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“Leave me alone!” I roared, only to end on a whine.

The door flew open and heavy steps halted a few paces into the room.

“Honey, are you okay?” Dad asked.

I moaned, unable to lift my throbbing head from the pillow.

My mouth began to water, and the room tilted and spun. There was no time for warning, it was all I could do to heft myself over the edge of the bed before the body-wrecking nausea and gagging began.

Migraines.

I hated them, and yet, I had suffered them since middle school.

“Oh, okay. Alright. Uhm…” I could have sworn I heard him softly curse, as he wildly looked around the room.

It was as adorable as it was heartbreaking. When things went to shit, he still looked for Mom. She was his rock, and the source of all wisdom where their children’s health matters were concerned.

“Wh–? What do you need me to do, Kenny?”

I gripped the sheet, my eyes clenched shut while I shook.

“Is there medicine? Where is the medicine?”

I tried to shake my head, and it was my undoing.

Thankfully, there was nothing in my belly to bring up. My body, however, slid right off the edge of the bed. Dad crudely pinned me between his hip and the mattress and held my hair out of the way.

“Hospital,” I meekly managed, while clinging to him.

He helped me into a seated position. It seemed impossible, and I was more than aware I’d broken a nail gripping at the sheet.

“Alright, let go and I’ll get you down the stairs.” He attempted to negotiate, but I felt like I’d fall off the face of the earth if I loosened my grip on that damn linen.

All I could do was groan while everything spun, and eventually went black.

I awoke to the distant sound of a soft, but persistent beep that sounded every five seconds or so. In the fog, I felt my mother’s soft, warm palm against my own while my father and brother whispered in the distance.

“What is this? Why don’t she have medication? Your mom used to bring her up here every other month for this shit. I– I don’t understand. If you know your patient has a debilitating condition, why wouldn’t you send medication home with her?

“She usually caught it before she had to be here. Mom would just take her to an urgent care place.”

“Yeah, but still. Why does she even need to do that? Why make her seek an emergency room or urgent care every time it comes on? Why don’t they prescribe her something?”

My father’s voice slowly grew more solid. The hand in mine suddenly had weight, and realness.

My eyes flew open as reality and my perception of it harshly collided.

My mother was gone.

I blinked, bringing Roach into focus, just as my brother answered my father, “Because of us, Dad. They won’t prescribe her narcotics or migraine medication because she’s your daughter, and my sister.”

“Where am I?” the question flew out of my mouth, even though the answer was obvious.

“You’re okay,” Dad reassured, dropping his conversation so he could rush to my side.

His heavy hand brushed the hair from my face and simultaneously led my head back to the pillow.

“You just rest.” He nodded, encouraging his suggestion.