There was a pop and a hiss as I uncorked the second bottle of wine.

"I don't think that's going to solve the problem, hun," said Vanessa, watching me fill a glass to the brim.

"I think it'll solve the problem just fine."

Vanessa, sprawled on my bed, had taken on a rosy hue as though she were part of a dream; my subconscious trying to get my moral compass to point north once again.

"I don't think we need to add 'alcoholic' to your current list of ailments." She tugged the bottle out of my hand, but allowed me to keep the glass.

Music was playing in the background, but I couldn't understand the words. The chair beneath me swayed slightly, but whether I was drunk or the chair was merely unstable, I couldn't be sure. I liked being unsure. It meant that this might not be reality; that Danny might not be truly gone.

"I can't go back to that class," I slurred.

"I'm sure if you talked to your professor, he would understand. Especially since you are listed with the Office of Disability," said Vanessa gently.

I snorted into my glass.

"Some disability," I muttered.

The wine shuddered in my hand, leftover tremors, the liquid dipping and cresting like the Red Sea. I set the glass down.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Dash. You survived something horrible. Most people wouldn't be able to do what you are doing so soon after what happened."

My gaze slid over to the picture of me and Danny on the corner of my desk. It was taken the first day of our senior year, in the parking lot outside the school where the rest of our class had congregated in the morning. Our arms were slung over each other's shoulders. I had just barely registered the camera, giving the picture taker a surprised half-smile, while Danny was caught mid-laugh, still looking at me. I turned the picture face down.

"Maybe I shouldn't be doing it then," I said softly. "Maybe I should have taken more time, remembered Danny properly instead of running away."

"You're not running away. Danny wouldn't want you to dwell on him, you know that. He would want you here, at school, living your life. He's with you, Dash, even when you don't feel him."

"Whatever you say," I said, not meeting her gaze.

She sighed, and the bed creaked with her shift weight as she slid to the ground.

"Take a nap, sleep off the wine. Don't worry about your next class and try to relax, okay?"

A hand on my shoulder, a soft squeeze, and she was gone. I looked up; she had taken the bottle. Draining the last of my drink, I threw the glass into my trash can. It shattered against the bottom, the sound cracking my eardrums, tearing my skin. I hit the floor, hands covering my head, carpet protecting my eyes, body shaking from the impact.

"I knew you were odd, but this is a whole new level."

A pair of wedged sandals strode past my nose.

I lifted my head slowly to see Amber watching me from beside her bed. One perfectly plucked eyebrow was raised in disdain.

"I-um-the glass," I stuttered, slowly getting to my feet.

"Are you drunk? Before noon on the first day of classes? Huh, maybe we could get a long after all," laughed Amber. She tucked some books into her bag and waltzed out.

I stared down into my trash can where the shards of broken glass glittered iridescent from the light in the window. It was a dangerous beauty. I picked up the largest piece, turned it over slowly in my hands, feeling the serrated edge catch on my skin. Windshields were supposed to be made of safety glass. I threw it back into the trash where it shattered into even more pieces.

Several days later, I was back in Philosophy class, keeping my head down and not meeting anyone's eye. Bodies passed me, sitting down heavily behind desks while chatter flitted around my head in a soundless rush of white noise. I pretended to doodle absently on my notebook, cursing myself for already ruining my chances at a fresh start and regretting not going to a bigger school where I could disappear in lecture halls filled with hundreds of students. I felt the hot gaze of other students, probably wondering what kind of freak-out I would have today.

Someone sat in the seat next to me. Through my curtain of hair I could see their body angled towards me instead of the front of the class room. I refocused on making pointless spirals with my pen.

"Megan?" a male voice said, hesitantly. It was the same voice that had been haunting my most recent nightmares of car crashes and faceless doctors pumping opiates into my blood as I lay unconscious in a hospital bed, watching in ethereal form from above.

I pressed harder on the pen.

"Megan?" he said again.

He reached out to tap my shoulder so I was forced to look over. He was facing me, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. Those stormy eyes seemed sad and tired. Dark circles ringed his eyes as though he too hadn't slept well the last few days.

"I wanted to apologize for Monday's class. I never meant to upset you," he said softly.

My most recent nightmare ran through my mind and I opened my mouth to reply angrily, but stopped short of sound.

Breathing deeply I said, "Don't worry about it."

"The thing is I did-worry that is-all week. I don't know what I said, but I feel awful-"

"You couldn't have known," I interrupted. "I just over-reacted. It's nothing you need to concern yourself with. Thank you for the apology."

Before he could say anything more, the professor walked in and launched back into the discussion. I shrank back into my seat, closed off my senses, and drew in the margins of my notebook until the class had passed. I wasn't called on to share my thoughts.

When the lecture had ended and I was shoving my unopened books back into my bag, I sensed someone hovering near me. Turning around, I saw the same boy standing there watching me warily.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"About before-" he began.

"That again?" I said. "Listen, you can drop it. I'd rather not dwell on it any more than I already have."

"I wanted to make it up to you," he said. One side of his mouth crooked up in a half smile.

"There's nothing to make up," I said, shrugging and turning towards the door. He kept pace with me.

"Will you just indulge me?" he asked with a laugh.

I stopped in the doorway and turned to face him.

'What's your name?" I asked, a slight edge to my voice I couldn't control. His persistence was agitating, and I wasn't stable enough to deal with high levels of stress just yet. At least, that what my psychiatrist had told my parents when he recommended me taking a year off from school.

"Tyler, Tyler Ware."

Something in my subconscious pricked when he said his name as though it was a familiar sound or smell I had encountered before but couldn't place. I shook it off, not trusting my mind to recognize familiarities anymore.

I rubbed the back of my neck. My skin was hot beneath my fingers.

"Listen, Tyler, I'm sure you're a nice guy when you're not pushing people to their emotional breaking point-"

"On the contrary, most people would say I'm not a nice guy."

I raised an eyebrow.

He laughed, revealing blinding white teeth that no doubt had spent years locked in braces. "I'm kidding," he said. A nervous hand went through his hair when I didn't return the laugh. His dimples vanished as his smile faded. The sounds of students moving through the hallway had faded away, leaving an awkward silence between us.

"Right, well I accept your apology, but we can end it here. No hard feelings, all right." I stuck my hand out.

He looked at it in confusion before taking it awkwardly. His palm was rough beneath mine, warm. I dropped it quickly.

"See you around," I mumbled, turning to go.

"My friend's having a party at his apartment this Friday if you're interested in going," he called after me. "11 Baker Street in the Courts Complex."

I gave him a half-hearted smile over my shoulder and hurried down the stairs.