Within Amelia's Mind

Amelia sat on the curb outside the bus station, arms wrapped around her knees, exhaustion pressing down on her like a weight. The adrenaline from earlier had burned out, leaving her cold and empty.

It didn't take long for Derek to show up.

His car screeched to a stop in front of her, and before she could even stand, he was out of the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him.

His face was tight with anger. But underneath it—buried deep in the lines of his face, in the way his shoulders sagged—was something worse.

Fear.

He was scared.

And that hit harder than any lecture ever could.

He stopped in front of her, arms crossed, jaw clenched. "Get in the car."

Amelia hesitated, searching his face for something, anything softer than the pure frustration written all over it.

But she didn't find it.

So, for once, she didn't argue.

She got in.

—

The drive home was silent.

Derek's hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white, his whole body rigid with tension.

Amelia stared out the window, her own body curled in on itself, like she could make herself smaller.

She should say something.

Maybe apologize.

Maybe tell him that she thought about leaving, really thought about it, and she didn't. That she was still here. That had to count for something, right?

But she didn't know how to say that without sounding pathetic.

So instead, she just muttered, "Are you gonna yell at me?"

Derek let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "What's the point?"

Her stomach twisted.

That was worse than yelling.

Because yelling meant he still had the energy to fight.

This? This just sounded tired.

"I wasn't actually gonna leave," she said, her voice small.

Derek didn't look at her. "But you thought about it."

Amelia swallowed hard. "Yeah."

Silence.

Then, finally, Derek exhaled, long and slow, like he was trying to keep himself from breaking apart.

"I can't keep doing this, Amelia." His voice was quieter now. Less anger, more exhaustion. "I can't keep chasing after you, wondering if this is the time you don't come back."

Amelia's throat tightened. "I did come back."

Derek shook his head. "You almost didn't."

She wanted to argue. She wanted to tell him that she had stayed for him, that she was still trying even if it didn't look like it.

But she couldn't find the words.

Because maybe, deep down, she knew he was right.

Derek sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "You need help, Amelia."

She scoffed, turning back toward the window. "Yeah, I think I got that memo."

Derek's voice stayed steady. "Then take the help."

Something sharp twisted in her chest.

Because she wanted to. She wanted to be better. She just didn't know how.

The car pulled into the driveway, and Derek shut off the engine. He didn't move right away, just sat there, gripping the wheel, breathing slowly.

Then, finally, he turned to her.

"Next time you think about running, just tell me first."

Amelia blinked. "Why?"

Derek's jaw clenched. "Because I deserve to know whether or not my sister is about to disappear."

The words hit harder than they should have.

She looked away, her fingers curling into her sleeves.

"I won't run," she mumbled.

Derek didn't answer right away.

Then—softly—

"Promise me."

Amelia swallowed.

She couldn't promise that.

Not really.

But she looked at him—at the exhaustion, the fear, the hope—and said it anyway.

"I promise."