MY BREATHING IS shallow as I get ushered into a room, barely registering the sound of the nurse telling me to take a seat on the bed. I do as I'm told, hopping up onto the uncomfortable sheet of plastic, and tucking my hands beneath my thighs, my legs swinging impatiently as I wait for Dr. Meyer to materialize.

I hear approaching footsteps, before the man of the hour enters, clothed in a crisp white lab coat, his dark hair neat and slicked back. He closes the door behind him, and I watch his body language, trying to determine whether or not he looks uneasy.

He turns in my direction, giving me a bright smile, his eyes crinkling behind round frames, and my gaze is unflinching, my teeth clenched. "Good afternoon, Alina," he says, and the friendly tone of his voice only serves to anger me even more.

"Hello," I say, my voice cool as I fold my hands neatly in my lap.

Taking a seat on the swivel chair across from me, he peruses his clipboard, reading up my condition, as if he doesn't already know. My eyes are riveted to his movements, waiting for him to break, to crack just enough that I can gather some proof of what he did to me. While he attempts to make small talk, I discreetly lift my phone out of my pocket enough to start recording, before sliding it back inside.

"It's been a while since we've spoken." he says finally. "Are you adjusting to everything okay?"

"As well as I can."

"That's great to hear," he says warmly. He pauses, frowning at his clipboard. "Your mother was telling me you had some sort of... episode the other night. She mentioned her boyfriend was involved."

Pursing my lips together, I ward off images of the incident with Clark, trying not to think about it, not wanting to relive the memory of his grimy hands anywhere on my body. Repressing the truth makes it easier to lie anyway. "Um, yeah," I mumble, looking down at my hands, quickly trying to think up an alternate story. "I'm not sure what happened. I think I may have been hallucinating."

Dr. Meyer's dark eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and I scrutinize his expression, looking for any traces of fear or apprehension. "Is that so?"

"Clark came into the kitchen, I didn't hear him enter so it startled me," I say, staring distantly at a point on the wall in an attempt to look haunted, and the words fall from my lips increasingly easily. "One second, I was looking at him, and the next, I was staring at a dark figure. I could tell they wanted to hurt me."

"How could you tell?" he asks, and I can practically see his brain working in overdrive.

Shaking my head sadly, I force tears into my eyes. "I just knew," I tell him seriously, my voice still quiet. "And then in the next moment, I was back in my kitchen and the glass I had been holding was shattering to the floor."

He's silent for a few moments. "That's very interesting, Alina," he murmurs, and when he scribbles something on his clipboard, his hand shakes slightly. "Be sure to tell me if you have another one of these episodes."

"What do you think it means?"

Setting his clipboard on the counter behind him, he sighs, folding his hands over his stomach. "You've gone through a lot of trauma," he tells me, his voice mildly condescending, the way it was when I first came to in this same hospital, and it irritates me, just like it did back then. "Trauma can do all kinds of things to the brain. It can make things seem real when they aren't."

I bite the inside of my cheek. He's trying to gaslight me.

"Speaking of that," he says, his voice careful. "You haven't had any indications that your memory is returning?"

Narrowing my eyes and looking up at the ceiling, I pretend to consider. "Hm," I hum thoughtfully. "None so far."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he remarks, and I have to give him props for the amount of sympathy he injects into his tone as he writes more notes down on his clipboard. "Don't lose hope, just keep doing what you're doing."

I nod, pressing my lips together in a close-lipped smile. "I will," I tell him, before pausing again, biting my lip, then blurting, "I have one more question."

The wary look on his face instantly returns, but he gives me a weak smile. "Of course," he tells me.

"I was here a little while ago," I begin, my tone light and unassuming. "I asked to see you, and I was told you weren't here that day. But then when I went out into the parking lot, I saw your car. I was just wondering why they told me you weren't here if you were."

I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. He stares at me for several moments, his gaze not too far off from a glare. "I'm not sure what you're trying to imply, Alina," he says finally, his voice significantly darker than before. "I was likely on break."

Shooting him a sharp smile, I lift my hands in mock-surrender, swallowing. "I'm not trying to imply anything," I lie, trying to sound as friendly as possible. "I was just curious."

"Well," he says, standing up from his stool, clipboard in hand, "curiosity will only get you so far before it becomes dangerous."

A sense of dread settles on my shoulders, and I wonder if I've just ruined everything. Judging by his expression, I've overstepped the boundary, but it's too late to take back my words. My mouth dries slightly, and I open my mouth to say something to make me sound less accusatory, but he beats me to the punch.

"It was lovely to see you, Alina," he tells me, nodding as he places a hand on the door. "I look forward to our next visit."

He vacates the room, leaving me behind, and I can only hope I haven't just sealed my demise.

✘✘✘

Sofia is sitting dormant in the car when I make my way back to the parking lot.

My fingers tremble as they latch around the door handle, and I get in the car quickly, wanting to get as far away from the hospital as possible. She pulls out of the parking space, and back onto the main road, and I watch the hospital disappear out of the side mirror. The smaller it gets, the easier I'm able to breathe, but I still feel unnerved by my conversation with the doctor.

"How did it go?" Sofia finally asks, and I blink in her direction.

Giving her a close-lipped smile, I nod once. "Fine," I say.

She hums in approval as she rolls up to a stop light, though I get the feeling she's not actually listening to me. Feeling frustrated by her evasive behaviour and wanting to think about something other than my own problems, I cut to the chase. "Is everything alright?"

"Sorry," she mumbles, sniffling and avoiding my eyes. "I know I'm acting strange."

"You don't have to apologize for that," I tell her quietly.

She lets out a soft laugh. "No, maybe not," she admits. "But there is something else I need to apologize for."

My frown deepens as I glance at her, and she sniffs as she turns into our neighbourhood. She lifts a hand to wipe away another tear, seeming to be deciding what to say, and I wonder where this is all coming from.

"It's about Clark," she says, her voice low, and at the mention of the awful man, my heart plunges into my stomach.

I instantly have an indication of where this conversation is going to go, and I swallow the lump that forms in my throat.

"I saw his cellphone last night..." she trails off, needing to pause again. "He's been messaging underage girls."

The statement hangs in the air, filled with tension, and I shut my eyes, wishing it wasn't so easy to automatically believe.

When I look back at Sofia, I notice her bottom lip trembling. "I confronted him about it right away. He tried to deny it," she grounds out, shaking her head. "But it was no use. His intentions with them were quite obvious. And I started to think about Audrey," she stops again, her eyes darting to mine, "and you."

I bite my lip, my vision becoming increasingly blurry, with both sadness and frustration. Things could've been so different if Audrey's accusations were taken seriously, if I was actually listened to. We could've stopped it from happening to someone else.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers, not bothering to hide her tears anymore. "If I had just listened to Audrey in the first place, he would've been long out of our lives by now."

I watch her, my eyebrows furrowed, wanting more clarity. "Why didn't you?" I finally ask, my voice gentle.

She sighs heavily as she pulls into the driveway. She turns the key in the ignition, though neither of us make any moves to exit the car. "I didn't want to believe it," she says simply, before dragging a hand over her mouth. "I was a wreck when your father left. I never thought I'd find someone new." Her lips lift in a distant smile. "And then along came Clark. He said all the right things. I've never considered myself a woman in need of a man's validation, but having my husband trade me in for a younger model severely destroyed my self-esteem."

Pursing my lips, I remain silent, focusing my gaze on the house in front of us.

"I didn't want to believe the man I was infatuated with could be capable of something so horrible," she continues, lifting her shoulders is a miserable shrug. "But after what I witnessed, there's no denying it anymore. Both of you girls deserve an apology. My relationship endangered my daughters, the ones who are most important to me, the ones I'm supposed to protect." She stops, breathing in harshly. "I will never forgive myself for that."

Reaching up, I brush away a stray tear falling down my own cheek as I sniff, and she takes hold of my free hand, surprising me. "I love you, Allie. It may not always seem like it, but I do. I'm far from a perfect mother, I make a lot of mistakes. But I've definitely learned my lesson, and I won't be letting anyone like that near you girls again. And I will be pursuing legal action."

"Thank you," I murmur, giving her hand a squeeze before releasing it. "I'm sorry that this happened."

"Me too," she says, a wobbly smile on her red-stained lips. She takes a deep breath, brushing away the last of her tears. "Now, I need to go run some errands."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

Sofia is quick to shake her head. "No, no, that's fine. I need some time on my own, anyway." She pauses, and I nod sympathetically. "Please don't say anything to your sister yet. I'd like to tell her myself."

"Of course," I assure her, giving her a small smile.

We exchange parting words as I exit the car, shutting the door behind me, and I find myself feeling relieved, though Sofia is clearly devastated by this new development. My heart aches for her, and I wouldn't wish her experience on anyone. But in that short time in the vehicle, I felt more connected to her than I ever remember feeling.

Heading into the house, I kick off my shoes and slide out of my coat, hanging it up on the rack. The door to my room is open, and to my surprise, Audrey is sitting on my bed. A pile of laundry sits beside her, resting on top of my comforter, and she looks up when I enter, closing the door behind me.

"Hey," I greet, my voice doing little to mask my evident surprise. "Nice to see you awake. You must have a killer hangover, though."

She doesn't answer, and I meander to the bed, setting my stuff down. I slide my phone out of my pocket, checking the battery life, and deciding to plug it in. Audrey only speaks after the phone is hooked up to the charger, and when she does, her voice shakes.

"How could you?"

I freeze, not sure if I heard her correctly. Frowning, I turn around slowly, catching sight of the look on her face. Her expression is crestfallen, her dark eyes shiny with tears, and a bad feeling arises in my chest. It's only then that I notice the paper she's holding in her trembling hands.

With Parker's hoodie next to her on the bed.

My eyes widen. "Audrey..."

"You don't have to play innocent anymore, I know the truth," she says bitterly, crumpling the paper up into a ball and shoving it at my chest. I flinch from the harsh movement, my eyes widening as I fail to catch the object.

It falls to the floor, but she doesn't seem to care, glaring at me with her arms folded, and the malice on her face is shocking. I've never seen her look this angry before, and I've definitely never seen this sort of anger directed at me. "That was in the pocket of his fucking sweater," she spits. "I was wondering why you even had it in the first place, but it all makes sense now."

Feeling my pulse quicken considerably, I stare at her for a few moments. Crouching down, I pluck it from the floor, opening it back up, and it crinkles as I do so. Her accusatory gaze feels like physical contact as I scan over the words on the page, swallowing. It's a letter, addressed to me.

My stomach sinks to the bottom of my toes, and I begin to feel light-headed.

Allie, the letter begins, and I bite the inside of my lip, I'm writing this from the waiting room. I don't know what's going to happen next, but I want you to know that I'm in love with you. And that I'm sorry. I don't expect you to feel the same way anymore, just know that I'm here for you, no matter what. And maybe someday—

I stop abruptly, not wanting to read any further, my knees threatening to buckle under the weight of my guilt. My head is reeling, my stomach sick. He must've stuck it into the pocket before lending me his hoodie at the hospital. Bringing my eyes up from the letter, I look up at the girl in front of me, my eyebrows tipping upward, my face pleading.

"I'm sorry," I begin, my voice breaking.

"How long exactly were you going to keep lying to my face?" she asks bluntly. "How long has this been going on for?"

I breathe in shakily, my nose stinging with oncoming tears. "I—"

"I feel like such an idiot," she cuts me off, throwing her hands up in defeat and laughing without humor. "You've been pretending to be the supportive sister, pretending to care about me, when you were keeping this secret the whole time."

"I wasn't pretending," I whisper honestly, but she rolls her eyes.

"Save it, Allie," she orders, angling her body away from me, her posture rigid. "I can't even fucking believe you."

I begin to cry, shaking my head, and I'm lost for words, knowing nothing I say will rectify the situation in the slightest. It's already done, and she knows the truth, there's nothing I can do about it. "Please let me explain," I choke out, struggling to speak through my tears.

She whirls around to face me again, tears streaming down her own face. "I don't know why I thought it would be a good idea to give you a second chance," she grounds out, both her voice and her eyes harsh. "You've never been trustworthy. It's in your nature to screw people over. How foolish of me to think you losing your memory would change that."

Flinching as though I've been slapped, I shake my head, trying to defend to myself. "You don't understand—"

"I told you to spare me," she snaps.

I swallow the rest of my words, hearing the clear warning in her tone, knowing it's best to follow her orders right now. I'm the last person she wants to try to reason with her, and I don't blame her. Her eyes fall to crumpled paper in my hands, and she laughs bitterly again, shaking her head.

When her gaze returns to my face, her eyes are cold, and it's a stark contrast to the way she looked at me last night, holding my hand and thanking me for being a good sister, warm from the alcohol in her system. "I hope you're happy," she tells me. "You two deserve each other. You're both pieces of shit."

With that, Audrey brushes past me, exiting the room and slamming the door shut behind her.

For a moment, I remain in place, still shell-shocked, and frozen. And then I angrily tear up the letter in my hands, letting the fragments flutter to the ground, knowing I've just lost one of the few people I truly cared about. But the thing that stings the most is knowing how much I deserve it.