Author's note: A short chapter, because I'm pulling an all-nighter and currently have the time. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Next to Normal.

Chapter Fourteen

I began avoiding Henry to remarkable effect; I couldn't stand to see the concern and disgust and anger and hurt on his face, and I couldn't stand that it was all my fault. The guilt was practically killing me, so, naturally, I popped a few pills—just to take the edge off. (Honestly, I was not taking nearly as many now that Mom was home, and I wasn't going out to clubs every night either. Part of that was because I knew I'd go overboard and pass out and I might just freeze to death or get mauled or something, because Henry wouldn't be there to save me.)

Anything to do with piano had not so much as been glanced at since that stupid recital. That was something else I couldn't face: the keyboard. Though the talk about my breakdown had spread around the school, it wasn't long before another drama took centre stage and whispers stopped following me down hallways. Still, I was self-conscious—embarrassed, even—to be seen going into a practice room, and even more self-conscious to be heard playing. I was only going to fuck up, so why bother? Save further humiliation for another day.

Although I myself wasn't playing, I spent a fair bit of time lingering in corridors, listening to a certain someone else play. He really was good. I thought that he should try applying for music somewhere. Surely there were jazz programs, and someone would absolutely want him (Unlike me. But I shut down that thought). There were a few times he started playing something classical—why, I don't know. Maybe it had grown on him, or maybe because that was closest to talking to me, or maybe just for the hell of it—and while he was also quite good at that, I didn't stay. Mozart was too painful to hear; I couldn't hear the composer's doubts or disease, but mine were loud and clear.

Back at home, Mom didn't seem to be improving much. She was learning a lot, but that wasn't the same thing; I got the impression that she was just taking everything we told her and memorizing it. If there was any silver lining, it was that she showed no signs of remembering Gabe. Part of me didn't think it was fair to keep such a big component of her life from her, but I couldn't say I didn't like that she now spoke to me without a single thought of him to distract her. (Needless to say, she also wasn't hallucinating him anymore.)

Henry managed to catch me one day, cornering me between third and fourth period.

"Hey," he said.

I considered dodging around him, but decided that would be far too rude to do without acknowledging him. "Hey."

Henry looked somewhat bolstered by the fact I wasn't pushing past him (yet). "I've missed you these days. I thought you might call. It's been weeks."

"That's an exaggeration," I corrected automatically with an eye roll. "It's only been one and five-sevenths weeks. And I've been crazed."

"Hey." Henry grabbed my arm to stop me when I tried to walk away. "Have you been on the scene? 'Cause you look like a mess."

I pictured myself in my mind's eye and had to agree. Rumpled jeans; baggy sweater that didn't hide my too-thin frame; hair uncombed; dark circles the size of dinner plates. Not that I was usually the queen of put-together, but neither did I typically look so… shleppy.

Pulling away from his grasp, all I said was, "Thanks, I guess."

"Are you clean?"

That provoked one of my trademark, humourless laughs. "Wow," I said, "coming from you?"

Henry shook his head. "I don't do what you do," he answered with a scowl.

I matched his expression. I was tired and anxious and in the mood to point fingers. "Okay, how did it start?" I felt my nose begin to tingle and the inner corners of my eyes get hot, but I refused to cry.

"But you took it too far."

"Oh, I 'took it too far,'" I echoed with a bit of condescension in my voice.

"Hey, hey…."

I threw up my hands and shook my head vehemently back and forth. "Henry, don't, don't do this to me!

"Are we over?" Now Henry looked at me pleadingly. "Don't say that we're over."

That got my attention. "Don't you want us to be?" I demanded. I would have thought he'd be jumping for joy at the prospect.

"No," he said, "I want who I knew. She's somewhere in you."

I opened my mouth to reply, then shut it again and turned to leave. I didn't know what there was to say to that.

"Hey. Hey."

I stopped.

"Will you come to this dance?" Henry reached into his bag and removed a fluorescent orange pamphlet. "It's some spring formal dance."

I turned and stared at the flyer he held out to me. Although I didn't take it or say anything, my mind immediately flashed to the pretty, unworn blue dress at the back of my closet.

"It's March first," Henry continued, "and it's cheese, but it's fun and it's free."

The offer held a lot of temptation, but ultimately, there were too many unknown variables, and school dances were not my thing anyway.

"I don't do dances." I shook my head again, with less vigour than before.

"Do this dance with me?" Henry stepped closer, still offering the stoplight-coloured flyer.

"Goodbye, Henry." I hurried away without looking back, trying to forget the image of his hopeful expression falling and trying to ignore the new layer of guilt that I felt.