September 23

I should've told the truth yesterday or just burned the damn axe handle to crisps on Thursday instead of procrastinating. I'm such an idiot. I just want to get swallowed by the waves, disappear under the ocean, and never come back again.

I got about three seconds of peace eating my soupy breakfast when May barged into the living room. I groaned because I was not in the mood to deal with her drama and reminders about the axe, but it seemed like she was looking for something. When I looked around the fireplace, I noticed that the axe was missing.

"You didn't burn the axe yesterday," May said, looking both nervous and annoyed. "So don't delay telling Mom and Dad the truth."

"I won't," I said. "I'll tell them today."

"Good," she said before muttering under her breath, "We're so—"

I think she was going to say something when Dad burst from the garage, holding the axe in his hand with his face bright red. May and I were both confused until we saw the pink duct tape that I wrapped around the base of the axe was missing because Dad must've taken it off for some god-forsaken reason. He said, "What is this?"

"What is what?" May asked without much care even though she was probably panicking as much as me.

"Hunters," Dad replied and pointed at the axe before turning to me. "You told me that you got the axe from the garden."

"I did, and this could be a coincidence and—"

"Don't lie to me," Dad said. "Show me a little respect. Is the solar panel even from the garden or did you take it too?"

I stopped talking and just stared at the ground. Silence. That's how I've gotten myself out of one of many tussles with Mom and Dad. If I just stay silent, they'll eventually forget since they both have notoriously short memories and fighting only makes more of an impression and memory. I didn't say a word, and then Dad said, "I'm very disappointed—"

"It was me," May said, and I looked at her with surprise. Why would she say something? May's terrible at schoolwork and studying, but when it comes to these calculations, she's actually pretty good. It didn't make sense for her to implicate both her and me.

Dad turned to her, and then turned to me and then turned back to her. "Did both of you work together, to lie to me and your mom?"

"Yeah," May said. "Because we knew you'd act all like this, you know, all crazy like."

"I specifically said that we weren't going to touch the Hunters' house," Dad raved. "We had one simple rule, and both of you broke it. We don't ask much—"

"We have so many rules. No going into your own bedrooms. Everyone has to sleep together in the living room. We can't walk by ourselves. We literally can't do any—"

"All of the rules are for your safety," Mom said as she entered the room, somewhat calmer than the rest of us. "There's a reason we all follow them, and especially both of you because you aren't old enough to make these decisions."

"Not old enough to make these decisions?" May scoffed. "My choice to get the axes saved us from freezing to death in the future. You guys aren't the ones making the right choices because if we had ditched the axe, where would we be right now?"

She paused briefly before saying, "Dead, like literally 90% of the world."

"Don't say that," Mom said. "We can't think like that."

"Stop bright-siding everything," May said. "Things suck right now. I can think everything is terrible because it is, and it's only going to get more terrible in the future. Let me feel bad and stop trying to control my thoughts."

"Thinking everything's going to get worse and worse doesn't make anything better," Mom said. "It only leads to sadness and depression. We need to stay strong in our beliefs, and stop thinking about all we've lost, and start building from all that remains here."

"Then don't return the axe," I added quietly. "Or the solar panels. We'll need them if we want to build up."

Mom sighed and rubbed her forehead. "It's too late to return them, and we might as well use them."

If there was one good thing that came out of all of this, it's that they didn't reject the axe or the solar panel. Even if it comes at the cost of how Mom and Dad view the both of us, at least we won't be set to die in the near future from an entirely preventable bout of hypothermia. But this being the bright side doesn't mean much when life looks like it's going to get more painful.

Dad was still fuming, though it was a much scarier measured fuming. "If you two believe that you're adults and can make your own decisions, then it's time to embrace adult responsibilities now. No more sitting down all day, and it's time to work like the rest of us."

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May stood up in protest. "But—"

"No buts," Dad said, cutting her off. "You two chose this pathway, and you will have to commit to having more responsibilities."

"You guys don't understand," May said, now shouting at Dad. "You just have to take everything the wrong way. All I wanted was for you to just take my opinions seriously since you guys are just so stubborn and don't listen to anyone but yourselves."

"Then, why are you yelling?" Dad said. "You could say all of this in a calm tone."

"I don't know," May said sarcastically. "Maybe because it was you that started this conversation by screaming at us. Neal was going to tell the truth to both of you, you know."

"Then why not?" Mom and Dad asked at the same time and started staring at me.

"Because, sometimes I'm scared of you both because I don't know how you'll react, and I'm terrified of emotional honesty," I wanted to say and nearly blurted out the first half, but I stopped myself. It'd hurt Mom and Dad so much to hear that I feel nervous and stressed when talking with them sometimes, and at that moment, with emotions flowing everywhere and connections being ripped apart, I couldn't do it.

I thought that I could finally be truthful and honest, but I'm such a liar to my core that I couldn't do it. Every single time it comes to the truth, I come up with more and more excuses, and I just can't stop doing it, even as it ruins everything around me.

So I shrugged my shoulders and didn't say anything, and Mom and Dad moved on with Dad saying, "There are going to be consequences for this."

"What?" May said. "Grounded? I'm grounded every single day. It's not like you can take anything more."

"We'll figure it out," Dad replied sternly.

By dinnertime, they'd figured out May's punishments, which involve doing a lot of chores this week and possibly forever. I got let off easy, with just the reorganization of old clutter and watering of the greenbox being my only two tasks, though Dad is threatening me with "manly" tasks that he wants to teach.

Because May dared to speak out, she fared worse than me, and I could barely meet her eyes during dinner as she silently fumed while sipping soup. I still feel guilty because I was being selfish. While I was worrying about myself getting into big trouble and taking all of the blame, I never realized that May could also get hurt.

Maybe I am just like Mom and Dad, just thinking about myself only. While Mira is going outside with her gun and defending people that she doesn't even know, the only thing that I'm doing is passing food to Charles. I guess that is unselfish, but I'm doing it because I can't afford to lose him and my only link to the outside world. In the end, everything circles around to me.

Sometimes I wonder if I'd help him if he was just some starving stranger on the road. I'd like to think that I would because I know that not helping him is immoral. At the same time, I wonder if I'd have flaked out when Dad moved everyone in the living room and made sneaking out food extremely difficult, like I had left May during her plan. It's like I wouldn't have the same fear of permanent loss, and I don't even know why I'm rambling on about this.

The universe is probably going to send a giant wave to sweep all of us away. Considering how today went, it might be a favor.

September 24

I wasn't in the mood for talking today. Everything Mom and Dad said yesterday, all the shouting and disappointment, kept repeating in my head over and over again. Even now, I can still feel the regret and anger and embarrassment. Maybe I don't want to throw myself into the ocean, but I just want to transport myself somewhere else, so that I don't have to see anyone's' faces.

"Do you want to talk about what happened yesterday?" Mira asked, as if she didn't know what happened yesterday since our walls are thin and May was practically shouting.

I shrugged, hoping that Mira could go away, but instead, she stayed and said, "You guys could've asked me for help. I know that I'm supposed to protect homes from looting, but I do agree that Mom and Dad were being unreasonable with the Hunter situation."

"Whatever," I muttered.

"It's not your fault, you know," she said.

That's when I let my guard down and blurted out, "It was my fault."

"What do you mean?" Mira asked, but I didn't really answer her after my confession.

I probably should've expanded on my confession and put myself out there. Maybe it would help with the guilt that I'm feeling for disobeying May's plan and screwing everything up. Maybe committing to a new path would be for the best and actually get me somewhere. But instead, I shrugged her off. "I don't want to talk about it."

She stood up. "I can see you're beating yourself up about whatever you think that you did, so whenever you are ready to talk, I'll be here."

I turned away from her, and then she left me by myself. Secretly, I wanted to ask her how she does it, the whole emotional honesty thing. Whenever we've talked, she's always been the one to speak her mind about what's troubling her or her worries and fears while I've just sat and listened and offered consolidation without spilling my heart to her. Does it come naturally to her, being able to open her heart up to anyone and talk, or does she need to override her cautions and force these emotional truths out? I wish I knew how she does it, so that I can just follow the formula and solve this mystery once and for all.

I know that I said I didn't want to talk to anyone, but I did try talking with May, after she ignored me all of yesterday. But the way the conversation went, it's as if we didn't talk at all.

"I messed up, okay," I said to May.

She turned away from me and went back to mopping the floor, and it was apparent that she was still angry at me. Whenever we've fought, we've usually gotten over everything in a couple of hours, but this felt different.

"You were right. I should've just followed your plan. I wasn't thinking."

"You had just one job and you screwed everything up," she said, acid on her tongue and her voice cracked. "So just go now! Just go!"

She sounded like she was going to cry, and I didn't know what else to say, so I walked away. Mira told me that everything wasn't my fault, but I know that May blames me for everything that went wrong. She deserves to be angry at me. She doesn't deserve to take all of the hurt.

I wish I could've stood up with her and confronted Mom and Dad for being unreasonable. That's probably my biggest regret of this week, outside of not being completely honest with Mom and Dad. Maybe that could've helped stop their irrational reaction and saved May from this life of endless chores.

This week showed the worst two sides of me: the spineless coward and the compulsive liar.

I can't decide which one is worse.