leave. I wish I could run through the door and out into the field and keep running and running until there’s nothing left to run away from. But I can’t. Because my dad is here, and he’s standing in my way, and he won’t
Stop
Looking
At me!
“Stop looking at me!” I shout, fingers curling around my hair. I tug and I tug and I wait for the pop, for the roots to pull free.
“Mia…” Leo’s voice is distant, so far away.
“How long, Mia?” Dad asks, using the same authoritative tone he uses with his employees. But I’m not one of his workers, and he has no authority here.
“Shut up,” I snap, my teeth clenched.
His shoulders drop, his gaze shifting to Papa before returning. Gentler, he says, “I just got off the phone with your dentist, and they confirmed everything.”
“Stop it,” I cry, my shoulders shaking with the force. From the corner of my eye, I see Leo step forward, but I shoot him a glare.
Don’t touch me.
Don’t look at me.
No one is speaking, but the room is loud. So loud. And filled with so many voices. So many insults.
Dad steps forward, and I step back.
Don’t touch me.
Don’t look at me.
“It’s not a big deal,” I grind out.
“Not a big deal?” Dad scoffs. And then he drops the bomb: “It’s bulimia, Mia. It’s a very big deal.”
I ignore the gasps that fill the house, like plane engines roaring to life right beside my ears.
Holden turns me to him, but I refuse to move.
Don’t touch me.
Don’t look at me.
“How long, baba?” Papa says, his voice breaking. “How long have you been forcing yourself to throw up?” I look at him, see the tears in his eyes—this man of strength and pride. This man who made me his everything before a boy came along and did the same. I die inside at the sight of him now, and I wish he didn’t have to know. I wish he could’ve lived his life never realizing how tarnished and broken and ugly I am.
“Papa,” I cry, and I start to go to him, but Leo’s voice cuts through the air, through my heart.
“Since that night?” he asks. My gaze snaps to his, and I regret it the second our eyes meet. Eyes clouded with tears, his jaw is set, lips forced into a shape that hides his true heartache. “Was it, Mia?”
“What night?” Dad asks.
“Answer me,” Leo says, but he doesn’t need the answer, and mine would only come with a lie. He already knows the truth.
It was that night.
On the steps of the church.
I told myself that it was an accident. That my cries were just too strong, and I couldn’t control it.
And then I went to a boarding school with a bunch of perfect girls with perfect skin and perfect teeth and perfect bodies, and I was the absolute opposite of everything they encompassed. I told my dad I wanted out, and he didn’t offer me any other options. So I stayed. And soon, I realized that the perfect girls were just good girls doing bad things to become perfect. And they taught me all the bad things they did to get there. So I became a bad girl, doing bad things, just to feel good. And soon, the bad thing became a good thing.
The best thing.
The greatest thing I could’ve ever done for myself.
And I never want to stop.
Ever.
And I won’t.
“Jesus Christ, Mia,” Leo says through an exhale, his arms at his sides, bleary eyes on the ceiling because he won’t look at me now.
He’s the only one I want to look at me, and he won’t.
Because he sees it—all the things I’d spent years purging.
“So, what are you going to do about it?” Papa says, and he’s talking to my dad because he’s the only one Papa thinks can do anything.
Leo drops his gaze an inch, catches me watching him. We stare at each other. A heartbeat passes. Two. Tears slip from his eyes, and he quickly disregards them with a swipe of his forearm. He doesn’t speak. Won’t say a word.
Every summer I spent with you, and every single day in between, I’ve been in love with you, Mia!
He won’t say it now because he realizes it’s a lie.
Dad says, “There’s a treatment center in upstate New York that caters to—”
“No!” Papa yells. “All you do is put her places! Here! There! She has no home since she left! She needs a parent, József! She needs…” I don’t hear anything else because