I grab my bag and hurry down the stairs, thankful that no one's there. Penny left a while ago in her car. I'm sure she left earlier so she could avoid seeing me which shatters my heart past the point of return. It's my fault though. All of this is my fault.

I don't have time to grab any food so, instead, I slip my shoes on and rush out of the door. There was a part of me that hoped her car would still be parked in front of the house, hoping that she had forgiven me. Now, looking at the empty driveway, I'm reminded that will never happen.

I proceed to walk to school, clutching the straps of my backpack and gritting my teeth as the wind picks up.

I've had all weekend to wallow in self-pity, thinking of every excuse under the sun as to why this isn't my fault. None of them is true. At the end of the day, it's my fault. I'm the only one to blame. I have to accept that. I'm walking alone to school right now instead of sitting in the passenger seat next to Penny. It's my fault everyone avoided me like the plague this weekend. I feel like an outsider, exactly like I did when I first arrived in Portland.

I've also had time to think about who could have sent that photograph. There were a few people that came to mind, but I realised it would be a waste of time to try to figure it out. The truth was bound to come out at some point all they did was speed up the process. I was living in a fantasy world hoping that what I had with Archer would last forever but knowing that it wouldn't.

At first, I thought that whoever released the photograph did the hard part for me. I dreaded the day when I would have to come clean to Penny and Brody. It played on my mind most nights and filled me with guilt. I was stupid to think that would be the hardest part.

In reality, the hardest part is suffering from the consequences. Having your best friend turn the volume up on the TV if she noticed you coming down the stairs or having your best friend leave a room when you enter is gut-wrenching. I thought I had hit rock bottom when Archer was avoiding me. I was wrong, this is worse.

A droplet of rain lands on the tip of my nose causing me to groan inwardly. I tilt my head, noticing the dark clouds swarming above me. I wipe it off with the back of my sleeve but realise this is pointless when more fall. Pursing my lips, I continue walking.

My clothes grow heavier as I walk, and my hair grows darker. I keep my eyes plastered to the pavement. Strangely, I'm not as irritated by the rain as I once was. I don't mind getting soaked on my way to school anymore. Once you're living a nightmare already these things become unimportant.

When I finally make it to school, I'm fifteen minutes late. The corridors are empty. It brings me back to Friday night and the argument with Archer. I shake the thought out of my head and drag my feet into class.

I slump into my seat, keeping my eyes glued to my desk when I feel everyone's piercing gazes on me. First, I was exposed in front of them all and now I'm humiliated. Great. I'll never live this down.

"You're late." The teacher states. I shiver involuntarily. I'm not sure whether it's from the prying eyes, the sternness in her voice, or the fact that I'm currently soaked. It's probably a combination of them all. "You know what that means."

I sigh deeply, peeling the wet strands of hair off of my face. "I know, I know," I mutter, already drained. I've barely been awake an hour.

"I'll see you after school for detention."

*

I shuffle out of class, my eyelids drooping. My backpack is lazily strung over one of my shoulders and my hands are resting at my sides. Do you know when you stay up all night and have to function the next day? This feels like that, only I didn't stay up all night.

Luckily, my clothes are drier than they were when I first arrived, and my hair's no longer dripping down my back. I'm positive it looks like a birds nesting in it, but I don't care. I don't really care about anything anymore. I've been wearing the same thing for the past three days. I didn't even put on perfume this morning. I probably smell like the inside of a preschooler's lunchbox if it was left in the sun for a month.

I push the door open to the library, praying that Brody and Penny aren't here. Before I was glad that we had some of the same free periods, now I couldn't be more disappointed. It raises my chances of running into them.

My eyes scan the room and, of course, they're sitting on our usual table with books scattered in front of them. The chair that I used to sit on now has Penny's bag resting on it. I should have known they would be in here. We always came in here to talk because the cafeteria was too loud. If you can deal with the glares from students, the library's actually a good place to socialise.

I stifle a laugh at myself. It used to be a good place to spend time with my friends and now look at me, I'm traipsing in alone resembling what can only be described as a trash can. I hold my books close to my chest, dipping my head in the hopes that they won't notice me.

I turn my head slightly, peaking in their direction when I'm almost out of sight, only to see them whispering to each other and laughing. I tell myself that they aren't talking about me but I'm not so sure. I'd understand if they were.

I duck behind one of the shelves that are stacked with books and pretend that everything in my life isn't going wrong. I find myself staring at the spines of the books blankly. This is how it'll be from now on. I'll be spending my time avoiding them at school and staring at books that I don't care to read.

"Hello." A voice whispers into my ear causing me to stumble back.

My eyes latch onto the culprit. I groan inwardly. "Don't scare me like that." I huff in frustration.

"I've been standing here for the last twenty seconds," Levi tells me with a roll of his eyes. Is becoming less observant a symptom of your life crumbling around you?

"What do you want?" I ask, boredom evident in my tone. I pick up one of the books and start flicking through the pages, pretending to be scanning its contents. Hopefully, he'll see that I'm not in the mood to talk and leave me alone.

"I wanted to see how you were doing."

I laugh but stop once I remember where I am. "Like you care if I'm okay or not." I sneer. The harshness behind my voice shocks me. Is this what I truly am? Is this who I've become?

He raises his eyebrows as if he's shocked by my words too. I know better than to believe him. "Am I not allowed to check up on my friend every once in a while?"

I close my eyes and imagine that I'm somewhere else but when I open them, I'm still staring at the same black hair, the same cheeky grin, and the same piercing on his eyebrow. "First of all, we're not friends and second of all, get on with it already. I'm trying to read this," I flip the book in my hands to see what I'm holding. "This Mary Berry autobiography." I cringe at myself.

"Well," he starts, leaning onto the bookshelf and crossing one leg over the other. "If you insist."

Anxiety creeps into my chest. It tightens as I wait for him to reveal what he's here for. Is he here to inflict another lethal blow to my heart or laugh at the scraps of myself that I'm desperately trying to hold together?

"I wanted to apologise."

I close the book abruptly, a crease forming between my eyebrows. "Apologise for what?"

"I knew what Archer was like all along and I didn't warn you. I think I owe you an apology for that."

I open the book again, landing on a page with her photograph on. I see what he's trying to do. He's trying to get me on his side when I'm vulnerable. I won't let it work. I look at him briefly through my lashes. "I don't need your sympathy."

"This isn't sympathy, it's empathy. I understand what you're going through."

I recoil at his words. He has no idea what I'm going through. How dare he try to act as he understands. I don't see him lingering around the quietest parts of school, praying that no one mentions how much of a bad person he is.

"How could you possibly have any idea what I'm going through?" I question.

"I can see how angry you are from a mile away," he states like it's obvious. "Let me guess, you want revenge on Archer?"

I tilt my head slightly, confused as to why he thinks I want revenge. "Why would I want that?" I voice my thoughts.

He takes the book from my hands and places it back on the shelf. Our gazes lock. "Because he's the one who released the photograph."