It was about eight in the morning and the way I started off November was by pissing into a cup in a dirty police station somewhere near the U.S. border.

I was still nervous and jittering, my heartbeat swift, but I was coming down and exhausted still. Ana was in hysterics the whole time because, due to her “harboring a runaway,” she was facing “legal issues” that made my eyes fall away guiltily. She insisted she wasn’t mad, while tears dragged away her green face paint and she profusely told me, “I’m _not_ mad at you… I swear, you’re cool, I’ll miss you, I _will_…”

But I could tell that everyone was at least _mildly_ upset at me for adding a whole new layer of _legal issues_. I felt awful about it, too, with a huge migraine and a whole lot of nervous fidgeting.

Wyatt called an aunt and was out of there by nine, telling me to call him with a kiss goodbye. By noon, Ana left, facing luckily only a fine, albeit a hefty one. Sniffling, she kissed my cheek and told me, “You’re cool, Layne, everyone digs you, I swear, everyone digs you! Come on back as soon as you can…” Then, with a giggle, “Without giving me a goddamn fine.”

“Sorry about that,” I said for the thousandth time. “I’m really, really sorry. And I’m sorry for lying…”

“Oh, don’t be sorry!” And then: “Bye-bye, Layne, bye-bye.”

Sky and I had to stick around longer, and we sat facing each other, separated by the cell’s bars, talking in halted, bad conversation.

“So, you’re just a kid, eh?” He said to me, scratching violently with a shaky gaze.

“I’m _seven_teen,” I continued lying. “I’m _only_ three years younger than you.”

“I don’t care. There’s been fuckin’ thirteen-year-old groupies tryna get into Underground before. No one gives a shit, really.” His blue gaze was glazed and feverish, his chin breaking out in pimples while sores and scars tracked up his bare arms.

“Oh.”

After a long moment of silence, he asked, “What’s it that you was high on? R- I mean, that guy could’ve given you pretty much anything, you know.”

“Oh, yeah.” I sighed, rubbing my temples. “I don’t fuckin’ know, man.”

“Oh. Cool.”

Halting small-talk flicked back and forth between us for another four hours. 

It was nearly five o’clock before a cop let me out and brought me to my mom and James, who both looked like they’d just survived a zombie apocalypse. My mom burst into tears when she saw me, and she’d obviously been crying long before that, too, her face red with swollen, wet eyes.

“Jesus Christ!” She wailed, sobbing in James’ arms. “What’s happened to my baby! What’s going _on_!”

James comforted her quietly while I stood, eyes vacant, in silence. A familiar-looking officer began talking to them in hushed tones with several concerned glances in my direction. I wasn’t listening, but every so often, one of them would gasp and start to weep at the cop’s words, horrified, heartbroken.

My eyes widened, and two words struck my head: _Oh no_. I could see Wyatt, my full backpack in his hands. Sweat dripped down every inch of me in fright.

He spotted me, began to walk over, and, looking anywhere but my confused parents, passed me my backpack, whispering, “I thought you might want your stuff.”

“Yeah,” I whispered back, biting my lip madly. “Thanks, Wyatt.”

“Uh…” He glanced awkwardly at James, who was glowering at him. “I gotta run, but… Love ya, Layne, bye.” And with that, he hurried out of the police station.

I sighed as he left, slinging my heavy backpack over my shoulder, watching the shiny blue linoleum floor quite intensely. Hot tears burned behind my eyes.

Then, shocked out of my thoughts, the officer ushered me out with my parents. Just like that, I was back in the back seat of James’ car, tearful and sickly, with my mom wiping at her face in the passenger seat, with my stepdad forlornly staring out the windshield.

“Who was that guy- that _man_, who gave you your bag?” Asked James, his voice weary, his tone desolate. Not angry, but disappointed.

“Wyatt,” I replied. No point in lying, anyway. “He’s my… We’re… Kinda a thing, by the way.” When no one said anything, I added sheepishly, “I’m sorry.”

With that, more wailing from my mother, who covered her face and muttered, “Oh, Dear God…”

James’ started up the car. “I need some more coffee, and, Elena, I’m guessing you’re hungry? We’ll stop at a gas station for something to eat, okay?”

“Okay,” I sniffled, zipping up Wyatt’s leather jacket and buckling my seat belt.

“Why’re you wearing that wig?” He asked after a long minute of driving in silence. “And…”

“Oh, it’s my Halloween costume.” I quickly pulled the pink hairdo off my head and dropped it to the floor. “I was meant to be Layne Staley, for Halloween.”

My mom whispered something to James and then shrieked, “_Amphetamines!_”

“_What_?” Her shrill yell made my head roar in pain, and my mind went away whirring with possibilities of what she meant.

“You were on _amphetamines_?” My mother, the ever-crying banshee, turned in her seat to look at me, and the sight of her face made my gaze drop lower. The sheer horror of having me as a daughter must’ve been driving them insane.

So _that’s_ what Ray had given me. “Oh,” I replied sullenly, “Yes, I guess I was.”

James said hastily, “Now, Elena, you’ve gotta understand how worried we were… You were just _gone_ for _three weeks_! We reported you _missing_, and for all we knew, you could’ve been dead in a ditch somewhere. You _have_ to understand how upset we’ve been…”

“I do, I do, yeah, I understand.” I paused and thought it all over for a moment, and then continued, “I’m really sorry. I know I must be driving you crazy all of the time…”

My mom cried out something incoherent, shoulders shaking. Then: “Oh, Dear God! Dear God!”

We drove to a gas station in silence, where James went in and bought coffee for himself, and thin, cheap sandwiches for me and my mother. I devoured my sandwich as we drove and tried to sleep as we headed north, sun setting over the horizon.

But I couldn’t sleep. My mind was whirring violently, hands twitching as fingers compulsively fidgeted with the zipper on Wyatt’s leather jacket.

“D’you think I could choose some music?” I asked James, my voice low. “I can’t sleep, and…”

“Sure, sure, pick something,” he replied, too hastily, voice hoarse and disappointed. I passed him my _Jar Of Flies_ CD, asked him to skip to track four and play it first. _No Excuses_ came playing softly, comforting my anxiety-ridden head. I stared out the window, rain beating against the glass in the dark.

Eventually, I must’ve fallen asleep, because when I woke up, it was two in the morning and James was just pulling into the driveway that I hadn’t seen in three weeks.

I swayed out of the car as if in a trance, making a beeline to the bathroom to take a well-needed, scorching hot shower. I scrubbed every inch of myself clean for half an hour, then got into my pajamas, ready to go back to sleep, when I heard more sobbing from the living room, where my parents sat, tearful and hugging.

I stood in the hallway, hair dripping water down my spine, debating whether I should go to bed or go talk to my parents. After five minutes, I went to bed, spending twenty minutes twisting and turning, unable to sleep at all.

And, sleepless, I wandered out to the kitchen, where my mother still sat, dismally drinking a cup of tea.

“I can’t sleep, Mom.” I sighed, sitting down at the kitchen table beside her. “I guess you can’t, either…”

“I can’t. I’ve hardly been able to sleep at all for the past three weeks, actually.”

“I’m sorry. I really mean it, I am.” And I did mean it.

“You remind me too much of your father, you know. You look a lot like him, and that makes it a _lot_ worse…” She let out a nervous laugh that made a vision of Ana flash into my mind. “I used to wait up until this time of night all the time when you were a little baby, waiting for _him_… Oh, God, that feels like a hundred years ago…”

“I feel awful for doing this to you, Mom. I love you, okay?” I smiled weakly, my body begging me to sleep while my mind spilled over with anxious fears.

“I love you, too, honey… I’m gonna go to bed, okay? Please try to seep, Elena…” She stumbled uneasily to the sink, where she placed her teacup down, and then continued to her and James’ bedroom. “Goodnight.”

I started down the hallway. “Goodnight, Mom.”