In my heart, I genuinely thought walking into school Monday morning that I'd be attacked left and right from all of my brother's admirers and friends

To say I was surprised when I was stopped outside in the hall by Shawn was an understatement. My fight or flight was starting to kick in and I fought the urge to knee him in the groin and make a run for it, but what I'd heard from Rodger Friday night kept me standing in front of him. Natalie had tried to approach me various times between classes, but I'd kind of just dodged her and kept walking or pretended I hadn't seen her at all. But it was hard to do that with a six-foot-two eighteen year old boy.

"Hey." he whispered, the right side of his mouth curved into a sad, sympathetic smile. "I heard about what happened to Louis."

I just stared, waiting to see exactly route he was going to go with the conversation.

"I'm sorry, Marley." His fingertips brushed my knuckle as he spoke, as if he were afraid touching my arm would trigger an episode. "I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't. . . I was drunk, okay? I saw Nat in there and I knew that Lou was going to snap on her, I didn't know what his plans were with you. Then later that night, he showed up at my doorsteps and thrusted his old phone with the video on it into my hands. But when I logged on to my Insta it was already posted."

I winced hearing the words; I'd only ever known my side of the story. The freshman approaching me just outside the cafeteria, then looking up to find Natalie on Shawn's lap across the lunch room with a guilty look.

"I didn't know. . . I had no idea he was so sick. You were my friend long before he was." His fingers moved to my wrist, and though I was fighting every urge to tear my arm away, I allowed him to continue. "I just want you to know that you're not in this alone. Not anymore. None of us ever laughed at you, Mar, not any of the decent people, I mean. We felt sorry, helpless, afraid. We're here now, though, Marley. I know it doesn't help and doesn't take away all that you went through, but we'll stand behind you now."

I scanned his face, half of me wanting to slap him, the other wanting to hug the giant idiot. His dark eyes roamed me too, as if he were trying to figure out where my cracks were and if he'd just caused one. Finally, I shook his hand off and squeezed my eyes shut. "Thank you, Shawn."

"Yeah, of course." he still hesitated before he reached out and hugged me from the side. "I'll see you tomorrow, hmm? Maybe you can sit at the table with us. Nat misses you."

"Sure, yeah, maybe."

Unlike my stepbrother, Shawn took the hint and smiled sadly once more before disappearing down the empty hallway just as the final bell of the day rang over my head and unleashed the swarm of my peers.

**

"I wish Dr. Chao would let us do sessions together." April whispered from my lap, eyes on the TV. "I can hardly hold it together anymore. I'm a crying, blubbering mess the entire time."

I tore my own eyes from the TV and looked down at the mess of blonde across my thighs. "Me too. I just. . . my Mom and Rodger think just because I came forward that I want to talk about it all the time. Or they'll tiptoe around me, as if they're afraid I'll detonate. And every time I go to our support group now, I half expect Gage to be there and when I find his seat still vacant I. . . I just break."

April nodded. "Yeah, I miss him too. It's like. . . I know he was hurting, but he was like my glue. Whenever I'd come apart, he'd offer his comfort to piece me back together. I know your guys' relationship is much more than that, but that was what he was to me. A safe haven."

"He was mine too." I said through a sad smile. "He is mine."

As if the conversation were getting too personal for her liking, she threw her legs over the side of my bed and maneuvered her way over to my mirror. I'd loaned her pajama set that I'd grown out of, a cheetah print tank and shorts, but they hung loosely off her thin frame.

"I look like a whale." she said, staring at her reflection. Setting my bowl of popcorn aside, I made my way over to her and peeked around her in front of the mirror. She was so thin it was possible to see through her. "Don't you see it? There's fat coming over the top of these shorts and—"

I pushed my mirror over, startling her so much she trailed off and looked toward me in shock.

"Stop looking in them. Mirrors." I said. "I know that anorexia and bulimia are much more than just body dysmorphia, but it's a step in the right direction, April. Because what you see staring back at you is the demon, the monster, of your parents creation. All the abuse, whether physical or verbal, changed the way you perceived yourself."

She sunk to the ground and hugged her legs tightly against her chest. "I'm scared, you know. That one day I'm going to open the door at Alyssa's and there they are. My parents. I have nightmares about it, Marley. Every night."

I joined her on the floor and rested my head against her shoulder. "I have nightmares too. Sometimes about Louis and what he did. Sometimes about Gage and his. . . attempt. A few times they've been about my Dad. But. . . but the one I have reoccurring is my attempt. I always slip under the water and when my eyes open I feel like Louis is on top of me again, holding me under the water, until I eventually fade out."

Her blue eyes found mine and grew misty. "I'm so sorry, Marley."

"I'm sorry too. Neither of us should have had to live through what we did, April. These scars, they're going to be with us the rest of our lives, many of them not visible. And I don't think. . . I don't think anyone can truly understand that unless they've lived through some shit."

"You don't think Alyssa understands us?"

I frowned as I considered her words. Eventually, I whispered, "No. I think she tries and tries, to understand us, to understand Gage. But there's only so much she can actually understand not having lived through what we have. I appreciate her for everything she's done and I'm so glad Gage has her as not only a support system but his mother as well. But she'll never have to lay her head down and fear the horror and pain that comes with not knowing if the day will be one of your good ones or your bad ones."

April nodded, wiping at her cheeks with her forearm. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"That doesn't mean she doesn't care, April. She does. About you. About me."

"I know." she responded softly. "But I don't. . . it's been hell trying to figure out who to trust. I know I should trust Alyssa, but I just can't. Not fully, anyway."

"I get that." I heaved out a sigh. "One of my old friends approached me at school today. He wanted to apologize. Even asked me to come sit with him and my ex best friend at lunch tomorrow."

April lifted her head and turned it slowly in my direction. "Oh, shit."

"Yeah." I muttered. "He seemed genuine about it though."

"Maybe you should give them another chance." April nudged my shoulder with a sadistic smile. "After all, we'd be six feet under if God hadn't given us one."

**

Once April had dozed off, I found my feet wandering to the attic. Careful not to wake Xavier or my parents, I climbed the small stairs into the claustrophobic space and turned the flashlight on my phone until I found a dusty old red shoe box in the far corner of the room. Sprawling out so I didn't wake my mother up with the creaking of the floorboards, I yanked the box toward me and carried it back down the stairs. I slowly lowered myself to the ground outside of my room and took the lid off.

The first picture on the top of the pile was of Dad holding me the day I was born. Mom had claimed to be an exhausted, sleep deprived mess, but she'd managed to get the most magical pictures of Dad and me-as if she knew that our time together would be short. He couldn't have been much older than me in the picture, twenty if I remember correctly. He was shirtless, as the doctors had insisted in skin to skin contact for a better bond and connection, according to Mom. He was cradling my tiny little body against his chest and staring down at me with so much love and adoration in his glossy blue-green eyes it was hard to think that just eleven years later he'd blow his brains out.

Continuing through the pictures, I found another from my first day of Kindergarden, me hoisted up on my dad's shoulders with a crooked, toothless smile as I waved at Mom behind the camera, sporting the cutest pigtails. Though Dad was still staring up at me with adoration, there was also a darkness in him in the picture, something that couldn't be explained, but once someone laid eyes on the photo, they'd noticed it instantly.

The third picture was only a few weeks before he killed himself, and though Mom had explained he was going through something to me, I hadn't quite seen just how broken, how distant my Daddy had become. In this picture, he sat on the front porch steps of our old house with me beside him, one arm draped over my shoulder, hugging me against his side. But his eyes were on the camera, or Mom, for that matter. They were empty; cold and bottomless, like the darkness that I'd seen take over Gage.

Like the darkness I'd watched take over myself as I stripped myself down to my undergarments the night of my attempt.

"Marley?" I half expected Mom to step out of the bedroom opposite of me and rip the box from my hands, but it wasn't my mother who stood outside the door, but Rodger. "What are you doing? Are you alright?"

I didn't bother to try and explain myself to Rodger, he'd never understand.

"Are those photos of your father?" he edged closer, curiosity at a peek. He sat down and took the photo from me, then frowned. "You look a lot like him."

I nodded, more to myself then him. "I know."

"Your mother, she doesn't talk about Michael a lot. But I worked with him when he was alive. He was such a kind, generous soul. Selfless. You remind me a lot of him."

I was taken back. I hadn't known Rodger knew my father.

"I was the one who took you back to my house that night, the night he killed himself. Your mother called me and told me to come get you. You were so confused, and I remember you screaming for me to let you go. That you needed your father."

I could feel tears stinging my eyes at the memory I'd tried desperately to bury deep. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't apologize. It was that night, though, that I realized that from that day forward I was going to make sure you were okay. I made a promise to your father as I stood over his coffin; I'd protect his girls until there was nothing left in me to give." he stopped abruptly. It took me a minute to realize it was because he was trying to compose himself. "But I failed. Because here Louis was, doing the worst crap possible to you behind me back and I had no idea. I made you feel as though there was no other way out besides killing yourself as your father had. And I am so sorry for that, Marley. I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself for raising a monster-and more importantly, allowing him to hurt you."

I shook my head repeatedly. "It's not your fault. Y. . .you didn't. . ."

"I knew something wasn't right with my son, Marley. Just like deep down your mother knew something was wrong with you. Because she was so traumatized by everything that happened with your father that she couldn't bring herself to accept that you felt the same way." Rodger reached out touched his hand to the top of mine. "I know apologizing won't stop the hurt, it won't take back everything he did. I just need you to know that the guilt eats me alive every day. Louis may be my son, but you're my daughter too, Marlene. You matter to me too."

I nudged the box aside and moved so I could hug my stepfather, my head against his chest. Close to six years and this was the only time I'd come close to showing him any type of affection. Surprised, he sat there stiff for a moment before he circled his arms around me and kissed the top of my head. Feeling eyes on us, I snuck a quick look back toward their bedroom and found my mother standing in the doorway in her pink robe, one hand over her heart and the other over her mouth as tears rolled silently down both cheeks.

I'm okay, Mom. I wanted to say. I'm going to be okay.