The Murphys tried to visit Noa twice and both times Noa turned them away. They left him a get-well card that was signed by everyone.

Noa didn’t look at it. He didn’t want anything to do with any of them right now.

Thinking about the Murphys left an uncomfortable pit of anxiety in his chest. It was a prickling, burning sensation that stayed for hours without subsiding. He hated it. He wanted to be far away from them right now.

Once Noa had some art supplies, things were a little easier. But only a little.

Noa preferred pencils and paints. He was not a fan of charcoals or pastels. And that’s what Gary the nurse brought him.

Noa’s first reaction was to pitch the small pack of charcoal across the room. Gary saved the pastels before Noa could get his hands on them. All the art supplies were confiscated until Noa couldn’t take it anymore and reluctantly asked nicely to have them back. He was given his previous slightly crumpled paper and a couple of broken charcoals.

That annoyed him even more.

He did a vicious, angry sketch of Gary. He made the stupid little ducks on his scrubs claw their way out of fabric and turn into evil bird monsters that attacked the man, clawing out his eyes and ripping apart his face. He’d handed the page to Gary and, much to his dismay, Gary had been thrilled.

“Oh, cool! Wow!” he said. “That’s really great, Noa! I love it! You know, with art like this, you could probably get a job doing T-shirt designs or tattoos or something. I know a place in the city–”

“I didn’t want you to like it,” Noa cut him off.

“Oh, I know that. You’re mad, right?” Gary said, not off-put in the slightest. “What a great way to take out your anger. I’m genuinely impressed.”

“You make me so angry,” Noa muttered, voice low, pushing at the back of his throat.

“Do you mind if I keep this?” Gary asked, holding onto the picture. “I really like it.”

Noa wanted to tell him no. He wanted to snap at him and be mean. He wanted to take the picture and tear it to bits.

But he didn’t. Because it wasn’t worth the effort.

“Keep it,” he grumbled, pulling forward a blank sheet.

By Monday morning, Noa had worked through several drawings. He did some nasty, angry ones. He drew several monsters and angry, snarling, fighting animals, before he eventually drew some things to calm himself.

He drew the characters from the comic he and Rion made. He drew more hands – his own this time. He didn’t draw bandages often and the ones from the hospital had an interesting texture.

It was hard to get it just right with the charcoals. He wished he had a pencil, but they didn’t want to give him anything sharp.

Just as he was finishing a sketch, Dr. Maes decided to come by for a visit.

“Hello, Noa,” she said when she was shown in. “How are you?”

He glanced up at her and then looked back down. His fingers were blackened from working with the charcoals and his pages were spread out across the overbed table they’d wheeled in for him to work on. Deciding he didn’t want Dr. Maes to look at his work, he began to stack them neatly, trying not to smear anything, placing his hand picture on top.

“I’ve had a busy morning so far,” Dr. Maes said, pulling up a chair when he didn’t respond. She moved so that the table was between them. “Looks like you’ve been busy too… Do you need to wash your hands?”

Noa shrugged as he set the stack of charcoal drawings next to him on the bed. He looked down, rubbing his fingertips together. He could already see some black fingerprints smudged here and there.

He should clean up. He needed to. But he didn’t want to say anything.

Talking was dangerous. Especially with Dr. Maes. He needed to be more careful this time. It wasn’t so bad talking to Gary and he was able to turn the Murphys away, but… He didn’t think he could win that same fight if he was up against Dr. Maes. She would probably keep him here at the hospital until he would see her…

Actually, he was already starting to feel better. His cuts still hurt and his stitches ached, but it was less intense. Really, he wasn’t so bad. It would probably be fine for him to go home. He felt like he could manage it.

“Here. One second,” Dr. Maes.

She set her clipboard down on the table and got up to get something for his hands. And that was when Noa saw what she’d brought with her.

The clipboard itself had some plain, unused paper clipped to it, but there was also a familiar pack of pictures clipped on top.

September 4, 1998.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

Noa glared at Dr. Maes when she came back with hand wipes. She offered them to him and he recoiled.

“Noa?” she said. “Is something wrong?”

“Why do you have those pictures?” he asked, voice hitting the back of his throat.

“Oh. I was hoping we could go over them together,” she said. She was still offering him the wipes. “What do you think?”

“No,” Noa told her.

“Okay,” Dr. Maes said. “That’s fine.”

Noa studied her with narrowed eyes. He didn’t believe it would be that easy. It had to be some kind of trick. Still, he hesitantly accepted a wipe and began to rub the charcoal off his fingers.

Dr. Maes picked up her clipboard to wipe down the table. Then she sat back down and neatly placed the envelope of pictures on the tabletop between them, keeping her clipboard close.

Noa glowered at the envelope.

“I heard these pictures were the reason that you fought with Rion,” Dr. Maes said. “I’d like to talk about it, if that’s okay. But we can–”

“No,” he said.

“But we can talk about something else, since you don’t seem to like the idea,” she finished. “You know, I saw Rion today.”

That caught Noa off-guard. He stared at her, his mind trying to catch up.

Rion? She saw Rion? Really?

“Is he okay?” Noa asked.

“He’s managing,” Dr. Maes said. “That reminds me… He asked me a while ago if I could tell you not to blame yourself. He’s very worried about you. Other than that, he’s not doing too bad. He’s getting a lot of visitors.”

That sounded just like Rion.

Noa wasn’t surprised Rion was worried about him. He wasn’t surprised that he was getting visitors either. Noa would probably get visitors too if people were allowed to come in groups. Instead, he could only see them one at a time. Unless it was the Murphys. And he didn’t want to see the Murphys.

Of course, Noa didn’t want to see anyone else either, so it was fine. It made him feel a little bad for Rion, actually. He hoped he wasn’t bothered by everyone fussing over him. Or…Noa assumed they would fuss over him.

Then a new thought occurred to him.

“Why are you talking to Rion?” he asked.

“I can’t say,” Dr. Maes told him.

She couldn’t say? That meant confidentiality. That meant…

Rion was seeing Dr. Maes too.

“What did you talk about?” Noa asked. “What did he tell you?”

“Noa, I can’t tell you that,” Dr. Maes said.

Briefly, Noa hated her.

He understood confidentiality. It had been his own personal reassurance until now.

Now it was horrible and inconvenient and–

What were they talking about? What would Rion say? Would he tell Dr. Maes about Amber? Would she do anything if he did? What would she think if she knew…?

No. Rion wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that…

“Did you show him the pictures too?” Noa asked.

“You can ask as much as you like, but I’m not going to have that conversation with you,” Dr. Maes said. “If you want to know, you’ll have to ask Rion yourself once you’re able to see him.”

Noa sat up straight. “When will I be able to see him?”

“I don’t know. That depends on you,” Dr. Maes told him. “Since you’re refusing to see your family, I think that you should at least be willing to meet with them first. Maybe if you saw some of your other friends too, we’d have a little more confidence in letting the two of you have a visit. After that, we’ll see.”

Noa pinched his lips into a thin line, staring her down.

She had him trapped. He had to go along with what the hospital staff wanted and be ‘good’ to be able to see Rion. He knew how things worked.

He didn’t want to do this. He hated it. But was it worth it to see Rion?

Yes.

Noa was perfectly willing to make sacrifices for his best friend.

There was an opportunity in front of him right now. The envelope of pictures was on the table right in front of him. This was what Dr. Maes wanted him to look at, what she wanted him to talk about.

It was like playing a game with specific objectives. Noa could do that. It was simple.

He grabbed the envelope and turned it upside down, the pictures spilling out. His emotions spiked at the sight, a thrill of adrenaline shooting through him. He fought it down, crushed the feeling inside him as best he could.

The first picture on top was of him and Rion. He grabbed it, held onto it, focused on it. He could handle that one.

The others could all rot.

“What are you doing, Noa?” Dr. Maes asked.

“You wanted to go over the pictures,” Noa told her. “So let’s go over them.”

“If that’s what you want,” she said. “It’s up to you.”

She was perfectly calm and pleasant about it. Noa shot her a dirty look. He huffed and looked back down at the pictures. And then…

Then he didn’t know what to do.

Looking at the pictures made his skin crawl. He didn’t know what to say about them. He only knew that Dr. Maes wanted to talk about them. But he had to say something, didn’t he? What should he…? How should he…?

“Is that one your favourite?” Dr. Maes asked, pointing to the one in his hands.

“Yes,” Noa said without hesitation.

Because it was him and Rion. They were together. That picture was safe. It was one of the last happy memories he had, even if it was tainted by Amber’s death.

“Did Amber take that picture?” Dr. Maes continued.

“Yes.”

“It’s a good one. Why don’t you show me who took which pictures?”

Noa didn’t want to. But he had to get this over with.

He slapped the picture of him and Rion down and started to roughly shove the pictures into different piles. He grimaced, hating every second of sorting, hating touching them.

Rion took most of the pictures. He found the one of Amber first, putting it at the bottom of the stack of blurry pictures. He didn’t go through them, barely looked at them at all before stacking them on top of Amber. Then he piled up others, placing the safest one – a picture of some squirrels – on top of the stack. He slid it all the way to the corner of the table, as far away from him as possible.

“These are mine. These are Amber’s,” Noa said, jabbing his finger at both small piles before jerking his whole hand in the direction of the larger stack. “Those are Rion’s.”

“Thank you, Noa,” Dr. Maes began, eyebrows raised. “Is there something wrong with Rion’s pictures?”

“No,” he said, then hesitated. “Yes.”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“…He wasn’t supposed to take some of them. They were an accident.”

“An accident? What happened?”

“The camera went off when it wasn’t supposed to.”

“That happens sometimes. What were you doing when it went off?”

Noa glared at her. He didn’t want to answer, couldn’t answer. Because they had been carrying Amber’s body. He couldn’t admit to killing her. He couldn’t admit that Rion…

Rion…

“It went off when it wasn’t supposed to,” Noa said again. “I hate these pictures. I don’t want to look at them. I hate them. I hate them. I hate them.”

“Why do you hate them?” Dr. Maes asked.

“Because they’re from the day Amber died! I don’t want to remember that!” he snapped. “Who would? That’s a stupid question! Why would you even ask!”

He was worked up, already shaking and so, so angry. He wanted to hit something but instead, he grabbed his knees, gripping himself until his nails were biting at him through his hospital gown.

“Okay, Noa,” Dr. Maes said. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. We can stop.”

“No, we can’t,” Noa said through gritted teeth. “We can’t. Because otherwise you won’t let me see Rion. I have to look at these pictures and talk to you. Because I’m never going to want to look at them. I hate them so much.”

“I think you’re misunderstanding me,” Dr. Maes said. “Talking about these pictures isn’t going to get you a visit with Rion. It’s more important for you to work through some of your feelings. I can tell that you’re very upset right now. That’s okay. But we need to address it.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Noa said.

“That’s why I’m here,” Dr. Maes said. “I’m not your enemy, Noa. I’m here to help you.”

“You can’t,” Noa said.

“I can try,” she said. “If you aren’t ready to look at these pictures, then you aren’t ready. Maybe you’ll never be ready. That’s okay too.”

“What if I’m never not angry?” he asked her. “What then?”

“The funny thing about feelings is that they come and go all the time,” Dr. Maes told him. “It might feel like you’ll be angry forever. But you won’t be. Can you tell me why you’re mad?”

“I…” Noa started and then he was lost again.

Why was he angry?

It wasn’t something that he could easily answer. There was more than one reason.

He was mad at being in the hospital. He was mad that he had to look at these old pictures again. He was mad that Murphys tried to visit. He was mad that he told them to go away. He was mad that he made mean art about Gary and he was mad the nurse didn’t get upset at him for it.

But most of all…

“I’m mad at myself,” Noa said, scrunching his eyes shut. “I’m mad that I make the same mistakes over and over. I’m mad that I hurt Rion. I’m mad that Amber’s dead.”

“I can understand why you would feel that way.”

“Can you?” Noa said, opening his eyes to glare at her. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes,” Dr. Maes said. “I think you blame yourself for everything that’s ever gone wrong. And that makes you mad. Am I right?”

“Kind of…” he grumbled, reluctant to admit that she might be right. “But I’m not just blaming myself. These things really are my fault.”

“That’s what you think,” Dr. Maes said. “And maybe you’re right. Maybe some things are your fault. So do you want to be mad about it? Or do you want to do something about it?”

Noa stared at her, not understanding.

“Do something?” he said.

“You say things are your fault,” Dr. Maes said. “So what are you going to do? You can choose to be angry or you can reflect on what happened and what went wrong. You can come with a plan so that you can avoid making the same mistake again. That’s what you want, right? Or am I wrong?”

Noa stared at her for even longer, his lips parting. He’d been so angry and frustrated. He hadn’t even thought about trying to make things better or…

“You think I could stop it?” Noa said. “But…but things always go wrong…”

“You are in control of your own actions, Noa,” Dr. Maes said. “You say it’s your fault and that you’ve done something wrong. If your actions are the problem, that’s what has to change. Right?”

“I… I guess,” he said. “But sometimes… I don’t mean for things to go wrong. I didn’t mean to hurt Rion, but he got all cut up anyway. He… I didn’t want to cut his arm open.”

“I think we talked a little about this before,” Dr. Maes said. “What happened with you and Rion was an accident. Also, you can’t control other people and their actions. You chose to pick up that shard of glass and Rion chose to try and wrestle it away from you. Even if you want to blame yourself for picking up the glass in the first place, or breaking the glasses, rather than being mad or upset, why don’t you consider what made you do that in the first place.”

“I was upset.”

“Okay. Then why don’t we think of different things you can do when you’re upset.”

“Different… But I… I wasn’t thinking. I reacted. And then I was even more upset because of what I did and it just got worse and worse and worse…”

“Then why don’t we try and come up with ways to identify your feelings before you get so upset that you react and spiral? Then you can calm yourself before things go too far.”

“Is that even possible?” Noa asked, doubtful. “That sounds made up.”

“It’s hard to do, but it is possible,” Dr. Maes told him. “It takes a lot of work and practice. But isn’t it worth it to try? Wouldn’t that make you feel better if you had more control?”

“Maybe…” he said, but his eyes fell to the pictures again. “But it won’t bring Amber back.”

“Nothing will bring Amber back.”

“And I can’t fix any of my other mistakes.”

“No, but you can apologize for them.”

“Apologies don’t mean anything,” Noa said. “They don’t fix anything. They don’t make it better.”

“Noa, there’s only so much any one person can do,” Dr. Maes said. “Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone is sorry for something. That’s part of life.”

“But… I don’t know,” he said, closing his eyes. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

Because he wanted to make things better. He wanted to make things right. But he couldn’t.

He killed Amber. Saying sorry wouldn’t do anything. It was meaningless. Because Amber’s life was worth so much more than that. She was dead and she wasn’t coming back. He was a murderer. He ruined people’s lives…

Nothing could fix it. Nothing could make it better.

Noa couldn’t explain it.

“I don’t want to talk anymore,” he finally said. “I’m done. I don’t want to. I can’t.”