But I deserve to know them.
I deserve to keep them.
Stop, stop, stop.
I’m not strong enough.
I’ve never been strong enough.
I cave when things get hard. I prefer to live vicariously, to live other people’s stories because I am not brave enough to live my own.
Thatis who I am.
“S…sst…o…”
Spinning.
“Addie?” a voice says now. I still can’t tell whose it is.
Did they hear me?
Am I imagining it?
Am I strong enough?
“Stop,” I say.
Stop.
Finally—finally—they do.
AFTER
January
“Open your eyes. Wake up,” my dad whispers as I stir.
When I open them, my parents are on either side of me, and my mother wraps her arms around me.
“Did they do it?” I ask, my voice muffled, pressed into her shirt. “Did I lose everything?”
“No,” she says. “They stopped just as they were targeting the first memory, but you were already sedated, so they let you sleep it off.”
Dad blinks at me. “Your mother called just after it started. She asked me to come.”
“Oh,” I say, squinting at him. Then I look away because we never have anything to say to each other. Because he’s probably hurt that I didn’t tell him I was doing this, because I don’t want to face his disappointment right now.
But a few minutes later, when Dr. Overton gives us the okay to go home, Dad asks if he can drive me, even though I came with Mom.
Mom shrugs when I look at her. “Maybe I’ll go with Caleb to pick your car up from my office.”
In the car, I stare out the window, not saying a word. It started snowing while we were in the clinic, and it’s still falling in thick and heavy clumps. Sidewalks are already nearly completely white with it. It’s hypnotizing watching it fall, watching it restructure the world by hiding edges and rocks and stairs and roofs.
“I’m glad you didn’t go through with it.”
I make no sound, don’t turn to look at my father.
“I know you’ve had a lot to deal with the last few days, Addie. And I’m sorry for how everything turned out.”
