Even at six years old, Hailee knew better.

And it was clear from the look on her face that she didn't believe me, but instead of saying so, she simply allowed her eyes to wander about the room. Her sight traveled over its peeling wallpaper, scuffed wooden flooring, and disheveled bedding. In silence, she took in the discarded clothing-my only stamp on this space- before her eyes shifted to dust-covered trophies and framed photos.

It was then that her little face seemed to crumple, her eyes glistening. For, I knew that there was always one photo that captured her attention more than any other.

Feeling as if I needed to distract her, I tapped into what little compassion I had left. "You didn't have to make sure that I was up."

My feet were soundless as I eased my way back inside. I lowered the window frame to block out the sound of the dead before I joked, "You're the kid. Sleeping in is kind of a rite of passage."

She seemed to linger at the edge of the entrance, as did my Aunt, for this room held memories no one wanted to relive. She grimaced even with sadness clinging to her features. "Have you met my mom?"

"Too true." I smirked. Aunt Carly was a little anal-retentive. The world's end only made her need to control what was manageable more extreme. "Are you ready for school?"

My lame attempt at diversion failed, for Hailee's eyes had returned to that photo.

"Hailee?"

She bit her lip while her fingers absentmindedly began to score the surface of the dresser with her nail before she blurted out, "How can you stand to stay in this room?"

"Nothing bad happened here." I grunted. "And it's not like I can return to mine."

If anything, the living room should've been avoided. After all, it was there on the couch that Shawn passed away. Or perhaps the front lawn, where protectors used a bullet to put down Uncle Thomas.

She froze, those chestnut colored lenses swiftly swinging back to me before she whispered, "He's everywhere in here."

Shaking my head at my Aunt's influence, I stated, "No, he's in your memories. These are just objects."

Her small chin trembled as her pigtails fell forward, that nail still busy scratching. Then she swallowed with difficulty. "She won't talk about him... about them."

Walking to the shelf, I picked up the frame before I wiped away a layer of dirt. Beneath it, my older cousin beamed up towards the camera, his grin wide, innocent. Shawn's brown eyes appeared amused, that stupid basketball hugged at his side. "It's hard for her to let go."

It was hard for everyone to let go.

"Is that why everything looks the same?" her small voice questioned.

"Guess so." I placed the photo back in its exact position, feeling like an interloper yet again. It felt like I was rooming with a ghost at times; like I was sleeping inside someone's memorial. I turned back to glance at her downturned face. "You know, you can talk about them with me, right?"

"I know." That finger continued its scrapping against wood before she tentatively asked, "Do you miss them?"

Instantly, I knew from the slight hesitation in her voice that we were no longer talking about her brother and father.

But how did one answer that question?

Do I tell the truth about how every murdered family member and friend fills me with overwhelming rage? Do I mention how my mental glitch's fabrication of their existence only makes the hole inside my soul expand?

No.

Sinking atop the mattress, I lied before I could stop myself. "Sometimes, I wish I had a room I could go to and remember."

In truth, I thought the constant reminder would be just as painful as my mind's illusions, but I couldn't tell her that.

"Hailee!" My Aunt's shrill voice seeped through the floorboards causing my cousin's eyes to round before she hurried toward the door.

"Better finish getting ready," she called out over her shoulder before she disappeared down the hallway.

Rising to follow her lead, I froze at the room's sudden shift.

"Stop it."

I took a step forward, yet the floorboards seemed to waver beneath my feet. Immediately, my arms went out to steady myself; however, the ground wouldn't stop shaking. Gripping chucks of my brown tresses, my eyes closed tightly to halt the inevitable. But Inside, I could already feel my mind's spiral. And with its unravel, I knew the irrepressible creation of thoughts and images would begin.

Oh god, it's coming.

The rousing of the drug's influence felt like a wave of dizziness making its uneasy course through my body. Hastily, my quivering arms moved to hug my stomach, to soothe the rumble of nausea; nevertheless, no amount of effort could calm the turbulence within my mind.

Sometimes, it happened so swiftly that I couldn't tell the difference between what was real and what was imaginary. But then, there were moments like these...

My eyes opened just in time to witness the blur and darkening of the room's edges like the overdevelopment of a photograph. Portions of my surroundings slowly dissolved, and with it, came this intense burning in the center of my skull that made my brain feel as it was being ripped apart at the seams.

With blurred vision, I watched as Shawn's faded blue wallpaper melted away until a yellow tint began to peek through.

No...

I shook my head to clear away this sight, but the movement only caused a shooting pain to erupt behind my eyes.

Oh god. I recognized that paint color as well as the pictures that began to appear along the bedroom's walls.

No, I can't go back there.

Beads of sweat coated my skin; its salty texture mixing with my pathetic tears, as the dizziness increased.

Stop it!

Suddenly, the room spun in a whirlwind of memories as old wooden floorboards transformed into that familiar tan carpeting. Shawn's sunken mattress grew fainter until a wooden sleigh bed stood in its place. The dresser's brown, scratched exterior chipped away until black marble replaced its surface; framed photos of me and Camille resting atop it.

Shakily, my boots sunk into plush flooring as I staggered toward the mirror tacked against the forever changing walls. Abruptly, it too, amended into a strangely recognizable full-length version of itself. As the rest of the room distorted into the reconstruction of an inescapable memory, my broken green eyes gazed at the mirror's reflection.

There, I could barely identify the ashen, clammy creature gaping back at me.

Shoving stringy, sweaty strands away from my face, I stilled just as my past self came into view behind me...

Cramming books into a bookbag, my movements were hurried as I moved about my messy room. I paused long enough to pull my long hair up into a ponytail, my midriff showing as my 'don't kill the messenger' tee rose. Somewhat pleased with the result, I rushed to shrug my leather jacket onto my shoulders.

"You know, you could always stay home."

I froze before my reflection.

"Mom?"

Turning in the direction of my past, my hands automatically rose to my heart. Its beat had increased to the point that catching my breath had become an impossible feat. For what was nausea in comparison to the gulf of pain that had suddenly enveloped me at the sound of her voice?

"Oh, you'd just love that, wouldn't you?" My past self joked as I struggled to clasp the cross necklace around my neck. "If I miss any more school I won't graduate."

Mom moved, the scent of lilacs filling the room. Her hands fastened the necklace for me before she paused to look deeply into my eyes.

Cautiously, I moved closer. Because even if it was just for a fleeting moment, I needed to replace the memory of my mother's face with what it used to be rather than what became of it.

Such worry lied in her hazel gaze, dark rings surrounding their slightly slanted shape. It was a sign of fatigue that she just couldn't shake.

"Mom?"

A tear escaped its collection along the rim of my eyelashes as I gobbled up the tousled sight of glossy black hair, the slope of her nose; its hue a sun-kissed tan. I memorized the rounded curve of her brow, the bow of her lips...

Her fingers moved a wayward strand behind my ear, her golden bracelet swaying around her slender wrist. "There are more important things than school."

My younger identity smirked before moving to grab the iPhone off its charger. "I'm sure that's your overprotective instincts speaking and not your parental concern for my education. I'm going to be fine."

Mom collapsed onto my bed, her hands automatically moving to fold my discarded shirts.

I rolled my eyes. "What will you do once I've moved into my dorm in the fall?"

Amusement smothered her anxiety for a moment. "Fold your laundry when you return home for breaks."

My younger self grinned before snatching the house keys from the dish atop one of the shelves of my bookcase. "Well, as long as you've got your entertainment planned."

"Seriously, Alyssa," she stated as she watched me slip on my boots. "The school will not count the absence against you. What's one more day? You've only just started keeping your food down again. Besides, most of your classmates are out with the same symptoms."

"Mom it was a fever, a stupid virus. The fact that it's hitting the area should lessen your worry, not increase it."

She mimicked my eye roll. "Smart ass, I am aware of this. I'm more worried about your possible relapse."

Another tear dripped down my face, its appearance a visual weakness. Because when have useless tears done anything to stop what humanity unleashed upon us?

I flopped down beside her, my lips allowing a sigh to escape. "What's really wrong? Is it Aunt Carly? I know you spoke with her last night."

Inside, I knew what her real worry was because it was mine too. Only, neither of us could muster the strength to voice it.

Mom's eyes fell to the black tank bunched within her hands before she admitted, "Shawn's not getting any better."

Even now, I could see how desperately I clung to my gullible pretense. My fists clenched at my sides because it was this desperation that kept me in the dark to reality. It made me chase mundane things rather than spending what little time we had left together.

Denial was apparent in the flash of fear that entered my eyes before it was masked. However, the truth could be found in the tightening around my mouth, and the shakiness of the smile that was forced upon my lips.

"Mom, he'll be fine. Look at me. I got better, didn't I?" I attempted to reassure. "In a matter of weeks, we'll be barbequing in Uncle Thomas' backyard and listening to Shawn tell those awful jokes about his UC professors."

I wanted to believe my own lies. I needed to.

Her hand moved to grip mine before she squeezed it slightly. "I'm sure you're right. Is Camille picking you up?"

My legs moved quickly to avoid her astute eyes, and with trembling fingers, I grasped the perfume container off my vanity. "Actually, I was going to ask Dad to drop me off on his way to the office."

"Is she still sick? Camille caught the bug before you did."

I placed the bottle down gently, my eyes traveling to our framed photos. "She's just going to take a few more days off."

"Well, maybe I should call her mom. Check and see if Shelia needs-"

"Actually, her mom isn't feeling well either," I was forced to admit. "Neither is Brian."

"Oh, god," Mom responded, her voice no higher than a whisper. "Well, that's even more of a reason for me to-"

"Stop worrying about every little thing," I finished for her. Our eyes met and held in the vanity's reflection. "Maybe you should think about catching a few hours of sleep yourself. How are you feeling?"

She gazed at me intently for second before she replied, "Honestly? A little annoyed. You know, it's not your job to carry the weight of the world. You don't have to be strong all the time, Alyssa. Its human to worry, to cry."

Flashbacks of how thin Camille looked the last time I saw her, of how weak she sounded on the phone hit me. And I remember that I had this fear that if I started crying, I'd never stop.

So, turning to Mom with that signature grin upon my lips, I did what I did best. I deflected. "Wise words from a fortune cookie?"

"Sarcastic words from a teenager?" she countered.

Groaning, I argued, "Mom, its school not Nam."

Watching her hands sweep over such weary features, I knew that surrender was near. "Make sure Dad picks you up too."

I paused during my mental victory dance. "Why?"

"Alyssa, you won the battle, concede the war. Besides, I'm going to need your help with-"

"Hey buddy," I said loudly to warn Mom of my little brother's presence in the doorway. I crouched down to his level while trying so hard to keep that smile upon my face. "What are you doing up this early?"

"I go to school too?" that small voice croaked as his batman pajama-clad body slowly limped toward me, a dirty stuffed Olaf cuddled at his side.

Frankie had lost most of the use of his left leg recently, but never had it been more apparent than when I witnessed his struggle to drag it behind him. At four, he appeared malnourished no matter how much food Mom attempted to feed him. And the hospital visits... they were nothing more than hours wasted in a room full of skeletons nursing the same complaints.

Because nothing they told us ever worked.

"Hey, Sinatra. You're supposed to be sleeping." Tapping the fedora that was basically glued to his head, I openly laughed when the hat seemed to gobble up the top half of his face before I straightened it. "You can't get well enough to go to school without rest."

How could my past self ignore how the small movement seemed to remove strands of his sandy brown hair? How could I disregard how his eyes couldn't seem to focus on my face for very long, or how taxing it was for him to hold up his stuffed toy?

Gutted at the sight, I collapsed to my knees at Frankie's side.

God, how could I sound so stupidly optimistic while watching him waste away?

He held up a DVD that we all could recite by heart. With his front tooth missing, he begged, "I thought you said we'd watch Frozen together?"

I brushed his pale cheek while trying not to compare its gaunt appearance to how chubby it used to be; to ignore the soft sounds of Mom's sobs behind us. "I know, and we will as soon as I get home."

"No, Alyssa. Watch it with him now!" I pleaded as my former self straightened before hoisting the bookbag higher. "Don't leave Mom crying. Don't leave Frankie waiting."

But unable to change memories, my younger self simply kissed Frankie's cheek and hugged Mom before she walked to the door. Back then, my goal was to escape. I wanted to run from everything I was too scared to face.

"Don't forget to stay hydrated," my mother's hoarse voice warned.

From my room's entrance, I watched Frankie climb onto her lap before I lifted my death wish from the compartment on the side of my bag. Twisting off the cap of the water bottle, I took a long swig before I smiled back at her.

"See Mom, everything is fine," I foolishly assured.

And just like that, the drug's effect lifted...

The dizziness faded, and yet the sadness, the anger remained.

In a traumatized daze, I watched past surroundings fade like wind brushing away sand. Faded blue walls returned, dust-covered shelves reappeared... while I remained kneeling stationary against dirty floorboards staring at where my family used to be.

Another futile tear hit the back of my palm, my lips, for once, uttering the ugly truth rather than empty words. "No... everything is fucked."

.....................................................................................................

Author's note:

So, this is a new chapter that I am testing out to see if I want to keep this beginning. If I do not like the response to this chapter, I may change the beginning of my story back to its original start. I added this chapter to show more of her mental state, to show what she lost, and to show how much she has changed.

Thanks for reading!