I sank into the comfortable white couch in Tanya's living room. Alice raced down the stairs after lugging her impossible number of suitcases into one of the guest rooms. She hesitated, wondering if she should sit down with me or keep walking. She shook her head subtly and hurried into the next room. I sighed. There had been a time, years ago, when my family didn't shoot worried glances at me every few minutes, when they didn't speak in hushed voices about my condition, when they didn't automatically exclude me from baseball games. It was strange, because I had found something I missed almost as much as I missed her: normality. Everyone assumed that I needed solitude to heal. However, without their distractions, I could do nothing but ache. Death had ripped, burned, shredded every reason for living. And yet, I lived on. I told myself that I felt obligated to stay with my family. But, I knew in my heart that it was something else. I wanted to live. I was healing. I could bring back memories without wanting to break something. I could stay calm in even the most horrible times. I could draw a mask over my internal breakdowns. But I was broken, because she was broken, and we were one. So why was I alive? I felt like there was some reason, something holding me here, and I intended to find out what it was.