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She’s so pale, I can easily trace the veins glowing blue beneath her skin and see the angle of each of her bones as they protrude almost violently, as if trying to break free from her body. Like a bird trapped in a shrinking cage, desperately trying to find a means of escape.
Glancing at the magazine as I reach to turn off her bedside lamp, I see a sticky note taped to the top of the open page, my eyes scanning her shaky chicken scratch quickly, recognizing what the note is before I’ve even gotten to the bottom.
To my darling family.
Unease filters back in, churning in my gut like hot magma, and I turn off the light and back out of the room, slapping my palm over my mouth to keep the broken sob from alerting my brother.
Sliding down the wall, I bury my face in my hands, tears slipping out past and down my fingers, the relief I felt at first nowhere to be found. It’s replaced with that irrational, insatiable sensation—the one that tells me I need to fix. Conquer. Be the solution.
But as the crippling weight that accompanies that sensation takes root, I can’t find the strength to search for a way out. Numbness clouds over me like early morning fog, hazy and debilitating, and for a while, I just sit in the hall, unsure of what to do.
The sticky note flashes over and over in my brain, pushing out every single other thought, and part of me wants to go back inside and rip it up. Maybe she’ll forget she wrote it when she wakes up.
The other part of me wishes there wouldn’t be a chance for her to remember.
Dread creeps up my spine, leaving chills in its wake, and I pull my phone out of my pants pocket. To do what, I’m not sure. I can’t call my father, because I don’t think he’d understand. I could grab Kieran, but the likelihood of him not blowing it out of proportion is slim.
My chest is heavy as I type 911, hoping the recipient knows the meaning and doesn’t ask further questions. As I wait for a reply, I pick at my manicured fingernails, chipping the filed tips until they’re jagged, sharp edges I could use as a weapon.
His response doesn’t come for a long time, and I feel myself dissociating the longer I sit in the hallway. When my phone finally vibrates with his “here,” I stand up on tingling legs and make my way downstairs, unlocking the door and pulling it aside.
Boyd stands almost flush with the doorway, worry creasing his brow, hands stuffed into the pockets of the jeans he has on. Have I ever seen him in jeans? I focus on the dark blue fabric, noting how neat and pressed they are, how polished he always seems.
I wonder what it must feel like to be able to truly bottle up your demons, how hard he has to try to keep them from breaking through.
If he’s ever hurt someone else trying to keep them at bay.
My heart stalls in my chest as I hear a door upstairs open and close, then hear my brother’s distinct footsteps, calculated and soft, as they start down the stairs. The fear of being found out takes hold inside me, immobilizing as I wait for Kieran’s confusion behind me; Boyd’s hand comes out and latches around my wrist, pulling me out onto the porch with him.
He pulls the door shut slowly, reaching into his pocket for a spare key I didn’t realize he had, and locks it quickly.
I open my mouth to protest, but he just shakes his head, pressing the side of his index finger against my lips.
“Dinner,” he says softly, and even though I’m still not sure what he wants from me—or why he’s here right now—I don’t have the energy to decline his offer.
