Page 93 of First Verse

I drive past without stopping.

Familiar roads lead to the highway. I merge into traffic. Stay in the slow lane. Exit. Three turns. Six stoplights. A winding road.

I finally park. Turn off the car. Leave my keys, my purse. Stumble up a path to the front door and ring the doorbell.

Footsteps approach.

Wood swings inward.

Blue eyes widen.

“Eva? What’s wrong?”

“D-daddy.”

He catches me as I fall.

As I break.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-EIGHT

wilder

My dad finds me curled in a fetal position on the floor of my bedroom, the bottle of pills clutched in my hand and my phone discarded next to me.

He drops to his knees and lifts me into a tight embrace. Like he can keep me from falling apart.

But he can’t. I’ve lost too many pieces.

“I’ve got you, Wilder. I’m here. How many pills did you take?”

Words come in stutters between gasping sobs. “N-none, but I was going to t-take them all. I-I lost her. Oh, fuck, I lost Evangeline. F-forever. I can’t—don’t want to live without her. H-help me, Dad. Please help me. I’m so sorry.”

He pulls back to grip my face in his hands. Tears track down his cheeks. Golden eyes, bright and determined, stare into mine.

“Listen to me, son. I know it seems impossible right now, but I promise it’s going to be okay. You never have to feel this way again. Drop the bottle. Let it go.”

My fingers spasm and open.

* * *

The followingdays are a blur of pain over a soundtrack of misery.

My mother singing, her voice cracking every other word. My sisters crying outside my childhood bedroom. Strong, calloused hands moving my sweat-soaked body. Cold porcelain under my cheek. Cramping muscles and my teeth chattering so hard I bite through my tongue. Hot compresses and showers. Fresh sheets soaked again in minutes.

Fire inside me. Burning hotter and hotter. Melting away my sanity.

Make it stop.

Just make it stop.

Agonizing need. Yelling and begging and screaming. Pounding on a locked door.

Let me out. Out. Out.

Falling. Convulsing. Blood in my mouth.

Blacking out.

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