Chapter 3

Just after dawn, the storage room door was kicked open.

"Get up and make breakfast. Stop pretending you’re dead." Dad frowned. "You’re eighteen years old. What kind of person lies around all day?"

I pushed myself up from the mattress, my temples throbbing with every heartbeat.

Grandma Sheila heard the commotion and came in. Her eyes fell on the bottle of antidepressants in my hand. She snatched it away and tossed it into the trash can.

I lunged after it. "That’s my medication!"

"What do you need medication for? Doesn’t this family already have enough trouble?

"Ever since you started taking those pills, nothing in this house has gone right!"

Her anger grew as she pointed a finger at my nose.

"Your father failed to get promoted again this year because he has to deal with a sickly daughter like you!"

"I can’t stop taking my medication!" I cried.

"How dare you lecture me!" She pointed at the trash can. "Don't even think about fishing it out of there."

Mom's voice came from the living room.

"John, just look at the wonderful daughter you raised. She’s eighteen, yet she can’t even make breakfast."

Dad grabbed me by the collar and dragged me into the living room.

"You gave birth to this little troublemaker, so you deal with her! Stop blaming me for everything!"

Mom snatched the TV remote off the table and hurled it at him.

"She isn't just my child!

"You were the one who insisted on having her!

"And now you’re blaming me?"

"If it weren't for her, I would've been transferred to the city center years ago instead of being stuck here!"

"You’re the one who isn't good enough at your job! Why take it out on your child?"

Their voices rose and fell, closing in on me until I could barely breathe.

Grandma Kelly came over and grabbed my arm.

"Stop wasting your time here. Go find a job and earn some money to help support the family.

"Your parents haven't had an easy time raising you. The least you can do is show some sense!" Grandma Kelly added.

I shook my head. "I need to go to the hospital."

"The hospital again?" Grandma Kelly's voice turned icy. "What else can you do besides spend money?"

I gripped the edge of the table. My fingertips were so cold that I could barely feel them.

"Could I borrow $200? I need to go to the emergency room."

Dad shot me a disapproving look. "Why do you always have to make everything such a big deal? What do you need the emergency room for when there’s nothing wrong with you?"

"I really can’t take it anymore."

"Then stop trying. Do you think anyone has time to put on a show with you?"

I swallowed the metallic taste of blood rising in my throat.

"Dad, I'm not pretending."

Mom folded her arms and let out a mocking laugh.

"You've always pulled stunts like this. Cry a little, and everyone has to drop everything to fuss over you. Now that your scholarship money is gone, you are looking for another excuse to get money out of us?"

She pointed toward the door.

"Go get a job. Don't come back until you've earned that $200."

Grandma Sheila stepped in front of me.

"If you don't earn that money today, you aren't coming back inside."

I stared at the bottle of medication in the trash, my fingers trembling slightly.

"Give me my medicine back."

"Get out."

The door slammed shut behind me. Inside, they were still arguing over who was responsible for me.

I reached into the inner pocket of my backpack and pulled out $37. I squeezed the bills in my palm until their edges hurt.

At the hospital registration desk, a staff member asked, "Where’s your family?"

"I don't have anyone," I replied.

She handed me a numbered ticket.

In the examination room, the doctor finished reviewing my test results and looked at me.

"How long has it been since you last ate properly?"

"I can’t remember."

"Are you able to sleep at night?" the doctor asked.

"No."

"Have you been hearing voices that other people cannot hear?"

I stared at the corner of the desk.

"Yes."

The doctor fell silent for a few seconds, then picked up a pen and wrote several lines on a sheet of paper.

"You have severe depression with somatic symptoms. You need an inpatient evaluation, and a family member should accompany you to your follow-up appointments."

I clutched the hem of my shirt. "My parents won't come."

"Take this diagnosis report home for now." The doctor slid the paper toward me. "Let them know what’s happening."

I picked it up, the edge digging into the pad of my finger.

Outside the hospital, rain pattered against my umbrella. Just then, my phone rang. Mom's name appeared on the screen.