Page 83 of Before You Fell

“Leaving.”

“No,” Dad says.

That single word hits the worst part of me, the part that’s already burning.

I throw the suitcase onto the bed and unzip it. “You don’t get to say no.”

“Willow, will you stop for one second?”

“No, I’m done stopping.”

Mom moves toward the bed. “Sweetheart, please. You don’t have to leave tonight.”

“I can’t stay here.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t,” I say, shoving clothes into the suitcase. “I can’t breathe in this house.”

Dad stays right where he is, the bottle still clutched in his hand. “You’re upset. You don’t need to drive anywhere tonight.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, Willow.” His voice is firm. “Right now, you’re not.”

I whirl on him. “Stop saying that.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s not your job to decide what I am.”

“It’s my job to keep you alive.”

For one stupid second, I feel the crack in Dad’s voice more than I feel my own voice. Then I remember the bottle in his hand.

Once my bag is packed, I hold out my palm. “Give them back to me now.”

“If you think I’m putting these back in your hand, you’re out of your goddamn mind.”

Something cold moves through me. “Fine.”

I grab the suitcase because I have more pills at my apartment. I snatch my charger on the way out, dragging the suitcase behind me as Mom starts to cry.

“Willow, please don’t leave angry.”

“I’m not angry, Mom.”

Mom follows me down the stairs. Dad comes after us more slowly, still holding the bottle.

At the front door, Mom catches my wrist and I look down at her hand.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, letting go immediately.

I swallow down the ache in my throat and walk out the front door.

“Call us when you get there,” Dad calls after me.

I hate that I am doing this to them. I hate that they are loving me the only way they know how and I’m still walking away from them simply to protect the one thing that is slowly destroying me.