JUST BREATHE, EMILY.

Just one pill. One pill wasn't going to hurt me, right? It was actually supposed to make me feel better. Then why was I nervous?

Mrs. Grant picked up the pill from the bottle of antidepressants, and I laid my head back, opening my mouth. She let go of the pill, letting it drop. Then she grabbed a cup of water and poured some of it. With one big amount of strength, I managed to swallow it until the pill was down my throat. Phew. I didn't choke this time.

"Excellent," she approved. "I'm really glad you're doing this, dear. It means a lot to me and my family that you're doing better. Well, it's your family now, technically," she added with a chuckle.

I didn't know what to call myself now. Was I their daughter? No. Adoptive daughter? Nope. Just. . . a close friendly guest, temporarily.

You'll get to that later.

Anyway, September was ending, which meant that it was going to be the month of my birthday soon. My nineteenth birthday. Oh, God. Had it really been almost two years since I was diagnosed?

Ding dong!

"I better get that," Mrs. Grant muttered, heading for the front door. I stayed in the kitchen, staring at the bottle of antidepressants. Hey, friend. Looks like we're going to see each other for a while.

"Emily." Mrs. Grant's voice wavered a bit. "There's someone here that wants to meet you."

The kitchen door opened, and standing beside her was. . . Devon?

"Hey, Emily," he greeted, his tone rather wavering, too. "Can I, uh, talk to you?"

There was no other disagreements after that. Moving the handle, I followed him through the living room, Mrs. Grant holding the door for me. Once Devon was sitting in one of the sofas, and me in my wheelchair, as always, Mrs. Grant mumbled something about "forgetting something" and disappeared upstairs.

Devon cleared his throat. "Uh, sorry for barging in like that. Val mentioned where you lived once, so no, I'm not a stalker. I was actually in your house earlier, but there was no one there." There was kind of a question in his tone somewhere, but he didn't push it further. "So I came here because Oliver's house was next to yours, and well, it was Oliver. If there's anyone in the world that would know where you were, it was him." I looked at him weirdly and he must've seen it in a wrong way. "Oh. Oh! Not in a stalker kind of way. Kind of like, I-care-about-her way."

I smiled a bit at that. "SO, WHY ARE YOU HERE." God, that sounded rude. "NO OFFENSE."

He laughed softly. "None taken." Devon looked up to check, as if he expected Mrs. Grant to eavesdrop from the edge of the stairs, then sat again. He took a deep breath. "I got kicked out."

"YOU WHAT." Really, could the Talk Phone sound more bored?! "HOW. WHY."

"I. . . did something." He looked taken aback at the expression I was wearing; my eyes widened. "It was an accident! The point is, I didn't mean to do it, and it was obviously because of the disorder. They didn't buy it, though. They always think I was wrong and that I was crazy. So, they gave me a chance: move out and stay here in Seattle, or move out to an entirely new city. They said they could pay for a plane ticket." He laughed, but there was no humour in it. "They want to get rid of me so badly, it's caused them to be desperate."

I didn't exactly know why he was telling me this. I mean, first of all, we weren't close. Second, even though we kind of had a "resolution" back in the hospital, I was still rough around him. Not only because of the taunting, but because of his disorder. Who knew? Maybe he would insult me and take it on another level.

I refused to believe that once I thought about it, though. I could tell that he really did like Val — maybe even love. He was generally a good person, too, deep down. He wouldn't harm me or anything like that.

Maybe that was it. Maybe he wanted to talk to me because I was close to Val.

Well, it worked for me.

"WHERE DO YOU WANT TO GO THEN."

I knew this was the whole reason why he came here in the first place, because he began folding his hands, changing his seating position, tightening his mouth into a flat line. I've been in the same school as him for three years, and due to our 'fun' time together at school, it was quite hard not to notice the signs when he was uncomfortable.

"I'm going after Val," he finally said.

WHAT?!?!?!

Wait, sorry.

"WHAT."

Okay, not as dramatic as I had in mind.

"Before you say that I'm crazy or that I'm making a big mistake, well, don't. Everyone deserves a second chance, right? I think the only reason she broke up with me was because of my parents." There was a distance look in his eyes, like he was trying to replay a memory back. "I think they did something to her. . . I don't know what, but I'm going to find out."

I couldn't force those words into my brain. He wasn't crazy and he wasn't making a big mistake — he was doing both! Not only was it risky, but there was a chance that Val had no feelings for him anymore. She may already have a new life in college. 

I didn't want Devon's heart to break, after everything that he's been through.

But something in his words made me think twice. I think they did something to her. I couldn't help but think that it might be true. When I was in a phone call with Val to interrogate about Devon, she was quite dodgy. She answered my questions with questions. I mentioned Devon's name and she would grow silent for a while. At first I just thought she was acting like that because she felt guilty, but now I know it could be something else. Something that didn't involve me.

"THEORETICALLY SPEAKING." Devon looked at me curiously, probably anticipating whether I was going to agree or disagree. "THERE IS A CHANCE SHE DOES NOT LIKE YOU ANYMORE."

"There's no harm in trying," he hit back, although his relieved expression told me he was glad I didn't entirely disagree with him. "And it's not like I'm going to force her or anything. No way in God's name am I going to do that. I'm going to let her make a choice, and if she doesn't want me back. . . then I'll leave, but I'll stay in New Jersey. I'll keep my distance." He paused. "But if she did want me back. . ."

I smiled, forever surprising myself that, here I was, actually supporting Val and Devon. "GO GET HER."

Devon's blonde head whipped up, his blue eyes piercing through mines. Clearly he wasn't expecting me to say those exact words. Trust me, I wasn't, either.

"You-you really think I can win her back?" he asked, full of hope.

"I KNOW VAL. SHE NEVER HIDES FROM ANYTHING UNLESS IT IS NECESSARY."

He still kept staring at me, and then his mouth turned into a full grin. "I never imagined you saying that, but thank you, Em. A lot. You don't know how much. . ." he stopped, a blush covering his cheeks.

I smiled.

"Where are you going to go, though?" he asked, curiously. "Are you going to stay with the Grants forever?"

It's funny, actually. I've been thinking about that ever since Mom died; ever since I moved in with the Grants. Both Jessie and Raph had detached themselves and were focusing on college, with Raph rarely being at home and Jessie already in New York. Andre was just visiting for the weekends. Oliver, even though he hadn't mentioned it before, was definitely going to college, and Jake was probably going to move out soon. The last one standing would only be Tom, who was only staying for at least two or three more years before he went to college himself.

Then it'd just be me and the Grant parents. And although I was practically their "adoptive daughter" now or whatever, I still felt guilty that they were doing all this for me. It required quite a lot of money for me to get the additional equipments that I needed, and the Grant family had six kids. That was more than enough.

"I AM GOING TO STAY FOR A FEW MONTHS."

Devon raised his eyebrows, waiting for more. "And?"

And. . . "I AM GOING TO LIVE IN A HEALTH CARE CENTER."

His mouth hanged open, surprised. "Say what now? Really? Which one?"

I blinked fast to get the sentence. "DOCTOR GREY SAID THERE WAS ONE CALLED BROADVIEW HEALTH CARE CENTER. HE SAID IT WAS REALLY GOOD BUT IT WAS QUITE FAR FROM HERE."

"Oh," he recognized, nodding. "I know Broadview. My grandma lives there. It looks pretty great. But it is quite far. Almost two hours."

Okay, wow. It was more far than I expected.

"I think it'd be good for you, though," Devon continued. "To get far away from this place. Too much bad memories, right? I mean, er, some of them." He looked at me with mischief, giving me a smirk. "I know how you feel about Oliver, Emily. I'm not blind."

Without thinking, I blushed. "I DO NOT KNOW WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT."

He shook his head at me. "When you admit it, Emily, let me know." He cleared his throat. "So. About Broadview. Are you going to stay there forever or what? No college?"

It all seemed kind of weird talking to Devon without him tormenting me with insults and me firing some rude nicknames. A few months ago, if someone told me that I'd have a civil conversation with Devon Trevino, I would've laughed so hard that my eyes could get blurry.

I didn't realize it, but I started to forgive him. Maybe it was the intermittent explosive disorder that got to me, but that would mean I was feeling sorry for him. I didn't want to feel sorry for him because that would be like other people feeling sorry for me, and I didn't want that.

"I DO NOT KNOW YET," I admitted. "I WILL JUST LIVE LIFE WHEREVER IT TAKES ME."

Our conversation ended pretty well. It was actually great talking to Devon. It felt like I was putting my worries behind, like I was stopping time because I had all the time in the world. It was a little bit different from when I was talking with Oliver; he almost always had a witty quip on the edge of this tongue. Devon, though, could be pretty serious if he wanted to. 

Plus, he did have some really good advice.

When he finally went home (to pack, I presumed, then go to Val who was in New Jersey), I was left with a blank space. Devon didn't knew that he was the only one who knew except Mr. and Mrs. Grant.

Few hours later, Oliver came home (from a college interview, I suppose) and I decided to tell him (along with Tom) about my Broadview decision. They constantly asked me questions about the living standards there and all that, but I convinced them that it was a pretty good place. Tom pointed out that I was probably going to be the youngest member there, but I didn't care.

Mr. and Mrs. Grant already had the payments covered, and I decided to move out after new year's because I just wasn't ready yet. Oliver was probably going to leave around that time soon, anyway, and I just wanted to do the "new year, new me" thing to another level. 

Hardy har har.

"But promise me you'll write letters to us everyday," he said with a slight frown.

"I WILL WRITE TO YOU," I promised. "AS LONG AS YOU WRITE TO ME, TOO."

Tom went to his room afterwards after — surprisingly — hugging me and telling me how he was going to miss me being around the house. I almost wanted to burst into tears.

Oliver, though, stayed. Like always.

Suddenly he turned to me, confusion etched on his face. "Speaking of writing," he started. "You haven't wrote a letter since two months ago."

"I KNOW." Blinking, I said, "THERE HAS BEEN A LOT GOING ON."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, really? Didn't notice." He reached across the table and grabbed the remote, turning the TV on. "Do you want to write one now? I'm pretty sure your mystery person will be —"

"HE WILL UNDERSTAND."

Oliver snapped his head in my direction, the remote almost falling from his hands. He completely ignored the channel and now fixed his gaze on me. His eyebrows rose. "He?"

It almost made me want to laugh looking at his incredulous face. For the past year, when I was still writing letters, he never knew who I sent them to. I always thought it was this big secret, something that no one should know — well, it was something Mom shouldn't know, because I knew she would disapprove me for it.

But now. . . after everything that's happened. . . it should be the least of my worries. It used to be the biggest thing that could bother me, but now I just feel like it's not important anymore.

So, I confessed.

"MY DAD."

________

I told him everything.

The day Dad got hauled off to prison after committing first-degree murder on Rodney Mayers, a drunk guy who got very angry after Dad accidentally spilled his drink on him.

The way Mom told my six-year-old self not to contact Dad in any way possible.

The day I first got diagnosed, when I decided to write a letter for the first time to Dad, even though I knew he couldn't reply because of a contract he made with the court and the local police.

The way I always hid my letters from Mom, who — even though knew I was writing letters — didn't know the person I was sending it to.

The day I realised that Dad was just defending himself, because the drunk guy had made the first move and Dad did what he did by instinct.

The way Dad was found guilty, a piece of glass in his hands, standing over a dead body.

The day I realised it was just an accident, an act of defending one self that had gone too far.

The way Mom had denied that very fact.

"I thought your dad was dead!" Oliver exclaimed.

I shook my head slowly. "MY MOM DOES NOT LIKE TO TALK ABOUT IT." Telling everyone that he was dead was less embarrassing than telling them her husband went to prison. It would ruin her image, and she thought it was better to think he was dead.

It disgusted me.

Oliver was reeling, pacing around the room with fingers pulling at his hair. "Just hold up, okay? This is more shocking than when you told me you had ALS!"

If it weren't a serious situation, I would've laughed. Sadly, it was serious.

"HE DOES NOT KNOW ABOUT MY MOTHER," I confessed.

He stopped pacing and turned to look at me in an overly dramatic way. "Wait. You haven't told him?"

"NO." I thought for a while. "HE IS ALREADY IN PRISON. IF HE FINDS OUT HIS WIFE IS DEAD, THEN ADDING THE FACT THAT HIS DAUGHTER IS DYING. . ." I stopped, trying to blink the tears away. "HE WILL LOSE IT. I WILL LOSE HIM."

"But you're not dying," he reminded me. "Not anymore."

I groaned in frustration. "IT IS NOT THAT EASY, OLLIE. THERE IS ONLY SO MUCH YOU CAN TAKE ALL AT ONCE."

He seemed to ponder over my words, and whether he agreed or disagreed, he didn't tell.

"So what are you going to do, then? Just stop writing letters? Your dad will wonder what happened to you."

"I WOULD NOT STOP WRITING LETTERS," I decided sternly. "I JUST NEED A BREAK. LET HIM WONDER."

I knew it was a bad decision to do that to Dad, but writing those letters had become a huge part of my life. If I continued writing them, it would mean that everything was normal. And everything wasn't.

Go ahead, call me selfish. I was. Dad was probably suffering more than I did, living almost eleven years in prison and probably for the rest of his life.

But this was something I needed to do alone. And who knew? Maybe Dad already knew about Mom's death and my condition — some of my relatives probably went to visit him or some guard was assigned to tell him the news. After all, he wasn't that isolated from the real world.

Either way, it didn't really matter to me. If he already knew, then good. I wouldn't know how I could tell him, anyway.

"What are you going to do with the other letters, then? The copies?" Again, he reminded me of something I had wanted to forget. "I saw it in Jes — your room, the little basket."

The little basket. Wow. I found it in my room the day I was moving out of my own house, and I was so surprised that I made sure I wasn't hallucinating. That basket used to mean everything to me. Now, it was just a random basket full of random letters.

What was I going to do with the letters? I knew I didn't want to keep them anymore. There was too many memories that I just didn't want to look back into.

Then, it clicked. I knew what I had to do. It was the only way I could move on from all that's happened. It started with the letters, and it had to end with them.

When it was dark, me and the remaining Grants — Tom, Oliver, Jake, Mr. and Mrs. Grant — gathered in front of their fireplace. Andre already left yesterday and the Grant house was growing more and more quieter. I missed Raph and Jessie so much, but as they said, life didn't wait for anyone.

Oliver held the basket that contained my "precious" letters. He took one — coincidentally, the February 13th one, which was my first letter ever — and looked at me for permission. I nodded.

Then, he tossed the letter into the fire.

One by one, the Grants took a letter and let it burn through the flames, the paper fading into ashes. I didn't even flinch or wince at the sight of it.

Once all of my letters were gone, I felt it.

The feeling of comfort and ease. Like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

Tomorrow, I was going to start a new day. Even though I still had ALS, I could quite say that I defeated it from letting it ruin my life forever. I wasn't cured, no, not even close — but I stopped it from killing me. I didn't know how, but I did.

I wouldn't be worried about anything. Not about someone finding out about my letters, or if I was getting another symptom from my disease.

I still couldn't talk. Couldn't walk or write. But you know what? I could breathe. And that was more than enough for me.

I was starting to accept that Mom's death wasn't my fault. It was what He wanted, and if He chose to do it, then I would accept it.

This wasn't the end, I thought to myself as I stared at the burning letters, the remainings of my past. 

This was the beginning of everything.

Sooo technically this could've been the last chapter! I was actually considering it but I was like, hey, this isn't over yet. No way it is.

What'd you think of this chapter? Everything in here was pretty much important. Especially that Devon/Emily bit, which gave me an idea.

What do you guys think if I wrote a spin-off about Val and Devon? It's been on my mind for weeks. Both are characters I haven't explored much, so they're a clean slate. The story would start right after Em began homeschooling, where Val was "abandoned" and hung out with Oliver. 

That's when Val and Devon got close, right? The story would go through many factors: val confused about what happened to her best friend, getting close to Ollie (platonically) and having her conflicted feelings about devon, which will start their relationship. Keep in mind that Val and Devon would be very different than Em and Ollie.

It would prolly end with Devon's journey in New Jersey, with the whole chasing-for-Val thing. It would also focus on his backstory like the family problem and Val's, which are both connected. You'll know some truths and maybe even more truths about Em.

But anyway idk, it's really tempting. Maybe a 80% chance, but need some motivation.