Before You Leave

08. Daddy?

         "Dad?" I ask, getting to my feet instantly.

"Can I have my daughter alone for a minute, Isabell?" He asks her, totally ignoring Gideon.

She nods. "Of course, Nate."

Nate? They were on first name basis?

He grabbed my wrist and dragged me into the hallway. His eyes were bloodshot and hands shook. "I sent you here to solve your problems, not threaten a kid!"

"Well that didn't work, did it?" I snap at him.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. His blonde hair— my hair— was turning gray. "Jenny—"

I hated my second name. And he knew damn well never to say the first one. He thought it would be cute to give me two first names.

"Don't Jenny me!" I say to him. "You didn't even let me say goodbye to my friends. To mom. You just shoved me here!"

"Jenny—"

"No!" I yell. "No, stop. I don't want to hear whatever you have to say. You can screw yourself, okay?"

"J—"

"I hate you!"

"JENNY ASHTON, I WILL SAY YOUR GODDAMN FULL NAME OUT LOUD NOW IF YOU DON'T LISTEN TO ME!" He shouts. The temper in his voice makes me jump.

He's trying so hard to keep something together.

"You're mother's dead," he says quietly.

Numb.

Nothing.

I'm blinking, narrowing my eyes, shaking my head.

"No," I say simply. I laugh a hysterical laugh. "No," I repeat.

He nods, a tear going down his face at the same time a few of mine do.

"She committed suicide this morning, JJ," he says, voice breaking.

I sob, my hand flying to my face to cup my mouth, crying into it. "Daddy?" I pant. "Daddy, you're lying."

"JJ—"

"This is your fault. You knew she needed me!"

"Jenny, no—"

But I didn't hear anything else from the moment I turn on my heel and run out of the office, sprinting across the crowded quad.

When I finally got to the dormitories, the walls were pressing in on me. I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't breathe, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't breathe.

My breathing came in ragged sobs as I collapsed outside of my room. I couldn't remove. I was just curled up in the hallway.

All the memories of my mother raced into my head, pounding and scratching to get at the surface of all my thoughts. My throat felt like my lungs collapsed. I clutched my hair as if it could help the feeling in my head, in my chest.

My mother used to love guns. She's shoot them out in the backyard, in the shooting range, anywhere she could. But then after she quit her job, she wouldn't go near any weapons.

I wonder if she did it with pills, then. If she wanted it to be painless.

The thought makes me choke up.

I'm still fighting for breath.

I clutch my dog tag hard, letting the words on it press into my hand.

I see a pair of shoes stop before me. I close my eyes shut hard, wishing this could all be a dream. But someone is hugging me, enveloping me into their body. I press into it, clutching their thin shirt, sobbing into the crook of their shoulder.

I know it's Gideon. His arms are wrapped so tight around me, it's like he thinks I will break into a million pieces and he's determined to catch every single one of them.

My hands go up and clutch the back of his neck, holding fast to him and sobbing even more. My fingers clutch his hair tightly, but not to hurt. Just to hold.

Suddenly, I am scooped up, his hands under my knees and holding up my back as he carries me into our apartment.

In some way, I think I knew it was coming. The day was coming soon, and she couldn't handle it.

Gideon sat me on my bed, not letting go of my as he stroked my hair. We sat knee to knee.

And he held me like that all night.

•••••••
He was gone in the morning. I think mentally, I was, too. I felt nothing as I awoke.

I felt hollow and empty.

It was Saturday. Usually I would be having fun and dancing.

But that day isn't today.

I changed my clothes quickly into a loose, long sweater and shorts before settling back into the bed. I put my head on the red wall, leaning back into it. My arms held my legs to my chest.

She was dead.

She's been like that for a while. Where she wouldn't move. Wouldn't talk. But at least she breathed.

But now even that didn't happen.

I wonder where my father went. What he did when he saw. Was he even sad?

I knew my dad was having an affair when I saw the lipstick on his neck one night junior year. Mom didn't wear that crap. She couldn't move to get to it. Yet he kept lying to me, saying it was mom when it wasn't mom. I knew it was bullshit.

I just wondered now if he was relieved she was dead. He didn't have to feed her anymore, bathe her, see her, be married to her. Would he marry his whore?

The only nights she did move were the days where it hit the worst and she would chop all of her hair off. Sometimes she'd slip from how clumsy and zombie-like her movements were and cut the top of her head.

I never told my my dad had an affair, but I think she knew. Somehow, I just think she did. It didn't make her talk, though. I think she wanted a life without him as much as he wanted it without her.

I was my mother's anchor. I'd take away the scissors every time. I'd stitch her up like she once taught me in seventh grade. I fed her when my father was having sex with his women.

I took her out to get sunlight on the darkest of her days. I'd roll her in a wheel chair down the street. I'd try to talk to her, but I didn't get any response.

Maybe she was in a better place. A place where she wouldn't hurt anymore. A place with him.

I looked down at my hands.

Maybe she thought I died. Dad didn't let me say goodbye to her, and we don't even know if she listens to us, so maybe... maybe she thought her last child was dead and she wanted to end it all.

My door opened and I didn't have to look up to know it was Gideon.

"Oh, good, you're awake. I made you breakfast—"

But I didn't say anything. No matter how nice of a gesture that was, I couldn't. My throat was closed, crushing my windpipe.

"JJ?" He whispers.

But I won't respond. To anything. I'm shattered already and he couldn't pick up the pieces and put my back together. I wouldn't let him try.

My eyes felt dead. My hands now hung limp at my sides.

He doesn't make any move to touch me, and I'm grateful. I don't know what my reaction would be to it.

I think he tries to speak to me again, but I'm falling into darkness.

I'm blacking out from the moment my body falls to the side and back onto the plush bed.