No one will say it to my face, but it’s so obvious they think I actually murdered Gavin. As if I would actually want to hurt the guy I was in love with. Still, I see it in their eyes, the way they avoid crossing my path as if I’ll snap and go after them next. I hear it in their accusatory whispers that fill the hallways as I pass by. The signs that I’m generally considered guilty are everywhere.

His question is pretty dangerous for me to try to answer, so I don’t—it continues to hang out there like the stained underwear at a slumber party that goes unclaimed.

We're all guilty of saying insincere things at one point or another, if only just to make the moment not totally suck as much as it truly does.

This is the moment I have dreaded, the very reason why we kept running, even when it seemed hopeless. We all seemed to believe if we kept running, we would never die. But what exactly had we been hoping to find in the end? A magical place where the infection hadn't spread? A castle surrounded by gumdrops and cotton candy?

Demons, werewolves, zombies--they're all supposed to be for entertainment purposes only.