I stand on the sidewalk memorizing the hour the rest of my universe crumbled into meaningless scraps amidst the cosmos, and in that second, I decided life was just that. A bunch of useless objects blown away by the breeze, and even though I held on to them to capture specific moments, I knew it wasn't enough.

The truth is I wanted to escape the raw feeling of a blade thrashing inside my heart. So I daydream to race away from the turmoil of life and the reality of painful silences.

Meanwhile, in denial land, my dad is yelling at a home insurance agent on the phone. He's trying to explain how we can't wait three months for the agency to send out a private adjuster to survey the damages and determine how long it'll take to receive the payment.

My dad shuffles back and forth on the end of the street as Brandon sits inside his car, lost in thought as he taps on the steering wheel. He looks over his shoulder, and for a second, he catches me in his gaze. He smiles with sadness magnifying in his eyes but he still drives away.

I watch him do a complete turn down the street as my heart skips a beat as he drives past what's left of our home. A part of me wanted him to scoop me into his arms like a soldier embracing the love of his life after risking his own.

Is it wrong I want Brandon to save me?

Or is it even worse because it's the only invisible moment my mind dares to dream about? And the pounding inside my chest doesn't break down every last nerve I cling to. I've always used a tactic defense mechanism to defend myself from airborne stupidity like mental airheads and dudes with jockstrap personalities, but Brandon's different.

"Listen, I pay my fucking bill on time, so you better send someone out here immediately!" My dad yells, stomping back and forth.

Jesse is talking to our last resort, the only contractor in town with reasonable prices that caters to the poorer side of town. Jesse holds the iPhone she confiscated from Alexis against her ear since she accidentally left her cell phone in the house this morning after she left to run errands.

Now Jesse has her hands full, trying to schedule a walkthrough to examine the land to discuss drawing up the house plans in the future. Sadly, my eavesdropping has taught me two devastating details.

One, the asshole contractor, just relocated his business to Sunnyvale a few weeks ago, so he's branching out to a larger market. This means trying to schedule an appointment for the next two months will be next to as complicated as Alexis becoming a virgin.

Yeah, that's right. . . virgin.

I'll rest my case and cease all jokes involving the whore when she rests her army-grade knees for one night.

And two, guess whose new clientele has inspired them to write bills like an angel has just descended from heaven to build houses. No, with a wrap sheet like this scumbag, I'd say he crashed and burned. Not to mention, his work involves faulty wiring, unstable foundations, and flimsy structures. It's a marvel he's still alive to build houses, given the history of this side of town.

"No sir, I know you already told me you're booked until next year, starting at the end of next month. We still have a month and three weeks until then. If you were as qualified as your website says, you can find a way to make this work." Jesse says, constantly interrupting the man on the opposite end of the speaker.

"Well, ma'am, I'm sorry, but I don't just slap up houses with arts and crafts supplies!" He yells incredulously, causing Jesse to roll her eyes.

Jesse holds the phone away from her face. "Funny, that's not what everyone says."

Meanwhile, Alexis scatters inside the wreckage, rushing to the right side of the gravel, falling on her knees, desperately searching the burnt remains for anything she can salvage from her old life. She frantically scraps her fake nails through piles of ashes and burnt sawdust. Benji runs around her, trying to find a new toy to play with from the rubble.

I walk behind her, prying my attention away from the devastation as I place my hand on her shoulder. She grabs the charcoal remains of a heart-shaped pillow her father gave her before he abandoned her.

"I'm so sorry..." I whisper.

Alexis presses the burnt piece of fabric to her heart, sobbing at the last fragment of her father. "No, you did this. . . You did this because it's who you are."

"I lost my home too, Alexis," I mutter, averting my broken gaze to the ashes.

"No, you did this," Alexis cries out, "whenever someone tries to get close to you, this is what you do. You push them away, then tear them down until there's nothing left."

"You think I wanted this to happen!" I scream into the empty streets of the neighborhood, my voice darting through the night sky. A stream of tears runs down my face as I point to the husk where all my favorite memories happened in the past. I used to daydream about my mom hugging me with her signature steel grip because it wasn't an embrace unless Rose Philips nearly crushed someone to death.

I never knew where she got her strength from, especially after her illness wreaked havoc in her body, demolishing her youthful, energetic soul. She was so full of life, and for a while, her disease stole it from her.

Now, here I am, three years after her death, standing in the last place where she laughed, danced, and even existed. My mom's the one who said anyone can have any life they want as long as they can picture it.

So I put on the perfect imagination because dreaming about her was never going to be enough. I needed to have my mother, Rose, close to me, so I carried her everywhere.

I wore her old clothes to remind myself of her; I stared into space in all my classes because I couldn't imagine a life where I could succeed without her. I even distanced myself from the girl with a contagious smile and wild heart.

"I lost more than a fucking pillow from a deadbeat dad. I lost my happiness. I lost the Principal's list because I'm so fucking depressed I can only hold on to her smile when I imagine her." I say.

"I even lost the person I used to be before all this shit started happening to me. I LOST MY MOTHER!" I shriek, aware of the small crowd gathering behind us.

I've suffered three years and forty-five days worth of depression. At first, I desperately tried to bottle it up like an abominable genie locked away in his lamp until he was granted a new master. I chained myself to misery because I couldn't serve the twisted delusion of happiness in a future without her.

So I've been living in blissful memories of the past, and the occasional lustful thought of a boy worlds out of my league. Talk about fantasy because my daydreams of Brandon are pure fiction.

"Ebony," My father calls me, "your mother's pain doesn't live here anymore. You can't keep throwing Rose's death in our faces. There's already a short list of people that love you; don't make it even shorter."

"Tracy!" Jessica screams. "That is your daughter, okay! You cannot talk to her that way!"

My face drops to the ground, and my mind is completely blank for once. "It's fine, Jesse, because when my mom died, the list of people I love became nonexistent."

"Ebony!" My dad and Jesse yell in unison.

"Screw you, Tracy!" I howl, flipping a finger sign as I walk away. "your meddling wife and your pup, too."

"One of these days, we're not gonna wake up because you slit our throats, you sociopath!" Alexis shrieks.

"Count your fucking day's evil shrew because, at sunlight, I'm coming back to finish the job."

I storm down Easy Boulevard before I say something I actually might regret. I push past pathetic humans with extended necks and wide eyes. They're all like a bunch of frozen deer in the middle of the road after their caught crossing the street in seering headlights. Motionless, watchful, and charging at the last second.

The neighbors I've had for over a decade grab their children and scamper back to their porches. I expected them to run after Jesse's persistence started an avalanche of concerned phone calls, silent prayers even judgmental stares from old family friends.

It's one thing to be labeled an outcast at school, but when someone phones the entire neighborhood, informing all the parents of a serial bonehead in their midst, suddenly, I'm too incompetent to live a normal life.

So when a retarded girl gets upset, it's customary for ordinary people to dive out of her path unless they get too close to the wreckage. It's no wonder my neighbors are whispering how I threw a tantrum and set my family's house on fire. If some destructive bimbo called my house with a PSA on how batshit bonkers her stepdaughter is, I'd think I was crazy too.

Tracy always said, "You can't help it if fools are staring at yah because they have some preconceived notion. He'll give 'em something to look at."

Who would have guessed my mother's widower would be the main person in a crowd of fools? I could never call a sperm donor my father when he measures the amount of love I deserve based on my reaction to my mother's death.

Yeah, because I'm the heartless witch who can't fathom the death of a person who was my biggest cheerleader. She understood me when no one else could, and when I fell, she caught me.

The closer I stomp to the edge of Easy Boulevard, the darkness clusters together, forming a horde of fantasies inside my head. I can't resist the urge to rush into the abyss, letting the twilight consume the last shred of my sanity. I close my eyelids when I take a deep breath, allowing the madness to have its way with me.

Ten minutes pass before I realize the actual depth of my insanity as my mind conjures a black Ford Mustang parked in between the same fork in the road. Brandon raced with death only hours ago.

I stop ten feet away from the car as their headlights burn forward onto Sunnyvale Boulevard. Suddenly, someone presses down on the accelerator, violently revving the engine several times before they open the driver-side door.

Brandon steps outside in his coffee-brown leather jacket, his gaze meeting mine with a level of intensity I didn't know the golden boy could summon.

"Everyone's damn problem isn't your responsibility. I mean it, don't get involved." A voice shouts on the phone in Brandon's hand.

"See you at home," Brandon mutters before the voice disappears.

I exhale the breath I've been holding the second my eyes locked on the wonder boy in leather. I grip the straps of my book bag, carefully handling the seams I had to sew back together.

I didn't want to trouble anyone to buy a new one, so I listened to my first instinct. I took the needle and black thread from my mom's old sewing kit and stitched the old, tattered book bag back together. I kept thinking how I was doing it because I didn't want to bother anybody else with such a simple task.

N̶o̶, b̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ I̶ d̶i̶d̶n̶'t̶ n̶e̶e̶d̶ a̶n̶y̶o̶n̶e̶'s̶ h̶e̶l̶p̶.

B̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ I̶ h̶a̶d̶ e̶v̶e̶r̶y̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ u̶n̶d̶e̶r̶ c̶o̶n̶t̶r̶o̶l̶.

Damn, that's not right either.

I didn't ask for another book bag because even the slightest aspects of change could wipe my slate clean, and then my mom would be gone forever. If I must sacrifice comfort for my happiness, I always choose Rose because she's the air in my lungs.

I turn my attention back to Brandon Lockwood, stepping closer without a single thought stirring in my mind.

My heart thrashes like it's supposed to be near him, and it feels so natural. . almost like breathing. When I'm within a six-foot radius, I finally snap to my senses and swerve to the left at the last possible second. I hate to admit it, but I looked like someone harvested my body for a little white lady with a fetish for black skin. I guess Brandon feels the same way since his immediate reaction reveals my antics no longer pierce his super suit.

He circles his car, deterring my ungraceful escape, but unlike every time I've bumped into the infamous Brandon Lockwood, I don't require a breathing treatment to catch my breath.

"You're in the way," I say in a deadpan tone.

"Maybe that's a good thing," Brandon whispers, leaning against the hood of his Mustang.

"Can you just move?" I spit.

"Tell me where you're going?"

"To hell if I don't pray," I bluntly motion for him to return to his car. "There satisfied. Now leave."

I follow Brandon's wondering gaze as it darts up and down my body, stopping to examine every detail of my old blue jeans and then my tattered sweater until he finally stands up. He closes the small space between us before he does the unthinkable. He reaches for a stray curl I must've missed in my wild rampage to camouflage myself. He pulls it between his thumb and index finger, rubbing each intricate spiral in his hand.

"I'll drive." He says, flashing a bright grin.

And with those two simple words Wonder boy opens the passenger door, practically shoving me inside his car. He reaches around my seat, placing my book bag on the backseat with his never-ending gaze piercing through my armor. His proximity, accompanied by the intensity of his absolute focus, is enough for my brain to shut down the second he closes the door.