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At first, I was pissed. How could she fucking leave me? Leave us! Then I bawled like my mom when she watches those shitty, made-for-TV movies. Why is Lilly giving up on us? After that, I started planning my revenge on everyone who caused her to run—until logic set in. I couldn’t do shit about the media or Turner. I was useless. Cue the self-pity. I grabbed one of the pillows off the bed, lifted it to my face, and bit down, letting out the scream that had been building up in my chest since the moment my phone lit up. I screamed until my throat felt like sandpaper, then I sent the pillow flying. It hit something across the room on Lilly's desk, and as I looked over, I noticed the empty spot next to her laptop. Her glass cup with pencils was toppled and broken, its content scattered all over the tabletop. But that was not what changed everything. I didn’t give a flying fuck about the damage or glass shards everywhere. She took our picture. She's not coming back. Suddenly, there was nothing. No anger. No sense of loss. No more resentment. Just...numbness. She left me.
Still sitting in the same position as when I read the message, I stare where our picture used to be for years. Light has begun to come through the window when my phone vibrates, this time with an incoming call. It’s too soon for it to be Lilly. Wherever Nate sends her, there is no way she's already at her destination. So, I let it go to voicemail. It only takes a couple of seconds before it starts right back up. Resigned, I lift the screen to meet my line of vision: Wes.
Guess he received his message.
I accept the call. "Yes?"
"YES? What the fuck is this, dude? Where is she?"
"I don't know." My voice sounds computer-generated. Emotionless.
"You don’t know? He fucking doesn’t know. HOW THE HELL CAN YOU NOT KNOW?"
"What do you mean he doesn't know?" Denielle's pissed-off bark is audible in the background.
My eyebrows draw together. "Why is D with you at"—I peer over to the nightstand—"6:52 in the morning?"
"I woke him up, asswipe!" Lilly’s and, as it seems, now also Wes’s best friend sneers. Looks like I’m on speaker.
"Who’re you calling an asswipe, Bulldog?" My nails dig into the palm that's not holding the phone. Why am I lashing out at her? None of this is Den's fault. But I am no longer numb. I feel again. Rage. And I want to let it out. She simply gave me an opening.
"Man, I have no idea what's going on with you guys, but—" Wes tries to reason with me, but he gets interrupted by the door to Lilly's room crashing inward with so much force the door handle makes an indentation on the wall.
Fucking great. Couldn't she have spaced the messages out a bit?
I spin slowly so one leg is angled on the mattress while the other foot remains on the ground, and I lock eyes with my father—my extremely red-faced, nostril-flared father who, with his wide stance and balled-fists, takes over the entire doorway.
"Where. Is. She?"
I snort and shake my head at the mindfuck I woke up to. Did Lilly really think a simple message saying I’m fine would satisfy these people?
"I'm gonna have to call you back," I say into the phone. Not waiting for a response, I press the red button.
"Who was that?" My mother’s question comes muffled from behind Dad.
"Wes," I reply in a flat tone. "If you want to be precise, Wes and Denielle, asking the same question."
Mom pushes past my father and slowly walks into the room, scanning it like Lilly is going to pop out from the closet or some shit.
"She’s gone, Mom," I snap.
My mother’s eyes fly to mine and instantly begin to water.
Aw, crap.
I stand up and walk over, wrapping my arms around her. "I’m sorry. I’m just..." I trail off. Maybe remaining numb would’ve been better after all.
I need to get out of this damn room. The urge to trash every piece of furniture in here is too overpowering. I shift so my arm is around my mom's shoulders and lead her past my father. Thankfully, he lets us by without the third degree.
We're sittingin the kitchen, Dad in his usual chair at the head of the table. Mom is next to him, both hands strangling the coffee mug in front of her, and Natty is next to our mother, glancing warily between the three of us.
After I led Mom downstairs, I busied myself making coffee. I had to do something to delay the inevitable conversation. Once I placed cups in front of my parents, I leaned against the wall next to the garage door. Arms crossed in front of my chest, I refused to make eye contact. I couldn't. I had no clue what their message from Lilly said, so I wasn't going to make the first move. Resentment was fully present since the numbness had left, but despite her running away, I wasn't going to throw her under the bus.
Just as my father opened his mouth to start what most likely would've been a military-style interrogation, Natty walked in. All eyes turned to her, and my little sister stopped in her tracks, staring like a deer caught in the headlights.
"Uh, what’s going on?" Her tone was hesitant.
Without a word, I pushed away from the wall and made my way over. Placing my hand between her shoulder blades, I gently guided her toward the chair next to Mom, followed by planting my ass in the seat at the other end of the table, the space between my family and me serving as a barrier.
