REMINISCENT

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO: You Don't Even Know Me (FINAL EDIT)

Song for the chapter: "You don't even know me" by Faouzia

Ashley's POV
It's been a month since the anniversary—a whole month.

A month since I've felt like life itself has no point. A month since I started skipping therapy, my medication, even food sometimes. Depression's clawed its way back in, wrapping me in its familiar darkness. Oh, and it's also been a month since Aiden went "officially off the market." Good for him. Really.

Finals passed in a blur; I don't even remember writing them. The seniors are preoccupied with graduation prep and the biggest party of the year—today.

Am I going? Hmm... let me think—hell no. Mom told me to, that was before she left for work, but I've made no move to get ready.

Mom isn't a fool. I know she knows I'm in a bad place. I've overheard her talking to Dad, scheming some "next step" to fix me. More therapy? The thought makes me almost laugh—almost.

Charlie's been reaching out, and I've tried to care. Really, I have. But it's hard. I even heard him on a conference call with Mom and Dad, talking strategy—whatever that means.

"Get up."

"Fu—oh gosh, don't do that!" My heart races in my chest. "How did you even—... you know what? I don't care." I flip the channel.

"Ashley, get up."

She's folded her arms, blocking the screen.

"Chanel? Please, get out of my way," I groan.

She grabs my arm, yanks me to my feet. "We are going for the party," she says, dragging me upstairs.

"I don't want to go anywhere. I've showered. I've done everything I normally do. So what's the big deal?" I glare at the back of her head.

She swings my door open, dragging me inside. "Yes, you have. Big deal. But you look dead."

I laugh, bitter. "I died four years ago."

She looks at me blankly. "Remember? The car crash? The one wh—" she cuts me off, disappearing into my closet.

I sigh. I hate when I can't talk her out of doing something.

"You won't find anything," I mutter.

Moments later, she emerges with a little black dress I didn't even know I owned and a pair of black pointed lace-up stiletto ankle boots. Huh. Who knew?

She sets my brush, mousse, and makeup bag between us, sliding the bun from my head. Slowly, she begins brushing my hair, styling it meticulously. I don't have the energy to fight her, so I sit quietly.

She spins me to face her, and I sit cross-legged, staring at her as she fills in my brows.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask.

She ignores me, still focused. I sigh again, resisting the urge to slouch. "At least say something. I'm not liking the story the voices in my head are telling me."

She doesn't crack a smile. "It's a joke, jeez. Lighten up." I roll my eyes.

"I've missed you, Ashley," she murmurs, frowning, still avoiding my gaze as she works on my face.

I close my eyes as she moves to my eyelids. "Yeah," I whisper. I miss me too.

"How's your mom?" I ask instead, forcing conversation out.

"She's good—she's getting bigger. She'll be putting to birth soon," Chanel says, a little too cheerfully. I inwardly sigh; I don't wish sadness on anyone.