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I look at my dad, likecan you make him stop?But my dad is looking at his guitar.
Hoyt and my dad were in a band together a long time ago. Once, Hoyt said, “We traded guitar licks and groupies for Garanimals and goldfish and here we are, for better or for worse.” I couldn’t tell if he meant it in a happy or sad way.
“You didn’t wake me,” I say to my dad, making sure to speak slowly so I don’t slur. “I just had to pee.”
My dad pats the couch next to him. “You want to join us? I missed you. I could show you a couple of chords.”
My dad is always trying to teach me how to play the guitar, but I’m not very good. I feel like my fingers are clumsy and huge when I try to play, but he says I just need practice.
I shake my head. “No, that’s okay. I have to get up early. I’m doing a double tomorrow.”
“Come here. Give me a hug, babe. I missed you.”
Can he see me hesitate? The side of my shirt is wet from the spilled bottle.
“Come here,” he says again.
I take the couple of steps toward him and bend down, kind of awkwardly, over the back of the couch, so he can’t notice or feel the wet mark on my shirt. I keep my mouth shut, too, because of my breath. He kisses me on top of my head and ruffles my hair.
Then he sniffs the air.
I stop breathing.
He sniffs again. “You smell like…,” he says. “What is that smell?” He frowns.
Hoyt laughs. “She smells like a giant Patty’s Place burger, bro, green chile and onions. It’s killing me. You got anything to eat here?” He gets up, groaning a little, and staggers toward the kitchen. On his way, he peers at me.
“Damn, girl, you look like a soggy raccoon. What happened to you?”
I touch my face. Oh god. I fell asleep with all my makeup on.
My dad frowns. “Jeez, Bella, you really piled it on today.”
He’s not a fan of my makeup.
“It’s my face,” I say, my voice prickly. “I can do what I want with it.”
“Ooooh, kitten’s got her claws out,” Hoyt calls from the kitchen. He’s rummaging around in the fridge.
My dad’s mouth flattens a little. “Well, wash it off and go to bed, all right? Good night, Bella.”
He starts strumming his guitar again.
“Good night,” I murmur, turning and walking to the bathroom.
I let the water run in the bathroom while I pee, just so Hoyt can’t hear it in the kitchen, and then I wipe off my makeup and wash my face.
In the mirror, my bare face stares back at me, shiny and pink and puffy and tired and naked. I lift my chin. There’s a red splotch there that will probably be swollen and purple by morning. That’s justperfect.
I meet my eyes in the mirror for only a second before something flares up inside me, hot and sudden. Tears pool in my eyes. I shove the heels of my palms against them.
I don’t like seeing that girl. That girl looks ugly and heartbroken and alone.
I turn away from the mirror and grab a towel to put over the wet spot on my sheet and go back to bed. I just want to disappear.
It’s like this andthis is the only time I can say this, here in the dark, by myself: everyone is gone and no one understands what that feels like. It feels like a giant hole inside me sucking me in and churning me around as I break into bits until eventually I’ll just be nothing. Speck on the sole of your shoe. A fluttery mote you swat out of your face. They have been fighting forever and Ihave been listening for years and she was my good place. And then he was. I know you don’t like him because of what he did but really that was me. It was all me. My fault, always, just like with her. Please believe me. Please listen. I’m like a giant wrong thing. I’m all-capitals BELLA. I don’t fit anywhere. I should stop. I know. I can’t stop. If I stop, I’ll start to crack and I can’t crack because if that happens, I don’t know if I’ll find all of me. There will be too many pieces, too sharp, too tiny, and blood everywhere leaving stains that won’t disappear. Please don’t go. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. See. There is me again. All-capitals BELLA. Too much.
Sunday
