Page 132 of From Nowhere

“Love you,” Lola says.

I keep my lips on her forehead because I can’t speak. All I can do is nod.

As I lift my head and exit her room, I scratch my forehead to hide my face. Then I shut off her lights and pull the door 90 percent shut.

Mow the yard.

Grease the squeaky back door.

Trim the low-hanging branch on the maple tree.

The problem is I can’t make mental lists and keep going forever. After I close my bedroom door behind me and take two steps, my legs give out, and I fall to my knees, fisting my hair while shaking with silent sobs.

But they don’t stay silent for long; the pain is too great. So I reach for my comforter, pull it off the bed, and wad part of it into a ball to bury my face and muffle my cries.

Angry, hate-filled, soul-snatching cries.

“Nooo . . . God . . . p-please . . . n-nooo . . .”

It’s been two years since I’ve felt my insides ripping to pieces.

Two years since I’ve hated God, the world, and life in general this much.

Two years since I had to pretend that I wasn’t slowly dying, all in the name of a brave face for everyone around me.

When I’ve let out enough emotion to put the lid back on my feelings, I drop the comforter and stare at the window through dead eyes. I can still see her climbing into my bedroom.

Her giggles.

That unstoppable smile.

And a light in her eyes so bright that I felt it in my chest.

Maren was my second chance.

My last chance.

I’ll never let myself feel this way again. Everything is for Lola. Perhaps Tia wasn’t trying to punish me. Maybe she was trying to protect Lola and me from this. Why risk everything again if we were lucky enough to survive it once?

But that’s what I did. And I don’t regret it.

Still, I’m done.

I can’t find my phone; maybe I left it upstairs. When I turn the corner into the kitchen, Tia’s sorting her pills into their respective slots for the week.

I reach for my phone on the counter next to her. Before I can slide it off the edge, Tia rests her hand on mine and squeezes it.

“You don’t deserve this,” she whispers. “No one deserves this.” She turns her head to look at me, but I can’t move my gaze from our hands.

Not her.

I can’t cry in front of the woman who has been the bane of my existence for years. In fact, I hate that she’s being kind. It feels rather cruel after everything she’s put me through. I’d find it easier to deal with her lecturing me on my poor choices, bad parenting, and a litany of other grievances about me.

“I hope they find her and she’s okay.” Tia lifts her hand and moves it to my shoulder.

I curl my fingers around the phone and turn, escaping her touch and her pity.

When I return to my room, I sit on the end of the bed and text Taylor.

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