In just over eight hours after Olivia told me Tyler was capable of murdering someone. That he was capable of lying to me, ripping my heart out, and pretending to be someone he's not, I'm home. In Phoenix. Where I'm supposed to be.

Seabrook Island was a mistake. A huge mistake that I was led to by force, not of my own accord. My dad forced me to leave home. Leave everything my mother ever loved. Forced me to move to Seabrook Island which ultimately led me to meet Tyler.

The biggest mistake of them all.

I should have known. I should have seen through the good guy façade he shoved on whenever I was around. It was too good to be true. He was too good to be true. I practically threw my trust at him without a second thought. Not even considering the consequences that would fall onto me, crushing me under their weight.

The pain isn't just emotional. It's physical. Every muscle in my body aches with the knowledge of what I've lost. What I never had in the first place but fooled myself into thinking I did. If I could, I'd rip my heart out and discard it on the floor. Maybe then the gnawing emptiness in my chest would go away.

But that's not possible, so I turned to the only other option I could think of. Alcohol.

I let the pain lead me into frat party central, also known as the house at the end of my street. The music pounds in my ears, overpowering all the deadly thoughts racing around my mind. The heavy smell of vodka, too much cologne, and sweat would usually make me nauseous. Instead, I feel nothing.

Parties have never been my scene. But they are tonight.

Numbly, I shove my way through the mounds of people. Some of them give me weird looks as they take in my outfit before forgetting seconds later, but I don't care. I didn't get changed after work. I went straight to the airport.

And now I head straight for the crate filled with ice and the only thing that can give me a break from this living hell.

A boy, probably a couple of years older than me, grabs my arm, slurring something incomprehensible. "Fuck off," I snap. He recoils at my aggression and lets me go, wiping his grimy hands on his jeans. He whispers something to his friend, but I'm already gone.

I launch my hand into the freezing water, securing what I need. After too long of fiddling with the can opener, the alcohol finally pours down my throat. It's an unfamiliar burn that I savor.

The empty can drops to my feet. There's already another one in my hand when I walk away.

On my way outside, I bump into a blonde girl. Some of my beer spills onto the floor and I pout at it. A rage builds within me. The urge to snap at the girl for wasting my free beer bubbles inside me.

"Scarlett, what are you doing here?" Emily's familiar, scratchy voice rings in my ears.

When I look at her. At her green eyes, her full lips, and the scar through her right eyebrow that she got when we were younger, I can't find the will in me to care. "Alcohol." I lift my can into the air and take another long swig of it. The faster it makes me forget the better.

"I thought you were in Seaweed Island," she says. That's when I notice the group of unfamiliar faces around her, all looking at me with furrowed brows. She hasn't told them about me. I should be surprised, but I'm not.

"It's Seabrook Island," I correct, shocked by the irritation in my voice. More alcohol slips down my throat. Clearly, it's not kicked in yet. "Do I need an excuse to see my friend?"

Emily stays silent, eyeing her new friends carefully.

"That reminds me, how come you never called? I haven't had enough alcohol yet to forget you said you'd call me after we last talked." I turn to my replacements with raised brows. "Do you know? You think you know someone until one of you gets dragged to another state. Your friend here didn't call me once." I turn to her now, spitting the words, "not one time."

"Scarlett, let's talk about this tomorrow when you're." She turns to her friends with a stifled laugh, "sober."

"Why?" I shout. Heads turn to us, but I couldn't care less. The blush crawling onto Emily's cheeks tells me she does. "So, your new friends don't find out how fake you are? Don't worry, my dearest friend, I wouldn't do that to you. You'll do it yourself."

"Scarlett," she warns.

"Why don't we tell everyone why you didn't call, hey? Because you were too busy fucking your little boyfriend to care about anyone else other than yourself. Or was it always that way? Was I too oblivious to see that the only person you ever truly cared about was." I poke my finger into her chest, "you."

In a split second, she raises her hand and slaps me across the cheek. Instinctively, mine comes up to cradle the stinging skin. Tears prick my eyes as I look at Emily with wide eyes.

"What's up? You can give it, but you can't take it? Well too bad. You don't belong here anymore, Scarlett. You never did," she spits.

Her words hit me, each one more powerful than the next.

"Leave. Nobody wants you here anyway."

With her cold gaze trained upon me- no glimpse of the person I thought I knew- I turn around. And run. Her laughter plagues me until I burst out of the house. The tears fall freely now. I squeeze the empty can between my fingers and discard it on the sidewalk.

My feet lead me to the only place I know.

Home.

It's only a few houses down from the party. Even then, it takes me half an hour to reach it. With every step, my heart lurches out of my throat. Luckily, as I got closer, the alcohol I chugged started to kick in. The liquid confidence coursing through my veins is enough to get me there without collapsing on the sidewalk.

It looks the same.

The wrap-around porch is still painted white. Although, the moss that was coating it only months ago is gone, replaced with a fresh coat. The flowerpot that I shattered is still hanging beside the door, but this time it's holding fresh yellow fuchsias. The one's my mother planted before that day had withered before we left. There's still a chip in the third step to the door from when I tried to ride my bike down them.

I stumble up the lawn towards one of the windows looking into the kitchen. The curtains are drawn, blocking me from seeing inside. Tears prick at my eyes as I step back, only now noticing that all the curtains are drawn.

I need to see inside.

Part of me knows that it's the wrong thing to do. As Emily told me, the house was sold. But Emily lies. She's been lying to me our entire lives, pretending to be my friend. Pretending to care about me. A sob wracks through me but I swallow it down.

I'm not going to cry over her anymore. She wouldn't do the same for me.

The other part of me is hopeful. Hopeful that Emily was lying, that this house is still ours. There's no car parked outside, no new furniture on the porch. All the curtains are tightly drawn. As if no one lives here. As if it's waiting for us to come back home.

I don't know if it's the alcohol poisoning my mind or the next thought that strikes me, but something pushes me to take the rock sitting next to me. Launch it into the air with all my strength. And send it crashing into the kitchen window.

What if my mom's inside, waiting for us to come home?

But as the glass shatters onto the dirt beneath my feet, so do I.