Closing the door behind me, I place both hands on the counter. I bow my head, tucking my chin into my chest and trying desperately to calm my breathing. I hear Genna talking through the door, and my throat is getting tighter by the second. My legs begin to shake and my hands begin to tremble. I splash some cold water on my face, trying to bring the color back, but it does nothing. I can feel my eyes burning from holding them open, trying not to allow the tears that are begging to fall, but they fall anyway. They start in slow steady streaks, but eventually pick up, clouding my vision.

The tears come out in cries of pain and choking sobs.

The walls around me start closing in. The room begins to suffocate me, making it difficult to catch what little breath I have. The pounding in my chest grows and my breathing becomes panicked as I try to control it, but it’s useless.

The sobs breaking through feel like daggers being shoved through my heart. The pressure is so tight. Unbearable even.

I need it to stop.

I want it to stop.

Why am I the one who deserves to die? What did I do that I deserve to be punished?

“Why me?” I scream at the hazel eyes taunting me. My stomach hurts. I can feel my entire body tightening, squeezing down as if someone is trying to suck all the life out of me.

The room becomes too small.

My chest is tight.

All I feel is the pressure of a fifty-pound weight holding me down.

I can fight cancer. I know how. But this is something that will kill me.

Not if.

Not maybe.

Will.

Still looking at my reflection in the mirror, I pick up the blue and white soap dispenser on the counter and throw it at the mirror. The glass breaks into tiny pieces upon impact. Glass shatters onto the counter and floor. My face becomes distorted between the cracks. I let out a small laugh. Finally, my reflection looks like I feel.

Broken.

My small laugh turns into a cry of pain as I scream in frustration through the tears. It feels wonderful to finally let it out. Everything that has been bottled up for the last four years is finally being released. I scream again and again until my dry throat burns. There is pounding on the door and shouting from the opposite side, but I ignore it. It’s beyond liberating to get all my pain out. I cry harder, clenching my fists into my chest, trying to take the stabbing pain away.

I grab the shower curtain, yanking it until it comes loose. Throwing it to the ground, I lose my balance. My sobs become uncontrollable as I pick up the small white fiberglass trashcan and throw it against the shower wall, watching it burst into a hundred pieces.

The pounding on the door gets louder, and there are more voices screaming, “Right now!” and “Kick it in!”

I reach for the soap dispenser that is now on the tile floor. Picking it up, I slam it back into the mirror a few more times, shattering what glass is left, over and over again. My hand is red from blood, but I welcome the pain.

I sink to the floor between the tub and the toilet. I don’t care that I’m leaning against the toilet, or that I’m bleeding. The bathroom door flies open, and Genna’s arms grab my elbows, pulling me to her. I rest my head on her chest and cling to her. Fisting my hands in her shirt tightly, the blood begins to drip.

With everything I have, I clutch at her as if she is going to disappear. I let the last tears fall because after this moment I refuse to submit to them again. I will bounce back from this.

I will move on.

I will live my life.

I will survive.

“Shh,” she says over and over again, swaying us back and forth. “I’m here. Shh, it’s okay. Let it out.”

“What the f**k happened?”

I’m being pulled out of Genna’s arms into strong ones, but I don’t look up. I never thought I had this many tears in me, but I guess four years of keeping it bottled up will do that.

“Aundrea, baby, what happened?”

I don’t answer.

“I don’t know, Parker,” Genna says. “She came home twenty minutes ago and did this.”

“Your mom is sitting out in the car alone. You might want to go check on her,” I hear him say while pulling me onto his lap.

“She’s okay. She just came in and is sitting in the living room. She’s not speaking, but she’s okay. I called your dad to come back from the store.” It’s Jason who speaks.

“I’m going to go check on Mom. Jason, can you get her something for her hand? Parker, why don’t you take her in her room and lay her down?”

Parker pulls us to a standing position. Still keeping ahold of me, he reaches for a towel wets it, then cleans my hand, wiping away the blood and glass. It looks worse than it really is.

“Baby, what did you do to your beautiful hand?” He kisses my temple as he walks us across the hall to my room.

Once we’re there, he sets me on the bed as Jason comes in with some gauze and tape. “Here. Will you be okay?”

“Yeah, why don’t you give me some time with her?”

Jason closes the door, leaving us alone.

After my hand is wrapped, Parker presses for answers. “Aundrea, you have to tell me what happened. What did the doctor say? From the remodeling you did across the hall, I know it wasn’t good news.”

So I do. I tell him everything Dr. James and Dr. Olson said.

Then I tell him what I said.

He doesn’t speak right away. He soaks up all the information. Processes it.

“I understand your reasoning for saying what you did. At the time, in the moment, it seemed right. But, Aundrea, they were foolish words to speak or even think.”