Before the Morning [BEING EDITED]

13 | Aspirin

Nora had ordered herself not to create her YouTube channel until the music video was done. What if her dad, or someone he knew, stumbled upon her channel? Andy or Max or Erin or Willow or even Nolan could tell someone and they could tell her dad. He went outside. He talked to people at work, and at the store. An offhand comment could be made. And he...

So, no. She wouldn't allow herself to make an account prematurely. But, here she was anyway, in bed, on her phone, finger hovering over the CREATE AN ACCOUNT button on Gmail.

Don't be an idiot. Yes, today had been a good day. She and Nolan had had fun. But, she couldn't allow herself to get caught up in this excitement. She wouldn't. But...

Footsteps clambered up the stairs. She switched off her phone and stuffed it under her blanket. She listened hard, waiting for her dad's unsteady footsteps to pass her room. Would he slam his door tonight? Would the door click softly shut? Or would he forget to close it entirely?

A door clicked, but it wasn't her dad's door. It was hers.

It was instinct: she yanked her blanket over her head and squished her eyes shut. Fear shot up her gut. What was he doing in here? He never came in here—there was too much her for him to take.

"Almost got fired today," he drawled, "thanks to you."

Her eyes popped open. What?

"I was up for a promotion before you killed her." He settled on the edge of her bed. She tensed, resisting the urge to curl up into a ball. "And now I was almost fired." He chuckled softly, a delirious sound, and hiccuped.

"You won't be happy until you've destroyed everything, will you?" he asked. "You've taken everything else. Everything of hers is gone."

Tears threatened, but she forced them back. Destroyed everything. Everything gone.

"It's too painful, don't you get it!" His roar, nine years old, echoed through her head. She'd asked where all of the pictures of her mom went.

"Oh, God." He sniffed. "What's wrong with me?"

Dad. A tear slipped down her cheek. Her heart ached. All she wanted to do was wrap her arms around him. She wanted him back.

"God, I hate this. I hate you."

She pressed her palm over her mouth. Quiet.

"I hate you."

I'm so sorry.

"I hate you for making me hate you," he whispered, his voice thick, slurred. "You were so good, Nora. You were so good. And now look at you."

An audible sob begged to escape.

Her mattress creaked as he lifted himself from her bed. Heavy footsteps crossed her room. Her door slammed shut.

She dropped her hands. Her sob broke free.

She grappled for her phone, turned it back on, and swiped out of Gmail. The light pierced her teary eyes, but she didn't care.

Maybe she wouldn't even post the video. Maybe the moment it was finished, she would throw it away. Why not? It was what she deserved.

✝

The next morning, Nora stepped into the kitchen, hands wiping at groggy eyes. When her hands fell and she took in her surroundings, she faltered.

Her dad was slumped at the table, face-down.

Her heart rammed into her chest. She sped-walked over to him and held her breath, gaze trained on his back. Move. Please—

His back lifted, constricted. Even. Strong.