Waiting For This Cough Syrup To Come Down (Re-write)

Chapter Two

August 2012

I sat at the scrubbed wooden table with my hands clasped, eyes darting to her and then trailing to the wall behind her. Do I make eye contact or does that make things worse? Oh God, I've forgotten what to do in these situations.

My aunt stood at the other end; her eyes wide, face red, knuckles white.

'How can you think this is something okay to do?' she cried.

I didn't.

'Your entire family was going to the ends of the earth to get here, yet you were doing all you could to get away!'

That's not true.

'Do you even care about what happened?'

Of course I do.

A black hole formed in my gut. It seemed to suck everything I had, taking away my ability form a sentence longer than a few words without stuttering. Or even speak, for that matter.

'And what you were leaving to do ... The people you ran away with ...' She took a deep breath and held her face in her hands, looking away from me.

I felt that if I moved too much, it would make things worse. I pushed my knees together, hunched my shoulders further, gripped the ends of my sleeves in my fists, hands clasped tighter. Like if I curled into myself enough, this whole thing could be forgotten.

Finally, my aunt looked at me again, her voice steadier, but I knew it didn't mean that she was less angry.

'You're more mature than this,' she said. 'I know you're only eighteen, but you're maturer than fifty percent of this entire family, and you go and pull off a stunt like that!'

My teeth sank into my lip. My hands curled into tighter fists. Do I say something?

I opened my mouth by the tiniest fraction, but only a near-silent stutter came out.

'What is it?' Her voice was gentler this time. Actually gentle, not the type when they lure you into thinking everything's okay when it's really not and then they carry on yelling at you.

'I - I - er.' my stutters were louder now.

'I'm listening,' she said in the same tone.

What do I say? That I had a moment where I experienced upmost compassion and just had to go with Zayn Malik to stop him from doing something drastic? Did that even count as an excuse?

'He needed me,' I whispered. I realised then how redundant I sounded.

'What does that mean?' Her voice had an edge to it. 'Your family needed you.'

I wanted to tell her the truth. I just didn't know how. 'I was uncomfortable,' I said quietly. 'I didn't understand what to do next after they died, I felt like I needed ...' I sighed. 'I don-' NO. Don't say 'I don't know', that'll only make things worse. 'This guy,' I started again, 'he's a friend of Lana's. And ...' Was it okay to tell her? I felt like I had to. 'He lost family members of his own and he was so ... he was lost and depressed and he had processed it all but he was dealing with it wrong.'

'And how does that involve you?'

The stupidest questions raced through my mind. Like, would my aunt understand the concept of cutting? Of course she would, she's an older generation, not ignorant.

'He self-harmed,' I said. 'Because he felt like he neglected them.' Now that I had said it out loud, I felt like I could finally explain myself. 'I couldn't just walk away after seeing him do it.'