All of them.
In one motion.
My entire naked body exposed to the morning air like some kind of ambush.
And my pill bottle, sitting on the nightstand, suddenly looking at me with so much judgment.
Rude. I grab it and shove it in the drawer.
Then I throw myself at him.
Fully.
Completely naked.
Like a deranged flying monkey with nothing to lose.
We wrestle.
Me: naked.
Him: pajamas.
Neither of us: thinking clearly.
I become aware of two things simultaneously.
One: I am winning.
Two: the door is open.
My dad passes by in the hallway on his way to the kitchen.
He does not stop.
He does not look directly at us.
He simply keeps walking with the specific dignity of a man choosing not to process what he just saw.
“NOT A SEX THING,” I yell after him.
There is no response.
The reasons to kill myself are just adding up every day.
I lock the door.
Should have done that first.
Noted for next time.
Every time.
Forever.
I sit back on the bed and look at Cassian, who is trying very hard not to laugh and failing completely.
“Not a word,” I say.
