it and then do my best to muffle the sound. “Is it scary? Is it scary to die?”
For the first time, Mom touches my face. Her hands are cold, but I welcome the caress. So much that hot tears well up in my eyes and fall down my cheeks.
“You’re very sick, V. You need help.”
“Is it scary?” I push. “I need to know if death is scary.”
She pushes the hair away from my face. “I can’t let you do this to yourself. I can’t. I love you too much.” Mom turns her head toward the stairs. “Ulysses! Ulysses, I need you!”
Dad. She’s calling Dad. “I don’t want him upset.” I double over as the pain seems to come from everywhere at once. “I love him, and I don’t want him to hurt.”
“This is what you don’t understand about love, V.” Mom touches my cheek again. “He loves you and you can’t stop him from loving you. You don’t get to decide when he hurts and when he doesn’t hurt. All you get to do when someone loves you is either push them away or accept the love they are willing to give. If you push them away, you’re knowingly hurting them. If you let them love you, there will still be hurt, but at least then you’ll both have moments of happiness.”
Mom turns her head again towards the stairs. “Ulysses! Come down here, now!”
I sob, the tears flow down my face and drip onto the floor. “He can’t hear you. He can’t hear me. Please tell me this is not how I’m going to die.”
“Ulysses!” Mom shouts so loud I flinch.
“V!” Dad’s feet pound against the stairs. “V! Where are yo—” Dad goes stark white then bolts for me and falls to his knees. “What’s happened, V?”
“It hurts.” The world has a funny feeling to it as I convulse with a dry heave.
“Your head?” Dad asks. “Is it your head?”
“She’s dying, Ulysses!” Mom screams next to him, right in his ear. “Save her! You save our baby!” She flickers, and then yells again, “You save her! You promised me you’d save her!”
“I’m scared, Mom. Please don’t leave me! Please!”
Mom grabs my hand, and I grab it back. “I’m here, peanut. I’m not leaving.”
“Tell me it’s not scary to die, Mom! Please tell me it’s not scary to die!”
Dad grabs my face and forces me to look at him. “Who are you talking to, V? Tell me who you’re talking to.”
My throat swells and I shake my head, not wanting to answer, but then I think of Sawyer. I think of lies. I think of pain and I think of how I don’t understand why Mom won’t answer if death is painful, if death is scary. “I don’t want to die. I’m scared, Daddy. I’m scared. I don’t want to die.”
Dad leaves me and I writhe as sharp pains hit my skull again. Hands again on my face, warm ones, not cold. Dad’s deep voice, “I need an ambulance.”
He gives his name, our address, all while wiping tears from my face, shushing me. “It’s okay, V. It’s okay.”
It’s not okay. Not at all. “I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared.” Mom flickers again and that causes my heart to break in two. “No! You can’t go! You can’t go, Mom! I’m scared!”
“Who do you see?” Dad grabs my face again. His cell no longer to his ear. “Who are you talking to?”
“Tell him,” Mom’s voice is weak. “Tell him.”
“Then you’ll leave!” I cry.
Mom crouches in front of me, kisses my forehead and whispers, “I was never here. I’ve only been in your mind.”
Then she’s gone and I can’t breathe. The pain through my entire body is too much for me to bear. I thrash, my body whipping in ways I can’t control, and the sound I make is inhuman.
“V!” Dad shouts. Then I’m in his arms, and he’s holding me tight. “I’m here, baby. I’m here. Don’t you die on me! Don’t you dare die on me!”
I grab on to the front of his shirt as the convulsions end. Darkness tunnels my vision and my mind has a fuzzy haze. “Don’t let me go, Daddy. Please don’t let me go.”
“I won’t, baby.” His voice breaks as I struggle to stay awake. “I swear to God, I won’t.”
* * *
My mind is aware before my body. The first thought—there’s no pain. None. In fact, it’s a strange feeling, a floating feeling, like I’m not connected to anything at all.