December 3

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I make it home somehow, dripping wet because I didn't bother carrying an umbrella, being absolutely unaware of the forecast and oblivious of the world outside my head. My body feels drained and head heavy, the last ounce of energy I have leaving my body as soon as I enter the house and see mom in the kitchen. I stop.

Dressed in her old nightgown, her hair flowing messily down her shoulders and stopping halfway, she's standing next to the island with a glass between her palms. I see her staring unseeingly at the drink, her eyes red and puffy but her face dry. Even from the distance, I can tell she's drinking again.

I want to scream.

Blowing out a shaky breath, I drop my school bag at the entrance of the kitchen and walk over to her. I take the drink from between her hands and she finally looks up, blinking when she sees me. She was clearly lost in thought and didn't notice me walk in.

"You're home," she mumbles.

I don't answer, walking around her to the sink and dumping the contents of the glass into the drain before dropping the glass loudly into the basin. By the time I turn around, Mom has dropped her head into her hands and is standing with her back to me.

"Where's Dad?" I ask Mom, my tone even.

She sniffles, crying. I'm tired of her crying. I'm tired of her drinking. I'm tired of Dad's absence and Shane's somersaults. I'm tired of being there for everyone and wishing someone was here for me. I'm just so tired of everything.

And maybe that's just how Carter felt before he killed himself.

Carter.

Carter Carter Carter.

All my thoughts go back to him. All my memories involve him. All my pain begins and ends with Carter.

CARTER!

"Mom!" I snap. "Where's Dad?"

She lifts her head and looks back at me, her wet eyes sad. I don't care how sad she is or why she's sad in the first place. I'm tired of seeing sadness. When was the last time the people around me were happy? When was the last time I was genuinely happy?

"I don't know," she mumbles.

A scream rips out of my throat and I grimace my face to hold myself back from setting the entire house on fire. I want to break everything that comes in my way. I want to destroy.

I want to destroy everything including myself.

Unable to hold on any longer, I drop to the ground. Mom gasps, hurrying over. I push her away.

"Where's Dad?" I demand from her.

"Taylor --"

"Just stop!" I cry out. "Stop it! Stop talking to me like you're my mom. Just a minute ago you were crying and drinking like that's all that will help. Stop acting so ... pathetic."

Mom doesn't answer but does pull back. On her knees beside me, Mom retrieves her touch, staring at her own hands.

I sniff, taking a few shaky breaths to calm myself. Closing my eyes, I run my hands through my hair and straighten up.

"Mom, I just need to see Dad," I tell her. "Please, I just need my father and my mother and ... I need anyone!"

My eyes sting but I blink back the tears and sit up.

"Mom?" I plead.

"Your dad lost his job," she mumbles, not looking up at me. "That's why he wants to go home. He says he can't handle this anymore."

Mom looks up and sniffles, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"I'm thinking of ... I'm thinking I should sell this house."

"What?" I breathe.

"Your dad's leaving," she explains. "You'll leave too, soon. This house is too big for me and it ..." She gazes around the kitchen. "It haunts me."

"It's not the house that haunts us," I admit, my voice small. "It's Carter's memories."

"Exactly," Mom croaks.

"So we're going to run?" I ask Mom. "We're just going to keep running?"

Mom closes her eyes and drops her head. I allow my body to slump, leaning back against the kitchen counter and staring into the distance.

"We need help, Mom," I say weakly. "We're falling apart. All of us."

She doesn't answer, watching me with tear-filled eyes. Close up, I see how old she appears to seem now. There are circles under her eyes and her temples are beginning to turn silver. It takes me back to the white hair I had noticed in my own mirror image last month but ignored. All this stress and fighting are taking a toll on us and it's not good for any of us.

"Remember when we talked about family therapy," I remind Mom.

She nods.

"Maybe we can try that," I suggest.

"You want to?"

I nod. "We need to. You, me, and Dad."

Mom nods, pursing her lips and frowning. "I'll talk to your father when he comes home."

"No." I shake my head, lowering my gaze. "I want to talk to him. I want to ... to fix this, Mom."

She nods, not reaching out to touch me. I wish she would. I wish she would reach out and pull me into her arms. She just sits there, though, closed off and unapproachable.

Maybe that's how I seem to her too.

Maybe if I reach out instead, maybe if I make the first move, maybe if I bow and let her win today ...

Before I can come to a conclusion, however, Mom is getting to her feet. She turns away, leaving me on the kitchen floor, and heads for her room.

I sit on the cold marble for a long time, dripping wet and heavy-hearted, before getting up at last. Every bone in my body aches but I don't want to give in to the urge to sleep yet. In my room, I quickly change and dry my hair with a clean towel before heading back down the stairs. I sit on the living room couch and start waiting.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I ignore it, curling my hands around my knees and waiting for dad. I vow to myself that I won't get up from here until I've spoken to my dad. Hour after hour pass by and I don't move from my spot on the couch, lying down when I can't sit anymore. I fall asleep for a few hours and wake up when Mom tells me to eat something. I tell her I'm not hungry -- I lie -- and drift back into a fitful sleep.

Carter haunts my dreams.

The next morning dawns with me on the couch and mom brings me breakfast, telling me I have to get to school.

"I'm not going anywhere until I talk to Dad," I tell her.

She doesn't argue, handing me a mug of coffee and telling me I need to eat.

I need my family.

My phone keeps vibrating after every few minutes and finally stops around noon. I assume it died due to low battery but don't bother to check. If it's my friends, they'll know I'm just busy and will get back to them. If it's anyone else ... it can't be anyone else.

"Taylor, you're burning up," someone says close by.

I open my eyes and see the blurry figure of mom hovering over me. Her cool hand vanishes from my forehead and she hands me a glass of water and a small pill. I shake my head at the pill, taking the water and drinking it. I didn't realize how thirsty I was until she noticed.

"He might not come back," Mom says, sitting next to me.

I don't answer. Even though she's probably talking about my dad, I feel like she's talking about so many others. Carter is gone forever and will never come back. Shane is too far gone and I can't bring him back. If my dad is anything like them, he might also be gone for good.

As if to prove us wrong, the sound of the door unlocking reaches us. I shoot up straighter and mom gets to her feet. We both hold our breaths, waiting for the newcomer to make his appearance. Dad finally appears around the corner and freezes, his coat in one hand hanging at his side. His eyes shift from Mom to me and I watch him swallow back whatever fear he has.

"Dad," I'm the first one to speak, "I wanted to talk to you."

Awkwardly, I gesture toward the couch. He hesitates, looking at Mom who bows her head and makes an attempt to leave.

"You too, Mom," I say.

My parents look at each other before complying. Dad slowly crosses the living room, leaving his coat on the sofa and sitting down next to it so that he's on the other couch but facing me. Mom sits too, on my right but leaving space between us.

I take a deep breath through my nose and stiffen my shoulders.

"Dad, I ..." I begin, licking my lower lip. "I'm sorry."

He blinks, confusion flashing across his face. It feels so long since I have seen my father like this. The past few occasions have been anything but pleasant and I wish I could go back and erase them. If anything, I have so many things I wish I could undo.

"I'm sorry I've been so insufferable," I say. "I'm been rude and disrespectful and ... all in all, a terrible daughter."

Lips slightly parted, my dad stares at me. I don't know what he was expecting when I told him I wanted to talk to him. Maybe he expected me to yell at him again, tell him how bad of a father he is. If anything, he clearly didn't expect me to apologize.

I lower my gaze and wind my fingers together in my lap.

"I've hurt you a lot but ... I've been hurting too." I look up to meet his sad eyes. "I miss Carter, dad. I know you do too but ... I wished you could see how it hurts me. I miss my twin brother and I miss my parents. There are ... there are so many unfulfilled wishes that make me so bitter and so angry and ..."

I sniffle, realizing only now that I'm crying. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand.

"I wish I could bring Carter back," I confess. "But I also wish he never existed so I wouldn't know the pain of losing him. I wish it hadn't been me who found him dead in his bed because that ... that image haunts me all the time. I wish I could go back and fix everything. But I also wish that you guys would see me."

Glancing at Mom who is silently crying, I lower my gaze again.

"I wished one of you would come to me and tell me you know I'm hurting," I go on. "I wished you'd see that I need you. I wished you'd hug me and tell me that 'it's okay that Carter is gone. As long as we have each other, we can make it'. I wished you'd do that. But ... I could have done it too, right? I could have made the first move. I could have come to you and said I'm sorry you lost your son but you still have a daughter."

Mom's sob rips through the silence left behind by my words. Squeezing my eyes shut, I fight my tears and fail.

"But I'm doing it now." I open my eyes. "I'm sorry, Dad. Mom. I'm sorry Carter left. I'm sorry I couldn't stop him. But I'm here. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to give up. Just please ..."

Dad wipes his face with the back of his hand, hiding his teary eyes from me. The trembling of his fingers, though, don't escape my notice.

"... please," I insist. "Don't give up on me."

I don't how it happens but a few moments later, dad's arms are around my shoulders and I'm sobbing into the front of his deep brown shirt. He smells of sweat and car oil, so familiar and so homey. He feels, however, like warmth and unconditional love.

This, combined with Mom's background crying, feels like everything I've been missing.

It feels like home.

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A/N: Sometimes, pain leads to healing. Even though what Shane said hurt her, Taylor converted that into the push to fix things. I personally think this is amazing because we let out pain hold us down. Instead of letting it become our wings, we let our pain become our anchor. It holds us down, pulls us deeper and deeper until we don't think we can get out.

Lots of updates today because I have some time and it's the weekend so I want to treat you all. Two more chapters, guys, and then maybe an epilogue. I'm not sure about that one yet but overall, I do have some questions to ask you in the last chapter. Hold on tight.