"What is wrong with you, Dawn?" Mom paces back and forth. I swear she's leaving smoke volutes on her way. They lift from the wooden planks and billow around her frame. I don't even know what she is saying. It's a swirl of fury and fear and disappointment.

It's Monday afternoon, and I'm not sure if there was a Sunday in-between my last outing with River, my failed attempt at goodbye and this moment. Where did time go? Where have I been? I'm not even sure if I went to class today. Guess not, by the looks of my muddy boots. Was I by Elsie's lake? Was River with me? What's going on?

Dad's rambles have become a constant background noise in my head. He goes on and on about his death and how he should've told me his chest hurt so bad he could barely breathe sometimes. Mom drones on too. I try talking to my father, but he won't tell me what to say or how to act. River has texted me endlessly, but everytime I think about answering, I chicken out. Nothing makes sense.

"Are you even listening, Dawn?" Mom throws her hands into the air, her frustration adding to the emotions pouring off her.

"I am, Mom. Just let me—"

"How could you cut classes and run off with River like that? The school called, and I met with the Principal today. You've been missing school from day one," she growls and I flinch.

She's grown the size of the entire room. I feel tiny in comparison.

"You are in so much shit right now, do you understand me?" When she snorts, the air coming out of her nose burns my skin.

I do understand. I am in such shit. I've been in shit for longer than I can explain. It started when I was a baby, already bringing so much shit under my bundle. It all began when you pushed me out of your vagina, Mom. When I mutated into this undead zombie and made you so sad, you had to pack our bags and move elsewhere. When I made everyone around me uncomfortable because of the shitty mess that I am and Dad worried I might hate him because he was sick. I know because he won't shut up about it.

My gaze turns to my left side, past the turquoise strandmon wing chair and its footstool, where Mom stands—sadness oozing out of her eyes. Her skin is so pale it's almost see-through.

"What have you just said? That your dad has told you what?" Her expressionless gaze haunts me. She runs both hands through her hair, pulling a bit at the base of her scalp. "Dawn, what does this mean?"

Wait... did I say that aloud? Have I gone too far and told Mom about my talks with Dad?

Mom looks apoplectic, like she's been sucking on an exhaust pipe. Her lips pinched, her face ashen. My insides rattle. Have I also mentioned Dad's voice turning hazy and disappearing? Or about my whirlwind, or the blankness that is waiting to slide in? I'm not ready for her to know... I've been pretending to be all put together. A normal teen, walking, messaging, going on bike rides. Lying. Covering the fact that I miss my dad so much my bones burn. Has she known all this time how slippery things can be for me?

"So, are you just going to stand there, Dawn?" She huffs. "What is this all about? What about school and your education? When were you going to tell me about these runaway incidents, huh? Why didn't you tell me you've heard Dad all this time?"

I open my mouth to answer, but how do you answer five different questions at the same time?

One, I cannot move because your anger has made you grow so big you are taking up all the space, and so I've shrunk to the size of a whisper.

Two, it's about Dad, Mom. I need to find my way back to him again. Make him forgive me for falling for a watery boy and almost forgetting everything else. I think he might be upset because I have a bag of feelings for a boy that keeps me rooted and away from his voice. He's everywhere but here with me.

Three, there are people in there that hurt me so deep it's hard to breathe. So, I've almost completed my transition to a fern so no-one can harm me anymore. Humans need plants and photosynthesis. Dad thought I was a bee, but I'm not. I cannot be one. I don't get to have wings. Not anymore.

Four, someday? Maybe not. Maybe never, if that meant listening to Dad's voice again.

Five, I wasn't going to tell you. You liked the lie so much better, Mom.

"I can't believe you just said these things, Dawn. It's like I don't know my daughter anymore." She's crying now, her shoulders tremble and tears won't stop falling with deafening thuds—they leave tiny stains on the wooden planks.

No! I didn't speak those words, not to Mom, did I? Impossible. I'd know, right?

I stare at Mom with my mouth open, and I guess I look like I've suffered a blow to the head because she sighs.

"Dawn, we need to see a doctor. A specialist. You are not making any sense. We need to get you better."

This is such an out of the blue statement. Did Mom not see how I was in fact better? Have we not gone to our weekly sessions with the psychiatrist and has she not said she saw progress? Have I not been getting my wayward life back on track?

Look at me—up and about, going out on bike rides, doing things in the world. What the hell?

"Oh," I say, "so you've changed your mind, Mom? In your oh-so-expert opinion, I'm not healed enough for you?" I know my sarcasm cuts her like a knife, but I wasn't ready for all this. I'm not ready.

"Shit, Dawn! You've lost all sense of purpose, heading off to who knows where with a kid I just met. And who is paying for your education while you throw it away? Huh? Who is paying for the meds you didn't take while you are out on that bike? Me, that's who. I don't have all the money in the world, you know? There's three of you to provide for in case you forgot. You are not supposed to be wasting time, you're supposed to be studying. Making something out of yourself. You are not supposed—"

"What? What exactly am I not supposed to do, Mom? Not fall apart? Not want to die? Too late. Dad made sure of it by leaving us behind. And you did too, for not understanding how fucking painful this has been for me since he left. Maybe if you'd taken better care of him—being a fucking doctor and all—maybe he'd still be around. Hell, maybe he was screaming for help and you just pretended not to see it. Just like you don't see me."

Mom looks like someone has kicked the breath out of her. She raises her hand, quick, like a hummingbird's fluttering wings. It looks like she is going to hit me and even though she has never done it, not once in all my life, I step back and into Clover's tail making her yelp. Mom sobs.

I want to say I'm sorry, I do. I want to reverse time. But it's too late, and I'm so stupid—time only goes forward. Time is an arsehole that way. You can't undo anything, ever.

She lowers her hand, takes the world's most ragged breath, and walks out of my room. Tommy and Bree are in a sleepover, so she doesn't need to be around. I hear her grabbing the keys. They jangle. The front door thuds shut and hollow footsteps echo off the porch. The car's door is gentler but forgotten when the engine roars to life. It's grumbling about my behavior, my words, and what harm I've inflicted. I don't need to hear it fading to know it hasn't stopped castigating me.

I hear her walking out of the house and getting into the car. I listen to the noises the engine makes as she drives away. They sing together with her loud sobs, the saddest song in the world.

My throat thickens, my chest tightens. I'm not myself anymore. I'm so pulled out from my normal self it's hilarious to think I was ever me over these past few days. Only a different Dawn would make the woman who gave life to her, fed her, watered her, and held her after her father died, cry.

Only a monster would do that. I let out a sick laugh as I try not to fall apart. My body is not even the same body I had when I was born. We alter completely, constantly. Our cells die and are replaced, every day, week, decade. Our organs, our skins, and bodies are not the same. This means the Dawn that popped out seventeen years ago, the one that had made Mom and Dad proud, has ceased to exist hundreds of times since birth. All but my cerebral cortex, the keeper of the keys to me. If only I knew who that was...

The silent house is deafening. I could wait for her to come back, but she might not want to anytime soon. So, I grab my phone and head out into the street. No idea where I'm going, don't care anymore. I'm not even looking, my gaze fixed on the screen and the selfies I keep flicking.

As I stumble my way farther from my house, the world seems mad at me too. The trees say, "Good riddance, slut." Their branches slap my face as I pick up my pace.

"Such a fuck up after all," a cloud whispers to another as they block the sun from me, and erases my shadow.

It's so easy, isn't it? For everything to change. On/Off. Love/Hate. Alive/Dead.

What did I do? What didn't I do? I didn't speak the way I was supposed to, right, Lorna?

I didn't walk the way I was supposed to either, right, Michaela?

I should've covered my disgusting fat ass when I bent down that afternoon... sorry, Thaddeus.

I guess I couldn't become smaller, more agreeable... The thoughts come sauntering as the images of River and me slide in front of my vision time after time in an eternal, scarring loop.

My darkness at full brightness now. It's been waiting in the wings of my demons all this time.

You know, Dawn, you could just leave.

Join your dead Daddy.

All you have to do is stop.

Or swallow. Or cut. Or step.

Come on, Dawn, no one will miss you if you go.

Can't you see how sick you've made your mother?

She can't stand you either.

And once your ex-boyfriend knows the truth, he'll be sickened by it. By you.

One moment, a street. The next, the land slips off from beneath my feet as I'm struck by a white van. A mess of falling limbs and distortion.

Before my mind goes dark, I ride my whirlwind and see a ragged doll sprawled in the middle of an empty street. Her tangled, auburn hair tainted crimson, her eyes glazed and elsewhere. A broken arm, a shattered wrist, her ribs on the ground. She lies on corrugated iron as she howls and shakes.

Her mouth opens. A mourning dove is there too. It picks up pebbles and maggots and puts them in... She wants to escape, fly up into the trees and onto the roof, into the sky and up to the sun.

She is me, and it makes sense to see the driver of the van with his knees up against his chest. His screams startle the dove. Snot dribbles out of his nose as he dials 911.

Then I see my phone with its cracked screen and River's smile floating beside me. Eyes wide and blue.

I want to say, "I never meant to say goodbye," but all that comes out is a red, foamy gargle.

"I can't help you, Dawn. Not while he is in your heart." Dad's echo breaks havoc inside my head.

Dad? Am I dying? Is this how I find you again?

Daddy? Why didn't you tell me it would hurt this much?

I can't hear him now.

He has no sound at all.

I listen to the noise his mouth makes while moving, but not a single sound. Only static, and I'm so sad I can't breathe.

Dad, you didn't warn me.

You said you'd always be here for me.

That was a lie...

You lied to me.

Dad?

This is a lie.

Dad?

I gave him up. You wanted that.

He was important to me too...

Yet, you never came back.

Dad?

All this time—I thought what we had was better.

Daddy?

Why won't you talk to me anymore?

This is not better.

Dad?

Is this happening?

Is it?

Daddy?

Can you hear me?

Dad?

Is this dying?

Daddy?

Is this how it ends?

Dad?

Is this when I join you?

Daddy?

Is it?

Is it this better ?

Dad?

Is this better now that I'm dying?

Is it?