Page 104 of True Blue

My body relaxes. That's all I deserve to know.

"Thanks, Phoebe," I murmur, shoving my hands into my pockets. "For being there for her."

That makes one of her eyes twitch. Her nose and mouth curl like she smells something rotten.

"She’s one the toughest women I've ever met," she says, voice low and vicious. "I've watched her take shit from patients, shit from their families, and let it roll right off her back. But you⁠—"

She points at me.

"—you're the little prick who broke her."

My eyes squeeze shut against the sudden, sharp pain in my chest. Indie's face has been almost constant in my mind lately—the private Indie, the version of her she only trusted me with.

Just like I trusted her with my art, my thoughts, my feelings—everything I was too scared to show anyone else.

My mother has been reaching out incessantly, leaving manic voicemails that swing wildly between screaming at me and cooing in that soft voice that we're a family, that we can fix this, that she needs me.

The last conversation I had with her was three days ago, right before I blocked her. She called me twenty times in two minutes.

Wailing greeted me the second I answered. Loud, dramatic, choking wails that would have had me dropping everything and running to her before.

Now they just made me roll my eyes and pull the phone away from my ear.

"Theodore, everything is broken! Our family is humiliated—no one will speak to me, no one will answer my calls. I'm a joke!"

My jaw tightened. I was just about to hang up when her voice dropped, still wobbling, but with a sickeningly sweet tone. The same voice she used like she was a snake charmer and I was her idiot cobra.

"I just—I don't know how I'm supposed to live like this—I feel so alone—I'm scared I'm going to do something⁠—"

And that's it.

When she would speak like that, there was a tightening in my chest, a churning in my gut, and an itchy feeling all over my skin with one command in my mind—fix it, fix it, fix it.

Rage surged through me so fast it made my head spin.

"So, fucking do it already—" I roared, my voice booming off the walls of my bedroom. "—and leave me alone!"

I felt guilty for maybe half a second. I never want anyone to hurt themselves. I don't. But then Indie's face came rushing back and washed the guilt right out of me. Beneath that was the uglier realization that my mother is too vain to actually hurt herself—she just wanted to keep using the fear of it to control me.

I've been wallowing in bed ever since. Not proud of it, but there hasn't been much else to do besides wait for my first therapy appointment next week.

Danielle referred me to someone who does telehealth, which, for some reason, feels easier than sitting face-to-face in an office and saying all of this out loud. She told me that it was normal and exactly how she felt when she started therapy.

I remember the expression I made when she said it on FaceTime—guilty, about to apologize again—because she sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Listen, Theo—for a while after high school, when I was in Europe—yeah, I really fucking hated you. Which my therapist told me wasn't healthy, because then that meant Mom won. I was angry at her intended target, not the actual root issue itself. You didn't set up the system in our house—Mom did. She's the true villain in this—well, the patriarchy is the real villain, but let's stay local⁠—"

I think the fact that my sisters still talk to me shows their strength, because if the roles were reversed, would I be able to actually see what was going on?

They have every right to hate me, to cut contact completely. They could have done that after Nana died, no more anchor keeping them to Mom.

But they stayed for me. So I need to show that I'm worth it. I need to show up every day with the intention to change for me.

The sad truth is that I have nothing right now. No job. No desire to draw. No desire to pull my ass out of bed.

My friends and sisters are disappointed in me, even if they're supportive. My family is a disaster, going viral on social media and the laughingstock of our neighborhood. My Nana is gone.

And worst of all—so far above everything else it makes the rest feel tiny—I broke the love of my life, and I have no idea where she is.