Page 5 of Lillian

“Yes… the Wilkinson Institute was much more affordable,” my mother agrees, playing along with his manipulations.

This is why I—for the most part—do what they want. I tug as far as I can on that leash, and they let me, but when I go too far, they pull their trump card.

My fourteen-year-old sister Rebecca is undiagnosed bipolar. Last year, she tried to kill herself during one of her low episodes. After the incident, they tried locking her away in some cold, clinical mental institute. I was able to convince them to send her to a much nicer ranch-style therapeutic center for teens.

They did so, but now anytime they need me to fall in line, they threaten to pull her from it and drop her in the Wilkinson Institute which is known for its abusive staff. I talk to Becca at least three times a week. So I know how much she loves it on the ranch.

Since she’s under eighteen, I have no say. And I’d do anything for my sister. Even…

“Fine,” I grit out through clenched teeth. “It’s over, I’ll end it. Now get the fuck out of my house.”

The demand doesn’t even phase them because they know they’ve won. Smarmy smiles on their faces; they walk past me to leave.

“One day, you’ll thank us for this,” Gwen grins at me and then heads out the door.

Jack, a hand on the knob and one foot outside the door frame, leaves me with one parting jab. “I’ll be sure to give your sister a call this evening. She’ll be so happy to hear she gets to stay on the ranch.”

He and I both know no such call is being made. For the most part, our parents pretend she doesn’t exist. They make one obligatory visit every week or two weeks so they still seem like devoted parents on the outside. Other than that, they pretty much go no contact. Becca will never know the sacrifices I make for her. Not that I’d tell her because I would sooner jump off abridge than have her feel like she was ever a nuisance, and not from Gwen or Jack either because they couldn’t be bothered.

The door slams shut behind Jack, leaving me alone with my thoughts—thoughts that have a heavy feeling building in my gut.

Because tomorrow, I have to end things with the woman I love to keep my sister safe.

Lincoln

Can we talk?

Three words…and not the three I’ve been waiting to hear for the past twenty-four hours.

Three words and my heart sinks into my stomach. Never in the history of mankind have those words meant anything good. I’m not sure what the hell happened with his parents after I left yesterday, but everything in me says whatever it was, it’s about to be the end of our relationship.

Me

Sure. Now?

Three dots appear at the bottom of the screen. Stop. Ten seconds go by. Seconds that feel like minutes before three dots appear again and then:

Lincoln

Yeah. My place?

Not a single emoji. No sarcastic or humorous remarks. Our usually flirty banter is completely absent.

Shit.

It’s definitely not good news.

Tears start to build in my eyes, so I look up and blink rapidly to dry them before they have a chance to fall. Then respond.

Me

Be there in thirty.

He reads it and doesn’t respond.

Shit.

I pull into his driveway exactly twenty-nine minutes later, put the car in park, shut it off, and wipe sweaty palms on my jeans while trying to calm my racing heart. Lincoln must hear me pull up because the garage door starts to open, so I step out of my car and walk toward it.

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