Free The Struggle (The Things We Can't Change Book 2) by Kassandra Kush

that I have to answer to him?
    I told Dr. Gottlieb that all I wanted, the choices I made, were to defy him even though he wasn’t here, and it was true. But I didn’t tell her that every time I did it, actually went through with it, I suffered for days with guilt, with anger that I still cared what he thought, just like with the nail polish.
    And now this. Caring about hurting Tony, hurting his feelings, dishonoring him with this stupid post he will never see, when he is the one who broke me , snapped me right in half and made me—still has me believing—that I can never be put back together the same way I was before.
    I can’t do it. I can’t fucking make myself do it. Because the darkness inside me isn’t mine; it’s consumed me, Tony has brought it to the surface and he uses it to control me, even though he’s a thread away from being dead, can’t even speak or open his eyes.
    I wish I could rant and rail at him, scream at him to let me go. And then I realize… I can.
    I push up and out of my chair, almost as quickly and sharply as when I had run in there in the first place. I grab my purse and very nearly tumble down the stairs, only to be caught by my dad.
    “Hey there, sweet pea, where are you going?” he asks.
    I can’t tell him, can barely form a coherent thought because I’m so mad and yet so filled with guilt, two such opposite emotions and yet for me they’ll always run together, hand in hand.
    “I have to go do something,” I finally manage to say. “It’s, it’s important, Dad. I just need to be by myself for a little while. I’ll call you. Can we go into the office tomorrow? Please? I’m sorry, I just-”
    “It’s fine,” he says, interrupting me, an understanding look crossing his face. This isn’t the first time I’ve inexplicably felt the need to get out of the house, to just try and escape everything. My destination this time, however, is very different. Still, my dad knows that sometimes I need to run, try and run away from my problems. He usually lets me, because eventually they always catch up, and when they do, I run yet again – to him. “Go ahead. Just keep me posted.”
    “Thanks,” I breathe, and then I’m out the door and running flat out to my car.
    I don’t give a thought to nervousness as I start the car and am off down the driveway, pulling out onto Riverside Drive just a little bit too quickly. It seems to take forever to get there. I feel like I hit every red light, get stuck behind every single person who isn’t quite going the speed limit. The world seems to be fighting me, trying to keep me away. I should let it. I shouldn’t do this. But I have to. I can’t seem to stop torturing myself, know I need to do it and just face the guilt, embrace it. I also want to see if it helps. If it makes anything different.
    Finally, I’m pulling into the hospital garage and parking. I shouldn’t be here. I know that I shouldn’t, for reasons other than my emotional health, or more accurately, lack thereof. But I seem to be in a trance as I walk into the hospital, inquire for the room number and hold my breath as they look up the name and give it to me without argument.
    Then I’m slowly walking to the elevator bank, watch with detachment as my hand reaches out to hit the button for the sixth floor. Somehow, I have the presence of mind to be discreet, to check and make sure there is no one else in the room or nearby before I enter. I stand frozen in the doorway for a few long moments, battling with myself, wanting to run but knowing I’m not going to.
    My right foot suddenly lifts and is crossing the threshold, and I’m in the room. I take slow, careful steps toward the bed, until I’m standing right next to it and looking down at Tony. He’s lying still as death, but he just looks like he’s sleeping. Sleeping, as I always feel I am. I wonder if this is what I look like when I float away, if it’s some kind of mini-coma or something.
    There’s a new gauntness