Zack had never envied autobiographers. He’d never even read an autobiography.

And yet, here he was, pen to paper, staring at the blank lines and wishing more than anything he could figure out where to start.

How do you tell anyone’s life story, much less yours? –And how do you tell it to yourself?

Zack was running out of time. They’d spent the past few days trying to get all of his affairs in order. He’d tried to be smart; a soon a he realized what he’d doing, he did two things: first, he’d gone apartment shopping. Second, he’d gotten a new phone. Only Cambria, Evan and his parents had his new phone number; he’d paid for it in full and used Cambria’s credit card.

He’d had cash on him; he’d cleared out his bank as much as he could without it looking suspicious.

He chalked it up to a moving debt.

As soon as he’d set his mind to going through with this, he’d gone all out.

He’d started calling apartments and committed to signing up for the first one with an open space. It cost him eight hundred dollars, but it was a small price to pay knowing that if anyone decided to look for him, they’d start there.

It would give them time to sell the house. Cambria’s name was already on the deed; they’d done that months ago. He’d taken himself off of it just the other day. Cambria wasn’t going to screw him over; she could deal with the realtor, deal with the sale of the house, even if he wasn’t…him. But he was going to do everything he could to keep her safe. Her, and Evan.

He’d sold his car for seven thousand, cash. He’d opened as many credit cards as he could—and he’d spent everything he could on them.

It was great.

The prospect of being several thousand dollars in debt with nothing to his name ordinarily might have terrified Zack—but this wasn’t just greed. He was giving himself every reason to move forward with this. He needed to make sure he had no choice, in case he tried to back out.

He’d paid his old phone bill for the next two months, to make sure he had enough time to be in a good place before the number went dead and people got suspicious.

He’d rented a storage locker, in cash. In Cambria’s name.

He didn’t necessarily tell her what he’d been doing, but he thought it might be a nice surprise.

He had his important papers together—receipts, credit card statements, medical records, notes from his friends, cards from his parents, identification cards, membership cards, some of his notes on youma research. Things that would help him piece together his identity, depending on what he lost.

It wasn’t enough, though. There were things that weren’t on paper.

Yet.

He tapped his pen on the blank sheet of paper in front of him once again.

Where did he start? What was important enough to remember?

‘Zack Everly, December 19th, 1992.
Mother: Janet, Father: Jason, Brother: Malcolm (Feb 4, 1998 )’

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. It was okay to know that, right? Theoretically, if Malcolm was a Senshi, he could trust him? He could explain…

He could explain something. Not the whole story; he wasn’t going to tell Malcolm he was Sanidine. But Malcolm could tell him all about their family, show him all the pictures. Leave the history lessons to Malcolm, if he needed it. He made a note about it.

Zack hit another roadblock. Now what? What would he want to know if he was starting from the beginning?

Slowly, he started listing the schools he attended. His GPA. The first job he had, the first car he rode. His first crush. His favorite TV shows, his favorite places to eat, what he wanted to be when he was younger.

Who to trust.

That one was easy; that one sparked something in him.

‘Cambria: Girlfriend.’ He wrote down the important dates—her birthday and their anniversary. He underlined them for emphasis. ‘Also Lysithea, so if you remember one of them, you know the other one. She’s strong and brave, level-headed and compassionate. She likes Jelly-beans.’ He’d bought extra, already. ‘She worked at the bar with you and Evan. You hired her in exchange for a date. She keeps you sane. Be nice to her, she’ll need it. She’s under a lot of pressure right now and it’s all your fault, so don’t ******** it up again.’

He left a few lines underneath it so he could add more later.

Evan, was next; he wrote his birthday. ‘You dated him before Cambria. You didn’t love him, but you should have. You kept him around and lead him on and were an a** to him, mostly for no reason. You should apologize for this, but you won’t, because you’re probably still an a*****e. He’s happiest in the kitchen. Dr. Pepper and Mac and Cheese. Tell him he’s worth something once in a while. Make sure he’s taking care of himself. If you say you’re going to take care of him, do it. Don’t make him walk home alone, especially when it gets dark. He won’t tell you why but you’ll figure it out. Make everything up to him. You’re an a*****e.’

He left a few more blank lines and moved on to Malcolm. His name, his birthday. His pseudonym—because even if Zack never admit it, he’d read everything he’d ever written. Some of his favorite memories with him—all younger. ‘You were an a*****e in high school.’ Like usual, he noted. ‘He’s a good kid. If you said you were sorry, he might forgive you. He’s in the hospital because of you. Be nice. You owe him. Cambria could have left your a** for what you did to him, but she didn’t. You owe her, too. She likes him. She likes all of them, and she’s going to expect you to be better to them than you have been.’

…Damn, he kept thinking about Cambria. He moved back to her paragraph and added a few more things. Their first date, their special places. His favorite memories. He moved to Evan; more things he should be apologetic for, more things to keep his eye out for, more things that Evan liked. More instructions to be nice. Back to Malcolm. He circled between the three, writing in every line he could. It was easier to write about them than it was, him.

He liked talking about himself, usually. There wasn’t any point tooting his own horn to himself, though; this was an escape from what he’d done. It was an escape from the Negaverse.

Which lead to the next page.

‘General Sanidine,’ he wrote at the top. ‘November12, 2014.’

With a heavy sigh, he began writing.

‘You stabbed a couple people, but you didn’t kill anyone. You came close with Malcolm, but that’s partly why we’re here. If this is hard, it’s because you did it to yourself, so suck it up. You didn’t have any friends in the Negaverse, but you had a Lieutenant you were taking care of, Bellite. She’s going to be fine. She’s not a fighter, she just wants to research. You didn’t tell her what was happening, exactly. You said you were taking care of Evan and then you were going to bring him into the Negaverse. You couldn’t tell her the truth but you didn’t want her looking for you. You should have a guilty conscience. You brought her into the Negaverse. You should get her out of it. Maybe. Don’t let her become what you did.’

He leaned forward in his chair. He wasn’t sure what emotion he was feeling now, but he was determined to be as ready for this as possible.

‘You youmafied Evan. Lysithea will tell you. Evan will tell you, probably. He doesn’t know you’re Sanidine. No one knows, except for Cambria. You had some medals, but you didn’t wear them. They’re in a box. Box is full of all your s**t.’

He’d been collecting his things: yearbooks, pictures with names and dates on the back, his old phone (with a sticker on the back to remind him to make sure it was taken care of after he was settled). His medals, in a box he didn’t think he’d ever open again. His important papers. His wallet. A few trinkets that were just plain important to him, even if he didn’t know why.

He glanced into the box and sighed.

That was it? The value of his life? Everything he needed, everything that defined who he was?

It looked pathetic, like that.

His pen had remained motionless on the paper for so long that ink had bled in a circle. He watched it for a moment later before he forced himself to write something else.

‘Evan had more friends in the Negaverse than you did. Iolite, a cat. She hated you. Fangite, an Agent. I don’t know if they were friends, but he hated you. Airi, Fangite’s youma. He definitely hated you. A lot. Probably would have torn out your throat if Evan wasn’t there. He and Evan were close, but it was probably a youma thing. I don’t remember what they looked like, now. Cat was a black cat, youma was a big black dog thing. Doesn’t matter, all youma and all cats look the same, basically.’

Was that it?

He sighed.

‘You had some cool swords, but you never really learned any way to use them. You had a General but they ditched you. I think dead, but I don’t know. Who cares.’

Who cared?

That was the life he wanted to forget. If he forgot, he’d have questions. But he’d told Cambria mostly everything interesting. She’d tell him nicer than this, though. He wanted to tell himself.

‘Cavansite.’

His lip twitched.

‘You hate her. She’s the only one you’re allowed to kill. Or maybe you should thank her. This all started with her. She took Evan’s starseed. You took it back. She wasn’t going to leave him alone. You were a stupid Captain who should have done more research before trying to bring him into the Negaverse. He’s not a fighter and you know that. It was stupid. I hate you for it. You turned him into a monster. There’s a picture of it. I didn’t want you to forget what you did. You don’t deserve to erase it from your mind. You’ve ******** up a lot in your life. You took a year away from his. He didn’t kill anyone. Didn’t really even fight, but he got dusted a few times. Lysithea and her group purified him, and it hurt you, like it should have.’ The pen was pressed so hard against the paper that he tore it once, but he kept writing. ‘Take care of him. Take care of him.’

Almost done. He didn’t have much more to say.

‘March 14th. You tried to kill your brother. You didn’t know it was him, but you killed whatever Senshi he was. I don’t know his name, ask Cambria. You broke his nose, his arm, some ribs. You cut him deep enough that he’ll have scars. You bled him out, knocked his head pretty bad. He’s been in the hospital for a few days and still can’t see straight. I didn’t take pictures, but use your imagination. I can’t get the picture out of my head. Maybe you’ll get lucky.’

He left a few empty lines.

‘You’re a mess right now. Or, I’m a mess right now. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know who you’re going to be.’

He drew in a breath. He was tired, he just wanted these feelings to be gone. He wanted the confusion, the frustration, the regret to go away. He didn’t deserve it, but he wanted it. Maybe it was running away. He liked to think it was fixing a mistake.

‘Just be better than who you were.’