Bullet Proof Chest (Sonny Moore/ Andy Biersack/ Kellin Quinn)

Three: Cahil

I've been laying in my bed, conscious, for a while now. I just haven't yet found the strength to get up. My alarm clock is just now going off. My favorite song by my favorite band, From First to Last, starts playing. I don't know why I even bothered setting an alarm. It's summer vacation. I don't hit the snooze button. I just listen to the words as they take me away from here. I had every intention of using the summer to catch up on all of the deprived sleep I have encountered over the last 9 months. I shouldn't be awake. Damn this internal clock.

I only returned home from school last night. It was the perfect timing for my mom to ruin the great mood that I was in. Nonetheless, I'm happy to be home. I missed being home. Okay, so maybe that's not the best way to put it. When I say that I missed home, I mean the whole concept of being home--not actually being home. There's really not too much to miss about being here, in our house.

I can't fall back to sleep, despite the 3000 sheep that I've been counting over the last few hours. I've always hated that. I'm never able to fall asleep when I want to, but it's insane how easy I fall asleep when I need to stay awake. The sun shines in through the window and hits my face through the woven fibers of the white sheer curtains. I can't take the intensity of it, and finally surrender to having to get out of bed.

I begin to feel trapped inside of my own skin. There has to be some way to escape this. I've felt this way on and off for the past year. I haven't been anxious like this for at least three months, though. There's this butterfly part to me, if that makes any sense. I've been waiting my whole life to morph into this butterfly version of myself. I'm stuck in a chrysalis, and I can't figure out how to tear it open.

"Cahil?" There's a knock on my bedroom door. I turn to face Jen's smiling welcome. Okay, so maybe I did miss ONE thing about home. Jen is our housemaid. She's small and foreign; however, I never actually found out where she's from. When my parents originally took her into our house, she had been hired as my nanny. However, being 18 years old now, I've pretty much outgrown needing a nanny. When time came to put the nanny position out to pasture, Jen was scrambling for a new job and a new place to live. My parents were "compassionate" with her. She had over the years become a member of our family. My parents offered her a housekeeping position. She gladly accepted.

"Yeah?" I reply, slipping my hair back into an elastic.

"Miss Cahil, you received a phone call from Miss Benson. She requests that you meet her at the ice cream parlor that Mr. Wolf works at," she says so politely. I never understood how she could stay so kindhearted all of the time. If I had her job, there is no doubt in my mind that I would be so fed up and annoyed with everything going on in the house that drinking would become a second nature to me. I don't know that I'd ever be sober.

Robbie Wolf works at an ice cream parlor that is owned by his parents and named after him--Robbie's Dairy Sweets. He works there in the summer, as he goes to school with Rachael and I in France. Rachael has always secretly had a thing for him, although I could not give one good reason why. Maybe it's because he's not my type that I can't see it--freckles, ginger red hair, and homemade sweaters.

The parlor is all the way across town, but everyone agrees that free ice cream with unlimited toppings makes for a good hang out.

"What time?" I ask Jen as I open the doors to my master bedroom sized walk in closet.

"11."

I look at the clock beside my bed. The red digital numbers glare back at me. 9:56. I do the calculations in my head. I figure it'll take 35 minutes with traffic and the speed limit, allowing me a little less than half an hour to get ready.

I quickly pull on a light pink cami and a pair of khaki shorts. I know I look terrible, but that's what I get for letting time escape me.

"Did you eat?" a familiar voice asks. That is the last question I want to answer. I turn to see that Jen has left, and my mother has taken her place. "Where are you running off to so quickly anyways?" She leans against my door frame and really looks at me. I shake at her inspection. I notice the mail in her left hand. I'm not sure if that means anything. I slip on a pair of flip flops and give my mom my full, undivided attention.