I’m sneaking Dad’s laptop into my bedroom, shutting the door behind me with my foot since this thing weighs at least twenty-something pounds.
I put it on my bed and settle against my pillows, the computer balanced in my lap.
The computer’s already running, so all I have to do is enter the password. I type CHRISTINE with my eyes closed.
Once I’m in, I open an internet browser, my fingers guiding me to his email folder.
After sifting through his mind-numbing work messages, I find a folder labelled FIND ME LOVE. I hold my breath [one, two, three,] as I open it.
Within seconds, all his correspondences with Looking for Mr. Right are displayed.
With my heart pounding in my ears, I open the first one – the most recent.
To: Looking for Mr. Right
From: Fish in the Sea
Subject: Hello
Dear LFMR,
I bet you’re dying for more, aren’t ‘cha? Well, well, you tiger… you’ll just have to wait! I’m currently away on… business.
I miss you already.
WITH LOVE,
Fish in the Sea <3
Oddly enough, my father didn’t reply. From somewhere else in the house, I hear heavy footsteps so I quickly stash the computer under my bed.
Someone twists my doorknob – it’s Dad. He walks into my room before I can speak and sits on my bed.
“Emily, we need to talk.” He says.
My heart skips a beat. Oh, damn.
“Um, it’s… I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry!” I blab. “I was…”
“What’re you talking about?” he asks.
I redden. “Ah, never mind… it’s nothing.”
“Anyway…” he shrugs. “I got a call from your counsellor earlier today.”
I freeze.
“And well… he, and myself, think that you should maybe look into some other… treatment options.”
“Other treatment options…” I say slowly, the words tasting funny in my mouth.
“Yes, honey.” He replies, talking slower than I did, “we feel that it will help you.”
I glare. “Ugh! Give it a rest already!”
He frowns. “But Emily… we are only trying to help you.”
“Well, stop,” I spit. “I’m fine. I really don’t need any help.”
“Well then, Emily… What’s that?” He points to my arm.
Oh god, he sees the cuts, and the red, and the pain.
“Explanations are helpful.” He says.
“It’s um… nothing. It’s just, I was…” I fumble for words.
“No, nothing!” he snaps. “Emily, you are getting help. I’m sending you to see a trained, professional psychologist.”
“Stop it!” I cry. “You’re only getting on with this bullshit because you couldn’t save mom. You regret it every day, and you wish I wasn’t such a failure, and that I could’ve done something.”
“Emily!” he snaps.
“It’s true, and you know.” I whisper, before slipping out of the room.
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“So… Mr. Byrne, what do you suggest?”
My father and I are sitting across from Mr. Byrne. My father actually went through with the whole counsellor-student-parent thing.
I frown, and cross my arms over my chest. Mr. Byrne drums his heavy fingers against his desk.
“Well, Mr. Harrington… I can only recommend so much for any particular student,” He says. “But, in Emily’s case, I could overview a psychiatric evaluation and see where it goes from there.”
My mouth hits my shoes. They want me to suffer through a freaking evaluation? I’m not that crazy, am I?
“Don’t I have a say in this?” I pipe up.
“Shush, Emily, dear. I’m trying to figure this out.” Dad hushes me.
Clearly, I don’t have a say in this.
“I really think it’d help.” Mr. Byrne mentions, again.
“Well, I may send her in.” Dad muses. “It could help…”
“I can call and schedule an appointment for you.” Mr. Byrne says.
Dad smiles, and speaks. “Yes, that’d be wonderful.”
I bite my lip so hard that it bleeds. I taste like metal. I need to sit down to process all this.
“I’ll contact you with the information,” Mr. Byrne reaches across his desk and grasps my father’s hand. I notice a golden ring glinting off his third finger.
Just like that. I’ve been sentenced without as much as a whisper.
