Page 110 of Play Nice

My gasp echoes through the house as I understand what I’m doing, as my skin smokes. I turn around and pitch the lighter into the living room. The lights have gone out in the hall, which stretches back like an open throat. Laughter rumbles out from it.

The door to Leda and Daphne’s room slowly closes itself, hinges singing at an earsplitting pitch.

As soon as it shuts, the pounding starts.

Whatever’s behind it, it bangs against the door.

Mom in my head again. I will bleed you out! I will bleed you out!

“Stop!” I cover my ears. Close my eyes. “Stop!”

My hands only muffle the sound. The hinges. The dragging.

I think about Jed. His headphones. Bleeding out of his ears.

Made up. Not true. Not real.

I let my hands fall. Open my eyes just in time to see a flash of something vanish downstairs, a shadow in darkness.

Not real. Not true. Made up.

There’s one person who could validate what actually happened. Who might be able to help me. Who will believe me. I don’t know if I can trust him, if I can trust a single word that comes out of his mouth, but he’s all I have.

I’m here for you, Clio. You and your sisters. If you ever need anything.

It’s time I take Roy up on his offer.

30

I don’t sleep. I chug water to sober up.

My burn has blistered yellow. It would be convenient if there were a nurse who lived down the street who didn’t now hate me.

What did I do?

What have I done?

I gather up the blank sheets of paper and Sharpies, leave them on the dining table, sad remnants of a failed experiment. It did communicate with me, but not my way. Its way. On its terms. The way it wanted to communicate.

It doesn’t need to play nice. I have nowhere else to go.

Nowhere I want to be, at least.

When Dad calls, I concede to him coming to get me.

I meet him outside.

“Jesus, Clio! What happened?”

I catch my reflection in the car window. I look psychotic. And I’m just now realizing, I forgot to put on shoes.

“Can you take me to get something to eat,” I say, my voice hoarse.

“Clio, sweetie,” Dad says, pulling me in for a hug. I lean my head against his shoulder. He smells like smoke. After what he did, burning the book, maybe he’ll forever smell like smoke to me. I want to forgive him, to be at peace, to be happy in his embrace. I want it to feel like it used to. I want to be who I used to be. Before Mom died. Before ugly truths. Before any of this.

“What’s this?” he says, noticing the burn.

I consider confronting him about how he manipulated my sisters into a lie that estranged us from our mother. That did irreparable damage. But I just don’t have the energy right now. “I hurt myself.”