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miles later, the sick feeling is still in the pit of my stomach, there are still faint traces of blood on my hands, Evie’s blood once again, and I know that I can no longer keep my distance.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
    Ezekiel
    49
     
     
     
    I’m in a panic all day Saturday. I wake up after a fitful night of sleep where I toss and turn over and over, worry for Evie and what she might be doing to herself keeping me from drifting off. It’s the first time I have nightmares about someone other than Cindy, though I don’t realize this right away. I finally jump out of bed at first light and at first I’m determined to go over to the Parkers even though I don’t have to go on Saturdays. The work isn’t what’s important, after all. I just want to have an excuse to check on Evie.
    But as I take a shower, I realize how ridiculous that is. Evie is sucking me in yet again, pulling and pushing on me and making me feel . Even though right now it’s mostly just panic and horror, I know how easily it can turn into concern and caring. It’s the last thing I want, and who the hell do I think I am, anyway, having any thoughts that I can actually help her? My own life is just as messed up, and I do my best not to experience emotions of any kind. I’m in just as much denial as Evie is about life. So why am I thrusting myself into the role of helper and rescuer?
    Because if you’re not the one cutting your own arm open, you’ve obviously got your shit together just a little bit more than Evie does, whispers the part of me that has always been fascinated with Evie Parker, the part that wants to feel.
    It’s a very small part however; obviously, since I’m always beating it back and pushing away the feelings. By the time I get out of the shower, I’ve convinced myself that I can at least wait until Monday to check on Evie. This turns into a day-long battle, though, where I can’t sit still, can’t focus on a damn thing because I’m constantly worrying about her, have visions of her doing awful things to herself when I lose control of my mind and it wanders away from me. I have to jerk it back under control, tell myself that she’s hardly suicidal, which is another lie. She may have been ‘just’ cutting herself but if that isn’t a sign that someone is probably suicidal, then what other sign is there?
    I get through Saturday, but Sunday morning is when I break down. I wake up, plant my feet on the floor and feel the gauge in the wood left over from Cindy. From when she was alive. And that’s when it hits me that I could be watching another girl die before my very eyes, freezing in the time of need just like I did when Cindy’s life was at stake. And I know, badass, rebel, delinquent and hardass that I strive to be, that I am, I still can’t allow that to happen. Even though it’s the girl who is semi-involved in Cindy’s death to begin with. I just can’t let myself stand idly by.
    I pull on work clothes and tell myself that I’m not going to get in deep. I’m just going to try and get her to stop harming herself, to actually tell someone this time. Hopefully a guilt trip about what happened the last time she didn’t tell will be enough to push her into doing something. I really mean it, too. Because I know what would go hand in hand with trying to help Evie deal with her problems—she’ll try and find out my problems too, try and fix me too.
    And I don’t want to be fixed.
     
     
    I walk to the Parkers house on streets that are bathed in pink and orange from the sunrise. It’s still early, really early and I don’t want to wake anyone up or anything, so I allow myself to duck into a Tim Hortons and grab coffee and a few donuts, force myself to sit and eat and drink leisurely to kill time. It’s only as I’m tossing out my trash an hour later that I realize caffeine and extra sugar is probably the last thing my