Authors: Ellen Hopkins
Don’t you dare talk to me like that.
He stalks over to the bed, raises
his arm, and just as it starts to fall…
I wouldn’t do that if I were you,
sir.
Carol.
I’m afraid I’d have
to report you for child abuse.
Daddy spins to face her, anger
leaking from his pores like sweat.
I know the law. Don’t recite it to me.
Artfully, Carol maneuvers between
Daddy and me.
I’m afraid your blood
work indicated a problem, Kaeleigh.
We’ll need to keep you an extra day
or two, to run a few tests. Sorry.
I know you wanted to go home.
Daddy backs up a few steps.
Problem? What kind of problem?
She isn’t pregnant, is she?
Carol’s grin is sardonic.
Funny
place for you to go first. No, we’ve
found an electrolyte imbalance.
It’s probably from all the vomiting
she’s been doing, but we want to
test her for kidney disease.
Phew. Saved by possible kidney
disease. At least for a couple of days.
Hey, wait. Kidney disease?
Turns Out
The electrolyte imbalance is real,
the result of not only puking
from Oxy withdrawal, but also
the binge-and-purge cycle
that my alter and I seem to have shared.
Speaking of bingeing, I’m starving.
“You eat. I’ll throw it up. You’d be
a regular oinker if not for me.”
They weren’t really worried about
kidney disease. Carol just used
that as an excuse to keep me here.
“She’s a real pal. What she’s really
after is dissecting our psyche.”
If I let her into my head, maybe she
can make you frigging disappear.
I’m sick of listening to you.
“Well, then, you go away and let me out.
I want to play. And I need to get high.”
I want so much to talk to Carol.
But I’m not even sure where to begin.
Drug abuse. Alcohol. Bulimia…
“Don’t forget that lovely bit about
shaving until you slice yourself open.”
And that’s the easy stuff. Promiscuity.
Dissociative identity disorder. And
the granddaddy of all—fucking Daddy.
“More accurately, letting Daddy
fuck you and keeping it to yourself.”
Even if I tell her every bit of it,
there’s no guarantee she can fix me.
Suicide sounds better and better.
“Yeah, but you’d have to get it right.
Or maybe, just leave that to me.”
What Do I Have to Live For?
Can’t think of a single thing.
Mom? A long-distance mother
focused completely on herself.
Friends? Not a single one I’ve
allowed myself to get close to.
School? Can’t stomach the thought
of seeing Old Man Lawler again.
Drama? Oh well, that’s what
understudies are for, right?
Boyfriend? Don’t make me
laugh. I’d much rather cry.
“Hey, you can’t really blame him.”
I Can’t Blame Ian at All
He’s solid.
“You’re fractured.”
He’s hopeful.
“You’re hopeless.”
He’s always there.
“You’re half there.”
He’s faithful.
“You’re so not.”
He’s giving.
“You’re afraid to give.”
He’s honest.
“You lie all the time.”
He’s loving.
“You don’t know how to love.”
But I Do Know What Love Is
And all because of Ian.
I’m still not sure how
to give it, but I’ve tasted
it. Maybe that’s enough.
Maybe that’s more than
some people ever get.
Maybe I really need
to taste it right now.
I haven’t let myself break
down and weep in a very
long time. Could never see
much use in it, really.
Tears impress no one. But,
oh yeah, there’s no one
here to impress. So I go
ahead and let tears fall.
Rain. Storm. Flood. My
pillow soaks with the salt
of regret, and I rest my
head against it, until…
Someone’s in My Room
I wake, certain of it. It’s early
evening, and the room is pale
and the soft perfume of roses
drifts from the nightstand.
Hey. How are you feeling?
I think it can’t be, but when
I turn my head, it’s Ian’s face
I see. The tears start up again
immediately. “Better now.”
I should have come sooner, but…
He stands, comes over, sits
on the bed, gently brushes
the moisture from my cheeks.
“It’s okay.” He’s here now.
No. I should have been here for you.
He opens his arms and I drop
into their circle. “Oh God,
Ian, I’m so sorry. I don’t know
what to tell you, where to begin….”
Don’t. Not now. Just let me hold you.
Must Be a Dream
But if it is, I need to stay
locked inside it forever.
I can’t believe he’s here.
I can’t believe he still loves
me, but my heart says he does.
“Oh, Ian. I love you so much.
I’m so sorry I ever hurt you.
If you give me time, help me
get well and strong, I promise
to make everything up to you.”
He’s quiet for a long time.
Finally he says,
I don’t know
exactly what’s wrong with you,
or with your life. It would be
easier to walk away, put you
and your pain behind me. I’ve had
days to think it over, and at first
that’s what I decided to do.
But I love you so much, the idea
of life without you in it is scarier
than trying to deal with this. I’ve
talked with Dr. Shore, who tells me
you’ve got a long road to recovery.
I don’t know if we can get
through this, but I want to try.
Okay, One Thing to Live For
And right now, one thing is enough.
I have to believe we can make it.
Without that, I have nothing at all.
One thing to live for. One day at a time.
It will not be easy to let him all the way in.
But if I can open up to anyone, it’s Ian.
Okay, maybe to Carol—Dr. Shore—first.
Then she can show me how to let him in.
One thing to live for. One day at a time.
Daddy will try to stand in the way.
So I have to push Daddy out of my way.
To do that, I need Ian’s strength behind me.
One thing to live for. One day at a time.
Daddy Comes to Pick Me Up
And all the courage I gathered overnight
dissipates like smoke in winter wind.
He hands me a paper bag.
Clean clothes.
The ones you have here stink to high heaven.
Dutifully I go into the bathroom, slip into soft
blue velour. It should feel comforting. But…
When I emerge, Daddy is looking at Ian’s roses.
I hope he has enough sense to stay away.
Wrong! “Ian is the only good thing in my life.
Don’t you dare try to keep him away from me!”
Daddy’s stare is iron.
I guess we’re lucky
you
aren’t
pregnant, aren’t we?
“Shut up! Ian and I never…Don’t you get
that love doesn’t have to be about sex?”
He stays in control, in case Carol is near.
Don’t you ever tell me to shut up again.
“Or what, Daddy? I won’t let you hurt me
anymore. I swear to God I’ll tell everything.”
He comes closer, lowers his voice.
Go ahead.
Your word against mine. No one will believe you.
I will.
The voice precedes a woman—
not quite familiar—through the door.
Daddy’s jaw drops.
Mother! Dear God.
How did…what are you doing here?
Grandma Charlotte. Yes, I can almost
remember her face. Only it’s thinner,
her gray eyes clearer. And she smells
of expensive perfume. Not whiskey.
She draws near, reaches out one hand, but
doesn’t touch me.
Kaeleigh. How pretty you
are. So like your mother. Forgive my long
absence. And, please, forgive my silence.
Six Months
Since my grandmother re-entered
my life. Six months of relative
safety. Ha-ha. Forgive the pun.
I live with her now, in my parents’
postcard-pretty dwelling, coiffed
and manicured from curb to chimney.
Like me, it’s perfect on the outside.
But behind the Norman Rockwell facade,
I’m slowly coming to terms with our secrets.
That day in the hospital, Grandma
Charlotte confessed hers:
I was too
young to be a mother, only sixteen.
Ted was not a bad man. When I got
pregnant, he did the right thing
and married me. But we came from