in the air and lands with a soft thud in my hand. The curtains of my bedroom are shut, but the last shred of sunlight leaks through them and creates a deep red line across my hardwood floor. I toss the beanbag as my room is submerged in dark blue.

I've been laying like this for hours.

It's relaxing in here. Without much light, the walls pulse around me like the bottom of the ocean. I'm sinking, sinking, sinking...

If I sink far enough, will I stop breathing?

Yeah, I'm too stoned to be thinking about stuff like this.

It's been this way since Lucy left a month ago. Catching the hacky sack a last time, my head falls to the side and my cheek brushes my pillow. There's a box in my desk drawer, hidden within another box, and in that box, there's a bottle filled with sleeping pills. It's fucked up, but I feel so empty.

It's strange to think this could all disappear. These blue walls, the rug on the floor, my dresser with my hockey trophies, the tote in the closet that still holds all my Bionicles and Legos and Hotwheels because I'm too sentimental to throw them out.

My thoughts, my feelings.

Lucy.

I blink. My hair brushes my forehead and tickles me, so I swipe it away. I could make it all go away, right here, right now. I wonder what dying feels like. I wonder if it hurts. It probably doesn't matter—I mean, what's a couple of minutes of pain for eternal silence? Totally worth it. So should I do it? My heart pounds. Mom and Dad are out, but Ollie's home.

I ask myself if he would care, but I don't have a real answer to that. I don't know it.

With a sigh, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and smooth my hands over my heavy eyes. My muscles are sore and stiff. I feel weak, depleted, and drained. My hockey trophies laugh at me.

I drag myself to the bathroom. I'd lay in bed forever if my mortal body didn't need to piss.

After, I walk down the hall. Charlotte's door is still shut and the contents of her room are untouched. Mom said we need to leave everything exactly how it was when she left so when we find her, she'll know we never gave up on her.

But I have given up on her. I've given up on everything. Sometimes I think the only reason I haven't swallowed those pills is because I'm scared of how it would affect Mom. I don't know how Dad would feel, but Mom would be destroyed, and she already deals with so much.

In Charlotte's room, I flick on the light to reveal her pink wallpaper and cluttered white dresser. I sit on the rose-themed bed next to the collection of Beanie Babies.

I wonder if Lucy would care if I did it. Maybe she'd think I'm weak and pathetic for killing myself. A lot of people would think that.

I pick up one of Charlotte's stuffed animals, an orange bear sitting in a prayer position, and my eyes sting. I throw the bear to the side, not caring where it lands, not caring if it knocks something out of place. Charlotte's never coming back—the cops have given up on the investigation, and Dad and his friend, Detective Johnson, are the only people still looking.

This whole room reeks of her. Not the Charlotte who ran away, but the Charlotte who used to make me watch dumbass High School Musical movies and occasionally play Mario Kart with me, but only when she was in the mood. I want that Charlotte back.

Shoulders heavy, I flick off the light, return to my room and fall on my bed, sinking, sinking, sinking...

I can't decide who hurts more to think about—Lucy, or Charlotte? I miss them both in such different ways.

With Charlotte, I miss putting dirt in her hair or throwing her Barbies out the window, only to have her melt my Transformers with a magnifying glass in the sun. I miss our wars as kids, but how we'd always end up curled on the couch together, watching anime or something before bed.

With Lucy, I miss her touch and the smell of her hair in my face. I miss her soft skin beneath my hands and making her smile and shiver and everything in between, how we'd cuddle and watch movies and eat snacks until we'd pass out.

Lucy gave my life meaning, but then she made me nothing. She showed me that some people are like storms—destructive and devastating, but beautiful, in the way lightning is beautiful. Some storms leave behind a rainbow, or silver linings around the clouds, but in the end, the mess doesn't clean itself up. Beauty fades.

Lucy Pembroke is a hurricane.

And maybe I knew that, or maybe I didn't care. Maybe I'm sick in the head because I still think about her even though it makes me feel like my heart is being stabbed.

But we could still get back together, right? That was what she said when we broke up, that we could talk it out. So I cling to that hope. It's all I have.

There's a knock at the door, and I look up. Ollie stands in my doorway.

"El, what're you doing, man?" He flicks on the light. "Turn the fucking light on."

I duck into the safe darkness of my blankets. "Dude, turn it off."

"Why? What's wrong with you?"

"Leave me alone."

Ollie says nothing, but I feel him lingering. When he doesn't turn off the light, I poke my head out from under the blankets.

"What, man? Why're you staring at me like that?"

He slings his hands in the pockets of his plaid pajamas. They're a lot like mine. When Ollie's slouched like that, we really look alike. But he's fatter. And ruder. At this point, I'm not sure if he's any lazier.

"Look, El." He steps into the room, and after a moment of judging me, he sighs. "You need help, dude. You need to stop moping around and feeling sorry for yourself. It's not helping Mom's stress and it's not helping Dad find Charlie."

"Are you kidding me right now?" The rage is instant. God, Ollie really has a way of getting under my skin. He's such a hypocrite.

"No, I'm not kidding. Your room's not close enough to Mom and Dad's to hear Mom crying every fucking night."

"What's your point? You haven't worked in over a year and you dropped out of school. I still do both. I still drag myself to work even when I want to—"

Kill myself. Even when I want to kill myself. But Ollie wouldn't understand.

"Okay, I get it, I'm a fuck-up," he says. "I'm real proud, and your constant reminders are super helpful. But I'm talking about at home, dude. All you do is sit in the dark, it's fucked up. Even I watch TV with Mom sometimes, or help her clean up, or something. You just—"

I stand. "Don't you get it? I can't fucking help it, Ollie! You think I like being like this? I feel empty inside. I feel—"

I stop, because Ollie doesn't care. He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow.

"Forget it." I sit on the bed and stuff my palms in my eyes. "Just get out."

"No. What do you have to feel so sorry about, El? You're Mom and Dad's precious hockey player. You're the goddamn golden child. They give you everything you want."

"Yeah? Now look at me."

He shuts up. Everything's so fucked. I pull my knees to my chest and cry like a pussy right in front of Ollie. I don't care if he sees—I don't give a shit about anything anymore.

"Are you serious?" he asks. "El, come on..."

I keep hiding my head between my knees and sobbing. "I just want to know if Char's okay, and I miss Lucy. I feel like I can't live without her."

"Elliot, come on, man... I miss Charlotte too, but Lucy's just a chick. They come and go. Trust me, I know."

"This is different. You don't understand how much I love her."

He sits on the bed, as far from me as he can get. "Maybe not, but I know what it's like to be hurt. I was crushed when Cass dumped me. I mean, we have a kid together. Do you think I'm stoked that I only get to see Ana once a week? That some other dude is half-raising my kid? It sucks."

I wipe my eyes and rest my chin on my knee. "I'm sorry. That does suck."

Ollie tensely clasps his hands. "It like... gets better, I guess..."

"You don't sound sure."

"You're not the only one who feels like shit all the time. Sometimes you just have to push through it." He laughs. "You're right, I should get a job. I'm not exactly a role model, I know that."

This is weird. Am I actually bonding with Ollie right now? Should I tell him I'm thinking about killing myself?

"Stop calling me a moron," I say.

"What?"

"You always call me a moron. I hate it. I want you to stop."

"Uh, oh... okay? Sorry, I guess..."

"Okay."

I figured that was the only time I'd be able to authentically slip it in there that every time he calls me that, I want to bash my own head off a wall. Too many bad memories are attached to that ugly word, and hearing it from my brother's lips makes it even worse. Makes it hard to not hate him. But right now, I don't really hate him at all.

"I'm gonna go play Warcraft." Ollie stands. "Feel better or whatever, okay?"

"Okay."

Maybe I do, a little.