I stopped making videos. I made my channel private. But it’s there, an archive. It’s hard to get away from your old self, I guess. Sometimes we just pile more on top, get new layers. I still like movies, but they don’t mean as much as they used to. I can’t remember feeling that passionate about them, about anything. I didn’t put all my posters up in my new room. I’ve left it clean and plain for now. I’ll see what fills it up as time goes on.

Pete called. He’s recovered really well from his burns, he said. Has scarring, but said it gives him character. He offered for me to join him at his new school, when I’m ready. He didn’t even make any conditions. He just said that I have to promise to keep going to my therapist. He even made a crack that he can take me, if I start getting ideas. I said that I’m happy to go to the high school closest to my new house, but it was really nice of him to call.

I wondered if Lottie was there when he did.

*   *   *

I know I did something terrible. Lots of terrible things, really. Felt terrible things. And terrible things were done to me, right? People argue about how bad: it wasn’t that bad, or it was really bad. Or that there were many things, death by a thousand cuts. How bad does it have to be for us to do something? How much bad? How bad can we be in return? Can anything be evened out? They talk about mental health, they talk about guns. I slip away from all of it. When I am alone and feeling scared, everything that happened leading up to what I did fills up my head again like water, and I worry that the thoughts will trap me and I can’t breathe or swim up to the top, where the fluorescent lights are shining down, like at the school pool. But I’m trying to find ways to get air. Ways to keep moving forward, if not moving on.