Two. Oh God, keep breathing. Three. Keep counting. Is something screwed up in my head? Why am I so weak? Four. Five. Will I always hate this part of me? Six. Seven. Eight. If Bodee hadn’t hit Hayden, how far would I have let Hayden go?Damn you, stupid air vent. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Don’t stop counting.Bodee hit Hayden because of me. Did that really happen?Twelve. Thirteen. What did Craig do to Hayden after we left? And Kayla? Could I keep her from telling our parents? My friends. What will happen Monday at school? Fourteen. Fifteen. Does Hayden hate me now? Sixteen. Will the football team retaliate against Bodee? Seventeen. Is Bodee safe?Will I ever be safe from myself?How far would I let Hayden go?Eighteen. How far would I let Hayden go?I blink and I don’t care that I lose count.How far would I let Hayden go?Of all the questions, this is the only one that matters. It cycles automatically as I stare at the familiar dark slits in my ceiling. I know it cycles because I don’t have the answer.Or maybe because I do.All the way.
