After the first week, I started growing antsy to leave the room on my own. Simon was, a lot of the time, glued to the desk working, and any chance to get out were rebuffed with “I'm sorry, I'm too tired” or “I have to finish this”, only for me to come back and see him staring at the ceiling, or still working, or curled up in the bed.

I started exploring the house on my own, keeping an eye on where I came lest I be swallowed by the freaking mass that is the house, from like Hansel and Gretel lost in their forest with their breadcrumbs, except instead of bread, I'm using my notes app and the group chat. I became an unofficial photographer, cataloging my explorations with shouty capital letters and intense confusion.

Oscar drops out of the group chat at that point, or around it. I don't even notice until the little header at the top listed 6 numbers instead of 7. I reach out to ask if something's going on, and he doesn't message back.

There's 2 empty guest rooms on the same floor as Simon's, his parent's, and Finn's bedrooms, all with en-suites. The library is, as I thought, more of a study, and the selection of business and political books is curated to a T, and a big disappointment for a room that is covered in wood and has a fireplace. I now know the difference between a 'living room' and 'family room', and both make me sad – the living room seats are uncomfortable and the fireplace is dusty, while the family room is just a giant sofa to lay around watching TV and ignore each other. A lot of stuff Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins picked up from their vacations hang on the walls like museum art, though I don't know the meaning or significance of them. The kitchen is white and bright. The dining room is dark, gray, and unused. The mudroom at the very side of the house is green and is the most normal space in the house. Every room, otherwise, is beige and white, with hardwood floors that stretch for eons. Every window has a glimpse of the outside world, green and blooming.

There's a basement. It has 2 more guest rooms (one with en-suite), a wet bar, a family room space for gaming, a freaking home theater with reclining seats, and a lot of empty space. Decorations from who knows how long ago take up space in a corner, collecting dust. A home gym could've been set up down here with room to spare. The entire downstairs could fit our apartment 3 times over with room to spare. The entire downstairs could've been its own self-sufficient 2 bedroom apartment.

Rarely are there pictures of family, of the people who live in this house. Walls are bare, the art is confusing and tasteless (in the bathroom on the first floor, it's a candid photograph of a woman's dress being blown up showing her bare butt) and every corner seems to stretch a little more than the last, its corners meeting improperly, and it is unbearably, uncomfortably alone regardless of whatever signs of being lived-in there are.

Halfway through the second week, to my own dismay, I realize I've started to hate the house.

I pick the family room to read in. It's the least uncomfortable room and one of the only rooms that doesn't drive me totally stir-crazy, and it takes me not even 20 seconds to run back upstairs to Simon's room if I need to hide. It gives me a view of the stairs, the front door, the backyard, and I can hear everything going on in the kitchen without being a Nosy Nellie.

“God, fuck,” Finn sighs. “Go away, Pansy.”

I look around at the couch, where there's still enough space for at least 3 people to lie down pretty comfortably. Enough space for everyone in the house if they wanted to sit down. “You're more than welcome. The more the merrier. I'm just down here because Simon's working, and I don't – ” I don't want to think about everyone who's dying right now.

“No. Go suck someone off. I want to watch something.”

“What are you watching?”

“Oi.”

“You can watch whatever. If I think it's loud, I'll let you know, okay?” I smile at him. “Besides, I like the company.”

“Oh my God. Are you gay and stupid?”

“If we're going to be stuck here for a while, the least we can do is be cordial, right? Besides, you seem like you're a kid with depth.”

“Fuck you.”

“That wasn't an insult,” I say.

“Don't care. Fuck off.”

“Finn, look, I don't know how long Simon and I are going to be here for, – ”

“I'll give you $50 to leave right fucking now.”

“ – but I'd appreciate it if you were a little less...”

“Hostile?”

I draw in a breath. “That's a word for it, sure.” I press the book closed on my finger and sit up. I start picking my nails. “Did I do something?”

“You're here, aren't you?”

“I meant besides that.” I sigh. “I mean, I remember what it's like being a teenager – ”

That was, most definitely, the wrong button to push for him. “Fuck you.”

“Sorry, sorry. I mean, I'd like to imagine that I know what you're going through.”

“Fuck. You.”

“What? I do. The 'No One Understands Me' shtick along with a need to 'Save the World', dressing in all black – ” Or maybe that was just me. Was I emo and didn't even realize it? “ – the rebellious teenage phase, the feeling alone, the...constant insecurity.” The unquenchable fears of being unlovable, being a nuisance. Being left behind and unwanted and unloved. “I fought a lot with Mr. and Mrs. Perlman and Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds when I lived with them.”

“And, what, is your rebellious phase over yet?”

“I'd like to think so.”

“Screw you, you fucking pansy. You don't get it.”

“It's one of the great things about living, I think – that experiences can be so different, yet we're able to find similarities in them.”

“Don't fucking talk to me like you understand me.”

“Well, I don't know you.”

“Yeah, you fucking don't. You ever been fucking left behind by your own goddamned parents because they jetted off to fucking Australia for 2 goddamned weeks without telling you? You ever try calling your fucking family and they don't even fucking bother to pick up or message you? You say the 'No One Understands Me' shtick is my thing? Fuck you, you worthless heap of f****t garbage. You think every teenager feels alone? That 'maybe if we all hold hands and sing kumbaya everything will be okay, and the world will smile and rainbows will come out of our fucking asses'? Fuck you. I am alone. I could fucking scream bloody murder and no one would fucking hear me. This's the longest my parents have been in this goddamned house for the last 3 fucking years. I could've been at a friend's house through this whole thing and it wouldn't have made a goddamned difference. So get the fuck out of here so I can watch my goddamned show.”

My ears weren't ringing, and I wasn't particularly riled up by the whole thing. Honestly, all of it just made me really sad because, on some level, I understood that feeling he talked about. But I sit up, put the book to the side, and watch him.

“Apparently, your gay, stupid, and deaf.”

“Scream.”

“What.”

“Scream.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. Y-you said you could scream and no one would hear you, and that...I don't know. It just...feels wrong, for some reason.”

“That's the thing you latch onto?”

I click my teeth and sigh, standing. I smile. “What show are you watching?”

“None of your goddamned business.” Finn flops onto the couch and goes into Netflix to watch Stranger Things.

“I've never seen it. Is it any good?”

“Go. The fuck. Away.”

I hum and pick up my book. “Enjoy your show, Finn.” I don't say it with any malice or frustration. I say it quiet, upbeat, as if my time in the family room's just run out. Because he is right – I don't know him. “Tell me how it is. It looks good.”

“Go. Awaaaaaaaaayyyyyyy.”

I wave him goodbye and go back upstairs. He barely pays me a second glance, but I don't really care. It's the right thing to do, and besides, I remember being that angry at the world.

Simon's still at his makeshift desk when I come back, his eyes wide like he's been staring into the void of whatever he's been working on. He looks at me, with dark bags under his eyes, and says, “Sorry.”

I sigh and sit beside him. My stomach bubbles every time he apologizes to me, and there's this dull spark in my gut that flares up every so often. “Why?”

“I heard Finn screaming at you.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Not the worst I've ever put up with.” The worst is Finn's saying, “You ever try calling your fucking family and they don't fucking pick up or message you?” echoing through my head. It pounds, and I can feel a headache coming on.

“Still...sorry.”

I shake my head, putting my hand on his face and swallowing back the frustrated lump in my throat. “You asked me to come, and I'm not bowing out now.”

He closes his eyes and sink into my palm. He sighs. “I'm sorry, Micah.”

My eyelid starts twitching, and I never knew it could do that before.

I message the group chat asking for advice.

It stays quiet for the next week.