Eleven.

It took me seven more minutes to figure out what was going on. Had I been dreaming? Was it all in my head? At what point would I have not been dreaming? Or was it real? Did I just not remember the walk home? Did Spencer say goodbye? Before I could begin to try and answer any of these questions, my attention was drawn back to my leg. There was blood. So much blood. And yellow. Infection, maybe? I touched it. I saw the blood on my hand and yet felt no pain. That's when I realized I couldn't feel my leg anymore. I focused so hard on trying to remember what it was like to have feeling in my leg but nothing happened. I just sat there in my own blood, my own disbelief, still confused. Reality, dreams...what happened to me? I heard a soft noise and turned my head towards my makeshift door. "Tommy?" I asked. God, here we go again. What's wrong with me? Tommy is dead. Tommy is dead. I killed Tommy, he can't be here. But he was there, in the doorway. And then he was there, by my wound, with a bandage. "Where did you get that?" I asked. He just smiled. He wrapped my wound so delicately, smiling. I could hear his laugh again and it took me back to that day. That's when I felt the tears on my cheek. I had no idea when I had started to cry but all I could think about was that day. "I'm so sorry. Tommy. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked you to go, you shouldn't have jumped, I should have jumped. I'm so sorry." He just looked at me, and his smile turned from one of joy to one of concern. He touched my cheek and wiped off some tears. He wouldn't say anything, he just sat there with me. I felt so tired. Just as I began to sleep, I thought I could hear him say "Go to sleep, kid." That felt so homey, so familiar. I think I fell asleep smiling when the dream began. I was back home, at 157 Walker Lane. Tommy was pushing me on the tire swing and we were laughing so hard it hurt. Everything was whiter than usual, it was so bright. But Tommy made it feel so normal. It was such a happy dream, I didn't want to wake up. I looked down the hill towards the house and I saw them, Mom and Dad. More importantly, I saw their smiles. I could hear them telling me they loved me. I heard my mom more than anyone. "We were always smiling at you sweetie. You never should have left." Hearing those words made everything click in my head. In my dream, we were happy and I was with my family. In my dream, I couldn't even imagine wanting to wake up. In my dream, I just had absolutely no desire to wake up. I wanted to stay there forever with Tommy and my parents, the ones who forgave me. In reality, they never forgave me. In reality, Tommy was gone. In reality, I was never going to wake up.

Ten.

"Hi." He stood there, shocked. I saw him process who was standing at his doorway. He didn't respond but I could see in his eyes that he understood. He realized I was shaken, definitely broken, different than last time. I'd always tried to come off as a strong, misunderstood woman to him. But now, standing in his doorway, begging him without words to take me in, just for a minute, I felt the same as that day; a weak and helpless girl more dependent than ever. He held the door open, just to the point where i could stumble in. I knocked over a suitcase that had been sitting by the door. "Shit, I'm sorry." Then I looked at it and realized it wasn't alone There were seven bags sitting by the door, one a duffel bag, some suitcases, and even a box. "Oh," I said. He looked at me and I could see the pity in his eyes. But I could also see that he wasn't going to be staying long or changing his mind about leaving. I wanted to ask where he was going or why, but I think I knew. I thought back to that conversation I'd overheard between him and that woman over the phone, and I knew. He was never coming back. "I have to leave in...seven minutes," he said, checking his watch. Seven bags and seven minutes. I had to just accept it. He gestured towards the couch and frowned when he saw me hobbling towards it. "You're hurt." He said it almost as if he was disappointed. "It's nothing." He didn't believe me, but just as I didn't ask, he chose not to keep discussing the injury. I was relieved. He flipped on the television. There was an urgent news story regarding the murder of Sile N'Bhron. "Seven minutes couldn't come any sooner," he said, lost in the television's image of the woman. "That was just a few floors above here."

"Wow," was all i could say. I felt like I needed to say more but what can you say in seven minutes? Besides, I had a feeling he was talking more to himself than to me.

I looked at the clock and seven minutes had gone by. I lifted myself from the couch and hobbled over to the door. I opened the door and felt him behind me. I turned around and looked into his eyes before walking out of his life, and all I could say was, "I'm sorry." I looked into his eyes, those deep blue eyes, and they looked so familiar. They took me back to that river, back to the running stranger with fear and worry, back to the streets where all I could see were those eyes. Those eyes. And that's when I felt a jolt in my leg and woke up right back in my nook.

Nine.

Lately, all I do is sleep. I feel so tired, all the time. My leg smells, which probably isn't good, but what am I supposed to do? Go to the hospital? Right. Well, given how much sleeping I've been doing, I've been having more and more dreams. I feel like I never used to dream, certainly not as much as I do now. Last night, I had the oddest dream. Normally, it's either about me and Tommy, or me and this town. For once, my parents were there. I was laying on the floor, at their feet, crying, shaking, begging them to want me. And they just smiled down at me, like towers. They never spoke, they just smiled. I don't think I'm ever going to understand why they didn't say anything, but smiling was more than I could have asked for honestly. They never smiled at me. The only time they smiled was when we went to Disney World. I had refused to go on any roller coasters, I was so afraid of heights. Tommy loved them. He wanted me to go so desperately. I finally worked up the guts to go on that stupid Splash Mountain ride and I don't think I've ever seen Tommy so happy. We came running off that ride, my head still spinning, and that was it. I remember so clearly the way my mother's eyes lit up, and the corners of her mouth turned upwards. My father took her hand and I saw it: their smiles, directly pointed at me, not Tommy, me. I never was sure if they were actually happy with me, or if they were just happy because I'd chosen to make Tommy happy. They knew I hadn't enjoyed that ride, I almost peed myself. But they saw how I'd done it for Tommy. I think that's why they smiled.

I stood up from my perch in the corner, and grabbed an old pair of pants. I slid them on reluctantly over the gash in my knee. I didn't want people to look at me even more than usual if I was going to finally make an attempt to go outside into the real world. I hobbled over to the broken "door", or opening, rather, and climbed out slowly. I looked down towards the street, past my dumpster. I saw a few people, but not as many as usual. I figured if there was a time, it was now. I hobbled along, the pain growing. It felt harder and harder to lift that leg and bend that wound. I finally reached a spot where there seemed to be only one person around. She was dealing with her car so I figured she'd be distracted, not noticing the poor broken girl on the side of the road. I sat down on the curb, not far from her car. She still hadn't noticed. That's when her phone rang. She clicked the button after struggling to find her phone and responded, "Yes, this is Spring." At first, the conversation had no interest for myself until I heard something. "Oh, Spencer, hi." Spencer? As in my Spencer? The baseball guy, Spencer? She kept chatting, seeming a bit shaken. They were talking about a car, possibly this car? That's when I heard him, just barely, but I heard him. "I'd like to apologize. I'm sorry for yelling at you." What was he talking about? More guilt rushed to my head as I thought about all those times Spencer had helped me. He was so good to me, and I shot him down every time, except to use his shower or his money for waffles. I never needed that and he gave it to me anyways. That's when I realized I was already hobbling back towards my nook, or rather, back towards Spencer's apartment.

Eight.

I feel as though I'm going crazy. The nightmares are one thing, but those eyes. They keep popping up in my head, the only vivid memory I can maintain lately. The first few days after I saw those eyes, they were grey, ghostly, empty, sad. It felt like a ghost, penetrating my own eyes. Now, I see them as bright blue eyes, Tommy's eyes. Was I imagining the whole thing? Was there ever a person behind that theater? Was it Tommy? I mean, I know it couldn't have been Tommy, but I swear...it felt like Tommy. It looked like Tommy. But it couldn't... I needed to get out. I walked out of my little cave of a home, and hobbled along the street. My leg was feeling a little better, but it was starting to look infected. I knew I needed to get help, but I didn't want to. I didn't deserve it. This is when it got worse. Everywhere I turned, I saw him. Every single person became him. Spencer became him, and even that guitar player, Pink. They were all him. I was swimming in his ghost, and it was terrifying. I jogged back to my spot, as quickly as I could, given my leg. But even then, I could see him in the windows of those apartments next door. I could hear him laughing, I could feel him drowning. "STOP!" I shouted. I realized where I was. I was laying on the floor, hugging something to my chest. I looked down. In my hands was a picture of Tommy and I, at the park in Detroit, where we had visited Grammy and Gramps. Also in my hand was that damn card with our address on it, well their address. His address. What am I doing? Tommy isn't "haunting" me or whatever I've been worried about. I'm doing this to myself. I took out an old floorboard and began placing everything I had in there, except for one thing. That card. I tucked it into my pocket, put the floorboard back into place, and crawled to my sleeping area. I realized it was only six thirty in the morning, so I forced myself back to sleep. That was the first sleep in while that didn't take me back to that river. Instead, I just laughed with Tommy, happily, free of guilt. He held my hand so firmly that I lost all worries, all fear, all guilt. That was my Tommy. That was what I needed.

Seven.

I jolted awake, sweating, panting, screaming. I laid there, shaking. Ever since that small collision with that stranger, I've been having the same nightmare. It always starts like it did that one day. Tommy and I, driving to the river. He'd had plans with his friends, but I wanted him to go to the river with me before he went off to college. He always put me first, and I always seemed to do the same, being as selfish as I was. We sing, and smile, and laugh. I can still hear that laugh, so big and loud. It rings in my ear even after I've woken up. "Be careful!" I can hear my mother shouting in the background, so concerned as she always was. We always made fun of her, like there was nothing to worry about. We keep driving, and everything outside of the car is fuzzy, at least in my dreams. We pull into the gravel parking lot, empty, just as it was that day. In actuality, I got in first, but in my dream, Tommy always goes first. In my dream, I never leave that one spot, standing by the car, watching, smiling while Tommy swims. Tommy laughs, splashes around. In actuality, it was my idea. I pointed out the big jumping rock. In my dream, Tommy wants to go. In actuality, I was terrified, and asked him to go first. In my dream, Tommy was scared. He begs me to go with him, saying we can jump at the same time. In actuality, I climbed to the top of the rock with Tommy, and helped him to the ledge. He wasn't scared at all. He was excited, he wanted me to be happy, and if that meant going first, he'd do it. In my dream, I walk to the ledge with Tommy, hand in hand. We jump together, screaming the whole way down, and neither of us come up from under the water. In actuality, Tommy jumped. Tommy never came up. I just stood there, silent, motionless, scared, guilty. By the time I realized what was going on, I just felt my body take over. I was screaming his name, running back down that hill, sliding on the rocks, scraping my legs. No one was there. I needed help, and no one was there, not even me. I willed myself to jump from where I was, and swam around. I didn't know where he was, if he was scared, if he could hear me, if he knew I loved him. I just knew he was gone. I barely made it back to the car when I felt my body collapse. I was shaking, sweating. That was the first time I ever drove a car, and it was to go find my parents and tell them there beloved Tommy had just disappeared in the water, all because of me, the daughter they never loved quite as much. In my dream, Tommy and I are swimming deeper and deeper, still laughing, as if there's no water. He loves me, I know it. And then, I'm standing at the edge of the water, at the car, watching Tommy jump, watching him never come up again. That's when my dream becomes more like reality as I start screaming, sweating, panicking, unable to move from that one spot. That's when I wake up, realizing that I'm never going to be able to escape that look in those eyes behind that theater. I realized that I've been trying to bury all of those memories, store them away in a box. The second I broke that box, I let it all out. I went back to my memories, I welcomed them back, sliding down that hill, like that stupid little girl who wanted to go to the river with her brother. I don't know what I expected, but this is what I have. I have a few good memories, and a lot of nightmares. I tried to lay there and think about those good memories, before it all went bad. But no matter what, the nightmares come. There's no changing it.

Six.

I woke up and looked at my leg. The wound didn't look too bad, certainly not infected, but it could use a little attention. I decided it wouldn't hurt to just go get a little ice from Johnny's. I reached into my pile of stuff that now lacked an actual box thanks to my little stunt yesterday. I sifted through it all, old pictures, clothes, and there at the bottom were some dollar coins. I grabbed a few just in case they weren't feeling too sympathetic at Johnny's. Just as I started to climb up onto my feet, I caught a glimpse of that small card. That small card that used to be my life. I only caught the first half of it, but it stuck in my mind for the entirety of my walk: 157 Walker La--. I tried to get it out of my head but I couldn't help but wonder if they were still there, still happy. It made me so tired thinking about it. Do they still blame me? Do they still hate me? My breathing got quicker, shorter. What am I doing? I hobbled over behind the theater and leaned against an old shed. Panicking, I tried to unlock it, but I had no luck. I heard someone coming. They can't see me, not like this. They just can't know. I turned, and suddenly another set of eyes were inches from mine. I felt like I was looking in a mirror; that same fear, that same guilt. Was I imagining it? It felt like I was back at that river, watching Tommy, while that same look began to posses my eyes just as it possessed these eyes. Is this some cruel joke? Was God punishing me, finally? I try to punish myself every day, and yet this is the worst. These two eyes, taking me right back to my mistakes, back to who I really am: scared, guilty, and motionless. But then, right as I began to focus on who was before me, they were gone. I saw brown hair, and that was all. Was it Tommy? Surely, I'm going crazy. I shook it out for a minute, then picked up my scattered dollar coins, and headed on to Johnny's. I had to put this in the past. This is who I am, not that look, not that mistake, not that guilt or fear. This is me.

Five.

The snow has been coming down quickly and smoothly. My walks have gotten thicker and thicker. It reminds me of my old home every time. Whenever it would snow, which was unusual, we would all load up the car with our laundry baskets and storage bin lids and head up to the "mountain". It was this seemingly large hill, compared to all the other hills, that we would sled down whenever we had the chance. I can't stop thinking about it lately. My brother was always so brutal going down the hill, he'd aim for me and swerve at me. Yet if he ever actually hit me, he'd carry the rest of the way apologizing and promising never to do it again. It made me think he never actually intended to hit me, it was just an act.
It was that memory that made me decide to venture past my usual walking route and head up towards the hills of my new run-down town. I ripped off a piece of my box that holds all of my possessions and made sure it could hold me. I finally saw a decent looking hill and decided to give it a try. Now, I don't know why I thought this would end well, reminiscing never has for me. But I did it. I slid down that hill, picking up speed every inch I went, until I got a little carried away. I started leaning from left, to right, to left, to right. Next thing I know, I'm heading towards a tree. Now in my head, that tree was just Tommy and we were just going to hit each other, and he would feel terrible and pick me up and take me down the hill. He would kiss my knee that was now bleeding and wrap it in a bandage when we got home. He would get a sling for my now broken arm and take me to the hospital for my concussion. But those thoughts ended quickly when I woke up next to the tree, my little make-shift sled scrapped on the side, my head throbbing, and my limbs weak. I think I laid there for fifteen minutes before I realized how serious it was. I inched my body towards the bottom of the hill that I never reached. I scooted up to stand and fell down. I tried two more times until I finally managed to gain my balance. I lifted my arm to my chest despite the throbbing pain. I never looked down at my knee as I hobbled back to my nook of a home. I don't even know where the hospital is, so I just decided to wait until the next day. Maybe I'll work up the guts and tolerance to hobble over to Johnny's and get some ice. Who knows?