Chapter 1
The fluorescent lights buzzed too loud over the bay. Everything was pale blue walls and vertical blinds and that white bed sheet stuck to the back of my legs, and my dad was already leaning in over me shouting so hard the veins showed in his neck. I couldn't sit up straight. Both my hands were locked around my stomach and I was crying without sound at first, then with sound, and he just kept shouting over it like I wasn't even hurt.
My mom was half in front of me, her green sleeve in my sight line, trying to block him without touching me. The IV pole next to the bed swayed a little whenever anyone moved. The pillow behind my head was still white and flat. He was at his worst right there, face twisted, his blue polo tight across his shoulders, breathing fast and loud like he couldn't hear anything but himself.
My name is Maya and I was sixteen on that bed.
He had the clear cup in his hand. I didn't see where he'd gotten it. One second he was yelling, the next his arm in that blue sleeve swung back and then forward. I watched the water lift out of it in an arc. It wasn't a lot of water, it was just a cup from the tray table, but it came fast. It hit the pillow right behind my shoulders and splashed across the white case and onto the sheet. Cold drops hit the back of my neck and my hair.
I jerked forward and curled harder, both arms pressing into my abdomen. The pain spiked and my knees pulled up a little even though the bed rail was there. I could see my own knuckles white where I was holding myself, my red t-shirt rucked up. The wet spot spread on the pillow, dark against the white, and the cup was empty in his hand. He didn't look at the water. He looked at me like I'd done something wrong by flinching.
He said, "Shut her up right now, you stupid bitch."
My mom stepped in closer, hands up just a little, not touching him yet. She said, "Don't you dare touch her."
I couldn't get air right. I was shaking and the cramp in my lower belly was coming in waves. I tried to say it plain, not loud. I said, "It's tearing me apart."
He pointed at me with the empty cup and then at my mom. He said, "I said shut up."
Someone down the bay — I thought it was my mom again, her voice cracking — said, "Get out of here."
He didn't get out. He dropped the cup onto the tray and grabbed my mom by both her upper arms. His fingers dug into the green sleeves of her top. She leaned back and tried to twist out but he held on, pulling her toward him between the bed and the monitor stand. I could see her brown boots slide a half step on the floor. The IV bag above me trembled. I was still on the wet pillow, still clutching my stomach, and I could hear my own breathing now, short and wet.
He leaned in close to her face and then turned his head sharp toward the entrance of the bay. Two figures in white coats had stopped in the hallway outside. They weren't running yet. They were just turning. One of them had a clipboard, the other had his hand going up like he'd seen what was happening and was about to call out or push the curtain open wider.
May you like
My dad's grip on my mom tightened. He looked over his shoulder at them and said, "You'll pay for this."
The curtain was still half drawn. The wet pillow was cold against my back. My mom's hands were up against his wrists and the white coats were ten feet away, coming into focus, about to step in, and nobody had moved yet.
