Prologue:

Winter sweeps over the ground, slipping through the tree branches. The wind whispers against my bathroom window, that shudders like my shoulders. The outside weather creeps inside from under the doors, through the cracks of the window panes, doing it's best to reach me. The biting cold nipping at my arms, sending goose bumps from my wrists up to my shoulders, still shaking. My hands rest on the sides of the sink, holding the weight of my light, fragile body up. My fingers tap on the granite, the beat of my favorite song. The mirror spits back my outside image, ghostlike, just like the inside. My hair tangled, unwashed, carelessly spilling over my chest like a dark shadow. The eyes- that were once admired for their purple/ silver beauty -now dull. The ever-present grin pulled down at the corners by invisible strings, weighed with memories. And my shoulders hunched forward, still shaky from my tearless sobs. Still scarred by the hands of love, of those hugs I now go without.

Love and sickness are two very similar things when you really think about it. Love is a disease, love throws everything off balance. There's crying, screaming, fighting, heartbreak. Love can kill. Sickness is all of those things, maybe worse maybe not, depending on the situation. But there's always that reminder. Love kills, love ends. That's all there is to it, and you can't escape love, just like a disease, it just keeps coming back.

Once Upon a Time:
Once upon a time- not a very good time, but one none the less- I lived in a place, a small town, not a good one. I live with people, a family, a broken one. I live with a heart and a soul, neither one put to use. But it's still a time and a place, a family, my heart and soul. All of these elements in the story; needed but not wanted, pieced together yet broken, moving forward, yet living in the past. But that's just it, what happened did pass, yet we relive it over and over, whether it be in a dream, or experience. There are constant reminders of how it used to be. And that's just not acceptable.

The small, flat screen TV breaks easily after crashing and bouncing down the stairs, courtesy of me. "What else. What else." I ponder, pawing and reaching through the tall, wooden cabinets of the kitchen. Full of things to break. Carelessly I begin throwing dishes, bowls, cups behind my head, making sure to chip the paint on the walls. I bend down to pick up the hammer I brought along, and finish up the house, taking but one thing along, a simple souvenir, a dream catcher. This is all just preparation for the finale.

After satisfying my destructive needs, I walk outside, light a match, and toss it into the front door from outside. Making sure I stay back, stay safe as the match creates the wispy flame that grows to be one huge bonfire. A process I've seen every day for the past year, the fire burns like it did that day. Wispy and reaching up into the sky like my flightless wings. Orange and red like the hair I covered in black.

The summer-fresh, overgrown grass of the front yard bends beneath me as I sit and watch the flames dance and spit heat. I can feel the warmth from my spot in the yard, and I lean into it, like it's an innocent fireplace keeping me comfortable. His face appears in the doorway, inside of the flames. His mouth a perfect grin, his freckles scattered, blurred in the smoke. His red, curly top hair sits on his head. "Sissy!" I jerk myself up and make my way over to him, carefully, over to the house. I feel his warm hands burn into my arms, reaching up towards my shoulders as I walk closer. The house crumples, the smoke billowing from the windows. The heat becomes too much to bear and I look down where my arms begin to blister. His pale arms melt into flames, licking at my skin. My hands swat at the fire, at the same time I rip at my already burning tank top. "Connor! Help!" I scream selfishly. Still yelling, I begin to suffocate the flames with my new -but ruined- top. My arms pink, the ends of my hair singed off, and still burning, my chest heaving. I drop back into the grass, and lay limp. I can feel the blades of grass, true blades, poking and pricking at my arms and stomach. Gripping the cold weeds until my hands lose feeling I shout at the hollow house, burnt like toast, "Connor, I'm sorry. I'm sorry Connor. You shouldn't have helped me, I didn't help you. I'm sorry." I repeat until I'm sure he can hear me, from so far away. "I'm sorry." I mumble into the ground, the dirt slowly turns into mud beneath my wet face, covered with tears. And the fire still dances behind me, my body still burning, but I don't care.

My eyes flutter open, flutter closed, and flutter open once more. My vision is blurred but I can still see him kneeling above me. My mind is numbed by the pain I'm in, yet I can feel his arms wrapped around me. And with all of these mental distractions I still manage to hear him yelling at me, "Are you stupid?! What were you thinking?!" He repeats himself, over and over. As I regain consciousness and the ability to move my lips, my memory comes back as well.

"Yes." My reply makes him jump back and jerk his hands out from under me.

"Yes what?" His voice shakes with confusion, his head shaking as well. He looks disgusted with me, like I did something wrong.

"Yes I'm stupid, and I wasn't thinking." Even in the negative atmosphere I manage to pull the corners of my lips into a grin. But realization yanks them back into a frown. "Wait a minute; did you watch me that whole time?"

"Um... it depends, did you see me?"

"Who do you think you are?! Some stalker?!" I back up from him in pure cowardice, a cornered mouse. But I'm angry. This secret I kept to myself still manages to get whispered into someone's ear, even if it was more like an unintentional shout. The anger doesn't exactly boil inside of me, it overflows the minute I feel it. I stand up, but it doesn't make me feel more intimidating, he towers over me. I shove him a few times, making my lack of mental stability obvious.

"Woe, calm down short stuff." He says, scrambling to restrain my flailing arms. "Calm down for a second. You need to just breathe and explain all of this to me."

"Don't tell me what to do! I don't have to explain anything to you! You're the one who watched me this whole time, I deserve an explanation!" I try my best to yank my arms from his gentle but firm grip with no success. "And let go of me!"

"Only if you promise not to walk away. I'm a concerned bystander, that's all. Just calm down and I'll let go."

I take in a sarcastic breath of air, and then dramatically breathe out. "Happy?"

"Now, are you feeling better?"

"Nope." I reply, hoping to get on his nerves, which seems to be impossible. Even if the deep breath did help, I'm not ready to admit it.

"Okay, now that you're feeling a bit calmer, let's sit down and discuss this." He takes my hand and begins to sit down on the grass, assuming I'll mimic him. And I do, just because of that stupid concerned look in his eye. Also the fact that he may be as stubborn as me, and I won't allow that.

Why did I walk into the flames? Such a straightforward question and I can't seem to answer it.

"Well why didn't you come and save me? You were standing right there watching the whole thing." After everything that went down I'm starting to wonder why he didn't jump out and save me Spider-man style. He seems gutsy enough. If he's going to play the concerned citizen role he might as well just go the whole nine yards.

"Well, Amber, maybe I have psychic senses and knew you'd flip out on me. Or maybe I didn't bring my fire proof vest along today."

"Figures, you never have those things when you need 'em."

"Can I ask you a question now?" I nod. "Did you walk into that burning house for a reason?"

His cries float through the air like the thick smoke, sticking in my throat and choking me. I'm a crazy teenage girl, I can tell he thinks so too. But why should he get to play therapist like this? Is he really expecting me to spit out my whole life to him like it isn't personal? But who cares really? I'll never see this kid again. "Maybe I saw someone- something in the house. Let's just say it was important." He sits with his hand on his chin, pretending to concentrate.

"Hmm, I don't know if I believe that."

"Well you asked."

"Maybe I should pull out my lie detector and get to the bottom of this."

"Or maybe you should stop pretending to care and just leave." I retort. "I mean, well, um... yeah, you should just leave."

"I should, shouldn't I?" He bites his lip, obviously done fighting with me, a stranger. And I don't know how he does it, but he makes me feel kind of, bad. He's just a teenage boy, whom I've never met. Maybe he wanted to help, maybe he wanted to be a hero. Maybe I should have been a little less harsh. But that would be irrational because we've never met and it's not like he can flick his wrist and make the pain go away. It's still there, even if he did pull me out of that fire. I'll still see Connor in the flames; still hear him crying for help. And before I know it the boy is holding me in his arms. Letting me soak his brown t-shirt in tears, like I soaked the brown dirt moments ago. I don't know what it is -I blame him and his stubbornness- but I tell him everything.

"I set things on fire."

"Obviously."

"Well, I obviously set things on fire for a reason. My little brother Connor died in one. I guess I just cope with the memories by reliving them. I was babysitting him and caught the stove on fire. He was upstairs sleeping and I ran out, panicking. The fire department was too late. I walked into the fire earlier because I thought I-"

"Saw him?"

"Yeah, I guess. But he wasn't there."

"Well, I am."

"Yeah, I guess you are."

He wipes my tears and wrings out his shirt, I shrug my shoulders and look up at him with a nervous grin. It felt good to cry, I haven't done it in so long. But what surprises me is that telling someone how I feel actually helps just a bit. And he didn't give me all those fake- concerned classic sympathy lines either, that surprises me too. At the funeral I received an enormous amount of "I'm so sorry." 's. I was sure those three words weren't bringing him back to me, and it ticked me off. I didn't want pity, I wanted a rewind button. Maybe if I traded the thousand "sorry"'s I could have gotten what I wanted.

"Can I tell you something ironic?" He asks cautiously.

"What? Did you find that fire proof vest you forgot to bring?"

"No, my name is Connor..."

"Okay, I'm beginning to believe that you're the liar here."

"I'm not lying."

"Well 'Connor'", I make sarcastic air quotations in his face, "I think I'll be going now." As I stomp my foot on the ground he grabs my arm -once again- which I begin to realize really frickin' hurts because of the new blisters that are forming there.

"Look." He shoves his driver's licence in my face. DELSI, CONNOR is printed in black letters above his picture. I compare the faces, hoping it isn't true. He looks nothing like my Connor with his dark, messy hair or his gray eyes hidden behind his enormous amount of lashes. But his smile is the same; they both bunch up their lips and push them to the side, in a nervous, childish grin. I can see my Connor doing his famous pose, lacing his hands together, shrugging his shoulders as high as possible, and giving me the smile that he knew was his secret weapon. I swear it shot an arrow through my heart each time. I trace the letters of his name, feeling the bumps of the words and the smooth surface of the licence.

"You guys have the same smile." I say, letting a single tear fall. But I'm smiling. I don't know what's so great about it, but knowing I get to see the famous grin again makes me realize how much I've truly missed it. Before it was just an annoying manipulative tool, but living without it for so long makes me remember just how cute it was. And I don't want to let it go, "I wish I could see his smile every day, like I did when he was here."

"I could come see you every day and smile for you, if you wanted me to." He suggests. I can tell he thinks it's a long- shot, but to me it could happen.

"You would be willing to put up with all of this," I gesture to myself "just to make me happy?"

"You're worth it, I can tell. I do have super powers you know." He points to his head, pretending to point out his mind powers. He makes me chuckle with his humor, and that's big because I haven't chuckled in... forever.

"Well maybe we can work something out." I begin to get nervous, because I know this could be the grand beginning to something new. Whatever this is, it's definitely worth experiencing a second time, or maybe even a third. Connor makes me smile, and cry, and feel. I've gone without emotion for so long, and shockingly I've felt more in this one day than I have in a year. And I like it, I like Connor. So we exchange numbers, basically the only normal thing we've done all day, and I do something crazy. I hug him, before I wrap my arms around his thin torso I consider the awkward consequences, but they don't come. Instead, I get lost is his cologne and his natural cool temperature -which feels like air conditioning in a hot, summer house- and it feels normal. His gentle arms wrap around me so naturally, and I press my cheek against his chest. It feels right, and it just seems to drown out all the wrongs.

In the beginning of this summer I looked forward to the end; going back to school, finishing up my senior year, and moving far from where I am. I was pushing on the gas pedal, hoping the world would blur by faster, then I hit Connor; my speed bump. My grinning, childish, smart speed bump, and maybe he's just a bit handsome. But I'd never tell him that. In the week I've known him I've spent more time doing things a normal teenager does. He's taken me skateboarding, which didn't go over so well, he's taken me swimming, and he's taken me bowling. If I didn't meet him I'd probably be in my room, or out setting another house on fire, even after the whole incident before.

I look up from my deck of cards and up into Connor's squinting eyes. "Do you have a," I return my eyes to my deck, I need a queen. "do you have a queen?" I ask.

"No I do not, go fish." He says with a straight face. He's so good at this game. Five hands ago I was teaching him how to play -which didn't go over so well since, in my opinion, every body should know how to play Go Fish- and now he's keeping a straight face that I can't seem to read.

"Fine." I mumble in defeat. I pick up a useless two of hearts and wait for him.

"Do you have a..." He squints his eyes, something he does a lot when he pretends to be serious, and grins that special grin. "queen?" I slam my cards on the table and slide the whole deck together; spreading it around our little table. My hands smack against the wood and then go up into the air in mock anger.

"How many times do I have to tell you that's cheating?!"

"Enough for me to start using it to cheat, and win."

"It's not winning if you cheat! Don't you have any guilt?!"

"Oh it's still winning, whether I feel guilty or not." He gives me the smile. The sad part about his smile being creepily similar to my brother's is the fact that he uses it for evil too. It's his easy way out of things because he knows I can't stay mad when that grin is so darn cute.

"Whatever, I'm never playing Go Fish with you again."

"Oh you'll give in sooner or later. Now clean up this mess you made, we're going to go do something."

When we arrive at the ice-cream shop down the street from my house, the sun seems to heat up just a bit. And it makes the relief of walking into the air conditioning feel so much better. As we walk up to the counter to place our orders, the blond cashier stares straight at Connor and waits for him to speak. "We'll both have the large chocolate strawberry banana sundae with a cherry on top, please." He says quickly, probably hoping I didn't hear him.

"No, actually I'll have-" I begin to say before he interrupts.

"Can we get that with spoons and a bunch of napkins also?"

"I don't want-"

"And lids, we don't want them to melt in the heat, do we?" He elbows me playfully in the arm, obviously aware of what he's doing, but acting like he doesn't. When we get our ice-cream and thank the blond he hooks arms with me and walks out of the door. As soon as we enter the thick heat we turn to face each other.

"You know I hate chocolate strawberry banana sundaes, especially with cherries on top!" I say in disgust.

"Yep."

"So why'd you do it? I always get the mint chocolate- chip."

"You needed to try something new." He pops open the lid to his sundae and stacks it on top of mine. Of course he's too lazy to throw the plastic lid away like a human.

"I tried something new when I decided to be your friend. This," I point to the sundae, "is going way too far." I look at him as he enjoys his ice-cream. The cherry sits on the melted puddle of vanilla sundae, just waiting for someone to eat it. I take my unused spoon and lift the plump, bright looking cherry and eat it. "Yum." His jaw drops inches above the pavement of the sidewalk.

"You did not... just eat... the best part... of my sundae. You did not just ruin all that I was looking forward to in life."

"Oh, but I did. That's what you get for not listening." I grin proudly.

"Fine. But this is what you get for ruining my perfect afternoon." He bravely takes his already melted vanilla ice cream with chunks of fruit and chocolate and lifts it above my hair. I stand there, bracing myself for what's about to happen, not believing he'll do it. But he does, and I feel the cool, sticky dessert slide down my back and watch it drip off of my long eyelashes. And I don't get mad, this moment that would have made me gasp in shock and chase him half way down the street is different. The fact that he's with me makes it okay. So I slowly take a step towards him, and grab his hand so he won't run away.

"The sundae actually tastes kind of good." I say, before I press my sticky lips to his. "Thanks for helping me try new things."

Epilogue:
Who knows what would have happened to me if I hadn't met Connor? Like I said, he was my speed bump, he put things in a new perspective for me. Without him I most likely would have ended up burning more houses down. Who knows, maybe I would have ended up burning down my future too. Love seemed to be the worst idea possible after my brother died, love seemed like a trap. But I fell into it anyways, because love made me feel something other than sadness. I don't know how to describe the feeling, but it was a good one, a new one. Connor and I spent hours upon hours talking, laughing, and smiling. All three of those things were part of the past before he came along. I found a spark in my family the day I introduced them to my new -yes, boyfriend- they seemed to join together at dinner that night. For once, they were smiling and talking to each other. Later on that night I thanked him for bringing them together. Connor and I talked a lot about what we wanted to do after we graduated. I decided that I wanted to be a teacher, since I loved being around kids. Connor wanted to be an astronaut, but we both knew that wouldn't work out. He's still torn between being a scientist and a firefighter. I think he's smart enough to be both, but he says then he wouldn't get to see me. But who knows, planning things is just something to do, I'm sure we'll hit another speed bump along the way. But for now, all I know is I have both of my Connors with me. Both in my heart, and one holding my hand.