“I have to get to the hospital,” I say frantically.
“Quinn, baby, look at me.”
I don’t, I throw open my drawers and start pulling out something clean to wear.
“Quinn!”
He takes my hand and I spin around, tears pouring down my cheeks. Tazen’s face is soft as he steps forward and takes me into his arms. “It’s all right, he’s going to be fine. We got here in time, and he’s going to be okay.”
“It’s all my fault,” I cry. “I shouldn’t have gone away for a night. I left him. It’s my fault.”
Tazen flinches.
“Quinn, he’s your parent. You’re not his.”
“I’m all he has,” I yell, pushing out of his arms.
“Quinn…”
“Take me to the hospital, Tazen,” I say, my voice numb. “Take me … please?”
He sighs. “Yeah, come on.”
I walk out to his car, not even noticing the distance to get to it.
I left him alone. I left him and he could have died.
This is all my fault.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
We’re at the hospital for the entire day as they pump Dad’s stomach. Then Tazen takes us home. He wants to stay, but I just need time to process. I tell him I’ll call him and he doesn’t argue. He just kisses me softly and tells me he’ll call. This isn’t his fault, but I can’t focus on anything else right now. I get Dad into his bed. Then I find a spot on the lounge and just sit, staring at nothing, too scared to sleep in case he gets sick again.
I’m tired of living this life, tired of being unable to feel okay or free because of my father and his alcoholic ways. It’s hurting me and it’s hurting him. I’m drowning in guilt, but I’m afraid to leave him to his own devices because he’ll end up dead. A part of me has had enough. I just want to get up and leave. I don’t want to be his caretaker for the rest of my life. I know he needs help, but I don’t know how to get him to accept help. For years I’ve begged and pleaded with him about it, but it’s done no good. He has to choose sobriety for himself, and until he does, all my arguments mean nothing to him.
It seems like there’s just no way out.
I close my eyes and start sinking into an exhausted sleep, when I hear the crashing sounds coming from my father’s room. I push to my feet quickly and rush towards it, only to see him throwing things around. He stops after a minute and clutches his head, then he starts destroying his room again.
“Dad,” I yell, rushing in. “What are you doing?”
He spins to me and his eyes are bloodshot. “My head is pounding. Where’s my alcohol, Quinn?”
“Dad, you nearly died today.”
He glares at me. “I was fine. Where’s my alcohol?”
My heart falls to pieces. “I got rid of it. You have to stop this.”
“That’s not up to you to decide,” he roars so loudly I flinch.
I take a weary step back as he spins and starts kicking things over again. He drops to his knees near his bedside table and jerks the drawer out. Then he reaches in and pulls out a bottle of whiskey that had been hidden there.
“Dad,” I say, coming closer. “You need to stop.”
He unscrews it with shaky, desperate hands. Then he tips his head back and starts swallowing it. My heart cracks wide open now, and pain lashes my body.
“Dad!” I cry, rushing towards him.
He spins on me, glaring. “Don’t you tell me what to do, Quinn. This is my house, understand?”
“No,” I yell. “This is our house. What you’re doing is dangerous and you’re going to kill yourself.”
“Stop telling me what to fucking do!” he roars.
Fear fills my veins. I’ve never seen him like this before. Never. He’s scaring me. I take a hesitant step forward.
“Dad, please, give me the bottle.”
“Will you just get the fuck out?” he barks.
“Dad, you have to stop this. Now.”
His eyes point daggers in my direction. “Who died and made you my fucking mother?”
That hurts. My mom died and made me his fucking mother, because he refuses to take care of himself.
“Mom died,” I whisper. “And instead of taking care of me the way you should, you turned to the bottle. I’m tired of it, Dad. I don’t want to have to do this.”
“Then don’t,” he barks, standing straighter and glaring at me. “Move out, Quinn. I don’t fucking care if you’re not here.”
Ouch, that hurts like hell. It hurts so bad a pained noise is ripped from my throat.
“You’d die without me here,” I whisper because my voice is too shaky to work.
He snorts and laughs loudly. “You’re so sure of that, then get out.”
I shake my head, blinking back my tears. “We’ll talk about this when you’re not so angry. Give me the bottle and get some sleep.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” he roars again. He’s never yelled at me like this before.
“Dad,” I try again. “You need to put that bottle down and go to bed.”
“Fuck you, Quinn.”
“Dad,” I say, stepping forward. “You’re done for the night.”
He spins and snarls at me, “No, I’m not.”
“You are!”
Before I know what’s happening he’s raising his arm and roaring, “No, I’m fucking not. Get off my back!”
Then he launches the bottle across the room at me. I don’t have time to duck and it hits me in the temple. I cry out in pain and stumble backwards as it smashes all over the floor. Whiskey sprays up my body and blood trickles down my head. I stumble a few steps and then a burning pain shoots through my foot and I scream. I glance down to see blood gushing out onto the carpet. I stepped on the bottle.
I manage to pull myself away from the glass, but my heart is tearing into a thousand tiny pieces. I look up with tears running down my face at my father who is still panting with rage. He has no remorse over what he’s done; he’s so far gone he doesn’t even realize he’s hurt me. He doesn’t care. Something explodes in my chest, a pain I’ve not felt before in my life.
Pure devastation.
I know I have to get out of there, and I have to do it now. I hop out of the room, towards the front door. Trying to keep it together. Dad growls something at me, but I don’t hear what it is. I have to go. I can’t be near him. He … frightened me. Pain, fear and hurt mix in my chest and I can feel the panic rising. I manage to get myself into my car, and drive into the next street over before I pull over and let it all go.
I cry.
I cry so hard my body shakes and silent sobs rip from my throat because I am too far gone for them to have a sound.
My dad tried to hurt me. He was … violent.
I’ve never been so afraid in my life, never felt such hurt. I clutch the steering wheel and let it all out. It pours from me in waves, exploding from my body like an eruption of agony. When I manage to pull back the tears enough to think, I realize I don’t really have anywhere to go. If I show up like this to Lenny or Oscar, they will lose it. Jace won’t know how to deal with me like this. That leaves only one more person I trust. Tazen.