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It’s not fair. These memory fragments are interrupting any progress my brain is attempting to make. Anger and grief battle for the mantle that numbness is currently wearing. I should want to scream and punch the window and cry into my pillow.

I just want to shower.

I crawl into my robe and head into the bathroom, then stand under scalding hot water, hoping it’ll wake me from this overwhelming nothingness so I can think. So I can try to understand how I let myself get played so easily. I close my eyes, my breaths short and shaky despite how little I’m feeling.

I’m huddled with Aaron under the warm showerhead, letting him run his soapy hands down my shoulder blades.

I jam my index finger back into my mouth, letting the salty taste of blood center me. The realization of this situation slowly roots into my chest. With every pump of my heart, I feel pain coursing through my limbs, like Logan’s words are a physical poison sapping my strength away. I sink onto the floor of the tub, hugging my arms, the water’s warmth trickling away.

I shouldn’t be surprised that Aaron asked me out because he wanted to use me like a toy in his revenge plot. That he decided to take this secret to his grave—the fact that our relationship was built on a lie. Aaron was always crafty, cunning, selfish. I knew this but agreed to his ploy, hoping I could exchange my time for the safety of Logan’s future.

All the while, Logan knew Aaron would try to break me. And said nothing.

“Protective,” I breathe, watching blood soak into the grooves of my palm. “He knew you were protective of me…”

Logan and I aren’t particularly close. We never have been, aside from a few late-night conversations when we were younger about how Mom and Dad always seemed too busy for us. We’re quiet and keep to ourselves, occasionally hanging out when we’re bored, constantly passing through each other’s radius with a nod. Just because we’re not best friends doesn’t mean I don’t love him. I’ve always looked up to him for the simple fact that he’s my older brother. I’ve gone to him for advice, for help with homework, for reassurance. He’s always been stoic but there for me nonetheless.

I knew we both struggled to win our parents’ attention when we were younger, but I didn’t know he felt invisible, all because my health issues forced them to look my way. I didn’t know he was capable of using someone’s struggles to his advantage for the thrill of rebellion and half-assed scoldings from our parents. I didn’t know he was the type to put himself before others.

Protective. In what world?

I smear my eyes against my knees, shivering under the assault of icy cold water. I can’t find the strength to get up. I hate them. Aaron for not telling me the truth—for planning on never telling me. And Logan for everything else.

It’s no wonder they despise each other. They each held the other’s dirty rotten truth. All the subject changes, guilty eye flitting, dismissive words…it makes sense. They were keeping me ignorant to hold up their image. So Aaron could play the perfect boyfriend to feel better about wanting to hurt someone as miserable as me. So Logan could continue pretending he cares about me.

I don’t answer the tentative knock on my door that night.

I don’t answer the tapping on my window, either.

The next few days pass in a numbing blur. I must be getting things done, because nobody’s following up with me.

The less I want to know, the more I remember.

The memories sliding into place aren’t just with Aaron anymore. I’m awkwardly pitching my case to the history club in the hopes of inviting a local museum curator to the school to host a presentation. I’m throwing axes with my family and trying to navigate out of a Roaring ’20s escape room for my eighteenth birthday while they wander around, clueless but happy that I’m happy. I’m kicking my legs under a desk with inappropriate excitement as a bored student gives a presentation on the Battle of Peleliu for our “forgotten moments of history” assignment.

I’m sitting under low lighting at the kitchen table, telling my parents I’ve decided to live my last couple of months of school, and summer break, for myself. That I’m moving in with Aaron for a while, but I would be back.

Logan keeps trying to intercept me, but there’s nothing he can say that I want to hear.

And Aaron. Aaron.

He’s clearly not the same person he was when he devised his plot to lure me in and then break my heart. The issue is that I’m not sure what to believe about his love. The reason he treats me so well and adjusts his lifestyle for me…

Is it love or disguised pity?

If it’s the latter, he might not even realize. What if my concerns are valid and he realizes I’m right—that everything he’s done has been out of a sense of guilt he’s mistaken for devotion?

A conversation would clear this up. The thought of talking to him, though, constricts my throat. I’m not doing well. I don’t realize it until I faint while vacuuming the living room.

When I open my eyes, I’m lying in bed with pillows propped under my legs, a bag of gluten-free potato chips and an energy drink on my bedside table. The world pulses around me, and a warm summer breeze from the open window grazes my face. Mom brushes my hair while Logan nervously adjusts my ankles to ensure they’re elevated.

“Deep breaths, honey,” Mom says tearfully. “Did you take your supplements? Did you forget to eat?”

I can’t remember. Fainting tends to be a build of multiple things, so it might be both.

“You have to take care of yourself,” Mom says, leaning me upright against my headboard.

I must respond, because she’s satisfied enough to walk away. Leaving Logan hovering over me, shuffling his feet, unable to make eye contact. “Can we talk?” he asks.