“Trap him,” I hiss. “Have you ever heard of birth control?”
She gapes at me, tears welling in her blue eyes. “What’s wrong with you?”
That’s the million-dollar question.
Everything.
Everything is wrong with me.
It’s why we’re in this stupid pharmacy in the first place. Aunt Becky thinks she can fix me with meds.
“Don’t do this to him,” I plead, my voice choking up.
Amy scowls. “I can’t exactly help that now, can I?”
“You could end—”
“Rylie!” Aunt Becky hollers from the end of the aisle. “Let’s go. You’re already late.”
“I would never do that,” Amy tells me, her bottom lip wobbling. “Never.”
“No,” I spit out. “Because all you think about is yourself.”
Storming away from her, I push past Aunt Becky and run out the door.
Away. Away from everyone. Away from it all.
I stare at the bottle of pills on my dresser. Same old dresser, new room. When my parents died, I was uprooted from my home and moved into my aunt and uncle’s place. Aunt Becky was horrified when I chose to bring my own furniture into my room rather than use her fancy stuff. Mom and I spent last summer sanding down all of my old furniture I had since I was a kid and repainting it. It’s kind of shitty because we both sucked at restoration, but it’s one of the few things we did together and had fun.
If Mom knew Aunt Becky was trying to shove all these pills down my throat, she’d freak. Mom was always so into holistic healing. Even when the doctor diagnosed me as bipolar, she assured him that through therapy and family support, I’d manage just fine.
I was managing just fine until they died.
Now, I’m spinning and spinning.
I hate my school. I hate this house. I hate everyone.
I especially hate Hudson.
He’s off living the perfect life with a probably pregnant girlfriend waiting on him. In another year, he’ll finish college and come back home to marry Amy. They’ll probably have ten kids and live in a fancy house next door to Aunt Becky and Uncle Randy. Meanwhile, I’ll still be Rylie, the one who can’t get a fucking grip on life.
Unscrewing the lid to the bottle, I inspect the pink and white pills. Lithium. I’m supposed to take this magical pill and I’ll become normal. So Dr. Livingston and Aunt Becky say. It’s going to take a lot more than one pill to make me normal.
I don’t need these damn things.
I told my aunt that.
I just need my mom and dad.
With a grumble of frustration, I storm into the bathroom, ready to flush them all down the toilet. That’ll piss Aunt Becky off. I’m just about to do it when I catch a glimpse of my reflection.
Daddy.
Same soulful light brown eyes. Same dark brown hair. Same smattering of freckles on my nose and cheeks.
Tears. Tears. More tears.
That’s all I do these days.
