“I don’t mean to—”
“It’s like you want to break this family apart. What’s left of it anyway.”
I started to cry then. My arm and my leg were stinging; my eyes were prickling, like I’d rubbed salt in them. “I don’t … I … That’s not …” I took a breath. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to keep away from that boy. I want you to stay in the house when I’m out. Keep meeting Dr. Rezwari. Keep taking your meds. Will you do those things, Cassie?”
I did not see the trap coming.
Stupid me.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” I said. “Yes, I’ll do those things.”
He took a step forward, fast as a snake, and I staggered back, thought he was about to hit me, went down on the coffee table—luckily it was wood, not glass, but my butt hit it hard, and I skinned the backs of my calves; my hands went behind me to try to stop my fall, and my right hand struck the side of the table, twisting my wrist.
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
Something had sucked all the air out of the house; we were standing in a vacuum, in absolute stillness.
“Jesus, Cass,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“I thought …”
He must have seen it in my eyes. “Jesus, Cass.” He took a step forward and reached down for my hand, then helped me up. “I wasn’t going to hurt you.”
“I …”
He put his head in his hands. “I don’t know how to deal with this ****. I really don’t. I don’t know how to deal with your lies.”
“What?”
“You said you’re taking your meds?”
Now I saw the trap. Oh no. But what could I do?
“Uh … yes.”
“Liar,” he said quietly.
He went out of the room.
When he came back in, he was carrying my nightstand in one hand—you remember when I said he would carry full trash cans to the street? He had my nightstand in one hand, and he swung up his other hand to catch the front of it, then he upturned it, so that the drawers fell out in a shwoosh and hit the floor.
Blister packs of drugs spilled all over the carpet.
For the longest time we both just stood there looking at the drugs on the floor.
“Dad, I can explain, I—”
“No,” said Dad. “Not now.”
I remembered Dr. Lewis, telling me to speak to Dr. Rezwari. To follow her instructions. And I had lied to her instead. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“I’ve been good, Dad, I’ve been hearing the voice but it’s helping me now, it’s not hurting me anymore. I’ve—”
“It’s helping you?” he said. “The invisible voice in your head is helping you?”
“Yes.”
He sighed. “Tomorrow morning, we’re going to see the doctor. And you’re going to do whatever she says, okay?”
“Okay.”
“And that boy. This is because of him, isn’t it? Not taking your meds?”
“What? No.”
“Of course it is. You think because you’ve got a crush, you don’t need the drugs anymore. But you’re hearing voices, Cass.”
“One voice.”
He glared at me. “Yeah, like that makes a difference. Anyway, he’s out of here. He can find somewhere else to live.”
“Dad! You can’t kick him out.”
“Yes, I can.”
THE VOICE: “Yes, he can.”
“Whatever.”
I sat down heavily on the couch. I wanted time to rewind, so I could leave the apartment before Dad got home. But then I guess the cop would still have called him. Would it have been Brian? I guessed so. ******* Brian. Selling me out to my dad.
“But he’s … he makes me feel …”
Dad kicked over the coffee table; it flipped with a crash. “I don’t give a ******** **** how he makes you feel, Cass.”
I told you: my dad’s anger, it swims under the surface, and you don’t see it, but then it bursts up like a killer whale flinging itself into the air, gleaming blackly.
“He makes the voice go away,” I said eventually.
“The drugs make the voice go away. He’s out of here.”
“No!”
“Yes. Because I … I cannot. Lose. My. Daughter. Too.”
“You’re not losing me!”
“Oh yeah?” He kicked the pile of drugs so that blister packs skittered over the floor, loose pills, the meds jumbling together.
THE VOICE: “He’s right. You’re already lost. You’re a slut. That’s why this is happening.”
I put my head in my hands. “I hate you,” I said, to both of them.
Dad shrugged.
“He’s just a boy,” I said. “He doesn’t have anywhere else to stay. He’s just—”
Dad closed the distance between us and leaned in close, the anger seeming to bake off him, shimmer in the air, like desert heat. “He’s eighteen,” he said. “He’s a man. And you’re a girl, with a ******* mental illness, which you have not even told him about so that he can make a responsible decision, and which you’re NOT TAKING YOUR DRUGS FOR. Seriously, Cass, I don’t know what else to do here. You’re giving me no choice. I’ve tried setting rules, and you’ve broken them, over and over.”