I grip the bridge of my nose as the pain starts up again. I cannot remember anything about the night her father died, but I do remember snippets of conversations with him. I also remember Mr. Taylor, but other than the fact that he puts his hands on Anastasia, I cannot remember why I hate the man so much. “Get it together,” I whisper to myself. The dog, May, I remember her. Apparently she remembers me as well, but she’s leerier around me than she used to be. As I’m trying to focus on the present, the past begins to weigh down on me. A fog rolls over my vision and I stumble into a kitchen chair. “I’ll let you stay here if you promise that you will come down each morning to take your medication.” Mr. D’Salvatore plops the plastic bottle down onto the linoleum countertop. He keeps his fingers gently touching the prescription bottle as his hand rests on the countertop. I rub my hands over my face and try to come up with an excuse as to why I cannot take the medication, but there is none that Mr.
