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feel good, but it'd be a placebo.
    I must stand here, alone but strong.
    I raise my chin and I try to communicate all of this with a look.
    Mom doesn't get it.
    “Claire, you'd better learn to stop pushing people away or you're going to end up dead!” This is her pain talking now, just like In-between Claire is mine. Mom doesn't mean it, not really, but she's scared. And I'm vulnerable and volatile both. We've just become a toxic combination.
    I just stare at her, watch her face turn red with a swirl of emotion.
    “Get the fuck out.”
    “Don't you dare speak to me that way,” she says, voice low, like I've never heard before. She's so afraid of losing me that she's lashing out. I wish I could just hug her and make up, but that's not a place I'm at in my life right now. How am I supposed to make up with other people when I can't even make up with myself?
    I lick my dry, chapped lips, and squeeze my fists so tight that my nails cut into the skin on my palms. There's a horrible horde of mean, cruel things I'd like to say to my mother in that moment – how much I hate her, how she doesn't even love me, how fat and disgusting she is. But I don't need lies to hurt her when I have the worst thing of all: the truth.
    “When I get out of Crescent Springs,” I begin as she continues to stare at me like she doesn't even know me at all. “Don't bother coming to pick me up.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “I said don't bother coming to get me. I've already arranged a ride.”
    My mother blinks, nice and slow, trying to reign herself in but failing.
    “Emmett?” I smile. I don't mean to, but the pain is still there making me do things I don't want to do. I hope there'll come a time soon, very soon, that I can rid myself of it forever.
    “Yeah, actually. We discussed it when he came to visit yesterday.” My mom remains still for a moment and then starts to turn away. I follow after her and pause with my head poking out the bathroom door.
    “I won't have that boy anywhere near my home,” she says, reaching for the door to the hallway, like our discussion is over. Period. End of sentence.
    “Fine,” I say and I really, really don't like the cruelty that laces my voice. “I didn't plan on it anyway. After I get out of Crescent Springs, I'm moving back in with Emmett.”
    My mom turns around, mouth open to speak, but I slam the door in her face and turn on the faucet, so I can't hear what it is she has to say.
    She doesn't come in after me, and when I leave the bathroom, the nurse politely informs me that my family has already gone.

I don't want to go to this clinic. It's a waste of my time, and it's pointless – I'm going there for suicide, not anorexia. Thing is, I didn't try to kill myself. I didn't. I wouldn't have. I just tripped while chasing a dream.
    Nobody cares to hear the truth though, not my family or Dr. Banerjee or Donald. Since the minute I woke up, they've all been preaching honesty and yet, refuse to listen. So I let the nurse's assistant escort me out to a white van and strap me in the back seat like I'm a small child, leaving me with nothing to do. What a brilliant idea. If I really was suicidal, I'd have strangled myself to death with the seatbelt. Being left alone for three hours with your thoughts is not a pleasant experience.
    I beg the heavens for a magazine, something shiny and glossy and new. Something with beautiful pictures. I could use a little beautiful in my life right now. Instead, we drive the winding, country road with nineties music trickling out from the front speakers. The side of the van says this is hospital transport, but I'm the only passenger. Just me, the driver, and a male nurse. And not even an attractive one.
    I sigh and slump against the window, letting my eyes flicker closed, trying my best to cook up another scenario like I did in the bathroom. Unfortunately, my mind decides to take me down another path and forces me to relive the act of having my feeding tube removed. I start gagging