Archive of Our Own

After, skin stained with dried blood, hands steadier than they’ve ever been, she does not sleep.

There isn’t time. They go to the police station and stay there all night. They give their statements. Emma recounts how Eli died, explains that she’d shot him first, how Kieran had finished the job. She keeps her voice smooth. It’s over. There’s no reason for the unsettling churn in her gut. Beneath the table, she picks at a hangnail on her thumb until a red dot blossoms. She smears it against her jeans.

Jittery and sleep-deprived, she does not sleep when they leave the station in the morning. They go to the hospital to see Brooke. She’ll be okay, they’re assured. Noah wants all the gory details. Emma isn’t sure how to explain it all, but thankfully she doesn’t need to worry. Audrey tells him about their night. Stavo is leaning in, listening to everything. His eyes are just as bloodshot as Emma’s - he hasn’t slept, either.

When it looks like Brooke won’t be awake for a while, Audrey’s dad urges Audrey home. He wants his daughter safe and sound. Emma does the same. Her mom holds her hand as they walk into the house, but there’s something wrong. Emma’s muscles feel taut. She’s tense. She doesn’t know why.

“Here,” her mother says, taking the throw blanket off of the couch. “Sleep here. I’ll lay with you.”

Emma does as she’s told. She lies down and her mother tucks her in like she’s a child. The daylight is filtering in, but Maggie quickly closes the blinds and pulls in the curtains. Maggie sits on the couch near Emma’s feet, and already Emma settles into a vicious slumber.

It isn’t a nightmare she wakes up to. It’s an emptiness, vast and consuming. Something is missing. She swallows her gasp because her mother is in the kitchen and Emma doesn’t want to worry her. But the feeling remains throughout dinner, through all the talk of procedures and therapists and police statements and ‘What’s the next step?’ The aftermath has always been chaotic. There’s not exactly a guide on what to do after a killing spree ends.

The next day, Emma wakes the same: confused and yearning. Nervous.

She gets her answer when the doorbell rings, and Audrey’s at her front door.

Audrey’s holding a coffee carrier and a bag of donuts. “Hey,” she says, and the unease melts out of Emma’s body. Simply disappears.

Emma’s doing her homework in Audrey’s bed. There’s a plate of apples and peanut butter beside her, courtesy of Audrey’s father.

“You’re like a second daughter,” Audrey’s father had once said. “You’re always welcome here.”

Emma had taken that offer up rather quickly. She’s here in the mornings before school starts, and in the afternoons when school ends. At night, she leaves begrudgingly, going back to her own bed where she shivers and dreams of Kieran. Truthfully, Emma would rather sleep at Audrey’s, but Maggie preferred her daughter to sleep at home. After all the tragedy in their lives, Maggie needed to know Emma was home safe, under their shared roof.

Across the room, Audrey is rummaging through her closet like a small tornado. Clothes are strewn everywhere.

“What’re you doing?” Emma asks, laughing, schoolwork so easily forgotten.

Audrey pulls out a black turtleneck. “There’s a party tonight.”

“A party?” It’s been six months since the murders. Six months of peace. And yet, Emma avoids most of what she used to do. Crowds and loud noises and dark rooms aren’t quite her scene. Her friends know that, but they never push her to do what she doesn’t want to. It isn’t that she’s scared - she’s simply weary.

“Yeah,” Audrey replies, half distracted. “At John McKenny’s. Sounds lame, but some of my coworkers are going so I… guess I’m going, too.”

Emma watches Audrey, all jerky movements and deep frowns. Audrey isn’t much of a party girl, but it was plausible that she wanted to hang out with the people she works with. Get to know them better - lead a normal life.

“Okay,” Emma says, “I’ll go with you.”

“What? Wait, really? You’d do that?”

“Yeah, of course. I mean, Audrey, come on, it’s not much of a sacrifice on my part. It’s just a party.” She gives Audrey her best smile and stands up. “Here, how about this one?” She holds up a black and white striped sweater. It’s cropped. “It’ll get too hot for a turtleneck.”

“Huh,” Audrey says, considering. She slips off her muscle tee to put on the sweater. Emma looks away politely. As far as their friendship goes, they’re very close now, closer than they’ve ever been, but Emma still doesn’t want to disturb Audrey’s privacy. Audrey tugs on the sweater and flattens her hands against it. “Maybe you’re right.”

Emma smiles at her in the mirror. “Now that’s what I like to hear.”

In the reflection of the mirror, Audrey rolls her eyes. Emma sees the glint of amusement, though, and she can’t fight the giddiness in her stomach. This is fun, she thinks. This is easy. This is how she wants to spend the rest of her life: surrounded by the people closest to her, the ones who make her feel safe.

The party that night is in a smaller house in the outer suburbs of Lakewood. Cars are sprawled over the driveway and grass. There are a few stranglers in the front yard - a couple kissing on the trunk of their car, a kid smoking a cigarette. Most of the noise comes from the house, a low bass that can be felt through the pavement.

“Hey.” Audrey bumps her shoulder against Emma’s. “Thanks for coming with me.”

Emma waves her off. “Come on. You know you don’t need to thank me.”

“Sure, but I feel like I should do it anyway.”

Emma slings her arm over Audrey’s shoulders and sighs. “Now, if only everyone else could see how the big ol’ mean Audrey Jensen is actually a considerate marshmallow.”

Immediately, Audrey’s eyebrows furrow into her signature glare. “Don’t say that so loud. Someone will hear you.”

Twenty minutes later, they’re settled on a couch with red cups in their hands. Audrey has introduced Emma to all her coworkers, an array of alternative kids. Some are decked out in piercings and tattoos, some with colorful hair. They’re all friendly, though, which helps Emma feel at ease. It’s clear she doesn’t exactly belong, but high school cliques seem beyond her, something she has never truly cared about.

They pass the night laughing and playing drinking games. It’s not like most parties Emma’s gone to. Maybe it’s better. A small part of her keeps waiting for someone to die, like a killer in a mask will ruin their fun, but it never happens.

Halfway through the night, Audrey gets up off the couch and doesn’t come back for half an hour. Emma talks to the girls beside her and tries investing herself into the conversation. They compliment her hair and ask her about simple things. Plans for the future, classes she’s taking, her hobbies or interests.

When some poor, unsuspecting girl asks, “How’s your love life,” someone beside her elbows her in the ribs. They’re trying not to mention Kieran or the murders, which is a surprisingly nice gesture. Emma smiles and confirms she’s not dating anyone. After that, she steers the conversation to someone else, and everyone seems glad to follow along.

The longer Audrey is gone, though, the faster the nausea builds in Emma’s stomach. She’s fidgeting with the hem of her shirt until she finally stands up.

“I’m gonna go find Audrey,” she says, and no one questions her.

It’s not like her to panic, yet her heart is thumping as she goes searching through the crowd of drunk teens. She’s buzzed, a little unsteady on her feet. She thinks someone’s hand brushes her arm and she jolts away, shoving through the house. Every room she knocks on is either empty or occupied by annoyed couples telling her to fuck off.

Just as she’s about to reach the last door in the hallway, the door is yanked open. Audrey comes stumbling out, disheveled. Her hair is messy, her sweater all crooked. Audrey’s eyes widen when she sees Emma.

“Audrey?” Emma asks, rushing forward. She puts a hand on Audrey’s face, frantic. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Audrey’s bewildered expression turns to confusion. “What? Yeah, no, I’m not hurt. I’m fine. What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, Emma, I’m sure. What happened?”

“Nothing.” Emma exhales. She’s all loose parts, ready to come crumbling apart. “No, nothing. Sorry. I don’t know why I thought -” She cuts herself off. Shrugs.

Audrey stares at her for a long moment before grabbing her hand and pulling her away. She’s led out from the throng of people and into the front yard. The cool air is refreshing. Emma gulps it down like she’s starved.

“I’m sorry,” Audrey says, “I didn’t think I’d be gone that long. I shouldn’t have left you.”

This time it’s Emma’s turn to be confused. “What? Audrey, no, you don’t have to apologize. I don’t know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have… I don’t know. It was stupid.”

“It wasn’t stupid. Not after what we’ve been through.” Audrey shakes her head. “You’re cautious with reason. You can’t be faulted for that.”

Emma grins, the tension seeping out from her. “You give good pep talks when you’re tipsy.”

“Hey. I give good pep talks all the time.”

“That’s true,” Emma agrees. She looks Audrey up and down, the details finally settling in. She laughs. “Looks like you had a fun night,” she teases.

Audrey points at her. “Don’t even start.”

But teasing Audrey is too much fun. “Who was it? Do you like them? Are they cute?”

As she speaks, Audrey leaves her in favor of walking toward the car. “Stop it.”

Emma follows, joking as they walk together. She’s back to feeling carefree, just as she always is when Audrey’s around.

Some nights, Emma wakes, startled and gasping, and calls Audrey. The nightmares are too much, too real. She calls Audrey and complains about the past and feels, all at once, silly and apologetic and insignificant.

One bright night, as the full moon is shielded by dark clouds, she calls Audrey and says, voice hoarse from sleep, “I shouldn’t have left you alone in the theatre. He could’ve killed you then and there.”

“Come over,” Audrey says, and hangs up when Emma agrees.

The front door to Audrey’s house has been unlocked, so Emma sneaks in and locks it behind her. She goes to Audrey’s room and finds her snuggled in her blankets, head still on her pillow, but there is a noticeable space beside her. And an extra pillow. Emma lies down.

After a few minutes, as Emma’s being pulled back down into unconsciousness, she hears Audrey ask, “When are we going to stop apologizing to each other?”

It happens two weeks later. Emma knows it’s coming, so she has time to smother the baffling dread she feels.

Noah’s leaning against the lockers, talking to Emma between classes.

“I actually got, like, a fan letter this morning. I mean… I get good comments on The Morgue sometimes. Great comments, even. But a fan letter? The Lakewood 6 is selling better than I ever imagined. Jeremy says we’ll start printing more orders soon. A second printing. Can you believe that?”

Books are shoved mindlessly into Emma’s locker. She really should take a few minutes to organize it. Instead, she yanks out the book for her next class.

“You’re an amazing writer, Noah. You deserve the fans.”

“Thanks,” he says, sounding pleased with himself. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever said this, but I’m glad you read it. It really means a lot to me.”

Emma does not have the heart to tell him that she hasn’t read the entire graphic novel. She started it, then nearly ended it. The story was riveting and the art was beautiful (Stavo was as much a genius as Noah was), but sometimes the story was too truthful, and the art was too realistic. She had stopped reading right before the final killer revealed himself.

“Of course,” she says. “What’re you working on now?”

“Oh, well, you know. This and that. Mostly the podcast. I’m trying to come up with some new ideas, but not much is coming to me.”

“You’ll figure something out. You always do. Besides -”

Whatever she’s about to say gets cut off. Down the hall, she catches a head of tousled black hair, short and soft, coming her way. She lifts her hand to wave, but her hand freezes halfway up. Noah turns, too, and gapes when he does.

Audrey is walking hand in hand with a girl. Emma recognizes the girl from the party. Her hair is a pretty russet, though a little frizzy, and she’s wearing a dress with a jean vest. She is just as tall as Audrey is. They seem to fit together well.

Noah and Emma look at each other and fail to suppress their grins.

“Hey guys,” Audrey says as she gets closer. Her tone is awfully hesitant. Slow. Like a warning. Emma understands: be on your best behavior. “This is Gina.”

“Hi, Gina,” Emma and Noah say in unison. They’re acting childish, sure, but it’s nice to see Audrey with someone new. It’s a positive change in routine.

Gina says, “Hi,” in her high voice, and kisses Audrey on the cheek. “I, uh, have to get to class. See you later?”

“Yeah,” Audrey says, “See you.”

The three of them watch Gina walk away. As soon as she’s around the corner, Noah starts hammering Audrey with questions. Audrey folds her arms and glares at them, though it’s certainly lacking any heat.

“Seriously, guys? Strive for normality. For my sake.”

Noah shakes his head. “Pff. Normality? As if you’ve ever been normal.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Emma laughs. “I think what Noah’s saying is if this Gina really likes you, she should be okay with seeing all of you. Including your immature friends.”

“Emma Duval? Immature?” Noah shakes his head. “We’ve corrupted you.”

“Oh, I’ve long since been corrupted.”

Audrey swings her arms around both of their shoulders. She’s too short, though, so she has to push up on her tip-toes. “You two are ridiculous.”

The three of them walk to class like this. Chained together.

“In all seriousness,” Noah says, “We want you to be happy.”

Emma nods. “We’re happy for you. You deserve this.”

Audrey bits her lip. She looks up at Emma. There’s something in her eyes that’s unreadable. “Really?”

“Of course, Audrey.”

Audrey stares at Emma for another long moment before finally nodding.

Gina becomes another part of their lives. Another piece of the body. Not quite a limb, like an arm or a leg, but a fingernail. A strand of hair. An eyelash.

Emma doesn’t mind. She likes Gina. Gina’s sweet, and she doesn’t ask weird, invasive questions like their other classmates might. She has a lot in common with Audrey. They like the same books and movies, and they look happy when they’re together.

The six of them are eating lunch outside, soaking in the leftover summer sun. Emma has her hand on the bench beside her, head tilted toward the heat. Across the table, Gina and Noah are arguing over the likability of a newly released film. Brooke leans over to rest her head on Emma’s shoulder.

“This is nice, isn’t it?”

“Mm,” Emma agrees. Then, “What is?”

“I don’t know. All of us here. Relaxed.”

Across the courtyard, Audrey and Stavo are heading toward the table with snacks in their hands. They’re in deep conversation, Audrey’s hands gesturing fanatically. The sun is warm honey on her skin.

Emma presses her cheek against the top of Brooke’s head. “Yeah,” she agrees, “It is.”

Stavo gets to the table first, and Brooke sits up. He kisses her cheek and Brooke presses into it, eyes alight. He passes her a bottle of Snapple, already opened for her.

Audrey sits down between Emma and Gina, setting her goodies atop the table. She hands Emma a package of peanut butter coated crackers from the school’s vending machine. Emma’s favorite.

“Thanks,” Emma says, grateful.

It’s a good day. A great one, even. But as Audrey turns around to hand a bag of chips to Gina, Emma can’t help but feel something’s missing.

Everything has quickly gone to hell. Every fragile piece of their lives that had taken time to heal is now being pounded by a hammer. Their merciless fate is back.

Kieran is dead, and someone else is murdering for Emma’s sake.

Emma wonders if this will be her life until she finally dies. Surrounded by monstrous killers, obsessed with torturing her and her friends.

She hadn’t meant to kiss the fake Alex Whitten. In fact, she hadn’t meant to cozy up to anyone this weekend. It was meant to be a trip to get away. With Noah and Stavo so busy, the girls were having a peaceful time, enjoying their little bubble of ignorance away from Lakewood.

But Audrey kept pushing, and a sinister thought had begun to buzz in Emma’s head: what if they wanted Emma to date someone because she hung onto them too often, a third wheel, a fifth wheel, a wheel regardless of the situation. Noah was single, sure, but he had his graphic novel. His podcast. All Emma had was school and Maggie. What if she was too clingy, and Audrey and Brooke needed more space from her?

So she went on a date with the fake Alex Whitten. Brought her friends to his mansion. Kissed him. Related to him. Trusted him despite knowing him for a day.

Shared trauma should not be the source of bonding, yet there they were, relating their pasts to one another and holding onto that feeling of loneliness, of never being understood by anyone else.

It is that same guilt, again and again, that eats her insides as Alex says he’s Tom Martin. That he wants to be with Emma. Kill for Emma.

She learns, quickly, that this is not how she wants to recover her trauma. Using anger as fuel is meaningless to her. Useless. If she used her own hurt to harm others, she knew it would only mean she was weak and incapable of grabbing hold of herself. She’s gone through therapy. She’s grown. She’s emerged as someone capable of so much more. This person in front of her, ranting and raving about vicious things, is not who she ever wants to be.

When Tom Martin goes flying over the balcony railing, it’s not relief she feels. The sight of his bloody, broken body forces her to grit her teeth. Just once, she wants one of them to suffer in prison and die behind bars, old and withered.

Emma’s numb. Her hands don’t feel like her own.

Yet - she sees them at the bottom there. Audrey, Brooke. Noah and Gustavo. Even Gina.

Her back straightens, and the blood rushes back in her body, a settling warmth.

Killing Tom Martin doesn’t bring her relief, but seeing her friends alive does.

And that? That’s what makes her happy she did it. If she brought this pain upon her friends, the least she could do was end it for them. Give them a solution.

If only she could take away their nightmares, too.

Again, Emma is reminded of how much she hates the aftermath. There’s police and a statement and exhaustion. Audrey stands with her as she talks to an officer. Emma’s voice is monotone as she explains. She knows how to include the details now. She has practice.

Finally, the officer tells them that he’s done for now, but they’ll need to come to the station for follow up questions. He closes the flap on his notepad and leaves them standing there, uncertain but calm.

“Hey,” Audrey says, a hand sliding up Emma’s arm. “You okay?”

Emma nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Is it weird that I’m not as shaken as I should be?”

“‘Course not. I mean, both your long lost half-sister and your long term ex-boyfriend tried to murder us. I think it’s pretty normal that you’re not freaking out.”

Emma cringed before she could stop herself. Audrey immediately tried to backtrack.

“I didn’t mean -”

“Audrey, it’s fine. It’s fine, really. You’re not wrong.”

They’re silent for a moment, watching the commotion around them. Finally, Emma asks, “How’s Gina doing?”

This, at least, makes Audrey laugh. “Well, she’s definitely not us. She’s more than shaken.”

“Go,” Emma urges, pushing her shoulder in Gina’s direction. “She needs you.”

“So do you,” Audrey says. Her tone is teasing, but it strikes Emma to her core.

She doesn’t try to deny it. “Of course I do.” She pauses, thinking, willing her breathing to remain steady. “I’m glad you’re okay.” And then after some consideration, she adds, “Gina, too.”

Audrey gives her a quick hug, tight and disarming, before turning toward Gina. Emma crosses her arms over her chest and stares at the balcony until the police usher her along.

It’s a Saturday night, weeks after Halloween, smack in the middle of windy November. The sky has darkened to navy, the moon glowing between inky clouds. The marquee at the Zenith Theater is alight. The red, blocky letters spell out tonight’s movie premiere, some thriller starring a famous actress. The theater’s packed with moviegoers as they exit the latest showing, their chatter filling the lobby.

Emma waits inside to avoid the late autumn chill. The Zenith employees are still hard at work, sweeping or saying goodbye to the customers as they trickle out.

“Emma.”

Emma turns. Beside her, still in uniform, name tag set perfectly atop her chest, is Gina.

“Hey, Gina!” she says, pleasantry coating her voice. She’s in a good mood tonight. “Busy night?”

“Yeah. Can I talk to you?”

“Oh.” Emma stands up a little straighter, eyebrows furrowing. Gina sounds serious, which is rare. “Yeah. Yes. Of course. What’s up?”

Gina steps off to the side toward the Employee’s Only door while beckoning Emma behind her. Emma, confused, follows. The room is full of cleaning supplies and extra stock, with another door that led out to the concession counter. Emma frowns as she slips inside.

“Is everything okay?” she asks.

“I guess that depends on your definition of okay.”

“Um.” Emma feels slightly disoriented. The room is dim. It’s hard to see all of Gina’s features. “Are you and Audrey okay? Is she hurt or something?”

“That also depends,” Gina says, still cryptic. She looks and sounds aggrieved. Emma has a bad feeling. “She is hurt. But not physically.”

“Then what? Who’s hurting her?”

“You, Emma. You’re hurting her.”

“Excuse me?”

Gina huffs, and that disguised frustration starts to bleed out from her all at once. “I’m sorry you have to hear this from me, and I’m sorry if it sounds harsh, but you are constantly around, Emma! You’re clinging to her. You sleepover half the week and you interrupt our dates. Every time I turn around, you’re there! If you call, she comes running. But isn’t that putting her in danger? Isn’t that disregarding her feelings and wants and desires? You’re obsessive and dependent, Emma, and it’s dangerous.”

“Okay, hold on a second,” Emma interrupts, because Gina is ranting and Emma deserves a chance to defend herself. “That’s just not true -”

“Yes it is! It is true. You’re stringing her along, asking so much of her. She can’t be a girlfriend to me and a babysitter to you all at once. Give her a break.”

“She’s my best friend, Gina. And I’m sorry if you don’t like that, or you feel like I’m somehow getting between you two just by being around, but I’m not going to ditch Audrey just because you don’t like our friendship.”

“You don’t get it, Emma! This isn’t a friendship. Audrey is sad. She’s depressed. She needs time alone, and you are constantly, repeatedly, in her space.”

Emma’s shaking her head. “That’s not true.”

“It is!” Gina argues.

“Where is this coming from? I mean, you... you’ve never said anything to -”

“Yes, I have. I’ve said something to Audrey. But she…”

Something seems to cross Gina’s face, a dark, pulsing emotion that Emma can’t read. She bites her lip and stares off at the wall.

“What?” Emma asks. “She what?”

Gina gives a jerky shrug. “She agreed that it’s annoying, but she said she can’t ditch you because of what you two went through.”

“What?” Emma repeats. “No, no, Audrey would never -”

“She did, though. She thinks you’re a burden. She told me it’s impossible to get away from you.”

The thing about heartbreak is that if it strikes unexpectedly, it takes every other organ down with it. The pain is not just in her chest, where her heart pumps slowly, but everywhere else. Her skin is buzzing, her veins hot, every muscle stiff. Suddenly, she doesn’t think she can move. It takes her a long, muddled moment to come back to her body. For a terrifying moment, Emma questions whether or not this is a dream. But, no, it hurts too much.

“See?” Gina says, like she can read every terrible expression on Emma’s face. “You know it’s true.”

But Emma knows better. She shakes her head very slowly. “No. I’m going to ask Audrey about this when her shift ends.”

Gina’s shoulders tense up and her eyes turn to loathing. “Are you kidding me? Don’t confront her. She’ll feel guilty and she’ll lie to you about how she really feels. You’ll only make her more anxious than she already is. ”

Emma whispers, “I wouldn’t do that to her,” but the self-doubt has already molded and turned to stone inside her.

Strangely, Gina’s tone turns soft. “I think you should leave, Emma.”

“I-” she starts, but there is nothing else to say. She is entirely at a loss for words, and worse, she has no solid argument. The truth of what Gina is saying takes up all the space in Emma’s mind until it’s all she can think about.

So Emma leaves.

That night, she ignores Audrey’s phone calls.

The next day, Audrey calls so much that Emma turns off her phone.

“Just one more day,” she begs her mother, smushing her face into her pillow.

Maggie stares down at Emma with a perpetual frown on her face. “Emma. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I told you. I don’t feel good.”

“This isn’t like you.”

“It’s just a cold. Mom, please.”

Maggie sighs and sits on the edge of the bed. Reluctantly, Emma turns to face her. Truth or not, Emma knows she looks awful enough to pass for ill. Her eyes in the mirror that morning had been bloodshot, black shadows beneath them, her pink lips chapped and dry. Maggie puts her palm on Emma’s forehead, then her cheek.

“I’m worried,” she says, voice gentle.

Emma’s heart breaks again. But just a little. “I know. I’m sorry. I just need one more day.”

“Okay,” her mom agrees, though it sounds like she’s being forced to accept the conditions.”One more day.” She kisses her daughter on the head and eventually leaves for work, the front door clicking shut downstairs.

The only time she gets up that day is to make herself tea doused with honey. The emptiness of the house is parallel to her chest, which has gone from clenching pain to subtle numbness. Emma wonders, not for the first time, if she is being dramatic. Maybe she shouldn’t be hurting this much. Her feelings surely are not that important.

But she hears the voices of past therapists and is reminded that her pain is as valid as anyone else's, no matter how guilty she feels. She sinks deeper into her sheets and allows herself this healing time, all the while battling with whether or not this skip day is deserved.

Around noon, the doorbell rings. Emma initially ignores it, but the ringing becomes insistent. She grumbles her grievances and goes downstairs with her blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

She opens the door. It’s Audrey.

“Audrey,” Emma says, surprised. “Hey. What’re you doing here?”

Audrey pushes her way inside, closing the door behind her. “You weren’t answering my calls.”

“I texted you.”

“Saying, ‘sick, talk later’ isn’t really saying much. It’s been three days.”

“I’ve just been tired,” Emma explains.

“Emma, come on. You’ve been avoiding me. And you kind of ditched me Saturday night.”

They were going to have what they’d dubbed a Chick Flick Night. Once a month, they gather at Audrey’s house for rom-coms and romantic dramas. The few times they’d done it before, they would bake something sweet first. They’d gather all the blankets and pillows and create a comfortable nest where they could make fun of the movies they watched before eventually falling asleep.

It was Emma’s new favorite tradition.

“I was dizzy with a fever,” Emma finally says. “I’m sorry.”

Audrey shakes her head. “Don’t say sorry. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Emma,” says Audrey, and her name on Audrey’s tongue has her repressing a shudder, the roll of it sensuous. Raw. Emma hates it. “Don’t lie. Not to me.”

Emma feels bad, so she gives Audrey a short hug before pulling away. “I’m not. Really. I’ll be back at school tomorrow.”

The look Audrey gives her is long and hard. Judging the truth of her words. “Do you promise?”

“Yeah. I promise.”

“Okay.” Audrey still looks skeptical. Emma notices that her cheeks are flushed, her hair a little messy. “Don’t worry me like that, Em. You can talk to me about anything, okay?”

“I will.”

The next day at school, Emma can’t help but watch Audrey talk while they’re all situated around the lunch table. Audrey is telling a story with wild gestures, her voice loud and grumpy. Emma smiles as she watches, but when she turns her head, all she sees is Gina. Judging Emma. Condemning her. Reminding her of how Audrey feels. Emma bites her lip until she bleeds.

Early winter passes in a breath of frost and wind. The holidays pass, the neighboring lights blinking red and green. The Christmas tree in the Duval living room is decorated, courtesy of Emma. Her mother bakes ginger snaps one day and they warm the house. The house smells like peppermint all through December.

The winter break has been a blessing for Emma. She’d seen her friends a few times so far, but she’d managed to avoid being alone with Audrey. She put a hold on their Saturday marathons. At first, she claimed that her exams were too hard, and she needed all her extra time to study. Now, during this small December break, she said she would spend her time with Maggie for some quality family bonding.

On the contrary, Maggie is rarely home. Emma thinks her mother is seeing someone new, but Maggie refuses to talk about her love life.

Emma doesn’t mind. The house becomes hers during the nights, and she has taken up knitting, which quickly becomes her favorite pastime. She watches Christmas movies with a warm tea, her current project in her lap.

The day after Christmas, she meets up with everyone for a small get-together at Noah’s. They play board games and drink wine coolers and listen to music. Emma glances at Noah’s wall every now and then, noticing the absence of the murder board, and tries not to shake with memories.

Audrey, she notices, is being just as standoffish. Emma tries not to let it bother her and the night unfolds, slowly, gently. The only time Audrey pays attention to her is when Emma is picking at the skin around her nails. Audrey grabs her hand and forces her to stop, though she noticeably doesn’t say a word.

Noah’s parents aren’t home, so most of them doze off. There’s a giant fortress of blankets and pillows on the floor. Brooke and Gina are lying beside each other on the bed, while Stavo and Noah are sprawled across the floor. Stavo is still awake, his hands folded behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling. Emma watches them and debates sleeping here or walking back home.

Before she can decide, Audrey taps her on the arm. When Emma looks over, Audrey nods her head toward the door. Emma opens her mouth to decline the offer - she doesn’t want to go anywhere right now - but Audrey is already stepping out of the door. With a heaving sigh, Emma follows her downstairs and to the back patio. Two cushioned chairs are there, facing the backyard. Emma sinks down in one.

Audrey doesn’t. She’s still standing, and her arms are crossed. Emma notices the wrinkle between her brows. Audrey’s angry.

“If I ask you something,” Audrey starts, “Will you be honest? Or will you just lie to my face?”

“What? Audrey, I never -”

“Stop, Emma. Just stop. Last Saturday you told me you couldn’t hangout because you were with your mom, but I saw Maggie at the theater.”

Well. Shit. She should have told her mom to avoid the Zenith. “It’s not how it looks.”

“Then what is it? Because it seems like you’re ditching me. I would know. This isn’t the first time you’ve done this to me. What is it this time? Are you getting tired of me? Did you realize we were only friends because of a common trauma?”

Gina had said it herself. She said she can’t ditch you because of what you two went through. For the past month, Emma had been rejecting this idea. It couldn’t be true. Audrey didn’t think like that. They were friends. They cared about each other.

And now? Hearing Audrey say those words aloud, as if she really had been thinking it? Common trauma. What a joke.

Emma looks Audrey straight on. Maybe she was angry, too. Maybe she was sick of Audrey lying about her feelings, too. “Aren’t you the one who feels like that?”

This takes Audrey by surprise. “What?”

“I don’t know. You used to hate me so much. And then everything was happening to us, and Kieran targeted us, and maybe we felt like we could only trust each other. And now that it’s over, you realized there wasn’t anything tying us together. So I’m giving you an out, Audrey.”

“What the fuck?” Audrey spits, and now she’s really mad, her arms tightening over her chest. “Seriously, what the hell, Emma? Is this what you’ve thought this whole time? Is this what you think of me?”

She thinks you’re a burden. She told me it’s impossible to get away from you.

Emma looks down at her lap. She wishes she hadn’t drank so much. Push her harder, she thinks.

“You know it’s true. Everyone else knows it’s true. There’s no reason for us to try so hard to stay together if we know it’s not working.”

Audrey laughs. It’s harsh and bitter and mocking. “Of course you care what everyone else thinks. Of course you do.”

Emma says nothing, ignoring the burn of that accusation, willing her nausea to stay in her gut. Audrey stares down at Emma, hard. Even though she wants to look away, she can’t. She stares right back.

Audrey continues, voice tight and controlled. “I should have known it would end like this again. I should have known. Maybe I’m stupid for hoping it wouldn’t.” Audrey shakes her head. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. But I want to make something very clear to you, Emma, before you go back to ignoring me all over again. You’re my friend, and I didn’t need an out. I never did. I’ve never thought anything like this before, and fuck you for thinking otherwise.”

Emma tries not to gape, but it’s hard not to. “Audrey -”

Audrey waves a hand at her. “See you around,” she says, and heads back inside.

The night air is brisk, frosty, and Emma realizes she’s shivering and severely underdressed. She’d left her coat inside. Still, she walks home without it, swallowing down everything she’s ever felt.

Maggie is obnoxiously observant, and Emma has become terrible at hiding her feelings.

At breakfast, her mother says into the stretched silence, “What is it, Emma? What’s wrong?”

Shaking hands and stubborn brows, Emma frowns down at her plate. She stabs her pancakes and takes a bite. She chews slowly. Swallows. Blinks back the sting of tears because she doesn’t cry. She won’t in front of a killer. She won’t in front of her mother. She won’t ever again.

“Nothing,” she says, then decides her mother deserves a bit more context. “It’s high school drama.”

Her mom’s voice is soft. “I don’t know about that. It looks like you got your heart broken.”

Emma instantly wishes she had never said a word.

Brooke is much less subtle, and not at all gentle.

“Seriously? After everything, you guys are fighting like this? And it’s not even, like, a petty argument. This is bad. Seriously bad. You won’t even look at each other. It’s been weeks.”

“What do you want me to do, Brooke?”

“I don’t know! Something? You two are my best friends. This is so awkward for me.”

Emma sighs as she grabs her books from her locker. It’s been two weeks since they’ve come back to school, the students of Lakewood High decked out in coats as the mid-January winter hits hard.

“It’s awkward for me, too.”

“So fix it, Em. Come on. You love Audrey. You know you don’t want to be fighting with her right now.”

Emma squints at her. “What if I don’t want to fix it?”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“What?”

Brooke crosses her arms. Her nails are a pretty pale pink. “You’re not convincing. Neither of you are. You’re obviously unhappy with the way things are right now.”

“I’m not. I’m fine.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. And I’m just meant to believe you two suddenly don’t care about each other at all? That you can just magically stop being friends and it’s all great?”

Emma turns to leave, unwilling to listen. “I’m done with this conversation.”

But Brooke grabs her arm, forcing her forward once more. “Listen to me, Em. I’m not trying to argue with you. If you really hate her now, fine. I’ll figure something out. But all I’m saying is that you two are… something. Like, okay, me and you? We’re best friends. I love you to death and I’d do anything for you. But Stavo and I? We’re different. He stabilizes me like no one else can. He grounds me and makes me feel safe. That’s what you and Audrey have. It doesn’t have to be in the same context, but it’s the same. Audrey helps you. You need her and she needs you. You’re two peas in a pod.”

Emma’s already shaking her head. No. Brooke has it all wrong. Brooke has Stavo. Audrey has Noah, and now Gina. But Emma is alone. Not in a pathetic, pitying way, where she thinks it’s her against the world. It’s just a simple fact. The people close to Emma either want to kill her, or get hurt because of her, and that will be ingrained in Emma for the rest of her life. She has to be independent. She has to let Audrey go. She can’t cling to anyone, no matter how much it helped her. It’s selfish.

“That’s not my place anymore, Brooke. Audrey will find someone else to fill it.”

“And what about you?” Brooke asks, voice still hard, always the fighter.

“I don’t need that kind of relationship. I’m going to survive on my own.”

“You don’t need to ‘survive’ anymore. You just need to live, happily and freely.”

Emma shrugs out of her grasp. “I will. Just not with Audrey.”

Noah, surprisingly, is the least aggressive about it.

“Wanna come over?” he asks her after school one day. She’s got her books in her hands, expecting a day of studying to occupy her thoughts, and she’s seriously considering declining the offer. But Noah looks reluctant, innocent even, and rejecting him now just seems mean.

“Okay.”

Emma drives them because Noah still doesn’t have a car. They stop for milkshakes and Noah gets a side of fries too, which he dips into his cold drink. Emma’s stomach is growling - she hasn’t had junk food in ages, and the only thing she can stomach lately is bread or soup. She takes a fry for herself and dips it just like he did. It’s delicious. She takes another.

The sky is cloudless, a clear ocean blue, the sun fighting against the chill. Noah startles her when he jolts up in his seat and points out the front window.

“Hey, I used to go to that playground all the time. There were never any swings. They must be new.”

“Hm.”

Noah turns to her. “Let’s stop.”

“What? Why?”

“I want to swing.”

Emma slows down reluctantly, but she takes a quick second to stare at Noah, whose eyes are alight. It doesn’t seem right to refuse him something so simple, but his expression scares her. She doesn’t know why. She has been timid lately, shying away from people and deep conversation. This feels dangerous.

They stop anyway, taking their milkshakes along. Emma, feeling embarrassed, sits on the left swing. She kicks her legs a bit but otherwise stays close to the ground, letting the breeze rock her. Noah, on the other hand, starts with wide, freeing swings, until he’s practically swinging over the bar.

He’s laughing as he slows down. “This is fun.”

“I never took you for a playground kinda guy,” Emma laughs.

Noah shrugs. “It’s nostalgic.” He turns to her, his face sobering up. “I keep thinking about how we won’t have this next year.”

“What do you mean?”

“This. Milkshakes after school, getting a chance to play like the children we are. We’ll be adults. Or, at least, closer to adulthood. Half of us won’t even be in Lakewood. Stavo and I will be collaborating on projects from two sides of the country. Brooke will be with him.”

“I applied to Lakewood University,” Emma offers.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling, “And thank God for that. But it might just be you and I. Audrey doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

Emma looks out at the rest of the empty playground, silent. Thankfully, Noah doesn’t push her for a response. He soaks in the silence with her instead. It’s been rewarding to watch Noah evolve and grow before her own eyes. He’s gone from insensitive to self-assured, from murder-obsessed to creatively charged.

He pushes his feet on the ground again and creates a lazy momentum. “I guess I’ve just been thinking that this isn’t how I want our year to end. After all we’ve been through, it feels like we deserve something grander.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, unsure what else there is to say.

He waves his hands. “Oh, no, come on, don’t say sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. All I meant is, it’s just painful to watch. As your friend.”

Hands gripping the chains of the swing, Emma looks down at her lap, suppressing a shudder. Noah is getting at her in a way that no one else has succeeded in.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispers.

His soft sigh isn’t impatient. It’s empathetic. “I know. No one’s rushing you. But we’re here for you, Emma. Haven’t we always been?”

In a sick, unfortunate way, they really have been. The things the four of them have gone through together should have been a clear indication that they would do anything for each other. She thought they’d have a lifelong bond because of it.

But if they’re tied through trauma, how is Emma supposed to know whether or not the friendship is real? Whether they actually care about her? She feels torn and anxious and she hates that she has to second guess these people who’ve only ever wanted to help her.

“You know,” she says, “You’ve really matured lately. Much more than me. Maybe more than any of us.”

“Wow,” Noah says, looking rightfully proud of himself. “Never thought I’d hear that from you.”

“Hey, I only tell the truth.”

“Well, it’s still nice to hear. I don’t know. I’ve been thinking lately that it’s the stuff I’ve overcome that made me this way, but I don’t think that’s the truth.”

“Then what is it?”

Noah shrugs. “I just feel good lately. Content. I like what I’m creating. I like how peaceful it’s been. I like researching for other possible projects. Minus Anna Hobbs, of course.”

“Of course,” Emma agrees, almost laughing at the absurdity of their luck.

“I feel like I actually know what I want to do with my life.”

“That must be nice,” Emma says, not unkindly.

“It is,” Noah agrees. “It took me awhile to realize I can use my weird obsessions and hobbies for an actual career. That I could turn my interests into something productive. Makes me feel less like I’m just wasting time over something others think is useless.”

“I wish I had something like that.”

“You’ll find it,” he says simply. “Everyone has their thing.”

“For now, my thing is just surviving.”

Noah cocks his head at her, a little furrow of worry between his brows. “Emma. We’re done surviving. You can have a life now.”

Brooke had said something similar, but the idea just wouldn’t stick. At night, Emma still tosses and turns and feels Kieran’s imprint in her bed. She still jolts awake with a choked scream. She hates farms and kitchen knives and every time she hears a loud noise, she flinches. She always keeps her phone on vibrate, and only picks up from numbers in her contact list. She has numbed herself to memory, and studies hard to keep her focus in the present. Everything about her feels like an echo of the murders, like she’s still trapped in that time of terror.

“I like knitting,” she offers half-heartedly.

That makes him laugh. “That’ll help you when you’re an 80 year old retired grandma on your porch swing.”

She pushes his swing and he stumbles out of it, yelping out a, “Hey!”

They’re laughing as they leave for Noah’s house. They don’t do much besides their schoolwork, and by the time Emma leaves she has a faint smile on her mouth.

It’s nice, but it’s not enough.

Emma wants to try. That’s the conclusion she reaches two days later, as she sees Audrey round the corner. Emma was purposefully waiting beside Audrey’s locker, working her bottom lip between her teeth. No one else is in the hallway. It’s just them. The bell’s about to ring for class, but it has to be now.

Audrey sees her, stops for a second, then keeps walking toward her. She calmly turns the dial lock and yanks it open a moment later. Emma stands there stupidly. She’d had what she wanted to say on the tip of her tongue, but now that it’s time, every thought has left her.

“Hey, um, so - I was thinking -”

Audrey, with a textbook now in her arms, slams the locker shut, secures the lock, and walks away.

“Wait, hey, Audrey! Just listen, please.”

With that, Audrey spins around. Emma startles and stops, waiting for a fight that doesn’t quite come. Audrey opens her mouth, shakes her head, and closes it.

It’s weird. Audrey has never held back her thoughts before. At least, not with Emma. She’s all action, and she isn’t scared to say what’s on her mind.

Except Audrey doesn’t let it all out like Emma expects her to. She says, “No,” nearly gritting it out, and turns away.

“Okay,” she says. “It’ll be fine.”

Emma’s wondering, too late, if she’s making a mistake. Her stomach is spinning in vicious circles, tumbling and tripping over itself. She’s sick of it, honestly. She doesn’t want to feel this way anymore. She shouldn’t have to feel this way. She refuses to succumb to it.

Yet. She’s nervous.

February has just begun. The moon is a sliver against a cloudless sky, white and glistening.

Emma remembers Audrey’s schedule, and she’s sure it’s never changed. Weekends she works evenings, but she doesn’t work during the week anymore. That’s why Emma is there on a weeknight, when she knows Gina will be working and Audrey won’t be.

The theater is quiet. The last movie let out minutes ago, so a few people are lingering outside. Emma slips in. The cold winter is still in its height, and the theater is a nice warmth against the night. She ignores the curious stare of a stray employee and waits there until she sees Gina round a corner.

The frown is immediate. “I’m busy,” Gina says dismissively.

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

Gina looks her up and down, a long and calculating stare, before sighing. “Fine.”

They step closer to the front doors of the theater where no one else would hear them.

“What is it?” Gina asks.

She doesn’t sound angry today. She sounds nervous and frantic. Emma wonders when she’ll stop seeing the multiple sides to Gina. It seems like there’s never an end to her array of emotions.

“I need to know something,” Emma says. “Do you love Audrey?”

“What?”

“It’s a simple question. Do you love her?”

“I - I don’t think that’s any of your business, Emma.”

“It is. It is my business. Because I love Audrey, and I can gladly admit it. She’s my best friend. She’s the best person I’ve ever met. I want her to be happy more than I want anything else. She deserves it after all the shit she’s been through.” At this, Emma catches Gina’s eye, and holds her gaze as she bulls on. “And if you’re holding her back from that happiness, if you’re screwing her over in any way, I will make you fucking regret it, Gina. Trust me. But… if she’s genuinely happier now, happier with you, then that’s what I want for her. I don’t want to come between that. I don’t want to bother her, or you, if it’s really what she wants. So tell me honestly. Is Audrey happy now? Or is she not?”

It takes Gina a long time to answer. Her arms are at her sides, her mouth slightly agape, and she’s searching Emma’s face for something. Her expression is entirely unreadable.

Finally, Gina says, “She’s happy.”

Emma nods. It’s what she expected, kind of. Actually, she’s not too sure what she expected. But this answer doesn’t shock her. She accepts it like a giant, foaming wave that finally collapses and settles in her chest. The waves begin to fan out.

“Okay,” Emma says, giving a half shrug. “Okay, yeah. Then there’s not much for me to do here, is there?” She pauses. “I hope you treat her well. Really.”

“I will,” Gina replies, still sounding unsure. She seems to gather herself all at once. “Can I go now?”

“Sure. Sorry for keeping you.”

The wind whips against Emma’s face as she exits the theater. She’s glad she walked; she’ll need the walk home to gather her thoughts.

As she gets to the sidewalk, she passes a familiar car and looks instinctively. She sees Audrey sitting behind the wheel of her car, eyes squinted in suspicion, looking between Emma and Gina, who’s clearly visible behind the glass doors. Emma turns away and starts down the round.

It’s not her business anymore.

Emma flip flops between thinking she gave up too fast, and urging herself to move on. To fill the loud chaos of her thoughts, she spills herself into her schoolwork. She’s still waiting for her acceptance letter to Lakewood University and the few other colleges she applied to, so in the meantime she’s determined to keep her grades as high as they can go. At lunch, she excuses herself for the comforting stillness of the library. At home, she sludges through the hours at her desk, head pounding once evening rolls around. She stops hanging out with her friends with the easy excuse that she’s studying.

“I have a paper due,” she’ll say. “I have a lot of homework. I have a test tomorrow.”

Her friends accept it with a knowing, patient smile, and she doesn’t let their faces make her feel guilty. Instead, she feeds into the need to be busy and occupied, and ignores everything else.

It works for her. The days slide by. She no longer has time to think about dead friends or dead murderers or Audrey. She has to study.

Her mom brings her snacks every once in a while. Hot tea or crackers with cheese and sliced meat. Bowls of fruit. Bottles of water because, apparently, she’s not hydrated enough. Maggie will run her fingers through Emma’s hair as she works out a particularly hard question, and Emma will lean into it, starved for it.

She indulges her friends when she can, too. Brooke asks her over and she obliges. They talk about Stavo and New York. They talk about movies and school and every easy topic they can find.

The whole time, Brooke’s been painting her toenails, and Emma’s been flipping through a cooking magazine. It feels nice to let go for a day, though she wishes she was busier, her head more occupied. As comfortable as she is, her body aches for a heavier distraction.

Brooke rolls over at some point and throws a tired arm over Emma.

“I miss you,” she says.

Emma laughs. “I’m right here.”

“I know.” Brooke presses a kiss, full and long, against her forehead. “I’m worried. You look pale. And tired. And you have bags under your eyes. Emma, you’ve never had bags under your eyes.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You know I don’t like lying.”

“Do I really look that bad?”

“Define bad.”

Emma turns to her, frowning. “It’s still hard to sleep sometimes.”

“Then let’s sleep here. Right now. A little cat nap.”

Brooke sits up, fluffy her pillows and pulling the comforter out from beneath them. Emma considers arguing that she’d rather go home to study, but Brooke is already tucking her in. She leans back hesitantly while Brooke presses her cheek into a pillow.

“This isn’t a cure-all,” Emma tells her.

Brooke offers her a small smile. “It’s one day at a time.”

The afternoon sun begins its descent outside. Emma watches the light fade for hours, gold panes against the wall stretching through bits of dust. Beside her, Brooke’s face is completely at peace while she steadily breathes in her sleep. The sound comforts Emma, in a sense, but it’s not enough to make her sleep. Hours later, when Brooke begins to stir, Emma lifts her face off the pillow and pretends she’s just woken up, too.

Nothing about the day is normal.

Emma wakes on a Friday morning at her desk, disoriented. Her neck and spine ache, but it’s the exhaustion that has her feeling unsteady in the shower. Her eyes are heavy and her head is pounding, but there’s a quiz in calculus today and she has to go.

Thankfully, Maggie is gone by the time Emma gets downstairs. She’s sure she doesn’t look great, dead on her feet, and she doesn’t want to hear the comments. The time on her wrist watch says she’s running late, so she ignores the grumbling in her stomach and leaves.

Being nearly late and tired and hungry has become a normal school day for her, but seeing Audrey first thing in the morning isn’t. Actually, she’s become quite good at ignoring Audrey. They had a single class together, and otherwise never crossed paths.

Yet there she was, just as the school bell rang, sitting on the top of a picnic table with her feet on the benches. She’s too far away and Emma can’t see what’s on her face. She gets up when she sees Emma, turning to face her as if ready for confrontation, but Emma breaks the direction she’s going and heads inside the first building she sees. It’s not exactly on her way, and she’s definitely late now.

It’s been three weeks since Emma spoke to Gina, and since then she keeps thinking of Audrey outside in her car, watching them. Emma hopes she hasn’t angered Audrey all over again, and that today goes by without a fight. Her limbs are lethargic and her thoughts have been moving even slower. She doesn’t think she can handle it.

Her first teacher scolds her lightly for being late and drones on about British literature and the great many sonnets of Shakespeare. The students have a discussion about what they’ve read. Emma pointedly does not offer her own opinion, and no one asks for it. She makes it through her AP Latin and Economics classes and spends lunch studying math in the library.

She dozes with her nose in a book and startles at the warning bell. Frantic, Emma gathers her belongings and hurries toward calculus.

It’s her only class with Audrey, and as she enters, the bell ringing just in time, she finds Audrey staring at her yet again. Her face is indecipherable.

“Take your seat, Emma,” says Mrs. Miller, exasperated but not angry.

Emma does as she’s told, ignoring Audrey’s heated stare as she slides into her chair. They go over the material as a class, reviewing what they’ve learned so far, before the quizzes are handed out. Emma takes hers and lets her gaze flit over the questions. There’s only 10. It’ll be easy for her.

Except after the first question, her fingers fumble over the pencil. It skitters onto the floor, bouncing away from her. The person beside her picks it up and hands it back. Emma mumbles a, “Thank you,” and moves on. Her fingers continue to shake. She grips her pencil harder and wills herself on.

On the fourth question, the numbers begin to blur and bleed over the page. Irritated, Emma squeezes her eyes shut to block out the sudden wave of lightheadedness. She inconspicuously rubs the bridge of her nose before opening her eyes.

Someone in the class has already turned in their quiz. Emma’s only on the fifth question.

No. She was not going to do this. Not here. Not at school.

She’s practically carving in the answers to the quiz as she bulldozes on, but in the end she only gets as far as the seventh question. It’s something about the derivative of a function and it should be easy for her. It’s getting hard to breathe, though. Emma uses her energy to focus on inhaling and exhaling in succeeding patterns.

Succumbing to her body and admitting her faults makes shame heat her cheeks. She’d always considered herself to be strong, tougher than most, but this is beyond embarrassing. Emma doesn’t finish the quiz. She raises her hand and waits for the teacher to look at her. Mrs. Miller nods and beckons Emma forward. The classroom is quiet as they take the test, so their voices take on a low tone.

“Yes, Emma?”

“Can I go to the nurse?”

Mrs. Miller straightens a little, eyeing Emma with newfound realization. “Sure. You do look a little pale. Are you okay? Do you need someone to go with you?”

Emma shakes her head. “I’m fine. It’s just a cold.”

The teacher nods her head and advises Emma to go ahead.

The hallway is cool and empty. Once the door closes behind her, Emma gasps in a sharp breath. Her chest is tight, fighting for normalcy. She slides a hand against the wall for support and walks slow. The nurse’s office isn’t far. She has two more hallways to move down. She can do it, if only her eyesight wasn’t blurring, and the hallways weren’t spinning, and if she could just keep forcing her feet forward. Behind her, there’s the click of a classroom door opening and closing. Emma opens her eyes - she hadn’t even realized she closed them.

A hand presses against her shoulder. It’s warm. It burns.

“Emma? Can I talk to you?”

If anything, the voice makes her dizzier. She says, “Now’s not a good time,” except it comes out scratchy, like the words are catching on her tongue. Her face feels hot.

“Woah, hey. Are you okay?”

Is she okay? She doesn’t feel okay. Hasn’t for a long time. Being asked strikes through her nerves. Has it been that long since Piper and Kieran? Has it been that long since she’s not been okay? Or has it been longer? Her thoughts begin to tumble over one another, rolling around and running until she can’t read them.

“Emma?”

She’s missed Audrey saying her name. It comes out differently when she says it. Like a cry before the icons in church. Like there’s blood or honey smeared between her teeth. It’s painful and sweet. She wants to hear it again. She misses it.

She is sick, she thinks, but mostly in the heart.

Audrey says her name again as she tilts, vision fading.

Emma’s not out for long. She wakes to a white ceiling and a dry throat. The nurse’s concerned voice drones on like a cicada.

“- been through a lot, hasn’t she?”

Audrey hums a sound of agreement. Her fingertips brush Emma’s sweaty bangs out of her face. Her thumb smoothes across Emma’s cheek. Emma soaks it in for a second before she catches Audrey’s gaze.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Audrey responds. She pulls her hand away and sets it in her lap.

“I’m sorry,” Emma whispers. It just slips out, loose and fumbled. Her eyes are glassy. She wipes at them.

Audrey’s shaking her head. She looks pained. “Please. Please don’t, Emma.”

Emma can’t argue with that. She clears her throat, hoping her eyes don’t look as wet as they feel. “What happened?”

“You fainted.”

“Oh.” Emma starts to pull herself. She doesn’t feel dizzy, but the nausea is still there. “I think I’m fine now.”

The nurse cuts in, handing Emma a packet of crackers as she does so. “You’re anemic, sweetheart. Go home. Get some sleep. Eat some food. Stay hydrated. And eat those crackers before you leave.”

Emma does as she’s told without complaint. The crackers help a little. As she eats, the nurse suggests buying supplements to help with the anemia, particularly some iron. Emma thanks her and downs the bottle of water that Audrey hands her.

When she’s finished, Audrey says, “I’ll take you home.”

“What about my car?”

“We’ll get it tomorrow.”

Emma wants to argue, but she can’t say what’s on her mind with the nurse here. Instead, she nods and thanks the nurse for her help. They leave with their things and head out a side door to the parking lot. Audrey keeps walking, but Emma stops at the sidewalk, fingernails biting into her palm.

“Audrey,” she says, calm and slow, because she doesn’t want to fight.

Audrey turns. “Hm?”

“I…” She needs to voice her thoughts as inoffensively as she can. “If you’re doing this because you feel bad for me…”

“It’s not that,” Audrey says, blunt but not mean.

Emma looks at Audrey for a long moment, tries to read her expression and fails. She’s frowning and her eyes are strangely despondent, but there’s tension in her shoulders. She seems angry and sad at once.

Emma says, “Okay,” and gets in the car.

It’s a quick ride to the house. Emma fidgets, thinking how to thank Audrey for the help, except Audrey turns off the car and gets out. Confused, Emma follows, and somehow they both wind up inside.

The house is quiet except for their guarded heartbeats. Audrey sinks onto the couch, head down, forearms on her knees. Emma waits by the door, nervous. It’s been weeks since she’d come to terms with where they were at. If they never were to speak again, she’d somehow accept it. It hurt, but time would heal her. And now she could barely catch her breath.

Audrey sits up and her eyes fall on Emma. Pierce through her.

“Are you okay?”

Emma clears her throat. “Yeah. I feel a lot better. Thank you for driving me home.”

Audrey nods and doesn’t say anything. She looks contemplative. She’s chewing on her lip as she thinks and Emma almost laughs. It’s one of Audrey’s habits, and it’s been so long since she’s seen it. It’s a relief to witness it again.

“I want to talk,” Audrey says, “But honestly, Emma, you’re really pale. And you look like you’re going to faint again. Maybe you should rest.”

“I want to talk, too,” Emma argues.

“We can talk after you lie down.”

Emma doesn’t want to agree. She wants to know what Audrey’s thinking. She wants to express her regret and gratitude and whatever else there is to say.

“Do you promise?”

“Yeah. I promise.”

At sunset, the tickle of beige-orange light falls across the room through white lace curtains. The room smells familiar and unfamiliar. Like her lavender scented candle. Like pine needles and fresh air. She breathes in the scent, and no - it’s not unfamiliar. It’s just something she hasn’t smelled in a long time.

Slowly, Emma comes to. She blinks away sleep, taking her time. The unease in her stomach has completely left. She feels at peace in a way she hasn’t in months.

She sees why when she comes to. Beside her on the bed, lying on her side and facing Emma, is Audrey. She gives Emma a faulty smile.

“I promised, didn’t I?”

Emma tries to smile back, but she can’t exactly manage it. “Is my mom home?”

“Not yet. I called her, though. She’ll buy some medicine on the way home.”

“Thanks.”

And in the small pause it takes Audrey to say something, Emma can’t help the tremble of her lips. She’s scared she’ll cry, terrified of letting Audrey see, so she presses half her face into the pillow and clutches at the sheets. Her hair falls over her exposed cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Audrey,” she whispers.

Audrey pushes back Emma’s hair so she can see her face. “Emma,” she says, dragging it out, sounding more pained than before.

“I didn’t mean any of it.”

“I know. I know, Emma. Please don’t cry.”

Emma sniffs. She hadn’t realized she was crying. “What?” she asks, a little mumbled. She hopes Audrey understands what she’s asking: What do you mean ‘I know’?

“Gina and I broke up.”

This time, Emma comes out from the pillow as she repeats her question. “What? Why?”

Audrey doesn’t answer right away. Emma pushes her own hair out of her face and sits up onto her elbow. Deep in thought, it takes Audrey a long time to reply.

“Gina told me everything.”

“Oh,” Emma says. “Like… everything?”

“Yeah. But there are some things I still don’t understand.”

Emma swallows. She isn’t prepared for this. She doesn’t want Audrey to see the sick side of her, the ugly side that rang with understanding at Gina’s words. And she especially doesn’t want to know Audrey’s real feelings about this.

“Okay,” she says slowly.

“I saw you the other night,” Audrey starts, lost in the memory of it. “Talking to Gina. And I confronted Gina because it looked like you were both upset. At first, she deflected, but I honor honesty in a relationship.” Her eyes flicker to Emma’s. Emma looks away. “I kept asking her until she answered. She told me about that Saturday night in November. She told me what she said to you. And some things started making sense, kind of. I mean, I know she has deep trust issues, and that she’s had trouble with my friendship with you, so the fact that would do this wasn’t too shocking. It hurt, of course. It’s a fucked up thing to do. But some part of me accepted it."

Audrey swallows before she adds, “What I can’t understand, though, is why you believed her.”

“She,” Emma starts, but already she’s faltering, all her beliefs crashing around her. “I don’t understand,” she admits.

“God, Emma, how could you have that kind of conversation with her and not talk to me about it? You just believed her. Without having any faith in me.”

“That’s not true! I didn’t believe her at first.”

“She was manipulating you. How could you not see that?”

“Because!” Emma says, eyebrows pinched together. “Because the more she spoke, the more it made sense. And the more I agreed with her.”

“Emma,” Audrey scoffs, looking at her like she can’t believe what she’s hearing.

“Audrey, she was right. I’m dependent on you. Maybe even obsessed. I don’t feel good unless you’re beside me. I sleep better when I’m with you. I don’t like it when we’re separated. That’s not right. How’re you supposed to have a partner if I’m always clinging to you? She was right to feel threatened. And, well, if I’d somehow become a problem in your relationship, I could see how I’d be a burden to you. Why would it be so hard to believe?”

“I am always honest with you,” Audrey argues. “I haven’t lied to you since, since Piper - so I just can’t see why you would think I’m keeping something so awful a secret.”

“I don’t know. You didn’t want to hurt my feelings?”

“You’re a big girl, Emma. If I had any ill thought towards you, which I don’t, I would talk with you about it.”

“Maybe it didn’t matter what you felt at the time. Maybe someone like Gina, who’s an outsider, was able to see our relationship without bias, and she realized it wasn’t healthy before we did.”

“What exactly isn’t healthy about us, Emma? Loving each other? Being close to one another? Enjoying each other’s company? How is that wrong?”

Emma can’t shake the argument, though. “She said you were unhappy with me in your life. I didn’t want you to be sad, Audrey.”

Audrey tucks Emma’s hair behind her ears on both sides. “Come on. How could I be unhappy with you by my side? I was miserable without you in my life.” There’s a pause as Emma, nearly defeated, stares down. Audrey keeps her hands on her cheeks and forces her gaze back up. “Do you remember Halloween?”

Emma’s laugh is humorless. “How could I forget?”

“That whole weekend, Gina said she didn’t like how close we were. I tried to make her understand. Our friendship isn’t really like anyone else's, I get that. But even though I understood Gina’s jealousy, I couldn’t just stop being friends with you because of it. I would never do that. After the police got there, I told Gina that I’d never cheat on her, but you were one of the most important parts of my life.”

“Oh.” Emma pauses. “Have I already apologized?”

Audrey laughs softly. “Yes. And now I’d like to.”

“Please don’t.”

“No. I’m sorry, Emma. I shouldn’t have accused you of caring what other people think. I shouldn’t have said you were ditching me again, and I shouldn’t have been so mean about it. I wish I had done it differently. I wish I had listened, and explained, and we wouldn’t have wasted months avoiding each other. But I was angry. God, I still am.” She shakes her head. “I’m so sick of people giving us their opinion about our relationship. It doesn’t concern them, so why do they need an explanation? Why were the last few months so pointless? Why didn’t I realize Gina had been lying to my face that whole time? Why didn’t I try to talk to you? It’s so stupid.”

Emma slides her arms under Audrey’s, pushing her hands up her back and pulling her in close. She rests her head on Audrey’s shoulder to hide her own frown. Audrey clutches her closer.

“I don’t want there to be any more misunderstandings between us,” Emma whispers.

Audrey’s tone matches, soft, the fight gone. “Me neither.”

“I don’t want to lie to you again.”

“Then don’t, Emma.”

It seems easy. It seems like the simplest thing in the world. But Emma is still lying. Lying to Audrey and herself. She feels ashamed, and eager, and she yearns. God, how she yearns. She’s desperate with it, and she hates it, and she has to do something about it now, or it will never come across, and they will continue to communicate in the wrong way. If Audrey doesn’t know this, then she will never know all of Emma.

She’s still whispering when she says, “There’s something else.”

“What is it?”

“It was hard for me. Seeing you with Gina.”

It is an impossible confession.

Her heart has stopped in her throat. She can’t breathe.

“Why?” Audrey asks, innocently confused.

Emma knows boys, but she does not know girls as much she’d like to. She pulls her head back from Audrey’s shoulder. Breathes in that fresh, lovely scent. Glances down at Audrey’s ripened lips.

It’s terrifying. Her skin is electric as she presses her mouth against Audrey’s. She presses hard and soft at once, a wave of contradictions. Their lips seem to fit together perfectly. It’s warm and welcoming in the moment, and then it’s over. Emma pulls back, just an inch. She’s breathing like she can relive the moment. Her eyes are still closed, savoring it, but when she feels Audrey tense, she opens them.

In front of her, Audrey’s eyes are wide. Shocked. Disgusted? Emma wonders.

Audrey’s arms are loose around Emma, so it’s easy for Emma to roll away and get up off the bed. She backs up a few feet to give Audrey space. Her shaking hand comes up to her gaping mouth, covering it with her fingertips as she replays what she’d just done in her head. She wants to rub her bottom lip with her thumb and lick it, but she knows that would be inappropriate.

“I - Audrey, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have…” She shakes her head, chastising herself for the terrible timing. “I won’t do it again, I swear.”

It takes a moment, but eventually Audrey blinks, turning her attention fully to Emma. Her expression turns from surprised to… something else. Something Emma’s never seen. It’s not the anger Emma expects, nor is it any type of passion. Audrey looks hesitant. Scared, almost.

Her movements are slow. She pushes herself up off the bed. Emma can feel the tension like a dark cloud, coiled tight around her throat.

“Can I really?” Audrey asks, low as a lullaby.

“What?”

“Can I really kiss you?”

“Oh,” Emma says, and everything she’s just thought goes in reverse. This isn’t what she expected. Or maybe it is. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t care. “Yeah. Yes, please.”

Audrey takes her time walking to Emma. When she’s close enough, her hand reaches up for Emma’s cheek, holding her there. Somehow they’ve backed up into the wall by the window. Although Audrey’s much shorter, it feels like she has all the power. Her eyes look black, deep and hungry. She pulls Emma to her mouth and kisses her, this time harder. Emma opens her mouth for her, invites her in, and shivers when she feels Audrey’s tongue meet hers. Behind her ear, she can feel Audrey’s nails digging into her skin, desperate in a way Emma understands. Emma grabs her waist and pulls, needing them closer than they were now. Audrey’s kissing her so hard she thinks her lips will bruise.

Everything in her short circuits when Audrey hikes up one of Emma’s legs, hand beneath her knee, and digs up closer into her. Audrey’s mouth moves to the corner of Emma’s lips, to her jaw, to her neck, working her as if she were an instrument ready to be played.

Emma leans her head back against the wall and closes her eyes. “Audrey,” she breathes.

“Yeah, Emma,” comes the reply between hot kisses, “I’ve got you.”

They’re still kissing against the wall when the front door creaks downstairs and slams shut.

“Emma?” her mom calls.

Audrey pulls back and Emma stares down at her. Into the silence, they burst into laughter, giggling at the ridiculousness of it. They finally let go of one another.

“I’m going to go tell her that you’re sleeping,” Audrey whispers.

Emma pats down Audrey’s hair, struck wild from Emma’s own hands, and smiles. “You look like a mess.”

“Whose fault is that?”

Emma’s smile turns into a wicked grin, and she leans down to steal one more kiss.

“Did you get your gown yet?”

“I got it this morning. You?”

Brooke shakes her head. “I was going to buy it today but Stavo and I were running late and I forgot my wallet.”

“Ohh,” Emma teases.

“Don’t look at me like that. We slept through the alarm.”

Emma laughs. “Just get it tomorrow. You have time.”

“Guys,” Noah interrupts, looking up from his notebook, which is filled with incoherent scribbles and random thoughts. “You know what I just realized?”

Brooke and Emma look at each other, eyebrows raising. It’s Brooke who says, “What, Noah?”

“We’re graduating.”

“Yeah,” Brooke says, dragging the word in confusion.

“Like. In less than a week.”

Emma laughs. “Is it just hitting you now? We’ve been talking about it constantly.”

“We’re going to be adults,” he continues to muse.

“Uh,” Brooke interrupts, “We’re all already 18.”

“No, like. On our own.”

“Are you scared?”

“No. Yes? Maybe.”

Brooke reaches over to squeeze his hand. “If there’s anyone who can survive the world, Noah, it’s us. You’ll be more than fine.”

“Okay, yeah. Right. No, you’re right.” Then another thought seems to dawn on him, and he frowns. “God, I need a date for the after party.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t want to be a fifth wheel all night.”

“Since when have you minded hanging out with all of us?” Emma says, amused.

Noah taps his pen against the paper. “This is different. This is the night of our graduation. The night we all go into the real world.”

Brooke smiles like she’s looking at a puppy. “You’re so cute.”

There’s no time for Noah to retort because Stavo and Audrey are coming back with their arms full of snacks. They’re animated, speaking vibrantly to one another as they come closer. It’s the same scene Emma’s seen a hundred times, but it’s different now. As Stavo slides onto the bench and kisses Brooke’s temple, Audrey sits so her thigh presses right into Emma’s. Emma takes the offered snack, always her favorite, and tries not to make a face when Audrey squeezes her thigh.

Audrey and Stavo both hand snacks to Noah and it’s enough to quiet his feverish thoughts, which always race fast at lunch. They slip back into conversation about graduation and the summer and all their plans to spend every last moment together. They’ll go to the beach and go on a boat and swim in the lake beneath the gold summer sun.

Next year, when Stavo and Brooke are in New York, they’ll come home once every two months to visit. For the new year, they’ll all go up to New York to celebrate in Times Square.

In therapy, Emma is asked, “Are you happy?”

The first few times she’s asked, she can’t answer. After making up with Audrey, she’d been so relieved and ecstatic, but the darkness of the past few months still lingered. She never received an apology from Gina, who manipulated and ostracized her. The nightmares still came sometimes, and she was often paranoid about Kieran’s killer. The days got easier, but the edges still blurred gray.

And yet. The more times Emma is asked, the easier her answer becomes. How can she not be satisfied when Audrey kisses the skin behind her ear and whispers that she loves her? How can she not be content when her friends and her mother are healthy and alive, brimming with life?

The days become something Emma never thought she’d have. Bright. Vivid. Gleaming with hope.

For the last two years, Emma has not had a future. As she sits there, dreaming about a cap and gown, with Audrey’s skin against hers, she can’t help but think yes - she is happy.