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Why, why, why. I don't understand why he hates me. I don't understand why he wants me to leave so badly.

Another photo. This time we're older in it, and you can recognize him as he looked this year, before his death. Tears gather in my throat at the sight of him. The murmurs get louder; people are starting to figure it out.

"You see, Brenna here is really..."

I tune her words out. They don't matter. I know what she's going to say: awful things about me, worse things about my brother. She has pictures that I thought were private, but that's the internet for you.

I can't stop thinking about that day. He looks so much like he did when he died. Suddenly I'm not here any more. Instead, I'm standing outside in the middle of the storm.

The sound of his body when it hit the ground. The knife in my hand as I cut him down.

"Brenna over here—or should I say BrennaWilder—is a real piece of work. The type of person to stab friends in the back and steal from them."

There's the sound of thunder, and I can't tell if it's from my memory of the day my brother killed himself, or if a storm is breaking outside. I feel untethered from my body. Somehow I manage to yank my arm out of Cole's grip and stumble through the crowd.

Mom's face twisted in grief. Daddy turning away, getting in his truck and leaving us.

I hear a commotion. The mic is taken from Georgia's hand in the middle of a sentence. She was saying something about liars and frauds; my ears are full of echoing crashes, my vision blurred by tears.

Bruises on his chest. Ones I put there because we fought. Slipping in the mud. Crying until my body felt empty.

Briefly, I hear Holly's voice in the microphone. "Stop it! I told you I didn't want to go after her for one stupid mistake."

The snake in the grass. Its bite making me feel something, finally. The hollowness inside. The fire that filled it.

Always kind, that Holly. I wish she would do something to make me hate her, because maybe if she did, I wouldn't feel so bad about what I've done to her.

His body in the coffin. Bruises on his neck, covered with makeup.

I see them. Sasha's shocked face. Tricia shaking her head. Hector staring at me with furrowed brows. My friends, discovering I'm a liar. Looking at my face and seeing my resemblance to him.

Pushing through the kids all around me, I rush towards the doors of the ballroom, ignoring the shout of Mrs. Reynolds, who seems upset either by the interruption to the dance or my fleeing it. None of it matters; I'm done here now. I have nothing left.

My heels slip off my feet as I run full-out towards the front doors, but this is no Cinderella moment. No one will be gathering up my shoes to chase after me. There's no fairy tale prince in my future.

I hit the doors of Coleridge Center and rush out into the dark of a stormy evening. Rain pours down in sheets, and lightning splits the sky wide open. Taking the steps down as fast as I can, bare feet smacking on the slippery ground, I embrace the storm.

Let it rain down on me, ruin my hair and makeup, and destroy the dress I bought with another girl's money.

I'm missing half my heart. I'd forgotten until I saw his face projected on that screen, but Georgia Johnson reminded me what I've lost.Silas.Silas, who wiped my tears away, chased me through the river mud, taught me the constellations in the long grass, then died on a summer day when the cicadas were singing their song oflife, life, life.

I can't seem to breathe. For the first time in ages, I'm actually crying with grief. Full-out, heaving sides, sobbing like a child, tears streaming down my face, crying.

I hear steps behind me. I know it'll be him. This started with him, and it'll end with him. It's as inevitable as the rain splattering on my face.

"You were supposed to leave." His voice carries over the sound of the storm. "That's not the only thing you did wrong, though."

"What else are you talking about?" I whirl around to face him, impossibly angry. "I've donenothingwrong to deserve this."

"Other than stealing from my ex?" He raises a brow. "Who was nothing but good to you. But no, that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about your littlefixationon me. The one that went so horribly awry."

He advances on me. Thunder crashes, lightning flashes, and I jump—because of the storm, or because Cole grabs my arms and drags me towards him, anger in his bright green eyes.

"Why can't youjust stopdigging?" His fingers dig into my arms, and my heart leaps into my throat. "You weresupposedto just take the easy bait and stop when you'd gotten what you wanted."

"I don't know what you mean," I spit out, though some part of my brain is insisting that I can figure it out if I try hard enough. "Justleave me alone, you bastard."

"No."