Insidious.

"My brother killed himself."

Rachel looks at me with sad eyes. They fill with water until it spills over and slips down her rose red cheeks. I don't want her to cry because it means she feels sorry for me. I don't want her to be sorry. It's not her fault.

"Don't do that," I say.

She wipes her face. "Do what?"

I pull her close and kiss the top of her head to show her I'm not mad. "Cry. Don't cry, Rachel."

She looks up at me, and plays with an old cigarette in an ash tray that has been on the carpet for weeks. Maybe months.

"I can't help it, Zachary. It's sad. When things are sad people cry..."

I nod and light a cigarette since I see her messing around in the ash tray. She doesn't make eye contact, but asks me how he did it.

"He hung himself," I say. "It was a while ago, but... yeah. He hung himself."

I take a drag and exhale.

She doesn't say anything. Just leans into me and kisses the underside of my chin.

"I was only about fourteen. I didn't find him, my sister did. I don't think she remembers what it looked like. Only that it happened. But... I walked in when I heard her screaming, and... he was there. He did it in his room. He hung himself from the ceiling fan."

Rachel wipes her eyes, and she doesn't realize that I can feel her doing so.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Don't be. It's not your fault. It happened... sorry can't change that."

We're both quiet for a while, and then I stand up. I toss my cigarette into the ash tray and Rachel picks it up. I think about how much I love the look of her and a cancer stick together.

"Why do you fee l like you have to be so brave?" She asks.

I avoid her gaze, instead choosing to look out the window.

She stands up and looks me straight in the eye, the cigarette dangling between two of her fingers.

"You don't have to be, Zachary. Everyone is allowed to need someone sometimes."

I take in a deep breath, remembering the smell of her apartment so I can take it home with me. Then, I smile at her and kiss her quickly on the mouth.

"I love you, Rachel."

And then I'm out the door.

I wake up in a sweat, and I've forgotten how dark and cold the room was. It feels as if I've wet the bed, but I know I haven't. I can almost see her in the corner, but I know she isn't there because she's dead.

We don't need to be brave all of the time.