Page 5 of Lifebound

“What happened, Alan?” I demanded. “And don’t you dare lie to me.”

“Alan?” He sat up straighter on the chair. “I am your father, young lady!”

“Myfatherwould know better than to get in fights and come home in the middle of the day with a bleeding nose and a bruised eye,” I said, and maybe it was a bit harsh, but goddamn it, I was so pissed off.

“I work in construction. I fell—I’m allowed to fall, aren’t I?” he said and stood up, went to the sink to wash his hands, one then the other while he held the frozen peas to his temple still.

“What the hell happened, Dad? Seriously—why? And don’t lie!”

He lied. He always lied. And I was hopeful that maybe he wouldn’t try to lie again, as if hoping had ever gotten me anywhere (it hadn’t).

“Ifell,” he insisted, then turned to me, put the frozen peas down, flinched. “How bad is it?”

I rolled my eyes. “You fell on someone’s freaking fist, is that it?”

“Watch your tone, young lady. You’ve only been eighteen for a couple months,” he said and turned around to leave.

I ran and stopped in front of him. “Whydid you pick a fight, Dad?Whodid you pick a fight with? Was it…” I grabbed him by the shoulders. “Was it because of me?”

Because the other three fights he’d gotten into in the past two years had all been aboutmeno matter what he said. And I hated myself plenty for it—plenty.But right now, it was easier to focus the anger outward instead of in.

“No, it was not.” Lies. “I was working with Jimmy in that new pool for the Parkers, and I fell. End of story.” More lies. “Now I need to go take a shower. Do you mind?”

Tears in my eyes—angry ones. I stepped to the side and I tried to hide it, tried to stop the stupid tears, but they were too powerful. Anger consumed me, together with its BFF—guilt.Together, they were impossible to hold back, so Dad saw.

He grabbed my face in his hands, raised it until our eyes met. “It was nothing, Nilah. Don’t feel bad. I’m perfectly fine and you’re perfectly fine and we’re going to be okay.”

His lips on my forehead burned my skin a little bit.

I nodded so fast that those traitorous tears came rolling out of my eyes all at once. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

“I love you, pup,” Dad said as he went for the stairs.

“Love you!” I called so loudly I hurt my own ears.

Then I went out back, hid behind the biggest bush in our yard, and cried for three minutes straight. It was just to let the anger out. Its BFF was way more persistent, though, but I’d gotten used to ignoring it.

Because Dad was right—we would be okay. It was fine. Men got into fist fights all the time—it didn’t mean that it was aboutme.

“Not everything is about you, you know,” I said to myself, then smiled at my own stupidity.

If I started talking to myself now, too, I just might convince myself that every person who lived in this town was right when they said I was completely fucked up in the head.

But my little sister would be back home from school soon, and I needed to get my shit together before she saw me crying. So, I wiped my eyes and went back to the kitchen to wash that towel—and to pretend for another day that everything was just fine.

Everything wasnotjust fine.

My little sister and my dad meant everything to me. They were all I had. Mom died such a long time ago that I sometimes struggled to remember her face. If it wasn’t for pictures, I would have completely forgotten what she looked like. But the two of them were all I had, and this town was known to make their lives a living hell because of me—butthiswas crossing the line.

Last night Fiona was at a birthday party. One of the girls from her class had invited her, which had come as a surprise. She didn’t have many friends—again, because of me. But she’d gone and then she’d come back, and I could have sworn that there had been something off about her. She promised me it was nothing, that she was just tired, and she didn’t even take her jacket off before going upstairs to sleep.

The thing is, she never went to bed so early—she was fourteen years old. She loved to stay up past midnight, reading books or bad fan fiction stories or watching animations on Netflix.

Even so, I didn’t let myself be suspicious because I’d promised myself that when I turned eighteen, I would be different. I would bemature.I wouldn’t obsess over every single thing and I’d do a better job of taking care of Dad and Fi.

I promised myself that I would give them more space, too. That’s why I didn’t push Dad to give me a name earlier today and why I didn’t push Fiona to tell me why she looked sad last night, exactly when I should have. Because the video on my phone was playing on repeat and I couldn’t stop looking at it. I kept blinking the stupid tears away when they tried to hide the view from me because I needed to see more.

I needed to see those girls throwing their drinks at Fiona while she stood there at the corner of the living room at that birthday party all by herself, doing nothing. Harming no one. Minding her own damn business.

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