Page 70 of Don't Let Me Break
“What?” I sit up, and my hair falls over one shoulder. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“I don’t care. It’s for your safety,” he argues, standing up and searching for his clothes.
“Seriously, Mack. I’ll be fine.”
Slipping a dark T-shirt over his head, he demands, “What happens if you miss a pill?”
“I––” I pause and clear my throat as his head pops out through the hole in his shirt, and he gives me a pointed stare, daring me to lie to him.
“For one pill?” I clarify. “Probably nothing.”
“And possibly something?” he surmises.
“I don’t––”
“Kate.”
“Fine. Yes. Possibly something. But like I said, it's almost two in the morning, and I don’t want to be a burden or let my condition ruin someone else’s rest for once. Why don’t we go back to sleep and grab it in the morning?”
“I’m not gonna put your health at risk, Kate.”
“My health is fine.”
“Your health will be fine once we grab your medicine at home. Come on. The weather’s calmed down, anyway.” My phone buzzes again, and he adds, “And don’t ignore your mom. She only wants to know you’re okay.”
Annoyed, I answer the call, bringing the phone to my ear. “Hey, Mom.”
“Honey, are you okay?” she rushes out, her voice cracking. My head hangs as I realize she’s been crying. “You haven’t been answering my texts or my calls, I thought––”
“I’m fine,” I interrupt.
Releasing a shaky breath, she whispers, “Are you sure? Your dad and I have been worried sick. Did something happen?”
“Nothing happened,” I mutter, hating how cold I sound. How detached. “I just forgot to text you back. I’m sorry.”
“Well, where are you? Your GPS says you’re out in the mountains somewhere? What are you doing away from home in the middle of the night?”
“You’re tracking me?” I shove my hair away from my face, fuming. “Seriously?”
“You weren’t answering my texts, baby. We thought something might’ve happened––”
“Do you have any idea how crazy you sound?” I snap. But it isn’t fair. I’m not mad at her. I’m mad at myself. I can’t believe this is happening. I’m so embarrassed it’s not even funny. Why does this have to happen to me?
“You’re right,” my mom replies, her tone soft and laced with regret. “I am crazy and overprotective and overbearing, and I’m sorry, but––”
“No buts, okay?” I pause and let out a deep, long breath as I search for patience. “I’m fine. I promise. I fell asleep at a friend’s house, but he’s driving me home now so I can get my meds. Okay?”
She sighs. And I hate the defeat in it. The heaviness. The disappointment.
“Look, I’m sorry,” I start. The familiar weight of guilt settles on my shoulders.
“Don’t apologize, baby. You have nothing to be sorry about. Thank you for picking up the phone, for filling me in, and for going to get your medicine. I’m sorry for tracking you. I know how much you hate it. I…”
She insisted I share my location when I first moved away and promised to only use it in case of emergencies. And I agreed, knowing it was probably a good option no matter how childish it made me feel. But I get it. The need to know I’m okay. The need to know where I am when I’m not answering my phone in the middle of the night. I shouldn’t have snapped at her. I was being unfair.
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “I understand.”
“We love you, baby,” Dad chimes in.