My dad came to pick me up from the station not long after. When they managed to get in contact with him, he was already at the airport, boarding a flight over to Phoenix. At first, I was ashamed. Ashamed that he had to see me like this, broken and scarred. The officers gave me some fresh clothes seen as mine were covered in vomit. But there's only so much they can do. The ugliness on the inside is here to stay.

He burst through the doors, demanding to see his daughter. And when he finally saw me, he cradled me in his arms and promised me that everything was going to be okay. That he was here now. For the first time since that day, I believed his promise. Because it truly did feel a little better in his arms.

We didn't leave Phoenix right away. Instead, we went to the little café that my mother used to love. We sat at her favorite table, in the corner near the window, and watched as the traffic passed by. We didn't say anything. We didn't need to. Just being there, drinking our hot cocoa, was enough.

When we did finally make it to the airport that night, it felt like the right thing to do.

"Which do you fancy, Chinese or Italian?" He asks, holding up two takeout menus.

I pull the blanket up to my chest and spread my legs out across the sofa. "Do you even have to ask?"

"Italian it is then." He chuckles.

Instead of waiting for it to be delivered, he goes to pick it up. Apparently, it'll be quicker that way. We won't have to wait for the delivery guy to drop everyone's food off before ours. So, I wait for him on the sofa, watching a film on the TV.

Eventually, I turn it off and just sit in silence. Letting the memories of my mother wash over me. I remember her bubbles of laughter when we dived into the sea during winter break. As soon as I broke the surface I clambered back to shore with chattering teeth. But she stayed, floating in the water until I gave in and joined her again. I remember her gasp of disbelief when my dad said he didn't feel like watching The Notebook on Thanksgiving. It was a tradition we'd held for years, and she wasn't going to let him ruin that. She locked her arms around him, tickling him until he gave in. Unsurprisingly, he was the one who cried the most when it ended. I remember the way her hair shined in the summer when we'd sunbathe together in the garden after school. She'd lather me in sunscreen, telling me I'd thank her later when I protested. Despite the sticky feeling of my skin, we had fun. We always did.

My hands wipe my cheeks, coming away wet with tears. But this time they're happy tears. Brought on by the joy of our memories together.

"Will you grab the garlic dough balls?" My dad asks when he gets back. "I must have left them in the car."

When I open the door to go outside, he's stood there. Hands in his pockets. Blonde curls flailing in the wind. The sight of him sucks all the air out of me. And before he can say anything, I shut the door in his face.

Only his foot is blocking it from closing.

"I just want to talk," Tyler says from the other side of the door.

My heart burns at the sound of his voice. It feels like a raging fire is scorching my veins, slowly turning me to ash. That voice. The same voice I came to need daily. It sounds the same and yet it's entirely different. I knew it could make me feel happy, safe, wanted. But I never considered it could make me feel hurt. So hurt that looking at the person it belongs to makes me want to cover my eyes and run into the darkness.

But I know I need to talk to him. Or else he's just going to keep trying. And I can't handle that. So, I step outside and close the door behind me.

"Scarlett," he breathes a sigh of relief, and a wave of nausea hits me.

Silently, I march up the lawn until we're at the road, far enough away from the house that my dad won't hear us. My hand still wants to reach out and touch him, let him give me the comfort I desperately need.

I won't let myself rely on him anymore.

"Scarlett, I- " He stumbles on his words. There are tears in his eyes. I can see that he's trying to hold them back. Trying to be strong. My heart aches at the sight but I ignore it.

"No." I push my hands into my hair, "you don't get to talk. Not anymore. You had your chance, and you chose to lie to me."

My lip quivers and I suck it between my teeth.

"I know and I'm sorry- "

Somehow hearing him acknowledge it only makes it worse.

"Don't." I step back when he tries to reach out to me. "You lied to me. You made me think you were a good person when this entire time you killed a man! How could you?"

He shakes his head over and over again. "No, it's not like that. I would never do anything to purposely hurt you, you know that."

A laugh bubbles in my chest. "I don't know anything about you anymore."

He releases a shaky breath. Sits on the floor. Holds his head in his hands. All the while, I stand there. Watching him. Looking at the boy I thought I knew. I thought I could trust him. When I told him what happened to my mother in the lighthouse, it was because he made me feel safe. Like I could tell him anything. And all this time he was hiding his own deadly secret.

"We've all got our scars." His voice cracks into his hands.

I shrug blankly. "Some of them are easier to look past than others."

He tilts his head towards me. His eyes are bloodshot, his cheeks flushed with despair. Before I knew the truth, I would have held him in my arms until the sadness washed away like sand on the shore. Part of me still wants to do that after everything.

Instead, I leave him there.

"Scar, please," he begs.

"Don't fucking call me that!" I snap, almost on instinct. My mother was the only one who called me that. That's something we had. Just us. I won't let Tyler taint that.

"You promised me you'd come to me," he says, stopping me in my tracks.

A stray tear rolls down my cheek. "Sometimes promises aren't enough."

With that, I step inside and shut the door behind me. Turn the key. Locking him out of my life forever. If only it could be that simple to lock my feelings out there too.