Wow. Hi. I can't even apologize enough for disappearing on you guys like that. It's been over two months but I promise I'm still here. I AM going to finish this story through, and then I'll probably be taking a bit of a hiatus from writing for awhile. I got really burned out on this story and went back and forth for a long time when trying to decide where to go with it, but I DO have that worked out now. So please don't hate me and please please please review and let me know your thoughts on the chapter.


Maybe we like the pain. Maybe we're wired that way. Because without it, I don't know, maybe we just wouldn't feel real. –Grey's Anatomy


Chapter 16: Some Days

Some days, they taste like lemonade.
And some days can feel like razorblades.


The funeral is torture. Pure torture. Lucy has to sit there in the front row, listening to obscure family members tell her how sorry they are for her loss, pretending to accept their words of comfort when really all the while she's screaming on the inside.

Loss. She hates that word. You can't lose a person. She didn't misplace her grandmother. She's not going to find her under the bed or behind the closet doors. It's stupid to keep referring to her like that. She isn't lost, Lucy thinks. She's gone. Dead. And it's a concept Lucy's had plenty of time to think about over the last few months in therapy. (Because, really, how many times had she thought about it? Every single time she added a cut to her arm or her thigh, she wondered if she would ever dare to go a step further. Every time she saw the scar on Logan's wrist, she wondered how close she came to never meeting him at all. Every time she set foot in the Palm Woods, she felt a pang of guilt in her chest, knowing that she, however indirectly, was the cause of a death that happened there.)

She's numb at this point.

Having cried to the point of exhaustion with James, she'd resolved to lock those feelings away, so when she left his house that evening, she went straight to Carlos to tell him the news, and she had not shed a single tear since that night. He was a bit disconcerted at her lack of emotion, thinking it couldn't be a good thing that she was refusing to allow herself to feel anything. But he didn't know she had already been to see James, and she wasn't going to tell him. No need to cause another fight over James.

And today, midmorning on a Saturday, she wishes Carlos could be here with her now too, because she wants him to distract her, to take her mind off of everything—her grandmother and Jack and Lauren Murray and the fact that James is sitting a few rows behind her, having come to support her since he's no longer required to be in therapy during the weekends.

She'd allowed James to see her in her moments of weakness, and that was a mistake she couldn't afford to make again.

After, when Jack guides away her mother, who's sobbing into a tissue, Lucy remains in her chair, legs and arms both crossed as she stares unseeingly at what is now a mound of dirt covering the spot where her grandmother lays beneath the earth.

She's starting to wish she hadn't given James her razorblades. But then, it's really not that hard to acquire new ones.

As soon as she thinks it, the boy in question taps her shoulder gently, making her jump in her seat. She doesn't say anything to him and he doesn't either, perhaps not knowing what to say, or perhaps knowing that nothing he does say would be of any help. He takes the chair beside her, unbuttoning his suit jacket and loosening his tie, trying not to think about how pretty Lucy looks with her nice tights and heels and black dress with bits of purple embroidery.

They sit in silence for a few minutes until finally Lucy looks toward James, seeing that he's been watching her. James thinks that she's about to say something, but the moment passes and she breaks their eye contact, instead standing up to go and join her family, shaking her head as she passes.


"You'd better bring me a good souvenir," Logan says into the phone. "Since I'm pretty much the reason you're even going on this trip."

Kendall scoffs. "How are you the reason my dad invited me to spend Spring Break with him?"

"Duh." Kendall can practically hear the grin in his voice. "I guilted you into talking to him in the first place."

"That is not entirely true," the blond boy says, throwing a handful of clean underwear into his haphazardly, half-packed suitcase.

"Semantics," argues Logan. "What time's your flight again?"

"Ten," Kendall sighs. "Which I'm sure means my mother will want me to be awake by six."

"Ugh. Okay. I'll let you get to it, then. Have fun. See you next week."

"Thanks."

Kendall tosses the phone onto his bed, immediately losing it under a pile of t-shirts, beanies, socks, and pullovers. He does a mental checklist in his head: phone charger, toothbrush, deodorant, razor and shaving cream, comb… When he's sure he has everything at least in the vicinity of his suitcase, he rubs his eyes tiredly, suddenly feeling anxious. He's convinced his mom and Katie that this was a great idea, that he was going to have a good time with his dad (and new stepmom and half-brother), that there was nothing to worry about. But the closer it got to his departure, the more nervous he became.

What would they talk about? What would they do together? Would his stepmother be nice? Or would she be a total nightmare? Would she know about everything he'd been through the past few months? Because he can handle the stares in the hallways at school, the talking behind his back, the way his old hockey teammates kind of refuse to make eye contact with him anymore. He can handle that because he has his friends, and his mom and sister to come home to. He's not sure if he' be able to take it 24/7.

Before he starts to doubt whether this is a good idea after all, Kendall shoves the rest of his belongings into his black suitcase and zips it shut. He glances at the clock and groans. It's nearly midnight already and he's got a long day ahead of him.

Kendall feels like it must only be seconds later that he's being gently woken up by Mrs. Knight, but a bleary glance at the clock on his bedside table tells him differently. Sure enough, it's barely after five AM, and his mother is far too cheerfully reminding him that they need to leave in an hour for the airport, and he better get up and get ready. He sits up to placate her, but as soon as she leaves the room, Kendall buries himself back under the covers. He's right on the verge of falling back into a blissful sleep when Katie comes in and jumps on top of him.

"Ughhh, Katie! What are you doing?"

"Mom told me to come make sure you were awake."

"I'm awake," he says, his voice muffled into his pillow.

"Good. Hurry up and come downstairs."

"Fuuuuck," Kendall sighs, forgetting to censor himself for Katie's benefit. When he feels her weight lifted off him, Kendall sits up for real, deciding that a cold shower will wake him up.

After, he feels tired but more functional, and when he's dressed and has his toothbrush and toiletries packed, Kendall drags his suitcase down the stairs, letting it thud down each step instead of picking it up. He grimaces at Katie as she squeezes ketchup on to her scrambled eggs and sits down at the table, letting his head rest on his arms.

"Come on, Kendall," Mrs. Knight says, setting a plate in front of him. "We need to leave soon."

"My flight isn't even for"—he looks down at his phone for the time—"almost four hours!"

"It'll take us almost an hour to get there," she replies calmly. "And it's spring break, Kendall. Tons of people will be traveling; it'll take you ages to get through security, and then you have to find your gate. So eat your breakfast and put away your plate so we can leave."

Grumbling, he picks up his fork and stabs at his own scrambled egg, trying not to feel queasy. He'd been on a plane a few times before—family trips to visit Mark Knight's family in Vermont, and a vacation to Niagara Falls when he was twelve. It wasn't the prospect of flying that made him nervous; it was the prospect of seeing his father for the first time in so long. Even now, he kind of can't believe this is really happening. That he managed to get on good terms with Mark, that he'd agreed and even been excited about going to visit him and meeting his new wife.

Katie and Mrs. Knight hug him goodbye inside the terminal, but they can't wait with him because of security. Katie holds onto him for just a beat longer than strictly necessary, telling him without words that she's glad he's doing this, even if she herself isn't ready to see their dad.

As it turns out, his mother was right. The airport is packed, and it does take ages for him to get through the security line. He checks his ticket for his gate number and heads off in what he hopes is the right direction, stopping once for a coffee and then once more to pick up a sports magazine that catches his eye.

Despite how long it takes to find his gate, he still has a bit over an hour to kill before boarding time. He takes out his phone to text someone but then realizes that everyone is likely to be sleeping in on the first day of spring break.

Nothing to do but wait…


James, his dad, and Evelyn are sitting around the kitchen table Monday morning, enduring an incredibly awkward and silent meal when Mr. Diamond clears his throat and peers over the top of his newspaper at James. James looks up with his fork halfway to his mouth, throat dry because he's sure he knows what his father's about to tell him. He doesn't even know how to react or what to think. Should he act surprised? Or come clean that he already knows? Before he makes a decision, Mr. Diamond speaks.

"Well, son," he begins clumsily. "I, that is, we—Evelyn and I—first of all wanted to congratulate you on, er, your accomplishment. We're both very happy that you were able to…successfully complete your program."

"…Thanks, Dad," James answers warily.

"Now, we have a bit of news that we've been waiting until the proper moment to share with you, and we think that time has finally come. Evelyn is going to have baby."

James is startled by how shocked he is, given that he already knew this piece of information. Hearing the words out loud, directed at him, made impossibly more real…he knows the look of surprise on his face genuine. No acting necessary.

"I… oh," is all he manages to get out. He looks back and forth between them wondering if he should or even if he can say anything else. "Um, congratulations. That… That's great."

Mr. Diamond's cell phone rings from his pocket and he takes it out and looks at the screen before answering it and stepping out of the room to take the call. He might be off work for a few days, but the office always has a way of dragging him back in.

James clears his throat awkwardly and takes a bite of his food just to avoid having to say anything to Evelyn, who looks like she wants to continue speaking. He can't get over the fact that she's close enough to him in age to be his own sister, yet here she was, his stepmother, about to give birth to his real brother or sister. Weird.

"So… things will probably get pretty crazy around here," Evelyn starts hesitantly. "Getting ready for the baby and all."

Normally he would shrug and remain silent or say something noncommittal like "Yeah, I guess," and leave it at that, but remembering his resolve to try to be more mature about everything, he decides to at least try to be polite.

"You must be excited," he tries.

He can't miss how her face lights up when he engages her in conversation.

"Terrified, actually," she says with a small smile. "I've never really been around kids before. I have no clue what I'm doing."

"Well… no time like the present to learn, right?" He grins at her and is surprised to find that it is genuine.

"Guess so," Evelyn laughs as Mr. Diamond walks back into the room looking upset.

"There's been a problem with the shipment orders," he says. "I have to go back into the office and see what I can do to fix this."

"Oh, but I thought you were going to come with me to get the sonogram," Evelyn says, disappointed.

"I know, I'm sorry," James' father says, already dialing another number on his cell. "I really have to get this taken care of. I'll see you tonight."

He exits the kitchen, barking orders into his phone as he goes, and James watches somewhat guiltily as Evelyn stands up to clear the table. He'd been planning on going back to his mom's place, maybe calling up Logan to hang out, but the sad look on Evelyn's face makes him hesitate. Only now does he realize how lonely it must get for her here, with Mr. Diamond always working and James always escaping to his room or leaving the first chance he gets. She'd quit her job when she married his dad, and it's finally dawning on him how hard it must really be.

"I'll go with you, if you want," James blurts quickly, before he can change his mind.

"You don't—really?" She asks. "I know you were planning to go home…"

James shrugs his shoulders up and down. "It's no big deal."


Kendall's never been much of a nervous talker, but for some reason he finds that he cannot. Shut. Up. He chatters to his dad about school and Jo and the guys and Katie and the weather and everything else he can think of, barely letting Mark Knight get a word in edgewise. He knows he must sound totally crazy, but he can't bear the idea of letting an awkward silence fall between them. He's afraid if they stop talking, they'll never start again.

Mark smiles and nods in all the right places, feeling a measure of nervousness himself. He allows Kendall to fill the silence, enjoying the sound of his son's voice and the fact that he really is sitting in the car with him, in his actual, physical presence for the first time in two years. He should probably give Kendall a heads up about what to expect at home… but, well… they can cross that bridge when they get to it.

"…thinking we'll both probably take classes at the community college for a year and then try to transfer to UMinn, so once I'm there I can try out for the hockey team and see how it goes from there," Kendall is saying. "It's just… I don't even know what I'm supposed to do with my life if I can't play hockey, and I know it's my fault and everything, but then it's like, well maybe I shouldn't be worrying about this yet because, you know, I still have to like, make sure I'm totally better, which I'm not yet. Sorry. I'm talking a lot. Am I freaking you out? I'm freaking you out."

"You're not freaking me out," Mark chuckles, turning at a stop sign into a very picturesque suburban neighborhood. "I just hope all of this doesn't freak you out."

"What do you mean?" Kendall asks.

"Being here, meeting Kathryn and the kids. They're very excited to meet you, Ken," Mark says, using a nickname Kendall hasn't heard in ages.

Kendall blinks. "Wait, kids? As in.. plural?"

Mark pulls into the driveway in front of a large two-story house that has a giant front porch with a swing, neatly trimmed hedges, and a perfectly manicured lawn. It could be the cover photo for Better Homes and Gardens.

"I didn't quite get to tell you," his dad says, turning off the ignition. "Kathryn and I do have a son, Michael—your brother—but she also has a daughter from a previous marriage."

Their conversation is cut short when they exit the car to find Kathryn—Kendall's stepmother—and two kids making their way from the front door to greet them. He doesn't quite know how to react or what to say, but he doesn't really have time to think about it because Kathryn is instantly pulling him into a bear-hug.

"You must be Kendall! I'm Kathryn, I'm SO excited to meet you! How was your flight? You must be exhausted! Come inside and put your things away! Wait! First you have to meet Michael—" she stoops down to pick up the toddler standing by her ankles, thrusting him into Kendall's arms—"and my daughter, Melissa."

Kendall looks up and is surprised to find that Melissa is not a young child. She's a teenager. Nearly his age, if his guess is correct. She rolls her eyes behind her mother's back but offers Kendall a smirk and a tilt of the head. Friendly enough. Still carrying his newly-acquainted half-brother, Kendall follows Kathryn up the driveway and into the house, already feeling overwhelmed, wondering if there's any possible way he can go ahead and back out of this whole idea.

Kathryn gives him a tour of the house, then takes Michael from him and goes to put him down for a nap, telling Melissa to show Kendall to his room.

"You go and get settled and rest for a bit and then come downstairs for dinner after awhile, okay?"

"Sorry about her," Melissa mutters when her mom is out of earshot. "She can be a bit much."

"She, um… seems nice," Kendall says, trying to be positive.

"She's ridiculous," the blond girl replies, sweeping her bangs out of her eyes. "So. You're my stepbrother, I guess. Your dad's kinda been talking about you nonstop."

Kendall's heart lurches as he wonders just how much they know about him, what his dad's told them.

"Heh," he sort of chuckles nervously. "That's funny, since he seems to have forgotten to mention you."

"No surprise there," Melissa says without humor. "I'm not his kid. Ever since Michael was born neither of them can really be bothered to concern themselves with me."

"I know the feeling." Kendall lets it slip out before he can stop himself. He clears his throat to cover the awkwardness of his statement. "So how old are you, anyway?"

"Fifteen," she answers. "Sixteen this weekend, actually. You'll be here for my party."

"You're having a party?"

"My mom's really into this whole 'sweet sixteen' thing. She's making such a big deal about it. Renting a venue, catering, decorations. Everything."

"That could be cool. Girls are into all that fancy stuff, aren't they?" He grins.

Melissa snorts. "Not me. I plan on livening up the evening, though. My mom doesn't know what she's in for."

"Do I even want to ask what that's supposed to mean?"

"Let me put it like this: if I don't tell you, you can truthfully claim plausible deniability. Plus, I love a good surprise."

She hops off the edge of his bed and trounces out, leaving him to unpack in peace, wondering whether or not he should be concerned about her plans for her birthday.


"This will feel a bit cool on your stomach, and it might tickle."

James sits nervously on a stool a few feet away from Evelyn, watching as the ultrasound technician squeezes out what looks to him like blue goo over an instrument before rubbing it over his stepmother's stomach. After a moment or two, James hears a whooshing noise and both Evelyn and the tech are staring intently at the screen.

"There's your baby," smiles the woman.

James squints at the screen and tilts his head. Evelyn looks happy enough to burst, no trace of the fear she had confessed to him earlier evident on her face now.

"What's that noise?" James asks.

"That's the baby's heartbeat."

"Oh. Um… can you tell if it's a boy or a girl?"

"It's a bit too early to determine the sex of the baby right now. We'll be able to tell you in a few weeks. It's beautiful, though, isn't it?"

"Er…" James thinks this is going a bit too far, but he squints at the screen again. He can't see anything that really resembles a baby but he smiles and nods purely to be polite.

James doesn't say much for the rest of the appointment. The tech prints out a picture for Evelyn, and then a doctor comes in to go over a few things. There's a slightly awkward moment when she asks if James is the father and Evelyn hurriedly informs her that he's her stepson. James feels his face heat up and he's sure he's bright red—he's never been able to hide it when he's embarrassed—but he doesn't even have time to stutter something coherent before the doctor and Evelyn are chatting away again. He kind of loses track of their conversation as most of what they're saying goes over his head—prenatal vitamins and what kinds of foods she should avoid and whether it's okay to keep going to yoga—and he doesn't even realize it's time to leave until Evelyn is standing up and shaking hands with the doctor.

"Thanks a lot for coming with me today, James," Evelyn says quietly once they're back in the car.

"Sure," James replies. "I mean since my dad couldn't go with you, I figured someone should." There's a hint of bitterness in his voice that he doesn't think to suppress, and he doesn't see the sideways glance from Evelyn.

"He just gets so busy sometimes," she murmurs.

"Trust me, I know," James snorts. "First it's 'I have to take this call,' then 'I just have to run to the office for a bit' and before you know it he's spending every weekend there and you can't even go on a vacation or invite him to a choir performance without him being on the phone or sending emails the entire time. If he even shows up at all."

He scowls out the window, biting down on his bottom lip to remind himself to shut up. Still, James feels kind of bad for her. Or at least sympathetic because he knows how it feels to be let down by Mr. Diamond, and it's a shame that this kid isn't even born yet and already his dad is missing out on major life events. Evelyn doesn't say anything else, so he's forced to sit there and reminisce on pee-wee hockey games and school plays and music recitals that his dad either didn't go to because of work or spent the whole time typing away on his Blackberry.

He remembers this one game… at least nine or ten years ago. It was the last game of the season and Mr. Diamond hadn't been to any that year, but he promised he'd be there to watch James play. Sure enough, James spotted his dad in the crowd right before the whistle blew to start the first period. He remembers how hockey used to be his thing, before singing became his thing. Which was before having mental breakdowns and getting sent to therapy were his thing. He remembers how he'd actually been buddies with Kendall that year because of hockey—because they were the tallest boys on the team and therefore the best, since they were too young for anyone to tell the difference. Anyway, James played a great a game. He even scored a goal and he passed to Kendall once to score a goal. But by the time the game was over and James went to meet his parents, his dad was already gone. He'd only watched that first period.

James quit hockey that year.

Which sucked because he actually really liked it. Looking back on it… he thinks that he probably quit because he just wanted his parents to care. He wanted them to tell him to stick with it, to encourage him, to tell him that they'd try to be better about going to his games. But they didn't. His mother merely shrugged her shoulders, saying, "If that's what you want, James," and his father wasn't even around to hear his decision. As usual.

The thing was, it wasn't that his mother didn't care whether he played or not. James just always had the kind of childhood where he had and did whatever he wanted. And at the time, it was what he thought he wanted.

Now he realizes that all he really wanted was for someone to show him they were there for him.


Camille has to fight down a wave of nausea and anxiety when she steps off the scale.

She's almost in a state of disbelief.

Because the number on the scale matches the number on her goal sheet set by her doctors.

And for a fleeting, brief, shining moment, she was happy about it. But then reality set in and crashed down around her and she realizes what that means. It means she gained weight. Like… a significant amount. Enough to be considered for release from the Palm Woods.

She pushes that thought out of her mind for the moment—we'll cross that bridge when we get to it, she tells herself—and stops to try to focus her breathing. She's telling herself over and over again that the number doesn't mean what she thinks it means.

Too heavy.

It's the only thing she can think. The number, it's just so high, and she wishes it weren't and she wishes she could stop wishing that because she'd thought recovery meant she would be able to put this all behind her and carry on with her life. It turns out, recovery only means learning to live with how much she hates herself.

It scares her and it's awful, but what else can she do? She can't voice how she feels because it just sounds too crazy, even for her. Why? Why is she like this? How can she go from feeling like she can take on anything one day, to feeling like she should just never leave her bed again the next? And then on those days, she does have to get out of bed and attempt to function, but it's just so hard when all day long her thoughts are consumed with her relationship with food.

Wake up. Attempt to be excited about life. Breakfast—eat it or not? Find clothes that don't make you look gigantic (hint: no such clothes exist. You look gigantic in everything). Go to school. Function. Try not to have an anxiety attack in all social situations because all you can do is wonder how anyone can stand to be around you and your hugeness. Deal with the constant headaches, the dizziness, being so fucking cold all the time. Go home and be alone with your thoughts. Think about calling someone and then decide not to because they're all probably tired of being burdened by you. (You're not a burden to Logan, she tells herself. He loves you. And maybe he does, but that doesn't mean he's not getting tired of listening to you say the same things over and over.) And then dinner—seriously, you have to eat it, you're supposed to be in 'recovery' even though 'recovered' is not even close to how she feels about this. Think about how exhausting today was and how tomorrow will just as bad or probably worse, and go to bed hoping that when you close your eyes, they won't open again.

Trouble is, they always do. So you do the whole thing over again, and sometimes there are bright spots where you don't feel totally miserable, but they are always always always replaced by periods of empty blackness that leave you feeling worthless.

When she brings herself to look in the mirror, the number on the scale screams at her from inside her head. Too heavy. Disgusting. Quitter. Out of control. She looks herself up and down, seeing how her cheeks are no longer hollowed, her collarbones not as defined as they once were, her ribs not visible under the layer of fat she's put on. Everything on her body is wrong and she misses being bony and thin and it sucks because she knows it's wrong, wrong, wrong.

So Camille crawls back into bed, even though it's the middle of the day. Her dad isn't home to check on her or ask her what's wrong, and she's grateful for that because at least now she won't have to lie and pretend to be happy about the number on the scale. She checks her phone to find a missed call and a text from Logan, both of which she ignores in favor of closing her eyes and pretending to not exist. She pops a single anxiety pill because she knows it'll make her feel numb for awhile and the numbness at this point is better than all the conflicting emotions swirling inside her.

She's in recovery. She's "healthy" again.

And she hates it.


After what Kendall feels is an incredibly awkward dinner, and an even more awkward family 'quality time' hour, he goes up to his room to call Jo and check in with her, leaving the door cracked open.

"Hey," she answers, picking up on the second ring.

"Hi," Kendall says into the phone, feeling more relaxed just hearing her voice. Sitting down at the table with Kathryn and her kids had been tense. They were almost too nice. It was weird. "I miss you. How are you?"

"I miss you too," Jo replies. "I'm okay. How's your dad?"

Kendall launches into the story, telling her about how he didn't even know he had a stepsister and how they all live in this huge, perfect house in a perfect neighborhood filled with perfect gardens and expensive cars in every driveway.

"And then there's me, this skinny grunged-out looking kid from Minnesota with shaggy hair and a beanie, and they keep saying how they want me to be part of the family and it's just like… like, fuck, you know? Like I came out here to get my dad back in my life, and I guess I just didn't think about the fact that that would mean bringing his whole life."

"It's going to take some time, Kendall. Maybe more than a spring break trip."

"I know," he sighs. "I just… I hope this wasn't a mistake. Everything seems so different. I look at him sometimes and I can't even believe this guy is my dad. And it's not even that he's remarried, I don't think… Or maybe it is. I mean, Kathryn's nice and everything, but she's just… she's not-"

"She's not your mom," Jo finishes for him. "I get it. But he is your dad. He wants this to work just as bad as you do, remember? He called you first, after all."

"True. You're right."

"Don't get too worked up over nothing yet, okay? Just see how things go. Then you'll be back here with me and everything will work itself out."

Kendall smiles even though she can't see it. They're quiet for a minute or two, being together though separated by miles and miles of distance.

"I guess I should go," Jo says reluctantly. "I'll talk to you again soon. I love you."

The door to his room slides open quietly and his stepsister comes inside. "I love you, too," he says into the phone before clicking it off and staring surprisedly at the girl in front of him.

"Girlfriend?" Melissa asks, running her hand through her hair.

"Yeah," Kendall answers. "Are you, um… going somewhere?"

The girl looks like she's raided Lucy Stone's closet, wearing tight ripped jeans and a shirt that bares her stomach. And a lot of black eye makeup. She looks way older than her fifteen years and a surge of older-brother protectiveness courses through him as he thinks about what he would say if he saw Katie wearing something like this.

"You could say that," she smirks. "Sorry about this."

Before he can say anything else, Melissa bends down and reaches underneath the bed that Kendall's lying on, groping blindly for something hidden there. She comes up with a glass bottle full of clear liquid that Kendall knows must be vodka and a plastic zip-lock bag half full of pot.

"Gotta find a new place to stash this while you're here. I forgot to get it earlier," Melissa explains nonchalantly.

"…Oh" is all Kendall manages to reply. He forces himself not to stare at the bottle in her hand, not to think about the familiar burning sensation in his throat or the buzz that makes him numb and helps him forget about everything that's troubling him.

"Right… So. Catch you later, I guess," she says, giving him an odd look.

"Yeah. Later."

You are such a spaz, Knight, Kendall thinks to himself. If Melissa didn't think something was up with him before, she definitely would now that he'd been such a freak show just from being in the same room as alcohol…


Kendall's eyes snap open in the middle of the night and he's pretty disoriented for a moment or two, not knowing what had woken him up. It's after three in the morning. He blinks into the darkness, listening hard for some clue as to what disrupted his sleep. Muffled giggles and voices are coming from down the hall—Melissa's room—and he hesitates briefly before easing out of bed and padding quietly down the hall in his pajama pants and socks.

The door to her room is ajar so he decides to enter. Melissa sits on the floor giggling at nothing in particular while another girl looks on amusedly, abruptly shutting up when she spots Kendall.

"You must be the brother," she says, slurring a little bit before erupting into another fit of giggles.

"Um. Stepbrother," Kendall corrects her. "Are you guys okay?"

"Better than okay," Melissa says from her spot on the ground, a relaxed grin on her face and her eyes rimmed red.

They're stoned, he realizes. Wasted. They're a mess. Melissa's hair is messy and her eye makeup looks more smudged than it did earlier, and her friend doesn't seem to have fared any better. They're both sloppy-looking and basically wrecked and Kendall feels a pang of guilt as he realizes they still aren't even half as bad as how he used to come home… He'd get so bad that sometimes he wouldn't even make it home at all, and that scared Katie even more than coming home drunk.

"You guys need to get some food and go to bed," Kendall says, trying to hoist Melissa to her feet.

"Food! Yes!" She exclaims. "Let's go!"

"Hold it! You'll wake up our parents if you guys try to get anything from the kitchen. I'll go grab you some stuff. You guys stay here and change."

Shaking his head at the turn of events, Kendall feels his way in the darkness down to the kitchen where he silently as possible grabs an armful of snack items and heads back up to check on the girls. Melissa and her friend are sprawled on her bed, still giggling and now drinking from the glass bottle Melissa had retrieved from under Kendall's bed earlier.

"Want some?" Melissa offers, waving the bottle under his nose.

"No thanks," he says flatly, scrunching his face and turning his head away from the smell. "Here. You guys need to eat."

He dumps the assortment of crackers and chips and bottled water on the bed between the girls, debating on whether or not he should just leave them to it and stay out of it.

"So are you gonna like, introduce me or what, Melissa?" Her friend asks, tearing open a packet of crackers.

"Taylor, this is Kendall. Kendall, Taylor," Melissa rolls her eyes.

"Isn't Kendall a girl's name?" Taylor laughs.

"I dunno," he mutters distractedly, trying to pry the vodka from Melissa's grip and get her to consume water instead. "I think you've had enough tonight."

"Lighten up, bro. You're not gonna like, rat me out to my mom, are you?"

That hadn't even crossed his mind, honestly. "Of course not. But you need to sober up and go to bed. If only so I can go back to sleep."

"You can sleep in here with us," Taylor suggests coyly. "Really keep an eye on things, you know."

Kendall suddenly becomes self-conscious of the fact that he's not wearing a shirt and tries to subtly scoot away from her. "I don't think my girlfriend would like that very much," he says pointedly.

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her," she laughs.

The back of his neck reddening, Kendall decides that the two girls are fine for now and stands up to back out of the room, closing the door behind him. As soon as he does, he hears them erupt into another fit of giggles. He leans against the wall just outside Melissa's bedroom for a few moments, feeling uneasy. It had taken more self-restraint than he wanted to admit to refuse to join in with them, the allure of numbing himself so he'd be able to forget about how overwhelming all of this is almost too tempting to keep under control. With more than a bit of reluctance he puts one foot in front of the other, propelling himself down the hallway and back to his own bedroom, where he shuts the bedroom with a deep breath before climbing into bed and falling back into an uneasy sleep.


She doesn't look up when the doorknob to her room turns. She's been dreading it for weeks now. Things were too calm. He was too calm. It had been too long since he came for a visit. She was due.

He'll just have to wait. She has business to attend to.

A long line of blood seeps from the sliced-open skin of her upper leg, and she watches it pool for a while, ignoring the man standing in her doorway, and the phone next to her that buzzes constantly with texts from James and Carlos. Do you want hang out? Are you okay? Call me back. Lucy, please. I miss you. Where are you?

Where am I? Right here. Stuck, right here inside my own head. And I'm not coming out. Because only I can hurt myself from in here. No one else. Out there—people leave. They die. And they don't come back. So, no, thank you, I'm fine right here. I don't want to hang out. I'm not okay.

And she doesn't care that he's right there in the room with her as she presses the blade down again, that he's watching her drink from a glass bottle and swallow another pill that will take her away from the present. It can't be too surprising, right? He's seen the growing number of cuts and scars over the years.

I wonder how Camille would feel if she knew the pills she sells to Carlos go straight to me?

After a moment she feels a pair of strong arms lifting her from her seated position on the floor and her first thought is of James but in the back of her foggy mind, she knows it can't be him. She blinks Jack into focus and stares up him, saying nothing, feeling nothing as he sets her down on her bed and begins to unbutton his shirt. She pulls off her own shirt of her own accord and even unhooks her bra and tosses it to the floor. He eyes her body appreciatively and moves to close the distance between them, the whiskey on his breath mingling with the vodka on hers and his rough hands roaming over her and between her legs.

Lucy closes her eyes and blocks him out as usual, retreating further inside herself, only vaguely aware that he's pulling her shorts down her legs and removing his own jeans. He grabs her wrists and holds them over her head as if to restrain her or stop her from struggling, but there's really no need. She's not resisting. He's just there and she knows it's wrong, that he's doing this to her, that it's probably at the base of all her problems… But it's too late now. Everything is wrong, everything is fucked, completely and utterly fucked and this right now? It's just one more thing to add to her list of reasons to keep taking those pills and pushing the blades into her skin.

She opens her eyes only when she feels that he has stopped moving, that with one last thrust and a grunt he finishes, burying his face in her neck for a brief second before releasing her wrists and pushing himself off her. Lucy merely watches as he redresses and leaves her room, lying still, disgusted with him and herself and the whole world. Her phone buzzes again with yet another text from James.

Seriously Lucy, if you don't answer me soon I'm going to come over there.

Don't, she thinks. Don't bother. But before she can formulate a response and type back to him, another message comes in.

Actually? Fuck it. I'm on my way.

By the time he gets there, Lucy has pulled herself out of bed, having ripped all the sheets off and leaving them in a pile on the floor. Three new lines of deep red scarlet have been added to her thigh and she's pressing down to add a fourth as the doorbell rings. She hears two deep voices—one gruff and irritated, one pleading and desperate. Moments later James is there, paused in the doorway and she doesn't notice or recognize the look of mingled terror and helplessness on his face.

"Lucy…"

James kneels down next to her, pulling her shiny new blade away from her and glancing around at the scene before him—the booze and drugs in plain sight, the cuts on her legs starting to clot. He tends to her wounds just as he did the night her grandmother died and she sits there silent and unresponsive as ever.

"I don't get you, Luce," he sighs, more to himself than to her. If she hears him, she shows no signs of it. "I don't know how to help you. Just tell me what you need. Please."

Lucy turns her head and blinks at him, an eerily serene expression on her face. "You don't get to get me, James," she says. "You can't just understand someone like they're a puzzle you can solve. People are more complex than that. Sooner you realize that, the happier you'll be."


By the time Friday night rolls around, Kendall is ready for the break to be over. He'd enjoyed seeing his dad, and even the new family weren't so bad, but it just… wasn't home. So as he drags a comb through his hair, trying to look presentable for Melissa's birthday party, he thinks about how glad he'll be to get back to Minnesota and see his mom and Jo and everyone else.

Melissa was definitely a handful, he had to say. He'd heard her coming home late into the night with her friend two more times throughout the week, but he'd never gone to check on them again like he did the first time. He wondered if they were being louder than necessary on purpose to try to get him to go in there. He wanted to write her behavior off as harmless fun, because Lord knew he'd been in much worse shape than Melissa, but he somehow couldn't shake the feeling that maybe he should say something.

At any rate, his time here is almost up, and then he goes back to his real life. School. Family. Therapy. Repeat.

At the party, Kendall finds himself standing alone near the food tables, watching as Melissa and a group of her friends dance to the beat of the loud song blaring through the speakers of the venue. His dad and her mom don't seem to think anything is amiss, though if Kendall's guess is correct, his stepsister and her friends keep disappearing into the ladies' room to take swigs from flasks they've surely snuck into the party.

He blinks and looks away when a few of the girls look over at him and start giggling, and he chugs down the cup of punch he's holding onto just to have something to do, refilling it immediately and pretending he doesn't see that Melissa is trying to wave him over. The girl isn't easily deterred, whether made braver from the alcohol or just because she's the fearless type, so she comes over to Kendall and grabs his wrist, pulling him out onto the dance floor.

It's awkward at first, since he doesn't know anyone, and the girls all keep staring at him and trying to catch his attention. But he begins to relax and tries to just have fun, for Melissa's sake. It's her birthday after all, and he thinks nothing of it when she hands him another cup of punch.

It isn't until he starts getting dizzy that he realizes it's been spiked. And now it's too late to do anything about it. Melissa's friend Taylor has her arms around his neck (when did that happen?) and she's much too close to him. Then she kisses him and he's too shocked to kiss back. She lets go of him with a satisfied smile and steps back, unaware of the panic welling up inside Kendall. Head spinning and feeling the familiar numbness in the tips of his fingers and the buzz in his head, he stumbles away from the kids surrounding him, trying to think rationally in his inebriated state.

Breathe, Knight, he tells himself. He makes his way to an exit, thinking to go outside and get some air, but the cool breeze only succeeds in making him feel more lightheaded than he already does. Nauseated both from the inadvertent drinking and also scared of the fact that this technically counts as a relapse, Kendall puts his hands on his knees and vomits into a patch of flowers outside the door just as Kathryn comes outside to check on him.

He turns quickly when he hears her gasp.

"Wait," he says, but she's already wheeled around and gone back inside. He leans against the building, trying to make the world steady itself.


I think we'll leave it there! Okay. SO once again NECESSARRY CAPSLOCK BECAUSE I'M REALLY SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO UPDATE. But thank you thank you thank you to everyone who reviewed and everyone who is back to read this chapter! I PROMISE this story will be finished soon. I'm planning on an even 20 chapters, give or take one or two. This monster is nearly complete. Please please please let me know what you think!