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My father grips my arm, and he’s shaking me.
Time slows.
“Riley! Riley, get a hold of yourself!”
Through a blur of faces, I see my mother staring at me. Her expression is shocked and disturbed, embarrassed.
Poised and confident. Calm, cool and collected — I am none of those.
That’s the last thought in my head before my stomach cramps so terribly, I hunch over. A pained sound escapes my lips, and then I’m retching all over my father’s shiny shoes.
Once the damn breaks, it doesn’t stop.
I can’t stop.
I’m sobbing. My mother is screeching in disgrace. I hear my father swearing.
The rose-tinted glass that has surrounded me since I was a child shatters. Inside, I am just a broken, hideous girl. I can’t hide behind the illusion that was Riley Johnson anymore.
Everyone sees the disastrous truth.
They see me.
Ugly and ruined. Completely wrecked.
My knees weaken and I fall to the ground, before my eyes roll back in my skull and the world goes black.
Complete, utter darkness surrounds me, dragging me into the abyss that’s been calling me for a long time now, but I’ve been fighting so hard against it.
I lost the battle.
I died in the war, my body disintegrating into nothingness.
And then…
Silence.
The next time I wake up, I hear voices around me. Familiar ones. My father and mother are arguing. I keep my eyes closed, barely hiding my wince as my head throbs painfully. It feels like I’ve been hit with a truck.
The memories of tonight assault me from all sides.
I still smell like vomit, and my mouth tastes bitter.
“How did you not know about this?” My father questions, his tone filled with accusations.
“You didn’t know either! Oh God, I can already see the subject of the tabloids tomorrow. This is going to be all over social media. You won’t be able to stop this or keep it hush, hush.”
My father growls and then I hear a glass shattering. “The public humiliation I had to face because of this stupid girl.”
“What are we going to do now?” My mother mutters. I sense her pacing back and forth, and I can almost imagine her wringing her hands in tension.
“I don’t want her anywhere near us. She needs to be gone. She’s sick!”
He wants me gone? What…does that mean?
Fear propels me to sit up, and dizziness swamps me. My father notices that I am awake, and his eyes — oh his eyes are dark and livid.
I lick my dry lips. “I’m sorry.” My voice is barely a whisper, but they hear it.
