I'm Anything You Want Me To Be.

The odds are not good to me like they supposedly are to John.

The odds are always against me.

If not always, most of the time.

Say you were at the edge of a field of a bunch of school kids during the school's sport fests. And you're asked to count how many trees there are, and how many leaves they have each. How many feet are on the grass. How many birds are in flight.

The odds will never be for you. They will always be against you in that situation.

Maybe you can count how many trees there are. But can you count how many leaves they have? Counting them is hassle enough. How about you take into mind how many leaves they shed every time a gust of wind is in their presence? Either way, it's an impossible task.

Maybe you can count how many people there were on that field if they all stood still, and if you had all the time in the world. But they wouldn't stand still, and you don't have all the time in the world. Imagine how many people are walking on that field, doing cartwheels, racing the tracks. How one foot leaves the ground and another one takes it while people walk at their own different paces. It's an impossible task.

And being asked to count how many birds are in flight will ruin you. Having to count how many birds there are in V formation, and having to watch them stop at a tree branch. They won't always be in flight, and your eyesight can only give you so much help in that task. It's another impossible task.

A lot of things are out of my hands. Some things slip through my fingers. I'm never in control.

Now that I'm lying here, next to Jay with John, exhausted from the show, I conclude that one of the reasons I had enjoyed sleeping with John was because he let me take the wheel. He let me take control.

I barely get the hold on situations. That's what I'm hating right now.

I can't even help my sister. I can't. I haven't done a thing to Dani since I teased her, and I haven't even looked at Garrett since then.

I don't know what happened. After the show, when we got back to the bus, Dani and Garrett started yelling at each other again and, this time, no one could understand what they were saying.

I mean, yeah, words, words, words. But none of those words made sense to anyone else but the two of them.

Dani's in her bunk, crying her eyes out is the most probable thing she's doing right now. And Garrett's in his, trying to ignore her sobs.

I think I made things worse without doing anything at all. I'm a fuck-up.

I want to go comfort Dani. But she hates me. And she's got her earphones plugged in, listening to the same fucking band that saved her when I couldn't.

And I'm here, thinking about why sex with John was nice. I'm selfish, too.

I look at John. Asleep. Now, I see where Jay got that angelic face. Where those long eyelashes came from. And whose lips.

I give up. My thoughts always get the better of me like this. I am weakness.

I wish Dani isn't drowning in her thoughts like I am. I wish she's letting the music carry her away from whatever this drama is making her feel.

It makes me anxious to know that Garrett and Dani just aren't sure of how they feel.

I tug my sweater tighter around myself and close my eyes, and then I heave a big sigh. It's getting cold, but I refuse to go to my bunk.

Why are Dani and Garrett like that to each other? Why am I occupying myself with the thought of that? The thought doesn't end anywhere, it's never concluded. I don't want to call it immature anymore, something that's a product of high school, but I can't help it. Garrett and Dani are too old for a stupid love-hate relationship.

And it sinks in to me, that I had the mindset that this should be the least of my problems. So if this is the least, then how much of a shit ton are my other problems weighing down on me?

It sinks in to me. That the odds are against me. That this is beyond my control. I can't stop these things from happening. And things are bound to get worse.

Like dad dying, like my mom wanting me to die.

I can't control any of it.

I find myself curling up now, eyes forced shut otherwise my tears will spill over. I am usually stronger than this, but.. But not now. Because now, I just want my dad. I don't want Kennedy, I don't want Nick, I don't want Jay. I don't even want Dani.

And I just get so vulnerable and sensitive when it comes to Dad.

I want Dad. I want him to lock me in an embrace so tight that I could barely breathe, I want him to kiss my forehead, and tell me that everything is going to be okay.

I miss him so much.

I miss how he'd take me to baseball games with him instead of Dani because she thought dirt was disgusting. I miss how he'd sing me a stupid lullaby he'd composed at the last minute while he tucks me in at night. I miss how he'd told me that no matter where I go or what I do, or how old I get, I'll always be his little girl.

You don't think dads like mine still existed? They still do.. Or they did. My dad was one of them. He was special, and made me feel special. He made sure I went to bed at night knowing I was loved, and that I was to wake up in the morning loved.

I wish he were here. I thought I was going to be fine without him for a second, but when my mom started freaking out, I knew I had thought wrong.

I need my dad. I need him now. I've always needed him.

I hate thinking like this. Because it's painful. I wish I could just sleep. Because even though I know nightmares will haunt me, relief will sink in surely once I wake up and realize that it's all been some plot my subconscious had put together to get some sense back into me, to make me realize that I'm still alive, and I should stay alive even though the things I've been through in the past will try to paralyze me.

"Iann, are you okay?"

I use my forearm to cover my eyes as I spring to attention at John's voice. My tears start running out of my eyes and I use the sleeve of my sweater to stop them.

"Iann, are you--"

I stop him from asking me if I'm okay again by saying "Yup."

"Iann, are you crying--"

"No."

I feel his gentle touch on my forearm and I slap him away. "I'm fine. I have allergies and shit, they're acting up,"

John bows his head in respect. I know he thinks I'm a terrible liar, but that's only because I am. "Better get your medicine or something."

"I should." I say and get up. I go to my suitcase in the back lounge, passing carefully along the bunk areas. When I get there, I just jump up and down a little to shake it off.

I keep my pack of smokes in a pocket inside my suitcase, and I am so tempted to light up a cigarette. But then as the only promise I made and planned on keeping during therapy, I'm obliged not to break it.

No nicotine. Not yet.

I take deep, shaky breaths as I calm myself down. It's a good thing I haven't started breaking down yet. Because had I started, I know I wouldn't have stopped. And John would have had to watch me.

I make my way to the sink and wash my face. I try to make myself feel refreshed, but it just won't work.

Day 9.

I realize I've woken someone up when he asks me what's wrong.

"Nothing." I shake my head at Kennedy. "Go sleep--"

"You're crying."

"Allerg--"

"You're crying."

"Why can't you be as gullible as John and just buy the lie that I've got allergies that are acting up right now, huh?" I pat his cheek.

"John's not gullible, Iann." Kennedy grins crookedly as he takes me into his arms. "Stupid, yes. Gullible, no."

Now that Kennedy's here, I want him to stay, but I know I just interrupted his sleep, so part of me is debating whether or not I should just go.

"Wanna talk?"

"But you were asleep,"

He shakes his head. "You're more important than sleep, do you know that?"

"No."

"Well, now you do. I mean it, Iann, you can talk to me."

I haven't even thought about it and I end up starting to cry all over again into his chest.

He doesn't try to stop me. He lets me cry. And he tells me it's okay to cry, because people who don't cry are weird.

And I realize that one of the factors that are contributing to the breakdown starting to weigh in on me is the way Kennedy's holding me now that we're on the floor, now that I don't have the strength to keep myself on my feet.

My head, on his lap, and one of his arms around me, both hands holding mine, and his lips, just mumbling comfort into my ears.

This is how Dad would hold me.

But this time, I'm not pushing Kennedy away even though I'm aware that he's not my dad. Even though I'm aware that he's not my security. I'm not rejecting his comfort the way I did with other guys.

Because Kennedy's the person who knows most about this, my entire family background. And he knows I miss my dad. Because he says, "I'm sorry." when he kisses my forehead.

Sorry because he's not my dad, sorry because he knows he won't be able to fill in his shoes.

"I miss him so much." I manage to say.

"I bet you do," Kennedy whispers. "I know."

And then I remember the afternoon he died, my mom screaming at me, telling me it was all my fault. And Dani just standing there, staring, not knowing what to do, and me, crying my eyes out.

I can't take this, it's all so painful.

"You know, when my mom killed herself, my brother and I weren't upset,"

"Why not?"

"Because we believed in angels and heaven and that shit." says Kennedy. "When Dad died, we actually wanted Mom to die too, but not for the reasons others would think. We wanted her to die because we wanted her to be with Dad up in the sky,"

"And?"

"And.. Yeah.. I mean.. My mother hurt me, she beat me, tried to kill me a lot of times.. But I don't hate her. I wanted to hate her. My brother claimed he did. But I know he didn't, and I just couldn't."

I watch him play with the knot on his bandage again. "Don't touch it--"

He'd already taken it off before I'm able to finish. "See this?"

I direct my eyes to what Kennedy is pointing at. A tattoo, I'm guessing, of three bold lines apart at the far end. "Yeah,"

"Before my mom killed herself, she told us she loved us. I mean, she didn't say it. She was crying so hard, and we were trying to stop her.. But when she finally got us to fuck off, when we were finally at a reasonable distance, she did this," Kennedy held three fingers up at me, forming some sort of 'W'.

But then I see the resemblance of that to his tattoo. Those three lines are fingers, and that tattoo is this gesture.

"It means I love you." he says. "My dad did this a lot when he was too far from us to actually say the words. And so did my mom. And my brother, too. Three lines-- Three words." He points to his index finger, then to his middle finger, then to his ring finger as he explains, "I. Love. You."

I've noticed the tattoo a lot before when I cleaned his cut, but I never really wondered about it. Amazing how something as simple as three lines inked permanently on skin could mean so much to someone.

"My brother has one too. Only his isn't filled in. Just the outlines. Because.. Well, him being older, he had Mom and Dad around longer, and.. He says that.. If anyone makes the gesture to him, it's always going to be just three fingers. Unless it's Mom or Dad or me doing it, those lines will always just be.. Empty."

"Oh,"

"Yeah. Oh." Kennedy shrugs. "My brother left when the band got started. He told me I could take care of myself. He's working somewhere out of the state now. I miss him a lot. He never calls anymore. The last I ever heard of him was back in O'Eight. I'm pretty sure he's still alive though."

"How are you so sure?"

"I just am." Kennedy mumbles. "I miss my fam a lot, but then I realize I've got a new one here. With John, Jess, the rest of the band.. And music."

I guess I'm happy he's found some way to move on.

"You could get through it, too." Kennedy tells me. "Just learn to let things slide. Things will get better. I can tell you that."

"I just miss my dad." I say, shaking off everything else he had said. "That's it. I just miss my dad, I just wish he were here, you know? I wish he'd been around to watch me grow up. Maybe if he were around, maybe I wouldn't have turned out to be such a fuck-up."

"You're not a fuck-up,"

"Yes, I am. If not in the flunking-out-of-school sense, it's definitely in all other senses possible. I know I come off irrelevant a lot of times, and I know my dad would not be proud of where I am now.. Look at me! I'm hurting my twin sister, I got knocked up when she left for college, the dad's here, and.. And I really think I''m in fucking love with Nick, Kennedy, don't you get how fucked up everything is?

"My dad wasn't around the first time I fell in love, wasn't there when I graduated from the shit hole everyone calls high school, and he isn't here when I just need someone to tell me things are going to be okay."

"I'm sorry." is all Kennedy says after a minute while waiting for me to lower my sobs, then he adds "I won't ever compare, but know that someone is here for you, and he's telling you that things are going to be okay. I'm sorry I'm not him, alright? But someone is here to tell you that things are fine. Everything will be alright."

"You mean it?"

"I do." Kennedy says and kisses my forehead. "I really do."