I hadn't done well on my exams. Stress engulfed me and tortured me until I could no longer focus. I remember frequent panic attacks, anxiety, and constant unease. At times I'd get home and catch my mother crying. Most times I didn't say anything, but when I did, she'd begin to bawl and retell memories about my father; crying about how much she missed him. She'd take out a photo album and we'd sit together, leafing through the thick pages of photographs of my childhood. We looked at pictures of when Mason was just a baby, and I was just a kid, holding him with a grin stretched so far across my face you could see all of my teeth.

There were other times where I would cry, and it wasn't rare. I'd just break down, feeling unusually pressured with school and friends and family. Occasionally I thought of Isaac, but I tried not to. I'd keep myself busy, avoiding the distractions of memories. Same went for thinking of my brother and father. I avoided them.

Some days I was angry. I'd yell at my mother until my lungs would burn and my eyes would sting. Most times I blamed her for my anxiety, although to this day I never really know why I was so irritable. Ms. Campbell often held PTSD responsible. Other days I'd refuse to go places. "I'm not doing the interview." I'd say.

Yet there I was, during summer break, sitting in a plain room surrounded by cameras, arms folded, back leaned against a cheap sofa. Wearing a long dress, my hair was curled, a layer of makeup painted across my face. I felt fake. I tapped my foot impatiently, waiting for someone to show up. I felt awkward being trapped in a small room where everywhere I looked, there was a camera set up. This wasn't where I wanted to be. I didn't ask for it to be this way. I didn't want fame or people to feel sorry for me. I wanted to be left alone. I wanted to cope with my trauma all by myself, not in front of cameras. But attention proved to be one of the outcomes of going through something out of the ordinary.

A lady entered the room, cameramen following her. She was probably in her mid-forties, her blonde hair gone thin from too much dyeing and her lips polished with matte red lipstick. She sat down in front of me, reeking the smell of strong perfume.

"Ava, right? I've heard so much about you, dear. Your story is truly... Incredible."

I chewed the inside of my lip and said nothing.

"I can't even imagine how much you've been through. How long were you in Thailand?" she asked.

I opened my mouth to answer, and then shut it closed. I let out a deep breath, then breathed back in, in hopes I could inhale some courage.

"We arrived December 24th," I said finally. I glanced at one of the cameras. The red light blinked, signalling that it was recording.

"December 24th," she repeated. "Only two days before it happened. Did it ever cross your mind while you were staying there that something bad was about to happen?"

"Um, no."

"I see. And you were staying in Thailand?"

"Yes."

"Where were you when the wave hit?"

"The beach."

I winced at what I was saying. My answers were too quick -- too brief. I watched the lady, wondering what she was thinking of me. Did I seem irritated? Was I answering the questions properly? How many people were going to watch this interview?

"And when you saw the wave, how did you react?"

"I don't know, it's... difficult to describe. I didn't really understand what was going on. I was also very focused on finding my little brother... he'd been running around and I lost sight of him."

"And did you find him before the wave hit?"

I swallowed hard, avoiding eye contact with her. "No. Can we move on?"

She nodded and paused for a bit, before asking, "How badly did the tsunami injure you?"

"Not that badly. I got a few cuts that left scars along with a broken arm, but overall, nothing too severe."

"And your brother..."

"..."

"Describe that moment when you found your brother."

"...I don't know how."

"How did you feel?"

"It was surreal."

"What did you think?"

"What did I think?"

"Yes, what did you think?"

I glanced out one of the windows, watching the sky and the clouds move forward. Taking a deep breath, I told myself to keep calm. "Mason didn't look like my little brother," I said finally. 

"What do you mean?"

I felt a sudden stab of frustration. "I mean, he didn't look like my brother. He was dead. His skin was all pale and his picture was pasted along a wall covered in pictures of other dead people." For a second, my gaze met hers, but I quickly looked away. Staring at my feet, I continued, "It's not how I want to remember my brother. It didn't look like him."

"I can't even imagine how you must have felt. How did you react?"

"How did I react?"

She nodded.

My throat tightening, I responded,  "Can we skip this question, please?"

"Of course." She leafed through her notes and came up with another question. "...Have you ever thought of returning to Thailand?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"I'm heading there next week to do some volunteering."

The interviewer smiled, revealing her perfectly straight teeth. "That's wonderful."

I pressed my lips together, avoiding eye contact with her.

"And how did you cope with the events when you got back home?"

"People had suggested therapy, and I had heard good things about it, so I tried it out."

"And how did that go?"

"Good, I guess."

She nodded once more, offering me a sympathetic smile. "For this interview, we have been interviewing as many people as possible from all over the world, including many children. In fact, one of them claimed to know you. Are you familiar with Harper Sanford?"

"...Yes."

"Wow, that's incredible. What a small world. How did you two meet?"

I cleared my throat. "Um, after the tsunami, the survivors were told to head to the mountains due to rumours of there being another tsunami. I met her brother. We found her a few days later in one of the hospitals while we were searching for our families."

"That is truly remarkable. What was your relationship with them like? Have you kept in contact?"

"Um, it was good, I guess. We stuck together until we found our families. And no, we didn't keep in contact."

"Why not?"

I winced at the question. "I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean we just didn't keep in contact. That's it."

"Um," she looked through her notes once more. "Your brother, Mason—"

"I don't want to talk about him." I said sharply.

"Oh, I'm sorry. What about your father? How did you--"

"We never found him." I muttered sourly.

"But did you--" her voice trailed off.

I could feel my hands shaking and my vision blurring. I blinked and looked away from her, catching sight at one of the cameras filming me.

"Cut."

The cameras switched off.

I stood up from my chair, running my hands through my hair and taking deep breaths. My mother entered the room, rushing over and wrapping her arms around me. "Ava, sweetie. Look at me. Are you okay?"

"I-I just... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--"

"Shh, Ava. Listen to me. If you don't want to do this, that's fine."

"No, Mom. I have to do this." I took a few deep breaths and pulled away from her, wiping away my tears. "I'm fine. I want to do this. I need to."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

I inhaled and exhaled, tucking my hair behind my ears before looking around the room, catching sight at the film crew staring at me. The interviewer watched me with a worried look swarming her eyes. "Are you sure you want to do this, Ava?"

I swallowed and nodded.

"Okay then," she said softly, gesturing towards my sofa chair. "Have a seat."

I glanced back at my mother, nodding in reassurance before walking over and sitting down.

"Alright," the interviewer smiled. "Where were we?"

A/N: Sorry if this chapter was kinda crappy XP I wrote this last weekend when I was sick :P I kinda-ish (is that a word?) looked it over but meh, hope you enjoyed it anyway XD Thanks for reading! BTW OMG 6K READS. *faints* THANK YOU <3