As I extrapolate from there, images flash through my head—my empty shampoo, the shirt she told me was purple but was really green, objects in my room that moved around ever so slightly.
I open my eyes, and for a second, I see blood pouring from my ankles, so I blink until the vision that belongs to the last time I was in this stairwell disappears. Now, I’m just looking at my feet in heels.
My mother has so thoroughly warped my sense of reality—retelling facts and stories, insisting on my stupidity and forgetfulness—that I have now become someone who is trapped, dysfunctionally dependent on a shell of a family. I cannot continue like this, or I’m going to finally break until what’s left of my psyche shatters into smithereens. I don’t want that to happen. I want to thrive.
I walk slowly down the stairs and back to Amy’s room. I peek inside to make sure that our mother is not there before going to my sister. Her fragility frightens me to the core. I don’t stop myself from crawling into the bed and lying down with my body against hers and my head on her shoulder. I tug at her arm and pull it around me, so she’s holding me like we did when we were little.
“I love you somush,” I say. “I love you somush.”
The room is quiet, dark, except for the lights from the surrounding monitors. I squeeze my sister.
A few minutes later, Amy squeezes back.
“I love you somush, too.” Her voice is tiny and hoarse.
I lift up to look at her through the murky darkness, and I can make out her eyes opening slowly.
“Where’s our mother?”
“I don’t know. I can go find her if you want.”
“No, no.” She holds on to me more tightly. “God, no.” She takes a deep breath and coughs.
“Are you okay? Do you want some water?” I whisper.
She shakes her head. “Stella, listen to me.” She’s breathing harder now. “You have to get out of here, okay?”
I wipe my cheek. “What?”
“Out of Chicago. Leave, and don’t come back. Mom and I…” Her chest rises and falls quickly. “We’re fucking toxic. You have to get away from us.”
“No,” I immediately say. “I’m not leaving you with her.”
She laughs. It takes forever for her to get out the words, “I’m too far gone. I can’t leave. I have to stay. He needs me. So, you do me a favor, and you run for the both of us.”
“Who needs you?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just go.”
I bury my head into her. “Let’s go together.”
“I want you to get the hell out of here.”
“No,” I protest. “No, I’m not doing anything—”
Suddenly, her strength is back, and she lifts my torso with her hands. Her voice is loud now, forceful and angry, as she says, “Oh my God, Stella! Get the fuck away from me. Do you understand? You get away. Youget away—”
“She’ll find me.”
“No,” Amy says decisively. “She won’t look.”
She’s right, I realize. My mother wouldn’t look for me.
Amy locks her stare on me. “I’ll make sure.”
For the first time in five years, my sister is showing me that she loves me.
“Go find your good, Stella.”
I freeze and look into her eyes, now glowing in the moonlight streaming in through the window. Her words are Sam Bishop’s words, and I can hardly breathe.
“What did you say?”
She abruptly turns from me and throws her arm over her face. “You and I are done. Break free from us. This family is cursed.” In a minute, the sound of her sleep fills the room.
I back away from the bed and tiptoe toward the door, just an inch at a time at first. Then, the thought that my mother might show up throws me into action. I don’t want to see her ever again.
I turn, and I run.
I am going to save myself.
