Click to Subscribe - By L. M. Augustine Page 0,15

after a while, I remember turning back to look at Mom. She was watching me, her eyes sparkling and trained on mine, a huge smile on her face. Then I asked her if she was coming too.”

I shake my head and grit my teeth. What am I even doing? Filming this? Spilling out all my inner emotions into a freaking camera? God, I really am hopeless. Pathetic. Maybe Dad is right; maybe I am a waste of space. I mean, it’s been six months. Shouldn’t I be past the crying stage? Shouldn’t I have moved on by now?

I take another hard breath.

I don’t know whether I should be.

I just know that I’m not.

“She just smiled and shook her head like she knew something I didn’t. Then, she knelt down in front of me and said, ‘I love you, West. Now go on and play with Cat. I’m always going to be with you, watching and smiling from here. And even when I’m not here here, I’m still going to be with you. In here,’ she said poking at the ribs near my heart. At the time, I had no idea what she was talking about, but I still remembered it, and I think that was her point. It’s like she knew she was going to die on me and said that so that now,” I say into the camera, “whenever I think about her death, I remember that day, and I realize I’m not so alone after all.”

I tap my heart.

Then, my hands shaking, I reach out and turn off the camera.

I don’t publish the vlog, though, and I know I never will. It’s not something that will ever go on my channel; it’s not funny. It’s just a video for me.

As stupid as it sounds, sometimes I just need to let out what I’m feeling. I usually ramble like this to Cat, who hugs and comforts me and makes me feel all warm and tingly again, but sometimes it doesn’t feel right to tell her. I don’t know why, but it just doesn’t. Talking to my best friend about love? That’s weird, right?

Point is, I don’t tell Cat everything. And since my therapist is a freaking idiot and my dad is useless, oh, and my mom is dead, I turn to my camera, the only thing that keeps me sane nowadays. I always feel my best talking into my camera, and I make a lot of vlogs I don’t post—they’re just there to make me feel confident again, happy and light inside.

I shake my head as I put away my camera. Jeez, I really am insane.

Strangely, though, as I finish the vlog and turn to my computer to distract myself with emails from Harper, I feel kind of… good. Relieved, even. Like for the first time in the six months since my mom’s death, I feel a little bit of closure.

***

The stars are out as I walk a couple of blocks down the road to Cat’s house. The night sky is midnight blue, and there are no clouds shielding the moon. Aside from the distant whistle of a slight breeze through the tree branches and the chirping of crickets all around me, the whole neighborhood is silent. I walk slowly, calmly, letting the cool air brush against my skin, taking in the distant scent of fallen, rain-glazed leaves. A shiver races up my spine, but it’s a nice shiver, a calming one. I should be freaking out now, with that video I made and my meeting with Harper tomorrow, but I feel oddly calm, like the night has stripped me of all fear.

When I reach the end of Cat’s street, I stop. Her house is three times the size of mine between its new coat of green paint, its three stories of floors, and its—wait for it—working doors. It’s practically heaven compared to where I live. The grass in Cat’s front yard is entirely green, and her family even has a garden that’s blooming with roses, marigolds, and flowers I don’t even recognize. It’s a nice house, warm and safe and comforting. I know it like it’s my own home, and maybe, in a way, it is my own; I’m sure I’ve spent more nights here in the last year than I have in my real bed. Hell, I’m here so much that the Davenports even nicknamed their guest room “West’s room.”

After a second, I turn my gaze back to the driveway where I lay eyes on Cat. She