The last thing I remembered was staring at myself in the mirror.

Everything after that was just a blur.

When I got to the hospital, I could feel my consciousness slipping away. Everything around me was happening so slowly. I didn't understand what was going on. Doctors poked my skin with needles, pain aching and spreading through my body, then they made me swallow stuff. I threw up, a lot, and my head throbbed with persistent pain.

After being treated, they took me to another hospital where I was questioned. It wasn't very pleasant. It was like a whole other Ms. Campbell session, only this time, the questions were flat out and direct. They just needed to find out the details on what had happened. I wasn't very helpful, though. I had barely remembered the event myself.

After that, I stayed in the hospital for a few days. I had to constantly be watched and interviewed with by psychologists. It wasn't a happy place, that was for sure. I'd overhear teens and kids discussing suicide, mental health, and each and everyone of them sharing their stories. I didn't want to be there, but I'd seen worse. The hospital was nothing compared to the chaos-infested ones in Thailand. I could still hear the screams - the people talking to themselves - those shouting the names of their loved ones. 2004 was glued to my mind, which was coincidentally part of the reason why I ended up in the hospital in the first place.

At lunch, I had to sit with all of the other teenagers in the hospital. I never spoke to them. Instead, I kept silent and picked at my food with my plastic fork, never bothering to eat. I felt tired and sick. It was awful.

A girl with frizzy hair sat down next to me with a tray of food. We glanced at each other for a split-second, our eyes meeting. Then she quickly looked away and kept her gaze on her food. I caught a glimpse at her wrists, which had scars crawling up them, drawn across her freckled skin.

"What are you looking at?" she scowled.

I looked away. "Nothing."

The girl released a deep breath and at the corner of my eye, I could see her watching me. "I didn't mean to say it like that."

"It's okay," I said. "I didn't take it personally."

There was a long moment of silence, until finally she asked me, "Why are you here?"

"Um, post-traumatic stress." I muttered.

"Post-traumatic stress?" she repeated.

"Yeah."

"From what?" she asked.

There was another long pause. I didn't how to reply, simply because I wasn't in the mood to talk about it after hours on end of therapy. So instead, I just kept silent, and never responded.

After a few days, I could finally go home. But I didn't want to. I was ashamed. Embarrassed. I knew that people would ask questions. I knew that people would sent their condolences to my mother and I. On top of the sympathy I had gotten for surviving the tsunami, I just knew that this was the spark of more recognition that I didn't want.

And I was right.

Staring through the rain-speckled window, I watched the road zoom past me. I sat in the car with my mom on my way home, both of us refusing to give eye contact. She kept her eyes on the road, and I kept mine out the window. I felt numb. Emotionless.

Finally, my mother broke the silence. Her voice was quiet. "A lot of people are wanting to know if you're okay."

My throat tightened. I swallowed. "And?"

"You should call them when we get home."

I didn't say anything. I didn't want to call them. I didn't want to do anything. I didn't.

The rain grew heavier. I listened to the sound of it pattering on the roof of the car and sprinkling against the windows, running down the glass. Just over a year ago, Mason and I would each pick a raindrop and would watch as they raced down the car window. The winner would be the one with the raindrop that made it to the bottom first. Now he wasn't here.

My mother cleared her throat and said, "You have a session with Ms. Campbell this afternoon."

"I know," I replied.

There was a long, awkward pause. I still hadn't bothered to look at her. The silence was loud. It yelled into my ears and sent a shiver down my spine. I hated it.

"Ava," my mother began. "We really need to talk."

"About what?" I snapped.

"You know."

I sighed. Anger stirred inside of my stomach, rushing through my veins and causing hot tears to form in my eyes. "There's nothing to talk about." I said through gritted teeth.

"You could have hurt yourself."

"I wasn't thinking."

"That doesn't change what you did."

"Well what happened has happened, okay? There's nothing I can do to fix it. Get over it."

I heard her sniffle. I felt a stab of guilt. "Ava, I'm just... I'm trying to do my best. You're my only child left and-"

"Mom-"

"If you feel pain, Ava, I want you to tell me. You can tell me anything. I'm your mother, Ava. I'm here to guide you. To raise you."

A lump grew in my throat. I didn't say anything. I couldn't.

Tears spilled onto my cheeks. I wiped them away with my sleeve.

I refused to give eye contact. "Just stop talking." I muttered.

"Ava-"

"Just stop."

When the car pulled into the driveway of our home, I caught sight at a familiar face waiting on our front porch.  She wore a smile. "Mom, what is she doing here?"

She sighed, "She asked when you were coming back..."

"And so you told her? I don't want to see her!"

"Ava, she's your best friend."

"I don't want to see her!" I repeated.

"Ava," she said calmly. "Just say hello."

I shook my head, folding my arms across my chest, my back sinking into the seat.

"Ava..."

I let out a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself down, then opened the car door and stepped out, only to slam it closed behind me. When I hopped out, my feet landed in a puddle. Water speared through my shoes and soaked my socks. I took my hands out of the pockets of my sweatshirt and covered my head with the hoodie, avoiding the rain pouring down on me.

Piper hurried towards me.

"Oh my god, Ava. You're an idiot, you know that?"

"Thanks." I muttered.

She pulled me into a tight hug. "You scared everyone. You should have seen Nolan. He was flipping out."

"Mhm, okay."

She pulled away and looked at me, then frowned. I said nothing, and neither did she. She pursed her lips and backed away. "Um, well. I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks."

"I'll see you around, I guess."

"See you around."

She walked away awkwardly without saying another word. Neither did I.

Instead, I walked back into my house, smelling the familiar aroma. My mother followed me in. Neither of us spoke.

"You could have made a bit more of an effort with Piper, don't you think?" Mom said, breaking the silence.

I shrugged, "She didn't make an effort with me. I just got back from the hospital, and she barely said anything."

"She showed up at our house-"

"Even after the tsunami, she barely showed any compassion or sympathy or anything. She wasn't affected at all. She was just super negative, miserable, and just... annoying. And she still is. Always was."

"Ava..."

"I'm sick of her. She doesn't care about anything other than herself and that dumb boyfriend of hers. She doesn't understand."

"Piper's always-"

"No, Mom. You don't get it. The point is she's a negative, emotionless, and rude person that I'm done dealing with."

"Ava, you shouldn't say things like that."

"It's true. She couldn't even make one uplifting comment while we were in Thailand. She didn't want to help me search for you guys. She didn't want to go to the hospital and visit Isaac's sister." I winced at the memories. My eyes stung. I looked away to avoid showing my tears.

"Shh," my mother whispered, wrapping her arms around me.

I pulled away and felt my throat tighten. I sat down on the couch in the living room. For a while, I just stared at my hands, picking at my nails. I didn't give eye contact.

I heard my mother sigh. "So um," she said, beginning to switch topics. "Do you still want to do that interview?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"Okay," she replied.

There was a long minute of silence. Memories floated through my mind. There was no way I would ever get rid of them, I concluded. I sighed.

"What do you want for lunch?"

I shrugged. "I don't care."

She pressed her lips together. Another awkward pause. "Well," she said, "you better go get ready. We have to leave in thirty minutes to go see Ms. Campbell."