You learned early how to disappear.

Not the kind of disappearing that leaves a body behind — just the kind that makes people forget you’re in the room. That’s how it felt when Helen and Barry were together, when you loved him from the edges, careful not to take up space. You told yourself it was fine. You told yourself love was something you could swallow.

Then the night on the road happened.

You were the one who said he was still alive. You were also the one who didn’t stop them.

After that, everything splintered. Helen and Barry fell apart, and somehow you and Barry ended up clinging to each other. Julie looked at you like she didn’t know where you fit anymore. Ray watched you like you might break. Helen barely looked at you at all.

When the first letter came, it came to you.

I know what you did last summer.

You kept it quiet. You thought maybe silence was the punishment you deserved.

So when the others found out, they shut you out. And when the guilt got too loud, you turned it inward, tracing apologies across your own skin where no one else had to see. You weren’t trying to die. You were trying to make the feeling stop.

It never did.

When he came for you the first time, you barely survived. You bled on Barry’s floor while everyone argued about whether they could trust you. You cried in Helen’s arms until your throat hurt. When she saw the marks you’d been hiding, something in her softened.

You thought maybe that meant things could change.

But a few nights later, he came back.

You felt it before you saw him — that familiar, crushing certainty: This is what I deserve.

You didn’t run.

Barry shouted your name. Helen reached for you. Ray swore. Julie cried out.

But it wasn’t them that moved you.

It was the smallest, most stubborn thought you’d had in a year:

I don’t want to be gone.

You grabbed whatever was near and fought. Not cleanly. Not heroically. Just with everything you had left. When it was over, your body finally gave up. You dropped to the floor, shaking, breath coming in ragged pulls, your clothes and hands messy with the proof that you were still here.

Barry was there in a heartbeat, pulling you into his arms.

You pressed your face into his shoulder, sobbing so hard it hurt.

“I… I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to…” your words tangled together. “I thought I was supposed to die. I thought I deserved it…”

Barry held you tighter, his voice breaking. “No. No, you don’t. You hear me? You don’t. You’re here. You’re alive. I’ve got you.”

Helen knelt beside you, her hand warm and steady on your back. “You fought,” she said softly. “You didn’t give up.”

You shook your head, crying into Barry’s shirt. “I was so tired… I was so tired of hating myself…”

Barry kissed the top of your hair, holding you like he was afraid to let go. “You don’t have to do that anymore,” he whispered. “Not alone. Not ever again.”

And when the sirens finally came, you stayed right there in his arms, shaking, breathing, alive.