"I can't talk right now," I say as I grab my backpack from his hand and unzip it, taking my house key out of the small front pocket.

"Estella. Please."

I shake my head, unlocking the door. "No, leave me alone. I'm serious, Asher."

He stands outside the threshold as I step inside of the empty house. Before I shut the door, I feel the need to ask him one question— one that's been stuck in my head since he brought up the Halloween party.

"Did Devin tell you?" I ask. "About what happened with Jacob."

He licks his lips. "Estella, look—"

"Just answer the question."

He nods slowly. "I didn't let her go to first period until she told me the truth. She didn't tell me who, but I put two and two together."

Self-reminder: never tell Devin anything.

"I knew," he continues. "The night it happened, I fucking knew that there was something up, and I ignored my gut. And I'm so pissed with myself cause I could have done something. I should have done something."

I shake my head. "You couldn't have known, Asher."

"But I did," he replies, furrowing his eyebrows. "I knew because you're a shitty liar and the second you cracked your fingers I knew you weren't telling me the truth. And I shouldn't have let you get away with it." He takes a couple of steps forward. "Estella, why couldn't you just tell me the fucking truth? I could have done something."

"What, like threaten to kill him?" I ask in disbelief. "Like, and I quote, beat his ass until he can't breathe?" I continue. "I didn't tell you because I didn't need to tell you, Asher. I had it handled. I was fine."

"Really?" He counters. "You were fine, Estella? You were fine after he fucking—"

"He didn't do anything." I cut him off before he can use the term as loosely as he has been throughout the evening. "I got out before he could do anything. So yes, Asher, I was fine. And I didn't need you to come to my rescue. I'm not as weak as you think I am."

I know how Asher and everyone else I'm friends with see me. They think I'm weak. They don't believe I can handle anything myself, and it angers me. I hate knowing that's the way they see me.

Just like cotton candy. It's made of pure sugar that you can rip apart without even trying. It dissolves in your mouth like it never existed in the first place. It's so weak that you can step on it and watch it fall apart underneath your foot. That's how Asher sees me. It's how Aaron sees me, and even though Devin told me I'm stronger than I think I am, it's the way she sees me, too.

I try to shut the door on him, ending our back-and-forth debate that I've realized is a waste of time. It's no use. We'll never see eye-to-eye anyway.

But he places his hand firmly on the door before I can close it. "So much for caring."

I furrow my eyebrows, trying to recall what he's referring to. Then I remember the day he showed up only ten minutes before physics class ended. He was in a strange mood, and I wanted to comfort him. But instead, I basically told him to get his act together.

Prove that you care, I told him.

"Asher." I sigh.

"I don't get it, Estella." His voice is full of confusion, defeat.

I take a deep breath. "When I said that, Asher— I... I didn't mean that you have to put yourself in danger to show you care. And I meant care in general, not about... anyone in specific." I shake my head. "And there are other ways to show—"

The rest of my sentence is cut off, but not by his words.

By his lips.

They crash against mine with a sense of urgency, like he's been wanting to do this forever. His hands come to wrap around my neck, his thumbs caressing my cheeks gently as his soft lips press against mine.

My eyes fly wide open and my hands reach for his forearms, pulling them away from my neck as I tear my mouth from his.

He stares at me with furrowed eyebrows, a look of realization taking over his face. I swallow, looking everywhere else but his green eyes. The tree on the parkway that hardly has any leaves this time of year, the empty driveway, the brown, dead porch plant by the door.

"Estella..."

"Why would you..."

We both speak up at the same time. I look up at him, biting the inside of my cheek. He stays put, silent as he stands right on the threshold of the front door.

"I... Fuck, I don't know," he mumbles.

I take a deep breath. "Asher, you know that... um, you know that I like Aaron."

He nods slowly. "Yeah, I do."

I shake my head, frowning. "You can't just do that, Asher... I'm sorry, but I just— I don't feel that way about you."

He opens his mouth, then closes it again.

"I know," he replies. "I know you don't. I'm sorry."

His tone breaks my heart. The sight of him breaks my heart. I never meant to hurt Asher. He's my best friend and knows me better than anyone else in my life does. I want to make him happy. But right now, I'm doing anything but.

I nod. "I think you should go, Asher."

I slowly shut the door, and this time he doesn't protest. It's safe to say that neither of us seem to have the right words to say. At least not now.

I begin to back away from the front door, heading for the staircase. I turn on my heel, making my way up the steps to my room.

Once I reach my bedroom, I immediately walk over to my bed, lying down on my back to face the ceiling of my pitch black room.

So much for caring.

God, Asher.

Why did he do that?

Why did Jacob have to ask him that stupid question? Why couldn't Asher resist his urge to retaliate? Why did he have to ask him that question in front of the others? Why, why did he kiss me?

And why, for a split second, was I going to kiss him back?

I grab my phone from my nightstand and open up the phone app. Her name sits near the top of my contact list, below both Aaron and Asher's. I click on it, knowing she won't pick up.

"Brooke," I say into the phone after the line cuts off. "I don't know where you are. But I need to talk to you." Tears spring from my eyes. I quickly wipe them away with the back of my hand before they can stream down my cheeks. "I don't know what the heck I'm doing... I need you, Brooke. Everything has just gone to... to crap ever since you left and I just feel like I'm making a complete mess of myself and I'm tired of being here alone—"

I stop my venting when I hear the front door open. I abruptly end the call, wiping my face once more before exiting my room and trotting down the stairs.

"Mom?" I call out as I enter the kitchen.

No response.

I look around the house, making my way to the living room for any trace of her. If she was wearing her heels, I'd surely hear the loud clicking against the hard wood floor.

"What did I say about leaving all of your crap everywhere, Estella?"

I whip my head around, watching as she walks out of her office, clad in a blue blouse and black dress pants. She wears her regular black booties. The fact that I was unaware of her whereabouts inside the house is a bit concerning on my end.

"Sorry," I mumble, walking over to grab my backpack from beside the front door.

She enters the kitchen, opening the fridge to scan its contents. After a few seconds, she pulls out a red apple, rinsing it before taking a bite.

"You look like you were crying," she says while chewing. "Were you?"

I shake my head, my eyes fixed on my feet to conceal my tear-stained cheeks. "No, I wasn't."

She hums suspiciously. "Good. You have nothing to cry over, anyway." She sighs, tossing her half-eaten apple into the trash can. "Crying is weakness. And I know I didn't raise you to be weak, Estella. Imagine if I cried every time I worked on a case. Hell, I'd be the worst lawyer to exist."

I don't think my mom has ever talked to me about her work. She doesn't talk to me much in general, but especially not about what she does.

"You're not weak, are you?"

I look at her, swallowing. "I... I don't know."

You'd think it's a strange question for her to ask. But it's not. It's the way she is. She was born to dig into people's skin, pry information out of them until they tell her the truth. It's her job to ask questions that keep you thinking about them even years afterward, the ones that make you question everything about yourself.

I am weak. I've always been weak. Every little thing makes me crumble inside. I crumble when I look at Jacob. I crumble every time Aaron says something I don't like. I crumble when my mom tells me what no one else does. I'm a crumbler. Like a cookie.

She washes her hands, drying them with a hand towel before making her way up the stairs. She releases her hair from the bun she wears on top of her head, placing her hair tie on her wrist.

"I'm going to sleep." That's her way of ending the conversation.

"Good night, Mom."

"Night."

Before doing the same, I turn off all of the lights downstairs and check to make sure all of the doors are locked, something my mom doesn't do before she heads to bed. Then I walk up the stairs to my room, changing into a pair of sweatpants and a random blue Superman t-shirt I got from a carnival years ago.

I settle into bed, pulling my grey duvet up to my chin as I lie on my side. Something tells me that no matter how hard I try, I won't be getting much sleep tonight.

Who controls your mind?

Who controls your emotions?

The truth is, no one has control over every thought that crosses one's mind. We are only human. We are affected by situations we are involved in— we are even affected by the ones we aren't. If the entire human population could control their every thought, everyone would be happy.

Wouldn't they?

The thoughts that roam our minds aren't always invited in. They're all ruthless, constantly trying to squeeze into a spot in our brains that they'll occupy for as long as they wish. They flood every inch of our brains, to the point where it's impossible to control.

We can try to subside the floods.

But more often than not, we just have to drown in them for a while.