Page 27 of The Hallows Queen

My brows pull down, and I stare down at my hands in my lap. “What does that mean? More chemo? Radiation?”

“If it’s spread to the liver, it’s probably spread to other organs as well.”

I look up at her, feeling my face go hot. “I don’t know what that means, Mom, I’m not a fucking doctor!”

“Don’t you swear at me, Penelope,” she snaps back, but then she presses her lips together and takes a breath through her nose. After a moment, she speaks again. “Once the cancer has metastasized to major organs, there’s nothing else they can do but make him comfortable.”

“Make him comfortable,”I repeat, feeling like my lungs are about to burst. “That’sdoctor talkfor ‘he’s going to die,’ right?”

She sighs painfully. “We won’t know anything for sure until the test results come back. We just need to wait.”

“Justwait.” I can’t even find my own words.

My dad’s going to die. He’s going to die.

I stand up abruptly and grab my purse. “I need to get out of here.”

“Pen–” my mom starts to say, standing as well and following behind me to the door.

“No,” I cut her off, waving my hands in the air. “I can’t breathe in here. I hate the smell of this place, I hate the lights, I hate the noises – I just need to go. I need to leave. Call me later when the doctor has the results back.”

I run for my life out of his room, my mother calling behind me. Speeding the entire way down the hallway, I pound on the elevator button, desperate to get outside.

It feels like my lungs are caving in on themselves, trying to become smaller and refusing me the right to oxygen – and I want to scream. I want to stretch my hands down my throat and rip them out and force air into them. I want to claw at my skin until I bleed, just so I have something to feel except the pain of my father dying.

I stumble into the elevator the second the doors slide apart, falling against the wall as the first sob tears its way up my throat and out.

The noise of my gasps and cries echo around the small space once the doors have closed and sealed me inside by myself.

I let myself cry, letting the tears slip down my face, off my chin and onto the floor. And I yell. I yell the unintelligible sounds of grief and pain from my dropped open mouth until the elevator stops on the ground floor again.

When the elevatordings, I brush my hands across my face frantically, not wanting to show anyone in the outside world that I’m hurting. I suck down oxygen in a panic, hoping my chest slows back to normal before I have to see another human.

The doors slide open, and the sun shines in on my face from the exit doors of the hospital. I take a second to breathe again before stepping off.

I will not show weakness.

Not here– not in this place filled with so much fucking heartbreak ruining people’s lives. I won’t break down for anyone to see. I will soldier through and be strong.

I run through the lobby, out the doors, and into the sunshine in one breath, racing toward my car in need of the solace of being trapped inside a familiar space.

As I’m fumbling with my keys, I end up setting off the alarm, making myself and the old man down the lot jump. When I’ve silenced it, I manage to hit the unlock button and throw myself into the driver’s seat, then slam the door behind me. Grabbing a Marlboro from the pack in my center console, my hands shake as I put it to my lips and engulf the end in the flame from my lighter.

I don’t bother rolling down the windows, even as the humidity from my car sitting outside starts to suffocate me. I revel in it, loving the way it feels like I’m in space and underwater all at once. Until I’m burning the filter of my cigarette, I let myself become one with the hot boxed vehicle.

My hands continue to shake as I crank the engine, but my head is a little more level after the nicotine. As I roll down all four windows, the smoke barrels out in big clouds that race around the parking garage.

Once I’m breathing clean air again, I silently tell myself that my mental breakdown is finished.

I’m fine. I just need a serotonin boost.

Maybe a beer.

The clock on my dash reads 11:00 a.m., and I find it hard to believe the day is still fresh. It feels like I’ve already lived through the entire day already. I’m exhausted from my four-day-long hangover and the intense mood swings I’ve put myself through this morning.

I decide on a nap as I shift into reverse and back out of my parking spot, then head for my apartment.

Chapter7

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