Two years. You guys still remember me?

For those regular followers, yes, I did change the title. Haunting Memories has been getting on my nerves for a while, so I changed it to make it more God's First Nightmare friendly. Hello, Devil's Last Dream xD

Previously:

- Brandon's under the impression that Izzy cheated with Josh when she was really raped by Brick

- Brick lets Troy know that Brandon dumped Izzy, they beat each other's asses, and that's the end of the friendship

- Brandon discovers cutting and Izzy loses touch with hygene and reality

- Troy becomes increasingly tired, no matter how much sleep he's getting

- Brandon's cutting is getting out of control and he's pushing everyone away

Chapter 32 – Lock & Key

"Gabs! Guess what?!"

Gabriella didn't need to take out her headphones to hear Troy's excited cry tearing through her balcony doors. She knew she should've given the thought of lending him a key a little more time.

"What's wrong now, Troy?"

If Troy noticed her tired, defeated tone at more unexpected news, he didn't show it. Maybe it was hiding behind the bright gleam in his eyes as he gripped the balcony rim tightly. "Nothing! Everything's perfect! Well, not exactly perfect, but I have a feeling that that's where we're headed!"

Gabriella's eyebrows connected, as if to say "Really? Because you're at war with my brother again, he broke up with his soul mate and is a complete tragedy, and I'm jammed in the middle of you two idiots. This isn't exactly my definition of perfect, but whatever floats your boat, sweetie."

"What are you talking about?"

Troy was beaming again. His girlfriend's lack of enthusiasm and understanding didn't seem to budge him one bit, and he continued. "Sarah called Matt last night."

"And?"

"Sarah heard the shower running at about one in the morning."

"So your aunt got home late or—"

"No, Gabby," He was gasping her name now, the flush in his cheeks not fading in the dark Albuquerque moonlight. The lighting made the prominent lines of his muscles underneath his tight t-shirt look all the more stunning, but that wasn't what Gabriella was trying to focus on. It was his childish babbling that had her at a loss for words. "Aunt O cut back her hours to be with Izzy more, so she gets home at around six or seven these days. She was in bed and so was Sarah. Matter of fact, it woke Sarah up because the bathroom's right beside her room. No one slept over with her. It was just the three of them in the house last night and if Sarah and Aunt Olivia were in bed…"

Any bystander wouldn't know which happened first: Gabriella's mouth falling wide open or her empty cup of soda dropping from her hand and rolling off her bed onto the carpet. The drops of brown liquid would have to wait; life was finally starting to pick itself off of it's ass.

"Izzy took a shower?! By herself?!"

"Washed her hair and everything!" Troy was now bouncing on the balcony edge with giddy energy. Gabriella took that as her sign to throw herself off of her bed and hurry over to him to make sure he didn't fall and kill himself. "Her legs are still pretty scratchy, but we're getting there!"

"Troy, that's fantastic! What did Brooke say?"

"I don't know, I didn't talk to her. Have you?"

She shook her head. "Not since that day in your room and a few texts. There really wasn't that much to talk about but now—"

Troy jumped over the railing and in one quick step, he was at her doorframe right beside her. Gabriella took note of his foot placement, carefully positioned to not cross over the invisible line that would declare him officially inside the house. He'd made a silent vow to literally not set foot inside the Montez house until Brandon admitted to being dead wrong and apologized to everyone he'd hurt with his judgment. He wouldn't even allow himself inside his girlfriend's bedroom. Sure, he missed the fruity aroma of her closet and the fresh scent of her bed sheets, but his anger with Brandon seemed to be more than enough to silence the voice of his hormones. He was, as Chad put it, on a mission and all he was missing was the theme music.

"Now," Troy cut her off. "She can finally stop being mad at us and start celebrating. Izzy's getting over Brandon! She's finally recovering!"

Gabriella smiled warmly, silently mourning the fact that his closing statement couldn't be a two-way street. Brandon was still locking himself in his room thirteen hours a day doing God knows what and not making any progress in the slightest. Gabriella was sure that him calling her a whore was pretty legit proof of that.

She shook it all off and turned back to Troy. "Did you tell any of the gang yet?"

He shook his head and continued bouncing on his feet, gripping her hands with enough strength to pass by his normal loving manor to leave Gabriella wincing. "Nope, too excited. I want to tell them tomorrow in school so we can get one huge reaction."

Gabriella tried to ignore the music volume from across the hall double when Troy's feet hit the ground a little too hard, causing a deep rumble throughout the top floor.

"Good idea. Who do you think will make the biggest deal?"

"YOU'RE SHITTING US!"

Turns out they didn't have to put all the guesswork into who would make the biggest fuss over the news. The gang was pretty much hardwired to read each other's thoughts by now, but with good news like this, all of their hanging out really paid off.

Troy and Gabriella were left laughing at their wide-eyed friends, holding hands whilst leaning against the wall opposite the lunch table . It was pretty easy to ignore all of the stares and glares from their peers around them. "Yup," Troy started, "She's getting better."

Sharpay's black, beaded purse dangled with her arms while she clapped her hands excitedly. "Yay! Finally, I knew she would show that Bolton strength one of these days!" Troy blushed.

Chad tightened his grip on Taylor's hand and looked over at Troy and Gabriella like an expectant child on Christmas morning. "Did she go to school today?"

Troy dug around in the pockets of his sweats for a second before revealing the top inch of his phone. "I texted Sarah this morning, but she'd just gotten off the bus. She has lunch in about an hour, so I'll send one out to each of you guys next period."

Zeke rolled his eyes. "Of all the useless periods in a day, it has to be my gym period."

Troy shot him a sharp look and narrowed his eyes. "I'll promise to get ISS with you if you get caught, but you are not missing this text."

"Fine, just because you promised."

The end of the period was nearing and their peers were gathering up their books and throwing out their trash. Chad grabbed his book bag and tossed it over his shoulder, wrapped his arm around Taylor's waist again, and sighed. "So, this is just about one of the greatest moments of your life, right?"

Troy didn't get the chance to answer before a draft of vanilla and Hollister blew past the faces of the now silent gang. Chad's question gusted into oblivion, forgotten, as a new one slipped through their minds. Though no one dared to speak it, Gabriella came pretty close and therefore her head hung low near Troy's tense shoulder even when the smell passed. Why he was so late to lunch would have to wait to be answered until after her stomach settled and another question hit her from all angles: why did it unsettle them in the first place?

The answer was simple. Of all the things that were changing, Brandon's scent would never leave them alone. He could hide all he wanted; the biggest, most uncontrollable trait that he possessed remained invisible and all-powerful. So Brandon strolled on by over to Amy and Mike, oblivious to the one lingering power he still had over the demons he used to call family.

The bathroom was deserted, as was the hallway outside and as helpful as this was, Brandon hardly noticed. It would be a miracle if he even cared, like he knew he should. His hoodie was black, his hands were freed of evidence, but he felt far too lazy to shove the bloody paper towels down far enough in the trash can. It would be unfair how easy it would be for someone to walk in and match up Brandon's new emo façade with the red-stained trash can. What then? They report him to the guidance office, get sent to therapy, until he would finally end up in an asylum? Who were they to so quickly judge him in the first place? He had his reasons to act the way he did, so everyone could just piss off. Screw them and the questions he didn't even want to conjure up in his imagination right now. Although there was always one that came back to his mind, even before he started having these thoughts:

Who put the idea in his head in the first place?

Brandon nearly smiled when the memory came back to him, the day he first heard of self-harmers and their practices. Who better to inform you on self-injury than a self-injurer? He didn't know why he remembered this day, let alone this moment so well. But the one thing he did know for sure and the one thing he'd never forget was that he didn't blame his advisor. He'd never point the finger at him, never again.

…Ten Years Ago…

It was Friday, finally Friday, and little eight year-old Brandon couldn't sit still on his kitchen stool for the life of him. With his leg shaking, fingers tapping and nostrils quivering, he couldn't get over the fact that he must've been one of the luckiest little boys in the world. Who else do you know that has a lawyer in one parent and a gourmet chef/guitar salesman in the other?

"When's it gonna be done?" Brandon impatiently asked when the grilling chicken became too much for him to handle. He pouted when he was quickly shushed and the kitchen TV's volume was increased. In front of Brandon was a sizzling pan of delicious chicken and behind him, emerging from the fridge, was Chase.

"Calm down, Sherlock," he chuckled, setting a pack of Pepper Jack cheese and butter down on the counter. Ignoring his son's continued groans and gripping of the hair, he added "I wanna hear this."

Hardly interested, Brandon looked to the left at the kitchen television and took a dramatic breath at the breaking news flashing across the screen. As soon as Chase turned it up a little more, the scene flashed to a high school hallway.

"Apparently, the budget cuts of East High School has taken it's toll on the students much harder than expected, especially those enrolled in the Creative Writing class. Records show their new protest methods are quickly spiraling out of control as they continue to self-injure themselves until the course is returned. The students' plan of action is simple, yet bold enough to capture the attention of the authority surrounding them, with their black wardrobes and short sleeves to display the cuts and burns on their arms, some spelling out the name of the school with angry slashes through them. The school is, as we speak, seriously debating how to handle this horrifying trend and a decision will be made this weekend. Here is what some of the students have to say about this:"

Chase sighed and turned it back down, focusing on the salad bowl in front of him. Brandon, however, couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen and the angry teenage girl with, as mentioned, the depressing wardrobe, obvious black dye-job, and smoky makeup yelling into the microphone.

"Oh my gosh, daddy," he turned his wide eyes to his father on the other side of the counter. "people are really doing this because of stupid school?"

Chase grinned and handed Brandon the cup of his homemade salad dressing for a taste test. While Brandon dipped his finger in the black liquid, his father shook his head. "I know, son. I can't believe it either. And the sad part is that they know the school can't do anything about it, but they still refuse to stop. Makes you wonder what the world's coming to."

"But why would they hurt themselves? Can't they just write letters or something? Why don't they just raise the money and actually help the school so they don't lose anything else?"

Chase smiled and chuckled at his son, sliding over the cup of dressing over again when he saw Brandon stare at it with pleading eyes. "You know, they should put you in charge if you're coming up with ideas that smart at an age this young."

"Seriously, why would someone want to hurt themselves?"

Chase sighed again, trying to find the words to explain the sensitive subject to his innocent spawn. He braced his hands against the counter and began drumming his fingers against it's surface, staring out the window at the darkening sky as if searching for answers. When he didn't receive any, he easily decided to wing it.

"Everybody has problems," he started, still not looking Brandon in the eye. "some worse than others, but everyone still has a way to deal with them. They find a way to let out all of the feelings inside as soon as possible. Some do it in helpful ways, like working out, painting, music, or just talking it out with someone. But some aren't so lucky to have found their positive way of dealing with things."

"They're the ones that hurt themselves?" Brandon asked, taking another slurp of the sweet dressing.

Chase nodded. "They're lost, Brandon. They need more help than the rest of us. They're the ones who are so sad, angry, and hopeless that they think any kind of physical pain is better than the emotional pain. It helps them forget for a second. But that's it, because when the scar forms, it's always there to remind them of how sad they were. They feel better for a second, but they'll feel worse later."

Brandon seemed so deep in thought, he forgot to dip his finger in the cup for another round of dressing. But, to Chase's surprise, he didn't seem wounded or sad at all for the broken souls in the world. Instead, he stayed true to his nickname and asked more questions, just like Sherlock himself.

"Then why don't more people have scars?" Brandon looked up at his father again, this time remembering the plastic cup in front of him. "You said everyone has problems, right?"

Chase gave this notion some thought, thanking every higher power in existence for a son so bright and positive as his. "There are other ways. More popular, dangerous ways. You know the drug & alcohol assemblies you have at school?"

Brandon nodded, eating the dressing like popcorn and listening to his dad's words like a movie.

"I know you've been listening, because you're a smart kid who knows the best choice just by his instincts. But no matter what your friends tell you, no matter what the stupid 'cool kids' say, your teachers are right. Drugs and alcohol are a lot of people's ways for dealing with their problems and you know what happens? It ruins their life. The help that they could've gotten becomes impossible to get and they miss their chance at a better life."

"How do you know that, daddy?"

"Because I've seen it ruin people that I love in my own family. They ended up a heck of a lot worse than where they started, so there's absolutely no point in starting. Okay? Don't forget that."

Brandon nodded once more, lifting the cup to his lips to finish off the dressing. But Chase beat him to the punch, grabbing it back before Brandon could have any more.

"Jeez, little man, leave some for the rest of your family," he chuckled, turning his attention back to the salad.

Brandon jumped from the stool and scrambled over to stand beside his father. Standing on the tips of his toes, he grabbed the edge of the counter and peered to the surface at his dinner, a wide smile crossing his thin face.

"Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"If those dumb high school kids keep hurting themselves because it kind of makes them feel bad, does that mean they'll never stop?"

Chase hesitated, putting down the wooden tongs. "I sure hope not. It'll eventually become a part of their life that they won't be able to control. They're most likely addicted by now."

"Addicted?" Brandon repeated. "Like they're doing it all the time?"

"Unfortunately."

Brandon thought about it for a minute, watching his dad tossing the salad like he wasn't even trying. He remembered the last time they had salad with dinner and how Chase let him practice tossing it. They ended up having to mop at least half a bag of lettuce and olives off of the floor due to the amount that Brandon couldn't keep in the bowl. But at least Chase made a big joke out of it to keep Brandon's guilt at bay.

The youngster's feet started to bounce, tossing his bangs in his eyes and blocking his view of his father's multiple masterpieces. It seemed Chase could always create something out of nothing, like their special Christmas Ice Cream. Gabriella once pouted about running out of chocolate ice cream because apparently, vanilla was too plain and boring. So what did Chase do? He quickly grabbed cocoa powder and cinnamon, estimated the appropriate measurements, and added the concoction to his menu. The twins had never been more impressed in all their eight years.

"So," Brandon spoke up, "what are you addicted to? Is it cooking?"

Chase peered down at his mini-me and stared into his big, blinking eyes and couldn't help but start laughing. After ruffling Brandon's mop top, he lay his hand to rest on his bony shoulder and bent down to place a quick kiss on the top of his head.

"Little man, I'm addicted to my family. Someone has to make sure you don't kill anyone with your wild dancer's feet."

Brandon blushed, but gave a warm smile nonetheless. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. I love you guys too much. Why would I choose drinking over you?"

That was ten years ago, one day before the family found out about Chase's brother Charlie's cancer. Chase stuck by his twin brother throughout the entire fight, but when the end came way too soon, the alcohol was all he could see in his life. Eight long, grueling years later, he was out on his own, residing in the house his dear brother handed off to him in his will.

But that didn't matter anymore. All was forgiven, at least in Brandon's eyes. He and Gina were best friends and his parenting skills were back to their level-headed roots. What else were they supposed to ask for? Brandon was no longer angry at his father for anything at all. In fact, now that he thought about it, if he were to tell anyone about his self-injury, Chase would most likely be the most understanding. Maybe he could even help his son. Maybe.

Probably not.

Who the hell was he kidding…

"Hold on, dude, I gotta pee."

The sound of laughter entering the bathroom interrupted Brandon's sinking thoughts. But he didn't even turn his head to look at who was invading his space. Let them walk all over him. Did it even matter anymore?

But when the first sophomore's head came into his line of vision, he could recognize the blond locks without so much as another blink.

Here we go again…

"Oh, hey, Brandon. What's up, man?"

Brandon's only answer was smooth silence from against the wall, sending Gabriele the message instantly. He waited three, maybe four seconds before clearing his throat uncomfortably and ending the unnecessary formalities himself. " Okay, I'll just see you later then. Bye."

Brandon didn't bother to feel bad about his harsh dismissal, very unlike how Gabriele felt all those months ago, however. But it wasn't like he didn't deserve that either. Sherlock had struck again and the name wasn't given to him out of love. He was nosy. Just another flaw in his life that didn't feel worth fixing anymore.

"Brandon?"

The senior's eyes flicked up to the second voice to enter the bathroom, expecting to see Gabriele back on his case. But despite his lack of curiosity and concern of nearly everything around him, his gaze held on the second blond sophomore with a hint of surprise. His pink polo matched the thick scar leading from the tip of his nose to the inside of his top lip, like an arrow pointing to his chipped front tooth. These injuries had not been fixed, obviously, but his sunny locks looked much more natural than the last time Brandon had seen them. The black had washed out nicely. He looked cleaner, brighter. Happier. That at least made one of them, Brandon thought as James spoke again.

" Is that…" James broke off his thought as he made a closer observation, squinting his green eyes to see past the shadow that draped Brandon's face in darkness. When he had apparently confirmed this thought, he drew back and gave a timid grin. "Hey."

"Hi."

The bathroom was silent again, James's eyes searching the floor as if looking for the words to say to his former hero. "So how's it going?"

Brandon held his own, blinking twice with a blank look. As soon as he saw the realization dawn over James's face, he answered. "You?"

He nodded, still not looking him in the eye. "Pretty good, I guess. Gabe dropped the charges, so I guess I should be."

"Good."

"Yeah…" When Brandon's eyes dropped down to the floor beneath him, James took the opportunity to really get his look, taking in Brandon's black hoodie, matching jeans, and bare, deathly still ring finger. The elephant in the room was smothering him, he realized, so he decided to go for it.

"God, Sherlock, what happened to you?"

Brandon hesitated, pondering the question that's been thrown at him so many times it should've become a routine answer. But James was different. James understood on a level that even Tro—he couldn't. James mattered, and this answer had to be spoken in a code that James could decipher on an emotional level and Brandon could speak without crying.

He looked up, relaxed his lips, and shrugged.

"I lost my Crystal."

Just as Brandon expected, James' eyes closed and his fists clenched. And if he looked carefully enough, Brandon could even see a stray strand of black hair that James failed to coat while returning to his natural color.

But the sophomore held his own, taking a deep breath and dropping his shoulders. "Oh," he sighed. "I'm sorry, man, that's gotta hurt."

"Yeah."

James hesitated before replying. "Troy's not helping you through it?"

Brandon ground his teeth together, taking his turn in closing his angry eyes. "No. Long story."

"Damn," James dropped his bag and rested his back against the bathroom wall. He bent his knees, but didn't join Brandon on the ground just yet. "Just as I was starting to like that guy…"

Too close…Brandon muted the scream begging to be emitted and cleared his throat. "I see you and Gabe are better."

Brandon didn't need to look at him to tell that James' smile cancelled out a good portion of the seriousness of the room. This was the time he slide all the way down on the floor. "I never got around to thanking you for that, have I?"

This had Brandon lifting his eyes in curiousity.

James continued to explain. "He told me about that day you visited him in the hospital after that fight we had at lunch. Normally I don't like people helping me out and fighting my battles for me, but in the end you're the reason that we're able to walk down the same hallway and not feel that our entire day is ruined. Thanks, Brandon. You're a miracle worker."

Don't listen to him…"Happy to help."

James' eyebrows furrowed. "But you're not happy now."

"It's fine."

"My Lie Radar's gotten better since the last time we talked, too, you know that?"

The energy drained from his body so fast, it left Brandon no power to even shake his head. "It's not important."

"Did Troy tell you that?" The authority in James' voice would've taken Brandon by surprise if he hadn't already been frozen. He could hear James move from his spot across from him and scoot closer, in front of him, just getting started. "Look, you're in a bad place right now and I get that, I really do. You need your time to heal and that needs to be respected. Now I'm not saying that the way you're going about it is the wrong way, but have you really looked at all of your options?"

Brandon couldn't keep his response from wavering. "There are no options."

"Why do you say that?"

He gulped. "I don't deserve any."

"Do you really believe that?"

A broken whisper. "Yes…"

James paused. "What does Gabriella think of all this?"

The oncoming anger picked away at the ice wall encompassing Brandon's mind. "She's with him."

"Completely?"

Brandon was thawed enough to slightly narrow his eyes. "Might as well be."

James pondered this for a second, not exactly expecting the information. He suddenly, optimistically, replied. "But you've still got Amy and Mike. I saw you sitting with them at lunch."

Brandon shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

Two lean arms lifted into the air, the matching shoulders lifting. "Then there you go! Confide in them."

Brandon shook his head stiffly. "It's not that easy."

"No one ever said it would be," Another oncoming lecture. "You just have to decide if happiness is worth all the extra effort. Nothing worth having comes easy. And it doesn't even have to be Amy and Mike that are the ones helping you. As long as you have someone that doesn't care how hard you have to lean on them and doesn't care how many shirts you ruin when you cry, the decision is already halfway made for you. Just find one person, Brandon, and I promise that the rest will just come naturally. Okay?"

There was nothing left to say, nothing left to ask or ponder. Brandon didn't even know why he decided to say "Yeah," even if he was still working on believing James.

"Did you eat?"

Brandon shook his head. The pit he called his stomach hadn't been talking to him either.

James pursed his lips, stopping a moment to think. "I think Amy's sick, so she didn't finish her lunch. You might be able to swipe some of it if you hurry back."

Brandon wouldn't do a damn thing about food. James probably knew that better than he did. But the conversation needed to come to a close as his level of tolerance for human communication was quickly receding. "Thanks."

James smiled, his crooked teeth not holding an ounce of self-consciousness or regret. "Don't mention it. See you around, Sherlock. Good luck." With that, he was gone, leaving Brandon to try and forget everything he had just said.

But honestly, has anything worked out in his favor lately? The bell rang, and he didn't move.

The car keys hitting her bed had never sounded so good at 12:45 PM. Gabriella shrugged off her hoodie and ran tired finger through her hair, reflecting on Troy's harsh words. His random flare-up about Brandon had her completely sidetracked and almost unable to calm him down. She tried to remember that he was angry, as he had every right to be. But this was her twin brother he was screaming about. She promised to do her best to help, but he had to meet her somewhere in the middle. Otherwise, she would have a little too much to think about.

Throwing her bag down beside her bed, she let her head collapse on her pillow and closed her eyes. After a second, she casually gathered her hair from the pillow and tossed it behind her, only to find herself diverted again when her earring stabbed the back of her skull. Wincing, she tried to brush it away distraction number three started irking her nerves.

Gabriella sat up and prepared to throw the stupid fake diamond across the room, but her eyebrows knitted together instead. She could've sworn she had dropped her keys at the foot of her bed. How did one lone key get to her pillow without her knowledge? And why the hell did it look like the tip of a butter knife? No way this was on her keychain, and no way would her mother drop it there when she knew damn well that Gabriella had no idea what it was for.

Wait a minute.

Gabriella got to her feet and made her way over to her bedroom door. This was a long shot, but the nagging feeling wouldn't leave her alone. She positioned the key at the entrance of the keyhole and slowly slipped it inside. She gasped.

Running to her vanity, she slid her makeup out of the way until she came upon her jewelry box. Opening it, she dug her way to the bottom and picked up a matching key. She froze. If her bedroom door key was already here, then…

Gabriella's head, very slowly, turned in the direction of the hallway, where she stared at the closed door at the other end of the hall that had been locked for the past week. She gripped the piece of iron tighter in her fingers, feeling her heart swell and knowing the significance of it's sudden appearance.

The key to Brandon's room.

Two years I've been writing this chapter and this is the best I could do. I promise I'll do better next time and I promise I'm not giving up on this story. Not ever.

~Rachel 3