A/N: I was asked by a bunch of people to do a follow-up to the last chapter, so here you go. Ask and you shall receive.

The first thing she became aware of was her breath. Inhaling and exhaling at an unsteady pace; labored and scared, a dulled panic without a source. A hollow space in her chest turning back to the void she had tried for so long to fill. The second thing she became aware of was the buzzing and beeping of machines all around her. Those were relatively steady. Brows furrowed, focusing in on the sound and trying to determine its purpose and origin. Eyes fluttered open, nearly blinded by fluorescent lights, so the third thing she became aware of was that she was in the hospital. She was in the hospital and she couldn't remember why.

Amelia blinked, attempting to adjust to the brightness of the room, cerulean orbs trailing each tube and wire, realizing her stomach had been pumped, and her heart was being closely monitored. She tried to lift a hand to brush the hair from her eyes, but it hurt more than she expected, like she had done hours of intense cardio after months of sedentary living. This wasn't like the time the police found her in the alley and brought her home, or the time after when she spent the night in a holding cell. Something bad had happened. That much was abundantly obvious.

The youngest Shepherd strove to remember the previous night's events, what could have landed her in this medical prison. Loud music. A celebration of sorts, but alone in her room. It was the grungy kind of bass-filled track that made her feel strong, powerful. Like when she heard that, clad in ripped jeans and belly shirts under leather jackets, she was wild and free. She was in control. Hadn't that been all she wanted? All she was trying to achieve? Freedom from the chains of her memories, from the sadness and anxiety that filled her veins with every breath? From the expectations of her family? From the hold of her boyfriend? Wasn't that why she had stolen Derek's prescription pad?

The prescription pad. Her pathway to independence, no longer relying on Robbie or his friends for a hit, and her night had been spent enjoying the spoils of her successful endeavor. Locked away in her room, arrogance had her swallow the tablets faster than normal, enjoying the rush and the buzz without stopping to savor anything. Her only goal was to get as high as possible to drown all her pains. The only road to happiness was paved in yellow bricks and found at the bottom of each bottle. And happiness she found.

The rest hit like a wave, a broken dam allowing her mind to be flooded with terrible images. Derek crouched over her, whispering comforts. All she could feel was cool, hard tile beneath her body, and piercing panic as she felt her chest begin to tighten. She would have begged for help if only she could speak, but the more she tried, the harder breathing became. The sounds of her desperate gasps scared her almost as much as the action itself, a pathetic, dying noise she was certain would be her last. Her brother's eyes widened in terror despite the calm in his voice, the thoughtfulness of his actions. She trusted him, but not enough. It hurt too much. She was too weak to fight. And blackness overtook. Emptiness as the void in her chest extended outward, swallowing her whole. It was her end. It should have been her end.

Tears welled in wide eyes, lip quivering as she was hit with the memory. A lump formed in her throat and she shot up, clutching at her chest. "I can't breathe! I can't breathe!" Amelia exclaimed, a river forming down her cheeks as her words punctured with sobs. "I can't breathe!"

Within seconds, Carolyn had shot up and to her side, a doctor rushing in to make sure she was okay.

"She's having a panic attack," the stranger muttered to Carolyn. "We can give her a mild sedative, but given her condition, we wouldn't suggest anything much stronger." The older woman paused, looking over at her daughter a second before nodding.

Her hand brushed through her little girl's hair, and she cooed reassurances, falling on deaf ears for the most part. "Amy, look at me," she instructed, taking the teen's chin in her hand and gently moving over her gaze. "Can you hear me?"

A few more gasps and finally a nod from the tiny brunette. The only response she could manage.

"Amy, honey, it will be alright, just focus on my voice. The doctor is taking care of you. He's going to make sure you get enough oxygen, and neither of us are going to let anything happen to you. Do you understand?" She started to babble reassurances, distracting the patient until she had calmed, her breathing not quite normal, but close enough that her chest no longer heaved and she was able to lay back against the thin mattress. The tears were all that seemed to remain. The tears and the guilt.

Lip trembling, Amelia was punched in the gut with the feelings she had tried so hard to push away, to deny. All the mistakes she had made, the horrible things she had said and done over the past year coming back to haunt her. The drugs had felt so right in the moment. They had given her this security, and a false sense of life. Since her father's death, she had lived life under a veil of black, shading her away from the world, from its joys and wonders. Oxy had become her release, what finally lifted the darkness, and it was only then she realized it had been replaced with a virtual reality screen. She might not see the bad anymore, but nothing she had experienced was real, either. It felt good – great, even – but it wasn't real. All it was, was pain. And she had allowed herself to die to keep the dream alive. No more.

The pain she felt the night before was more than she was certain anyone should have to bear. All the dreams and hopes she had held in her heart were set aflame and left to burn in front of her as she choked on the smoke. All the people she loved, and the look in Derek's eye forever burned into her brain – none of that was worth the fraudulent mask of peace she had stolen.

Sobriety experienced for the first time in what seemed like eternity, Amelia felt as if she had been reborn, but something went wrong. She still carried the weight of the crimes from her past life, and though she had been so profoundly changed in a matter of one night, she had to answer for those mistakes. She felt like a child laying there, eyes still fixed upon her mother, though she had long-stopped listening to a word she said. And god, even now, she still wanted to use. She still wanted to get high and just forget all of this ever happened. But if she did, this time there would be no coming back.

Sucking in a breath, the youngest Shepherd brushed away her tears with the back of her hand. "Mom?" she muttered, barely above a whisper. "Mom?"

Carolyn paused mid-sentence, expression falling as the gravity of her daughter's voice hit her ears. For all the ways she wanted to scream – for all the words she had for the girl – all she cared about in that moment was that Amelia was alive. She was alive and breathing and sitting right in front of her. The anger could wait. "What is it, dear?"

"I'm, um– I died," she stated, sniffing. "I was dead."

The older woman swallowed, giving a single nod as her gaze fell away. "Yes, dear, you were."

The teen shook her head. "I don't want to die. I don't. I want–" Her voice caught, and the girl bit down on her tongue. "I don't want to die."

A hand reached out for hers, giving a gentle squeeze. "You gave us all quite a scare.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so, so sorry. I can't– I don't know how– I'm sorry." Her body deflated, falling in on itself as she blinked back the salt water filling her eyes once more. "I'm sorry for everything."

Carolyn inhaled, flaring her nostrils as she bit back words of her own, reminding herself again and again that now was not the time. "I know you are, Amy."

Silence dropped upon the room. Oceanic eyes fell to her hands, picking at the skin around her cuticles. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, nauseous and afraid. She wanted to say something, but what was there? Nothing could make up for any of what she had caused. Nothing could erase what she had been through.

"Amelia, I want you to go to rehab."

She opened her mouth to reply, but either she took too long or the older woman stepped in too quickly, because nothing but a squeak emerged before Carolyn continued.

"If you truly are sorry, if you want to get better, you will go to rehab. Kathleen has found you a bed in what I'm told is a wonderful facility, and they'll help you–" Her voice broke, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. "They'll help you through this."

"Mom, are you–"

"I'm fine, Amy. Don't worry."

A crease formed between Amelia's brows, and she held back from reaching out. "Mom, I'm sorry."

"You already said that, dear. I know you're sorry." Carolyn paused, eyes narrowing as she cocked her head to the side a moment, then matched her daughter's gaze once more. "No, actually, I don't know. You have put your brother and sisters and me through hell this last year, and I'm not sure you understand the weight of what you've done. Like you said, you died, Amelia. You died, and we watched. We were helpless to do anything, and had Derek not found you– I love you. I love you more than you could ever hope to imagine. But I cannot go through this again. And I suspect if you're serious about being sorry, if you really don't want to die, then you know rehab is really the only option you have left. You can leave and go back to that boyfriend of yours, but you will not come home. You will not. Not until you're ready to get clean. Because I won't put our family through that again. I will not put myself through it."

Amelia nodded, but it was a moment before she could answer. Her skin itched in discomfort, pure desperation to escape, and yet she knew the other woman was right. She wanted to live more than anything, to have the chance to make up for what she had done, and to have a future all her own. Since the age of six, the youngest of the Shepherd kids had known she wanted to be a surgeon – a neurosurgeon, to be precise – and to be married, to have kids. She couldn't do those things if she was using. And the freedom she had wanted so desperately to obtain would mean nothing if it was won in exchange for a new tether, tied forever to an eternal need, everlasting cravings overpowering everything until it finally succeeded in killing her. This was her second chance. So why wasn't yes an easier word to find.

"I'm scared," she whispered, shaking her head. "What if I can't do it? What if I'm not–"

"Not strong enough?"

"Yeah."

"Amelia Grace Shepherd, you are one of the strongest, bravest people I have ever met. You used to set fireworks off in our backyard to stop yourself from being afraid of loud noises. When the little neighbor boys picked on you, you never came running inside. You kicked them in the chins and threw bugs at them until they apologized. You, my darling, have never backed down from anything. And I am not about to let you start now."

Shifting in her place, the girl tried again. "What if I fail?" What if I disappoint everyone again?

"I'll let you in on a little secret. The only way to fail is not to fight. If you give up before you even try– That is when you fail." Carolyn took a breath, setting her jaw. "The way I see it, you have two options here, Amy. What will it be?"

"Will you come visit?"

"I'll come every day if you want me to."

Amelia was quiet, pulling her knees up to her chest as she contemplated the offer. Her mother made it sound so simple, so black-and-white, but it was so far from that. An ache in her chest reminded her of all the reasons she should be a coward, run away and go back to her boyfriend and the life they had. He used her for her body, she used him for drugs, and neither held true happiness in their hearts. But the Shepherd matriarch was right. She didn't back down. She never had, and she wasn't about to start now. She wanted to live, so she would – even if all that kept her going was sheer force of will. "– – –Okay."

"Okay, you'll go?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I'll go. I meant it, Mom. I want to live. I can't– I don't want to be like this anymore."

Carolyn reached back out for Amy's hand. "We'll get you through this, Amy. I promise. In the meantime, you should get some rest."

"Can I see Derek?"

The older woman's expression faltered just slightly, gaze shifting uncomfortably away. "I don't know if that's a good idea, honey. You really should sleep. And he's very busy, you know."

"I know, but I want– I have to tell him– Please?"

"I don't–" She swallowed, a single nod in return. Those big, sad eyes always were impossible to ignore. "I'll tell him you asked for him."

Excuses. The message read loud and clear. He's not coming. "Thanks," she muttered, leaning back again.

"I'll be back to check on you shortly."

"Okay." She curled up on her side, pulling the blankets tight over her shoulders and squeezing her eyes closed to will away the thoughts. No one could understand the pain of death unless they, too, had experienced it. Isolating and humbling, and altogether horrifying, the moment replayed in her head like a video recording, a slow-motion replay. Gasping for life, begging for a second chance – and now she had it. Even from her place in the back of her father's store, she had never been this terrified, this fragile, this utterly alone. Amelia took a breath, digging her nails into her palm. Her mother's words echoed in her mind: The only way to fail is not to fight. So she had to fight. Even if it meant going down swinging.