I thought about saying goodbye to my dad, but he's probably still sleeping...or in a drug coma, I don't know. I find myself slowly not caring about it either. It's like he doesn't care that I exist or that Mother ever did. It's like he was never happy. He must not have loved Mom the way I love Enzo.

Enzo drives us to his spot with the radio on low. I lean my head against the window and try to identify how I feel. Lonely? No, Enzo is with me. Maren's always been there for me. And Makai is my brother. Empty? Not quite. I still have a purpose here, and that's to bring down the killer with my friends and to make them pay for what they've done. Guilty? A bit. This all seems connected to me somehow, but why the giant emphasis on Freddie? Was he somehow involved, or does the killer want to expose my tarnished character? Tarnished. Is that it? I haven't changed completely, but I do feel like I'veeroded. A month ago, I wouldn't be woken up with the nightmare of killing my friends, only to soothe the panic with coffee alcohol. I also wouldn't have killed a man or fell in love with a psychopath. Not to mention, my mom would still be alive and my dad would actually be a dad.

 But then again, I wouldn't have known Makai was my brother. I wouldn't have met Enzo. More importantly, I wouldn't have been able to grow and discover who I am. I'm not "Reyna who floats by people and shrugs at the world." Turns out, I'm "Reyna who can kick some ass and has a strong voice."

 If it wasn't for the killer, would I have been able to say the bold things I did to Mr and Mrs King? Would I have been able to look for a masked man in the church? Would I have even survived the church? Would I have found the courage to look for the clues about the killer when the hospital was on lockdown? 

Maybe I would have stayed silent forever. Maybe I would have always let myself be pushed around and shy and scared. 

But then again, maybe not. It's too late to know now. I'm already neck-deep down this path and at this point, there's no turning back. Too many friends and families have died because of the actions of a single person. That means all it takes is for a single person to bring them down. With my newfound confidence, who says it can't be me? Who says it won't be me? 

"Can I ask you something?" I question Enzo, who leans his head on his hand, which rests against the door.

"Fire away," he approves.

"I don't see you smoke, but when you came through my window you smelled like cigarettes."

Enzo waits for a beat before responding. "That wasn't a question."

"It insinuates one," I remind him.

"I don't consider myself to be a controlling person," he begins, eyes focused on the road. "But when everything spirals out of complete control – chaos – I find a grip on the world when I smoke. I used to be addicted, but I quit pretty easily. When I smoke I remind myself that there's one thing I have control of, and that's myself. I can smoke all I want, but I won't become addicted.

 I nod. "You sound like a poet."

"Hah!" he laughs, smiles bright and excited. "Honey, I failed literature...along with most of my classes."

"How'd you finish high school?"

"I dropped out and got my GED online," he explains with a shrug. "I'm not very book smart, but I'm an everything-else genius."

"I'm book smart and an everything-else failure," I admit, now totally comfortable with Enzo. I can tell him anything. I can tell him things I wouldn't even tell Maren or Makai. 

"Not exactly," Enzo protests. "You're a disaster sage."

"A what?" I inquire, stifling a laugh.

Charmingly, Enzo chuckles. "You're great when a disaster occurs. You're calm and collected and on your toes. But no matter how much you get on your toes, you'll never be as tall as me."

"Can anyone?" I groan.

"Probably not," he concludes, pulling off the road by a meadow. "We're here."

"I've never seen this place." The meadow is a wheat field. The stalks are just as tall as Enzo and the colour of light honey. Slowly, the meadow arches into a gentle slope, where a willow tree stands tall at its top, leafy flowers swaying in the wind. "It's beautiful," I note. Looking at me, Enzo lightly smiles. "Yeah." 

 We carry the supplies throughout the field, marching through the tall stalks with a silent agreement to head to the willow tree. I take the lead. In the silence, I wonder what would happen if the killer was here. They would be unnoticeable in these tall fields...but so would we. In a dire situation, trekking throughout here would be a death wish or an escape plan.

 When will I stop worrying about death? Will it be when the killer is killed? Or have the death of my friends and family done too much damage? What if my paranoia is unconquerable? How will it affect me in the future?

If I live long enough to have a future. 

Ugh, there's that hindering paranoia. I will live until I'm not meant to. I'll die when my life has been used up and fulfilled. Not on some bastard's accord. 

 I don't realize I've been gripping the picnic basket so hard until it starts to cut through my palm. I used to worry about my father's drug problems. Now I worry about myself. 

I switch the hand I hold the picnic basket and keep ongoing. In a sense, I think that what I have to do to remember is that there's more to life than looking over my shoulder every five minutes to make sure my friends, family, or myself, are not dead. I have to push the fear aside and keep on moving. And considering I'm not alone, it might not be so hard.

Enzo said he has to find control in his life to remind himself of a balanced centre. Maybe if I can find a control, it will make my struggle easier. 

 Finally, I come to the willow tree, where the immediate area around it is short, flattened grass. Resting the white blanket on the ground, I sit the basket and turn to see Enzo. The only problem is: Enzo is nowhere in sight. 

Grimacing, try to scan the area. Being on the hill, I have the slight advantage of seeing the rest of the field. Where I thought Enzo trailed has been flattened, but there is no sign of him. I crawl around the tree, scavenging for any sign of him. I swear I hear the bristling of wheat to my right. Whirling around, my eyes scan the area, but find nothing. 

 Tensing, I see the flicker of a shadow to my left. I spin to the source of the vision, only to realize what is: a vision. There's nothing there.

Just as I start to open my mouth and challenge my illusions, a hand – calloused –clasps around my mouth as the other one latches around me and picks me up. I'm about to bite the hand that doesn't feed you when a burst of thunderous laughter emits from behind me. Furrowing my brow, I slap the arms away and turn to see the attacker. 

"You should've seen your face," Enzo claims, doubling over in laughter.

"It wasn't that funny..."

Still, Enzo laughs, face growing red with hysteria. Now, he clutches his stomach from the excitement. Taking advantage of the moment, I push him over while he's unbalanced. But Enzo's reflexes are razor sharp and he manages to take me down with him. I land on top of him, only mildly embarrassed. After all the times my eyes were puffy from crying and meeting him in my PJ's, it takes a lot to make me feel mortified with him. He still laughs, and at this point, I can't help but laugh with him. It's now that I realize he doesn't have these moments very often. Sure, he puts on the façade of being Mr Popular, but this is real. And rarely does he have real moments when he's enjoying himself.

I know his upbringing was hard and his claw through life was even harder. Also,  the psychological disorder doesn't help...but I didn't know it affected him this much until I saw what I seldom do. 

Enzo seems genuinely happy. His white teeth all shine bright in a full smile and his fiery eyes crinkle with his laughter. His hair is ruffled from the fall and he doesn't seem to care so much. Once he's settled down, he looks at me. I fear that his bright attitude might vanish when he sees me, but instead, it lingers. His eyes soften and he blushes. One of his hands reaches up to brush the bangs that always, always manage to come undone. He looks otherworldly – heavenly even – with the sunlight shining around him in his linen. 

"I have to tell you something," I confess, leaning in close to his ear.

"Hmm?"

"I'm hungry," I tease, getting up and plopping down on the blanket.

"Well aren't you just a tease?" he mocks, sitting down across from me.

I pull out a sandwich and begin to chow down as Enzo chooses an apple. Pulling out the knife he always carries, he slices it into pieces rather than biting into it. I remember him pegging the centre of the target at the festival. It was pretty incredible, the way he could just fling the blade and it would go where he wanted. Control.

 I lean against the tree and stretch my legs as Enzo decides to lay his head down in my lap. "Where'd you learn to use a knife like that?" 

 "Well," he says between chews. "You just take the food you want to chop up and apply the sharp edge of the knife to the subject. It's pretty simple actually." 

 "Okay, smartass," I tease, ruffling his hair. "You know what I meant."

 Enzo shrugs. "If you can't win a fight with strength, then you win one with precision. And if you can use both, then you're in pretty good shape. I started by twirling it around whenever I was bored. When I got good at it, I also got good at getting into trouble. By then, I needed defence, and I wasn't good at fighting yet, so I needed something with distance. If I could twirl knives, why couldn't I throw 'em?"

"You said you weren't good at fighting yet," I point out. "So you're good now?"

Enzo cocks his head and looks up at me, fingers still working the knife and the apple.

"You could say that," Enzo smirks with self-satisfaction. "But the way I fight I can't teach you. You're not the right build...I mean; you have a nice build. It's perfect. But I don't just like you the way you look, and..." Agitated, he sighs. "You know what I mean."

 "Who says I wanted you to teach me anyway?" I grumble, finishing off my sandwich.

"You did," he argues. "Indirectly. But I can teach you something about using a knife."

"Really?"

"Sure," he agrees. "It would be nice for you to be able to control something, right?"

Grinning, I lean my head against the tree trunk as Enzo finishes his apple and messes with the ends of my braid. I don't even have to explain why I want to learn knife skills for him to understand. He gets me and I get him. I know for certain that this connection never occurred between my parents, my father would've never acted the way he did at mom's funeral. 

With the bond Enzo and I have, I don't think there can be anything that could tear us apart.

Nothing.

Ever......