XVIII

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my distorted reflection in the mirror on my vanity. I don’t pay it too much mind as I sit with my head in my hands, rubbing gently at my temple as I try to rid myself of my perpetual headache. I look back down to my notebook, knowing full well that I've wasted at least ten minutes just wishing I could go right to bed, instead of doing my homework.

“Damnit,” I sigh, closing my textbook and notebook, deciding I’ll do it later. Leaning back into my desk chair, I shut my eyes and pull out my headphones.

Yeah, they’re still arguing downstairs. They’ve been at it since the lunch hour this morning when Dad asked me about the envelope with Ava’s name on it in the recycle bin.

Not long after I explained that it was just a formality did Mom raise her voice, accusing me of withholding what I know about Ava. It took her raging, red, and heartbroken face for me to remember that I, in fact, do know more than they do. Nothing useful, though.