My legs wobble as I walk up the sidewalk and almost trip over a boulder that definitely wasn't there this morning. I've had too much to drink. Scratch that, I've had five drinks over too much. Emily and a few of her friends dropped me off at the top of the street, trusting that I could make the few steps to my house alone.

Which I can. Obviously, I can.

Seconds later I fall into the gate. The lock crashes into my hip and I stumble back, gasping at it with wide eyes. "That wasn't very nice, Mr Gate," I mumble.

Aggressively, I boot it open with my right foot. Not a good idea on my part. My ability to stay upright on two feet went out the window over an hour ago. My head spins as the ground rushes towards me, smacking itself against my cheek.

"Ow," I groan, proceeding to burst into a fit of laughter.

Somehow, I manage to get back on my feet again and walk up the lawn with only some difficulty. The now shattered flowerpot on the porch hit me. I had nothing to do with that. My hand wraps around the door handle as I push it open. A giggle escapes my lips and I shush the silence ahead of me.

I let my bag, cradling my fake ID, slump onto the floor beside me. The collision with the wooden floorboards is louder than I expected, and I shoot a warning look at it. Narrowed eyes and quivering lips, daring it to be so inconsiderate again. I take its silence as obedience.

When silence finally settles over me, that's when I hear it. Hushed whimpers somewhere to my left. Like someone has their hands pressed against their mouth, begging the sadness to hold off for a little longer.

My brows furrow as I drag my feet towards it.

When I see my dad slumped against the kitchen cabinets with his head in his hands, all the alcohol shoots out of my system as I throw up onto the tiles. It stings my eyes but the tears that fall after aren't brought on by the bile poisoning my throat.

"Dad?" I rasp.

He finally looks at me. The shame that flashes across his flushed face tells me that he's only now noticed my presence. He rubs his hands over his face, hesitates, and then sobs louder than he had been before. Unable to hold back the pain clawing at his chest.

"Dad?" I repeat, silently begging for him to tell me that it's not true. That I'm just worrying over nothing. That she's fine. That she's in her hospital bed, sound asleep, recovering. Like he promised me she'd be.

He shakes his head with tears streaming down his cheeks. That's all it takes. My knees buckle and I collapse onto the tiles beneath me. Into my own vomit. My lungs stop working as I try to pull in breath after breath, wrapping my hands around my burning throat.

"No." I pound the floor, "no, no, no. You're lying. Dad, tell me you're lying," I beg.

He crawls over to me and hugs me, pulling my head to his chest. "I'm so sorry, honey."

"No," I repeat, continuing to whisper the word over and over again. Maybe if I say it enough, she'll come back. In some twisted way, I truly believed that. My dad rocks me back and forth as we break down in the middle of our kitchen. Again. And again. And again.

"You lied to me," I whisper, having no energy to sound mad. "You promised she'd be okay."

His hands stroke through my hair. If I could, I'd shove him away. Tell him that I hate him for lying to me. Promising meshe'd be fine if I left her side for one night. He made me believe it. But I can't. So I let him hug me until morning comes.

"I know, honey. I know."