“It is my fault.” Saying those words out loud is like ripping my heart out and offering it to Zach; like handing over my most absolute truth. “It’s all my fault.”

Zach’s eyes are worried.

“What can I do?”

I shake my head. “Rewind time?” I give a bitter laugh. “Nothing. There’s nothing anyone can do.”

“Look. I know this isn’t the same thing, but I spent a long time letting everyone at school tell me it was my fault that my mom took this case, that somehow Gwen and I were to blame for her actions. I let them convince me of that.” He leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. His lashes are long and black, like little butterflies landed on his eyelids and decided to make them their home. My heart skips a beat. I look away, out into the store.

A couple people walk in our direction, heading down the stairs. I should be embarrassed, sitting here with mascara streaked under my eyes, but as with most things in life over the past year, I can’t summon up the energy to care.

I listen to Zach talk; I know he’s trying to make me feel better. It’s nice of him, even if it’s fruitless. In the last few months, not many people have tried. I think everyone got tired of worrying about a girl who might punch them in the face at the slightest provocation.

Zach continues, “I decided tonight that I’m sick of it. I’m sick of letting Matt make me feel like shit. Of letting him hold my mom over my head, like I did something, like I have any control over what she does. I tried to tell her not to take the case!” His face gets red. “I told her it would ruin my life. That if she didn’t care about me, at least she should care about Gwenie, who was going into ninth grade…going to a whole new school.” His hands ball into fists. “But she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about us. She only cares about herself.”

He takes a deep breath. “Sorry. What I’m trying to say is that I’m done thinking it’s my fault. That I can control her actions. And what that asshole David Ecchles did? The fact that he’s a total psycho? That isn’t your fault.”

I open my mouth to tell him that he’s wrong, that it is my fault. I left all those people out there to die, including my twin brother. I stayed in that closet, too hungover to move, and let him die. Before I can get the words out, the lights of the store flicker and a voice overhead informs us that the store is closing in ten minutes.