“Because you won’t just let me be sad! Every time I’m sad or angry you try to fix me. “Oh, Neena is upset, she must have a fever,” she mimics me. “Oh, Neena slept an extra hour, she must be depressed.”
“I’m trying to keep you as happy and healthy as I can. I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Maybe I need to be sad, Mom.”
I step toward her, but she backs away. “The doctor gave us a prescription for antidepressants. Maybe they will help,” I offer, desperate to help her. Desperate to make her sadness and hurt go away.
“Normal people who aren’t dying have bad days. They sleep in sometimes. Maybe I just need to be sad and you just need to let me be sad and not try to fix me! I don’t need pills!”
Tears are streaming down my face. Where did this all come from? “I’m just trying . . .” I shake my head as I roll in to full-on crying. “I just hate to see you sad, baby.”
“Please, just get out of my room,” she requests, her eyes fixed on the floor.
My heart feels as if it’s just thunked to the floor. I want to hug her, somehow heal her, but it seems the more I try, the more upset she becomes. I decide it’s best to leave and give her some time to calm down. “Okay, sweetie,” I whisper with a husky voice. “I’m here, if you want to talk.” I hiccup back my sobs as I walk out and close the door behind me.
When I get home, Neena and Clara are both hiding in their rooms. Clara is curled up on her bed, balled up tissues surrounding her.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as I sit beside her and squeeze her leg.
She sniffles as she sits up and turns so she’s facing me. Her blue eyes are glossed over with tears, her nose red from rubbing. “Neena just had a breakdown, I guess.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know . . . she’s so sad and I just want to help, but she says I’m smothering her. So I’m giving her the space she asked for.” She stifles a sob. “I just want to take all of this from her, Paul. I want to be the one to carry that burden. She should be healthy and happy and living life to the fullest. She shouldn’t have to look at herself wishing she looked different for a boy,” she finishes.
“What?”
“I think that might be what spurred this,” she motioned her hand haphazardly, “her meltdown. I think she really likes Mills and he’s not interested. He could at least be her friend.”
My insides twist with anger. How dare he not like my daughter? Asshole. Of course he’s too old for her so if he would, I’d want to beat the crap out of him. But it doesn’t cost a damn thing to be friendly. Yet I’d balked at them being friendly. Shit. Mills is pretty much in a no-win situation here, when it comes to Neena. Poor guy.
“I’ll go and talk to her,” I tell her before pulling her toward me and kissing her forehead.
Clara sighs and flops back on the bed and returns to her previous position. “Good luck.”
When I knock on Neena’s door, she doesn’t answer, so I knock again. Louder this time.
“What?” she yells. My head rears back at her tone. I’ve never heard her sound so . . . annoyed.
“Uh . . . it’s Dad. Can I come in?”
“Now’s not a good time.”
“Neena, we need to talk, princess.”
“Can we talk later, Dad? I’m tired.” I thud my head against her door in frustration. I understand Clara’s anxiety. I want to fix this. What is going on with her? Something’s up. I can feel it in my gut. Is this father’s intuition? Maybe. Either way, I’m going in.
“I’m counting to three and I’m coming in,” I inform her. “One. Two. Three.” The door creaks as I open it and then my heart drops.
Blood.
There’s blood everywhere.
The floor is covered with bloody tissues and Neena is sitting on the floor, her back leaning against her bed, holding what looks like a balled up shirt that’s stain with more blood.
“Shit,” I gasp as I rush to her and drop to my knees. “What is it?” I ask, my panicked voice scaring even me. “What happened?”
She rolls her eyes. Not the reaction I was expecting. “My nose. It won’t stop bleeding.” I pull the shirt from her face for a moment to find she’s right. Her nose is gushing. “Fuck,” I breathe out. This isn’t good. My stomach is in a knot with worry, but I’m upset too. Why is she hiding in here?
“Princess . . . Why didn’t you call for your mother?”
“Because I just yelled at her,” she whimpers, her eyes welling up. “She’s mad at me.”