Now that Kim's here, I feel more of a sense of security. But a gaping hole remains in the empty leather chair where Adam should be sitting.

The nurse let Kim in to see me a few hours ago. She sat in a chair near my bed, and I watched her eyes the entire time. My throat strained with the words left unsaid. Kim, I'm here. Kim, I'm watching you. Kim, I'm going to be okay.

"Mia," she said carefully to me, in a measured tone, "I don't know if you can hear me or not, but I'm under the assumption that you can, because otherwise I'd probably be slated as mad." She laughed drily. "So, there are a couple things I wanted to, you know, say to you, because maybe you can hear me and I sound calm but I'm worried as hell for you."

"If you can hear me, then you must know that your parents… Teddy…" she took a deep breath, and I could see tears glinting in her eyes. "Yeah. But I'm still here. Adam…he's still here, though he hasn't come yet and I really don't know…but whatever. That's beside the point. But the nurse was telling me that you could make this choice, like if you wanted to live or die, and so I just want you to know that this life is worth living."

Kim leaned in until she's right next to my ear. Though I wasn't in my own body, her breath tickled me when she whispered, "You made it into Juilliard, Mia."

I bit back a scream. I wanted to grab Kim and shake her and ohmygoodness I made it into Juilliard Juilliard JUILLIARD.

"But that's not all," she continued. "I mean, your life is going to be freaking awesome if you go to Juilliard. And you can't miss out on that. Maybe you're upset about your family. I know I would be. I am. But you're not really alone, Mia. You have my family. Adam…" she sounded almost annoyed when she said his name. "You have your grandparents, your cousins, aunts and uncles, a lot of people who want to help you. So just think long and hard about leaving. And if it's a decision you want to make, then I'll live with it. But don't forget that there's a lot left to live for."

She squeezed my hand, kissed me lightly on the forehead, and then left—though not before wiping a stray tear from her eye. Oh, Kim.

Where's Adam? I feel like after I see him, I should be able to decide. I have to figure out how I'm going to live my life differently, and I need him to be here. I remember one night when he told me he'd always be there for me. Always, whenever I needed it.

So where is he now?

After the night at my house, most of my nights with Adam were spent at one of our houses, just talking or playing music or kissing or just doing the usual mundane couple jazz. But one day, Adam invited me to one of his Shooting Star concerts for the first time, and I couldn't have been more nervous.

I loved music. Music was what made me a person, and what made me whole. I was completely willing to listen to music from Shooting Star, though some of the themes discussed were slightly unorthodox, but that was rock. What I wasn't so willing to do was to get lost and possibly crushed in a sea of chanting people who could or could not be part of a cult, trying not to die. Concerts were not especially my thing, mostly because orchestra performances were very formal and demure. Rock concerts were—to put it lightly—all over the place.

But I couldn't say no to Adam, because he was always so supportive of my musical pursuits of the cello, and I had to do him this one favor. So I agreed to go, though I asked him for a map of the venue just in case I was in danger of being trampled by a boisterous crowd.

The day of the concert, I sat in front of my closet, looking for something to wear. I had lots of formal dresses from my cello concerts, but I somehow felt like they weren't as appropriate for this occasion. After scouring my entire closet and even poking through some of my mom's old garments from her heyday, I found what I considered "appropriate rock chick attire." I put on a black tank top, a pink shirt of my mother's that read REBEL FIRE and a black leather jacket with silver rhinestones embedded in the front. I found a pair of black pants and even pilfered my mom's black combat boots. I chose a variety of jewelry, including a choker necklace with silver spikes, black cross earrings, and a skull bracelet. I did my hair up in a half up half down style and was tempted to dye the ends pink, but decided against it in the end.

My mom testified to the fact that I looked pretty darn rock chick. Even I was happy with the end result; Adam would like me this way. I'd fit in with all of the cheering listeners of Shooting Star, and I'd hopefully meet Adam backstage at the end so we could walk home together and maybe spend the night.

I drove up to the concert venue, map in hand, and found my way in. The concert was only just starting, but the place was packed. I inserted myself into a group of screaming girls just as Adam took the microphone for the first song.

The concert was electric. Adam was spectacular, the music was explosive, and the fans were ecstatic. Even better was the fact that I fit in with the crowd. I made conversation with a group of girls that were apparently "married" to Adam and proudly identified myself as Adam's girlfriend. We talked about our favorite Shooting Star songs while singing along at the choruses and cheering at the ends of every song.

As the concert rounded up, I started to make my way to the stage, map in hand. I wanted to catch Adam as soon as he walked offstage and tell him how awesome the concert was. I was also excited to show him my outfit, which was surprisingly working out well for my friendship prospects. Today was a great night.

I found my way to the backstage door just as Adam left the stage to a cacophony of wild fans. I found my way backstage and, after waving to and congratulating a few of the band members, caught sight of Adam signing an autograph. I eagerly called his name, and he turned around. "Mia?"

I practically bounded to him. "Adam! Hey! You did amazing!"

He barely even looked at my face. "Mia… what's this?"

I squeezed his hand, confused. "Huh?"

His mouth turned down, almost with disgust. "Mia, what are you wearing? Did you pick this out yourself?"

"Yeah!" I nodded, fingering the rhinestones on my jacket. "What do you think? I fit in with the rest of the girls here, and I made lots of friends! You were spectacular Adam, and I just—"

"Hold on." Adam rested a finger on my REBEL FIRE shirt and scoffed. "Mia, what the hell were you thinking? This is not you at all. This is hideous. You… you look like a slut."

I recoiled, my face blooming with color. What? I'd never felt more ashamed in my entire life. I had been wrong to think this was a good idea. Adam was right. I did look like a slut. "Oh, Adam, I'm so sorry," I whispered, my face burning. I was an idiot.

Adam wrapped his arm around me. "Hey, it's okay. I'm here. Don't worry. I'll get you a coat, so no one has to see what you're wearing. You don't want anyone to know that you dress like this, right?"

The tears came then, rolling over my cheeks and onto his shirt. "No, I don't. Adam, I'm so sorry, I ruined tonight for you, I just—"

"Don't worry, Mia." Adam pulled me close to his chest. "Everybody makes mistakes. Even you. I'll always be here if you need me. Don't worry. You can ask me about anything you need. I'll make sure you never look like this again."

I lean my head on his shoulder. "I love you," I whisper.

He smiles. "I love you too. You understand that, right? I have to make sure you don't do things like this again. I have to protect you."

"I get it," I say. He'll always be here if I need him. He pressed his lips to mine, this time for longer than ever before.

And I vowed never to wear anything without his approval ever again.

He was here for me.

After that day, I stuffed all of the concert clothes back into Mom's closet and made sure Adam was okay with anything else I wore. I couldn't imagine making him upset like that ever again.

But now that I think about it, I wonder why it mattered so much to me what he thought of my clothes. Mom thought I looked gorgeous. Why wasn't that enough?

Because he's Adam, I told myself. Because he was Adam, and I loved Adam, and I wanted our relationship to be perfect. And it was perfect—it is perfect—now that I know what he wants of me.

For some reason, though, I don't fully believe that anymore.

But—

Ohmygod.

Ohmygod.

I'm looking through the glass window separating the waiting room from the hospital beds, and I see that empty chair that once felt like a void, but it doesn't anymore, because it's filled with a person.

My person.

Adam is here.