dark secret, but I'm having a hard time processing. . .I can't figure out which thoughts are genuinely

mine."

She slips her hand in mine to offer me some level of comfort, but her touch is doing anything but comforting me. My lungs feels like I've been underwater for too long, I still can't catch my breath—fuck, it's burning. My lungs are burning. She's hurting me with otherworldly magic.

When Lynx asked my parents about love and its works, I listened in like the nosey kid I was. Now I hardly any part of that conversation, but I can still hear my dad saying; love kills. Stay the hell away from it.

I'd laugh at the memory but I don't have it in me. I'm so out of it that I don't realize I'm crying until a tear hits my finger. If Autumn didn't think less of me before, she's going to start now. I'm pretty sure guys don't cry; at least, according to the media. But the media is shitty, the media lies, and everyone knows that. There's a small chance she might not judge me.

Shit. I clutch at my head. It's one of those nights. The nights I'd much rather be knocked out cold. Or better still, dead.

"Look." Autumn takes my hand in hers, a look of pure, unmasked nervousness on her fatigued face. I wince, but it goes unnoticed. She really should get some rest. Or some food. Both.

Using my hand, she traces the material of her sleeve down to her wrist. I feel her tense, her breathing halts for what seems like forever. I have no idea what she's doing, but I have a feeling she's trying to ease my mind.

Fuck. I can't even tell if it's working. All I can feel is my heartbeat.

As soon as she touches my fingers to her skin, her eyes clamp shut. I can't stop touching, can't stop feeling my way up. I can't imagine how she must feel right now—with her obvious reaction to my touch, coupled with something this sensitive.

"Autumn," I whisper, frantic. Now I can hear her heart pounding like it's trying to break free from its bony constraints. "Autumn." I slide my hands up her sleeves as far as they would go. I don't know for sure if she's okay with me touching her scars, feeling her bruises—she hasn't opened her eyes yet.

I doubt she's even taken a breath.

"Autumn." My skin is prickling with static electricity. Add that to the sparks of fire that have been nipping at me from underneath all the dermis and epidermis layers, and you'll get a full-blown inferno. I can't stop feeling. I don't want to. The effect I'm having on her is too palatable to give up. The effect she's having on me is too foreign to up.

This whole thing is unbelievable. Intimate. Maybe even more than sex.

"Autumn." I say her name for the fourth time, pressing our bodies closer together. I don't know how this happened, but she's straddling me. My head is buried in the crook of her neck. I can feel her erratic pulse, hear her shallow breathing, feel the tingles that keep shooting up my arms.

She's crying. Autumn Carmichael is crying. I have a million questions—maybe even more—but I keep them to myself. This is clearly not the time.

"Autumn," I say for what I hope will be the final time this hour, and cup her cheeks, tilting her head so she's looking down. The crooked smile on my face is probably inappropriate, a complete mismatch compared to the scared look she's wearing.

She just shared something sacred. Something I'm guessing she never told anyone. If Lou knew, she wouldn't let her be so free, and her parents are too shitty to be bothered. Does that mean she trusts me?

Screw my hourly limit. I say her name again, only this time, it's more breathless. Her tears are still falling like a violently calm waterfall when my lips meet hers.

Is it possible to kiss with solidarity? Because I'm sure as hell we're kissing with solidarity. And emotion. So much emotion. And tears. So many tears. She's clinging to me like she's scared to let go, and I'm holding onto her so she doesn't slip away. This is easily the most phenomenal kiss I've ever had, and it's not even the least bit sensual. I don't try to invade her mouth, and she keeps her tongue to herself. It's just lips on lips, moving together in perfect sync, creating a symphony with a frequency too low for anyone but us to hear.

She tastes like tic-tacs and cinnamon, and I can't help but wonder when she had anything cinnamon flavoured, or better still, how the taste of the tic-tacs lingered this long. Maybe she finished off the rest of it.

Her mouth is like a Lego, fitting perfectly with mine, so it pains me to pull away; to destroy what could have been a beautiful creation, no matter how little. Two Legos can only do so much, after all.

"Autumn?" This has to be the final time I say her name before it turns two. It's too soon for me to wear it out. She barely smiles at me before fisting my shirt and hiding her face in it, still a sobbing mess. I trail my hands down the curve of her waist down until I reach her tros, then, I stop. "Say something. Please."

"Way to claim my heart and brand it with your initials, Mr. Alsephina. Now I won't be able to think about anything else." Her lips twitch, unable to form a smile. I wouldn't expect her to, she still has tears in her eyes. At least, she's back to being Autumn.

I think seventh time's the charm.

Chapter Twelve

Autumn

Orion has a great mouth. One so great that I find it hard to believe he doesn't kiss girls as a hobby. "Thank you for sharing that with me," he says with the same mouth that just kissed me.

His words pull me out of my giddy little bubble.

I just showed him the part of me I hate most. I gave him free access to my weakness, and what did he do? He played on my vulnerability.

I suck in a breath, swaying my body from side to side. I'm still straddling him; I can't get up because he's holding me down. I don't hate this position, I just don't know how we got here.

"You still have to share a secret."

"Can we settle for a half truth instead?"

"As long as it's something no one else knows, why not?"

He inhales deeply. "You gave me a half-truth," he says, releasing the breath he just took. "That's not the whole story; it's just a fact." A pause. "I was diagnosed with depression not long after my father died. Mom and Lynx were at a loss. We'd all suffered, but I thought my immediate psychological reaction had more to do with how close we were. With how much I looked up to my dad.

"Turns out, I was right." He shifts, causing me to bounce on his thigh. I wonder if my weight is crushing his legs. "Doctors had me doped up on all sorts of medication. Really fucked with my head. None of it helped, as far as I'm concerned. If anything, they made things worse." His bottom lip disappears into his mouth and he sucks on it before letting it go.

He. Just. Kissed. Me. With. That. Mouth.

"I tried to. . ." He stops short, breathing hard. I place a hand on his chest. He pays me no notice. "I tried to kill myself," he says, "a few times, actually. Clearly, I failed. Every single time." He looks away, not wanting to meet my eyes.

I can smell the pizza burning, and I'm sure as hell he can, too, but neither of us are in the mood to get up and do something about it. He's still refusing to meet my eyes, so I stroke his head in hopes that it soothes him.

Wait. Did he kiss me out of pity?

"Orion." My intention is to voice my thoughts, but he doesn't give me the chance to. Before the sound of his name hits his ears, his lips meet mine for the second time.

I push the pity kiss thing out of my mind. There's no room for such doubts in my headspace. It might be as a result of raw, unadulterated attraction, but I'm too enamoured to bother thinking about it. Especially not now when his lips are doing wonders to my body. I was never this responsive with Titus, but then again, I felt nothing for him. Our relationship never should have happened. To me, it never did.

This kiss is different from the first. It's lips and lips and tongue and teeth and unconcealed emotion and the aftermath of salty tears in between. I'm so glad I stopped crying. That would probably have been a turn off. I don't want to be a turn off, but I don't want this to go further. I'm scared of what might happen if it does.

His hands—sweet baby Jesus, his hands—they slip under my shirt. As if a switch had been flipped in my brain, I immediately stop him, thereby breaking the kiss.

I scramble away from him until I'm halfway across the room. The pizza is still burning—it's not smoking so much as to trigger a smoke alarm if they have one —but like before, neither of us moves an inch. He's staring daggers into me, and I look at him with a similar expression until his turns blank.

I don't know what just happened, but it's definitely something. I just hope he doesn't out again, because his mother is fast asleep and I'll be damned if I had to wake that woman up for some unexplainable emergency.

"Am I that bad of a kisser?" he asks, breaking the silence threatening to stretch over us like a thin elastic band.

I shake my head. My voice is stuck in my throat, but I somehow croak out the words "no". I'm pretty sure I insinuated that kiss, or maybe it was a shared effort, because he wasn't looking at me when it happened. That's all I , actually. I don't know how we got here. From the look on his face, I don't think he knows, either.

"Was it because of the—" he stops there, allowing his words to hang in the air that surrounds us until they fall to the ground and shatter like glass, leaving pieces sharp enough to break through my skin.

"Yes, Orion. It was because of that." I'm not sure I know what he's talking about. I don't have any scars on areas that aren't my limbs, so we're all good there, but I choose not to mention it. We've had enough of the depressing topics for one night.

Maybe this half-truth and dark secret thing was a bad idea.

He swallows, still looking at me. "How are we going to do this?"

"Do what?" I sound as shaken up as I feel. Doesn't he get it? Titus tainted me. There's no going back from that.

"This." He motions between us. I part my lips to argue, but he beats me to it. "I'm not talking about a relationship. I understand you just got out of one, and quite frankly, we don't know each other well enough," he says, runs a hand through his hair.

God, he even makes hands through hair seem like God's gift to mankind.

"Okay. What then?" I involuntarily lean forward like he's about to spill the world's biggest secret.

"How will we maneuver us?" He winces at his choice of words. Does the thought of him being with me repulse him? Am I that unbearable? "You saw how I reacted with the knife, and. . .I don't know what sets you off." His voice dies out.

"Do you smoke?"

Confusion clouds his eyes. "No?"

"Is that uncertainty?" I ask, brow arched. "Are you lying to me?"

"No." His expression is stoic now, jaw set in a straight line. If anything, he's even hotter, but this is not the damn time nor place for such realizations, Autumn.

Now why the fuck can't I have a normal life with normal relationships?

First my parents screw me over, then their little bitch boy gets his turn, and now I'm here, wanting to be happy, and the universe decides it's a great idea to throw shit in my face.

Orion is anything but shit. Him and Lou are the best things to happen to me since forever, and I'm grateful for them, but I wish Orion didn't come with so much baggage. I already have problems of my own, so adding his on top of that isn't in my best interest. Of course, there's the possibility of us tackling them together, but how much longer is he going to be here for?

I pull my knees up to chin level and hug them. "Sorry." I suck in a breath, burying my face in the crest between my knees.

He grunts. "I should. . .go check the pizza."

I barely nod. I don't look up at him. I don't want to see his eyes. They're so green, it's hard to see them and not want to keep looking. Aside from his mother's, they're the greenest pair I've ever looked into. The vibrance they hold is out of this world; I'd believe him if he told me they were artificial. Like lenses or something.

"I made a mistake." I choke out.

The tears come easily this time. I let them fall. No one is here to watch me break down and fall apart. That's how it's always been. Autumn Carmichael is everyone's favorite person. . .until she isn't. I'm so glad no one's ever witnessed

me in a state like this, and I know it's a tad bit risky considering the fact that Orion is just a few feet away, but if there were anyone I'd cry in front of, it would be him.

I've already done it once, and he didn't judge me. At least, not openly. I could care less about what people think about me. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions. Although, sometimes, I wish I could read people's thoughts. It would be highly detrimental to my self-esteem, but it'd still be a cool ability. I doubt I'd use it often, as it doesn't take a lot to hurt me emotionally, but I'm getting better at building resolve. The world doesn't deserve to see me at my worst.

I've got to keep my insecurities stowed away, and the first step to that is getting the hell out of this house.

Chapter Thirteen

Orion

The pizza is burnt beyond edibility, Autumn is a broken mess on the living room floor, my thoughts are in a frenzy, and the silver of the knife Autumn was previously holding glints brighter than I ever imagined possible. It might be the light in the kitchen reflecting off the metal. It could also be that it's calling my name somehow.

I toss it in the trash even though I don't want to, then I tie the bag up and head back into the living room. Autumn is done crying, apparently, so I nudge her with my foot until she looks at me. When she does, it's impossible to miss her glare.

"I don't hate you, just so you know." For some reason, she lets me take her hand and help her to her feet. I consider kissing her again, but I don't want to complicate things even more. I like her, I'm guessing she likes me—you don't just kiss a person you're not attracted to—but she doesn't seem too hot on starting something with me. I'm more than willing to find out why.

She snorts. "Of course you don't. I'm unhateable."

"That's not a real word." My hand releases hers. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Only if you never propose a question by asking another question."

I can't help but grin.

"What's your deal?" I see her visibly flinch. "Tell me a half-truth," I say, considering crossing my fingers behind my back for luck. "Did you break away because of your ex or because you don't want me to see the damage?"

I'm standing way too close to her again. My lips brush the skin of her forehead and she gasps, but I don't step back. Neither does she.

The pull is impossible to ignore, and extremely fatiguing to fight, so I don't know why we're bothering. The fact that I'm willing to tear down my walls for her sake scares me, but it's something I know I won't regret. I've known it from the second first day I set my eyes on her. Ever since I was able to identify the emotion hidden behind her eyes as hurt.

"It's him. I don't—it feels weird being touched like that by someone who's being gentle with me," she says. Her eyes are brimming with tears. Stains from the ones she shed earlier line her cheeks. "If you look." She stops. Raises up her shirt and folds it across her chest. "You might find bruises." Her voice is barely audible. It's like she's only moving her lips, like the sound is coming from somewhere inside of her, and I know that's how talking works, but this is different.

"Autumn." I've worn her name out already. There's no point in keeping track of

how many times I've said it in the past two hours. "This might come off as selfish and manipulative, but I swear, it's unintentional." I press my lips to the top of her head, silently wishing we were back on the floor, her body claiming mine.

"Can we trade? A dark secret for live evidence of a half-truth?" Our foreheads are touching, she's gazing up at me with fear in her eyes. Her lip is worried between her teeth. I want to graze it and kiss it until she releases it along with her pent up emotion. I doubt this girl has had the chance to playback everything that went down before moving here, so it's only natural for all the feels to hit her.

I just wish they weren't hitting so hard.

Her laugh is emotionless. "You don't want to see what I look like."

"As a matter of fact," I begin, lowering my gaze to her lips. My hands find hers and I place them on my shoulders, somehow not taking my eyes off her lips. "I do."

I knock the wind out of her for what seems like the third time. I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. Neither one of us does. Things are happening, hormones are flying, adrenaline is pumping, and she's still crying.

I've come to with her tears. That much is obvious. I like the saltiness, weird as that may be. I like the way her nails are digging into my back and shoulder blades, even though I shouldn't. I like that she's chosen me, a perpetual stranger, to open up to, and I'm pretty damn sure that I should be honoured.

Hell knows I am.

She kisses me with remorse and it causes my head to spin. I'm dizzy, lightheaded, and running out of oxygen, yet I don't want to separate. I'm afraid that if I do, more things will happen. What kind of things? I have no idea. I've been clueless from the very beginning. I would very much like to change that, and I think I know how to go about it.

"Autumn." Her name sounds like a muffled apology. It is. My words are muffled by her lips, and by the way she's pressing them harder onto mine, I can only assume she wants to stay here. Like this.

I didn't mean to kiss her again. I only wanted to talk.

"Autumn," I try again. She ignores me. Either that, or she doesn't hear me. Maybe she thought it was a moan or something. It could've been.

I should not be using her weakness to my advantage, but we need to sit down and have a full fledged conversation that eventually leads somewhere, so I place my hands on her waist and roam down. She doesn't stop me. She should. She really should, because if she doesn't, this whole thing is going to take a turn for the worst.

She gasps when my fingers hook around the top of her jeans, and I'm thankful. I'd kiss her to show my gratitude, but that would just be stupid. From the look in her eye, she would most likely push me away. I wouldn't hold it against her. I

wouldn't blame her for it.

I'm breathing hard. She's breathing hard. Our foreheads are locked in a soft kiss. This is the perfect moment. "I want to ask you a question."

She's glaring at me. I had no idea her doe eyes could be so sharp and piercing. Holy shit, she's got that whole intimidating look down, but it doesn't work on me. I don't get intimidated. And especially not by teenage girls.

"Is it triggering?"

My face falls. "No."

"Is it about my ex?"

"I already said no."

Her lip is pulled between her teeth again. A silent go-ahead. I nod, then say, "What exactly did I say to you on the first day we met? I don't our encounter." That last part is mostly my fault. How the hell was I supposed to know that lightning could strike me on the roof and cause me to fall?

"Orion, we were young. Kids, even." She releases a shaky breath that warms my mouth. I might've just done the grossest thing, but our mouths were just temporarily married for a bit. I've felt enough of her breath. And it's a good thing

it smells like heaven.

"But you ," I push, careful not to overdo it. "You can't a face and not the words that came out of that face."

She laughs a short laugh, then the silence settles over us again.

"Twelve year old you looked adorable in a sailor's hat."

The sadness in her voice is starting to make me regret. The problem is that I don't know what to regret. I already regret the decisions I've made in life up to this point, so what's new?

"I think you saw me first, but I doubt it. I'm not sure what you saw, and since you don't , it's safer to say I spotted you first. I was kind of in a daze. I staring." She coughs a laugh. "Then we locked eyes." Her expression turns serious, a dangerously close match to my own. "And I smiled at you, you didn't return it. You blinked, then ran off."

Wow. I've always been an asshole.

"Apparently, my boldness runs deep, because I found you, again. I basically stalked you until you gave up on running. We had a silent conversation whilst leaning over the railing and staring into the ocean. I guess railings and high places and silent conversations have always been our thing."

Keeping my hands off her is proving really hard considering our proximity. Maybe I should throw caution to the wind. I won't kiss her, though. Third time's the charm. Three kisses are enough for one night. Maybe even for the rest of eternity.

"When it was time to go—your mother came to get you—I kissed your cheek." She snorts. "I didn't know it was possible for a person to turn that red. Your whole body was blushing, I thought you were going to explode," she says, stifling her laughter. "Your eyes went wide, like, saucer wide—I'm not even kidding—and you gasped, then hid behind your mother's legs."

Good thing my anxiety's always been a thing. It was just slightly unnoticeable. Most people assumed I was shy, but I know I'm anything but. What's the big deal with public speaking? I don't mind being on stage, but I can't handle being the center of attention.

"Guess what happened next." She nudges me, though it's unnecessary. I was watching her the whole time, wondering if her legs hurt from all the standing, whether her chest feels heavy because of the smoke. Misplaced concerns.

"You professed your love for me. A perfect ending to the most juvenile fairytale."

She shakes her head. "No. Your Mom walked away, you waited a few seconds, then you smiled. I thought it was the sweetest smile that had ever been directed at me. You said, 'Mom says I have to go, but I had fun! See you sometime. By the way, I think your dress is really pretty", waved me off, and nearly walked into someone carrying a tray."

Her head tilts upwards. "Are you okay with breaking our record of three kisses?"

"Orion—"

"I'm kidding." I find her hands. "Unless . . ." A pause. "I can't believe twelve year old me never complimented you."

"Yeah, well, you were too busy moping."

"I had just lost my dad. Cut me some slack, Carmichael."

She sighs heavily. Something is off, but I don't pry. Too many secrets and truths have been spilled tonight. We can continue tomorrow.

"Go to sleep, Autumn. You're exhausted. You can sleep in my bed."

"What about you?"

"I've gotta check up on Mom, then finish reading on organic chemistry."

She grimaces. "Yeesh. Finals. Horror story." Slipping her hands out of my hold, she steps back. "Good luck with that. Chemistry is a death sentence."

"I was forced to take it," I retort. "Believe me, I never would've. The only fun part is the practicals. I don't understand how a course can be so difficult."

She smiles on her way to the staircase. "I could tutor you, but definitely not now." A yawn es through her parted lips. "Fuck. Goodnight."

I feel my lips curl upwards. "Good morning."

Chapter Fourteen

Orion

"Quick. Someone tell me the chances of me getting through today without ending up in the hospital." I'm at Holden's house again under the pretence of studying. I know Mom was bluffing when she said I was grounded. She didn't even look at me when I told her I was leaving.

"Orion, you are—without a doubt—going to die if you drink that," Maeve answers grimly. Her eyes are trained on the catalogue she's flipping through. "What do you guys think about this for the graduation theme?"

"A coffee machine sits in front of me on the dining table, filled to the brim with freshly brewed coffee, and in my hand is a can of Monster Ultra. In the other hand, is a bottle of Coca Cola," I say, diverting the attention off Maeve. She glares at me, so I return the gesture with a sneer.

"Dude, I am not going to be responsible for your death. Why'd you come make that here? What happened to your kitchen?"

"Mom wouldn't let me drink this."

"And neither will I," says Maeve.

I sneer at her, then set the two beverages on the table. "If I die, tell Lynx it was completely intentional. He can't kill me when I'm dead, anyway." I twist the cap of the Coca Cola bottle and pour its contents into a comically large mug I found in Holden's kitchen. His Mom buys weird things. For once, I don't find it odd or disturbing.

Holden swipes the can of Monster off the table before I can grab it.

"Holden," I warn. "Give it back. Please. I didn't get any sleep last night and my brain seems to be lagging."

He arches a brow and crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn't believe me. He should. He knows about my insomnia. "Even if you didn't sleep, you don't need this much energy. If I let you have this, you will die. I'm sure of it."

"Don't even get me started on what effects it'll have on his anxiety." Maeve rolls her eyes and flips a page. "Give him five minutes and he'll be bouncing off the walls."

"Holden," I repeat through gritted teeth. "I need it. I had a scare last night. I'm disoriented as fuck. Do you want me to get into a car accident on my way home?"

He waves his hand in my face. "You'll be sober by then. Wait it out."

"You can't wait out fatigue, Holden," Maeve butts in. She should really mind her business. I don't have the mental energy to tell her that, though.

"What's got you so tired? You stay up almost every night. Why's today any different?"

"Well." I narrow my eyes and snatch the can out of his hands. "I did a bad thing last night, and I want to forget it, but I don't want to raid your dad's cellar, and Mom doesn't let me keep alcohol at home. All we have is whiskey, and I think she uses it to bake. Also, my head hurts way too much for me to willingly subject myself to the possibility of having a migraine." I open the can, allowing the swooshing sound to finalize my speech, then I pour it into the Coca Cola without breaking eye with Holden.

He ticks his jaw—a sign that he's losing patience, but I wouldn't put it past him to be pissed at me—and his eyes dart to the coffee maker momentarily, then return back to mine. "Go ahead. Pour it. It's no surprise that you have a death wish."

I hear the sound of two pages slapping together. Maeve shut her magazine. She's staring between us, waiting for a reaction. I decide not to give in to my best friend's bait.

Slowly, I take the lid off the coffee maker and lift it up to my lips. "You're gonna want to look away. Parental discretion is advised. You're too young to watch."

"The fuck—" he slaps the coffee maker out of my hands and it flies across the room, spilling warm coffee on our clothes and the floor. "Look what you did." His voice is raised. "What is wrong with you, Orion? What is it? Have you been taking your medicine religiously?"

"Holden, I do not worship my prescriptions," I say, and it only angers him more. I know I shouldn't find this funny, but it's hard not to.

His nostrils flare, and he mutters inaudible words under his breath. I sigh, exhausted, and pick up the mug containing my concoction. "You know I hate the already ground coffee beans."

"Shut up."

I smile. "No." I sip the concoction, trying my hardest to ignore the weird taste. It's not bad, just. . .off. "Look, I don't know how to say this, but I made a new friend."

Maeve scoffs. Holden snorts. They don't believe me.

I honest to God need better friends.

"Fuck you. Both of you." I sip the concoction again and feel a buzz run through my veins, followed by a stabbing feeling in my chest.

Maeve folds her lips together. "Just how did you meet this friend?"

My eyes are narrowed—and hurting so damn much—as I glare at her. Instead of answering right away, I gulp down a third of my shitty mixture. If I vomit, it'll at least save me from having to provide an answer.

"Met her six years ago, but I don't that. Met her again at the airport. It's fate."

Holden arches a brow. "And you were with her last night? Is that why you said you did a bad thing?" He looks at Maeve. "This guy's been fooling around with some girl."

"She's not some girl."

"Oh, he's defending her honour now. That's great! So when do we meet her?"

My lip twitches. I cover up the movement with the large mug. "Depends," I say. "Are you two splitting up anytime soon?"

"How does that have to do—"

Maeve interrupts. I don't know if I should be thankful or not. "I think he likes her."

"I do not."

God. Forcing a frown is hard. Like, really hard. Even with all the extra buzz I've given myself with this crap, I still can't not smile. Maybe I should've added the ground coffee.

At this point, Maeve is beaming. Never have her wide smiles been directed at me. It feels like a reward. A reward I fear won't last long. "You're finally getting round to dating someone, Orion. This is huge news."

"Hey, hey, hey. No." I'm finally able to pull my face into a frown. I set the mug down and raise my hands. "No dating. I'm going to college, ?"

Maeve groans and falls into her seat. "Fuck college." Wow. "Can't you try long distance?" Wow.

I don't miss the change in Holden's expression when she says that. "That's a bit hypocritical of you to say, Maeve."

She knows she's struck a nerve. She winces, sits up straight, tucks her hair behind her ear, leans forward. . .Oh God, they're gonna make out again.

"I'm just gonna go before this turns into a round of freaky premarital sex. Chinese later at five. That restaurant close to the school. I'll bring Autumn with me." I finish off my drink and sidestep the coffee trail and coffee maker until I

get to the lobby.

"She has a pretty name," Maeve yells after me.

I say nothing. As far as they know, I'm already gone.

***

"Oh my God, Autumn, open this door or I'll kick it down." I'm flooded with way too much energy, the world is spinning rapidly, and I'm going to die in five minutes or less. I can't even imagine what my pulse is right now. "Please let me in. I may have done a detrimental thing and I need your wisdom to help me right the wrongs."

The door flies open. "I'm not Autumn, but she gets her wisdom from me." Her aunt Lou stands in the doorway, her bright red hair in messy updo. They look so much alike that they could be mistaken for sisters, the only dissimilar trait being the hair colour.

"Great. I need someone smart to listen to me rant and tell me I didn't just make a huge mistake."

She nods in understanding. "Lucky for you, I have the day off." She steps aside and opens the door wider. "Come in. There's some boba in the fridge."

I clutch my stomach. "No, thank you. I've had way too much to drink." I take a seat on the armchair nearest to the door just in case Autumn pops out of nowhere and I have to make a run for it. "So, where exactly is your niece?"

Lou shrugs. "She's been cooped up in her room for God knows how long. I heard her crying in the middle of the night, but I couldn't get in because the door was locked. She hasn't even come down to eat since."

"Can I—can we put this off for a bit? I want to check up on her."

She throws her hands in the air. "Be my guest. I'm at a loss of what to do. I'm way too young to parent a sixteen year old."

I send a quick prayer to the gods as I approach her door. Chances are, she'll ignore me. Hell, she might even be dead. But I don't think it's in my place to share a dark secret with Lou. It's our thing, and apparently, I have to help her through it. Me. Orion. The guy who's only alive by grace.

"Autumn? Girasol?" I knock gingerly on the wooden door and press my ear to it. "It's your least favorite person."

I hear a long, drawn out groan, followed by a thud. The lock clicks out of place, and the door opens just as I lean back. Autumn isn't smiling. She isn't frowning. She's just. . .there. Staring. With a blank expression. An unreadable one. And she's sporting tear stains and red angry splotches of colour on her face and skin. And bite marks. Lots of bite marks.

"You are not my least favorite person. That spot is occupied by Titus," she says, and I can see her bottom lip is swollen and bleeding. "And what was that you called me?

Ignoring her, I say, "crap. What did you do to yourself?" I wrap a hand around her wrist and pull her inside with me, kicking the door closed. "You could've just called me, you know. I'd have been here in like, ten minutes, tops."

"Yeah, well, someone didn't give me a number."

There's a disgusting sensation in the pit of my stomach that I can't shake. I push her hair back. "That is completely on me. I apologize. But I thought you'd have taken it the other night." My eyes roam over the exposed parts of her skin, which is basically everywhere.

She's wearing a large baby blue short-sleeved t-shirt that hangs loosely off the shoulders. I really like the way they hang off her shoulders. Her legs are almost on full view, and the sight of them is traumatizing, to say the least. I can't look away. Not because I don't want to—I actually don't want to—but because this is Autumn, and she wants my help.

Again with people wanting my help. I can't even help myself.

"I was too tired to consider invading your privacy. Plus, it's not like your presence would have helped much," she tells me. "Having you over would have made me feel worse, like I was taking up your precious time, and for nothing."

"Autumn, I keep telling you; I care about you. I'd rather occupy myself with being there for you when you need me than with anything else."

"Even your mom?"

My lip twitches. "Well, yeah. Even her," I say, "she'd want me to, anyway."

Her eyes trail up, locking with mine. "What was that you called me?"

I run my tongue over my bottom lip. "Girasol?"

She nods. "Yeah. What's it mean?"

Our close proximity is doing a number on my heart rate. The temporary silence does nothing to help matters.

I exhale a heavy breath. "We need to get you cleaned up. How long have you been wearing that shirt?"

She rolls her eyes at my change of subject. "Three days."

"You have terrible hygiene." I thread my fingers through her hair and pull it up so I can twist it and tie it into a bun. "At least you don't smell bad."

"I never said I didn't shower," she retorts. Her hands don't reach up to stop me.

When I finish tying her hair, I'm even more aware of our heavy breathing. I shake off the inappropriate thoughts making their way into my head. "Can you take a warm bath? Is it going to sting?" My fingers are curled at the hem of her dress, our eyes locked together.

"It's nothing I'm not used to." Her voice is a raspy whisper that hits my ears in soft waves.

My smile falters. My breathing turns shallow. My heart begins to palpitate. My gaze drops down to her lips. "I hate that for you."

Another breathless whisper. "I hate that for me, too."

Our faces are inches apart. Her breath is noticeably warm against my face. I think the problem is the position my hands are in, but I don't dare stop hiking up the shirt.

The material is pooled around her hips when she kisses me. It's hasty, slow, rough, gentle; a complete paradox. My lungs feel like they've been underwater for too long. They're filling up fast, with salty ocean water and crisp air. I'm drowning in Autumn's depths—her many, many depths—and I never want to stop. Even if it means I die.

She tastes like metal. Iron. Zinc? And her blood is smearing across my mouth, mixing with saliva, making her a part of me. Setting this in stone.

"Orion," she moans against my lips. Her body grows hotter every time I inch my hands upwards. Her shirt is no longer a barrier; my hands find their way up to her waist, skimming over the material of her underwear, over several stretch marks, over an array of bruises. I don't want to pay attention to it. I'm an innocent boy. Plus, my mother would hit me with a wooden spoon if she found out about this.

"Orion, stop," she says. Her words are a contradiction to her tone, but I stop anyway. I didn't want for us to get this far. Still, I don't let my hands drop. Instead, I run my fingers along the bruises on her skin. I want to see them, and I will, but not now.

"I think we need to stop seeing each other."

Her face breaks out into a childish grin. "I think so, too." Her breaths come hard and steady. "But who am I supposed to share dark secrets and half-truths with?"

I pretend to think for a second. "I could give you Draco and he could be your rant buddy. He's very helpful when dark thoughts kick in. Kinda like he can sense them, so he becomes super affectionate," I say. "I usually just feed him a lot and put him to sleep so I can concentrate on getting my mental health down in the dumps."

"Wow." She laughs and pushes herself off me. "You seriously need help."

"Says the girl who fights battles against her mind." I run my tongue over my teeth. "And loses. And then keeps records in the form of tally marks on her own skin."

It's not until her face falls that I realize I shouldn't have said that.

"Low blow," she says, eyes downcast. "But at least I don't try to take my life on a regular basis."

"You say that like death is a bad thing." My jaw is set, face hardened. I take a deep breath—I have no right to be mad. I was the one who started it.

"No, I say that like it's a fucked up thing. And it is. And so are you."

"What am I supposed to say to that? I can't form any sentences that aren't the least bit upsetting." I throw my hands in the air. "So what if I'm fucked up? You're gonna blame me for it?"

She takes a step forward and raises a brow. "Are you mad?"

My head cocks to the side. "Why, yes. I believe I am." I find the nape of my neck and rub it to ease the built up tension, then blow out a breath. "Don't come any closer."

Her foot stops mid-step. "I wasn't."

"Good. You go shower, and I'll be here, looking through your stuff and confiscating anything that poses as a hazard to a harming sixteen year old girl."

"I really hate the way you say that." She sucks in a long breath. "You should know this, considering your past, but I don't know what goes through your head so I'll say it anyway." She releases the breath. "You can take the monster away from the girl, but you can't take it out of her." She nears me despite my earlier warning. I kinda don't mind. She's invading my personal space, poking her nose in my air and stealing all of it. "Don't try to help me unless I ask you to. I know how to handle myself."

"I get it. You're a strong independent woman who's still completely dependent on her aunt and parents. If it's any consolation, I couldn't help you even if I wanted to." I run a hand through my hair and take three steps back. "Have fun with your toys and enjoy the solitude while it lasts."

"You're leaving?"

"What, you want me to sit around and wait for you? I have better things to do, Autumn. Like make sure Mom's okay, and feed Draco, and study for finals, and obsessively check my email for any ission letters. There's a long to-do list sitting on my bedside table, and you're not on it."

She pinches her nose. "Sorry, did you say—you do realize what you just said, do you?"

I purse my lips. "Goodbye, Autumn," I say, hand on the door handle. "Please try your hardest not to run into me anymore. This was fun while it lasted." Ignoring the dull ache slowly spreading across my chest, I walk out and secure the door shut.

The need for me to rant to Lou has long disappeared, so I don't bother looking for her. Autumn and I are two damaged people, each to our own trauma, and there's no fixing that. Broken people can't help broken people; it'll only lead to an even bigger mess. She deserves better. I'm not better.

I'm not even good.

Chapter Fifteen

Orion

I'm at school but I don't want to be here. I just finished the most irritating part of my exams, and I'm more than in the mood to celebrate. Of course, with what little time we have left, Maeve and Auni have forced me into the decorating and planning committees even though I'd rather do anything else.

"There you are," a voice says from behind me. It's Tasha. She grabs my hand and twirls me so I'm facing her. "I've been looking everywhere for you. I overheard one of the teachers say you have to take a separate exam."

I nod absentmindedly. I don't care about what they say; I'd rather have a fail than write an exam on a subject I've never learned. To hell with grades, anyway.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Yes, obviously." I roll my eyes. "But I can't understand you. My head's swarmed with thoughts. I'm supposed to be at the gym right now helping Maeve out, while also at the meeting that's currently going on in the auditorium." I sigh. "Auni is going to have my head."

The corners of her lips tug up and she releases my arm, placing her hands on her hips instead. "You best get downstairs, then. I would not want to be you in the next five minutes."

I groan because I know she's right. If it wasn't already obvious, I hate responsibility, but it always seems to find me. It creeps up behind me in the form of small favours, and before I know it, I'm in charge of decorating the gymnasium so a bunch of people I vehemently dislike can receive their diplomas. The upside is that I probably won't ever see them again.

"Yeah, well, see you around."

The halls are not empty and silent. Students swarm in and out of classrooms and pour into the corridor through the doors like something is chasing them. I don't blame them—I wouldn't do the same, but that's only because I'd rather sit back and wait for the crowd to dissipate. I can't afford to get injured just because I'm trying to get out of a place as fast as possible. I think movement is slower when in herds, anyway.

I hate walking through the halls. I hate the feeling of having eyes on me. Unfortunately, that feeling has been with me ever since childhood, and I have a feeling it's here to stay. I just wish I wasn't so anxious. Maybe I'd be able to enjoy the attention then. Lynx seems to have it better than me, but his insecurities always find a way to slip through the cracks.

We're a pack of unlucky people thrown into a world of sheer goodness. Thing is, there's so much darkness obstructing the good, so it doesn't find a way to seep in. The best people are the most unlucky ones. It's like a curse. And I'm not saying I'm a saint, because I'm honestly not, but I haven't killed anyone, so I guess that counts for something.

"Good thing you're here." Holden stops my constant motion with a hand. A single hand. Wow—I can't imagine how little balance I have. Just last month the wind knocked me to the side of the road. "Maeve's looking for someone to show the new kids around."

"What?" I ask, face turned up in a confused frown. "I thought they were supposed to come in at the start of the new year. They haven't even written entrance exams yet."

He waves his hand in the air, thereby dismissing my unnecessary string of words. "I don't know, man. She said something about transfer students? Foreign exchange students. That's the one."

"But I have to help Auni with—"

He doesn't let me finish. "Thanks a million, dude. I owe you one." And he's off.

"Why can't you do it?" I turn and tell after him, but he's too far gone to hear me. I kick at the floor, muttering profanities under my breath. I'm gonna have to start charging for all the favours I'm doing.

Hastily, I make my way down several flights of stairs and down to the main office. I'm immediately hit with a gust of cold air and am forced to draw in a sharp breath. Thank God for flannel shirts.

I push past the door and shut it behind me, trapping myself in the freezing office. "Temporary tour guide here," I say, announcing my presence. Three pairs of eyes and a pair of spectacles turn to me. The awkwardness starts to gather over me like a thick, heavy cloud, so I wave my hand above my head to try to get rid of some of it.

It doesn't work. To be fair, I put way too much hope in a simple wave.

"Oh, god. It just had to be you."

"Hi. It seems like the universe is trying to force me into your path." She smiles, eyes formed into crescents. She's clutching a bag in front of her thighs like a typical schoolgirl.

"Well it better stop trying, because I'm leaving in a few months."

She cocks her head to the side and watches me with peculiar interest. "You mean you actually aren't repulsed by the thought of me?"

I pinch my eyes shut and shake my head, burying my face in my hands. "Autumn, look. I don't hate you. It's quite the opposite, actually. And therein lies the problem. I like you enough to give us a shot, but I think it's far too soon because we just met. I've also never been in a relationship before, and contrary to your assumption, you're the first person I've kissed. I don't even know what happened that night, but I don't regret it. Your wounds are still fresh, so I wouldn't hold it against you if you do regret it."

She stays silent for more than a few seconds. "Why is it that you have to be my tour guide? We already have personal tours scheduled."

"Hey, if the universe is working in our favour, who are we to question?"

She sends me a smile full of teeth and I can't keep a similar one from creeping onto my face. I turn to the receptionist's office instead. "I'll let them know I've come to take you."

"That could be interpreted in many ways," she says, lowering herself onto the steel chairs.

Chuckling, I push the glass door open and walk into the receptionist's office. It's even colder than the main one. It's probably unnecessary for me to let them know, but I feel like it's what Maeve would do.

***

The gymnasium is somehow busier than it usually is during big games, and that's all thanks to Maeve. Autumn follows behind me, a safe distance between us. I don't know why we're doing this; it's not like I'm going to spin and kiss her in front of the entire graduating class. Plus, I'm her tour guide—I'm pretty sure she's supposed to stick close to me.

I slam my hands on the makeshift desk Maeve is using for notes. "Miss, where is your boyfriend?" I ask. She looks up at me, then glances behind me with a

confused expression.

"Who is this?" She waves her pen in Autumn's direction.

"This is the exchange student you're supposed to be giving a tour. Holden said you were too busy, then he dumped all the work on me," I explain. "Oh, and also, this is the girl I told you about," I add in a low whisper.

Maeve's eyes widen. "Oh my stars and garters," she says because she's very extra. I roll my eyes. I don't fancy Maeve, and I've never been good at pretending. It's why Lynx is the actor and I'm the one stuck writing shitty words that don't even rhyme.

"Yes, yes, that's all very wonderful. Your mind is blown because you thought I'd die alone," I say, flicking my wrist in her face. "Technically, we're not together so I will most likely still die alone, but, I wanted to let you know that a competent, reliable person is in charge of handling your business. If Holden comes by, tell him I took his car and ditched the assignment."

"He'll know it's not true. His keys are with him."

"Yes, but he's Holden. He won't realize you lied until he's checked the parking lot to make sure." I drum my fingers on the desk and rise to my full height. I'm more than surprised that Autumn hasn't given an introduction yet, but I don't comment. "I'll see you later."

"Yeah, okay, bye." She nods absentmindedly, her attention back on whatever sheet she was working on. I think Maeve works harder than she should for a highschool student, but if I ever bring it up, she'll chew on my foot until I get mad and leave.

I walk behind Autumn out of the gymnasium. "Oh, shit." I slap my forehead. "That was the gym. It's where the graduation ceremony is scheduled to hold. Normally, we'd make use of the auditorium, but Auni's group is readying it for prom."

"Are you friends with that girl?"

"You could say that," I answer, brow arched in confusion. "Why?"

Autumn stays quiet, eyes darting from the left to the right. When a minute es without her answering, I continue walking forward. I don't know what changed between now and then minutes ago, but I don't like it. It's like, with every two steps forward we take, something pulls us back a mile. At this rate, we'll never reach the finish line.

"Autumn?" I call. We're on the second floor now, standing between the theater and music room. Basically the Alsephina Safe Space. "Did I say something upsetting?" The question surprises me: I'm not the most caring human on the planet, so this is enough to throw me off balance.

I think I might be screwed.

Still ignoring me, she peers over my shoulder and points towards the music room. "I want to go in there," she says. "I saw you have a guitar. Do you mind playing me something?"

Under no circumstances would I refuse her a chance to see me play, no matter how unprepared and anxious I might be. It might aid my appeal, anyway, so I'll definitely give it a shot. "Yes. If that'll get you to start talking to me again."

"What are you talking about?" she asks, face in a frown. "I'm not ignoring you." Stepping up to me—she sidesteps. I thought she was going to poke her nose in my face and kiss me, but her eyebrows twitch and struts into the music room.

I hope to hell that it's unoccupied, but only because I can't play in front of an audience. My anxiety runs deep—because it's anxiety—and I know for a fact that I'm being reckless with my health, but what am I supposed to do?

Nothing has changed since the last time I was in here. Nothing except the new layer of dust adorning the large piano, at least. I don't know why the school has an instrument nobody plays. I do, from time to time, but I'm leaving in a bit. The least they could do would be to gift it to a struggling classical band or sell it and use to money for improvements. Lord knows this building is in need of a renovation.

"I don't know if you're trying to be smart with me," I say to Autumn. I'm not looking at her, and she, not at me, which I'm thankful for. The stinging feeling behind my eyes is back. I run the back of my thumb over the area under my eyes. There aren't any tears yet, but there's sweat. My heart's ricocheting off the walls of my ribcage, making it harder for me to get air in my lungs. It's hard enough to try to breathe in the middle of an anxiety attack, but it's even harder now that I'm trying to be inconspicuous.

Sucking in a breath big enough to hold me for a good minute, I continue, "it's not pleasant. You're only making things more difficult to understand," I say, exhaling. "I'm not asking you for clarity or to be plain with me—that would be hypocritical. Be as vague as you want to be—I only want you to be straightforward. Say what you mean. If you want to ignore me, you can, but don't show up at my house out of nowhere and ask me to let you in because I won't. And as hard as it may be, if you outrightly say you want nothing to do with me, I'll make it happen."

She sighs, whips her head to me. The sound of her hair whipping to the air causes me to look up. Her expression is apologetic, the one thing I don't want it to be. Her feeling sorry for her actions is going to put an inescapable pause on this, which means we'll need more time to figure it out. More time we don't have.

It could be worse. One of us could be dying. In a way, one of us is.

"I don't not want anything to do with you." She blows out a breath through slightly parted lips. "You were right. We should stop seeing each other. Stop running into each other." She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, grazing and squishing the plump piece of flesh, drawing my attention to her lips. Her words say no but her body language says yes. "We should separate," she says finally, stepping forward to take a seat in front of the piano. Her bag meets the dusty stool, and she s it, not bothering to dust off the dust.

Inching closer with my hands buried deep in my pockets, I ask, "What do you mean separate?"

She fingers the piano keys, working her way up and down its dusty ivories. "I'll go back home for a bit." A mellow sound bursts through the air. She slams her fingers on the keys, striking a few chords. "Until you graduate and leave for college." Slender fingers dance across the console, stemming uneven chords I can't help but smile at. "Then in four years when you have your degree—" she stops mid-sentence, hands poised and ready to strike a different chord. "You'll come find me."

That rhymes.

I have so many questions to ask; most of them about her level of experience in playing percussion instruments. Instead of voicing my thoughts, I her at the piano, quietly slipping into the unoccupied space. She bumps her shoulder with mine. "You'll come find me, right?"

A sigh escapes my lips, my fingers connect with the keys, and my head snaps to hers. "I don't mean to break your heart, but I won't be out looking for you," I say. Our proximity does nothing to excite me for the first time in a while, and that bothers me more than it should. "I'm not going to let you leave. You can't go back to your shitty parents just because you're trying to run from your emotions, Autumn."

The corners of her lips twitch then fall as her gaze slowly returns to the piano keys. "Well, here we are seated on month's worth of dust—"

"Correction; year's worth."

She chuckles. "Right. Years," she pauses, "So no one really uses this thing?" Her

eyes sweep over the mass of wood and plastic. "Bummer. Do people not understand the importance of an excessively large piano?"

"Nope," I say. "If it's not keyboards and other percussion or string instruments, it doesn't exist."

Silence embraces us for a few moments until she starts to play again. The workings of her fingers have me hooked—I've never seen anyone play so fast before. Somehow the music calms my pulsating heart and soothes the pain that was slowly spreading across my chest. I've always said music is therapeutic, but never experienced anything this magical. Be it that I've almost never heard a piano being played, only keyboards—they are not the same.

"Would it be so bad for me to avoid you?" she asks, not looking up from the piano. "I mean, you have school to worry about; your mom, university, family, friends. . . all these things that truly matter to you." She takes her hands off the keys and rests them on opposite sides of her. "And then, there's me? Why am I even on the list? I shouldn't matter. I don't matter."

Her shoulders slump. "I want you to forget about me."

My face contorts into a frown. I shake my head. "No, that's not happening."

"You already did, once."

"Low blow. But no, it's not happening."

"Well it should," she persists. "What good am I gonna do you? If anything, I'm a drawback."

"Autumn—"

"Don't tell me otherwise."

"I'm only telling you the truth."

In a daring move, I grab her hand and squeeze it. "I'm not going to forget about you. You're important to me, even though it might not look like it."

"That doesn't mean I'm not a drawback."

"You're not a drawback."

"A distraction, then."

I shrug. "Yeah, I guess, but still. This,"—I hold up our hands,—"this feels very real to me."

"What if it isn't? What if it's just you—just us—misinterpreting the signs?"

Slowly, I bring her hand up to my lips and kiss her knuckles. "Then we can make it real."

Chapter Sixteen

Autumn

I'll never it it out loud, but I miss home. What's hardest to it is that I miss my mother. I miss having a mother figure. Lou's good and all, but it's just not the same. And something is either seriously wrong with me, or I've reached my limit, because I find myself in Orion's house, standing in front of Micaela's room.

He let me in but said he had to go somewhere. If he's back before I leave, it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe we could make a chicken pot pie or something. Lou probably won't be home until midnight.

I wonder if I should knock.

I don't. I place my hand on the door and push it open. A cool gust of air hits me in the face and I stumble backwards a little.

Orion's mother is seated in bed, a rose in her surprisingly vibrant brown hair, and a book in her hand. She looks up, assesses me for a moment, reaches under her covers and pulls out a bookmark. She shuts the book and sets it beside her.

Her tired face manages to pull up in a warm smile. No words have been said yet, but my chest feels heavy. The air feels heavy—the whole room does.

Tears prick at my eyes but I force them back.

"Hi," I force out, my voice hoarse. I clear my throat before speaking again. "I'm Autumn, a friend of Orion's," I add, just in case she doesn't me from the night I drove a ed out Orion home.

"I know," is all she says.

I'm at a loss for what to do, what to say. Clearly, I didn't think this through. I didn't think I'd actually come here. I just wanted to feel loved. I know I sound like an ingrate when I think that, but it's true. The love Lou gives is obligatory, not out of duty, and I love that, but it's not the same.

"I—" I fumble with my speech, gripping the strap of my carry-on bag tighter. My lips are starting to quiver, my eyes watering harder, and Micaela notices. I don't know if I should be grateful.

"Is everything all right, mi hija?" She cocks her head to the side slightly, as if trying to read my face better. I wish I could hide from her gaze, but my hair is in a high ponytail.

To hell with it.

"No," I tell her, "everything is not all right." I busy myself with the straps of my bag as an excuse not to look her in the eyes. I'll be able to talk better this way.

"I'm confused, and lost? Yeah, lost, I guess. I don't know what to do about anything, and I don't have anyone to talk to. I'd talk to my aunt, but she might put me in therapy, and I don't want therapy, and there's only so much Orion can do because he's struggling, and I really, really wish I wasn't so dependent on others, and that maybe I could somehow steer my own ship despite not knowing how to navigate my way around reality, but I can't, and asking for help seems insensitive because everyone else has their own problems. I just wish I knew how to handle my own."

There is a long pause that leaves me wondering why I ever thought coming here was a good idea. I'm about to spurt out a complicated apology when she speaks, and my God am I thankful that she doesn't send me away.

"Come sit." She pats the mattress and scoots closer to the wall, creating a space for me. The action threatens to break down the dams preventing tears from spilling out. It's such a miniscule thing, but it means so much to me that she's willing to listen.

I wish my mom cared as much as she did.

But if she did, I wouldn't be here. Is that such a bad thing?

I place my bag on the floor and slip into the space she made for me. She takes the rose out of her hair and holds it out. I wonder what it's got to with anything I've said, but I take it without question.

"I need you to tell me the exact problem. One at a time, cariño."

"O–okay." I shuffle in position, tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "It's a lot of things and they're all interconnected, but I'd say it started from my parents. And well, this guy I was involved with." Her eyebrows shoot up, but she says nothing. "I didn't know him very well, but he was the son of my mother's very good friend, and like mothers do, she meddled and made a match.

"It was a terrible match, but I couldn't tell her that. Maybe if I did, at the onset of it, things wouldn't have gotten so bad. But I did not.

"He had a slight anger problem. I know it was just a relationship—to the public eye, at least—but I couldn't leave him. He and mom made sure of that. He would hit me when things didn't go right, even when it wasn't my fault, and he would hurl insults at me. We were sort of young, and I assumed he would grow out of it. I thought it was anger management problems. He said he was working on them. I believed him. What else could I have done?

"A few times, I threatened to leave, but when it got too much for him, he went to his mom, who went to my mom, who came to me. She gathered all three of them. It was so stupid, and that's when I started harming."

Despite my expectations, Micaela doesn't wince, doesn't talk about how hard it must've been. She can sense it's not the end—not that I stopped at a concluding point—and she waits for me to continue, easing my tension by stroking my hair affectionately.

"He found out about that too. I hated him. I hated everyone. I couldn't talk to anyone about it, not even my school counselor. I was alone, scared—most of my nights consisted of crying myself to sleep, but I could even sleep long because I had sleep terrors. He destroyed me, and I hated it. I thought there was nothing I could do, but when my grades started going to shit, I reached out to my aunt. I didn't tell her much of anything, just that I wanted to come stay with her for a little bit. My parents were not okay with it, so I had to make a proposition.

"Dad is really hot on excelling academically, so I told him the scenery had become too mundane, too boring, and that I needed a change. He and Lou, my aunt, are not in a good place, but he wouldn't send me elsewhere, and that's how I ended up here."

Silence rests between us. I use the opportunity to pull myself together, ready my mind for whatever she might say—good or bad.

She takes the rose from me and puts it in my hair. "Autumn, I want you to understand that none of that was your fault, no matter what anyone else tells you. His anger, it had nothing to do with you. I don't—your mother, does your dad— your parents, do they get along okay?"

"Pretty much."

"Does your dad ever. . ."

"No, he'd never."

"You think your mom's been hurt before? Because it could just be that she's projecting her experiences on you. She might not even mean it; she might not be aware of the toll it's taking on you."

"Is that why she shuts me down every time I try to talk to her about something?"

Micaela pauses. "Have you tried talking to her about this?"

I purse my lips and shake my head. "No. Not really."

"You should."

"I know."

"Will you?"

"Maybe. If it ever comes up."

"Promise?"

I hesitate. When the time comes, I will talk to mom about it, but what if the time never does come? What if I never go back home? Never see her again? I could call her, but that's not the same as a face-to-face confrontation. I could visit her,

but I don't think she deserves that.

Maybe I'm just being mean.

"I'll think about it, promise."

"Autumn, I need you to talk to her about it, not think about talking to her."

"Yeah, but what if she doesn't let me? What if I try and fail? Hell, I will fail. I will get nervous and fold up. Even if I do get better, this isn't something I'll be able to take on. I might never have a good relationship with my mother, and it's all because of some stupid boy."

"Your attitude is one thing to take into consideration. I have a feeling a part of you still blames yourself for everything. I need you to forgive—yourself, your mom, and this boy."

"But. . . they hurt me." My voice comes out small, shaky, and barely audible.

"And you'll never get over that if you don't forgive yourself for getting hurt. You are not invincible, Autumn. You have to understand that people can get hurt. Things happen. It's life. But what we do with these experiences, that's what's important. Think about it; if you had stayed home, how much worse off would you be?"

Much, much worse.

"Even still, I don't want you to feel pressured into reaching out to your mom until you're ready. Family might be important, but it isn't everything. And let's say it was everything, that's still no reason for you to subject yourself to emotional scarring. You know your limits. You know when to do what. You know what's good for you. I trust you will be able to make the right decisions in good time. But for now, you have to work on learning to love yourself, and the first step to that, hija, is forgiveness."

I absorb all her advice. I came here for a reason, and now, I don't have a single regret.

"Some people say family isn't necessarily who you're born with," I say, my hand going up to touch the rose. "Family is who you'd die for." I meet her eyes. Her hand drops to my cheek. "Orion wouldn't hesitate to take your place if he could."

She nods slowly. "I know."

"And, if the roles were reversed?"

"I love my children, hija. I would give up a million lifetimes just to keep them safe. And Autumn, I'd do the same for you." She pinches my cheeks and wipes away a tear, smearing it down my face. I hadn't realized I'd been crying.

When it gets too much, she doesn't shove me away, doesn't frown at my

breakdown. Instead, she pulls me in for a hug—it's one of a kind. I haven't felt this much comfort in years.

I don't know how long we're huddled up for, but at some point, I fall asleep to the sound of her voice whispering; sweet autumn child, rest thine eyes.

Chapter Seventeen

Orion

The Universe and Us.

My mother believes there is a reason for life existing. She also believes in God and creation. Somehow, she manages to believe in science as well. I guess I could call her a firm believer in all things believable.

Thanks to her, I believe in heaven.

My father believed in fate, destiny—he believed in the power of the universe. He believed in stars, tarots, fortune tellings, fortune cookies, superstitions, and well, everything experience ever taught him.

Thanks to him, I believe in the universe.

Autumn believes in fate, too, and she isn't willing to stop discussing it. I mostly have nothing extremely physical to do, so I'm pretending to leaf through my history textbook while she speaks.

"It's not that hard to understand, Orion," she says. I hum in agreement, not looking up from a page about West Abrigale's founding fathers. "Things always fall into place. Sure they might not start out great—see my past for reference— but everything that's happened in my life so far, it's led me here. To you."

"And that's on; The Universe and Us."

She jabs my side using her elbow, then peers over my shoulder to get a good view of my textbook.

"I can't believe I'm trying to teach you about the complexities of the cosmos and you're reading history," she says. "What about fate? What about destiny? What about love? What ? What about the future? Who cares about the past?"

I flip a page. "The school board, apparently."

"Exactly." She snatches the book out of my hands and tosses it aside. "Let the past worry about itself. You need to live in the present."

"I thought we were talking about the universe."

She sighs and plops down on my lap, staring me straight in the eyes. The bed dips under our combined weight.

"We're talking . You and me. Now."

***

When exams are over, I'll finally be able to plan my life. But for now, I'll stick to pretending to study whilst actually whiling away time doing nothing that matters. One look at Draco and I know he's in dire need of some sunlight and interaction with other dogs, but a second's assessment of myself and I know I'm not up for it.

Darkening skies crackle with roars of a looming thunderstorm previously announced on last night's news. I sigh, clasping my hands in my lap. The rain is relaxing, I'll say, but thunderstorms have never been my favorite trick of nature. There's no way I could take Draco for a walk in this weather.

I finger the strings of my guitar, head tilted downwards for better view of the instrument. I have no idea what I'm getting at, and I haven't written anything in ten months, but something about today seems promising. It might be the rhymes I had to put together last week. I didn't write them, I just picked them out of other people's speech.

A flash of light pierces through the dark sky and it's enough to send chills running through me. Looking up will only intensify the urge to get off the roof, so I stay as focused on my guitar as possible. My neck is starting to hurt from craning it for so long, but I don't dare look up. The glass of the window is cold against my fingers. I slide it open and chuck my guitar through it, following suit.

With Lynx's absence from the house, it's silent. Actually it's been silent ever since he started highschool, but after dad's death, things just fell apart. I wouldn't say anything about me changed, but my brother flipped.

I never would have thought he had it in him, but Mom bore the worst of it. In a way, she lost everything. Everyone. Her husband to his beloved cigarettes, and her sons to depression. I'm really happy she's still alive despite the excess sorrow, but she kept herself busy so she wouldn't have to think about it. It was for the best; Lynx and I turned out fine.

At least, he did.

Shutting my bedroom door quietly behind me, I set my guitar on the floor so it's leaning on the wall and I drag my starved, exhausted self to the bed, falling face down on the soft mattress. I haven't slept in days, haven't eaten in days. . .I know it's detrimental, but what am I supposed to do? No one bothers with me anymore —not like they ever did—and I'm grown up and no longer a kid, so I should know what's healthy and what's not, and I do. I know I should eat, I know I should try to get some rest, but no matter how hard I try, I just can't.

The downpour outside is intensifying, so I walk over to my windows and pull the curtains closed. If I'm going to get any sleep, flashes of golden light will do nothing to help.

My head meets a pillow, my lower arm shields my eyes from the rays of lights pouring into the room through the tiny space between the curtains while the other one fists my carelessly discarded blanket. I haven't made my bed in so long because I haven't needed to. Pulling the extra pillow up to face level, I sniff it. My nose curls up in disgust. It's not a bad scent per se, but it's not a good one, either. I can't believe I let Autumn sleep in here.

Immediately her name crosses my mind, I want to slap myself. Our last

encounter ended up with me dropping her off after a stupid conversation. I don't know if she plans on going ahead with her plan to leave the city for a bit, but if she does, I will never forgive her.

A yawn es my lips and I smile through it. My thoughts, absurd and unnecessary as they may be, are enough to tire me. My brain is overworked to the point where my head hurts, so all my money's on this possible nap. I hope to feel like a brand new person when I wake up—if I wake up—and as mother always said, the rain was made to soothe. Sleep helps the body relax. Combine those two, and you'll get much more rest than you ever thought possible.

I can only hope she meant that in a good way, because soon I'm snuggling with my extra pillow and losing myself to a long overdue nap.

Chapter Eighteen

Orion

When I wake up a day later, Mom isn't home, and it's a Saturday. Which means I should probably take Autumn on a date now that I don't have any exams to fervently study for. Which technically means I have the day off, since neither of us knows where we stand.

But is stance really necessary?

Contrary to my plans, I find myself standing on Autumn's porch without the traditional whatchamacallit guys usually give to their dates because this isn't a date. Chances are, she's forgotten about the whole arrangement and this was a huge waste of time.

"Fancy seeing you here, Alsephina." Her voice catches me off guard. It's only then that I realize that I've been standing out on this porch for more than ten minutes. Thank God for that day long nap, else I'd have ed out here like a lightweight who's had way too much to drink.

"I'm a man of my word, Carmichael. As unfortunate as it is becoming." I visibly relax and wait for her to open the door.

"Lucky for you, I'm not a woman of reason. If I were, I'd have been on a plane headed home right this minute." The door swings open to reveal her smile. It quickly fades. "What are you doing here, Orion?" Her voice is low, nearly inaudible. "I thought we said we would stop whatever this is."

"Autumn, I was most likely sleep deprived when I said that, though I don't recall those words spouting from my lips in particular," I say, trying to will air into my lungs. "But assuming they did, I made it clear enough that I didn't mean them. And if my words weren't obvious enough for you, at least, I hope my presence is."

"It's confusing at best." She steps aside. "Come on inside. And please, drop the accent on your way in."

Her aunt must be absent, because the house is quieter than I've ever seen it. In addition to that, there's nothing on the stove. "Autumn, I'm only here because I promised I'd take you sightseeing. That's it."

"Oh. Okay," she says. "So, the whole thing—what you said about wanting to see where this goes—was a rouse?"

I run a hand through my hair. She has a way of twisting words. Either that or I've almost fully fucked this up. With my reputation, it's probably the latter.

"I don't think it'll be very appropriate or charming to ask you to be my girlfriend right here, would it?" A shaky breath escapes my lips. I don't expect an answer, but I get one anyway.

"No, it wouldn't."

"Exactly," I say like it finalizes anything. "On a completely different note, can we please put this aside and get out of here? I have to show you the city's library. It's fucking massive."

The laugh that pours out from her mouth is angelic in the least, and I'm forced to look away. "Just let me change out of these clothes and I'll be right out."

Her words hit something in my head and I raise a finger, stopping her without words. "Have you showered in the last two days?" I find myself asking. I would be mostly unbothered even if she were to answer no, but a part of me would want to question her further.

Nodding, she smiles up at me. "Yeah, I have. Like I said, I don't have terrible hygiene. You just happened to witness me at a low." She sucks in her bottom lip and grazes it with her teeth. "Let's hope that never happens again."

"Actually." I reach out and take her hand. "Let's not," I say. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion. "I mean, if you're at a low again, I don't want you to lock yourself up in your room and cry and . . ."

"You want to use your tally metaphor again? Or is it gonna be the one about Legos since I'm apparently made of both plastic and concrete."

I smile cheekily. Run my tongue over my lip. Worry it between my teeth. Let it go. "That was brilliant, Carmichael, but I won't be using metaphors. I slept way too much and my brain is still asleep. Either that or this erratic pulse is as a result of a panic attack and not mixed up emotion."

Her eyes go wide, she places a hand on my chest, right above my heart. "I know you said pulse, but—" Her eyes meet mine. "You really need to calm down."

I don't say anything. Instead, I pull away and jerk my head towards the hallway. She looks from me to the door. "Okay," she drawls. "I'm going. Make yourself at home."

***

While most people have dates with destiny, I have dates with death. Like, a lot of dates. Actually, I think I might be fated to date death, if that's a thing, and contrary to fate, death isn't too hot on the idea of dating me. Which is exactly why I haven't yet died.

I'll be honest; I kind of don't get it. I'm the guy who types how to escape reality and never come back into a Google search bar. What do I expect to come out of it? Tips? Like the universe wants me gone? But what do I get? Suicide prevention center addresses and hotlines, like I looked up how to escape reality and never come back so I'd end up not wanting to. It doesn't even work that way. People should know that.

A part of me fears that Mom's the only thing keeping me alive right now, and another part of me just doesn't care. I think it's so fucking selfish that I even

think about ending my life, but even though I know it's wrong, I can't stop. If I had a therapist, they'd call them intrusive thoughts. I know; I've been on the internet. But I don't have a therapist. Because I don't need one. I'm perfectly fine, even though it might not look that way to the rest of the world. Who cares what people think, anyway?

Autumn tugs at my arm gently, silently calling my attention to God knows what. We're at the unnamed West Abrigale Library, and she cannot stop sucking in her breaths. I don't think she's exhaled since we stepped foot in here.

"I had no idea it was this huge," she whispers without looking at me. "Look at this place, Orion. How could you not love it?"

I let out a breath. "I never did say that, did I?" It's a rhetorical question, I think, but she doesn't answer me because she's too in awe. Which means there's enough silence in my head, and I can be mentally self-destructive.

When she runs off in search of wordsy art, I find a seat at a cubicle that's not too hidden and settle in it, clasping my hands together in front of me. I like the quiet, but I almost never come here because it's too quiet. There's a level of silence I can take, and this. . .it does not sit well with my brain.

Nothing does, actually.

"Don't think I'm gonna let you sit here alone and be all miserable," someone says from behind me. I'm not sure they're talking to me, but the voice sounds familiar and people are always saying I'm miserable. I turn back to find Tasha standing behind me with a stack of books in her hands. I should have felt her presence.

Smelt her perfume. Something.

"I don't think you're gonna let me sit here and be all miserable," I say. A smile creeps onto my face. "I almost forgot you volunteer here. What's it like? Finals season, I mean." I unclasp my hands and sling my arm over the backrest.

"A nightmare," she answers. "It's somehow more scary than the actual exams." Her lip gets pulled between her teeth and she looks away. "Hey, so, I was wondering—" she sets the stack of books down in the cubicle to my left and pulls the wooden chair out so she can occupy it. "Do you have a date for prom?"

My eyebrows inch higher. "Is this you asking me indirectly? Because I would much prefer a promposal."

Her face brightens up with a smile. Then, a breathy chuckle. Her eyes fall to the wooden barrier separating the two cubicles. "Not unless you have a date. And I'm sorry it's not a promposal. This isn't exactly the place for one. I didn't think I'd run into you today."

"I didn't think I'd be here, but I'm sort of on a date? I wouldn't call it that. I just— I'm showing someone around," I say. Then, "and I'm going to ask her to prom. I wasn't planning on attending it, but Maeve would shave my head if I didn't."

"Right." She chuckles. "You really lucked out with a friend like that." Her tone drips with sarcasm, but I don't comment on it. She's right, after all. Maeve is a handful. It's why I can't stand to be around her most of the time. I don't know how Holden does it, but from what I've seen, I think he's found her Off Button. "Do I know this girl?"

My forehead creases in confusion. "What girl?"

"The one you're supposedly showing around. Your potential prom date. Your secret girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend," I blurt, somehow keeping my tone firm and voice low. "Not yet, anyway. It'd be nice if she were, but she's a minor. She makes it clear every time she meets someone new." I don't say that I like her for it, because Tasha doesn't need to know that. And because itting that would only do more harm than good. "Plus, I'm leaving for college."

She scoffs. "Shitty excuse, but you're you. I wouldn't expect anything less."

Okay, now I'm offended. "What's that supposed to mean?

"You keep making up excuses for yourself. It's why you're never really happy. I mean, look at you. You're eighteen and you've never had a girlfriend, but hell knows how many rooftops you've jumped from. Keeping the suicidal thing aside, you literally don't give yourself a break. Or a chance. Or anything, for that matter. Give this a shot, please. For your own good. If it doesn't work out, then that's fine. It's all part of life. You're a poet; you'll make something good out of it."

This is the kind of advice you're supposed to get from your best friend. Or your older brother. But no; all they ever try to do is "go easy on me so I don't spiral". I think they're missing the fact that I refused therapy and I'm still here, sitting and

breathing, and not waiting for a roll call so I can be appointed a spot in hell.

Also, if I did commit suicide, the devil would claim my soul, and how is hell any better than this reality?

"How are you so sure something good will come out of it? According to research, I destroy everything," I say. "First, I'm pretty sure my dad died because of my existence, and my Mom's ill for that same reason. It's only a matter of time until something bad happens to her, too. I can't let that happen. She's already been through so much."

Tasha bites down on her tongue. "If you like her enough to try, then I'm sure you two will make it work. I swear on the yacht your dad's funeral was held," she adds, probably to light up the atmosphere.

And it does.

When Tasha leaves, I pull out my phone and open the notes app. As long as I'm at the library, I might as well make good use of the quiet. My paper is nearly due.

Hot Take: The Universe and Us.

It takes two hours, but I finally have enough to edit and mail in.

Chapter Nineteen

Orion

Something bad has happened, and what hurts more is that there was nothing I could've done to prevent it. I tried—despite everyone telling me to let it be and allow nature to run its course—but it wasn't enough.

Mom suffered a heart attack. At first, I didn't think it was serious, but then it got worse, before getting way worse, and I had to drive her to the hospital at three forty-eight in the morning. If I'd gotten up a little bit earlier, things would be different.

She would tell me it wasn't my fault, but she can't, because she's in the ICU, and I can't go in to see her and try to convince her to stop asking the doctors to let nature run its course. First the woman tells me to be less miserable, then she goes ahead to nearly fucking die.

I hate my mother so very fucking much right now. I hate her so, so much. Even more than I hate my father. But most importantly, I hate Lynx for not being here.

I send him a text. Bad news. There's been an accident.

I have no idea what time it is in California, and that's solely on me. My lack of for Lynx's dream is partly why I haven't asked him anything about what he does. I don't even know the time difference. I'm a terrible brother—son. Person.

The doctors say she'll be here for a while; that they're surprised she's made it up to this point; that she hasn't been taking proper care of herself; that she's been breaking every rule there is. What they don't say, is that she's been doing the exact same thing I've been doing; letting herself go. Screw nature, and Mom's mentality along with it. Just because we're all going to die eventually doesn't mean we shouldn't practice self care.

So what if I'm a hypocrite? At least I'm not the one with a critical condition.

When I get back into the safety of my car, I lock the doors, rest my head on the steering wheel. My neck starts to hurt from the unnecessary strain, but I couldn't be less bothered. This wasn't supposed to happen. None of it was supposed to happen. Maybe things would be different if Autumn never showed up. I wouldn't have run off with her several times if she weren't here, and I'd have been able to look after Mom.

"I am such an idiot," I say, slowly raising my head. My eyes take focus on the steering wheel, so my hands follow. I could easily drive off a cliff. Or jump off a bridge. Or park on a railway and bash my head against the window until I'm too far gone to even think about driving to safety.

Or I could count to seven and wait for a miracle. It's never worked, but that could've been because I wasn't trying hard enough.

My phone beeps, drawing my attention to it. For the next few seconds that follow, I forget all about my possible seven count miracle. I pick up the phone and open the text, not bothering to lower the brightness level. Who cares if my eyes get damaged?

It's not Lynx, and that blows. But it's Holden, so maybe it's not all bad.

Gilipolla: I heard what happened. Where are you?

I bite my tongue before answering. Hospital. Clearly. Then, how did you find out?

Gilipolla: Mom told me. Good thing she was listed as next of kin, huh?

That might mean Lynx would have heard, but I'm not sure. I didn't get notified, but that's probably because I brought her here. I guess, I type back. I wait a few seconds for the typing bubbles to pop up, but they don't. Does Maeve know? Is she waiting for me? Are you? Are you two preparing to ambush me? Does your Mom want me to come over? Does everyone think I'm going to spiral again?

I read over my text twelve times before pressing send. When I do, I don't wait for the reply I'm sure to get. Instead, I toss my phone in the back seat and turn the key in the ignition, revving the car's engine more than is necessary. The vibrations aren't enough to soothe me, and neither is the noise.

My breathing starts to turn shallow and forced. I turn on the air conditioner,

setting it to hi because cold air is always good—therapeutic, unlike my coping mechanisms.

I'm really starting to think I should have gotten therapy.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

***

If my life were a movie, I simply wouldn't watch it. No one would, I'm sure. But I'm cursed with having to live it—it's either that or face eternal damnation—and it's way less fun than non-fun things should be. Also, Lynx still hasn't texted me back.

"What're you gonna do now?" Holden asks in an attempt to be helpful. He tosses a can of Gatorade from one hand to the other like it's, well, a basketball. "I talked Mom out of making you come live with us because, you know, it's unnecessary. If you were in an orphanage, you'd be out by now. So, technically, you're an adult. You can live on your own."

He's right. Except, he isn't.

I can't live alone and he knows that. Everyone knows that. I wish I didn't believe that so much, but I do. But despite the odds and facts and statistics and everything, I will survive. Why? Because contrary to what everyone—including myself—believes, I actually do know how to be responsi for myself.

Reaching into my open fridge, I take out another can of Gatorade. "Do you really think that? Be honest." I gently shut the fridge and turn to him, leaning on it. Holden's face is a mask of pure discomfort, and I should feel bad for putting him on The Spot, but I really don't give a rat's ass about it. After all, it's just like all the times I've been put on The Spot for doing something highly unreasonable and detrimental to my ability to stay alive.

Holden's eyebrows clash as he opens his Gatorade, eyes looking everywhere but at me. I follow his line of sight to the stove. It's completely devoid of cooking pots and stray pans. Mom never leaves the kitchen messy. Another thing we share in common, but only because I never really cook.

"Why would you ask that?" He slowly brings the can up to his lips. "Of course I think that. You're capable. A kick-ass depressed kid who somehow manages to keep his shit together." He finally meets my eyes, but only for a brief second. "At least on the outside," he adds. "And without proper medication. How about that?"

I run my tongue over my teeth. "Holden," I start. A chuckle tumbles out of my mouth. "You had no business calling me depressed. I'm fine. Okay?" I ask, peering at him over the top of my Gatorade, not knowing whether or not he said it as a fact or meant for it to sting. It didn't sting. "I mean, it's not like this is going to change anything. I'm definitely not relapsing, and I didn't spend the wee hours of the morning thinking up ways to commit a crime."

He narrows his eyes at me. "Has anyone ever told you your sarcasm is always so glaringly obvious?"

I'm about to answer him when I hear a knock on the front door. I immediately frown, wondering whether Lynx had read my message some time between nine in the morning and now, but more importantly, why he would be knocking on the door to his own house.

"Yes, you have. Multiple times," I quickly say, hurrying towards the door. The knocking isn't rude or urgent, but the sound of bone hitting (wood? metal?) is stirring up a part of my brain that I'd rather be asleep.

We don't have a peephole, and the keyhole won't necessarily help me identify who's on the other side, so I open the door. I could've just asked, but that would require effort. Plus, this way I can dramatically slam the door in the person's face out of pretend shock or pure dislike.

Or just because I don't want them to be here.

I bury my face in my hand and shake my head. "Why would you think it's a good idea for you to show up unannounced? I have a phone. You could've ed me."

Autumn purses her lips and pouts, smushing it up to one side and tapping the pad of her index finger against her cheek. "Oh, gee, I wonder why I didn't think of texting you to let you know I'd be here. Maybe it's because a certain someone didn't think it fit to give me a phone number."

I roll my eyes at her and step aside to let her in. I should not be doing this. "You say that all the time. It's not like you don't have one to leave for me."

"It's not like you ever asked."

"Yeah, well, can't argue with that," I eventually say, wondering if now is a good time to let her know that my Mom isn't here to have a deep conversation with her over a large tray of ceviche. "Why are you here?" I ask, Holden momentarily forgotten. "I thought you said we weren't going to do this anymore."

She does a spin so she's facing me. "I did say that, but then you showed up at my house. And you know, sometimes people forfeit their own rules and self respect because of some tall guy with a guitar who makes them feel like they're walking on air."

How did we get this close? And isn't Holden right in the kitchen?

"You think I'm just a tall guy with a guitar?"

My voice is low. Why does my voice sound so low?

Her bottom lip disappears into her mouth. I half expect her to nod or verbally affirm, but after about a minute of sucking on it, she releases her lip and says, "you're more than that, Orion. You're my starchild."

I am annoyingly reminded of Holden's presence when he says, "Holy shit, Orion. I thought you were kidding." He's now in the living room, clutching two cans of Gatorade. I instinctively glance down at my hands. Where'd mine go?

Autumn flinches back at the sound of his voice.

"Hey, you're that girl from the school." Holden looks between us. "Is that where you two met? What is this, anyway?"

I scrunch up my nose. "Well, yes. She is the girl from school, but she's also the reason I tried drinking that unearthly concoction. No, we didn't meet at school. Duh. And this is . . ." I look down at Autumn for help.

"This is a situationship. We're figuring things out," she says without hesitation, like she's practiced this scene over and over. "Hi, I'm Autumn, a minor, female as far as the eye can see. I'm also free next weekend."

I like that she picked up conversation without letting any awkwardness ruminate between us because that would've been, well, awkward.

"Are you flirting with my best friend?"

"Depends," she answers with a shrug. "Are you free next Saturday?" she asks Holden.

"That, I am. But the problem here is that I am currently in a relationship and I do not reckon my pardner would appreciate me frolicking with another female in the heart of the city," he says, clearly amused. As a matter of fact, they both are. And since I seem to be enjoying this, I guess I am, too.

"See? He likes me." Autumn lifts her shoulder and lets it drop. "Too bad he's taken. I would have loved to lose my fingers in the soft tendrils of his bright yellow hair."

"I'm pretty sure that's not what he meant, but okay," I say. I step out of the living room and retrieve another energy drink from the fridge. This time, it's a Monster.

I can't tell what they're talking about over the sound of the running tap—I just turned it on to wash my hands—but I don't necessarily care. What would I even say? Oi, stop flirting with my Autumn, would you? Like that's appropriate in any situation. I have other things to do, anyway. I still have to check my phone for Lynx's reply.

Thankfully, it's there, but it's not one that shows much concern. I grit my teeth and read it more times than necessary. What kind of accident? is all he said, proving that I am in fact, the better child.

I quickly type back a reply, hoping that he'll be able to read it before he's whisked off into the studio, but I'm too late, because I don't get one instantly. So, I wait; for Holden to decide that he's flirted enough, for Lynx to text back, for a call from the hospital, for Mom to walk through the doors and tell me it was all a big joke.

I lean back on the sink and wait, sipping my beverage within mentally counted intervals.

Chapter Twenty

Autumn

Honestly, I hate the summer. But most importantly, I hate the summers when I've recently moved and my only sorta friend is a guy who's older and way too busy with his education to have time to spare for me. I mean, I should be grateful I ever actually see him, but I'm still so bitter about everything that's happened so far that I'm slightly blinded by that bitterness to clearly see all the good that's come out of my Big Move.

God had no business allowing my parents to bring me into this world, but since I'm here, I better make the most of it. How does one even. . .not live their life? How do people decide "oh, this is it. The end of the line for me. I've had it up to HERE and I will not spend another second on this godforsaken earth"?

Most importantly, how do people think it's okay to think that?

I pull my notebook up to my face level, barely being able to balance it on my knees. I'm wedged between two kitchen cabinets, supposedly hiding from Lou. Only, I'm not. I just really like this spot, because it hurts, and hurting physically is the closest I will ever come to not existing.

Also, I think I deserve a bit of discomfort for upping and leaving everything behind like that. Everyone. Including my non-existent friends, who, clearly, do

not exist.

How did I even live like that? How did I possibly go through every day ALONE, with nobody but that dickhead "on my side"? How could my parents even make me do such a thing?

Like the ungrateful lowlife I am, I find myself wishing my life was a crappy teenage fiction where I end up being sold off to a world famous boy band. The only problem is that I hate boy bands. Well, most of them. I mean, what do they even sing about? What does anyone sing about?

What is the music industry turning into? What is this self enforced mental therapy session turning into?

My ears perk up at the sound of the front door being shut. That means Lou's home, and I have to get out of here. But it's so comfortable—the pain, the cramping in my legs, the lack of blood flow to the upper and lower parts of my body, leaving me wondering how I'm still able to feel my limbs.

"Hey there," Lou says in the softest of voices, dumping a bag of what I presume are groceries on the kitchen counter with an unceremonious thump. She slips into one of the barstools and jerks her head at me. "What're you doing?"

I look from my notebook to her. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I answer, shutting the book and sliding it across the floor as far as I can manage, which isn't nearly far enough. "Could you. . .could you maybe help me out of here?"

Lou bites her lip, then shakes her head.

I shrug, "Fair enough." And lean back into the wall. "How was your day? You look. . .very unlike yourself."

She sighs heavily and practically melts into the stool, deflating like a balloon that's been left out in the sun. "Shitty day. Shitty job. But at least I have one, right?" she asks, not even waiting for an answer. "And there's this colleague of mine, or should I call her my supervisor? God, she's such a bitch. I hate her. She makes me hate working. I mean, yeah, I hate my job, but at least it wasn't so unbearable before her promotion."

I still don't know what Lou does for work. For works? But she's made it clear that she has more than one job, and that she detests most of them. I'd advise her to quit, but. . .It's hard enough parenting a sixteen year old. Try to do that without a legal source of income.

"And the biggest problem is that there's nothing wrong with her. Can you believe that? She's super nice and super fake and so fucking pretty, and—"

"Louise!" I yell, cutting her off mid-sentence. She sends me a glare that causes me to rumble with laughter. The vibrations ricochet off the wooden cabinets and back into my bones, creating a tickling sensation that makes me laugh even more.

She shakes her head and scoffs, flicking her wrist in my direction. "I can't

believe you're finding amusement in my misfortune."

"No," I manage to say, "I'm only laughing because you have a crush on your coworker." The corners of my lips twitch upwards as I cock my head to the side to get a better view of Lou's slightly red face.

Her look of annoyance morphs into a frown. "How dare you," she whispers, letting a small smile overtake her features. "How dare you accuse me of such a felony?" Pause. "Do you have any idea how illegal that is?"

My eyebrows crease. "Lou, it's not illegal to like someone."

"It is. I could get fired just for thinking about it. Which is why I've given them a six week notice." She smiles briefly, then lowers her head and pushes at the sides with the pads of her fingers. "I can't stand to be around her," she then says.

"So, what? You're gonna go out of work? You'll sit at home and watch really crappy television?"

A sigh. "Ahh, I wish. I have other jobs, ? Honestly, I think I work too much. This might be good for me, you know. For you, too. We never get to talk."

I wince at her words. They're completely true, but they're giving me mixed feelings. On one hand, I'd love to spend more time with Lou—it's why I moved to be with her in particular—but on the other, I'd be spending more time with Lou, which means Lou would be all up in my business, prying and snooping and

trying to get me to spill things I'd rather keep to myself.

And Orion.

The difference between them is; Lou would try to get me to talk to someone. Orion would make me talk to him, which is always good. It's like, bonding, right? And he understands because he's sort of been there. Lou's too much of an adult for me to confide in.

I sneak a glance at her. She's lost in thought, head pressed to the cold marble top.

She can't quit her job.

"Louise, is there any way I could make you not stop working? Maybe if you, I don't know, get over your colleague?" I offer, desperate to get her to change her mind. I love Lou, I really do, but I cannot have her home with me. She'll snoop, just like my Mom did, and I can't afford to let that happen. I have so much to lose, obviously. She might tell my dad—because that's what responsible adults do—and they'll send me back home and have me locked up in an asylum.

I'll never get better that way.

She raises her head slowly, tentatively. "Do you not want to spend time with me?" she asks, swirls of confusion hidden behind her amber eyes. I wish I had my dad's eyes, but of course, I got stuck with brown. Plain, old, boring brown. "I thought that was the whole point of you coming here."

Ooh, Autumn, you've done it now.

"That's not what I meant!" I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air despite the fact that the pointy edges of the cabinets are digging into my skin, poking my bones. It doesn't hurt much, and there's no indication of pain on my face. I wince, just in case Lou's brain is on high observation alert. "What do you expect me to say? I'm cramped in this tiny spot, and you won't even understand me! Of course, I want to spend time with you. I just don't think you should quit your job under that guise."

She purses her lips, mulling over my outburst. I bite down on mine, vibrating in the tiny space. Why can't you just tell her? See what happens. She might not make you go to therapy. She might not make you go back home. What if she gets it? What's the worst that could happen? Anything she does is FOR YOUR OWN GOOD. And if she confisticates all your "equipment", then that's that.

BUT ITS SO HARD KEEPING CLEAN! DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND SOBRIETY? WHAT IF I DIE FROM A PANIC ATTACK? OR WORSE, WHAT IF I RELAPSE?

You can't relapse if you never actually stopped.

I'm furiously writing my thoughts down, the paper getting hotter with every scribble I fear it may catch on fire. Honestly, I'd be relieved if it did. Then Lou would never get to read it. You can't relapse if you never actually stopped.

I stare hard at the paper for more than a minute, hoping to heaven and back that Lou isn't watching me. Then, I write out a resolution, one I hope I can actually keep to.

Give it a rest. Let Lou quit. You have nothing to hide. And if she does get suspicious, just make something up.

This won't work. I know it. But it's worth a try.

When I glance back up, Lou is gone.

Chapter Twenty One

Orion

Lynx's absence is more of an inconvenience than it's ever been. I used to want him gone a lot, and I still don't mind it, but I sort of really need emotional right now, and there's only so much Holden can do. No one else knows about what's happened. Tasha might be of help—with all that sagelike wisdom bottled up in her head—but I don't think it'd be appropriate to tell her.

Now that's just an excuse.

My phone lights up next to me, sending vibrations through the bed. It's Lynx, thank God.

Hermano Mayor: Orion? Why're you blowing up my phone at two in the morning?

I scrunch up my nose at his message. All I did was spam him a little, but he can't blame me for it, can he?

Frowning, I sit up straighter and type a reply. Our mother is dying and you're off making films she might never get the chance to see. Look, I'm not asking you to

come back home, I'm just saying that MAYBE you should be more SENSITIVE with your SCANTY REPLIES. Do you have any idea how hard it's been handling things? Do you? Of course not. I quickly press send and pull my knees up to chest level. You're such a fucking narcissist.

My eyes sweep over the screen a couple more times, the text becoming blurrier with every examination. I don't blink, not wanting my tears to fall, but there's only so much I can do to keep them at bay. I'm a crier, and I'm fine with it. Everyone is, I think. What's wrong with a few tears?

Okay, a lot of tears, but still. They're just tears.

The bubbles atop the screen start to bounce, and I bite my bottom lip, chewing on it, waiting, biting, waiting, biting, until I can taste blood. Lynx still isn't done typing, so I decide that I'm done for today. I'm done with him. With existing. With Mom's condition that just can't seem to get better.

I throw my cell phone across the room and bury myself beneath the covers, knees still drawn up to my chin. I won't get up—I can't, shouldn't—for my sake and for Mom's and Holden's, because I don't want Mom to come home to find her son dead. And because I can't trust my actions when all reason is clouded with suicidal thoughts.

Of course, I end up not being able to stay in bed, because Lynx—curse his immature soul—is disturbing my sulking with notifications. My phone won't stop dinging. I shield my ears with a pillow, but it's no use. The sounds keep getting past the barrier.

Instead of trying harder to ignore the continuous beeping, I roll out of bed and storm over to where the device landed, right next to the bathroom door. There's a fresh crack that runs across the diagonal length of the screen protector—thank heaven for those. I click on Lynx's message, and it's just blatant, unadulterated anger. (From me, of course.)

A few paragraphs down and I realize that it's not a series of angry replies, it's just. . . guilt tripping. So very typical Lynx-like coping mechanisms I can't help but cringe at.

Hermano mayor: I'm sorry I can't be there for you, but you have to understand that I'm busy. Do you really think I wouldn't drop everything and come visit you guys? Do you honestly think I hate you? That I don't care about Mom? You should know better! And quite frankly, you should be ashamed of yourself for thinking like this.

I am not narcissistic. Take that back.

You don't mean that, do you?

Orion, pick up the phone.

You can't seriously be mad at me?

I talked to Holden's mother. She gave me the rundown of things.

Are you still there? Can we talk?

I stare at the words until they become jumbled up in my head and I can no longer tell text from text. I hate that this is happening, hate that my head is spinning so violently that I can't even see straight. But at least I'm able to type out a reply so he doesn't get apprehensive and assume I'm dead.

Stop texting back, asshole.

I hate you.

***

The television blares in the living room. It's past midnight, I'm home alone, and still reeling from yesterday's conversation with my brother.

In more honesty, I'm angry with myself. That has to be it, because there's no possible way I could hate the world. I haven't even met the world yet.

In a way, I might also be angry with the universe. For making me this way, for making my life this way, for taking my dad away, for stealing my mom's health. And most importantly, for forgetting to grab my sense of humanity on her way out.

The line between sanity and mania has long been erased, and I find myself trying

to keep the voices in my head quiet. Fortunately for me, Mom is still alive, which means there's hope, and that I should probably just head to bed. I couldn't possibly give the world a grand show from the inside of a dark room.

Lynx crosses my mind, but he's nothing more than a fleeting thought. If he lied to me about cutting back on his smoking and drug use, I will, without a doubt, be pissed. More pissed, because it makes no sense for him to get so deep into the same thing that took our father away from us. I can't call him out on it—it wouldn't help—so I'll have to sit back and watch the same thing happen to him.

I'm really tired of losing people.

I'm not sure how long I sit at the counter for, but at some point, I out from exhaustion on a pile of drugs.

Chapter Twenty Two

Orion

With Mom away from home, the house feels empty. Well, emptier than it usually feels, so instead of walking through the silent corridors and peeking my head out of the roof's window every now and then, I've taken to visiting Mom at least twice a week.

Lynx and I haven't had a proper conversation since my outburst—we haven't even had a conversation. I don't know what I'd say to him if he were to pop up somehow, and quite frankly, I don't want to think about it. He hasn't even tried to talk to me since then.

Leaving the house, I intended to visit Mom and maybe drop off a pie I'd earlier made, but my darned brain switched itself off and I ended up at Autumn's house. It's a win-win situation, because Mom's been asking about her, and there's a high chance Autumn would want to visit the hospital.

Unless she has a phobia.

I sit in the car for thirteen minutes, all of which I count myself, contemplating getting down to meet her—if she's in—or doing a bit of driving so my mental fog clears. For my benefit, I get down and drag my exhausted human shell (my philosophies are overly dramatic) to the front door, then knock and poke the

doorbell simultaneously.

It still feels to me like one giant mistake. Finals are nearly over, which means I'll be off in less than a month. And I know Curtis hasn't yet reached out to me, but I'm still hopeful, even if for nothing else. Speaking of college, Holden should've left weeks ago.

The door opens slowly. Autumn forces a small smile when she sees me, but it's unbelievable and pointless so she lets it fall. Dark circles adorn the areas under her sunken eyes, making her look more like a raccoon than raccoons do. Her ratty brown hair is piled on top of her head, slightly tilted to the side like it could fall any minute. Basically, she looks terrible.

"You look like I feel," I say, unable to hear my own voice. She bites down on her lip in response and opens the door wider for me to step in. I do.

We stand in silence for what measures like an eternity, awkwardly leaning on whatever pieces of furniture are closest to us. Right now, I'm more worried about Autumn than I've ever been. So, I break the unusual silence, pulling her out of whatever trance she's in.

"Are you feeling okay?"

She nods, standing up straight. "It's just side effects."

My eyebrows furrow. "Side effects of . . .?"

"Medicine."

An ironic smile creeps onto my face. "Well, that's a load of help, isn't it?" I feel terrible for coming here at a time like this. I mean, it's a good thing I'm here—at least, for her sake, but with neither of us being super great, I don't think today is going to end on a happy note. "Carmichael?"

"I'm fine!" she exclaims, throwing her hands in the air as she does. "I'm okay, I'm good. I seriously don't want you to worry about me. Lou's done enough of that already." She crosses her arms over her chest and sinks to the floor, using the back of the couch as a backrest.

My ironic smile fades, making way for a cheeky one that's barely even there. I crouch down in front of her. "You clearly aren't," I say. "What prescriptions are you on?"

She hugs her knees to her chest and buries her face in the trough between her knees. "I'm not on prescriptions," she mumbles. "I don't even know what drugs they were. I just took them. Lou found out because they're her medication, and I stole them like the terrible piece of shit person that I am." Her hands squeeze the sides of her calves tighter so that her nails dig into the skin. "Now look what's happening. Karma caught up with me."

Is it weird that the urge to kiss her is always strongest when she's in this state?

"Autumn," I start, as carefully as I can whilst uncomfortably trying to balance

my body weight on an ankle. "I need you to tell me what's wrong. Can you show me the drugs? I might be able to recognize them, and you know, do something about how you're feeling."

She raises her head, sucks in her lower lip and sniffles, wiping the tears from her face. "I can't." Her voice is barely a whisper. "Lou took them. I—I think she hates me. Either that or she's scared of me. Of what I can do," she trails off on of her quivering lips. Yeesh—she is not a pretty crier.

Okay, scratch that.

"She isn't, I promise—"

"How do you know?" she whispers, her breath—thankfully, it's fresh—fanning my face. "How could you possibly know what Lou thinks of me? You've never even had a conversation with her."

The tears are free falling in huge quantities—tear-wise—like fat, salty raindrops. She wipes them with the pad of her palm, throwing her head back every so often as though that could possibly stop them from escaping her tear sacs.

"I have," I blurt. "Yes, I have, but I don't think that's what this is about." My eyes soften at the sight of her now uncontrollable free falling tears. I've never seen a person turn so. . .red. The worst part is that I don't even know what to do to make her feel better. Mom would, as would Tasha and Maeve maybe, but I can't exactly ring them up to ask for advice. "Why did you take them?"

She shakes her head and reopens the floodgates of waterville. "You'll hate me."

I smile sadly at her words, shaking my head softly. "That's impossible; I could never hate you." She parts her lips to counter, but I beat her to it. "And I'm not just saying that. Shit, I wish I were. I really, really wish I was being nice and generic right now, but I don't know how to. It's not. . .It's not me. So, what I'm saying is, I never really could hate you. Which sucks, because you know exactly how to get on my nerves, and you keep doing stuff that's bad for you and not telling me why."

Autumn drums her fingers against her knees. "I felt terrible, like, you know, mentally. And, I guess I thought I needed to do something about how I was feeling. I didn't think it'd turn out this way," she says. "All I wanted was for the voices in my head to be quiet."

I hold a finger up and lean back, relieving my sore ankles. I settle down opposite her, using the wall as a rest. "Are we having a moment? One of our exchange things?" I sound like an idiot even to myself, but my words earn a chuckle from her. I try not to let my happiness surface.

"Yes, Orion. We're having one of our exchange moment things." She throws me a smile, and it lightens up her whole face. "I haven't had the chance to say, but you look just as bad as I do. What's up with that?"

I run a hand through my hair and sigh. "My Mom's been in the hospital for almost two weeks now, and my brother isn't doing much about it. The house is really empty and quiet—it's like living in a graveyard. My demons are the corpses. They're more vicious, though, and it's gotten worse lately, since I have nothing to distract myself with. Usually I'd kill time in Mom's room, watch her sleep for a while, then study a bit, but finals are nearly over. I have just one exam

left."

I can't tell if she's giving me a look of pity or if it's something else. She reaches a hand forward and tries to touch my thigh, but she's too far away to, so she stretches her leg forward and uses her foot. I smile at the action. She's better at comforting people than I am.

"What happened to your Mom?"

Blowing out a breath, I readjust myself, making sure to be careful so her foot doesn't fall off my thigh. "She had a heart attack. It was so bad, I swear she died for a bit."

Autumn winces. "That happens?"

I shrug. "It's happened to me, so, I guess it does."

"Oh?" Her brows shoot up and she leans forward slightly. The action is barely noticeable, but having anxiety sort of forced me to learn to understand even the simplest of changes in people's body language. It paid off. At least, I think it did.

"Yes," I say, and because I know what she's getting at, "I died at fourteen. I know it sounds weird. It is weird, but it happened." I stop there for the time being, waiting for her to urge me on. She doesn't disappoint.

"And then what? You can't just tell me you died and resurrected and leave it at that."

A smile creeps onto my face. "It was a suicide attempt. The only one that was actually sort of successful." I watch her eyes go momentarily wide. "I think it was the time I ate crushed glass, but I'm not completely sure. It was more of an experiment than a suicide attempt, but honestly, I can't for sure. I lost some memories one time, so I'm sure how it went down. No one told me the full story because they didn't want me to get triggered. They don't understand that I don't need anyone's help to self-destruct."

A moment of silence es, just enough for Autumn to soak up the new information. "You say the most depressing things, Alsephina." She tucks her hair behind her ear and rubs her arms. "Should we. . .Should we go do something, maybe?"

I purse my lips and touch my fingers to her toes, watching her squirm and flinch every time I do so. "Wanna go visit my Mom with me? I made pecan pie," I add, mostly to bait her. Though I doubt it was necessary. She'd somehow become my mother's closest "young and hip" friend, even though I've never seen them having a single conversation. It's probably because Autumn is the opposite of me —not miserable and mopey—at least to the outside eye.

"Yes, I'll go with you," she laughs, "and I swear it's not because of the pie. I feel like I need to be there. I feel like you want me to be there."

I don't affirm nor gainsay.

Chapter Twenty Three

Orion

Holden is at the hospital with his mother and younger sister, Blythe, when we get there, and I immediately regret showing up. The feeling doesn't last long, of course, because it's my mother, and I bet she'd be happier to see me than she would be to see anyone else.

"Oh, hey," I say with feigned enthusiasm, waving at three-fourths of the Foster family whilst Autumn tries to fight me for the food basket. I keep telling her I can handle it, that it's not a big deal and that it's just a fucking basket, but she won't stop trying to get it out of my grip. I think it has something to do with the pie inside of it.

Mrs. Foster's face automatically falls when she notices me, and I cringe. Human emotions are so gross, but sympathy is by far, the grossest of them all. "Orion, are you—"

Holden cuts her off. "Dude, I stopped by your house earlier. Well, I have been since the week started, but you weren't in. I'll satisfy my curiosity later, but there's something else we need to talk about." He meets my eyes and nods curtly, like the nod is supposed to mean something, and I'm supposed to understand what it means, but I'm just as clueless as his gaping mother.

Autumn taps on my shoulder. Reluctantly, I hand her the basket. "Room two-oheight. Tell her I'll be there as soon as I can," I say, then I crane my neck so far that it hurts, but I'm able to mouth the words, "go alone", to her, to which she nods, curls her fingers around the handle of the basket, and stalks off to the front desk.

Holden regains my attention by snapping his fingers in front of my face. I roll my eyes at him. "All right, all right, fine. Let's get this over with."

"Great," he mutters, falling in step with me. "So, you know how I was supposed to leave for college last month? Yeah, well, I asked for an extension. They gave me one because of finals—apparently, my grades are important—but finals are over—for me, at least—and I need to leave soon, but I want to be here when you leave, and graduation is still a couple of weeks away. I can't miss that, can't not be here for you. It'll be the first time you do something like this—hell, I think it's the first time you'll be leaving the city. It's too huge to up."

Holden's word vomit leaves me in stunned silence.

"Please say something," he urges, eyes pleading, like my input actually matters. Like I'm important. Not totally worthless and unneeded.

"You can leave and fly back for graduation. Or, you could get your certificate mailed to you. I'll just FaceTime you and set your face on the seat next to me so you can see what's happening, though I doubt it'd be super interesting." I shrug. "I really don't want you to forfeit your scholarship because of me, Holden. It's not worth it."

He flinches back. "Are you shitting me? I am going to be here and personally drive you to the airport. And it's not because I have a feeling you won't get out of the house on that day—I understand that this is something you really want to do —"

"Stop," I say, holding a hand up to his face. "I didn't get anything from Curtis. I might not be leaving for college."

Yes, I'm put off by the fact that I haven't received anything—not even a rejection letter—from Curtis, even though I've gotten other ission emails. I know the Institute of Music has a super low acceptance rate, but I really thought the scout that met with me after one of my very terrible solos was on to something. I thought I was promising. A prodigy. And I know I haven't completed even the shortest of poems in the last year, and that it's been weeks since I even dusted my guitar or sang a single note, but I thought—no, I hoped—I would've gotten a sign of some sort.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh pulls me back to reality. Holden's palm is still on his forehead, and he's shaking his head, no doubt disappointed that I didn't get in.

"Are you so much of a recluse that you don't even check your mailbox?"

"Okay, first of all, I am not a recluse. Recluses don't pour water on people from clocktowers, and they definitely do not have best friends who tease them about their social withdrawals. And, no. I haven't had the motivation to check the mailbox."

To be fair, I didn't realize people still got mail. I guess that was stupid on my

part, but what could I have missed? The internet exists, which is why I've spent at least thirty minutes of each night refreshing my emails and scrolling through them just in case I missed something. Still no luck, though.

"Oh, yeah? Well, if you had checked the mailbox like every other normal person, you would have found this." And with that, completely out of nowhere, Holden manifests the sealed white envelope that's certain to change my life forever.

***

"I got in! Holy shit, I got in."

I've been yelling those words at the top of my lungs since I read the letter, and honestly, I don't think I'd be able to stop. So far I've managed to get nasty looks from every single nurse I've seen in the corridors, and every patient that would dare make eye with The Screaming Idiot. I can't wait to tell Mom; to see the pride in her bedazzling green eyes.

I'm so happy I just might write a crappy poem when I get home.

The letter is safely tucked away in my back pocket. I can't exactly waltz into a hospital room with a wide smile, and especially not when it's occupied by my Autumn and my mother.

It's because of things like this, chances I can't take, that make me doubt the purpose of existence. At least, my existence. One thing I've noticed is that once

something good happens, bad things follow. Really bad things. Things like my father dying and my mother getting sick. Things like Lynx leaving, which is bittersweet in itself. My brother gets the lead role in a blockbuster movie and has to leave, then the inevitable happens and I'm driving Mom to the hospital before dawn and listening to my sad playlist on repeat until I can no longer hear the sound of music.

Autumn sits in bed right next to my mother. The former is threading her fingers through my mother's hair, and for some reason, Mom has stars in her eyes. It's a good thing my Mom doesn't have blue eyes, because if she did, she'd be able to control anyone with the power of hypnosis. Her eyes already hold stars in them, and they're green. Sometimes I like to compare them to woodland trees.

"Mom, Autumn, guess what," I say, unable to prevent my excitement from seeping into my voice. I bet they can see the stars in my eyes, too, because I sure as hell can feel them dancing around in there. It's probably something I should get checked, but that's not nearly as important.

Autumn goes first. "Uh," she murmurs, tapping her cheek with her index finger. Eventually, she shrugs. "I've got nothing." Her gaze wanders off, settling on the half eaten pie.

I look to Mom in her scrubs. She mirrors Autumn. "Out with it. I don't have all day," she says with a smile that reaches her eyes. Mom still looks fairly the same —not healthy, but not sick. She hasn't magically attained new wrinkles, which I'm thankful for, because she doesn't need false evidence that portrays her as an old, helpless woman. She's the complete opposite of that.

"I got a letter from the Curtis Institute of Music." I bite down on her bottom lip to stop myself from smiling. "Actually, I got it a while ago, but I never went

through the mailbox, so I kept on mulling over it and being sad and wondering why I was even alive until Holden gave me this outside in the parking lot." I reach into my back pocket and produce the letter, then I hand it to Mom.

Her eyes roam over it, brightening with every finished line. By the time she's done, I can't contain my happiness.

"I'm so proud of you, hijo. You're going to do great, I promise. I'm so, so proud of you." I can see it in her eyes, the pride, the joy. It's almost the same look she had on when Lynx got his first movie role.

My heart catches in my throat at the thought of leaving Mom at a time like this. But then I look at Autumn and take in how well they seem to get along, and I know that she'll be fine as long as she doesn't have another heart attack.

The condition is what I hate most about this situation.

From then onward, I notice every single movement, every slight change in either one of their demeanors, every slow breath, every shaky limb.

"You're really leaving," Autumn says in a whisper I barely catch, and I move to sit at the foot of the bed to be closer to Mom. "I know you said it tons of times, but I couldn't shake this feeling that we still had a bit of time left." Her eyes begin to well up with tears.

How the hell is her body able to produce more tears after all she cried earlier?

She hasn't even had water to refill her tear sacs with.

Mom furrows her eyebrows and looks between the both of us. "Am I missing something here?"

Her question goes unanswered. It's not deliberate, it's just not the right time nor place. That, and, I don't think either one of us knows the answer to that question. Yes, she is missing something, but at the same time, she isn't.

"I'm not sure yet, Mom, but when I figure it out, you'll be the first to know."

Chapter Twenty Four

Orion

It's Lynx's birthday but we're still not on speaking , so I don't bother checking in. It's not like I'm supposed to—he hasn't even phoned home since we had that fight. And, no, I don't regret what I said. That aside, I just finished my final final, music, and I'm clearing out my locker. A copy of my acceptance letter stares back at me, bringing tears to my eyes. It might be that; it might also be because I'm leaving this crappy school I've come to love, or because I'm leaving the city, too, or because I had more doubts about getting into Curtis than was healthy, or because my Mom isn't getting any better, or because Autumn might not like me back. . .It might also be because I do miss my brother, no matter how hard I try to pretend like I don't care about him.

All the other seniors are in the auditorium, setting up whatever for the events. We're on a time crunch, so everything's crammed into a single week; the week after this one. Prom is Thursday night, according to Maeve, and I think it was smart of her to put it then since everyone would likely be too hungover to get up early the following day.

Speaking of prom, I still don't have a date.

I grab my phone with the intention of texting Autumn to meet me somewhere, but that I still don't have her number. Instead, I text Lynx. I'm sorry. Happy birthday.

Even though we're short on time and pretty much everything we need to get the auditorium and gymnasium set for prom and graduation, I don't the others to help. I won't attend, anyway, so why should I waste my energy on pointless pastimes?

ittedly, it would be fun helping out, hanging out with the people I've seen almost every day for about four or more years, but that's where the problem lies. Me knowing I won't wake up next month and come here and see their annoyingly bright faces bums me out. That, and, I will most likely cry before I even make it halfway upstairs. I don't want one of the final memories that have of me to be filled with saltwater. They understand that I'm. . .different, I guess, so no one would judge me for missing out on this unnecessary bonding experience. Maeve, Auni, Holden and Tasha will be disappointed, but they'll get over it. They'd better.

"Hey, Orion?" Tasha's voice calls for me just as I slam my locker shut. "How did your exam go?" Her eyes stay focused on me, but she clasps and unclasps her hands repeatedly.

I shrug, set my box down. I have a backpack in the car but it doesn't have enough space for all my things, so I settled for one of the moving boxes in the attic. I don't even know why we have any. We've lived here all my life.

"It was good enough. I expect to get an A." I chuckle. "You want something?"

She nods, her pigtails bouncing off her back. "Yes, and no. I don't require your help or anything, I just want to know if you took my advice."

"Oh." My gaze drops to the ground. I can hardly a word she said. "Yeah, I did. I baked cookies and brownies and pies and gave them all away. Helped get my head in the game."

She's right in front of me now, hand on my shoulder. "I'm so happy to hear that, I think. Anyway, gotta go. We're almost done decorating the auditorium." She starts to walk off, but pauses. "You bringing that girl to prom?"

I think about her question before answering. I haven't asked Autumn yet, but letting Tasha know that will definitely have her on my tail, which means I can't answer honestly, and I can't lie, either. So, I settle for, "she'll be there as long as I am", because it's true. If Autumn doesn't come with me—say, because something comes up with her, I'll most likely be there trying to help her get over it. And if I can't attend it for reasons pertaining to my hospitalized mother, then she won't go, either. "See you."

***

I pull up at Autumn's house completely unprepared and with nothing in mind. It's a Go With The Flow kind of thing; see where the world takes us. I'd stopped by at the house to grab a few things: my guitar, notebook, some apple cider I made, lots of cookies, and Draco. The Perfect Equipment for a Perfect Day Out.

In all honesty, I have a few things in mind, but one thing I've realized is that when it comes to Autumn, things don't seem to go exactly as planned. She adds a touch of spontaneity. A touch of Autumn.

Parking the car on the street, I hop down and retrieve Draco from the back seat, then I lock the car and trek up to the front door. Hopefully she's home alone. I'm not in the mood to explain to her aunt that I plan to consent-kidnap her niece and run off into the sunset. And now that finals are over and my days left at home are numbered, I'm going to make the most of my time by not thinking about the concept of time. Such a wonderfully foolproof plan.

I knock, as per usual. One, one-two, one-two-three. I wait. Eight and a quarter of a second. Enough time for her to reach the door and look through the peephole when she's in an okay mood. The door flies open. Autumn grabs me by the collar and pulls me into the house, barely giving me enough time to set Draco down. Autumn kisses me.

Like I said, things don't seem to go exactly as planned. Not that I'm complaining.

She sort of throws herself at me, and I stumble backwards, hitting the door with my back, securing it shut. She pulls away, keeping her face just a few inches away from mine so our breaths swirl together in the air between us. Her eyes are staring right into my own with so much intensity that I gulp.

"Hi," I whisper.

She doesn't blink.

"Hi," she whispers back, her voice sounding firmer than mine.

My breathing is shallow and shaky. For lack of better placement, she places her hands on my chest to steady herself.

"What was that for?"

She tries to form a smile but it's neither the time nor the place for one. "I'm not sure." The words fall out of her mouth and to the ground with a soft thud. "I've been thinking about you. A lot."

"Me too," I say. It's an understatement. I've been more obsessive in my thinking, but only because I'd rather think about her than about leaving, or about Lynx, Holden, Mom. She's a safe topic, despite how messed up our situationship is.

Her lips twitch, tugging upwards. "So why'd you come here?"

I hesitate. Of course I wanted to kiss her before leaving, but I didn't want it to be initiated by her, and I didn't want it to be like this—rushed. I intended to see her bedroom again, maybe have a light conversation, but we'll have plenty of time for light conversation later. Now, we're behind schedule, and we need to get out of here. Preferably now.

"To pick you up."

She arches a brow and leans back, taking her hands off my chest so she can cross her arms and eye me suspiciously. The action is one I'm thankful for; her hands were beginning to burn a hole through my skin.

"Pick me up, why?"

I smile at this. "It's a surprise."

Chapter Twenty Five

Orion

Initially I thought of driving us to the clocktower or a cliff or waterfall or something slightly nearby, but once we got in the car, something changed. I don't know what it was, but I like it.

We're on our way to Mont Phaesonas, and even though I've only been there once, I know the way like the back of my hand.

The first time I visited was one of those trips you'd think to avoid. It sure didn't seem right or appropriate to me then. The timing was so off, and I much rather would've preferred to stay locked up in the attic back home, but Mom and Lynx made me go, and it was amazing, and I met this weird fisherman. His name was Roy.

I asked Roy how he was able to get any fishing done around those parts, and he said, it's not about catching fish, and that even when he did catch fish, he never ate them. Usually he'd feed them some bait and return them into the lakes. When it got cold enough and the lakes began to freeze, he would keep them in this mini aquarium he made himself out of melted sea glass.

His stories never quite made sense, and now that I think about it, they're more absurd than they sounded when I first heard them. I don't know how Roy was

ever able to melt sea glass at such high temperatures. I also don't know how it's so cold up in the mountains when it's closer to the sun, but it seems too stupid for me to voice, so I never asked anyone. Not even the internet.

It gets really cold out there during the winter. I would know—we visited in the winter. We stayed alive somehow, though. I think it was because Mom was always cooking, so the heat from the stove kept the kitchen constantly warm, and we shut all the windows and doors and kept the heating turned on, but even then, you could still tell it was freezing outside.

With the history of Mont Phaesonas and all the rumours and facts that surround it, I half expect Roy to be dead. Death by freezing doesn't sound so bad anyway, but I can't imagine it not to be painful. I once stuck my head in the freezer for so long that I can swear my brain had started to freeze. I ended up in the emergency room.

Spending so much time with Roy and actually enjoying it made me sad because my dad hadn't been gone up to a year and it didn't seem like I'd given him enough closure yet. I know the trip was to help us feel better, to help us get out of our depressive slump, and it worked for me as long as I'd allowed it to.

At night when everyone had gone off to bed, I would sneak out of the house and borrow an old fishing rod and a bucket from behind Roy's cottage. I would sit by the freezing lake and dip my heavily padded feet into the water, ignoring the pain I felt when the water eventually seeped into the material and began to freeze my toes. I would catch zero fish, because all the fish were asleep and I had no bait. Then, just before sunrise, I would return the fishing rod and bucket to Roy's cottage and hurry home so that I could have enough time to think before eventually falling asleep.

Upon our return home, I fell very sick. I thought I was going to die. I accepted that. The only thing that hurt was that dying meant I wouldn't get to see Roy again and learn how to fish properly, so I somehow willed my cells to stay strong. I was out of the hospital in less than six weeks.

My effort began to seem pointless. We never went back to see the mountains, and it was all my fault. I'd been the one dipping my feet into ice water, but I didn't tell anyone that. It was my secret. It felt good for a while, too; having something so private, something no one else but me knew.

As the years progressed, I knew Mom wasn't going to take us back there, and once again, living seemed pointless. Hence, the head in the freezer experiment. I must've been trying to recreate the moments I had alone at Mont Phaesonas, but there was no way my feet could reach the freezer except by sitting on the edge of the industrial one. I was certain if I did that, I would die by electrocution. It didn't seem to me like a beautiful way of going out, so I never tried it. Later on I got so scared of the freezer that Mom had to give it away.

"You know you still haven't told me where we're going," Autumn says, pulling me back to reality. I glance at the MP3 player and narrow my eyes at it, wondering how my playlist is almost done and I haven't heard a single word or tune from it.

I turn my attention back to the road ahead. It's really steep. I don't like steep roads or anything like that because they only increase the risk of accidents. Unfortunately, this is one I can't avoid.

"You know, it's not that hard for you to take a wild guess," I retort. "Plus, it's a surprise." I leave out the part about me not initially planning to come here, but not completely ruling it out, either. It's a good thing I dropped by the house

earlier; I grabbed a few hoodies and a coat just in case this were to turn into a road trip. I consider that planning ahead of time, even when you have no idea what comes next, which is basically just planning.

Even though it's late July and we're on an island slightly off the Southwestern European Coast, it's snowing. Only a little, though. Autumn looks thrilled by it, but I'm not completely sure. I can't exactly see her facial expression while trying to focus on the road. She and Draco are staring out their respective windows; Autumn's face obscured by thick, voluminous hair. It's a good thing. This way, I don't have a lot of distractions.

Autumn snaps her head to me. Her hair whips around her, slapping her in the face and wrapping around her neck. "If it's snowing, then we're probably headed for someplace cold," she pauses to take a few breaths. "Also, I have to pay conscious attention to my breathing. It's like the air keeps avoiding me. Like it's evaporating from my lungs!"

I smile because I think it's funny when she gets really excited, and the doubt in my mind about the possibility of today's ending is swept away by the laughter that follows her outburst. Autumn's energy is so raw and unapologetic, even with everything she has going on in her life, and I ire that. It's like she has sunlight bottled up inside her, and when she's comfortable, she lets her light shine for all to see. I guess I wish I could be like her, but we're two different people, and her nature isn't mine to mirror. Each to their own person. My happiness is different from hers: it's less common, and usually caught on—sort of like I'm leeching off people's joy— especially when I spend time with people whose energies are contagious like Autumn's. And even though it hardly ever surfaces, it's there.

"Are we going higher? I swear, I've seen a few hills, but they're bare and—" she halts to look outside again. "Holy crap." Her hands meet the glass of the window, fingers sliding down like drops of rain. My smile only widens as we move

downhill and uphill again until we reach the old cabin Mom bought. Her face is practically glued to the window when we get there.

"Orion?"

"Yeah?"

"Is that a mountain?"

My heart swells with pride. I can't pinpoint why.

"Why, yes. That's Mont Phaesonas. I think it's the reason for all this snow."

"Isn't it July?" she asks, and I explain the process and reasons for the rare occurrence. Or at least, my version of it.

***

The first thing I do is offload the car and get Autumn settled in, then, I'm off in search of my fisherman.

Roy apparently is some hotshot fisherman—at least that's what he told me— who's won the annual fishermen's derby sixteen years in a row. I call bullshit on

that one for many reasons; the first being that no one cares enough about fish enough to start a competition like that. Not even fishermen.

I guess Roy lied to me, because the building looks deserted. I should have known he wouldn't be here the moment I ed the lake, but I didn't pay much attention to it.

His abandoned cottage sits there, a little bit elevated, and I can't get close enough to look through the frosted windows because of all the heaps of snow. On the bright side, Autumn is bound to want to see this much snow. And maybe we could teach ourselves how to fish.

Pulling my coat tighter, I zip it up completely and attempt to wade through the snow. It's knee-deep, but I manage to get close enough to see that all the broken fishing rods are either gone or buried in snow. The layers of snow don't surprise me, and it's not even winter.

With nothing else to do, I head back to our cabin, choosing to pretend that Roy never existed.

***

"I think we need to have a conversation. There's a lot of things we need to talk about," Autumn says when I get back to the cabin. She's standing in the kitchenette, hands resting on her hips, eyebrows curved downwards. "And enough privacy now, too."

Trailing my fingers on the leather couch coats it with dust. I bring it up to face level and flick it away. The reason I came here, I'm not entirely sure of, but Roy's absence has completely dampened my mood. I'm not so sure I'm ready to have this conversation with Autumn, but I have this feeling that she won't let me put it off until later.

"Yeah, okay, you're right." I look up at her. "Where do you want to begin?"

She smiles her signature smile and nears me, plopping down on the dusty couch. A cloud of dust erupts into the air but she covers her nose with a dishcloth. I cough into the pit of my elbow.

"At the start," she says, and my heart starts ringing in my ears.

There's a very thin line between the symptoms of an anxiety attack, and the feeling you get when you like someone.

Not having had a girlfriend in the past must be why it feels so unnatural. Well, that's an overstatement. A wrong statement. I just don't know what to say. At least my breathing difficulty is inconspicuous.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I think all this "privacy" is throwing me off balance. Where's Draco when you need a distraction?

Autumn frowns at me, head cocked to the side. I never should have brought us here.

"What do you mean 'what's that supposed to mean?' It means I want you to tell me. . .things. Is there—is there something you have to do first? Are you one of those people who don't talk about their feelings until they're drunk off their ass?" she asks. "You can't be. I've seen you. You're not like them, so why won't you talk? Isn't it better for us to get this over with?"

I lower myself onto the arm rest. "Well, I didn't think we'd get straight to it. I'm not a fan of The Talk. If you haven't already noticed, I don't like talking. I don't like communication. And according to pretty much everyone, you can't have a relationship without communication. Also, what's up with you, huh? You have so many secrets. I mean, I guess they're not that many, but you never go straight to the point with your confessions. How's that for communication?"

The sound of breathing is all I can hear. Silence stretches over us, but neither one of us dares to break it. Not until Autumn seems to have absorbed everything I said.

"Does this mean you want to date me?"

Her question throws me off guard. On one very super mega large hand, yes, I do want to date her; but on the other teeny tiny microscopic hand, there's Curtis and long distance and—

"This'll be my first relationship. It'll be your first real relationship," I pause to take a breath. "Do you think we can make long distance work?"

There, I said it. Wear me a robe and crown me king of communication.

Autumn shrugs. "We definitely can. I mean, I'm not too hot on the idea of sharing my "secrets" with tons of other people. You have them to hold and to keep. I don't want to share them. I trust you. I. . .think I might like you, and, sure you'll be on a different continent, but it's not like we're dependent on each other, right?"

In all honesty, I don't hear a single word after "I think I might like you".

I chew my bottom lip whilst scanning through my mental vocabulary. My next sentence needs to be properly structured while maintaining simplicity and straightforwardness. It should also be direct. Something like, "I want you to be my girlfriend, but I don't want to ask you yet. I don't want you to ask me either. It's too soon. I have nothing special planned. But, on a different note, will you be my date to prom?"

She looks at me like I've gone crazy, then shakes her head. "This was a bad idea. Sorry for bringing the whole thing up, I just. . .I wanted to know how you feel about me. Yeah, we've kissed about five times, but sometimes that's not clear enough, you know. What if kissing girls five times but never dating them is your thing?"

"First of all, ew. Second of all, I don't know what more I have to do to show that I care about you and your sorry ass sob stories. I want to know more about you, but without having to talk about it. It'd be better if we spent time together and I figured out the little things myself. They mean more that way. And yes, you might not be my favorite person, but you're definitely at the top of the list, and

we've only known each other for two months—"

"—make that six years, two months, and half a week. Specifics, Orion."

"Right. Six years, two months, and half a week. Only, when you say it that way, that's more than enough time to get to know someone."

"Then let's pretend." She's off the chair. "And yes, I'll be your date to prom."

Chapter Twenty Six

Orion

Mount Phaesonas sits far behind us, tucked away and obscured by the sun's placement. Good thing too, because otherwise, Autumn might've dragged us over there for some mountain climbing exercise.

We're seated at the edge of the lake, shoulder to shoulder, padded feet plunged into the icy cold water. Autumn is smiling at me like she doesn't have frostbite, and I'm telling her one of Roy's bullshit stories. She seems to love it.

Later in the day, when the sun is directly overhead, she grabs me by the arm and whispers in my ear, "wanna go for a swim?" And I shake my head because that is totally nuts, especially in this weather.

She scoffs, rolls her eyes, throws her hair back. "You are no fun, Alsephina. Live a little. What's the worst that could happen?"

"You don't know the half of it," I say, and that's all it takes to turn this into a sharing session.

Autumn crosses her legs meditation-style, props her head on the backside of her

hands and peers at me through wide eyes. "But I want to," she says.

I shake my head. "That's what you think. I'm not telling."

"What, seriously?" she asks incredulously. "Why do you keep doing this?"

"Because, Autumn." My head snaps to her, jaw hardened. "It's not safe to jump into a lake this cold. I can't tell you why I personally don't want to, so let's just leave it at that. Okay?"

She leans back, and oh Lord, I have never seen her look so angry.

"You're such a hypocrite, Orion."

Scoffing, I shuffle closest to the edge, dipping my legs further into the lake. At this point, I don't care about anything. I'm so tired, so, so fucking tired; I'd do anything—anything—for some kind of rest.

Like ask the world's dumbest question.

"Why do you think it's colder up in the mountains? Right now, we're closer to the sun, so it's supposed to be warmer, though that'll mean snow will melt before it even has the chance to form, so science and mythology and facts don't mix well or add up, and I'm rambling, and you're probably mad at me now, and you really don't have the right to be, but whatever. I'm not in the mood to fight with

you. I just want to know what your take on this is."

Of course, Autumn isn't entirely pleased with me, but I'm not pleased with her, either. She crosses her arms and looks away from me, gazing pointedly at the horizon. "You want an abridged version or something completely mythical?"

Her cheeks puff up. She's smiling. She shouldn't be.

"The latter. Fake stories are much more fun. And they always hold about an atom of truth."

"You have weird beliefs."

"I'm aware," I say. "So?"

"Mountains are colder because life is nothing but one giant irony. Think about it. Bad things happen to good people, it's colder up in the mountains even though we're closer to the sun—and you bet it's for good reason. Do you think snow would exist if it wasn't so cold up here?" she asks. "Everything happens for a reason—it's all interconnected, and humans are so damn lucky they get to witness it all. So damn ungrateful, too."

She dips a finger into the snow and makes a tiny snowball, then flicks it into the lake. "Take this, for example. If this was someplace besides Europe, say, America or Australia, do you think people would appreciate snow in the summer despite its rarity?"

"I wouldn't know; I've never been off the island."

I know it's pathetic when you think about it, but I don't care. It didn't seem right to, and no one—besides Lynx—thought about traveling since dad's death. Where would I have wanted to go? All I wanted was to blast Twenty One Pilots from my earphones and obsess over dying.

Autumn draws a pattern in the snow with her soggy shoes. "Well, I haven't been to those continents either. I sort of expected you to take a wild guess. The answer I wanted was glaringly obvious."

The snark in her tone does not sit well with me.

"What is your problem, Carmichael?" I snap, wishing she could see the scowl on my face.

"What do you mean "what's my problem"? You're acting like something crawled up your ass and died."

Sighing, I massage my forehead to release a bit of tension. "I—I don't know. I'm just tired, that's all. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm exhausted." Exhausted is an understatement. "But that doesn't mean I don't have the right to get mad at you. So, yeah, what is your problem?"

"You. You're my problem," she says, "and I know it's stupid and overused and a

tad bit cliché, but yes. You, Orion Alsephina, are my problem, and I need you to stop being nice to me, because it's starting to feel weird, especially because I might like you."

I snort. "I'm not being nice to you."

"Yes, you are," she retorts. "You keep trying to get me to feel better about myself, you've never once made up an excuse for my parents, you constantly feed me sugar like you're aware I need it, you haven't threatened to have me checked into a psych ward, you've never once touched me inappropriately while I begged you to stop." She chokes on her words, her breath getting stuck in a hiccup.

I mean, yeah, she might be right, but that doesn't mean I'm particularly good just because I'm not a terrible person. (Actually, I like to believe I am a terrible person, and that people don't say that, because that's not the type of thing you'd say.)

"I'm really sorry about your ex," I find myself saying. "You didn't deserve that. No one does. Your parents are—well, not the greatest."

"They're the worst."

"I wouldn't put it that way, but you're not wrong." I lift my legs out of the freezing water. "It's so messed up, though. Did you talk to them about it?"

"Yeah, I did." I imagine her shrugging. "I talked to my Mom, at least. She loves the guy. So, as expected, she thought I was a phony. Threatened to have me whisked away into the madhouse." And then, "clearly she's given me no reason to detest her. I really, really love my mother. I love her so much, even. Such an angel."

I wince at her tone.

"My Mom sucks and she's perfectly healthy and fine, but your Mom's pretty much Jesus reincarnated, yet she's the one stuck with a load of shitty luck."

"My Mom is not Jesus reincarnated. She might not be horrible, but she's not very easy to work with. It's complicated, but everybody loves it. Win-win, I guess."

It's not until I'm done talking that I realize I should've said something else. Autumn doesn't seem to mind much, though. She's picking at the ground, poking at the snow, sitting quietly.

I wonder if she can hear my heartbeat, too.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Orion

My bags are all packed and I still haven't booked a flight, but I can get to that later. Now, I have the chance to fix my relationship with my brother.

Surprise, surprise, Lynx is home, but only for like, two days. It doesn't bother me much, how much time he doesn't have to waste, because he's here and doesn't hate me, and that's all that really matters.

"Don't you think it's weird that it's my birthday celebration and I had to come home for it?" Lynx asks, not looking up from his icing.

In honour of my older brother's twenty-fourth birthday, I have taken it upon myself to bake him a cake. It's the least I can do. He did come all the way from California when it should've been the other way around.

I jab my wooden spoon at him. "What's weird is that you're helping me bake your own cake," I say. "Also, it's not your birthday anymore. That was like, Wednesday. Two and a half days ago. Specifics." I set the spoon down and sink my fingers into the cake batter for no reasonable reason. "Anyway, it's a coming home party. Like, the opposite of a going away party. And it's for Mom. And I guess, you." I roll my eyes and sneer at him, then lick the batter off my fingers.

Lynx merely shakes his head at me. Well, not at me. He doesn't look my way, but he shakes his head. Need I mention that we're alone in the kitchen?

"You really think they'll let us bring Mom home so we can fill her up with sugar?"

"Well, when you put it that way . . ."

"Orion." Lynx sends me a pointed look.

Shrugging, I say, "what? You opened my eyes to a deeper level of understanding. I have to clear my mind and get in sync with my chakra and start up my soul and let my aura swell so I can think of an answer. It's not as easy as you think."

Lynx shakes his head again. "You're a nutcase."

"An eighteen year old nutcase. Also, I'm your brother, so I'm your nutcase." I wink.

Just when I think he's about to shake his head again (third time's the charm so maybe it'll screw off his neck and roll onto the floor), he sets the bag of icing on the counter and picks up a can of gelatin, studying it pretentiously.

"So," he says, "I might be getting married—"

"What—" I blink twice "—did you just say?"

"Jesus Christ, Orion, chill." He drops the can of gelatin next to the icing like I'm overreacting and what he said is not at all a big deal. I bet that's why he came home. Not because he misses us, but because he wanted to let us know he'd been frolicking with Californian women. How fucking charitable.

At least he didn't break the news via text or email.

"How the hell am I supposed to chill? Sorry if I'm overreacting, seeing as it's merely a possibility, but you know how I get whenever you have to leave. What did you expect to happen at this news? Marriage? That's so. . .weird. Even for you."

Lynx sets his jaw and turns to look at me, leaning back on the counter. "Look, I didn't come here to break any news. I might not be getting married. I just wanted to put that out there. I mean, it's not like I won't get married eventually, so you shouldn't act like it's the biggest thing that could possibly happen to us. I'm not going to stop being your brother, I'm just going to have to start being. . .well, a husband," he says, and I swear I see him cringe at the last word.

"Yeah, but you're so young."

"I didn't say the wedding would be tomorrow."

"Ah. So you're saying there will be a wedding, but the wedding is not as soon as I think. That's all very good and charming. Enough time to mentally prepare myself for our brotherly separation, I hope."

"Orion, stop it. Why can't you just soak up the news and be happy? You're the one always going on and on about me caring more about weed and drugs than about me, and now I'm clean and might love someone who isn't family, and all of a sudden, that's too much for you to take in."

I furrow my eyebrows. "Woah woah woah; did you just say 'love someone'? As in, you, Lynx Alsephina? Have feelings for another human? Someone you're not expected to love? Someone other than yourself?"

"Why are you making me sound bad?"

"Because, mi hermano mayor, you can sometimes be. . .narcissistic."

He looks at me like I've grown a third head. "Why do you keep saying that?"

"Because it's true!" I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air. A bit of cake batter lands on his hair, but he doesn't move to wipe it off. "Have I ever lied to you, Lynx? Yes, you can sometimes be narcissistic, but I think it's all really swell. You still have your humanity, so you're not a complete narcissist—you just possess a few traits."

We're locked in a heated stare. The kind that makes me regret ever opening my mouth. But from this angle, Lynx doesn't look like he wants to kill me, which is good, because I really don't want to die by another's hands. Hell, I got into Curtis, so I don't want to die at all.

"I am going to ask Mom if she thinks I am sometimes narcissistic as you said, but for the next five to ten minutes, and for your own good, do not touch me. Understood?"

I nod, because I don't want to piss him off any more than I already might've, and we continue making the homecoming cake.

***

"Your presence here is unappreciated." Blythe turns her head to Maeve. "So is yours." Contrary to her words, though, she opens the front door wider so we can both come in.

Holden called us both over to help him with his midlife crisis. It's a few ten years early, but I don't dare mention that. I told him Lynx was home in an attempt to get off the hook, but he began to scream, so I hung up on him.

Even with all my false bravado, I'm here, in his unnecessarily large lobby, waiting for him to descend from the stairs so I can return the favour and scream down his ear. Then, of course, I'll spin victoriously on my heel and get the hell out of here.

Blythe trudges up the staircase, leaving Maeve and I to ourselves. It's THE Most Awkward Silence EVER, and that is absolutely terrible because we've been friends since the ninth grade when she completely and utterly roasted my ass for calling Pride and Prejudice an "overhyped collection of words that don't even make sense".

Of course, we had both read Pride and Prejudice years prior to then, which only roused a heated argument over Elizabeth Bennett's choices and Mr. Darcy's personality, resulting in an inevitable trip to the principal's office, followed by a two-day suspension just for the heck of it.

I received death threats from her until we finally called a truce.

Maeve releases a breath strong enough to blow a fully grown man across the room and says, "I'm sorry," catching me completely off guard. And by that, I mean, Completely Off Guard™, because Maeve Tremblay has never once uttered an apology to anyone. At least not in front of me. She usually just fends them off with brainpower and excessive wit.

Instead of silently accepting her unexpected apology so we can continue to bathe in this awkward situation Holden has so forcefully thrust us into, I ask, "What for?" It comes out snarky, so I try again. "I mean, you didn't do anything. Not that I can think of—"

"Yeah, well, we haven't exactly been all buddy-buddy and tea party chit-chatty recently, have we?"

I'm about to say we've never actually been all buddy-buddy and tea party chit-

chatty ever, but something tells me this isn't the right time for my blessed observation skills to come to the limelight, so I let her talk.

"And I feel like that's mostly my fault." She sucks in a breath, eyes looking everywhere but at me. "It's no surprise that I can sometimes be . . ."

"A bitch," I blurt. Wow, Orion. Way to put it out there.

I gnaw on my lower lip. It might be the truth—Maeve's bitchiness and my brother's apparent narcissism—but I don't think it's in my place to point it out. And even if I must, I probably shouldn't make it sound like outright blame.

An eye roll from Maeve. "Gee, thanks. You took the words right out of my mouth."

For a second, I think she might actually be mad at me, but her eyebrows twitch and her lips curl upwards and she crosses her arms over her chest and juts out her hip in a show of authority, or, as anyone we know would put it, Pure Maevei-tude.

"Anyway," she continues, waving a hand in front of her face, "yeah, I'm sorry I act like a stuck up bitch, and I'm even more sorry that my Pure Maeve-i-tude got in the way of our getting along. We could've been closer. Now it's like Holden's the only reason we converse."

There's no point in fighting the truth, so I don't comment on her Apology and

Then Some. But that doesn't mean I don't think about how right she is. Why does she always have to be right, even when owning up to her sort of mistakes? Aren't there universal laws governing the level of rightness a person can achieve in a single lifetime?

Still, if Maeve wasn't so Maeve™, then I wouldn't have more friends. I wouldn't have Tasha, or Auni—I'd be one of those teenage protagonists with two straight best friends of opposite genders who eventually start to date, thereby making the other friend miserable. That pretty much sums up my life, except I actually have more than two friends, and me being miserable has nothing to do with their relationship. It's a winning situation.

Maeve tilts her head to get a better look at me and scoffs. "Are you seriously not going to say anything?"

I frown at her. "Isn't it obvious that I'm thinking? I can feel the strain on my forehead." For good measure, I gesture to my forehead—where I'm certain a crease has formed—with both fingers, just as Holden floats down the stairs.

"You made it!"

He's beaming, smile stretched out so wide I swear his face could rip in two. I eye him up and down as he nears us, taking in his casual outfit. Even more than before, I wonder what his midlife crisis could possibly be about, and without having to glance over at Maeve, I can tell she's thinking the same thing.

"It's not like it was the most extravagant journey," Maeve throws at him.

"Matter of fact, you'd have better luck trying to get me to walk through the Amazon Jungle than coming here on such short notice. I only came because I want to smack your face in for yelling at me through the phone." I shrug.

Holden flicks his hand in my direction. "Whatever. It's not like you'd make it through the jungle alive." He claps his hands together. "All shenanigans and blame aside, I bet you're all wondering why I gathered you here."

"Oh, we're actually not." Maeve catches my eye. "It's not like you've never called us out of nowhere like this before," she says, and she's right. Again.

"Will you please stop interrupting me?" Holden's smile has somehow become a scowl. "This is sort of serious, I swear." His dark brown eyes soften, so I sigh and step back like it'll help him finish whatever he has to. "Thank you," he mouths. "So, as I was saying, Maeve, I know you're pregnant, and I promise that's not why I stayed behind—okay, maybe it's got something to do with it, but what was I supposed to do? I thought we were going to break up. We made a mutual agreement. And now . . ." he trails off, eyes lingering on Maeve's abdomen for longer than necessary.

Maeve's lip twitches and she uncrosses her arms. "Holden, I'm not pregnant. If I was, I'd have told you. I don't know what you saw that made you think I was—I really don't know what the hell it was you saw, because I do not leave letters or pregnancy tests lying out—I've never even taken a store bought pregnancy test— so, yeah. I am very much not with child." She snorts, hiding her face behind a hand. Holden, however, looks like a deflated balloon.

"You mean I'm not going to be a father yet?"

I can't read the expression on his face, but I get what he's saying. For a quarter of a second, the thought of becoming a godfather by association hit me hard, and I don't even have to play any important roles other than spoiling the kid rotten.

Maeve nods.

"But I will be, right? Way into the future?"

She shrugs. "If you want to."

I wince at her words. Maeve has a way of making important words seem like nothing, so there's a possibility Holden doesn't catch the underlying meaning, but the look on his face tells me everything he's feeling.

***

The hospital won't let mom come home, so Lynx and I drive there to spend time with her before he has to go back. I am happy he's here—I'm almost as happy about it as I am that we're visiting mom—but I could do without his terrible taste in music.

For the eighth time, I turn the volume down.

"Stop playing your music in my car. You'll ruin the radio," I say to Lynx, not taking my eyes off the road. We have to get to mom in one piece. Well, two pieces.

"That's not how it works." His hand moves to the dial again, but I swat it away. "Orion, I am older than you," he says, "did you just hit me?"

"Don't touch my radio." He sighs in defeat. "Does your fiancee appreciate your horrible music preferences?"

Lynx crosses his arms and looks out of the window. "I haven't proposed yet," he mutters.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said I haven't proposed yet," he repeats in a louder voice, sinking into his seat. "I don't know how to. It's never really seemed like the right time. That, and Leah's being. . .how do I say this nicely? She's changed. I know that's the type of thing you'd say when someone's acting differently than you want them to, but she really has changed. I bet she doesn't even want to be with me for the long run. I don't blame her—I feel the same. It's just, we've been together for a long time."

"Three years isn't such a long time, Lynx. You can still back out if you want to."

"But there's a chance that she wants this."

The hospital slowly comes into view. If Lynx doesn't want this news reaching Mom's ears today, we'll have to end this conversation quickly.

"I think you two should sit down and have a talk about your future together. Don't press it too much, though, or she might think you're trying to pressure her into something she's not ready for. You know how that goes."

He rests his cheek on his fist. "This is unnecessarily hard. Why can't I just ask her to marry me? Or to break up with me?" he asks rhetorically. "She keeps talking separating, so yeah, she might not want to spend the rest of her life with me." He stares ahead. "What if I'm just a placeholder?"

I bite my lip to keep myself from saying anything unhelpful, but it doesn't work. "You are just a placeholder, Lynx. That's how relationships work." He releases a sigh. "I'm sorry, but you really should talk to her about it if it bothers you this much."

Thank God the conversation is over—or at least, paused. Lynx will most likely want to talk to Leah about this in person, which means I won't have to pretend to be wise until he's left for California again.

"Yeah, I'll . . ." he trails off just as I drive through the hospital gates. "There's someone else."

"Yikes," I say with a wince. "So, what? If there's someone else, that can only mean—"

"That my feelings are fading, yes." He finishes my sentence. "But it doesn't feel that way." With an added shrug, he says, "maybe I'm not meant to be with anyone. I could take a break from Leah, figure out where my head's at."

"And end up with the other girl under the guise of a break? I don't think that'll be very smart, Lynx. Think about Leah's feelings."

"I won't end up with anyone else," he argues, "I love Leah. I would never do anything to sabotage our relationship."

I let the conversation die there and then. We walk past the lot and into the hospital building with uncomfortable smiles on our faces. It probably wasn't the best time for Lynx to talk about his relationship dilemma, but a part of me is just happy it's over.

Mom is waiting for us at the hospital cafeteria, the place where all the shitty food comes from. I can't imagine how hard it's been for her to make do with hospital food, though there's a chance she's asked to make the meals. I wouldn't put it past her—it's her ion. Plus, the patients will appreciate it, and so will the staff.

Her face lights up when she sees us standing awkwardly at the doorpost. I'm clutching a large food basket; Lynx is the only awkward-looking one.

"Mis hijos," says Mom. She approaches us, arms stretched open for hugs she's sure to give. There's a pang in my chest as I take cautious steps towards her.

"Orion, Lynx." At least she said my name first. "I missed you boys so much."

"We missed you too, mom," Lynx says, "me more than him."

We spread ourselves out evenly across a table, taking a triangular position. The food basket sits at the center of the table, but from the look on Mom's face, eating is the last thing on her mind.

"I hope you two are getting along well, and that you're still keeping in touch. I know how hard it is to maintain a close relationship, especially when one of you is almost always busy, and the other would prefer solitude.

"I don't want my possible departure to tear this family apart. Given, it's not so much of a family anymore, I still think you two need to promise me that you'll be there for each other, no matter what. I trust you, but I've never had to witness what goes on in my absence," she says, "how often do you communicate virtually?"

Lynx and I share a guilty look. She did not have to call us out like that.

I lift a shoulder. "As often as possible. With the age gap, there's not a lot to talk about."

"That's nonsense, Orion."

Mom is right. It is nonsense, but if Lynx isn't going to say anything, I'm not gonna let my ass get dragged along with his.

"I'm guilty of not keeping in touch," Lynx butts in. "But in all honesty, Mom, we will always be brothers—have each other's backs—no matter how much the distance between us is. Our bond is unbreakable. I couldn't imagine hating Orion."

I say nothing to ruin the moment. I'm far too stunned at his words to even come up with a snarky remark.

Mom touches a hand to her heart, love shining in her bright green eyes.

Chapter Twenty Eight

Autumn

"When's that concert again?" I take a bite out of my churro, allowing the sweetness to ruminate in my mouth by chewing it more times than necessary.

Lou shakes her head in amusement. "Next week Saturday." Her curiosity finds a way to the surface. "Why?"

Shrugging, I bite off a smaller piece of churro. "I wanted to make sure. Might not be able to make Saturday, though."

I watch as her look morphs into one of confusion. "Why not?"

"Well." Slowly averting my eyes, I shrug and say, "Saturday is Orion's graduation. A good friend wouldn't miss it for a concert—"

"—the concert starts at seven. I'm pretty sure the graduation ceremony will be over by then." She crosses her arms and really looks at me, eyebrows set in a line as if to challenge me. "I can't believe you would blow me off for a guy!"

Her words are blaming. Her tone is blaming. Her expression is blaming. Everything. Is. Blaming. And I haven't even blown her off yet. Granted, it's a mean thing to do, but I didn't plan on it, and it's not like she doesn't have better things to do than attend some concert with a teenager.

"I'm not blowing you off, Louise. It's just—Orion leaves in like, two weeks, and then it'll be you and me against everything else, and I won't run off somewhere or disappear for two days without giving you information on my whereabouts—" I pause to gouge her reaction. She looks pleased. Every bit of blame is completely gone from her face. I almost breathe a sigh of relief.

"—yes, yes, you can blame me as much as you like for that one. Anyway, I think I like him. Like, really like him. And it's all so sudden, and he's leaving, and he's also really sad. His Mom is super chill but he doesn't really know how to be? And I promise I won't leave you just so I can go running through a field of pansies with him."

Lou sighs, picks up a churro and stares hard at it for a minute, sighs again, then looks at me.

"Autumn," she starts, "he's just a boy. I mean, he is a boy, and you're a girl, and I don't know how I feel about you two spending so much time alone together."

Even though I know she isn't finished talking, I can't help but feel like I have to interrupt. So I do.

"We're not doing anything wrong. We aren't—we aren't dating. I wouldn't— teenage—premarital sex—no."

A smile finds its way onto Lou's face. She sits back. "I know," she says with a shrug. "Not that I mind or anything. If you want to, just be careful, I guess, because parenting you is hard enough. But it's not that. I just don't want you to get too attached. Especially not when he's leaving so soon."

"What? It's not like I'd get hurt. He cares about my emotions. We can make this work," I say defensively. "He doesn't want to leave, you know. It's complicated. On one hand, it's something he has to do. On the other, he'd much rather stay home so he can look after his Mom. But I think he should go. We've covered the caretaking thing; his mother loves me."

"You're going to look after his Mom?"

I shake my head indignantly. Why is this so hard for her to understand? "Not exactly. She's mostly fine, but she's got some problems with her heart. That's all." For good measure, I add, "she's the host of that show, that cooking one." I try to , clamping my eyes shut and tapping the sides of my head. It doesn't work. "I can't what it's called. Her name is Micaela, Micaela Alsephina, but on the show she goes by Micaela Ramirez."

"Look, the bottom line is, you need new friends." She catches herself a little too late. "More friends. Friends your age. That kind of thing." She pushes away from the table, wipes her hands on her apple bottom jeans so the churro crumbs stain the material, then sighs. "I have somewhere to be, but I really hope you take my advice."

I nod as she gets up. After all, a few friends never hurt anyone, right?

Wrong.

***

The sky is lit up as though God took off His royal ensemble and threw on a bathing suit, so all the golden sunlight he wears is free to cascade down from the heavens and onto earth. Specifically right outside my bedroom window.

My bedroom looks like someone painted the walls using colour from the sun. I know that didn't happen, mostly because it's impossible, and also because tears are clouding my vision, and whenever tears fill my eyes, I see nothing but bright, golden light.

Pinching my nose so my nostrils are pressed together, I curl into a ball and bring my covers up to my chest. My cellphone is somewhere on the bed—I'm on a call and it's on speakerphone—but I'm too scared to reach out and touch it. Too scared that if I do, I'll lose my mind again.

Mrs. Carmichael's sigh can be heard through all the static and distance and oceans that separate us. Our conversations always leave me wondering why I answer her calls, and my thinking sessions always end the same way: with me wishing I never left home.

Mom has a way of making everything seem like my fault. She doesn't hesitate to use that skill. Not once. Not ever. Not even now, when I'm on a different continent, far away from her and dad's bullshit.

"Maybe if you hadn't run away, we would have worked things out. You left that poor boy heartbroken, and all for what? Did you even think about the consequences? About what would happen to our family? To your brothers and sisters? This is not the type of behaviour I expected from you, Imani. Your father and I . . ."

Your father and I... Your brothers and sisters... Our family... That. Poor. Boy.

Well, Mom, what about me?

I decide that I'm not going to end the call. Last time I did that, she called Lou's phone to scream at me. I couldn't do it again after that, not even when the yelling became unbearable. Plus, Lou would've given me hell for it. She's all for respecting elders—especially my parents—but the truth is, she doesn't get it. And she never will. Not as long as I can help it.

The covers fall to the floor behind me. I leave them there, padding my sockcovered feet over to the bathroom where my green lacquer box resides. I stashed it in the corner of the small glass cabinet because it seemed like the last place anyone would ever look. If they were looking. If they knew what to look for.

Every part of my being screams aggressively, telling—no, begging—me to turn around; to wash my hands and turn around and go downstairs and run away until the light fades and I can determine left from right and make good decisions that won't get me killed—but of course, I don't listen to them.

What do they know? They're just voices. Ghosts. Figments of my imagination.

When my fingers touch the glossy material of the box, a smile graces my dry lips. The image in the mirror before me is. . .not one I would like to spend time looking at, so I grab the box and dive through the doors and back into my room where Mom is still going hard at me for leaving.

I'm sorry.

I set the lid down softly, picking apart the pieces of my life that stay hidden away in this box, this containment of memories, this small, glossed over haven.

If only it was actually safe.

"Imani, darling?"

Mom's voice breaks me out of my trance, jolting me back to reality. For the first time ever, I'm grateful for the sound of her voice, but I also know what I'm about to do, and I hate myself for it. But some things just have to happen.

"Yeah? I'm here." My voice breaks off at the ending. It's not a crack, it's a complete discontinuation. One I don't know what to make of.

Moving here, I thought things would be different. Wish I'd known better. I didn't think my parents would be so hung up on me, on my sudden disappearance. I

didn't think they'd care much—didn't think they'd care at all. Apparently, I was wrong.

What now? Do I go back home? Will Mom and dad change and maybe. . .is it possible they learn to love me, too?

A tear falls from my eye and into the box, right next to an unused band-aid. I wince. It's a sign.

Between the light in my brain and Mom's voice on the phone and the tears in my eyes and the box in my lap, I affirm that there is no way any good can come out of this—out of today—unless. . . unless I tell Lou? Maybe she could help me. She's so smart, so wise, so. . .adult-y, and she knows all these adult things, and she would love it if I opened up to her, right?

Or maybe I do need friends my age. But would it be easy for me to find any? To let them know about all my crazy? Everything I keep safely tucked away in the shadows of my mind?

Chapter Twenty Nine

Orion

The earth is wet with rain residue. Grass clings to my skin like adhesive from a freshly ripped-off band-aid. The sky is littered with falling stars. It's a perfect night, and Autumn is lying down next to me, watching the twinkling stars and the drifting clouds. We're drunk on moonlight and grasping at air and holding infinities in our clasped fingers.

Finitum est capax infiniti. Finite mortals like us could never fully comprehend the complexities of the universe. And on nights like these, I'm just really happy to be here.

Landscape painting: star speckled teenagers, falling in slow motion, reaching for the stars.

Thick but comfortable silence stretches over us like a band of elastic. Stretching, stretching, and stretching, until it snaps. Or, until I grab a pair of metaphorical scissors and cut through it myself.

"What version of the afterlife do you believe in?" I ask, surprising myself with the question. Yeah, it's appropriate—it's got the whole starry night time skyline thing going for it—and due to Mom's progress, or lack thereof, it was the only thing that came to mind.

There's a shift in the earth. A vibration; barely noticeable.

"What makes you think I believe in the afterlife?"

Grass tickles bits of my exposed skin. "Everyone believes in the afterlife," I say. "Well, an afterlife. I don't think I've met anyone who thinks people simply die and cease to exist. Even the worst believe people live on in the form of memories; trinkets; legacies. That sort of thing."

Silence threatens to swallow us again, but Autumn speaks before it has the chance to.

"Are you one of those people who think people exist for the mere purpose of existing?" she asks.

From where I am, I can't see her face. I don't even want to. I'd have to look away from the sky for that, and I really don't think it's worth it.

"Definitely not. My entire existence, my drive, is proof that I'm not. Or, at least I hope it is." I exhale sharply, blowing a gust of air through my nostrils. "More than anything, I want to leave a mark on the world. No luck yet, though." An ironic chuckle escapes into the night.

"What does that mean?"

I grab a handful of grass, pulling them out from the ground without looking. "You know how people say they want to achieve great things? It's sort of like that, only I want to try smaller things. Make a huge impact in a small way. Or vice versa? I'm not sure how this works."

"O–okay. What are your aspirations? I know you're delving into music, but what kind? What do you want to do with said music? Will you write your own?"

I pretend to mull her words over. "Why do you sound like a career day questionnaire?"

Somehow, I feel Autumn flush, even with the distance between us. Maybe it's general laws of physics, or maybe it's the concept of chemistry. You know, the kind that believes souls can become tethered.

"Sorry. I got carried away."

The words in my mouth turn to ash, leaving a weird, bitter taste because I don't utter them. And that stands—no matter how bitter they become, I will not voice them. Instead, I say, "you still haven't answered my question."

She lets out a grunt. "Well, okay. I don't think people die and become stars, neither do I believe that people are reborn." Her words rise with the wind, lifting and lifting themselves until they reach the moon. "The afterlife has never been a thing for me to believe in. I don't think about it. But say I had to give you an answer, then I guess I believe people get judged for what they did, the impact

they had on others' lives, their hearts' intentions, whether or not they had ulterior motives to every action."

"I think people live on in memories and photos and stuff. Like, my dad? He can never actually be dead to me, no matter how many years . I wouldn't forget him, not even when I do something extremely manic and end up losing years worth of memories," I say, smiling sadly. Thinking about my dad always gets me like this, and with recent events, it gets me thinking about my Mom, and with even more recent events, it gets me thinking about my inevitable departure from home. Anxiety topping anxiety topping anxiety.

Something touches my hand. I flinch away, but it wraps it, keeping my hand sort of rooted to the ground.

"Can you stop being so jumpy?" Autumn's laugh swells in the air. "I'm trying to be nice." Her hand let's go of mine for a second, then her fingers intertwine with my own. "Are you good?"

Are you good? A simple question. If only it didn't have such a compliment answer. If only it were as simple as a "yeah," or an "I will be."

Her grip tightens. "Orion?"

"Yeah. Yes, I'm fine." I suck in a breath and close my eyes, holding it all in as if to bring everything around me to a temporary halt. Slowly, I release the breath, open my eyes, let it all out. Like those worry lanterns people send into the sky. "Are you? Really?"

"I asked you first."

"I said I am."

"You're lying."

"Unfortunately so."

"I guess I'm fine, too. Since we're lying to each other now."

A soft exhale follows her words. I expect her to let go of my hand, or maybe inch closer, but she doesn't do either. She must be waiting for me.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"Nothing happened, Orion."

"Then tell me about what didn't happen." I poke the center of her palm. "I want to know."

"No. I asked you first."

"Yeah, you asked if I was good, and I answered your question. Now I want you to answer mine."

"Well, you kind of lied, so it doesn't check out. You never tell me anything, you know."

"That's a lie," I argue. "I tell you a lot of things. There's just not much to tell."

"Yeah, right." She snorts. "Fine. Let's go with that. Still, are you good?"

"Yes. Peachy. Can we change the subject?"

"I—"

"There are other things to talk about. Things more important than how I feel. And, seeing as there's barely enough time to teach you to make alphabet soup, I'd rather we make the most of it by not asking generic questions." The words tumble out like clothes from an overfilled washing machine.

Slowly but surely, Autumn's fingers slip out of mine. Shuffling—the swooshing of clothing material—is heard. She sits up, tucks her hands under her thighs, staining them with dirt.

I do so, too, mostly to regain feeling in my bones, but unlike Autumn, I don't bury my hands under layers of skin and bone. When I look down at my hands, they are filled with stars, and the one Autumn held shines brighter than the other.

Daring a glance at her, I wonder if she can feel the electricity buzzing through my veins. If she can hear that the beating of my heart sounds more like the pitter patter of rain than the beating of a drum or the ticking of a clock. If there are stars underneath her epidermis that only come out at nighttime.

"Do you believe in soulmates?" she asks, changing the subject a few minutes too late.

"Not in the widely accepted concept of soulmates. I have my own beliefs."

"What are they?"

A shaky sigh is released. "I think a soulmate is someone you're able to be the most "you" with—I don't know if you got that—and I think people can have more than one soulmate. It doesn't always have to be romantic like in the movies. But sometimes, I can't help but wonder how it would be to have a relationship with my soulmate."

The air is tense. My words are unable to settle or soar. They hang in front of my mouth, waiting for a proper send-off; one I don't know how to give.

I hug my knees to my chest, smearing the material of my sweatpants with

constellations from my star-studded hands.

"Um." Autumn cups her dirty hands around her mouth, blowing steady breaths. "On a scale of one of infinity, how generic would it be if I said I think you're my soulmate?" A nervous chuckle follows.

I fold my lips; unfold them; pick the stars from my palms; say, "I can't rate that." Then, "I'm more of myself with you, too."

An eternity es.

"So, what now?"

Another eternity.

"I don't think I'm ready to leave home," I say, not quite sure if I mean it.

Without a doubt, I know Curtis will be good for me, and I know leaving will do me good—give me a level of exposure. But there's Mom, who would murder me if I throw an opportunity like this away, and my friends, who will resent me for the rest of our lives, and Autumn, who. . .

"No one is ever ready for anything. Especially not huge changes." She turns her head to me. "But this is something you have to do. Something you can do. Something that'll without a doubt, leave you feeling fulfilled. If you let this go,

you'll wake up every single day beating yourself up for wasting the opportunity. Is that really what you'd rather do?"

In the midst of my internal turmoil, I smile. "The worst part of all of this—" I crane my head to meet her eyes "—is having to leave you."

She looks to me, unspeaking, and I return the favour, because there's really nothing else to say. Stars light up the dark canvas, and we sit there, watching in amazement, our hearts singing to the sky.

Chapter Thirty

Orion

The days practically speed by, and before I know it, it's Thursday night and there is no way in hell that I am getting in a tuxedo.

"You might as well give up," I say to my laptop's screen, still clicking and clicking and clicking away at the keyboard, until finally, I'm finished. "There. I booked a flight." My smile is triumphant.

"Do you think I want you in a tux? Orion, nobody looks good in those things. Wear whatever the hell you want, really."

Holden peeks at the screen from behind me. I can feel his heavy breath on my neck.

"So, Monday?" I can feel his eyebrows furrowing.

"Yes, Monday."

"You don't think it's too soon?"

"Nope." Yes. It is too soon. But if I don't do it now, I never will.

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes, I'm sure about that." No, I'm not. Not in the slightest. But hey, both of us are gonna be in the US of A, right? As will Maeve and Lynx, so maybe it's not all bad. Sure I won't get to see them every day or week or month, but the tug won't be so strong.

Still, Mom won't be there.

My head hurts. Mom won't be there; so what? It's not like I'm going to remain here for the rest of my life. She wouldn't even let me. That's the thing. So why am I using her as an excuse not to get out of my comfort zone?

Autumn won't be there either.

I slam the laptop closed. I'm beginning to hate the way I think.

"Orion?"

Right. Holden is still here.

"Yeah?" I lay my head on the laptop, arms held around it like some sort of helmet.

"Get up," Holden says. "We have somewhere to be."

"Yeah, okay. Give me a minute," I murmur, not moving to get up. "Actually, don't. You can head out. I'll be there in half an hour."

***

The universe might as well have told me this whole day would be a mistake.

Minus the successful booking of my flight, everything else has gone downhill. And not in a good, river flowing down a hill sense; it's more of a jarring carriage falling down a steep hill after being abandoned by its horse sense. And Lord do I hate it.

I blow a breath and look at Autumn. "What do we do?"

She frowns at me. "Is that a question? Your mother needs you."

Just for the heck of it, I blow out another breath and restart the car. From the corner of my eye, I see Autumn sit back in her seat, shoulders too tense to allow her to relax. It's not even her Mom and she cares this much.

Not as much as me, but still.

"Thank you," I mutter, and we're back on the road.

"I really didn't—"

"Autumn, just accept it," I say. My voice is less than a whisper. "I'm so grateful for you that I'm starting to feel indebted. Really." I bite down on my tongue like it'll keep me from crying. I'd do anything to prevent a tear fest right about now. The last thing I want is a car accident.

"Well, I'm just—I don't—I don't actually do anything, you know. But yeah, no problem." She nods off, lips pulled into a thin line. "And, um, I really hope your Mom's okay."

I nod, too, even though I know she won't be. The universe is mad at me— probably for wanting to leave home—and this is its way of taking revenge.

Neither one of us utters another word until we get to the hospital.

My racing thoughts are drowned out by the white noise. There's feet and legs

and polished shoes, each stepping in front of the other; side by side, step by step, one after the other. My hand is twined with Autumn's.

They let us into the ward without much interrogation. That can only mean one thing. I brace myself for the worst. It is all I've been doing since she got the diagnosis.

The ringing of my phone pulls me back into present time. I'm in the hospital, my mother's heart allegedly failed, and someone thinks now is a good time to place a phone call. I don't even answer phone calls on normal days.

Autumn gives my hand a reassuring squeeze, and we step into Mom's ward together like a crappy, overly PDA couple, except this is a serious situation, and we're not a couple.

As soon as I set my eyes on Mom, my heart leaps to my throat and stays there. Guilt wells up in my chest. It's my fault for feeding her with pastries, isn't it? If I'd just let her be, she wouldn't be here.

I perk up at the beeping of the electric monitor. My phone nearly falls out of my hand. At least she isn't flat lining. I don't take the call. I switch my phone off.

"Is she going to be okay?" I ask no one in particular. One of the nurses in the room gives me a sympathetic look, and I almost lose it right there, right in front of my mother's possible death bed.

All the options are probably already ruled out for her.

Autumn squeezes my hand again. I pull her closer and bury her face in my shirt so I can bury mine in her hair. Her hair. Mom loves her hair. I do, too, but Mom. Loves. Her. Hair. And Autumn loves Mom. And so many people love Mom. And so many people will miss Mom. And I can feel tears prickling at my eyes and ears.

The gods-damned electrocardiogram starts to beep again, only this time, it's near incessant, and it's frankly annoying, so I lift my head up to glare at it. The squiggly line has gone flat.

One by one, the nurses evacuate, each one stopping to pat my shoulder and bow their head before stepping out the door. I don't see the point. It's not like it's helping anything. The doctor doesn't stop to pat my shoulder, thankfully. All he does is nod. Once. One simple nod. I don't know what that means.

Autumn tugs at my shirt. "Orion?"

"What?"

"Let's go outside."

I shake my head indignantly. "I want to touch her," I say. "I know it sounds creepy and weird, but I can't—" I choke on my words.

"Orion, we're leaving. Right now. And I'm driving."

She slips her hand out of mine and holds it out for me to give her the key to my car.

Reluctantly, I fish it out of my pockets and all but throw it at her, then gruffly push past her and through the doors and corridors until I'm back in the parking lot, eyes focused on nothing but the ground.

If Holden were here, he'd try to make light of the situation. I don't know how he does it; I don't think it's possible right now, though. It's too soon. Too soon. Too fast. It's too much. Too many thoughts, too many feelings, too many sounds, too many emotions.

Not enough air.

In a flash of colours, I see Autumn running over to meet me right before I out.

Chapter Thirty One

Orion

Draco is off on a mini vacation to Autumn's house. I'm alone, just like the doctor —myself—ordered.

The solitude isn't good. It's as simple as that.

With nothing to distract myself with, I'm an easy target. Well, my defenses are non-existent, and I have nothing to live for. Mom won't even watch me graduate from highschool, more or less graduate from University or something.

Day one: life is a shit show.

I haven't left my bed since Autumn dropped me off at home. I must've had another anxiety attack, because I don't just. . .faint. Even with the occasional panic attacks, I don't out as often as I should. It's not a blessing. I'd rather be unconscious.

An earbud falls out of position and onto my shirt. I should get out of bed, fix myself a glass of water, maybe a little something to eat, have at my medication. I skip through steps one to three, aiming straight for the last. The sooner I get to

my drugs, the better.

I don't exactly have any time to waste.

The sooner I get to my drugs, the better for me. But that'll mean I'll feel better, and it's not really solidaristic of me to be happy and peppy at a time like this. Not when I don't even want to be happy.

I get back in bed and bury myself under my comforter, opting to placate myself with music from various genres instead. Screw today, and screw tomorrow. Who cares about a fucking graduation ceremony, anyway?

Chapter Thirty Two

Orion

It's Monday night, and my life is about to begin.

Lynx wasn't able to fly back for my send-off, and though it might not bother me, it sure as hell bothers him. That's why he's asked Holden to film the whole thing. I don't think normal people do that, so maybe he's just as attached as I am.

Lugging two travel bags is harder than it looks, so I'm more than thankful when the luggage carousel comes into view. I drop the bags off on the conveyor belt for them to be tagged (or whatever it is they do to people's luggage. I wouldn't know, it's my first time traveling since I turned thirteen.)

"So," Holden says, clapping his hands together. "What are we doing next?"

He gets three pairs of blank stares thrown at him.

"You know the flight isn't until an hour, right? How are we gonna kill time?"

Autumn pipes up. "How about we sit in the waiting area like everybody else? Or maybe go find something to eat."

I clasp my hands together in front of me, blowing into them, silently excluding myself from the conversation. I want to be here, but I don't want to be here. Who's gonna look after the house? Nobody. It doesn't need looking after. Who's gonna live in the house? Well, me, if I still want to in four years. But I probably shouldn't be thinking that far yet.

Mom's body has been taken to the morgue. That's her home until the funeral— whenever that might be. Until Lynx and I are both back home at the same time, there won't be any reading of her will, and all her property will remain intact. If she left a death note—something for us, specifically—I don't know. I didn't look. I couldn't bring myself to. Hell, I haven't even eaten since then.

The sound of my name makes me look up. Holden is frowning at me.

"What?" I bite, giving him the side-eye. It's much more effective than eye rolling, and far more appropriate. Plus, I'm too tired for any weird gestures.

"We're heading downstairs to get food. Maeve said she saw a sign . . ." I tune him out, not wanting to think about food. Mom was a fucking chef. I snort. Her profession killed her. I didn't.

"No, thank you," I say when I'm certain Holden is finished talking. "I'm good."

Maeve steps in.

No sooner does she say, "Your Mom would want you to eat," than she realizes her mistake. Sure it's all out of sheer goodwill, but the girl should learn to bite her fucking tongue once in a while.

For fucks sake, you just had to have friends who actually care about your wellbeing. Dumbass.

Specifically for Maeve, I roll my eyes and throw my head back. "What about "I'm good" don't you understand?" I ask, my voice sounding every bit as irritable as I am. "You guys can go get your food. I. Don't. Want. Any."

Thank God for Autumn. I'd carry the girl along with me if I could.

"I think you should let him be," she says, her soft voice soothing my budding headache. "He probably has a lot on his mind. Food isn't Orion's top priority." She scoffs. "Unfortunately."

Her words bring a smile to my face. A small one. Barely conspicuous.

"Yeah, but—" Holden's amber eyes turn downcast, and I wince. He really should tone down on the overbearing factor. "I want our last few minutes to be—I can't —" His voice breaks off completely, and I immediately realize that this isn't about the food.

Not that there's anything I can do about it.

"Well," I say in an attempt to switch up the mood. "I'm still here. We don't have to do anything extravagant—"

"Food isn't extravagant," Maeve mutters, crossing her arms.

I roll my eyes again. "Anyway," I say pointedly, then turn my attention back to Holden. "Yeah, we can, uh, find a good spot in the waiting area and talk about all the embarrassing moments I've probably forgotten."

Holden's eyes snap to mine. "You mean like that time when you had food poisoning and—"

I cut him off. This is one memory I can actually recall, and I don't think it's something Autumn needs to hear. Unfortunately, and because she's so Autumn, she leans in—probably unaware that she's doing it—as if to hear Holden's story better. She really likes stories. I bet her shitty parents never deemed it necessary to tell her bedtime stories as a kid.

"Not in front of the girls. That one stays between us men."

I put air quotes around the last word. The corner of Holden's lips tugs up in a knowing half-smile.

***

At eight forty-five, things are starting to look up. For one, Holden hasn't shared anything that made me want to bury my face in shame, so that's good.

Right now, standing in the airport bathroom and staring at my reflection in the mirror, I'm filled with a sense of emptiness. How beautifully ironic.

The greenness of my eyes makes me think of my mother. The contours of my jawline remind me of my father. My messy hair is characteristically dissimilar to either of theirs, so I find solace in focusing on that feature.

Of course, that solace is short-lived.

Autumn s me in the bathroom, even though it clearly says "men" on the door. I bite my lip.

"Did you not see the sign outside?" I ask, amused, and slightly thankful it's an airport bathroom. One of many. So the chances of being walked in on are low. (Low, but still there.)

She shrugs, nudges me with her shoulder. "I wasn't paying attention," she says.

Through the mirror, I see her eyes narrow.

"So, you came here to get away from us?" she asks. "You do realize you're leaving, and that these few moments are the last you'll have to hold for a while, right?"

I nod. "Yeah. I was trying to forget that."

"Oh."

We're plunged into a temporary silence.

" when you asked me to be your date to prom? And how we ended up not making it to the dance?" I nod slowly, unsure of where she's going with her questions. "Would you like to dance with me?"

The corners of my lips tug up. "There's no music playing."

She slips her hand into mine. "Of course, there is. Listen to the song in your heart."

Our feet move from side to side, but mostly, our dancing involves stepping on each other's feet and laughing it off.

"Your laugh is so beautiful, girasol."

She smiles, but her face scrunches up. "I still don't know what that word means," she says, "what's the origin?"

I shrug. "I don't know. It suits you, so. . ."

"What does it mean?"

"What do you think it means?"

I watch as her bottom lip disappears into her mouth and her forehead creases. "Orion, I have no idea."

A sigh escapes my parted lips. "Would you like me to translate?"

She nods softly. "My curiosity has gotten the better of me." A giggle follows.

"It means sunflower, Autumn," I tell her. "And you want to know why I call you that?" She nods in affirmation. "It's because you radiate light. You're beautiful, radiant, like the sun. And despite everything you've been through, you somehow manage to light up my life in ways no one else has."

My smile becomes full-blown as I thread my fingers through her hair, bringing my face closer to hers. Inside my rib cage, my heart is thrashing.

"Do you know how much I love you, Autumn?" I whisper in her ear. She lets out a tiny gasp. "Do you know how much it hurts, having to leave you?"

"Yes," she whispers back, breathless. "I do, and I know you said not to ask, but, I think I trust you enough to want to be with you." Her cheeks flush. "And I understand that it's long distance, and that it's your first relationship, but I really, really like you, Orion." She smiles up at me, leaning her face into my hand. "I don't want to throw away what we have."

Even though those might just be the most generic cringe-worthy words in the history of generic cringe-worthy words, my lips curve in a smile, and I grab Autumn by the waist, earning a squeal from her.

"Yes, of course. I would absolutely love to be with you."

And then, I kiss her. Lightly. On the lips. Like we have all the time in the world. And in my head, we do, because we're both here, together, in this moment, where the concept of time has ceased to exist, and—

Maybe love is timeless.

"Orion," she mutters against my lips and I pull back. Due to our proximity, I can see the stars in her eyes. I watch them come to life, one by one, and she laughs, and it's an intergalactic symphony, and I think I know what love is.

***

Fifteen past nine and I brace myself for the boarding announcement. My is tucked safely in my back pocket, burning a hole through the denim of my black jeans.

The intercom buzzes.

My fingers curl around the edges of my seat.

"Good evening, engers. This is the pre-boarding announcement for flight 47H92B to Philadelphia. We are now inviting those engers with small children, and any engers requiring special assistance to begin boarding at this time. Please have your boarding and identification ready." Identification? My ID is somewhere in one of my travel bags. Way to go, Orion. "Regular boarding will begin in approximately ten minutes time. Thank you."

I stand up abruptly. I can't believe I don't have any means of identification in my wallet. Do I even have a wallet?

All three pairs of eyes dart to me.

"Where are you going? You don't have to line up yet." It's Maeve.

"Uh." My breath is shaky. "I have to use the bathroom," I say, because I can't let

them know I forgot a vital object.

"But you were in there for like twenty minutes," Holden says with a small frown.

I sigh, shut my eyes. "Guys, I'm nervous, okay?" It's not a lie. "And I need to give myself a pep talk before I get on the plane."

This seems to satisfy them because they both get up—Autumn remains seated, watching me with a worried expression—and move in to hug me.

Despite wanting to get out of here as soon as possible, I wrap my hands around them, inhaling their scents—tangerine and honeysuckle—like the sappy teenager that I am.

"I'm so going to miss you." Maeve's words come out muffled, and I feel my shoulder slowly becoming damp. Oh, God. Is she. . .crying?

Is Holden crying, too?

Am I?

"Can we please not get all sentimental? I'm trying really hard not to cry in front of you."

Holden snorts a laugh that's followed by a trickle of tears. It's the first time I've seen my best friend cry since we started High School, and I am definitely not a fan of the sight. But it's appropriate, so I let him be.

"Okay," I drawl when I'm certain the hugging has gone on long enough. We're not even overly touchy people, so all this platonic PDA has me feeling even more squeamish. Also, I still don't have my ID. "That's enough."

Maeve breaks away first. Holden follows.

"Sorry," he says, wiping away tear residue. "It's just, we've never actually been apart, and I don't know how long it'll be until I see you again, and—" He stops mid-sentence, turning his back to us no doubt as an attempt to hide his falling tears. I wish I could do something to make him stop, but how can I, when I'm the reason he started in the first place?

I rock back and forth on my heels. "Yeah, so, I will be right back." And I'm far away from them, from the waiting area, from all the sappiness and PDA, but not all the PDA because Autumn thinks it's a good idea to follow me around just because I'm her boyfriend now.

For the most part, I pay no attention to her, instead, grabbing my suitcase and travel bags out of the aisle. They've been tagged all right, so I start my search. I don't know which bag I shoved everything in; I packed over a week ago.

Autumn crouches down next to me. "What are we looking for?" she whispers, her dainty hands getting ready to pick my things apart.

"Some means of identification. I didn't know that was a requirement until the announcement." I sound so stupid and pathetic. I probably should've asked Autumn—she's had to fly overseas on her own. It's sort of like having the answers to a test and choosing not to cheat with them.

Bad analogy, but you get it.

From the corners of my eyes I see her suck in her lower lip and bite on it, her eyebrows furrowed in intense concentration. Like this means as much to me as it does to her. And where the hell DID I put my driver's license?

"Found something," she declares triumphantly, and without bothering to check if it's something useful, I shove all my clothes haphazardly into the suitcase and zip it up. She found my wallet. She saved my day.

"Thank you," I mouth as she hands it to me. "So, so much. I love you."

She lets out the most inhumane gasp I have ever heard, and throws her hands over her mouth, trembling lightly, and I do not have the time for this.

I get up and help her to her feet, and together, we return the bags to the now empty trolley, my hands crossed in hopes that someone will see the tags and take them to the plane. We turn away without a word.

"Your ten minutes are just about up," she says.

We're back in the waiting area. Maeve and Holden are, thankfully, nowhere to be found.

I force a smile. It comes out lopsided and sheepish, because I'm reminded that I'm leaving my home and my friends and my girlfriend and my pet Dorkie.

"Autumn, is it weird that I already miss, um—already miss you?" I ask. "Like, I don't know, it's just, three months was long enough to get to know you, and I . . .'' I pause. I don't even know what I'm trying to say. "God." I feel my ears flush. "You'll be all right, okay? And, wait." I reach into her jacket pocket for her phone, then type out my phone number. "There. Now you have it. Text me, call me, whatever. Just keep me in the loop, and let me know if anything goes wrong. I'll be there to help you through it."

I might not have gotten therapy—maybe I did and I don't —but I do being diagnosed with separation anxiety. I guess life never gave me a true reason to believe it, but now? This is more proof than I ever would've wanted.

Peach-coloured lips curl up in the most dazzling smile I've ever seen. It's enough to take my breath away.

"Yeah, okay. I'll text you. Tonight, maybe?"

I nod and keep nodding, wondering whether someone up there—Mom, most likely—pressed pause on Father Time's clock, because ten minutes should've

been up about an eternity ago.

It's true. Airports have no concept of time.

"Yes. Tonight sounds fantastic."

Just as the intercom buzzes for the final announcement, I capture her mouth with my own. When she leaves—parting kiss and parting wave all taken care of—I hurry to the nearest bathroom to confirm if the stars in my eyes are as alive as they feel. They turn out to be barely present, and I know why.

There's a garden of pansies and sunflowers blooming around my heart.

Chapter Thirty Three

Autumn

The lights on the front porch flicker between life and death. I'm seated in front of the door, huddled up, head buried between the crests of my knees. I know Lou is home, but I'm not ready to go inside yet. Not ready for her to tell me I was wrong to wear my heart on my sleeve.

Eventually—when the world falls silent—I get up and go in, slightly hunched over in an attempt to make myself look half as miserable as I feel, because what the hell was I thinking? I could've ignored Orion the other day at the airport and none of this would be happening.

The house is noiseless and dark, the only light coming from the moon, through the kitchen window. Lou is perched over the table, staring hard at the wall, a cup of tea-gone-cold nestled in her pudgy hands.

I'm on a course set for my room when her voice breaks through the stillness.

"I don't suppose you've seen tonight's news?"

The news? "No, I haven't." My voice comes out shaky, my knees buckle,

threatening to give way. "Was I supposed to?"

Lou sighs, and it's heavy and disturbing. Her teacup clatters as it hits the marble top, no doubt chipping the ceramic. She sort of whirls her chair around, even though it's not a spinning chair and it shouldn't be possible.

"Autumn darling." She never calls me that. "I don't know how to break this to you," she adds, and I get the feeling that I don't want her to break it to me. It's too late for any of this. Too late. Too. Late.

So I lower my gaze. "Well then, don't break it to me. I had a long day and I need some shut eye, otherwise I'm going to be really, um, irritable, and I honestly don't think it's appropriate for me to be mean to you."

Her hand falls slightly to the side. A smile makes itself a home on her face.

"All right. Goodnight. We'll talk tomorrow."

The morning cannot come slowly enough. I'm so beat that I don't even bother texting Orion. He'll understand.

***

The morning comes with rain, the skies a deep blue-gray. Oh, and Lou is seated at the edge of my bed, armed with a box of tissues—Lord knows why the hell

she thinks I'll be needing them—and a steaming cup of coffee, of which I am more than thankful for.

Sometimes, when she's not thrusting boxes of tissues in my face, I love her. Now, I both love and hate her, because I like coffee, but boxes of tissues equals no.

"What is it?" I say, instead of "good morning."

She hands me the cup, careful not to tip it over, and readjusts herself on the bed so that she's facing me. Then, with extreme caution and uncertainty, "there was a crash last night, about an hour or two after you left," she says, clamping her eyes shut and tapping her temples as if to will her mind to recall a memory. "Flight 47H92B. Or was it 49B27H? Anyway, something like that. There were no survivors."

I hang on to the possibility of flight 49B27H being the one that crashed because, why would I choose to believe any different? I know that is not a flight number, though, because I did not see it on the board sign thing that airports usually have in the waiting area, but I don't care. My boyfriend is perfectly fine and alive and breathing.

"Well," I begin, blowing over the surface of my coffee. "What am I supposed to do about a plane crash?"

Lou's face falls apart. Her cheeks are immediately flooded with colour.

"I thought you cared about him!" she exclaims, throwing her hands up in exasperation, and while I can't blame her, I can't help but feel like she should know better than WAKING ME UP TO SUCH SHITTY NEWS on the morning following a long day.

The crash wasn't her fault, but still. She didn't have to tell me about it.

"Of course I do," I snap, glaring at her over the surface of the mug that is very much scalding my palms. I'm too upset to care, though. "Yes, I care about him, but, what. The. Fuck, Lou? What step am I to take next? You want me to call him? Fine. I'll fucking place a call right now."

It's safe to say; do not ever attempt to angrily get out of bed whilst holding a very hot beverage. You will get burned. So, very, hotly, burned.

Completely ignoring Lou and the imminent stinging of my skin, I stalk to the desk where I'd tossed my phone the night before. There are no notifications I care about. None I want to see.

I dial Orion. It doesn't go through.

I try again. Still nothing.

At this point, I'm frantic and it shows. And Lou is getting apprehensive because she doesn't know what to do with me. Pssh, well, I don't know what to do with me either.

Just in case the worst actually did happen, I don't leave a message. No, of course not. Why would I? I have better, more entertaining and important things to do. In fact, I should call home and check up on everyone; see how they're holding up. And apologize to Lou. And maybe buy us tickets to a stupid romcom. And maybe, somehow forget that there ever existed an Alsephina who went by the name Orion.

My plans are sidetracked by the devil himself. Orion calls me back about seven hours later. At the sound of his groggy, static enhanced voice, tears spring to my eyes and I clutch at. . .whatever, praying to God to keep me grounded because holy hell am I happy to hear him speak.

"Hi," he says awkwardly. There's a chuckle at the other end. I don't care, though, I'm just, so not disoriented and mopey anymore. "This is Autumn, right?"

"Yes, yes!" I manage, my voice all breathless and baseless. "I thought—your plane."

He chuckles again, like there's something about Philadelphian air that makes people chuckle. Chuckling Gas, if you will. "Yeah, well, I'm not exactly the most uncomplicated human. And I also hate sentiment, because it makes me cry, so after you guys left, I locked myself in a cubicle and had at it," he says. "I missed my flight. I'd been at the airport for an hour and I still missed my flight." To which he chuckles. Again.

This time, I can't help but in.

"Good thing, though." I hiccup. "I couldn't fathom you being. . .not alive."

"Autumn, I need you to understand that I am immortal. I have been through hell and come out singing. A measly plane crash is not at all enough to get rid of me."

I laugh again.

"I don't want to know what's come over you," I say, "but I like it."

"Good, because it's not easy to feign cockiness." I can hear a shift in the background. "So, I'm not dead, my luggage is with me because I forgot my ID and we had to go check, and I managed to get through six hours without getting teary eyed. I even had a short nap on the way here."

My heart clenches for the families of the people who were lost in the crash, but it sings—it sings a babel of hymnals—at the amazing news of Orion's undeadness. For the first time ever, I'm happy he's an anxious mess. I bet he is, too.

"Yeah, that's all good," I mutter distractedly. "Draco says hi, by the way."

"Oh. Oh, shit. I promised Holden I'd call him as soon as I got here. They must be wondering about me, you know, with the crash and everything."

It pains me to, but I let him go. I'm not the only person who cares about him,

anyway.

"Okay, okay, okay. I get it. We'll talk later."

I can hear his smile.

"All right, bye. Love you."

And he's gone. Both physically and digitally, even if for the time being.

Lou was right. I have to meet other people.

Chapter Thirty Four

Orion

My apartment isn't ready yet, so I'm checked into a hotel for the time being. The staff recognized me, people at the airport recognized me; I don't know what to do with all this recognition. It's new to me. I scribble it onto a post-it note and slap it on one of the bare walls.

God willing, they won't be so bare by the time I'm ready to leave.

Exhibit A: everyone knows who I am. I'm already starting to hate it here.

When I finally get off the phone with Holden, I switch off my phone; fish out my notebook. I plan to use it more than I have in the past eleven months. I bet separation is a good enough basis for crappy poetry, too, since all the good songs stem from heartbreak and loss. Love and loss, love and loss, love and loss.

Well, I loved my parents. Love. I still love them. And it's not like they're gone. Dad might be, but it doesn't feel like Mom is. After all, it's only been a week. That isn't nearly enough time for her to become nothing but a memory.

She lives here, with me, with Lynx, with Autumn and everyone who has ever

loved her—right here, in our blood-pumping organs.

I pick up my fallen pen and bring it up to the page. A teenage boy lost in a world of soft mattresses, repressed emotions, and many, many words. And then, I write.

My mother always used to say things have to get worse before they can get better, and I guess I believe her. The worst is behind me—it can only get better from here. All I have to do is let life happen.

About the Author

Astro Polaris is a student, writer, reader, and somewhat a poet from West Africa. Her stories combine fiction with a touch of reality, and characters you'll be sure to relate with. Holding Infinity, is her first ever published novel. When Astro isn't writing, you can usually find her lost between the pages of a book with earphones plugged into her ears. Like everyone else, she also enjoys the fine art of escaping reality every once in a while.