Second semester arrived on a gray, cold day in the middle of January. It was the complete opposite of the day my parents had first dropped me off at school. One thing remained the same though: me. I felt no different; Danny's ghost still hovered over my shoulder and his absence still weighed like a rock in my stomach, chaffing and indigestible. If anything, I needed him now more than ever, but he felt even farther away.

I couldn't help but think what it would be like if I had taken my parent's advice, if I had postponed going to school for a semester, a year. Would I feel any different now? Would I still feel trapped in a cage of memories I couldn't seem to break out of? Would I have started to get better, slowly, steadily, as I had done in the middle of the semester?

That was because of Tyler, whispered the voice in my head. I strangled it hard. If there was one thing I knew it was that I was no better off having met him. Now, I had Mia on my conscious as well as Danny for reasons I wasn't sure of.

Amber and I entered the semester much the same way we had the first. She may as well have been a ghost as well. We existed in the same space semi-transparent, just enough to notice, but not enough to bother.

The one thing that did change was I threw myself into school work the way I hadn't before. I worked all the time, read ahead in my textbooks, wrote essays early, and took copious and unnecessary notes. I avoided the library, choosing instead to study in the many unused lounges in various academic buildings across campus. It was unclear whether I was actually absorbing any of the information I was forcing into my brain, though my first few grades were significantly better than anything I had achieved first semester—something that had the added bonus of getting my parents to ease up.

Luckily, I no longer had Philosophy to look forward to on Tuesday and Thursday mornings.

"Something's different," said Amber the first night of March as I was poring over a marketing textbook.

"What?" I said, not really listening.

"You don't hang out with that Tyler guy anymore," she said. She was pinning up her hair, a few bobby pins wedged between her teeth, readying herself for another Friday night out. I had been studying nearly every Friday and Saturday thus far this semester and the nights I wasn't I made sure I was doing something off campus with Van or Kevin.

"I thought it was something else at first—but he hasn't been around and you've been—well I don't know what you've been."

"Why do you care?" I asked, looking up from the book.

Amber's eyes flashed. "I don't." She turned back to the mirror, sliding the last of the bobby pins into her glossy blonde hair that fell in a waterfall of curls over her right shoulder. One of the dozens of skimpy black dresses she owned clung to all the right places as she checked herself out.

"So why did you guys...break-up or whatever." Her gaze flickered to me in the glass.

I gritted my teeth as I dragged the highlighter over the sentence she had interrupted me on. Truthfully I had read it half a dozen times without really seeing any of the words.

"He lied."

There was a pause.

"What about?"

I sighed loudly and with as much exasperation as I could muster. "It's not really any of your business."

"Whatever," Amber said, shrugging on a leather jacket. "Whatever it was I hope it was worth it. Because you were weird before. Now—well now you're just sad." She took a swig from her flask, tucked it into her pocket and left.

It was well past midnight by the time I finally uncurled from my hunched position at the desk, feeling my back and hips protest my long immobile hours. My eyes itched with tiredness as I shut my laptop and closed the book with a thud. There was a knock at the door.

It was a little early for Amber to be back. I shuffled to the door, resigned to dealing with her drunken ass and nearly fell on my face when I saw Tyler.

He looked awful; his dress shirt was half untucked from the waistband of his jeans and his shoes were both untied as though he had carelessly shoved his feet into them as he walked out the door. His hair stuck up in the back while dark circles sank his blood-shot eyes deep into his face. Several days' worth of unchecked facial hair gave him a messy, tired look. The smell of alcohol was nearly over-powering.

'What do you want?" I asked coldly.

"You—you need to give me—a chance to explain," he said breathlessly, leaning against the door frame for support. He seemed to have trouble focusing on me.

"Are you drunk?" I asked. It occurred to me that I had never seen him anything less than put together. It was as though he was fraying at the seams, unraveling one thread at a time, and everything he had locked away all these years was leaking out.

"No—I mean yes, a little. But we need to talk—"

"I don't want to talk. I have nothing more to say." I pulled my zip-up tighter around me.

"I don't want things to end like this—because of something that happened four years ago."

I dug my nails into the wooden door. "This wasn't just something that happened. You didn't cheat on a test or shoplift from a convenience store. Your girlfriend killed herself—and you lied about it."

Tyler began to splutter protest. I waved them away, but I felt them stick to my fingers like gnats. "Or whatever it is you think you did or didn't do."

Tyler passed a hand over his face. Music thumped somewhere down the hall. "Dash—I'm sorry. I thought I had finally put all that behind me. Then you found out—before I could think of what to say—and...and I got mad. It was all coming back again. Then—then I thought maybe you could understand—because of everything—and I didn't want you to end up like me. 'Cuz no one was there and I was so messed up after Mia died..."

It took me a few extra seconds to decipher his rambling.

"You think I'm messed up?" I asked, dangerously quiet.

Tyler's face drained of what little color he had left. "No, no, that's not what—"

"Was I just a charity case to you? A pity project? Take the poor, messed-up alcoholic freshman under your wing, so you could feel better about—"

"No! Dash—I just meant that we're alike!"

"We are not alike!" I seethed, struggling to keep my voice in check. "Maybe I am messed up, but at least I'm dealing with it instead of making excuses!" My gaze suddenly zeroed in on the car keys dangling from his fingers. "Did you drive here like this?" I yelled, final losing all composure. A pair of girls walking by turned to stare at us.

"I—" Tyler look at his car keys as though they had magically appeared in his hands. The ruddy color that rose in his face answered my question.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I shouted, snatching the keys from him.

Tyler's mouth seemed to be full of words he couldn't spit out. "I—Dash... I wasn't thinking...you know I wouldn't..."

"Yeah and the drunk driver that killed Danny wasn't thinking that night either! Go home, Tyler. I'll leave these under your doormat in the morning."

"Dash—please..."

"I don't want to see you again." I slammed the door, nearly catching his fingers in the jamb. He leapt backwards and I caught a last fleeting glimpse of him nearly knocking over the two girls who still hadn't moved.

Everything in my sight was tinged red. My heart was racing so fast, it hurt. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and clutched Tyler's keys so tightly, the teeth bit into my skin.

Stomping over to my bed, I grabbed a bottle from my trunk, using the keys to rip open the label, and drank until I could see the bottom of the bottle, until my teeth were numb, until I could no longer see Tyler's face or hear his words in my head.

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