Amber continued to refuse involving the police no matter how many approaches I tried to take to convince her. Outwardly, she seemed fine; she went to class, dressed the same, kept to her regular schedule and occasionally made off-hand bitchy remarks, though they were noticeably less pointed. She even offered me some of the brownies her mom had mailed to her.

But I watched with cautious eyes, afraid that her façade was just that, and that sooner or later it would crumble. I didn't know much about the aftermath of sexual assault other than what I had half-listened to in high school health class. The only thing I did know was that as much as I wanted to report the incident, I was bound in silence if Amber did not want to.

Tyler had chased the guy half-way across campus before losing him and returning breathless, sweaty, and apologetic. Amber had thanked him for helping and quietly asked him not to say anything as he was on his way out. After he had left, I asked if she needed anything else. She had just shaken her head in a resigned sort of way and went to shower before bed. But I heard her check the lock on the door three times that night.

When I recounted the attack to Vanessa the following Wednesday afternoon, she backed Amber's decision, much to my dismay.

"How can you say that?" I exclaimed, taking the mug of tea she offered me and folding my legs beneath me on her faded blue couch.

"From what you told me, her past experience has taught her that even if she does report it, he will still get away with it. She probably doesn't want to have to go through all of the legal stuff only to be hurt and disappointed again," said Vanessa, sitting down next to me with her own mug in hand.

She was dressed in worn-through sweats, hair up in a messy bun, and her nose was dry and red from the cold she was trying to beat. But like the good friend she was, she had let me in and offered to make me tea after I nearly beat down her apartment door.

"But this time could be different. And it could help other people he has or might hurt," I argued. I took a sip of tea infused with exotic herbs and berries. It was supposed to be relaxing, but I was too agitated to for it to soothe any of my nerves.

"I'm not necessarily saying I agree with her decision, but that's just it. It's her decision. She may just need time to process it and then maybe she'll report it. Or maybe she won't. But, think about if it was you, how hard it must be to point that finger at someone and wonder if they'll call you a liar. And no matter how hard police try to keep it confidential, things like that always have a way of getting out. I'm sure after the spotlight in high school she doesn't want that again," said Vanessa.

 She plucked a tissue from the box in her lap and dabbed at her running nose.

When I opened my mouth to argue again, she cut me off gently. "Dash, you stopped a terrible thing from happening, but it's no longer your call. The best thing you can do it support her in whatever she decides to do, and make sure she doesn't blame herself."

I looked down at my drink; it was a dark purple laced with white spirals of steam. "I guess you're right." The scene from that night replayed yet again in my mind, and a hand went to my right side where a bruise as dark as my tea lay hidden under my shirt from being elbowed off the bed.

It was hard not to get angry, to wish I had at least gotten to inflict more damage on the guy. I flexed my fingers around my mug, remembering the feeling of locking them together so I could yank him backwards by his throat, the brief period of sickening weightlessness as we fell backwards off the bed. My heart picked up its pace at the memory and I took another sip of tea to calm it; I didn't like the withdrawal that came with the aftermath of adrenaline.

There was nothing I could do about that night now anyway. It had happened.

"I don't know if she'd be up for it, but Kevin's having a party next weekend, a smaller one. Why don't you invite her? That way at least she has a couple of people looking out for her," suggested Vanessa.

"Yeah, maybe I'll do that," I replied, mulling it all over.

*****************************************************

Tyler shared my sentiment about wanting to report the assault but agreed with Vanessa. "She'll do whatever she thinks is best for herself," he had said when I told him about my conversation with Vanessa. I had grudgingly agreed.

But it was hard to know what to do. Amber and I weren't close; we had borderline loathed each other from the minute we had moved in, so I wasn't sure how to approach her in general much less about something like this. But when I voiced the suggestion of coming with me to Van's party, she surprisingly agreed.

Parents' Weekend was also fast-approaching and the thought gave me more anxiety than relief. Though my mom had been tip-toeing around the subject of me seeing a counselor (after I had lied convincingly enough that I was in fact talking with one) she would undoubtedly ask me how my sessions were going when she came to visit. Moreover, I felt guilty about her constant, undisguised hints that I didn't call often enough, and so I began to make a mental list of positive things I could feed her to ease her worry and safely land the mom-helicopter.

The day they were set to arrive dawned bright, flooded with chilly fall sunshine. I woke up still-tired from staying up late to finish laundry and clean my side of the room, which largely consisted of me throwing every wayward object into my closet or under my bed. Amber was just getting out of bed when I walked back into the room from showering.

"Are your parents coming today?" I asked.

She yawned and rubbed her eyes, ramming glasses she only wore in the mornings onto her nose so she could see me. "Yeah, they'll be here around lunch time."

"That's nice," I replied politely, going over to my closet to pick out clothes for today. Our conversations were easier, mainly due the fact that they actually existed now, but they still tended to be awkward.

"And yours?" she asked, raking a brush through her hair.

"They'll be here around the same time. We're going to the football game." I hopped around on one foot, trying to shimmy my skinny jeans up while still holding my towel around my upper body. We might be on a friendlier basis, but I wasn't about to strip naked with her still in the room. I nearly went head-first into my desk but recovered at the last minute.

"I think we're just going out to eat. Football isn't really my thing," Amber said with a shrug. "Anyway, I'm going to the gym. See you later." She swiped her phone and headphones off her bureau and headed out the door.

I gratefully dropped my damp towel and finished buttoning up my blue-plaid shirt, braiding back my still-wet hair. Glancing at my alarm clock, I realized I had too little time to start any more work and too much time to walk across campus. Instead, I paced my room restlessly, trying to remember the topics and details I had deemed safe and family-friendly enough to tell my mom. The picture of Danny on my wall caught my eye and I was seized by a sudden, brief desire to take it down.

Though I still wasn't sleeping well, it had been five nights since I had woken up from a nightmare, which was coming achingly close to breaking my record of one week. The near constant pressure in my chest was nearly gone—and I would do anything to keep it that way. If it meant taking down the picture so I wouldn't be reminded of his death every night before I fell asleep, could I do that? Could I remove him completely from my life?

I pulled myself up onto my bed so I was kneeling in front of the picture. I studied Danny's face, the way the light caught nearly invisible freckles on his cheeks and illuminated each out of place brown hair curled around his ears. His eyes, the color of faded jeans, were alive with laughter and even a small amount of cockiness—you couldn't have done the things he did without some. The angle his arm was slung over my shoulders showed off the definition in his biceps and neck.

It was a picture of vibrant youth—a never-ending adolescence that would never have the chance to gather more freckles like he gathered scars, to decide whether his hair should be long or short, to have that cockiness mold into wisdom, to trade-off of losing muscle tone in favor of a long life.

I curled my fingertips around the edge of the picture, applying just enough pressure that the tape holding it to the wall crinkled in protest as it was pulled away. Danny's eyes caught me again and I flinched as a flashback from the night he died crashed into me nearly as hard as the truck that hit us. He had been giving me that same look from the driver's seat of the car only a few minutes before the rusted red pickup smashed into us.

I slumped backwards, breathing hard, and slid off my bed, leaving the picture where it was. Grabbing my phone and my brown leather jacket, I quickly left the room.

_______________________________________________________________

So, do you agree with Vanessa? What about Danny's picture, will Dash end up taking it down?

Let me know your thoughts, predictions, likes, dislikes, and anything that comes to mind! I'm always interested to hear what you think or what I could improve upon. As always thanks for reading! And if you liked what you read, hit the nice little star button :)