“Thanks.”
She leaves the room—probably to give me space—and I finally breathe.
I pull out my phone. Text Axel again.
Lexi:Seriously, Ax. Where are you?
Ten minutes. No reply.
“Classic,” I mutter, throwing the phone on the bed.
I open the window, let the air in. It smells like cut grass and exhaust. I start unpacking my clothes in the dresser, toiletries on the desk, shoes under the bed.
And then I stop.
I stare at the tiny room. The blank walls. The secondhand comforter Grandma bought me at Goodwill. The space that’s mine.
Mine.
I smile. Just a little.
The memory box is the last thing I unpack.
I set it on the bed, peel back the duct tape, and lift the lid.
Inside are old letters from Thea. Photo booth strips from junior year. A hospital bracelet with my name printed in faded ink.
And the pill bottle.
Blank label. Single pill inside.
I hold it up to the light. The imprint is barely visible now—worn down by time and the number of times I’ve turned it over in my hands.
Fourteen. I was fourteen. Still am, some nights.
I tuck it behind a textbook on the shelf. Not ready to throw it away. Not sure I ever will be.
“Everything okay?”
I jump. Scarlett’s back, standing in the doorway. Shit. She saw the pill bottle in my hand and has made an assumption. I glance down at myself. Do I give off drug addict vibes like the rest of my family?
“No.” My voice comes out aggravated. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”
I close the lid. End the past. Shame rips through me, but I ignore her.
She nods, steps back and scrolls on her phone.
My phone buzzes, and I reach for it, hoping to see my big brother soon.
Thea:Eat? I’m starving already.
I roll my eyes.Stoner.
Lexi:Meet you out there.
I change into jeans, check myself in the mirror. My hair’s a mess, but I don’t care. Excitement wins over exhaustion.
Scarlett’s hanging out on her bed. The room is quiet, the light soft through the window.
