When we pull into the drive of the house, I get out. No words are exchanged. Just me, opening the door and shutting it gently behind me. I grab my things from the back, let my eyes linger on a single package. I leave it. The door shuts heavily behind me.

Snow falls to the ground, little flakes mingling with large ones, painting the dying green a lively white. I hurry into the house, cold seeping through the layers I put on earlier.

My parents don't question me. I don't give them any information. I go to my room, throw the heavy bags of useless clothes on my bed, and turn the television on. A random commercial blares through the speakers, loud, pounding against my ears. My lungs cave in my chest and I heave.

I heave and the tears I had been keeping at bay fall down my face. They're warm, searing against the cool dryness of my cheeks. I try to breathe in deeply, throwing a hand over my mouth to contain the cries. It muffles them, but the ache of the sobs wrack through my body. I let the pain control me. It twists my insides, makes my blood feel like venom, sharp and stinging as it runs through my veins. My hands shake as I reach for an anchor to hold onto.

I can't really think about anything. I don't know why I'm crying. There isn't a reason I should be crying. Ron made it clear. So many times he's been affirmative in his dislike towards a relationship. So many times he's made it clear that he wouldn't tell me anything. So many times he's tried to get me to back off.

But I held on. Held on like a stupid, naive child. I grasped at straws, tried to hold onto to a relationship that wasn't present, created a picture of us in my head that was warped into a fantasy.

Reality is a bitch.

It's cruel and ruthless and stares at me with hatred in its eyes, a dictator whose only objective is to destroy happiness.

The television drowns out the cries, masking it with false cheer. I clench my eyes shut and try to ignore the pain in my heart. It's throbbing in a way so intense I feel like it might burst from chest. There are tiny swords imbedded in it, sharp and piercing. It hurts. I wonder, is this what heartbreak feels like?

I think back to a time where Theo experienced heartbreak. I think back to the way he cried so freely, to the way he holed himself up for days at a time, distraught and isolated. I think back to the way he would have done anything to get them back and the way he just gave up when it was really over. I think of the way I held him in my arms as he sobbed, his tears soaking through my shirt, his hands stretching out my hoodie from how hard he was gripping. I think back to the way he said, "You never really get over heartbreak, El. It's an echo that follows you everywhere."

I think this may be what heartbreak feels like. My heart is a shattered piece of glass in my chest and I am the one left to pick up the battered debris.

Why? Why did it have to be him? Why Ron? Out of every person on this planet, I had to pick the rudest, kindest, most compassionate hard ass to develop feelings for. I had to fall for his small smile that only came out in secret. I had to fall for his cold, dry humor that never offended me but only brought laughter to my lips. I had to fall for his sharp words that carried me through fits of hysteria when I was missing Theo. I had to fall for his illuminate eyes that held the secrets of a thousand men, but spoke none of them.

A part of me is filled with regret. Deep, heavy regret that sinks low in my stomach like a rock on the bed of a lake. It's tangible and sour and I wish I could take back these months, wish I could get my life back from him.

But another part of me - the bigger part - doesn't feel anything but defeat. Defeat and an acceptance. I tried. I put myself out there and he denied me, but there are still moments between us two that I will treasure forever. I will forever be grateful for all that he's done for me and I'm so happy that he's entered my life. But I still lost. He still chose to keep me in the dark - still chose to take two steps back from me when I edged towards him.

And, truly, that's what kills me.

My sobs reside into silent tears, my eyes exhausted. They're almost swollen shut. I close them. Listen to the wind howling outside. Listen to the television blaring an old cartoon I used to love. The bags of clothes that I had placed on my bed have somehow managed to fall off my bed, but I ignore it in favor of curling into my comforter. It's snug against my chilly skin, a blanket of security around my fragile heart.

I ignore the persistent knocking against my door and let the darkness take me into its clutches blissfully.

✦

When I wake, my room feels colder than the arctic, it feels like. There's a draft filtering through my room, chilling me to my core despite the thick blanket wrapped around my body. My eyes blink open slowly, crusty and tired despite getting a good bit of sleep if the darkness outside is anything to go by. Alfonzo is curled up beside me, sleeping soundly. The television is playing softly in the background, opposite from the blaring noise it exuded earlier. One of my parents must have come in and turned it down.

I sigh out and wish darkness would consume me again.

It'd made everything so much easier. To just shut my eyes, to let my brain escape from the reality of this cruel life and sleep it off. Perhaps I could sleep for hours, for days, for years -- I could sleep so long that when I woke, Ron's memory would be faint in my thoughts, his eyes a mirage that I had dreamt.

If only life was that kind.

It takes a few more moments for my body to adjust to being fully awake and I lay in bed for some minutes, scrolling through my phone, petting Alfonzo, and watching reruns of Hunter X Hunter distantly. When I finally get out of bed, it's because my stomach grumbles and my bladder presses for me to use the restroom.

Slowly removing myself from my bed so I don't disturb Alfonzo, who is twitching in his sleep, I find relief in the bathroom and then walk down the stairs, ready to have a nice cup of yogurt and then take myself back to bed to sleep until I have to leave for the internship in a couple of days. (Though, that might not work out to well considering I still have to pack for the damn thing.)

The kitchen light is on when I reach the end of the stairs. I yawn and walk into the kitchen.

It's Dad.

He's making a grilled cheese.

When he sees me in the entry, he smiles, wavering around the edges in a way that informs me that Ron must have spoken with him. "Grilled cheese?" he asks, holding up the pan suggestively.

I shrug. "Sure." I hop up on the counter and watch him make two grilled cheeses. It is silent in the kitchen except for the quiet sizzle of the frying pan as he flips the sandwiches.

Dad places them on two separate plates and somehow, when he hands mine to me, the room feels heavy. I try not to think about it too much, nibble on the corner of my sandwich and stare at the intricate designs on the plate.

"So," he prompts after a few moments in tense silence, "Ron told me."

"Did he?" I ask shortly, swallowing thickly.

Dad is staring at me. I don't look his way. "Ellie, we should probably talk about this."

"Talk about what?" I jump down from the counter and head to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. I uncap it and take a swig of it, letting the frigid taste cool down my already icy body. The clothes from earlier cling to my body unkindly, making me feel grimy. I need a shower.

"What happened." He stares at me, eyes burning emerald. It reminds me of summer's grass. I take another bite of my sandwich, hop back onto the counter. "I have a gist of it, but Ron couldn't really go into detail since Optimus called him to help Ratchet with a mission."

I nod in understanding. Without warning, my mind whirls back to the conversation in the truck. I think of the defeat, the complete and utter weakness that I felt when he uttered the words. When he said, "I am sorry, but I cannot." Even now, it sends a chill through my body, a spike through my heart as I remember that Ron essentially rejected me.

I clench the plate harder than necessary. "What'd he say?" I don't want to give away too much.

"Nothing much." Dad swallows the rest of his grilled cheese and takes a swig from the glass of water that was sitting beside him. "I am aware that the twins showed up. You don't have to worry about them. Optimus is making sure they are reprimanded thoroughly."

"I mean," I respond when he stares at me like he's waiting for an answer, "I don't understand what they did wrong but okay."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean, sure, they disappeared from base without alerting any of the higher authorities. And yeah, they talked to me when they weren't supposed to." I throw my crust onto my plate and set it aside, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice. My hands are shaking. I grab my necklace and continue, "But they didn't really do anything wrong and I feel as though this Optimus guy is going to lecture them for the wrong reasons because of Ron's words."

Dad is quiet for a moment. "Ellie, they could have jeopardized everything that the military has been working on. They were curious, I understand," his tone suggests that the issue is over my head and I am nothing but a clueless child living in an adults' world, "but the secrets they could have revealed to you were not to be mentioned to anyone outside of the base."

"Mom knows," I say dumbly. Red circles my vision. The room feels too cramped. I want out but I know there is no escape; he would only follow me should I try to leave. My attempt at a comeback is weak and Dad can tell. "So does Sarah," I add to try and make my resolve seem sturdy. The way my voice shakes tell me it doesn't work.

"Yeah, but Ellie, they're different." He sounds guilty, a little.

I chuckle bitterly, the sound wet to my ears. "How?" I ask. "How are they so different from me? Am I not your family? Am I not being directly affected by Ron's sudden appearance in the family? Am I not living under the same roof as him? Am I not in danger every second that he's here? Am I not put at risk because of his appearance?"

"No." He shakes his head, sighing. "Of course, you're safe, Eleanor! Where would you get the idea that you're not?"

"Where did I get the idea. . .?" My laugh is borderline hysterical. "The jet? On the way to school? Or how about when Ron had to come all the way to Florida to make sure I was safe because someone threatened my life? Because somehow they know about me. And that's only because Ron is here."

Dad opens his mouth to retort but I can tell my words have left him speechless.

"That's not-"

"Not what?" I inquiry with an eyebrow.

I watch as my dad struggled to form his excuses. His eyebrows furrow and his mouth frowns. He cannot say anything to dig himself out of the hole he buried for himself.

"It's complicated," is what comes out of his mouth a few seconds later.

I scoff, because it's not. "I really don't understand." I shake my head, place my plate down beside me. "You say we need to be honest with each other and then leave me in the dark. You talk about wanting the family to heal yet you continue driving the knife into the wound. You tell me it's okay, that I'm safe, yet everyday I feel more unsettled -- like something could go wrong in an instant. You say one thing, but your actions shout something else entirely. Enlighten me."

"Eleanor, I can't disclose certain things to you." Dad sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose, frustration swirling in the pools of his eyes. "It's against protocol and I could lose my job."

"But Mom knows," I repeat slowly. "Is that not against protocol?"

"Well, no. . ."

"Ha. Of course it isn't. Only little 'ole Ellie has to be left in the dark. Only I have to be made a fool of. Ha ha. What a right laugh you guys must be having."

Dad frowns hard. "Eleanor, you know it's not like that. We'd never-"

"But you did, Dad!" I exclaim. My hands itch to pull at my hair. Frustration pounds at me like a mallet to a drum. "You think I don't know anything. You guys think you're so sly with your secrets. You think I won't find out because how could I? I haven't seen anything, haven't heard a word about your plans and schemes so I don't know what you'd be talking about would I?"

When I laugh, it's wet. My vision is blurry. I continue, "Theo died, Dad." He winces. "Theo died and I almost did, too. I was fading and I almost died but I didn't. I'm here and I'm okay and I survived. And I remember everything from that night. All the pain, the suffering. How my body wasn't really my own. How cold it was - the chilling rain beating down on me. The thunder crackling in the sky. I remember Theo, laying on the pavement, blood pooling around him, the light leaving his eyes. I remember wanting to follow him into the darkness."

By now, the tears are steadily streaming down my face. Dad is none the better. A part of me wants to stop, but I've started so I need to finish.

I take a deep breath, fiddle with my necklace. The air is bitter against my face, stinging against the warmth of my tears.

"I remember the metal," I say. Dad stares at me, piercing with his gaze. His face is white as snow. "I remember how it shifted together, scraping like nails on a chalkboard. It was so quiet yet easily heard over the raging storm. I remember how the jet flew close to the ground, how the other car raced towards it. I remember it transforming, right in front of my eyes.

"I remember the bloodlust."

Dad looks like he might be sick. I feel my own stomach churning. The unease hits me with full force. That night returns to me, painful and vivid in my mind. My tears don't stop.

"It wanted to kill us," I whisper. Dad let's out a choked sob. I have never told anyone about this. Not even Eli. "It looked down on us and it looked disgusted and it was going to kill us. I remember. I was laying on the ground and I was broken and dying and Theo was dimming and it wasn't o-okay! It was fighting with yellow and it had blood for eyes and I was so scared, Dad!"

My hands are shaking badly. Every nerve in my body is tingling. I feel as though I ran a marathon when I haven't even moved. Dad looks like he wants to comfort me. I find that I don't want human contact at the moment.

"Because Theo was fading and I found him too late and they were fighting and I wasn't safe! I was in danger and I couldn't move and my legs wouldn't work. I was paralyzed and metal was clanking with metal and it was sheer and it hurt and I wanted it to stop.

"When I fell - when it pushed me over the side, kicked me like I was a soccer ball, I remember wanting it all to be over. I thought of Theo and I thought of you and Mom and I wanted death so much. I wanted to curl up into the cold darkness and surround myself with nothingness, Dad. I wanted to die.

"But, I didn't. I didn't die because something caught me. It was big and gentle and kind and I was terrified. I had thought the silver thing got me and I just wanted to die again. But it wasn't. It was the yellow one and its eyes blazed blue and it protected me from the rain, saved me from the rapids I would have fallen into."

Dad holds a hand over his mouth to contain his sobs. His green eyes are rimmed red, tears flooding them, falling down his cheeks in quick recession. He does not try to reach for me.

"That wasn't a nightmare, Dad," I say, and it's quiet, like a child confessing their sins. I feel so small. So small and so sad. "It was real and they were real and they weren't from here."

A response is on the tip of his tongue, begging to be heard, but I barrel on. It feels like a pipe busted in my chest and now everything is bursting out, a slew of words drowning us both.

"And no one believed me. Not you, not Mom, not even Eli -- my therapist! No one believed me because it couldn't be true, right? Eleanor couldn't have experienced that - it must be a figment of her imagination. It was just the weather that caused the accident. Nothing else.

"I just wanted. . . I just wanted someone to believe me." I am sobbing. My throat is throbbing and it feels like I can't swallow. My watery eyes stare at my lap, water dripping onto my jeans. "And no one did. And I felt so alone. Because what I saw was real and it was horrible and I had no one."

"I-" Dad can't speak. His face is scrunched up in that ugly way it gets when he cries hard. "Ellie. . ."

"I know what happened in Japan," I say suddenly, mind racing. It feels like I am a car on the freeway, spiraling out of control. I am just waiting for the impact.

Dad is silent.

"I know you said not to hack anymore and I know I'm probably in trouble but after what I saw on the news about Mission City, I couldn't not look. So, I went online and I dug through the darkest parts of cyberspace and there was a red, I think, robot thing fighting the silver one. The same silver one I met so long ago.

"There was no 'oil spill'. There was only crimson fighting silver. There were civilians running around in a panic. There was fire everywhere. But there was no oil in sight."

I rub at my eyes. My heart is beating a mile a minute in my chest. I feel like I can't take deep breaths, so I close my eyes and focus on getting some air into my lungs. In, out. In, out. It helps, but only just.

"I just wish you guys would stop treating me like a child," I state, my final declaration. Black is the only thing I can see. I feel defeated. Ron's eyes burn in my mind. "I'm not, Dad. I'm not a child. I've seen death and I've lived a nightmare. I'm not so delicate to where I can't hear about these kinds of things."

Dad's voice seems to catch in his throat. "I-I know, Ellie. Of c-course, I know. You've seen s-so much. You're so y-young, and yet you've seen. . . you've experienced d-death, what it's like to see someone's light dim right in front of your face." The sound of his fist hitting the granite counter echoes through my ears. "You've almost d-died yourself. I'm s-so s-sorry, Ellie."

Arms wrap around my shoulder, tightly and anxiously. I stiffen. I haven't hugged my dad in a while. I can't tell whether it's comforting or suffocating.

"I'm sorry I didn't believe you. I'm sorry I belittled your experience. God-I'm sorry you had t-to e-experience that alone." He presses a kiss on the crown of my head. His tears fall into my tangled hair. I keep my eyes closed, let the storm in my chest calm.

"I p-promise you," he murmurs into the air, voice thick with emotions, "I'll t-talk to Optimus and I'll m-make him tell you everything. Okay, Ellie?"

It's not okay. I don't want to be treated differently just because I poured my heart out. I do not want Optimus to tell me anything just because my dad pities me.

All I wanted was to be treated as an equal.

But with the way Dad is caressing me like a newborn child, like my bones are fragile, I know it's a long way before we get there.

"I love you, Eleanor," he voices quietly.

I sigh out. "I love you, too, Dad."

It's a start.