I glared at the rays of light that were starting to seep through my sheer curtains.

Any time I closed my eyes, the girl from my nightmare gave me that chilling smile — or that fucked up girl from the movie was crawling toward me.

Eventually I gave up trying to sleep, which I was regretting now because it felt like someone had replaced my eyelids with sandpaper.

I narrowed my eyes and blew at the dust I could see in the ray above my face, making it swirl and dance away, but more quickly took its place.

For some reason, my blood boiled at the audacity of those stupid dust particles, and I sporadically waved my hands above me, trying to get rid of them.

Realizing it was no use, I huffed and sat up in bed, yanking my phone off the charger.

7:06am

Fuck. This is gonna be a long day.

I went to the bathroom to take a shower, hoping for it to make me feel at least somewhat human.

After rinsing the shampoo out of my hair, I reached for my conditioner bottle, but frowned when only a tiny dot came out of it.

That son of a bitch has been using my conditioner.

I hastily finished up and started drying off. But then my head started spinning, so I stopped and sat down on the floor.

I need to start taking colder showers.

Once my head cleared, I stood up slowly and pulled on my long sleeve shirt and pajama shorts.

Maybe it was the sleep deprivation taking control, but instead of going to my room, I turned to the door leading to the conditioner stealer's room.

Despite his don't wake me comment last night, I busted through the door with a scowl on my face.

That's when I realized the predicament I'd put myself in, and the anger slowly started to fade.

I took shorts to the bathroom because I liked how my freshly shaved legs felt against my bed sheets — which I was planning to go straight back to after my shower.

I never wore shorts outside of my room.

Not to mention, I probably looked like a wet dog with my dripping hair that I hadn't brushed yet.

And the fan was on full blast.

My eyes landed on Jackson's squinting ones as he propped himself up on his elbows.

The predicament got even bigger when his covers shifted with the movement, revealing his bare shoulders.

Hugging my arms around me, I quickly looked away and glanced around the room, trying to focus on why I came in here in the first place.

He used all of my conditioner. And I'm mad about it.

But it was hard to stay mad as I took in the bare blue-grey walls.

He hates blue.

Why haven't I realized how much blue is everywhere until now?

Not only that, but the room hardly looked any different than before he moved in.

The only signs of someone staying here were a pair of sneakers neatly placed by the door, some clothes on the floor next to the bed, an Xbox connected to the tv.

And the boy in the bed, watching me with an adorable, sleepy frown.

"What're you doin' in here?" Jackson rasped out. "You already wanna watch the second one?"

My scowl returned at his teasing words.

"You used all my conditioner."

"Yeah," he gave me a lazy smile, running a hand through his hair, and my heart squeezed in my chest. "It smells like coconuts, and I like how it makes my hair feel."

"It smells like coconuts because I like coconuts — because it's mine," I unwrapped one of my arms from myself to point at my chest for emphasis.

It made me think of the beach.

How I used to enjoy the sun on my exposed skin while Mom sipped her coconut daiquiri next to me, Dad and Elliott taking turns covering each other in sand in front of us.

The beach used to be the highlight of my summer — until eighth grade, when I switched my tankini for a ruffled one piece, and stopped taking off my coverup.

"Okay, chill out," he laughed, holding his hands up in surrender. "I'll buy some more."

Satisfied with his answer, I gave him a curt nod and turned back to the door.

I wished I could snap my fingers and make it lead to the past — before I cared about my appearance.

"Do you wanna watch the second one?"

"I'm tired," I said to the door.

"Good thing you can watch movies laying down," he said smugly, and I turned around, facing the very reason I cared.

His dark eyes were challenging as he patted the bed beside him.

My stomach started fluttering as my feet moved of their own accord. It was useless to fight the pull he had on me; it always won.

Even when all I wanted was to be alone, and cry about how nothing would ever be the same. How I would never be the same.

I would never be able to lay out on the beach without wondering how disgusting I looked to the people walking by. I would never be able to eat a full meal without regretting it afterwards.

I would never be me again — I was becoming her.

"Can we at least turn down the fan?" I asked as I slipped under the covers.

His sheets felt even softer than mine; I had to fight the urge to move my legs around to feel them more.

"No," he said without hesitation, and I glared at him. "These covers are thick, and it's my room."

"That you invited me into," I snapped back.

"Because you were already in here," he laughed. "And now I'm awake, thanks to you."

Okay, good point.

But I wasn't planning on staying until he asked. I can't say no to him and he knows it.

"Stop talking like that," I imitated his ranging tone before throwing the covers over me.

"You started it," he retaliated, laughing again.

"Your hair looks good, by the way," he continued, making an unexpected laugh escape me.

"Thanks," I said softly, staying under the covers as my face heated up.

Damn him.

"Are you ready for this?" He asked normally this time, and I heard him clicking buttons on his controller.

"Yes," I feigned confidence, nodding under the covers, but made no move to get out of them.

"You sure?" He asked with a chuckle.

"Yes," I repeated before a yawn escaped.

"I'm not hitting play until you come out," he teased, tapping the top of my head with the controller.

I huffed and leaned up against the wall, letting the covers fall to my stomach.

I bit my cheek when he adjusted himself, making his sock covered foot rub against my bare one. Then he hit play, lightly running it up to my ankle.

My body was starting to relax into the mattress until his leg pressed against mine, making me tense again.

I already didn't like that he'd seen me in shorts, and now he was touching my leg.

I hope it doesn't feel as disgusting as it looks.

Jackson's foot traveled up a little more, tucking under my calf. I held back a cringe as I imagined how the fat felt squished against him.

I'll never be comfortable in shorts again.

"Stop," I whispered, clutching the comforter in my fists.

I'll never enjoy the beach again.

"Sorry," he chuckled and pulled his leg back to readjust, bumping shoulders with me.

I'll never be me again — because of him.

"No," I scrambled out of the covers and stood up, needing to distance myself so I could think clearly.

"Stop touching me. Stop being nice to me. Stop acting like you weren't a dick to me before. Just stop!"

"Lee —"

"Just stop," I whispered again before practically running back to my room.

Kallie was wrong. It wasn't love that I felt, it was curiosity.

It was human nature to want to understand things that didn't make sense, and he sure as hell didn't make sense.

I'd gotten so caught up in the mystery of Jackson, I didn't even think about the fact that I was trying to pull the guy who broke me closer.

I need to get a grip before I'm too far gone.

I woke up tangled in my sheets, eyes dry and puffy from crying.

Not making the same mistake as last time, I slipped on a pair of sweats and shuffled to the bathroom, cringing at my reflection.

My hair was still slightly damp in some spots, but the majority was dry and matted.

Probably because I couldn't use fucking conditioner.

Brushing as many tangles out as I could, I eventually gave up, tying up the top half of my hair. I couldn't put all of it in a bun on top of my head anymore.

That's gonna get annoying as hell.

I grabbed my phone I'd left on the counter earlier, and my eyes widened.

5:49pm

There were four unread texts from Kallie, three missed FaceTime calls, and a text from Mom.

I clicked Kallie's first.

My Sun: Hair up or down?

My Sun: Is this skirt giving off "I'm easy" vibes?

My Sun: Never mind I decided to play it safe and wear pants. Which shirt should I wear?

My Sun: YOU ARE NO HELP

Me: I'm sorry! I didn't sleep last night so I slept all day

Then I opened Mom's text; it was sent just a couple minutes ago.

Mom: Hope you feel better. Make sure you eat some dinner. Love you

Feel better?

With furrowed brows, I decided to just go along with it, telling her I felt much better now.

My stomach rumbled as I made my way downstairs, smelling whatever she made for dinner before she left for work.

My phone vibrated in my hand so I stopped when I made it to the bottom.

My Sun: the only reason I'm not sending my demons to kill you is because your bro told me I look hot in what I chose

My Sun: I'm coming over after btw

I rolled my eyes with a small laugh, and slid my phone into my pocket.

When I walked in the kitchen, Jackson was humming to himself as he dumped a heaping serving of lasagna on a plate before he noticed me.

"Morning sleepyhead," he said with a half smile. "Breakfast?"

Why is he not ignoring me after I snapped at him?

Did I wake up in a parallel universe?

I looked at the plate he was holding out and shook my head, walking to the cabinet to grab a cup.

After filling it with water, I sat on a barstool, sighing when he sat the plate down in front of me.

"You'll hurt the chef's feelings," he said with a small pout, putting a hand to his chest.

Does he know how to cook everything?

"Is it done?" I heard Dad behind me. "Hey sweetheart, feeling better?"

"Uh, yeah," I looked over to him with a small smile.

Why is everyone asking me that?

"Yeah, after she took that headache medicine she was dead to the world," Jackson snorted, handing Dad a plate.

He lied to my parents so I could sleep?

"Well, I'm glad you were able to sleep it off," Dad patted my shoulder as he went for the lasagna.

I watched Jackson with a confused frown, but he kept his eyes on Dad while he waited for him to finish.

Dad sat in the seat next to me, and Jackson sat on the other side of him after making his own plate.

My mouth went dry as I watched both of them shovel lasagna in their mouths, so I grabbed my cup and chugged some water.

For the next few minutes, the only noises filling the room were the guys' forks clinking against their plates as they continued to eat.

I cut and mashed my lasagna while Dad wasn't looking, occasionally taking a small bite — mostly just the sauce with a little pasta.

I'd eat the sauce by itself if I could get away with it, because it was damn good. But I had to make it look like some pasta was gone at least.

"So, what's new with you kiddos? Did you ever get your exam grades?"

I cleared my throat, putting my cup back to my lips.

"I made an A on both," Jackson stated proudly before taking another bite.

Dad gripped his shoulder with a wide smile, which Jackson halfway returned, then Dad looked at me expectantly.

"N-no. My teachers are behind — I have a good feeling about them, though," I stuttered.

Lies, lies, and more lies.

This is exhausting.

"I'm sure you did great — you always do," Dad patted my back before turning to Jackson.

"This is amazing! Have you ever thought about culinary school once you graduate?"

"I've thought about it," Jackson lifted a shoulder. "It's one of my options."

"What're your other options?" Dad asked, then scooped the last bit of lasagna in his mouth.

Shit, I need to get rid of more of mine.

I got as much on my fork as I could, shoving it in my mouth.

Jackson glanced at me before smiling at Dad again. "Psychology."

Dad dropped his fork on his empty plate with a loud clank. "Damn, son. That's great!"

"I don't know yet. That's a lot of school — I don't even know if I'll get into a good school. I'll probably just go to community college to get the basics out of the way, then take it from there."

"Don't sell yourself short, son," Dad said as he stood, taking his plate to the sink. "Your grades are good. You're smart — you can handle a couple years of school."

Jackson simply nodded, furrowing his brow as he looked down at his plate.

"You sure you're feeling better, sweetheart?" Dad asked, pointing at my plate. "You've barely touched your food."

"Oh yeah, I'm fine — still a little groggy, I guess," I laughed halfheartedly, quickly picking up my fork and taking another bite.

He nodded, but kept his eyes on me while I chewed, making it difficult to breathe properly.

"Well, I'm gonna go take a shower," Dad finally spoke. "Jackson, you wanna hop on the game later?"

"Yeah, sure," Jackson said mindlessly, still looking down at his plate like it had offended him.

"I might be a little rusty — it's been awhile since I've had the time," Dad chuckled sheepishly, walking backwards toward the door as he looked at Jackson. "So go easy on me, will ya?"

Jackson turned in his stool to face him with a smirk. "No such thing for me."

I rolled my eyes as Dad pointed at him with a stern look on his face.

"I'll remember that."

I waited until I heard my parents' bedroom door close before getting up to dump my food in the trash.

There was no point in bothering with the facade in front of Jackson.

"You're not done," Jackson stated, so I turned slowly to face him, narrowing my eyes.

"I'm sorry?"

"Apology accepted," he nodded with a sweet smile before snapping his fingers, pointing to the barstool next to him. "Sit back down."

"Don't talk to me like I'm a child." I noisily dropped my plate on the island and crossed my arms, leaning forward. "And don't ever snap your fingers at me again."

"If you didn't act like one, I wouldn't have to," Jackson retorted, snapping his fingers and pointing to the stool again for good measure.

"You don't have to do anything," I glared at his hand before looking up to him challengingly, not moving a muscle. "And you're not my dad, I don't have to listen to you."

"Someone has to," he stood, walking around the island to stand in front of me.

"Besides," he continued in a menacing tone, picking up my fork and holding it in front of me. "Better me than your actual dad, right?"

Not only is he talking to me like a child, but he's trying to feed me like one too?

I scoffed, pulling away from the fork he was bringing closer to my face. "Is that supposed to be a threat?"

"Do you want to find out?" He raised his eyebrows, lightly poking my lips with the fork, but I angrily smacked it away.

His mouth parted as he watched the fork clatter on the floor, red sauce splattering across the white tile.

Then he whipped his head back to me, scowling as he watched me wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

"What's wrong with you?" He snapped.

"You!" I cried out, shoving him in the chest roughly.

He didn't budge, so I had to step back to catch my balance.

"You are what's wrong! We were friends, and then you threw me out like a fucking toy you outgrew. You watched me fall apart while everyone laughed, like the heartless dick that you are."

He watched me blankly as I harshly poked him in the chest.

"You came over here to hangout with my brother for years, acting like I didn't exist. Then you moved in, and no one will even tell me why," I threw my hands up in exasperation.

"You move in, and act like nothing ever happened, but it did happen, and I hated you. Everything was so much easier when I hated you," I trailed off in a whisper, losing momentum as my words actually sunk in.

"But you don't hate me."

I huffed out a humorless laugh and waited for him to add something else, but he didn't.

Is he fucking serious? That's all he has to say?

"Sometimes I wish I do," I said quietly, turning to walk out.

"Why?" He called after me, making me pause at the door. "Because I'm trying to get you to eat, like a normal human being?"

I shook my head in disbelief, but my feet stayed in place.

"You're killing yourself, Lee," he said quietly, and there was something in his tone that I could easily mistake as desperation, but I refused to turn to see the look on his face.

"If that's the case, you gave me the gun," I said before I could stop myself, walking away.

My blood ran cold as my words fully processed, and I paused at the bottom of the stairs. Everything in me was telling me to turn around and take it all back.

But the thought of seeing the pain on his face right now made me nauseous, so I ran up the stairs instead.

I locked myself in the bathroom, leaning against the door as I pulled at my hair in frustration.

Then I groaned and rubbed my hands down my face before going to the mirror.

How could I fucking say that?

His mother killed herself.

I groaned again and dropped my face in my hands.

What's wrong with