And that’s when I collapse to the floor. “Let go of me,” I whisper, clutching my hair in my fists, yanking as hard as I can—wanting the tearing pain to be stronger than what I feel inside. But my parents’ hands stop me, so I dig my nails into my palms instead, desperate to feel something. Anything.
“Vincent, stop, you’ll hurt yourself. Stop!” Chris pleads.
“No! Iwantto hurt myself! I can’t take it anymore. I’m tired!”
“Honey-bee, please, what’s wrong?” Daniel begs, reaching for my shoulder, but I shove his hand away.
“What’s wrong?” I snap, staggering to my feet. I pace, kicking what’s left of my instruments, stomping them into pieces.
“The problem is I can’t take it anymore! I hate myself. I can’t even look in the mirror. I can’t take the meds, the therapy, I can’t breathe. I don’t hate you... No. You know what? Yes, I do! I hate you because you forced me to try to be normal, when I’llneverbe normal. You’ll never have a normal son. You’ve lied to me for twelve years, making me believe I could be normal. Like I could be your son! But I’ll never be. And I hate you for that. I hate you, I hate you, and— I...” My words falter as my eyes fall on Nova’s ukulele.
I sit down on the floor, clutching it tight to my chest. Tears stream down my face.
My parents sit on either side of me, wrapping their arms around me. I don’t even have the strength to push them away.
“I hate myself most of all,” I choke out. “Do you get that? I hateme. I hate everything about me.”
I turn to face them, my eyes burning with tears. “I hate myself. I hate myself so much. I hate me...”
I lift the ukulele, ready to throw it, but Chris grabs it, stopping me. “Don’t. Please, kiddo. You’ll regret it.”
“I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve her gifts. Why doesn’t she hate me? Why not? My mind is sick. I’m sick. And I love her so much...”
I collapse into my parents’ arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Chris presses a kiss into my greasy hair. “We love you, Vincent. We love you so much. You’re the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to us. Our most precious treasure.”
Daniel strokes my hair, whispering softly. “We love everything about you. Your scars, your mind... all of you. You just need time to heal, honey-bee. You’re our son. Our beautiful boy.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Nova Marshall
PAST (2018)
"My music is made for the people who are
willing to stand up to change this world themselves."
Tom Morello
––––––––
I’ve never been so bored in my life. I don’t even know why I decided to come to the ball when none of my friends showed up. Steven said he’d rather stay home and read, Max is with Aurora, and Vincent... well, I have no idea where he is.
Two hours before the dance, I went to his house hoping we could get ready together, but his parents told me he wasn’t home—that he had already gone out. Before leaving, I sent him a message with a link to a song that made me think of him. He saw it but never replied. Maybe the hope of finding him here and dancing together was the only reason I actually came tonight.
Instead, I’m sitting at one of the tables while everyone else is on the dance floor, watchingFrozenon my phone and sipping lemonade. Not exactly what I had imagined for this night, butstill better than sitting at home while Grandma’s at bingo, waiting for a call from Vincent or Asher.
I watch the people dancing, smiling, laughing—and as happy as it makes me to see others enjoying themselves, I can’t help but feel envious. I wish my friends and I were out there too, spinning under the lights. I wish I could have walked down the stairs of my house in my dress and taken pictures with Vincent before the ball. I wish it had been my parents taking those pictures, Asher teasing me and Vincent at my side. I wish I was a normal person with a normal life.
The decorations are all winter-themed—silver and dark blue streamers, fake snow, white lights strung everywhere. The atmosphere is magical. Too bad I have no one to share it with, no one to take pictures with in front of the giant fake snowman in the corner. The party planners really outdid themselves this year.
WhenFrozenreaches the part where Elsa flees to the mountains, I get up to leave. I’ll find an empty classroom, blastLet It Go, and sing at the top of my lungs. No one will hear me anyway with the gym music thumping through the halls.
I stand and head toward the exit, eyes still on my phone—until the music in the gym changes. The pounding techno fades, replaced by the unmistakable opening notes of Fleetwood Mac’sThe Chain. My favorite song.
I freeze. How is this on the playlist? Up until now it’s been nothing but reggaeton and club remixes. Besides, Cece Baker made the list, and she can’t stand Fleetwood Mac.
I glance around. Couples are twirling under the strobe lights, the crowd lost in their own rhythm. My eyes sweep the room, searching for him, but he’s nowhere.
