Page 40 of Lethal Truths

“Yes, this is her,” I answer, and then quickly add, “How is my mom doing? Is everything alright?”

The line is quiet for what feels like an eternity. Only his heavy breath fills the space.

That’s how I know. That’s what gives it away.

“Can I speak with her?” I whisper, trying to fight the tears building in my eyes.

“Prudence, I’m sorry, your mother—“

“Please, can I just talk to her?” I blurt out, feeling the first tear slip free. “I need to hear her voice.”

“Your mother passed away sometime in the night,” he says softly, but there’s no real emotion behind the kind voice. Like he’s used to giving horrible news. “She…” he trails off with another deep sigh, before adding, “She hung herself in her room. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you. There wasn’t another family member listed in her file. Is there anyone I should call to arrange the next steps?”

All at once, the world slows to a stop. My heart skips over itself, missing every other beat. My lungs constrict, each breath smaller and more painful. Sight, sound, feeling, all of it blurs together into nothing.

“No. It was just us,” I mumble, my tongue heavy and my words tired.

I’m distantly aware of the man offering his condolences. He asks if I have a preference for where they take the body and explains the standard funeral procedure and timeline for me. He tells me that I’ll need to make some big decisions fast. That it’s just me now. That I should honor my mother’s life and then find a way to move on.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” I say, cutting off whatever else he says next. I don’t wait for him to respond, I simply hang up and let my phone slip from my fingers and fall to the floor.

I push myself to my feet, needing to walk or move or run. I just need something, I don’t know. I only make it a few steps, though. A guttural sob claws up my throat, and I collapse to my knees, curling my arms around myself. I’ve gone numb. Or I guess that’s not quite right. Because if I were numb, I wouldn’t feel so much fucking agony coursing through me. I’m choking on it, fighting for every breath I take, until it consumes me.

All that I’ve endured has been for her. The bullying, the assault, the heartbreak. I’ve forced myself to keep pushing through it all because I wanted to get some answers for my mom. That’s the only reason I ever came to this damn school. Now that she’s gone, it’s like every morsel of pain I’ve pretended not to feel over the last several months comes crashing down around me, and I couldn’t protect myself from the lashing emotions if I tried.

And I don’t want to anymore. Try, I mean.

My mom, as sick as she was, was the only person in the world that I always had. I know she loved me, in her own broken ways, and sometimes that love hurt me, too. But there was never a time when I didn’t love her right back, where I didn’t hope and wish and pray for her to get better so she could be the mother I always knew she was capable of being.

Now what?

All the work I’ve done, the trials I’ve faced, have been for nothing.

Rising on unsteady legs, I scan Creed’s room for anything that might help. My eyes snag on the orange pill bottle sitting on his desk, and my feet carry me there before I can think. Grabbing the bottle, I read the label and realize it’s the leftover pain meds from my attack on Fright Night.

That should do it. My pain is on the inside this time, but what’s the difference?

My tears are blurring my vision, and my mind is shutting down. I don’t want to feel this way anymore. Clutching the plastic in my hand, I slip from Creed’s room and head down the hall, where I can take a hot bath and let the water soothe. Drown. Whatever, as long as it fixes the mess inside my chest.

With the bathroom door locked behind me and the water running in the tub, I pop open the pill bottle with a shaky hand. How many do I take? What’s the magic number for heartbreak? There’s only a handful left, and with the way I feel, that might not even be enough.

I pour the whole bottle into my shaky palm, counting up the little white tablets. With silent tears staining my cheeks, I toss all of them into my mouth, and then turn on the tap to scoop some water into my hand to wash them down. Then I strip, removing one piece of clothing at a time while I try to remember the best moments I ever had with my mom.

There was that Disneyland trip in middle school. And movie nights out on the couch. Singing and dancing in the mirror. Trips to the mall.

We had fun. We did, despite how bad her mind got sometimes. I believe she held on tightly to her good days so she could enjoy every second of them with me.

And now I’ll never have that again.

The burn of the water doesn’t even phase me as I sink into the tub. My pale skin immediately reddens, but I pay it no attention. I just close my eyes and remember my mom until the weight of all my pain becomes too much and I sink beneath the steamy surface.

I just want to turn it all off. Just… just for a little while.

27

Griffin

Just talk to her.

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