Would I go home if I could?

Would I call home if I could?

No.

* * *

“It was Josie.” A voice that I recognize but can’t place comes through a fog.

“Why would she do that?”

“According to Logan and Nia, she wanted food. For her and another girl.”

“So she figured she should steal it from us?”

“We’re criminals after all.”

“Shut up, Grace.”

“It’s true, isn’t it? If we meant something, anything, we wouldn’t still be here. We’re a bunch of rejects left here to die. No one cares about us.”

“Shut up, Grace. We’re doing what everyone is trying to do right now. We’re surviving. And though that may not seem like enough to you, it’s enough to me, it should be enough to all of us. And not a single person among us deserved this.”

“I wish it were that simple, Case. She stole from us, and we can’t accept that. Because she endangered us, and I have to protect all of you. Logan offered to help you carry Emerson to their room. Please take care of them?”

“Where are you going?”

“To handle this.”

* * *

It still hurts.

* * *

My bed isn’t soft. It’s lumpy and uncomfortable, and I moan. All my words and thoughts tumble together, because violin music still plays in the background.

Everything around me is muted and distant, like I’m floating.

I don’t know if prayer counts if you’re not sure you believe in anything. Maybe that’s why I’m struggling. Maybe none of it matters.

My bed feels like a grave, but I hope the graves I dig are softer. I hope Serenity and Aleesha and Walker and Chloe and Elias and Faith and Mei are comfortable there. Even if heaven doesn’t exist. Even if there’s nothing beyond the peace of the garden. We all deserve a place to rest.

* * *

I’m nowhere, and the violin song won’t stop, and the endlessness is absolute.

I’m scared.

No, I’m not.

* * *

I would go to Confession one last time if I could. Despite everything, I miss it. I miss sharing what is on my mind and in my worries, all the mistakes I made and all the things I would do different now. I miss the soft smell of incense and old stone buildings. I miss feeling lighter afterward.

But right now, I don’t even know what I would say.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned? I have, I’m certain. I am—I was Catholic. I can feel guilty about anything without so much as trying, but I don’t feel guilty about being here. I don’t feel remorseful about being who I am, and I certainly won’t repent.

We’re not rejects. We deserve to be cared for and deserve to be remembered.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I believe the world—Your glorious creation—is broken, and when I’m not scared, I’m so angry, I could break it all further. I won’t honor my parents. I won’t forgive those who trespassed against me. I will not accept a single moment of this.