Before her accident, Clare had never experienced anything more uncomfortable than a hangover. Now that her body had been ejected thirty feet through the windshield of Adam’s truck, and survived, debilitating migraines had become a regular part of life. It was just one more thing about her existence that was awful now.

Clare pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and crawled to the end of her bed, reaching her arm across the narrow space between the bottom of her bed and the dresser. She grabbed the bottle of pain pills and scooted back to the top of her bed. Clare propped herself against her headboard and opened the bottle. It was a recent refill and still mostly full. She tipped the bottle and let all the pills pile into her palm.

She’d thought about it many times over the past year.

Because how hard would it be? A handful of pills. Wash them all down. Lie back and wait. Sleep. Go. Die. Painless.

She didn’t know what the point of anything was anymore. She hurt, physically, mentally.

Adam was gone.

She would never get over that. She would never let herself. She loved him, even now. He had been gone over a year, and she still loved him just as much.

More even.

She missed him. All the time. Talking with him, his laugh, listening to him play the piano, watching him play ball, holding his hand, kissing him—making love to him.

Clare let the pills tumble from her hand and onto the bedsheet. She used her finger to spread them out, then pushed them back into a pile. She wished she had been the one to die that night. Why hadn’t it been her? What was the point in her surviving? Adam was the one with his whole life, a real life, ahead of him. His talent, his brain, his gifts—if there was a God, like fucking Karen Cummings was so sure of, and that God had spared Clare’s life that night instead of Adam’s, well then, God had made a huge fucking mistake.

Clare grabbed the water glass off her side table. She picked up a pill between her thumb and index finger, placed it on her tongue, held it there for a moment, then washed it down. She picked up another, placed it on her tongue, then washed it down.

She wanted to die. Her life was useless; she was useless. What was she ever going to do? How could she, Clare Kaczanowski, nobody from nowhere, ever possibly be worth anything without the one good thing, the one amazing person she had lost? What was left? Living with her mom in Casper forever? Red smock and a name tag? Clare picked up another pill, placed it on her tongue, and took another swallow of water.

The handle on the bedroom door turned, and the latch clicked.

Clare pulled her blanket up over her pile of pills.