Page 47 of I’m Already Gone

“Please look at me.”

I take a steady breath before facing him. “Hannah is a colleague,” he explains.

I blink, still processing. “Okay.” I want to ask him why he feels he needs to clarify, but those words remain lodged in my throat.

He studies me a moment longer before giving a curt nod and stepping back, creating an invisible distance between us that leaves a gaping hole in my heart.

A notification on my phone lets me know that my Uber driver is here.

I walk through the clinic’s sliding doors, and each step feels heavy and sluggish, as if I am trudging through thick mud. I spot the four-door hunter-green Honda Accord in the pickup lane.

A young girl, not much older than a first-year college student, sits behind the wheel. She flashes me a friendly smile as I settle into the back seat. I rest my head against the cool glass of the window, surrendering to the weight of exhaustion that starts to tug at my eyelids. I must’ve fallen asleep because before I knew it, we pulled up to my house.

“Thank you,” I tell her, and slowly climb out of the car.

She waves and drives away. The front door swings open, and Sam rushes down the front steps.

“Damn it, Lily!” she hisses. “I told you I was coming to get you. Why didn’t you wait for me?”

She wraps her arms around my waist and guides me inside the house.

“Because you have to go to school, Sam. I didn’t want you to miss any more classes.”

She huffs in frustration. “That’s my call to make, not yours.”

I don’t respond, knowing better than to argue when Sam is in full protective-younger-sister mode. It would be a battle I would lose.

“Where are the kids?” I ask instead, glancing around the room.

“Mom and Dad took them out to eat,” Sam reassures me.

I nod, grateful. This is going to be a long night.

Sam helps me shower and puts me to bed. I don’t remember her leaving, but when I wake up, it is dark outside.

A wave of nausea hits me like a tsunami. Every muscle screams in protest as I try to pull the suffocating covers off me, but they’re too heavy. My head throbs, a dull, relentless drumbeat in my temples. Trying to hold in the vomit that is ready to escape, I look down to see a trash can and thank the stars that my sister prepared for this moment. Without thinking, I throw up, but the force is so strong that it makes me topple to the ground on my back, my body tangled in the sheets. I can’t seem to move as more nausea takes hold.

Tears spill down my cheeks, not just from the pain, but from a deep-seated fear I’m going to choke on my own vomit.

My bedroom door flies inward, slamming against the wall.

“Mom! What’s wrong?” Jake asks, his voice tight with fear.

One moment, I’m covered in my vomit with my teenage son, and the next, Sam’s leaning beside me.

“Oh, Lily!” she cries out, and with surprising strength, she helps me roll onto my side, untangling my limbs from the twisted sheets. “Jake, buddy, please turn the shower on. I need to get your mom in there.”

My boy doesn’t ask questions. He rushes to the bathroom, and seconds later, I hear the shower running.

“I’m so-sorry,” I manage to croak. Embarrassed that my younger sister has to witness me in this state, let alone clean me up, the humiliation burns almost as much as my throat. I hate feeling this weak, this helpless.

“Stop it,” Sam chokes out, the sadness in her voice breaks me, making fresh tears well up in my eyes.

“Is she okay?” Jake’s voice floats in from the bathroom, small and worried.

“Yeah, bud,” Sam lies. “She’s just got a nasty flu. Go back to bed, Jake. I got this.”

He obeys without question, and the door quietly shuts behind him. Sam unbuttons my pajamas, peeling the vomit-stained fabric away from my skin. She tosses them aside, then carefully lifts me, guiding my body into the steaming shower. The warm water pelts my skin, and my head lolls against her shoulder. She washes me from head to toe, stifling sniffles. My eyelids are droopy, and I can barely keep them open.