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A mom watches her son using her panties.

She still felt a small sting of pain, of longing. Her grandmother had passed away almost a year ago, and even though she was a ripe old eighty-nine, they all missed her.

Shaking herself out of her reverie, Rachel called to her mother again as she checked the dining room, and the small laundry nook off the kitchen. Finding them empty, she ascended the stairs, calling for her mom. Checking the spare bedroom they used as storage, an office, and an exercise room, then her bathroom, she continued on to her parents' room. The door to the bathroom was almost shut, unusual for this time of day. She knocked softly, and the door fell open against her hand. Hesitating, she continued into the room. "Mom, what-" she stopped cold at the sight of her mother in the bathtub, suds mostly gone. An empty wineglass was on the side of the tub, and at first, she thought her mother was asleep. She lay in the tub, hair up in a clip, arms tilted awkwardly. But her eyes were partially open, and in their blue depths, so like her own, she knew the truth. There was no light there, no life. Gasping for air, she tried to scream but couldn't get the breath.

On shaky legs she approached, flinching back as her hand rested on her mother's shoulder. There was no life warmth there, and she had the sudden urge to scrub her hands with bleach. Backing out of the bathroom, she made it to the threshold before she threw up, finally finding her voice. Her first instinct was to call her father, to find out what to do, to find reassurance. But she remembered the police officer who'd come into her class for the D.A.R.E. program, who'd told them what to do. Shaking, she crawled to her parents' bedside, picking up the phone and barely managing to dial the three numbers. The operators calm voice only served to ratchet up her fear, but she explained as best she could, obediently reciting her address. Setting the phone down without hanging up, she sank down, laying her face against the soothing warmth of the carpet. The familiar scents of her mother's favorite perfume, and clean carpet surrounded her.

That was how the police found her, conscious but unresponsive, in a fetal ball on the floor, phone next to her hand. The rest of it was a blur, as the police asked her questions, her father arriving and screaming when he saw his wife's body. She remembered a female officer giving her a cup of cocoa, but nothing else was distinctive until she was alone, sitting in the room she now shared with her distant cousin. She couldn't seem to cry, not at the funeral, and not now. Every night she had woken, drenched in sweat, to the sight of her mother's lifeless body. But there were never any tears, and she wondered if she'd ever be able to cry again.

A year later, she'd returned to her hometown, a different house this time, but the same school. A fourteen year old Cooper had found her, the day before school started, sitting alone on her porch swing. He'd instantly known something was wrong, and hugged her with all the ferocity of a grown man, not knowing what it was, but knowing what she needed most. The next day at school, he'd held her hand as they entered the main building, greeted by stares. Finally, she asked about Hunter, only to be told that he was in the cool kids group now. Later that day, walking to sixth period, she'd run into him-literally. Sneering, he'd pushed her aside with a snarled, "Move!" She stood there in shock, wondering how the sweet boy she'd been friends with had changed into this callous, older guy. She couldn't help but notice that he'd grown taller, had the beginning of muscles across his chest and arms, and a new haircut. From that point on, he'd only spoken to her to insult or yell, pushing her around, stealing her books, and trashing her lunches. Rachel had never figured out what had made him so cruel, and had found new friends, still mourning the loss of his friendship in a corner of her mind.

*****

That night, Hu

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