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They’re laughing because of me. I made them forget.

I have to fix it.

My arm hurts where I keep scratching. I dig my nails and the pebble in harder.

It stings now. Something warm and wet soaks through my sleeve.

But I don’t stop. It really hurts now, but I deserve it.

And the tight feeling in my chest gets a little smaller.

Present

I jolt awake, my eyelids heavy, to her fingers trailing over my face.

My breath snags when I see Olivia leaning over me, her soulful eyes pooling with moisture. A bittersweet smile curves her lips as she brushes her thumb over my cheek.

There’s wetness there.

She’s wiping away the tears that have somehow escaped. Tears I haven’t shed in years because I don’t cry. Ever.

Crying is cathartic. It releases the unpleasant emotions—the guilt, the sadness. It helps you move on.

But I don’t deserve catharsis. Maybe if this mission succeeds, if I can atone for the past, then I can let go.

Then why are you telling her your secrets, you hypocrite? Isn’t that cathartic? Isn’t being with Olivia cathartic?

I have no answers. I’m too weak and tired to fight it—this attraction to her.

And she makes me feel safe.

“O-Olive, I-I…”

“Shhh…” She continues her gentle motions. Soft grazes on my right cheek, then my left.

Comforting. Loving. Sensations that should be for someone else, someone better than me.

The ball in my throat grows, every inch of me focusing on how her fingertips scrape over my skin, setting my nerves aflame.

Slowly, I reach into my pocket and pull out the red marble.

“I carry this with me to remind myself of what I did. How Mom died because of me. How Dad lost the love of his life and my siblings lost their mom because of me.”

I roll it around in my palm, remembering the sound of it clattering down the stairs.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Why didn’t I clean up after myself?

“You see, I’m not sick, not in the traditional sense. It’s guilt. So you can’t help me.”

Silence falls between us.

“I’m so proud of you for sharing your past with me,” she whispers, her voice thick.

She reaches for my marble, but I pull away and stuff it back into my pocket.

I can’t let go of it.