I stare at my scarred wrist. It’s bright pink, almost like a bracelet that’s been carved deep into my skin. If Davian isn’t real . . . If he’s just in my mind. Then why can’t I talk to him about this? I’ve been able to talk to him about everything and I’ve never been able to say that about anyone in my life.

But Davian . . . He’s this huge kind of different that makes me question everything in life. Sometimes I wonder if maybe he’s not in my head, maybe he is real. How could he be in my head? I’m not great at imaging things. At least I’ve never really thought about something and suddenly five seconds later it’s there.

I never thought about Davian. I guess I just met him and everything kind of fell into place. He was amazing, wonderful, everything I’ve ever wanted. And still I don’t know anything about him. Maybe that’s the thing that keeps me from letting myself believe that he’s real, because I know him but I don’t actually like _know know _him.

“Maisie!”

My Aunt’s voice booms from the bottom of the stairs. I quickly pull my sleeve over my left wrist, hiding the scar from her gaze. She doesn’t know about it, no one does. Not even Mom, well she knew about it but I lied to her about why I did it. I didn’t want her to worry. But I guess that doesn’t matter anymore.

I run down the stairs, keeping my hand on the railing as I watch Aunt Trish stirring a pot of soup on the stove.

“You called?” I ask, watching as she hovers above the small pot.

“I did,” Aunt Trish smiles at me. “I need some help.” She gives me a smile but with her eyes all crinkled at the sides. It’s the kind of smile that makes me want to smile back.

I fight the urge to as I start forward. “Of course.” I approach the counter as Aunt Trish throws the hot, wooden spoon to me.

I gasp as I catch it by the handle. Gosh, I was so scared that the hot soup side was going to burn my hands.

“Nice,” Aunt Trish winks at me as I walk to the pot. The soup is bubbling softly, the flames underneath sparking blue and orange around the sides.

This doesn’t feel anything like the times I helped Mom in the kitchen. First she never threw the spoon that was boiling hot to me. But I guess different is good, I mean with Davian it defiantly is.

I start stirring as my thoughts flow with Davian. His name, his face, his smile, the way his hair is messy but not in a way that’s like bad. I wish he was here right now, I wish he was always here.

“Maisie,” Aunt Trish’s voice is more like a question than a call. I turn around fast, my cheeks burning. _Maybe she can read my thoughts!_ I think as she gives me a look that I can’t read.

“Yeah?” I smile nervously as she peers over my shoulder.

She motions to the pot, and I swirl back around to find a huge expolsion over the sides of the silver pot.

I gasp, dropping the wooden spoon on the counter as I shut the fire off. I roll up my sleeves as I grab the handle and rush it over to the empty sink.

It sizzles loudly erupting with steam as I spray it with water from the sink. I’m not sure if it was ruined before but it defiantly is now.

I watch as it cools down, too afraid to face Aunt Trish. Maybe she wasn’t expecting me to do that, maybe all she meant for me to do was walk down the hall with the spoon and then toss it to her, giving her back her crown.

“Sorry,” I apologize as I slowly turn to face her. “I should have been paying more attention.”

I should have been watching the road, I should have grabbed the wheel when I saw the car instead of just staring at my wrist wondering why I wasn’t good enough.

“I’m so sorry!” I cry, my eyes pooling with tears as I bolt. I run for the door, not even turning around when Aunt Trish calls my name.

I force the door open, spirting down the porch steps as I escape into the sunset.

Everything flashes past me as I run, the trees the clouds, the cotton candy sky. The crash flashes in my mind, the look of Mom as her head hung limply over her shoulder.

It was the last time I ever saw her, but I still have to face her with her eyes closed and all the life taken out of her. I still _have_ to go to her funeral. It shouldn’t be a _have to_ thing, but it is. I don’t want to go, I just want everything to go back to the way it was before!

“Hey,” the familiar voice floods into my ears, making all my pain come to the surface. “Hey, Maisie.” Davian grabs me, wrapping his arms around me just like he did yesterday.

I sob into his shoulder, my arms hanging stiff at my sides. “I can’t go!” I cry as one of Davian’s hands grabs my neck. “I can’t see them bury her! . . . I can’t say goodbye.”

Davian swallows as he holds me close. “You’ve got to,” he tells me, his voice high and filled with pain. “It’s your last chance.”

He’s right. If I skip out on Mom’s funeral then I’ll never see her again. I’ll never get to say sorry, I’ll ruin everything. Just like I already have.

“I’m tired,” I lift my head up to look into Davian’s eyes. For some reason when I get deep into my thoughts I want to know what his beautiful brown eyes think. “I always feel so tired and I tell myself that it’s over and everything’s fine. But the next thing I know I’m, sobbing in the bathroom with a wad of toilet paper stuffed in my hand.”

Davian’s fingers brush my hair out of my eyes. I didn’t even realize it was there until he pointed it out. “How often does that happen?” He ponders his voice just as soft as his eyes.

I let out a trembling breath as my hands begin to shake. “Everyday for a year. I’ve been doing this . . . Feeling this pain.”

Davian keeps his had on my face even after my hair is no longer in my eyes. He stares down at me, his eyes filled with sadness. He parts his lips but no words come out.

The next thing I know we’re back in each other’s arms, except this time I’m holding onto him like he’s about to disappear.

“Why?” I whisper as he licks his lips pulling out of the hug. “Why do you listen to me?”

Davian smiles softly as he runs a hand through his brown hair. “Because I care.”

I like that . . . But I still don’t know why. We barely know each other, so why does he care so much?

“We don’t know each other,” I look down at my bare feet as my eyes still drip tears.

Davian brings his hand to my chin lifting my eyes to meet his. “I don’t need to know you to care about you.”

The little butterflies start fluttering in my stomach as his eyes linger on mine. “Why?” I ask again, my voice trembling.

“Because I know your pain,” Davian mumbles. “I know why you smile even though you’re not happy and I know why you come out at night when you can’t sleep. You may think I don’t know you but I know everything about you Maisie Bowden.”

I feel like that should creep me out, but it just makes my heart melt in my chest.

“I care about you too,” I whisper as Davian’s eyes smile back at me. He knows me, because every time he smiles I feel happy. That doesn’t mean anything but then at the same time it means everything.