I wrap my arms around myself, narrowing my eyes at him. “What are you talking about?”
Exasperation colors his voice. “I told you, Presley. I’m not letting you out of my sight. You’re going to live here from now on. I’ll pick you up and drop you off at school, and—”
“DAD!”
“Non-negotiable, Presley! I cannot handle the thought of you up there at that school, doing god knows what to yourself because you need help, and I’m not there to give it to you.”
Cold hard dread rakes its claws down my spine. I can’t stay here in this house. I can’t. Not after…
“It’s no good crying about it, Pres. It’s for your own good. I know it might feel unfair to you right now, but it’s in your best interests—”
I finally find my voice. “To be around my friends! To not feel like a criminal, kept under constant lock and key. What, are you going to put cameras in my room now, too, so you can spy on me in the middle of the night?”
Dad clenches his hands into fists. He looks so gaunt in his over-sized sweater. When I think of him in my head, I still see him straight-backed in his uniform, proud and tall. I barely even recognize this stranger standing in the hallway. Mom robbed him of twenty pounds when she left. I think I’ve robbed him of another ten over the past week. “You’re not going to like this, but… I did consider it,” he says.
“Dad!”
“I went for a less intrusive approach, though.”
“I can’t wait to hear what you consider less intrusive!”
A muscle feathers in his jaw; he sighs, working himself up to say whatever he needs to say next, and I already know it’s going to be bad. “I took your bedroom door off at the hinges,” he rushes out. “I figure…if you’re going to therapy and Dr. Raine thinks you’re doing well, you can have it back after graduation. Maybe. We’ll have to play it by ear.”
Ever since I was admitted to the hospital, I’ve been eaten alive by guilt. My shame has been truly crippling. But all of a sudden, I’m not feeling so guilty anymore. I’m engulfed in a fiery ball of rage. “You can’t do that!”
“I already did.”
I gasp, struggling to find something to say that will defuse the situation and bring my father back on-side, but there isn’t anything. I know that. So, instead I say, “Whatever. Keep the door. It doesn’t matter. I’m not sleeping in that room ever again. I’m going to sleep in my room at the academy.”
“You’re not.” It’s a rare event, witnessing Robert Witton provoked to anger. I’m seeing it today, though; his cheeks are almost purple. “You’re going to do as you’re told, and you’re going to behave yourself, Pres—”
“If you do this, the moment your back’s turned, I’m on a plane to Germany. Is that what you want? You’ll drive me away. How do you think my mental state’s going to be if you keep me here, locked up like an inmate!”
“Presley, be reasonable.”
“You be reasonable! I know Dr. Raine didn’t tell you to do this. She advised that I should go back to normal life as soon as possible. That I should be around my friends!”
“Yeah, well, sometimes psychiatrists don’t always know what’s right for everybody, okay? Sometimes a father knows what’s best for his daughter.”
I just stand there, gaping at him. He doesn’t seem like he’s going to move on this, and the thought is frightening. I really can’t live in this house with him now. I can’t fall asleep in that bedroom. I—I—
“Let’s just see how we go like this,” Dad says. “At least for a month or so. You never know, you might prefer living here. I’ve got your yoga mat and all your other paraphernalia set up in the sunroom. I’ve put the candles you like in there. It’s really pretty. You’re gonna love it, I promise.”
I let my resolve make itself plain on my face. Slowly, quietly, in a very low voice, I say, “I mean it, Dad. If you shut me away here and watch me like a hawk, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, I will find an opportunity to leave. And I won’t say goodbye. I’ll just go. I’ll transfer to the school Mom found for me, and I’ll graduate over there. I’ll get to spend the summer with my friends in Europe, and then I’ll go to a college over there, too. It’ll be years before I can forgive you enough to even talk to you—”
“Okay, just stop it now. You’re being stupid. This is not how you should be handling this at all. If Jonah were here—”’
NO.
Shut it down, Pres. Don’t do it. Don’t think about it.
Just breathe.
Juuuust breathe. It’s okay.
I pull down a steady, deep breath, working to compose myself.
I will not stand here and let him finish that sentence. I can’t fucking do it. Whirling around, I snatch up his keys from the dish where he just put them, and I turn around, wrenching open the front door again.
“Presley! Pres, where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“I’m borrowing the car. I need to clear my head. And don’t bother calling the cops, Dad. I’m not going to try and kill myself again. You have my word.”
For a second, he looks like he’s going to come after me. I can see it flashing in his eyes—he’s contemplating grabbing hold of me and restraining me so that I can’t go anywhere. He has the sense to know how badly that will go, though. In the end, he throws his hands into the air, resigning. “Please be back before nine, Presley. Please. You’re gonna put me in an early grave if I have to come out looking for you.”
I need to forget.
I need to erase that house and everything that’s happened there.
If only.
It feels like I’m inhaling fine shards of glass when I breathe. It doesn’t seem so bad at first, but over time the pain begins to build, and build, and build, until suddenly to breathe at all is agony. At the hospital, the meds Dr. Raine kept shoveling down my throat did stop me from feeling so overwhelmed and terrified, but they also stopped me feeling anything at all. I was so sick of being numb that I quit taking them, which she reluctantly agreed to, but I’ll have to go back on them if I don’t handle my shit.
And I will not be able to handle my shit if I have to stay in that house.
I drive without thinking. I end up on the road that leads up to the academy, which is no surprise. I’m heading toward my friends. I couldn’t tell Carrie or Elodie what happened, so I haven’t seen either of them in over a week. They’ve been blowing up my phone and going crazy. It’s about time I showed my face and let them know I’m alive (without letting slip that I did nearly die). It’ll be nice to sit in Carrie’s massive room and lounge about with my friends.
Halfway up the mountain, I begin to brake, though. Incrementally, I slow the car. Then slow it some more. I’m not going to take the turn off. I’m really not. I’m only going to look at Riot House as I pass. I see the large expanse of slate roof through the tree canopy on the right, and my pulse begins to sing.
I’m passing the house.
I’m passing it.
I—