Imogen had to stand by the counter for a moment after she'd filled up the glass with water. She just couldn't fathom Connor's mindset. Fire was responsible for most of what he had went through, but somewhere in that twisted little mind of his, he still wanted it. And it was terrifying; she'd just gotten closer to him again, and now it could easily happen all over again. As horrible as it sounded, Imogen just wanted Michael to tell the police about it. Not so Connor would have a criminal record- she felt horrible at that thought- but so he could get the help he needed. And he was in such desperate need of that help. She could just see it from looking at him; he was sick and tired and scared, and it was all because of the fire.

She wandered back through, handing him the glass of water. He just looked defeated, as if all the life in his body had just been drained out, leaving a walking, talking corpse. That just confirmed it; deep down, the fire had scarred him much more than it had scarred her. She'd moved on, accepting that little could be done to fix the mark on her neck. He hadn't moved on. He'd be plagued with such destruction for the rest of his life.

"Come here," she sighed as he shoved his head into her shoulder. "You can't be like this, Connor."

"I know," he mumbled. "Mum says I should talk to someone, but... I can't exactly can I? I'd get turned in to the police."

"Your mum's really worried about you, you know. That's why we're here."

"Barry's not going to tell anyone?"

"We can't promise you anything, but he hasn't yet Connor," Kevin noted. "Come back to school with us."

"Kevin, he's not feeling to great," Imogen practically read his mind.

"Tomorrow, okay?" he looked up. "I promise."

...

Everything's happy for once. His mum's smiling. Imogen's looking at him like she used to look at him when they were together, and best of all, her scars not even there, or if it is he barely notices it. Barry's not even in existence.

It's a fabrication; just a dream, but he couldn't help but sink back into his bed, curling up relaxedly.

He's warm; a feeling he hasn't exactly felt for a while. His skin isn't tingling with goose-bumps with every little movement, and the cold empty nausea's been replaced with the gentler feeling of normality.

But it's growing warmer, the temperature creeping up as he sits there, watching the smiles fade. He's sweating now, feeling it plaster his hair to his forehead. His skin's burning now, like it's peeling away as each second passes. The smiles are far from smiles now; worse than frowns, even. Imogen's scar becomes really noticeable; like how he saw it when he first returned to school after that holiday and couldn't even look her in the eye. His mum's eyes are sunken, her breath thick with the scent of alcohol.

It's boiling now, and his lungs feel like they are going to deflate with the carbon monoxide that fills them, making his head pound in agony.

...

Connor didn't manage to live up to the previous day's promise. After waking up from what must have been the worst nightmare he'd ever slept through, he was up sick for the whole night. Christine was quite frankly terrified, with Connor being very vague about what was really bothering him and causing his current 'ailment', and it took him a while to talk her out of dragging him to a doctor. She point black refused to let him go into school that day, despite the fact that he'd stated he would find it easier to push himself through a day of school instead of being stuck in his own twisted little mind until she returned, telling him that after the night he'd had, he really wasn't up for it.

He eventually returned to school after the weekend, despite the fact that it took every ounce of courage he had left to get him past the school gates. Focusing on the task of getting into school, he was so detached from what was actually going on around him that he barely noticed the pointing and the laughing and the stern looks from those that surrounded him. He managed to get to his locker, when once again, the world fell apart around him.

Written on his locker in spray paint, in big block capitals was the words 'sick scum'. His obliviousness vanished as he turned to see the frowns of those around him. Kasey, who'd previously not been too fussed had she known the truth, stood in front of Barry near the lockers, smirking sternly in his direction. Even Dynasty, under the peer pressure of her siblings, looked disappointed to see his face.

"Connor," Michael's voice was stern; a far cry from the supportive tone of just a few days ago. "My office."

Submissively, he ducked his head and took a seat in the office as instructed.

"This morning Barry Barry told me that it was you who started the fire, and now, as you have probably noticed the news is circulating the school," Michael spoke calmly, his voice softening a little from how he'd spoken in the corridor. "I have no choice now but to phone the police. I'm sorry."

"I understand completely," his voice wobbled, and as much as he wanted to prevent himself from getting too upset, he had to wipe away the tears forming before the trickled down his cheeks.

"If it had been my choice, I wouldn't have called them, Connor, but I had no other option."

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm really sorry."

"I want you to see how this could help you. At the moment, I can tell that you're troubled and depressed, and more than anything, we want to see you happy. You can talk to someone now. Fire is no way to deal with things."

"Thank you," he managed to mumble.

"I want you to speak to the school and make a public confession. Take control of this situation without resorting to such dangerous methods."

"Too late sir," he would've laughed if he had the motivation to. "Too late."

"When was the last fire you started?"

"Wednesday."

"And before that?"

"All the stuff with mum-... But that was the first time since...-" and he was done with trying to hold back, as he let the sobs takeover his body.

"Sonia's going to take you to the cooler. I don't think you should be in class. I'll get Miss McFall to sit with you."