Page 48 of Alliance

It was good once.

Before.

For a moment when we were just a family.

No mafia. No politics. No plotting.

I can’t pinpoint when it all stopped. When everything changed and I was no longer just a kid with a sister and happy parents. When did the smiling stop and the laughter end? There’s no moment when I go from being that little girl who loved her family to the one who felt betrayed and alone.

But I know I can’t be the dutiful daughter anymore.

I can’t step into a life that I know will ruin me, break me beyond repair.

And maybe I’m not brave enough.

I don’t think I believe that you only get what you can handle. I don’t think that everything happens for a reason or that the sun will rise tomorrow.

I feel like the world is burning down around me and living another day with this fear, this fucking dread, isn’t worth it at all.

I don’t believe that there’s a meaning to this, or that there is any point to being alive. I don’t serve a purpose, there’s no lesson to be learned from this.

And there’s Lily, with her hand out, begging me to follow her.

I don’t make the decision, don’t think about what this means as I stand up. My feet just move, padding over the soft carpet and toward the hallway.

It’s a sudden haze that comes over me as I go now, heading toward my parents’ room. I feel warm and lighter for once. I find my mom’s bathroom, opening her medicine cabinet and shifting the pill bottles. I land on the one I want, a bottle of klonopin. My mother isn’t above antidepressants. I take the whole bottle, bringing it back to my room.

The warmth settles over me as I sit down on my bed with the pills and a bottle of water. I don’t take them slowly, instead I tip the bottle back like it was a shot, alternating with chugs of water until I swallow every last one of the pills.

It feels dramatic.

And right.

And when I lay my head back onto my pillow, my eyes focused on my ceiling, I feel fine with the action.

Because this, all of this means nothing.

It’s not until I feel that burn on my chest, and my hand reaches for the St. Jude medal, that I remember him. My fingers trace over the gold and my world begins to recolor itself, lighting up with the hues. It’s as if for a moment I forgot about everything outside of the walls of my head. My mind was too busy imagining the worst things that were going to happen to me, spinning with tales of the misery I was soon to experience that I forgot.

But now, I see Naz in his apartment, standing over the stove, cooking the perfect grilled cheese. I imagine him in his bed, the sheet hanging barely above his hip bones. I can see that smile that rises on his cheeks when he laughs. I think of him on the rooftop patio, dark ink peeking from beneath his white t-shirt and the smile on his lips as he watches me smoke for the first time.

And I smile. Thinking of him, laughing.

That feeling, that happiness, that’s what I want.

There’s a lightness to it, as if my mind is free in those moments, no longer weighted down with the thoughts and feelings that invade me now. The chain to the anchor has snapped, releasing all the weight and letting me drift away.

I’m hazy, I realize, floating off into space right when I realize what I did.

How many pills did I swallow?

I spin on my stomach, using all the energy I have. I have to crawl to the edge of my bed, reaching for the drawer of my nightstand and the phone that sits inside it. I have to power it on and it feels like forever until I pull up his contact and press call.

When he answers, his voice is groggy; I think I woke him up.

“Naz,” I whisper, and I feel lighter, softer, as if I could just let it all drift off.

“Lana, what’s wrong?” He sounds worried.

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