

Dollhouse

By K. Weikel

Inspired by Melanie Martinez' song Dollhouse

Dollhouse

K. Weikel

Published by K. Weikel at Smashwords

Copyright © 2014 by K. Weikel

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Praise for Dollhouse

"...It's so sad. It's in its own way beautiful..."

"...This is such a truthful story because these problems actually exist and people don't talk about them much..."

"Two words: Mind. Blown."

For my parents and family.

And for everyone who is going through what is in this book.

Dollhouse
Intro

1. Doll-Syndrome

2. Secrets

3. Masks

4. Plastic

5. Crystal

6. Love

7. Family

8. Car Radio

9. John

10. Doll Face

11. Why

12. Breathing

13. This Is It

14. Headlights

Epilogue

About the Author

Other Books

Intro

My dad's a doctor. My mom runs a bakery. My brother's a superstar in high school. I'm one of the popular girls that everyone knows. We're a beautiful family. We don't argue. We don't fight. We go to church. We know everyone.

On paper, we're a perfect family living in our big perfect house with money to spend on anything we want to. But nothing is as it seems.

Nothing is ever as it seems.

My dad's cheating on my mom with a nurse. My mom has a drinking problem because she knows about his woman on the side, but can't confront him about it. My brother goes out to get high whenever he can and is starting to get bigger with his addiction, trying stronger things each time.

And none of them realize what they're doing.

I see things that nobody else sees.

1. Doll-Syndrome

"It was so nice seeing you again, Karen! You have such a wonderful family!"

My mom walks away from Karen Morgan, one of her _many_ distant friends. She's been a whole lot quieter for the last few months, and I have a feeling that it has something to do with my dad. He's been cheating on her for maybe four months now and she just found out about two months ago. She always had a problem with drinking, but it's never been _this_ bad. I think it's because she doesn't want to confront him about it in fear that she'll lose him and tear apart this family and ruin our image as perfect.

But it's just a theory.

We walk out the front doors of church and to our shiny new car. Dad just got a promotion and decided to congratulate himself with a silver Jaguar. He's a doctor. I never thought doctors could get a promotion until it happened. I don't even know what for. Might be because of his affair.

"Amabel, honey, could you do the dishes when we get home?" my mom asks with a smile. She has short blonde hair and bright blue eyes. It fits her square face so well that it makes her look _way_ younger than she is. The sea foam green suit she wears with the shiny broach makes her look professional though, completely changing your mind on the whole twenty-year-old her face suggests.

"Sure," I smile back, afraid to upset her. I don't particularly favor her when she's drinking, which is usually when my dad disappears. She can get really abusive, so I tend to leave her alone when she takes out the flask she holds in her purse.

"Aw, man, mom, _I_ was going to do them," Tobiah jokes, pushing me to the side a little bit. He's my brother. He always wears too much cologne to cover up the smell of the stuff he smokes. His muscles are huge, mostly because he's the star player on the high school football team. It's his senior year after all, and he wants to go out with a bang. He's worked hard to keep up with the scholarship to play football for college. He'll get a free ride, even though he doesn't need it. We have more than enough money for both of us to go.

Every girl falls all over him when he walks down the hall, and he knows it. He _basks_ in the attention. He got my mother's hair, giving him the look of a superstar, complete with the amazing blue eyes. It's thick and light blonde, and he always has it combed back perfectly like a ken doll.

I guess it's kind of ironic, the resemblance to a ken doll he has, considering our last name is Doll. Tobiah Doll and Amabel Doll.

"Yeah right," my dad laughs. "You'll probably head to the gym as soon as we get into the driveway."

My dad works out with Tobiah a lot too, but only twice to three times a week. He's busy the rest of the time. Work, he says. I don't know how my mom didn't see it...

But anyway, my dad has thick, blonde hair too. His eyes are always bright green, joyful to see anyone else but my mom. His eyes always seem to dull when he's around her. I've always wondered why he looked at her that way. What's so bad about her?

My dad slides into the driver's seat, his smile filling his entire face as he rubs the steering wheel proudly. Tobiah, though we can both drive, slide into the back seats as my mom shuts the door. The car is quiet as always. When we're out somewhere together, we talk. Always. It's only when we're alone where we see the walls go up between each other, my dad separating his secrets from my mom, my mom separating hers from him, Tobiah hiding his from all of us, and then there's me. I hide everything I know from the people who don't know I know their secrets. Even if they knew, I knew it wouldn't change anything. They would put on their pretty fake faces, smile, and tell me how absurd it is for me to be thinking things like that.

Pretty little fake faces.

I have it too. The Doll-Syndrome. Fake it till you make it. Smile when you don't want to. Be polite to someone who's spitting in your face. Be what they want you to be. Do what they want you to do. Be a doll and shut up and play pretend. Put on your dress. Act like you care. Don't tell the world your problems and you won't have any yourself.

But I'm tired of the Doll-Syndrome.

I want to be _human._ I want to _act_ human. I hate pretending that I'm something I'm not.

But I have to.

I'm head of the Drama Club, head of the Debate Club, Homecoming Queen, the top of my class, the head of the Book Club, President of the Spanish Club, President of National Honor Society, President of the Recycling club, Class President, _and_ the lead in a play. I can't crack up now. Not in my junior year of high school. I have so many people counting on me... I can't just change how I am and go through a mid-life crisis.

We pull up into the driveway to our three-story house.

"Oops, I left my light on," I say, startling everyone in the car.

I jump out of the vehicle and pull my key out of my pocket, unlocking the green door. In the entryway, I place the pink key in the shape of a guitar on the table resting on the left wall. I start to climb the stairs to the second story, going through the living room, running my eyes over the green wallpaper because the pattern looks really interesting. At the top of the stairs is the game room, complete with a big TV and two couches, including a pool table _and_ a Foosball table. Bounding up one more flight of stairs into the attic, I breathe in the smell of my room. It always smells like rain and wood up here.

We converted the attic into a room for me because I felt like I needed a bigger space. My old room is in the process of becoming a weight room for dad and Tobiah to work out together in.

The wooden floor is covered with a pink rug, my bed sitting on the opposite side with the matching comforter. We painted the walls white and I hung pictures and posters up all over them. My vanity sits on the left-hand side when you're facing the bed, and my dresser is on the other. Behind the entrance to my room, my dad had constructed a closet that was big enough to hold all of the clothes that don't belong in my dresser. The doors slide back and forth and they're made of mirrors.

I absolutely love it up here. I can see everything on my street from the window above my bed, though sometimes that isn't a good thing. It's one of the ways I know how my dad is cheating on my mom.

But I don't have to get into that now and ruin a perfectly good Sunday. God is good, and I want it to stay that way for the rest of the day. I don't want anything bad to happen. No drunk mother, no cheating dad, no low-life brother, just me, myself, and I—and the dishes...

Yay.

2. Secrets

"Hello?" I hear my dad as he answers his phone. "Yeah, well, I can't talk right now. Yes. Mmhm... Okay see you in a bit."

I see my dad's slight smile as he hangs up, his green eyes brightening. My mom walks up to him, clutching to her purse, as if she's about to ask a question she doesn't want to hear the answer to.

"Work," he chuckles before she can ask, and slips past her to grab his shoes. "I've been asked to work on someone. The doctor that was supposed to got sick all of a sudden."

"And you're happy about that?" My mom asks, trying to smile, but I can see the hurt and the knowledge in her eyes. For a moment, I wish she didn't know what my dad is doing behind her back. But I'd rather her know than find out in the worst way possible.

"Honey," my dad says sweetly. Sickeningly. "I got a promotion. Of course I'm happy." He rubs up and down on her arms, her hands white from clutching the bag. "I get paid more to do things like this. Have fun at your bakery, today, okay? I'll even recommend it to the patient's family when they come into his room."

With that, he turns and leaves.

"I love you," my mother says softly, just as the door shuts.

She knows where he's going. I can see it in her body language. Her muscles are tense and her jaw is clenched. Her movements are rigid and sharp.

She (almost secretly) slips the flask out of her purse and takes a big sip of alcohol from it. She knows she can't drink very much yet. She has a bakery to run, and she has to be there in half an hour. Not to mention that I'm down here and I would see her do it.

I place the last of the dishes into the dishwasher and rush up to my room. I don't want to see what she does next, if she does anything at all. She is her own boss. If she wants to take off from work to grieve and drink over a marriage she's so worried about losing but is doing nothing to save, she can, and she just might if she feels too stricken with grief to go.

I don't pity her. She's a drunk. I don't pity my dad either though. He's a liar. Why pity those who just constantly bring havoc upon themselves? All they have to do is sit down and talk about it. Then it could all be better. It could all work itself out, by the grace of God. What do they think will happen once they sin and its punishment falls on them? You can't pretend to walk with God and then let the world control you.

The Doll-Syndrome comes back and I sit on my bed, pretending like my life is perfect and nothing could be better. I busy my mind with other things, like organizing meetings for school and doing my homework. I don't know when my mom leaves, but I know that eventually she does, because I can smell the fumes from Tobiah's room start to leak into mine.

I crack open the circular window above my bed and stick my face out to breathe in the fresh air. Does he not know what those chemicals are doing to his body? Does he not understand that?

And what behooves me is why does he do it alone? Usually people do those things together, but he's all alone in there. I know this because if anyone came over, I would see him or her. I just have that kind of view from the attic.

Plus, nobody knows he does any of this. If they did, he'd be ridiculed and I would have known about it before I originally found out. I'm the girl everyone goes to when they want to gossip or when they need advice or when they have to rant... No one thinks that I know everything about them, but I do. I become a shoulder for everyone who needs one. That's how it always has been. It's how I have so many friends.

'Friends.'

If you can call them that.

They're mostly absorbed in themselves and I feel like they hang around me because I know all of their secrets. I wish I could tell them that friendships aren't just built on secrets. You need trust and love and...

Forget it.

The stench coming from Tobiah's room is getting to be too much to handle for me. I start to cough and pull the collar of my dress over my nose to filter out the smell. I make my way down the stairs to the game room and open up all the windows, along with the ones downstairs.

I open up the back door and sit in the grass, a ways away from the house. I feel lightheaded from holding my breath for so long, but it goes away after I lay in the grass for a while.

The sky above me is crystal-clear and the perfect shade of blue. Only a few fluffy white clouds float high above me and the sun shines down happily onto the Earth. It almost reminds me of a movie, how perfect it all is. Perfect like how my life is supposed to be.

I pick a yellow flower from the ground beside me and smell it. The scent is sweet, but it makes me sneeze. I laugh at myself, as if my brother isn't experimenting with drugs inside the house while my parents are gone, and my dad isn't out cheating, and my mom isn't an alcoholic. I laugh at myself like I have no worries in the world. Like I don't have secrets swarming around in my head and like I'm not sitting outside because of my brothers' addictions.

I sit up to look at our house. It's white walls stare back at me, glistening with secrets that I don't even know yet, and it's green window panes watching me, as if telling me to come back inside and stop what's happening inside of it.

I hear a car start and pull out of the driveway. It's Tobiah's. He's most likely going to the gym, like my dad predicted. Unless he ran out of drugs.

I wait a few more minutes for the house to air out, and then I make my way inside. The smell is gone, but I still take the spray from the bathroom and cover every inch of the house, especially my bedroom. The after-smell of his drugs always to gives me headaches.

Shutting all of the windows, I finally make my way down to the basement. It's where my dad works when he's researching or studying something. He's always been an intelligent man, or at least I always thought he was, until the whole other woman thing happened. How stupid do you have to be to cheat on your wife? And with a nurse too? Aren't they both supposed to be near the top of the list of the smartest people in the world? Seriously?

I sit at his computer, as I often do when I think, and I move the mouse. On the screen is a picture of our family, our white teeth gleaming in the sun with our house standing proudly behind us.

I open up his pictures to find more of us to look at. It's comforting to me to look at these pictures. It makes me feel like nothing is wrong and like we really are a perfect family. It's like I'm having a dream.

As I'm flipping through the familiar pictures, I come across ones that are new, ones that no one should send to anyone. It's disgusting and wrong and just... ugh.

My perfect little dream moment is over.

I quickly look away from the woman, making sure I change the screen as fast as I can. I feel tears well up in my eyes, my brain unable to keep my dad's secret from the front of my mind anymore, and they spill over.

My family is a wreck. We're all screwed up in one way or another. Everyone thinks we're perfect, and at times, I do too. But I know better.

I've always known better.

I start to sob and I pull my knees up to my chest, twisting away from the computer in the swivel office chair. I know way too much. Why can't I be five again when all I worried about was whose birthday party I was going to and what my favorite color was?

I wish I didn't know the things I know.

I look up at the screen, a more decent picture of the woman smiles seductively at me. She has long black hair and light brown eyes. She looks like a raccoon, if a raccoon was a model with big, fake boobs. Her body is Photoshop perfect and her eyelashes are longer than a human's should be. She looks like she's more than ten years younger than my dad.

I shiver disgustingly and sniffle sadly as I close out of the window. I think I've seen enough for today.

Those pictures are recent. I've never seen them before.

He'll probably delete them later to cover his trail.

I look out into the room, where the long couch sits with its back to the white wall. A glass coffee table stands before it, with two more recliners that match the couch on the other side of it. We have a living room, but this is more of the work-room-slash-relaxation-room.

I've always loved it down here. Always, until the night my dad brought that woman home. He brought her down here. I heard him come in in the middle of the day on a Saturday with her. I snuck down to where I could hear them, and he was talking about going down to his office to "work," as if he was paranoid about someone listening or worried about someone disturbing him.

Even after that event, I still came down here to think. I don't understand why; it seems like I would abhor this room because of it. But maybe it's because it helps me try to understand my father, even if it doesn't really do that. Maybe it helps me figure out why he does what he does. Why he brought home that strange woman that day.

The day I learned my dad's secret, four months ago.

3. Masks

"Are you not hungry, Amabel?" My dad asks as he sits down at the table. He's obviously in a great mood, and obviously not because of anyone in this house.

I shake my head and pull my knees to my chest. The food looks delicious, but it makes my stomach churn. I can't tell if it's because I'm sick, or if it's because my family makes me sick.

"Your mother worked hard on it," he says as he reaches for my moms and brothers hands to pray.

"It's alright, dear," my mom says slowly and carefully. She had drank some alcohol before she cooked, I bet.

I put my legs back down and take my brothers rough hands and my mother's shaky ones. How can she hold the hand of the man who is going behind her back?

"Dear Heavenly Father, we pray you bless our food and that you help in nourish our bodies," My dad says rhythmically. "We pray you keep our futures in in mind as we move forward in our every day lives, and that you bless the time we have with each other. Please help Tobiah get that scholarship, and Amabel continue to do well in school. Amen."

We let go of each other, the walls going back up around each of us. We shovel food into our mouths almost silently, until my dad breaks the nauseating silence. He talks to Tobiah about football and college. My mom keeps her eyes on her food, her jaw muscles tense.

I think I hate eating dinner the most out of everything I do with my family. It's filled forced conversations and fake smiles. No one cares what the other person did, really, they just want to act like they're listening. At least, that's what I gathered about my family. No one cares unless they really need to.

I decide to eat my food because I love food and I can't just have it sit there getting cold. But to make my stomach happier, I don't eat everything.

Putting my dishes away, my mom asks my brother to do them. My dad says he's going to stay up to watch "the game"—whatever it is.

I sit back down at the table and pull one knee up to my chest as my brother finishes off his last bite.

"What were you doing today?" I ask him. "I mean, I know you went to the gym..."

He looks at me, a little stunned. My heart is pounding. I'm never this straightforward when I try to understand my family. I'm more of the watching kind.

He clears his throat and shakes his head as he sets down his fork.

"I was, um... I was just in my room. Then I went to the gym and came home. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I don't know," I lie, drawing a flower on the table with my finger.

"What—did you spy on me or something?" he says, getting angry.

I'm startled by the sudden flex in his emotion. None of the Doll family ever gets mad. Is it the drugs?

"N-no," I stammer. "Just curious."

"Why?" he snaps.

"Just—I was, Tobiah, okay?"

"Hey, what's going on in here?" My mom barges in from the kitchen.

"Nothing," Tobiah says and shoves himself back from the table. He makes his way up to his room and I hear the door slam.

I groan and rest my forehead on my knee.

Smooth, Amabel.

"What happened?" My mother asks, a little bit of annoyance and hanger bubbling up inside of her.

"I just asked him a question," I say to my leg.

My mom sighs. "What have I told you about prying, Amabel? It makes people uncomfortable and it's not polite."

I nod as my eyes focus on the flat top of my knee as I hug my leg against my body. She eventually leaves and I stare at my half-eaten plate of food. There's a feeling in my gut that's making me uneasy, like guilt or something.

I sit and listen to the sounds of my house. My mom doing dishes. My dad talking to the TV. My brother in his room doing God-knows-what.

And then there's me, in my own little world where everyone's secrets reverberate in my mind when their faces come into view. Whose secrets are kept to themselves, but unknowingly shows them like an open book. The very people who are supposed to care about me and what I think, they turn their backs and wear masks that no one else can see through.

No one but me.

~

Tomorrow is Monday and I have so many things to do.

I flip through my planner and run my finger on the calendar in front of me, making sure I have everything on the right date and at the right time and so on.

My phone buzzes and I ignore it as I jot something down on the calendar from my planner.

It buzzes again and I look at the screen. A green message icon by my boyfriends name pops up.

JOHN: Hey you

I smile and unlock the phone, sitting back in my chair. The calendar can wait.

John and I have been going out for about a year now. In a few weeks, it will be our anniversary. We tell each other 'I love you,' but I honestly don't believe I meant it in the first month he said it to me. Over time, I started feeling like I did love him, and I hope that I do. I think that I do, at least.

ME: Can I ask you to do something for me?

JOHN: Yeah sure. What is it?

ME: Could you pray for me?

JOHN: Yeah is everything alright?

ME: Yeah, just feeling overwhelmed.

JOHN: I can only imagine. But will do haha. 

ME: Thank you.

We talk for a while until I decide to go to sleep and we pray together, something we started doing because why be with someone if you can't share your faith with them?

I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, knowing I have to go to sleep. I have a big day tomorrow. So much to do...

But I can't stop thinking about the way my brother reacted to me. It was highly uncalled for, even though my question was too. But he didn't have to explode.

I turn over onto my side, trying to get comfortable. The clock on my desk glows with the numbers 1:30.

Sleep.

I've got to go to sleep.

Eventually, I do, and the alarm clock wakes me up.

I get up, get dressed, and go to school as usual. Turn in my homework, go to my after-school whatnot, and drive myself home in time for dinner. It's the same thing the rest of the week, with a bit of a cold shoulder from Tobiah. All the same, except that now it's me who's wearing the mask so no one could see what's wrong inside.

4. Plastic

There's a new girl today. She sits in the back with a scowl on her heavily make-upped face. Her short, spiky blonde hair has streaks of purple and blue in them. They won't stay that way though because the principal won't allow it. Long hoop earrings hang from her ears and she wears a leather jacket, although it's far from cold outside. She's smacking on gum loudly as the teacher calls her up to announce her.

"Students," Mrs. Ramirez smiles. "I would like you to meet your new classmate, Dahlia. She just moved here from Mississippi."

Dahlia gives a sarcastic wave. Mrs. Ramirez seems uncomfortable in her presence, and I wouldn't blame her. Dahlia is tall, and she looks like she can take out a brick wall.

"Please spit out your gum. The trash can is—"

"Whatever," Dahlia croaks as she tosses it into the can. She looks straight at me and sneers. "What are you looking at, Barbie?"

I don't respond as she walks back to her desk in the very back.

When the bell rings, she stops in the doorway and I physically run into her by accident. She turns around and runs her tongue across her teeth in annoyance.

"I'm sorry," I say, trying to slip past her.

She throws out her arm, blocking my path.

"I don't believe you are, Barbie."

I shift uncomfortably. "I'm sorry," I say again. "My name isn't Barbie—"

"Give me a break. You scream plastic. Everything about you is fake."

Whispers start behind me. I don't know what to do!

"Excuse me," I say, bobbing my head in the direction of her arm. "Please let me through."

"Whatever, Barbie."

She pulls her arm away and I walk down the hall, the whispers following me.

~

Dinner that night is different. My mom seems to be in a hurry and my dad seems to want to talk about everything.

"Amabel, how was school?"

I almost choke on my food when he speaks up for the first time.

"Um, it was okay. There's a new girl."

"Oh?" he asks as my mother stands up. "What's her name?"

"Dahlia," I say, picking at my food.

"What a pretty name," my mom comments happily as she leaves the dining room.

"Is she nice?" my dad smiles.

I don't know about nice...

"Yeah, I guess."

"You should invite her over for dinner."

The food in my mouth turns sour as I swallow it. Invite her over for dinner? She hates my guts and all I did was look at her.

I nod anyway and stare down at my half-eaten food.

That's enough, I tell myself. You don't need any more to eat.

I take my food back to the kitchen and shove it all down into the garbage disposal. Mom is long gone already, her dishes in the dishwasher. My father retires to the kitchen as I'm placing my dishes with my mother's.

"I'll be out for a while, kiddos," my dad calls as I walk to the living room. "Call you when I leave."

"Where are you going?" I ask him. I just want him to admit it. If he admits it, I'll forgive him. He won't disgust me as much anymore.

Just admit it...

He smiles amusingly, though his eyes search for an excuse.

"Work, honey."

"This late?" I ask as I stand in the doorway to the living room, my willpower to hole everything back starting to crumble.

He shakes his head.

"You know what your mother said about prying."

I nod and turn, infuriated.

I'M NOT BLIND YOU UNFAITHFUL, SELFISH MAN!

I plop down on the couch in a huff and switch on the TV. I never watch it anymore, and I probably still won't. It's just comforting to have the noise while I think. While I try not to think.

My dad leaves with a soft, "Goodbye, love you," and shuts the door behind him.

~

I wake with a start, the TV droning on as the front door opens. It's around midnight.

My mom stumbles in, alternating between giggling and crying. How did she make it home?

She leans up against the wall by the front door and lets out a low sob. She staggers into the room, her hand pressing against her forehead as her drunken eyes fall upon me.

"Amabel," she says, her lip quivering.

She pulls me up to my feet suddenly, angry. She shakes me.

"What are you doing?"

"Mom, you're—"

"Answer me!" She shouts, slapping me across the face. I stagger backwards, holding back tears as my mother fumes.

"Go to your room!" She screams, pushing me down onto the ground.

I land with a hard thud on the floor, my arm slamming into the coffee table. I need to escape from her. I need to escape from my mother.

I scramble to get up and she grabs my hair, yanking me back, sobbing. I cry out.

"Don't tell a soul."

I run up into my attic, into my room, and I slam the hatch shut, sitting on it. My mother goes back to crying on the couch and I'm left alone to fall asleep with the monster downstairs, the monster in his bedroom, and the monster that isn't where he's supposed to be.

Maybe Dahlia is right. Maybe I am a Barbie doll. Maybe it's worse than the Doll-Syndrome. And maybe I can't go back to being skin and bones—human, instead of being plastic.

~

I fell asleep on top of the hatch, my alarm startling me. My arm throbs. A bruise formed overnight from hitting the coffee table.

My heart breaks thinking about it.

My mom.

~

In class, Dahlia throws a piece of paper at me. In red ink, it reads BARBIE. A few girls snicker as I look back at her proud face. My life seems to be crumbling at the edges.

She stops me again once class is over, but this time no one is around as we walk out the door.

"Hey, Barbie," she smiles, smacking on her gum.

"Amabel."

"What?" she asks.

"Amabel. That's my name."

She laughs. "Stupid name."

I feel my heart start to bleed, last night's episode tearing me apart, and the secrets I hide cutting into my soul. I push past her, just wanting to get her out of my sight.

She follows me, thumbs hooked through her backpack straps like we were friends talking about the latest gossip. But talking gossip isn't my thing. What singular being out of my friends would listen to me anyway?

I clear my throat, pushing away the tears and realizing she isn't going anywhere.

"Do you want to come over for dinner?"

She looks at me, confused, smacking on her gum a couple times, thinking.

"Now, why would I want to go to your house?"

"Free food?" I offer, trying to peel my mind from the thoughts filling my head. "Look, if you don't want to—"

"No, no!" she laughs, unhooking one thumb to hi-five someone. "Why not learn why you're so fake?" She blows a bubble. "I'll go."

"Okay," I say shakily. I wasn't expecting her to agree. "I'll take you at six from school."

"Whoa, no way. I can drive myself. I'll find your house. Bet it looks like a Barbie Dream house."

She walks away with sass in her step without a single goodbye.

~

I make it home after saying goodbye to John at the front steps of the school. We're both so busy...

I tell my parents about Dahlia, and my dad seems overjoyed. Another person to impress.

Half after six, a red Mustang pulls up in the drive. Dahlia gets out and rings the doorbell.

I open the door and she pushes herself inside, her jewelry making a ton of annoying noise.

My mom and dad greet her, hesitating at first by her look and the aura she gives off, but they seem to like her. More or less. And the Tobiah looks at her like she's cute.

Ick.

We start to eat.

Halfway in, Dahlia speaks up.

"Quiet."

She looks around at us and I shift uncomfortably, pulling a knee up to my chest and pushing food around on my plate.

"Yes, we... we don't really talk much while we're eating. It's bad table manners to have food in your mouth while you speak," my father smiles and takes another bite, chews, and swallows. "So Amabel says you're new. Where did you move from?"

"Doesn't matter," she says, plopping a bite of broccoli in her mouth. "So what do you do mister...?"

"Doll." My father smiles.

Dahlia chuckles and shakes her head. "Of course."

My dad clears his throat. "I am a doctor at the local hospital."

"Ah," Dahlia says, disinterested. "Big house. Probably comes with the job."

"So does the car," Tobiah jokes, receiving a scolding look from my mom.

I can hear her now: Don't boast.

I pull the other knee up to my body and rest my head on them, looking at my food.

"Amabel, that's not polite. Put your legs down," my mom chides gently.

I do as she says and place them on the floor. I finish off half of my food and tell myself to stop.

"Not hungry, Barbie?" Dahlia asks, noticing my plate.

"Um..."

"Barbie?" my mom asks.

Dahlia smiles sarcastically. "Yeah. I picked out the little nickname for her."

She gives me an accusing look for a moment and goes back to eating.

"What's that smell?" She asks suddenly, looking around the room and resting her eyes on Tobiah.

My mom seems startled. "What smell?"

"Oh, I don't know. Just a smell..."

Does she know? Does she know about Tobiah's addiction?

I stare at her, studying her. What is her game? What is she trying to do? Now I feel like my world isn't just crumbling at the edges, but in the center too. And it terrifies me.

"Well, Tobiah just got some new cologne," my mom offers.

"Mm," Dahlia mumbles and goes back to eating.

Everyone finishes and we follow Dahlia to the door to walk her out.

"Hey, Barbie. Walk me to my car," she demands after thanking my parents.

I jump ahead, nervous and scared of what might happen.

"So what's up with the bruise?" she asks after the door closes. "Don't act dumb. The one on your arm."

I look down at it. "I hit it on the coffee table."

"One tall coffee table."

We walk in silence to her car and she unlocks it.

"Well, at least I know why you're plastic now."

"What do you mean?" I ask as she slips into her car, growing frustrated. "What do you mean 'plastic'?"

She shakes her head and drives away with a thanks for inviting me, leaving me in my long driveway.

5. Crystal

Saturday.

That's the name of today.

ME: Hey you

JOHN: Hey :) how'd it go last night?

I'd told him about Dahlia the day I'd met her and mentioned she'd be, surprisingly, coming over for dinner.

ME: Better than expected. But she kept calling me Barbie and Plastic.

JOHN: Hm. Why?

ME: Idk...

JOHN: Well you're not. You're one of the realist, sweetest girls I've ever met and I'm so glad I have you.

A smile spreads across my face as I read his text.

JOHN: Hey you wanna go to the movies tonight? We haven't been on a date in forever.

ME: Yeah :D what movie?

JOHN: Idk. We can choose when we get there :p

ME: Haha okay.

We work it out to where he's going to pick me up at around fiveish.

I lay back down on my bed, the morning sun streaming through my little window above my bed. I glance over at my calendar and a wave of relief washes over me. I have nothing to do today. This kind of rare occasion always calls for a celebration, and I think the movies are good enough to call it one.

Going down to the second story, there's no noise from my brother's room. It's either he's gone, or he's sleeping, which I wouldn't doubt either of them. Both are great candidates.

The first floor is quiet as well, except for the soft shuffling around in the kitchen. Must be my mom. My dad leaves for "work" all day every day, Sunday being his day off (or partial day off, due to church).

"Good morning, Amabel," my mom forces a smile.

It's bothering her again. My dad...

I throw my arms around her, the smell of alcohol clinging to her shirt.

"I love you mom," I say quietly.

She wraps her arms around me, seeming surprised.

"I—I love you too Amabel. Are you alright?"

I pull away and wipe my eyes. "Yeah, mom. I'm fine. Just wanted to let you know that."

She smiles sadly and turns to pick up her purse.

"Well, alright." She pauses, as if she wants to tell me something. Shaking her head, she says, "I'm headed off to the bakery. I'll be back around five."

I nod.

"Okay."

She hesitates before leaving the kitchen and I watch her walk out the front door. Unlocking her car, she looks back at the house longingly and shakes her head. She slides into the driver's seat and starts the car. I watch her back out and leave, escaping the horrid life she's stuck in, pretending like nothing is the matter and everything is perfect when, in truth, it's the farthest thing from it.

My mom's car disappears around the corner and I spring into action, running into her room. She keeps her stash of alcohol locked in a trunk in the deepest part of her closet. I know, because I've had to help her put one of her bottles back when she was so drunk she didn't recognize me.

I dig through her dresser and grab the metal key she hides under her underwear, and shuffle over to the brown closet door. Throwing the clothes aside, I pull out the heavy trunk. I don't understand why she keeps them in a trunk...

I have to jiggle the key a little bit to get into the box, but once it's open, the smell of alcohol makes me turn away and gasp for fresh air. How does my father not know about this?

I take a handful of bottles—heavy bottles—and walk them outside to throw them in the garbage can. I make a second and third trip before the trunk is empty.

"She's going to see it..." I mutter to myself, peering down at the broken glass and liquid.

I decide to take the trash out to the road to hide it. She'll probably get more in the future when she realizes she's out, but for right now, this is the only option.

Then I creep up into Tobiah's room and start to snoop. I find his baggies of weed and add them to the collection of alcohol in our trashcan outside. I keep looking around, just in case I'm missing something.

And then I see crystals. No, not the type of rock or whatever...

Meth.

I stand staring at it for the longest time, trying to get my brain to function. How does he still have a scholarship? When did this start happening...?

I pick up the baggie and look at it, my heart racing at the dangerous substance I hold. What could drive him to do this to himself...? And how does he keep it secret?

I hear the front door slam.

I race to the top of the stairs, shoving the bag in my pocket, just in case.

Tobiah.

He starts coming up the stairs, a scowl on his face.

And a bruise.

"Tobiah, are you o—"

"Shut up, Amabel. Leave me alone."

"But Tobiah—" I start as he shoves past me. The bruise covers his entire cheekbone and it's starting to swell.

"I said, leave me alone!"

He slams his door shut. The force shakes the walls and a picture frame falls to the floor, breaking. I look down at it, our four smiling faces looking at the camera. It's from maybe four years ago. Before any of this ruin entered our life.

I hear things topple over in his room before he bursts out into the hallway, as ball of hot air. His face is red and his veins are sticking out from his neck.

And suddenly, I feel scared.

"Where is it, Amabel?" He shouts, and I feel the step beneath my heel as it cuts off. "Where is it?!"

"Tobiah, I don't—"

"Oh, don't play stupid with me! Where is it?"

The crystals feel like they're burning a hole in my back pocket as I realize what he's looking for.

"Tobiah, I don't—"

"Where is it, Amabel?!" He screams, taking my shoulders and shaking me.

"Tobiah—ow! You're—"

"Tell me!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" I scream, tears streaming down my face. How? How did he get like this? I don't understand—

"Fine," He hisses through gritted teeth and lets me go.

I feel myself lean back.

"Tobiah!" I scream.

I can feel each step as it bites into my body. It's only a three second fall, but it feels like forever.

I lay at the base of the stairs, still and staring up at the ceiling, pain taking me over. I can feel the tears falling down my face as I try to move my head. Tobiah is standing over me now. His face is twisted with worry. The bruises and bumps and cuts and scrapes sting and throb and hurt.

I can barely hear Tobiah over the ringing in my ears, and I don't want to hear him. I want him to go away. I want him to stop what he's doing. Then he can come back. Then he can help me.

His hands help me sit up and I cry out in pain as my body screams at me. I sob and cry, letting it all out. I can't take it anymore. I can't take these secrets, these betrayals, and these stupid decisions...

God, help us... I pray. Help them. 'For they know not what they do'... Help me... 'I do not have the strength of stone; my flesh is not bronze'... We need You...

6. Love

I touch the back of my head gingerly, wincing from the pain of the bruise. My arms have a few dark spots forming and my shins have a bunch of cuts and bruises on them already.

I hear Tobiah knock on the bathroom door. He'd carried me up the stairs to our bathroom so we wouldn't dirty the guest bathroom.

"Am... Amabel? Are—are you okay?"

I look down at the sink, my body aching and tears still in my eyes. I wipe them away and take a breath as I open the door.

"I'm fine," I smile as the lie slips out from behind my teeth.

"Look, I'm... I didn't mean—"

"It's fine," I tell him as I waddle to the stairs. "I'm fine," I say more to myself.

"But Amabel, you fell d—"

"I said I'm fine, Tobiah," I smile again as I place my hand on the stair rail, the sensation of falling down the stairs making my chest tight. I can barely breathe.

Each step sends excruciating pain through my body, but I muscle through it. I can't show him he hurt me. He'll feel so guilty... and I can't live with making him feel like that. One day this will all be forgotten and we can go back to our happy plastic selves. We can pretend like this never happened and move on.

I stop at the top of my stairs and hold in the tears. I can't cry. I won't.

The inclination to my room hurts even more, but the reward comes when I collapse on my bed. My muscles relax and a sense of relief washes over me, tears wedging themselves in the corners of my eyes.

What am I going to do? I have to go to the movies with John... And I can't go like this. I could cover it up with makeup and hope it doesn't rub off by the end of the night.

I hear more furniture turn over and crash onto the floor in my brother's room, loud thumping and cracking sounds making their way through my floorboards. How did this happen to him? How did he get so mixed up in all of this? I'll have to ask him some day. If it ever comes up...

If he lives.

I let the tears fall.

So much crying. I've cried so much these past few days. It's so hard... but I shouldn't be complaining. There are people who have it worse off than me. I shouldn't pity myself.

The doorbell rings.

"Shoot," I whisper as I look at my phone.

John's here.

I hear Tobiah rush down the stairs and pause at the door as I hobble into the bathroom to get ready, limping down the stairs to the second story. John's footsteps get closer to the door as I rub makeup on the bruised areas gently to hide them.

"Amabel?" I hear John's voice, soft and sweet as he knocks politely.

"Just a minute," I call through the door.

I hear him chuckle and it makes me forget about what happened today. I open the door and he smiles at me as he hands me a yellow rose.

"Aw," I smile and take it. "It's beautiful."

"Just like you," he says, and kisses me on the forehead. I pull away slightly, wincing, and he gives me a strange look. "Are you alright?"

I look up at his beautiful face.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I lie. "I'll be right back."

I rush up into my room (as much as I could rush in my state) and put on a red dress and a black headband. John waits for me at the bottom of the stairs and smiles up at me as I come down. Tobiah has disappeared behind is bedroom door again as we go down the other flight of stairs to leave.

We decide to watch a comedy and I laugh until I cry. Everything is okay for now. Everything is all right.

We walk back out into the dark of the night, the moon shining down on us and the stars twinkling like fireflies. Everything was perfect.

"Did you like the movie?" John asks as he takes my hand and we walk down the strip filled with shops and restaurants.

"I loved it," I smile up at him.

He smiles and leans in to kiss me. My heart skips a beat and my stomach fills with butterflies. He makes everything okay. He takes all the pain away.

"I love you," I say after he pulls away. I mean it. I can feel it in ever part of me. It's like a new sensation washing over me and making me happy.

He smiles again, his perfect, imperfect teeth shining in the moonlight.

"I love you too."

He kisses me again and I feel the smile creep across my face. I can see the same one on his lips as we walk on.

We talk about the movie, laughing and talking and holding hands. I love this time with him. We haven't done this with each other in forever. It's been too long. I needed to get away. I needed to be with him.

"I love you," he says and smiles at me.

I laugh and say it back as he opens the door to a Chinese restaurant for me to walk through. We're led to a table in the back and handed two menus. Chinese is our favorite food, and the first place we ever went on a date.

I find myself smiling as I think about it. He was so handsome with his dark hair and bright eyes... He still is. He's amazing and wonderful and everything good. I'm so lucky to have him.

"I remember our first date," he glances up at me from his menu, smiling.

"Oh yeah?" I ask playfully, leaning on my elbows and laughing. "Do tell me about it."

He laughs and sets down his menu on the table.

"You walked down the stairs in a yellow dress and your hair was curled. I was so nervous..." He laughs and takes my hand. "And I fell for you so hard that moment. And by the end of the night we couldn't stop talking."

"About you," I interrupt and stick my tongue out, laughing.

"Well, you kept asking questions," he teased back. "You were so interested in me."

"Well, I did have a crush on you for the longest time," I giggle as I play with his fingers. They're rough and calloused from playing the guitar. "Ever since... I don't know. Just as long as I could remember."

"Yeah, I know," he grins. "You were so shy... You're never shy."

I give him a look, and he chuckles and lets go of my hand to pick up his menu again, as if he needed it. He eats Chinese so often he practically has the menu memorized.

We order, talking about the past and our relationship and things at school and next year... Senior year. It seems so far away, but it's so close.

He drives me home and he walks me to the door. He kisses me goodnight and tells me to call him later. I nod and watch as he pulls out of the drive.

My dad's car is here.

My heart speeds up. This can't be good.

My mom's is here too.

"Oh, no..." I whisper as I turn to the door that holds all my nightmares behind it. "Oh no..."

Unlocking the door, I swing it open, the echo of my parent's voices blaring through the house. They're yelling. They never yell. Never.

"Well, Sarah? How long has this been going on?"

My dad.

"Mark..."

My mom's slurred words.

I perch myself behind the wall that leads to the kitchen, listening to the argument happening between my parents. My heart sinks in my chest as if tonight never happened. As if there were no John.

"No, Sarah! Why have you been doing this? You are harming your body, and I'm sure God would not appreciate it. Do not get drunk on beer or wine, but of the Holy Spirit—"

"You... you hypocrite!"

I'm taken aback by my mom's sudden clarity. I hear her stand and start to walk out towards the dining room, which is connected to the kitchen.

"What?" My dad asks, his tone low and threatening.

"You heard me!" My mom shouts, mumbling something else to herself and I hear liquid pour into a glass. "Hypocrite."

I squeeze my eyes shut and move back to the door, opening it and slamming it shut. The kitchen stays silent and I hear my dad clear his throat. I walk into the kitchen, acting as if I want to get a drink.

My mom finishes the last sip of the liquid in her glass as I step into the room.

"How was your date?" My dad smiles, like nothing happened.

"It was great," I smile, trying to bring the warm and happy sensation John gives me. "We ate Chinese."

"Chinese is good," my dad smiles and looks at my mom. "Sleep well, Amabel."

He dismissed me. Really?

"Amabel!" My mom cries out suddenly, making my dad and I jump. "What happened to your arm?"

I look down and see that some of the makeup has rubbed off.

"Um, I, Uh..."

"He didn't do this to you, did he?" My dad presses in on me.

"No—no, dad. I fell down the stairs."

"You fell down the stairs?" My mom asks, taking me by the hands. The smell of alcohol on her breath was too strong to deny. "Oh, honey. Mark, I told you that stairs were a bad idea."

"How did it happen?" My dad chimes in again.

"I just—" Tobiah's face slips into my mind, angry, frantic, crazy. I shake it away. "I missed a step."

"Oh, darling," my mom coos and wraps me in her arms, the smell of alcohol all over her. I hold my breath. "I'm sorry."

I pull away and nod, her body draped across me a little too heavy. "It's okay. I'm fine. Goodnight."

"Goodnight honey," my mom says. "I love you."

"I love you too mom and dad," I say sadly, but I wear a smile on my face to cover it up.

I walk out of the room and hear them go their separate ways. My dad mutters something about work and eventually I hear his car turn on and leave. I touch my bruises, feeling torn inside. I don't know what to do.

I could run away. But I can't. I can't do that to them. They need someone to look out for them. They need someone there for them when they don't know it.

They need someone to love them. That's what I'm here for.

My phone rings, John's voice ringing out over the silence in my room. I had recorded him singing and playing and used it as his ringtone. He hates it because he thinks he's a horrible singer, but it doesn't matter to me. It's him, and that's all I care about.

I answer the phone and we stay up talking for a few hours before deciding to turn in for the night. We pray and I keep the incidents to myself for praying about later when it's just God and me. They're things that John doesn't need to know about yet. Not until later. Years later.

I have trouble sleeping, thoughts running through my head. I'm half tempted to call him back and tell him everything, to spill everything to him, to make him understand, but I can't. I can't do that to him. It's too much weight on his shoulders to know all of this. I can't burden him with my problems. Not yet. I don't want to drive him away. Not now.

My eyes close and I eventually sleep.

Something in the back of my mind, something in my subconscious tells me that it's only going to get worse; that none of it is going to get better.

But I don't want to believe it.

7. Family

Sunday.

Another day at church where we pretend we're the perfect family. We even pretend in front of God. None of my family confesses to their sins, and I follow suit. I don't know how to approach asking forgiveness. I've never seen it done in my family.

Hypocrites. That's what we are. What they are. Maybe I'm one too.

The Ten Commandments. That's what we're learning today, I guess. Don't lie, don't steal, don't cheat, etcetera. I lost count of how many sins my family has committed over the past four months alone. Why are we even allowed in church?

Because church is a hospital for the sinners, not a museum for the saints, I remind myself, as I do often on Sundays. And we sure do need a hospital...

I hear something behind me, and turn to see Dahlia slipping into a pew three rows back with a boy with dark skin. I turn back around, hoping she didn't—and doesn't see me. I didn't think she wasn't the church type.

I say that as if I'm the 'church type' myself. I guess I am a hypocrite...

The sermon goes on and on. We end with a song and five people to up to the front to get saved, to repent from their sin. I smile and a hole burrows inside of me. Why can't I do that? Just give it all to God? Just get rid of it all and feel the mercy of His forgiveness?

The lights come back up and the preacher dismisses us from the room. People start shuffling out, some waving to my parents or me. My brother isn't here. He said he felt sick this morning so he stayed home. Probably a side effect from not taking his drugs. Withdrawals. That's the word I'm looking for.

"Hey, Barbie," I hear behind me.

My brain starts to panic as the memory of what she had said after dinner that night spins in my head. 'Well, at least I know why you're plastic now.' What did she even mean by that? Does she know something?

I say a quick prayer in my head before turning around and smiling.

"Hello, Dahlia," I smile politely. "I didn't know you went to church."

"Why? Because I have purple in my hair?" She snaps.

"No—no, I... I just didn't know—"

"Uh-huh. Well. Just wanted to say hi." Her eyes scan the crowd. "Where's your brother?"

"He's sick," I say, knowing it's the truth.

"Ah," she smiles and nods, her eyes filled with a knowledge I don't understand. "Whelp, see you around Barbie."

With that, she disappears into the crowd. I'd felt something ignite inside of me as she said the name. Barbie.

I take a breath and shake my head. I'm not going to lose my composure now. I've held it for so long... why lose it now?

My parents are waiting for me outside, standing close together but not touching. Not touching at all, if you ask me. Last night broke them. It shows in partially in their faces as I walk up to them, but it fades away as quickly as a car passing by. It's like it wasn't even there at all.

"Ready to go, Amabel?" My dad smiles as he gives me a one-armed hug. Does he not realize what he's doing to this family? What he's doing to my mom? Does he know what my brother does when he's all alone in the house?

"Your father and I want to go out to eat," My mother chimes in. Does she know what she's like when she's drunk? Does she remember all the bruises she's given Tobiah and me? Can she smell the weed on his clothes underneath all of his cologne?

"Okay," I say and clear my throat. "Where are we going?"

Do they not see what they're doing to me?

"Roadhouse. I'm feeling up for some steak right about now," My dad chuckles.

I nod and follow behind them slowly to the car as they walk an inch from each other and don't make any eye contact.

This is my life...

~

The Roadhouse was good. I had a salad and ate half a hamburger. It's more than I normally eat, but I needed something for comfort, and food was right there to fill my gaping wound of a life.

I guess it's time to confess aloud that I don't eat very much. I don't know why. I don't know if it's because I want my parents to notice what I'm doing or what's going on inside of me, or if it's because I'm afraid of being fat (no offence to anyone, I just don't think I'd look good), or if it's just because I hate food. I don't know... I didn't really start to think about it until Dahlia noticed it that night. I guess I might have a problem, but at least it's not as bad as it could get, you know? I mean, I don't hate food, I guess...

I text John throughout the day as I plan my week. Prom committee, Spanish club, whatever else... I have no time in the week. Good. That means I won't think about today, about yesterday, the day before, the past four months and more... My brain can't handle it.

The next day is Monday, of course. It's a school day, and Dahlia doesn't stop me at the door again. Not until Friday.

"Hey Barbie."

"Dahlia, I have to get to class."

"I know," She says, keeping her arm stretched to the other side of the doorway. "I wanted to ask you something."

"What is it?" I say, trying my best not to look exasperated and to be as polite as humanly possible.

"Dinner at my house."

"What? Why?" I ask, hoping I didn't sound too harsh.

"Because I want to show you how a real family works."

"My family is a real family, Dahlia."

"Right," She says sarcastically and takes her hand down. "Are you going to come?"

It's like she knows I'm going to say yes, which, of course I will. It's how I was raised. Be polite and give people what they want—to certain extents.

"Sure," I sigh and smile to cover up my attitude.

"Great," She draws out the word with a smile on her face. She definitely knows something. "Here's my address. Be there before seven."

I nod and take the ripped piece of paper. She knew I was going to say yes.

On the way to Dahlia's house, I try to suppress any feelings toward my family so they won't show and so she won't know any more than she's supposed to.

Her house is small. She has a small front porch with two rocking chairs on it, a brown door centered on the wall behind it. It's only one-story and four cars sit outside on the driveway.

I pull up against the curb and get out, looking at the piece of paper to make sure it's the right house for about the seventeenth time.

Why would she invite me to dinner? I didn't know anyone else did that these days besides my family.

There are sounds of laughter and conversation coming from inside the house as I reach the steps of the porch. The windows are glowing with light from behind the curtains.

I press the button for the doorbell and hear three chimes. Dahlia answers the door and a cat rushes out.

"Don't worry about him. He's an inside-outside cat. Come in."

Her house is warm and smells of food fill the air. A lot of the furniture seems old and warn and there are pictures of her and her family everywhere.

The dark-skinned boy that went to church that Sunday walks up to Dahlia and she throws an arm around his shoulders.

"This is Tyrice, my brother."

The boy laughs and messes up her hair. He looks to be about sixteen, and nothing like Dahlia does.

"I'm adopted," He laughs and looks at me. "Come on. We set a place for you at the table."

I smile and follow them to the dining room, just past the living room.

A long table sits in the middle of the room, six chairs around it. Three of them are already taken at the far side of the room with a girl about thirteen with dark hair and tan skin, a woman with long brown hair, and a man with skin that looks like tanned leather. They stand up and smile at me.

"Hello, you must be Amabel," The man reaches out for me to shake his hand. "I am the head of the household. My name is Jake."

I smile.

"We were so glad to hear that Dahlia invited someone over for dinner. No one really does that anymore," The woman says, making her way around the table. "I'm Cierra."

She hugs me, and I return it, surprised.

"I hope you enjoy what I cooked tonight," She laughs as Mr. Jake shakes his head dramatically.

"You'll hate it."

He smiles at her as he walks up and she smiles back as he leans down to kiss her. I look down at my feet.

Why can't my parents be that way?

Right. Because one's a drunk and the other is cheating.

I shake my head and discreetly try to wipe away the tears forming in my eyes as I'm directed to sit down at the opposite of the table as Mr. Jake.

I watch as they bring out the food and set it on the table, not caring if it leaves stains on the old wood. They say a prayer and the room erupts with noise and words and talking. I can feel the hole inside of me start to fill. They talk to each other and to me as if I'm not a stranger, but instead as if they've known me my whole life.

I learn that the thirteen year old girl's name is Marcy and she was adopted when she was only two years old. Tyrice is, in fact, sixteen, and he was adopted when he was ten.

Mr. Jake and Mrs. Cierra had one child, and that was Dahlia. After her, they weren't able to have any more kids, but they wanted more than one. So they started to adopt.

They've been married for twenty years, and they don't seem like they're going to break apart anytime soon. The way they look at each other is a look that I haven't seen in my own parents' eyes in years.

"So, Amabel," Mrs. Cierra asks from the left side of the table, down at the end by Mr. Jake. "What's your family like?"

The table goes quiet and they all look at me as they chew.

Nice things. I have to say nice things.

"Well..." I clear my throat and place the fork down on my plate, suddenly losing my appetite. "My dad's a doctor."

"Oh, wow," Mr. Jake smiles. "You know, I wanted to be a doctor. Now here I am as a dentist. They're somewhat related, you know."

I chuckle as Mrs. Cierra tells him to stop talking and listen.

"Well, yeah. He works all of the time. My mom owns a bakery called Doll's Kitchen. And then my brother, Tobiah, he's going to get a full scholarship to some college for football."

"That's great, Amabel!" Mrs. Cierra smiles. "Well, what about you? What are your plans for the future?"

I look down at my plate and see that I've eaten most of my food without realizing it. I never thought about what I'd be in the future.

"She's like head of everything in our school, mom," Dahlia says with a mouthful of potatoes. "She could be anything she wanted."

"Wow, I wish that I was as determined and focused in high school as you are, Amabel," Her mom smiles.

"I'm in the drama club at school," Marcy chimes in and takes a bite of a roll. "Are you in that?"

I smile slightly at her as I look up from my food. "Yeah. I'm actually in a play."

Her eyes widen and a smile slips across her face. "Me too! It's going on next weekend. I'm so excited. You should come!"

I laugh and nod, picking my fork back up.

"As long as you come to mine in three weeks."

The night goes on like this, a mixture of questions toward me and questions at each other. I laugh until I cry.

"It's getting late," I say, looking at my phone and chuckling from a joke that was told and had me rolling. "I should get home."

"Oh, alright," Mr. Jake says as he stands up to take the plates to the kitchen. "It was nice meeting you, Amabel."

"Very nice indeed," Mrs. Cierra says as she makes her way over to hug me. She walks me to the door, the posse of children following behind her.

"Do you go to church, Amabel?" She asks as we all step outside into the coolish night.

I nod in response as I dig for the keys to my car in my pocket.

"Great. I would love to meet your parents."

I drop the keys onto the ground as she says that, my brain jumping for a second.

"Um..." I mumble. "Yeah, sure, of course. We sit in the middle of the, um... the room."

She smiles and nods, giving me another hug.

"Well, we'll see you around then, dear."

I nod and walk to my car, turning back to give a shy wave to the family, the unbroken family, the perfect family. They wave back and call out some goodbyes.

~

Nobody is home when I pull into the drive. All of the cars are gone. I text my mom to ask where they all were, but she doesn't answer, of course.

I walk slowly up the stairs to my room, thoughts weighing on my mind. For the moments I spent over at Dahlia's house, the hole had been filled. I wasn't empty.

But here it is again, and it feels bigger than ever. What if it never fills?

8. Car Radio

Another Saturday makes its way to me as I stare up at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep. I'd turned on some music to soothe me into sleep, but that didn't work either. So instead, I count the eyes on the wood above me. If this house could talk, I wonder what it would say. Would it yell at my parents and brother, or would it tell me to keep my mouth shut? Would it be mad at _me_ for not telling anyone what's going on?

I roll over and look at the time. It's eight o'clock. My mom has already left and my dad is no longer home either. Tobiah is probably asleep, dreaming of cannabis and smoke. Or maybe he's having a nightmare that he ran out of money and can't supply his addiction and he's going insane because of it.

I sit up and place my feet on the cool floor.

What will happen today?

I make my way downstairs and prepare some oatmeal for myself. Halfway through the bowl, I hear someone on the steps. Tobiah sticks his head out from behind the wall that leads to the dining room to look at me.

"Morning," he smiles sheepishly.

I nod and look down at my breakfast, my appetite gone.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry for the other day," he says, stepping out into the dining room.

"Like you've done for the past week," I mutter, standing up to take my unfinished bowl to the kitchen. "I'm fine, Tobiah."

"No you're not," he says, looking at a nasty bruise on my arm. "And I'm sorry."

"Tobiah—"

"No, I am. And I want to make it up to you. Today."

I sigh and turn around to face him.

"I said I'm fine."

"My friends and I are going out bowling today. I want you to come."

"Tobiah—"

"Nope. You're coming. Go get ready or whatever because we're going. My treat."

I sigh as he looks at me with hopeful eyes. He really wants me to go doesn't he?

"Okay. Fine." I nod. "What time are we leaving?"

"Noon."

I finish getting ready and send a handful of texts to John, who is about to go help with a carwash for his soccer fundraiser. He's been on the soccer team since seventh grade, and he's _really_ good at it. He loves it. It's so much fun to watch him play because he puts all of his heart into it, and with him it's all or nothing, win or lose.

Three knocks on my door.

"Ready Amabel?" I hear my brother call through the hatch that I call a door.

"Yeah. Be right down."

I'm not wearing anything fancy. It's just bowling, after all. I have on dark jeans and a yellow t-shirt, with my hair tied back in a braid and minimal makeup on.

I wonder who all is going to be at the bowling alley. Are there going to be any girls to talk to, or is it going to be all boys and then me?

I shove my wallet into my pocket and lift up the hatch that leads to the stairs.

It's warm outside and the sun is shining down happily as I step out into it. There are no clouds to be seen and the wind blows gently against my skin, as if trying to embrace me in a hug.

We get into the car and he starts it, pop music playing softly through the speakers. He lets the wind fill his car as he keeps the windows down, and I'm glad my hair is up in a braid.

Tobiah parks just in front of the bowling alley and we get out. I can hear the thumping of the music through the walls and the laughter of the people inside as the door opens.

Lights flash everywhere and the sounds of the bowling balls hitting the wooden alleyways click through the air sporadically, and I smile at the smell of pizza and food wafting from the concession stand. It's been so long since I've stepped foot into a bowling alley. I've just never had the time.

Tobiah leads me to the group of his friends, and I recognize them all as football players. He introduces me, and they all tell me hello or hey and that they know who I am. I smile and laugh and we start the game, which I learn that I'm pretty good at. I'm ahead of them all.

They playfully tease me about it and I laugh and tease back. For once in my life, I'm completely at ease. I'm happy.

And then I see my brother handing money to one of the guys and receiving a bag with green stuff in it.

~

We head home after bowling one game. I don't talk to him; I don't even look at him.

The only words that come out of my mouth are 'thank' and 'you' before I head up to my room.

Not long after flopping on my bed, I hear the front door open and close twice. My dad's off early. My mom's home.

I decide not to move, and to let the comforter hold me in place. One day I'll have to talk to them. One day, but not today.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and open up my calendar app. I set a reminder to go off every day at four o'clock in the afternoon, which is the time I get off of school. In the title area, I type in _Tell Family Everything_.

I hear steps coming up to my room and soft knocking before the hatch opens. My mom pokes her head through.

"Amabel?"

I grumble into the bed.

"Are you okay, hunny?" I hear her step up a few more steps.

"Yeah, mom." I sigh and sit up. "I'm fine."

"Okay, well dinner will be ready soon."

I nod and she goes back out, shutting the little door behind her.

I text John, who is now finished with the fundraiser. He calls me and tells me all about it and how much fun it is, and for a moment I'm okay and not bursting at the seams.

I tell him about the bowling alley, minus the part about the drug hand-off between my brother and his friend. He tells me we should go bowling and I like the idea, aside from today souring my taste for the activity.

At the dinner table, my parents shift nervously in their seats, and Tobiah's eyes are glassy.

_How do they not see that?_ I ask myself.

"Kids, we have something to tell you," my mother says, glancing quickly at my father.

My dad clears his throat and looks each of us in the eye. "Your mother and I have decided on getting into a divorce."

" _What?_ " I cry, standing up. My stomach twists in knots and I feel tears starting to fill my eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Amabel, honey, calm down," my dad breathes.

"No, I will _not_ calm down, _honey,_ " I shout in a mocking tone. "You don't even _believe_ in divorce!"

"Amabel, it's for the best—"

"For who, mom? For you? For dad? For me? For Tobiah?"

Tobiah looks up at his name, his eyes glassy and wet with tears. Does he understand what's going on? Does he _see_ what's happening?

"For all of us, hunny," my mom says calmly.

_How can she be so calm?!_

"Why? What's your reasoning behind the divorce? Why are you doing this to yourselves—to _us?_ Don't you _care_ about your kids?"

"Amabel stop it right now or—"

"Or what, dad? You'll go sleep with the girl you're cheating on mom with? And then mom will get drunk and throw me around, giving me fresh bruises and telling me not to tell anyone? And then Tobiah will go get high off of weed and drugged on meth? And what will I do? Starve myself to death to make you see what you're doing to me—to US? Do I go and kill myself, dad? Huh?"

The table is silent and Tobiah stares at me, half present and half angry. He stands up in a huff and leaves the room, muttering and I hear the front door slam shut. My parents stare at me.

"I've had to deal with your stupid mistakes my entire life, but these past months have been worse than ever. Mom, you've _always_ had an alcohol problem, but it hasn't been as bad as when dad started cheating on you. And _dad!_ Mom was right by calling you a hypocrite. We're all hypocrites, dad, but you're the worst of them. Show up at church like you do NOTHING WRONG, and then tell all of us you're going to work so you can do your coworker? _Really_? I've seen her. I've seen the pictures on your computer. And both of you, for the sake of me and the sake of Tobiah, MAKE IT FREAKING WORK BETWEEN YOU! I don't know why you do what you do, and I don't know why Tobiah does what he does, but I bet it has something to do with you. _Pay attention_ every once in a while!"

I storm out of the dining room and grab my keys off of the entryway table, my wallet still in my back pocket. My parents don't follow me, and I hear my mother crying where I'd left her.

The car comes to life immediately and I back out of the driveway.

I drive and drive until I reach John's house.

Tears soak my face by the time I reach his door and I knock on it and ring the doorbell until he answers the door.

"Amabel?"

I fall into his arms, sobbing. He shushes me and asks me what's wrong.

Everything comes out in one blob of a run-on sentence and I have to suck the snot back in a few times. He tells me to hold on and he disappears back inside for a brief moment.

When he returns, I'm trying to control my breathing and stop crying. He wraps me in a hug, his jacket smelling like his cologne.

"Here," he says, handing me a pink bunny stuffed animal. "I got it for you. I wasn't going to give it to you just yet, but you really need it."

I hug him again, a few more tears falling down my cheeks.

"Do you want to go for a drive?" He asks, pulling me back a little bit.

I smile a little.

"But I just _drove_ here."

"I know it makes you feel better. And we'll listen to your favorite song over and over if we have to."

I smile and pull him closer. He kisses my head and I sniffle.

"Okay."

My favorite song is actually pretty strange. It's not really popular or even in my favorite genre. It actually has a bit of screaming in it, and I _don't_ listen to that.

It's _Car Radio_ by twenty-one pilots.

It's stuck on replay as the road reaches far and wide in front of us. John doesn't talk much, and he doesn't make me talk except for when he asks if I want to hear the song again.

"... _Sometimes quiet is violent..._ "

I say the words along with the track, bobbing my head in the sections where there is only music.

" _...Cuz somebody stole my car radio and now I just sit in silence..._ "

It plays a few more times and I wrap myself up in John's jacket, letting the song and the smell distract me.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He says quietly during the end of the song. "I didn't know any of this was happening."

I take a moment to find words to say.

"I didn't want to drive you away and lose you."

I hear him chuckle.

"You would have never lost me."

I look over to him and smile. We pull up to a red light and he leans over and kisses me.

The light turns green.

"... _Cuz somebody stole my car radio_ —"

A truck slams into us.

"— _and now I just sit in silence_..."

9. John

I wake up to a low beeping sound. White surrounds me—white walls, white ceiling... And the sunlight streams through the window on my right.

I can't move.

I can't feel anything.

The door opens as my brain tells me I'm in a hospital. A man in a white coat walks in, reading from his clipboard. My family follows behind him as I recognize the doctor is my father.

My mom rushes in, teary-eyed and snot-nosed and grabs my hand.

"Amabel!" She sobs and kisses me on the forehead. The smell of alcohol isn't very traceable on her.

"Mom..." I croak.

My throat feels like it's lined with thorns and my head feels like it's being split in two.

I see my brother look at me with clear troubled eyes as he sits in a chair at the end of the bed. He seems fidgety and nervous.

My father stares down at his clipboard, reading something aloud. I don't know if I choose to not hear him or I just can't hear him, because nothing reaches my ears.

"What happened?" I ask as the memories come back.

"Someone ran a red light and completely caved in the driver's side of John's car." My dad says, the words coming out with little emotion. "You were lucky, Amabel."

"Where's John?" I ask, my heart rate speeding up as the beeps mimic it.

My mom looks at me with sad eyes and I look back and forth between them.

"Where is he?" My voice cracks.

"He died on impact, Amabel."

I don't know who it was that told me this news. I don't care.

He's gone. My one happiness, my one distraction, gone.

Warm tears start to create rivers on my cheeks as I shake my head, not wanting to believe it. He can't be dead. He can't be dead while I'm still alive this can't be happening—

"No!" I practically scream. I rip my hand away from my mom and she bites her lip as a tear or two fall from her eyes. "No!"

"Amabel—"

"No! No he can't be—"

"Amabel Ray Doll," my dad says in a low voice. "Calm down. People are sleeping."

"I don't care! I don't care dad, do you care?! Do you see what's happening to me, to _John_?! John..." I sob, placing my head in my hands. My stomach twists and wrenches inside of me as I try to catch my breath. My body hurts, my lungs hurt, my head hurts.

He was everything... without him I would have gone insane long ago. Without him...

He's gone...

"I'm sorry, honey," my mom tries to calm me down.

I shiver her away and try to get out of the hospital bed, the drip attached to my arm yanking at my skin. I pull it out as my mom tries to make me stay in the bed.

I stand up and scream as my left hip cries out in agony. I fall back into the bed and hit it.

I lay sobbing.

"Go away," I grumble through my breathing fits.

"Amabel—"

"Go away!" I scream and throw a pillow at them. "Leave me alone."

"Amabel," my dad says in a low tone. "I know this is hard for you—"

"Go! Away!"

I bury my throbbing head into the mattress, the cold fitted sheet putting pressure on the wounds that are apparently on my head and my nose that is now bleeding.

I hear their footsteps leave the room and I turn myself over, my body's senses finally awakening with pain.

I stare at the ceiling as I try to control my breathing.

"I'm sorry," I hear a voice.

Tobiah.

He's still in here.

I groan in response and cover my eyes with my hands. I can feel the scratches and cuts on them as they touch my skin.

"For everything."

I lay still, not saying a word. Tears still flow from my eyes and sniffles echo between the walls of the room.

I hear Tobiah sigh and stand up. His footsteps get further away and a door opens.

"I promise I'll help make it better."

The door shuts and I'm left to mourn.

10. Doll Face

I miss the entire week of school.

The week after that is a mess. Everything is planned and I can go to almost nothing, and everyone keeps rubbing the memory and the truth of John being gone in my face, making me bleed in every way but physically. I put on my doll face and pretend I'm okay, pretend his death doesn't weigh on me as hard as it should, pretend everything has changed at home. But really the only change has been my mothers' overprotection. She still drinks and tries to hide it, but I can smell it on her as soon as she walks in the room, almost.

My dad is always gone still, though I can't tell if he's home any more than he used to be.

I can't smell anything when both my parents leave for the next series of days and it's just Tobiah and I at home, but I never hear him leave. I wonder if he's doing crack at those times or not, or if he's just sleeping...

Depression hits me hard. I'm not afraid to admit it and there's not anything else to call it. I mean, what do you call that emptiness in your body, in your heart that completely devourers who you are and all you stand for. What else is it that makes you wish you didn't exist?

If depression isn't the word then I don't know what is.

Do I wish I was dead? No. I know God put me here for a reason.

But I do wish I were never born...

Dahlia says nothing to me until she blocks me off from leaving the classroom. I abruptly stop using my crutches, leaning on the top padded part of them.

"How are you?" She asks.

"I'm fine." I say a little more sassily than I mean to. "I'm going to be late for class."

She sighs and moves out of the way to let me through.

And she also makes the decision to follow me down the hall.

"How are you really?" She asks.

"I told you." My irritation is growing as she walks beside me. "I'm fine."

"But you're not."

"Look Dahlia!" I explode. The hallway falls silent. "I'm fine. I don't need any pity or something to make me feel better, I just want to be left alone!"

"Listen here, Barbie," She hisses. "You can't keep pretending like everything in your little life is perfect! You can't hide forever, Amabel!"

"Yeah? Well you would have no idea what I go through each day. Your little family of adopted kids is happy and you have nothing to hide."

I start to walk away, as much as I can walk on crutches.

"Everyone has something to hide, Barbie. Especially you."

I shake my head as I get farther away from her.

"At least I don't have to hide my flaws!" She calls as I turn into a classroom.

~

People can't stop glancing at me as I walk by them. I can hear their voices as they turn into whispers when I pass by them.

Tyrice, Dahlia's brother blocks off my path as I make my way to my history class.

"No one talks to my sister like that," he says, his face hard and his eyes locked on me as if I were a lions' prey.

"Look, I've been through a lot—"

"Does it look like I care, Barbie?" So he calls me that too. "It's not my fault that your brothers a crack head and—"

"Hey!" I shout, but he keeps on talking.

"—that your mom is an alcoholic—"

"Stop it!"

"—and that your dad is a dirty, rotten cheater."

I stare at him, not knowing whether I want to cry or scream at him. I can feel the warm tears in my eyes and my throat start to hurt as I try to breathe through my runny nose.

"That was low," I whisper.

The hallway had fallen silent again. Everyone stares at me. They pity me. They hate me.

The only sound I can hear is the clicking of my crutches and the sound of my heart pounding inside of me. Everyone knows. Everyone knows...

Everyone knows...

My doll face is broken and everyone can see through it now.

~

The bowling alley isn't far from the school; I realize this as I Google it on my phone. I end up crutching my way there, growing painfully tired and I disappear into the building. I sit and watch the people at the alleys make strikes and gutter balls and it makes me feel okay for a moment in time.

I ignore my brother's calls. I don't think I can handle anyone talking to me right now.

It's probably not a good decision to do that to him because he's my ride home, but I don't want to go home. Suddenly I feel this hatred and this despise for my family. Why do they have to do what they're doing? Why can't they be normal? Why can't they see what they're doing to themselves? To me?

I don't know how long o stay in the bowling alley, but soon they start to close and I make my way to the front of the building. My phone rings again and I press the reject button, even though it's my mom that's trying to reach me. The little percentage in the top right hand corner says my phone is about to die. Maybe I should head home now... Maybe I should call my brother.

I unlock my phone and pull up my call app, when I hear something behind me.

I turn, expecting it to be someone from the bowling alley coming back because they forgot something.

Instead, there is a man, clothed in rags and his beard is greying. He wears an orange baseball cap that is old and torn in different places and he holds a beer in his left hand, some of the liquid falling from his mouth.

My heart pounds in my chest and I realize I can't run.

I pretend not to notice him and I tap on my brother's name. It starts calling him.

He answers immediately.

"Amabel—where are you? I looked everywhere—"

"I'm at the bowling alley. Please come get me."

"Yeah—yeah I'll be there in a minute. I'm close by. Give me five."

"Hurry," I say quietly as the footsteps behind me get closer.

"Okay, I—"

The phone dies.

"What's your name?"

The voice of the man sends chills up my spine and I feel like I can't breathe. I can't run from him. I can't run.

I don't look at him. I don't speak to him.

"Hey I asked you a question," he slurs, and I can smell the alcohol now. He's even closer than before. "Hey!"

He grabs my shoulder and flings me around, making me fall to the ground. I cry out in pain as I land on one of my badly injured wrists and I try to stand up.

"What are you doing here, little lady?" The man smiles. He's missing his two front teeth and his gums are dark.

"Waiting for my brother," I squeak, having trouble standing.

I finally get on my feet and he grabs my arm.

"Come here."

I pull and twist, hitting him and trying to get away. I cry out for help.

But no one is here.

"Stop," he growls. "Stop struggling."

"Help!" I scream as he touches my face.

I hit him straight in the nose with my good hand and hobble off, my leg hurting with each step.

There's a sharp blow to the back of my head and I hit the ground. The world spins around me and I feel hands on me. They flip me over and he man sits on me. I feel something sharp and cool up against my throat and a new wave of panic washes over me.

I feel hot tears start to stream down my face. I start to pray to God. I don't know if it's out loud or if it's in my head, but I try to let him hear me, to let him let me live.

"I said stop struggling," the man hisses, pressing the blade harder against my throat. I start to feel my breathing get shallow and my vision go blurry.

I hear a car pull up.

"To..." I gasp.

A car door slams.

"TOBIAH!" I shriek.

The man is thrown off me and my brother looks down at me. The man stands back up drunkenly and Tobiah approaches him.

"Leave." He says, and turns back to me.

He offers me a hand and helps me stand on my leg.

"Are you okay?" He asks. His eyes are perfectly clear. He's okay.

He jerks forward and cries out loud.

The man pulls the knife from Tobiah's back. I catch him as he falls forward into me. Everything goes numb. Everything goes silent. Even my screams. Even my sobs. Even the drunk man's footsteps. Even the mumbles he grunts as he walks away.

I dig in his pockets for his phone and dial 911.

They answer. Tobiah is barely breathing. He looks at me with tired, pained eyes, and I see the brother I once knew. Before my parents became dishonest. Before the drugs.

"I'm... sorry, Amabel," He whispers, the blood seeping onto the pavement.

I shake my head as the person on the other line starts to talk to me and ask me questions.

My brother dies in my arms.

I can't finish telling the woman what happened. Tears take me over and rivers flow from me. He lays so still...

I stare at him as the tears fall, hoping this was a joke. Looking for the slightest hint of a smile. Of a breath. Of life.

The ambulance shows up. They bring me with him. Someone asks me questions. I don't know who. My body has gone numb. My insides hurt like they are being crushed. My parents are distraught, even my dad. But I don't notice any of it.

John's gone. My brother's gone.

And it's all because of me.

11. Why

My face is a mess as I crutch myself out of the hospital. Makeup runs down it like ravines and, suddenly, I wish I was in one. I wish that it would have been me that died instead of them. Me instead of them. _Why am I still alive?_ Why didn't God just _let me die?!_

I make across the street, going as fast as I can on crutches, sobs shaking my body. I keep going. I don't know how far or how long I go for. I just do.

It's not even a gloomy morning. The sun is shining down like nothing bad ever happens. It shines down like it has its own case of doll-syndrome. _It's_ the one with a doll face. Why can't Dahlia just call _the sun_ plastic instead of me?

I shake my head. I'm being irrational.

But I need to be.

I sit down on the long bridge, my back up against the cement. Cars pass by, the people inside living their lives. Maybe they're happy. Maybe they're like me.

My spine scrapes the cement wall behind me as I cry, my body bouncing with each sob. My parents don't know I left the hospital room. They'd have a fit when I got home.

_If I came home..._

I curl my body up in a tight ball, trying to get as small as I can. Maybe if I got small enough, I would disappear. I wouldn't have to go through any of this anymore.

I sit like that until my muscles ache and the sun is hot on my body. I feel swear start to gather all over my body and the traffic increase.

What if I died today? Would it be easy to go, or would it be painful? Would I fight for my life like how Tobiah fought for mine? Or would I go as quickly as John?

I look up at the world around me. Everything has its own place in this world. Everything belongs where it is placed, and even if it doesn't, it will get there some day.

But where am I?

Am I where I'm supposed to be? Have I finished what I need to do here? Or am I still making my way there?

I look up at the blue sky, not a cloud in sight. I've run out of tears and my body is torn between going back and staying here.

A car pulls over to the shoulder near me. Something inside of me prickles with fear, but the rest of me is just tired. I don't move, but I keep my eyes on the car as the doors open.

Faces of people I know look at me, concerned. They walk to me and kneel down beside me. Can't they just leave me alone? Can't _everyone just leave me alone?_ Can't they see I don't want any company right now?

"Amabel? Are you okay?" I hear Dahlia speak. I don't look at her. I don't respond. I just stare straight ahead blankly and refuse to move. I refuse to answer.

"Amabel, sweetie?" I hear. It's her mom. "Amabel, hey, look at me please."

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wall, giving in to what someone else wants me to do again. I become a doll again.

My eyes open slowly to look at her. Her eyebrows are pinched together and her face wears a mask of worry. I say mask like she's trying to hide something, but I can't find anything she hides. Anger bubbles up inside of me, sadness courses through me, jealously makes my blood tingle, and tears begin to fall again. I lurch forward and place my elbows on my knees, pressing the palms of my hands into my eyes. I can't help it. This is all my fault.

I feel arms hold me tight and pull me into a warm body. How can people I've only met once comfort me better than my own flesh and blood can?

~

I sit in the back seat, staring out the window and trying not to break down again. They've already seen it once, and I don't want them to have to deal with me.

Dahlia sits in the back with me. She had to move the shopping bags to the passenger seat in order to. I tried to help, but my injuries limited me.

The crutches lie on the bottom of the car, my feet sitting on top of them. For a moment, I move my feet away from it, feeling almost as if it can feel the pressure of them on it and that it doesn't like it. And then I realize it's not a real thing.

Like me...

I stifle another tear as we pass over a big bridge. The city looks strange from this angle. Had I really walked this far?

The feelings inside of me are numb now as I try to suppress them, as I always have. I'm sick of hiding, I'm sick of not feeling, I'm sick of being this way, numb... but it's the only thing I know how to do.

Dahlia tries to talk to me, to make light conversation about school or about coming over one day and going shopping with them... but I don't care about any of that, I don't want to do it. I have more than I need. I have a life when two of the most important people died in place of me. I don't tell her any of this, all of it stays in my brain. The only things that do come out are a couple grunts, a couple of 'okays', a couple of 'maybes'...

My house comes into view and Dahlia's mom pulls into the driveway. My mom's car is gone. So is my dad's. I just hope that they're at the hospital, wondering about what's going to happen now. Rethinking their divorce. Rethinking their addictions.

But I hope they don't worry about me.

I'm nothing. I'm the reason why this has happened. I did this to them, whether it was directly or indirectly. My fault...

I step out to weather the weather that's coming my way. The weather that's already in my way. The weather that I've weathered that is coming back my way.

They drive off with a few words from Dahlia's mom, who tries to make me feel better. I fake that it does. She doesn't need to worry either.

The trudge to my front door seems too long and too tedious, but I do it anyway. I unlock the door and go inside. Haven't eaten all day, but I pass by the kitchen. One flight of stairs, two... into my room. I lock the door that sits on my floor and open the window above my bed. It's just big enough for me to fit through.

I sit on the tiny sill and try to stretch one of my legs across to the roof. I'm able to get it on, and I twist myself around, holding the frame of the window tightly with my hands. The boot on my other foot seems sort of slippery as I step with it onto the shingles. Pain makes its way through my body, but I don't care. I want to be on the roof. I want to think. So that's what I'm doing.

I crawl up and sit down on the point where the roof is the highest. I can see my entire street. I can see the birthday party going on a little ways down for the little boy named Thomas, and I can see my neighbors returning with groceries. Everything looks normal from up here. There's nothing wrong with it. There's no adultery, no drugs, no alcohol... just me, the wind, and my street.

I look up at the clouds, wondering if Tobiah is staring down at me from heaven, wishing I would stop thinking the things I was thinking. Did he make it to heaven? Did he find his way to Jesus? Or back to Him, if he had been lost before?

_What about me?_ I ask myself.

The shingles are rough against my palms as I look at my feet. So much has happened to me, and I sit here and ask God why they happened. I should know better, of course. There _are_ two forces at work, after all, and God makes great things out of the bad things... but which one am I? The good or the bad?

I close my eyes and clasp my hands together. I need some comfort, some _real_ comfort, and I know that God can give it to me. He can give me strength, and he can give me hope... I really need that right now.

"God," I whisper, my eyes filling up with tears. "I know I sound selfish asking for you to give me the hope and strength I need to... to... be okay again... I know other people... they need it more than I do. But... God, I miss John... and I miss Tobiah... Whatever I did to... I'm sorry..." Tears start to fall, hot on my cheeks. "If they're up there with you, God, tell them I love them... tell Tobiah I say thank you for saving my life, although I wish he... I wish he was still here... and, and... tell him I wish it was me..."

I look down at my driveway as my mother's car pulls in. She opens the door and steps out, looking up at me, worry covering her face.

"Amabel?" She calls. "What are you doing up there? Come down!"

I pull my knees to my chest and rest my chin on them. I shake my head slightly and move my eyes away from her. I don't want to talk to her. I don't want to talk to anyone.

"Amabel Doll!" She shouts again, and I'm forced to look at her. "Come down here this instant!"

She's mad. Furious even. And later she'll probably get drunk mourning over her son's death... and I'll be upstairs alone, waiting for her to crash so I can clean up the mess before dad gets home...

She screams my name again and I feel frustration enter into me.

"Why?" I shout back, not making eye contact with her. My eyes stay on the rooftop across from me. For some reason, it seems so inviting. Does that even make sense?

"It's dangerous up there, Am! Come _here_."

I ignore her.

" _Now."_

"Why?" I shrug and finally look down at her. "So you can go and get drunk and pretend like Tobiah didn't just die?" The word sticks in my throat like a big wad of gum and tears shoot into my eyes. Admitting it out loud makes my heart hurt, and immediately I want to take the word back. I don't want it to be true.

"Amabel Ray Doll," She says in a low, threatening tone. "Get your butt down here. Now."

I groan and stand up, my attitude reflecting through the actions.

And that's when my foot slips out from under me.

12. Breathing

The next second, I see the gutter on the side of the house and I grab onto it, my weight making it bend. I hold on to it, hoping it won't break. Praying it won't.

I hear my mom start to panic.

"Hold on, honey!" She shouts and runs inside.

"Really?" I scream, the sarcasm thick with fear.

The gutter starts to move a bit. My breathing gets shallow. What if this is my time to go? What if I get what I've been wanting for the past week or so? What if this is it? If I end up just like John and Tobiah...

My fingers start to slip, wet with sweat.

The window by my feet opens and my mom pokes her head out.

"Give me your feet," she calls.

Struggling, I try and swing them to her. The gutter bends a bit more. I look down at the ground that seems so far away...

I can hear my breath start to come out in wheezes.

Could I survive if I fell? Could I make it?

The gutter moves again and I try one more time to get my legs into my mom's arms. I feel her fingers close around one of my ankles, and then the other one. She's got me.

What now?

The gutter moves again, and I can feel sweat start to collect all over my body.

My mom starts to pull my legs toward her and I start to panic as the feeling of vertigo takes over me.

"Mom! Mom, I can't do it," I say, feeling a tear slip down my cheek.

"Yes you can, Amabel!"

"No I can't!" A sob escapes my throat. Maybe I don't really want to die. Maybe I do want to live.

"Honey, Amabel, sweetie, grab the top of the windowsill and pull yourself inside."

"How?"

"One hand—one hand at a time. Go."

I nod and reach with my right hand first. I can feel my fingers slipping of the metal gutter as I do.

I hold onto the windowsill tightly, my knuckles turning white. I nod to let her know I'm secure with my hold and try to bring my other hand to it as well.

I do it quickly, a brief sense of falling gushes through me, but it goes away as I slip into the room. My mom pulls me in and hugs me tightly, and I'm thankful she's sober. If she was drunk... Who knows? I probably wouldn't be breathing right now.

"Don't you ever get up on that roof ever again, do you hear me Amabel Doll?" She says, pulling me away for a brief second to inspect me for any wounds.

I nod and she pulls me in for another hug. I return it, feeling like I need it, like we both need it.

We stand there for a good while, taking our time letting go. My mind drifts off to Tobiah. I wish he could see this. Wish he could be a part of it...

"Mom?" I ask quietly as I pull away.

"Yes dear?" She asks, wiping her eyes.

"Do you think Tobiah made it to heaven?"

She looks at me and I can see the debate in her eyes.

"Don't sugar coat it. I want a real answer," I say.

My mom sighs and looks around the room briefly. We're on the second story that holds Tobiah's room, every nook and cranny spotless and shining.

"I don't know, Amabel," She says sadly, her voice cracking with emotion. "I don't think anyone knows, really. You just have to know where you stand with God and pray that you make it, I guess..."

She pulls me in for another hug and I find myself staring at his door, as if it would open at any moment now. Looking at it with the hope he'd come striding out, smiling, and start talking about football or weightlifting, or the girl he's had a crush on since grade school... but I realize the false hope that I hold inside and look away, knowing that he's gone. Forever.

~

I find myself in his room later that day, opening the door quietly, waiting for him to tell me to get out. But the threat never comes and my heart sinks.

I sit down on the chair by his desk, noticing the corner of it is chipped. It's probably one of the things he had turned over when he went on his rampage after the accident on the stairs.

I touch it absentmindedly and look around the room. His bed sits on the back corner, the dark blue blanket neatly pressed against his mattress, waiting for him to return for a good night's sleep. Everything is spotless and nothing is out of place.

It's like he's not gone at all.

I break down, sobs shaking my body. John and Tobiah... both gone because of me.

~

The funeral is the next weekend after the incident. Family members come for support and to see him off... They try to tell us that they're sorry for our loss... How can they be sorry? Why do they have to pity us?

I try my hardest not to cry. I feel like he wouldn't want me to. But I do, quietly, but barely. I try to hold it in. I try to stay strong. I try to put on the doll-face and try to slip into the Doll-Syndrome I've always seemed to have, but I think better of it, knowing it would get me nowhere.

So I cry.

John's was last week's. I went through all of this the first time there. Only it wasn't as hard. I'm not saying it wasn't as sad or I didn't love John... I did. I really, really did. Do... But for that one, I knew I had to be strong for his family. They were worse off than I was, considering they're his actual blood.

My family and I don't say much for weeks. My parents seem to have forgotten about their decision to divorce for the time being, but that won't last long.

And then the day comes where we have our family meeting in the living room.

13. This Is It

"Amabel, I know this has been hard for you to go through. It's been hard for us too, but your father and I have decided... to make the divorce final."

My mom's voice breaks and so does my heart. They can't do this to me, to _us_.

"But—you can't..." I feel tears start to gather in my eyes. "But Tobiah..."

"I know, Amabel, I know... But we have to move on."

"Move _on_?" I scream, a tear tumbling down my cheek. "It hasn't even been that long—do you even freaking _care_ about _anything_ that has happened?"

"Of course we do, Amabel—"

"No!" I shout, not holding anything back any longer. "If you cared, you wouldn't be tearing our family apart!"

"We think it'd be best for everyone—"

"Shut up," I say, not caring who's talking. "The only reason why you're doing this is because you're trying to make it look like none of what has happened is affecting you."

"Am," my dad says as he sits forward on the couch. "Your mom and I just aren't happy anymore—"

"Oh, bull," I spit. "You've been cheating on her for four months now, of course you're unhappy with her, and she's mad at you for doing what you're doing, idiot."

"Amabel!"

"No, dad. I'm tired of this. I've stood by too long, watching each of us fall apart and rip at the seams and I'm tired of doing it. I'm tired of being a stupid Barbie Doll and acting like we're perfect."

"Amabel, you were never expected to be perfect."

"Really, mom? Really?" I exhale, anger boiling inside of me and bursting at the seams. This is it. This is where I explode. This is the moment that could either fix or break everything in my life or that could shatter it forever. This is where I lift the curtain and make them see what's going on around them.

This is it.

"Do you know how mom found out about you, dad? No, I guess you don't, since you've continued to do it after she did find out. She was coming home in her car. I watched her from the attic. She slowed in front of our house and saw the woman's car, the woman who sends you inappropriate pictures and calls for you to leave your house, and then she picked up speed and drove off. I've never seen her drive so fast."

"Amabel, we don't need to talk about this," My mom says, her blue eyes watering.

"Oh, but we do mom, we really do, considering you never did. And instead of doing so, you ran to a liquid called alcohol. Shocker. And then you would beat me sometimes, you know. But you don't remember it. You were too drunk to realize what you were doing, and in the morning when you would ask about a bruise or a cut, I'd lie, putting on a smile and laughing about it when it tore me apart inside." I stand up, looking down at the two of them. "You two disgust me. I'm supposed to want to be like you, and you're supposed to be my role model—you were supposed to be Tobiah's role model. And look where that got him. Smoking pot and pushing me down stairs, and then, eventually, he died."

"Amabel, sit down."

"Dad—no. You don't get it, do you?" I say, exasperated. "You don't get what I'm saying."

"Yes I do, Amabel, and I don't appreciate how you're talking to me."

"You don't appreciate—what?" I laugh hysterically through the anger streaming from me. "I've had this conversation with you before, remember? At the dinner table with Tobiah high as the clouds and you telling me that you were getting into a divorce? Obviously, you didn't listen then, and I know you're not listening now! I would think that you would, considering you only have one kid left!"

"Amabel, we are listening, and I know we've made mistakes, but—"

"But what?" I ask, looking at my dad expectantly, and then at my mom. She looks like she's about to explode with tears at any second, but now is not the time to be soft and sensitive towards them. They need to see what they're doing to me, to each other. They need to see, and this is the only way. "But what, dad, what? I'm not perfect either, I've made mistakes too? Of course I have, parents. But you're supposed to be my example, you are what I'm supposed to be wanting to be. You're supposed to be my biggest heroes, but right now, I don't even know. Right now, I'm exactly like you—a hypocrite, a liar, and a cheat."

"Amabel Ray—"

"No, I'm not done," I say, jabbing my finger in my dad's face as he stands up. My mom brings her knees up to her chest on the couch, something I got from her. Suddenly, I'm disgusted by the action and the fire is fed and grows bigger inside of me. "I've been half-starving myself for I-don't-know-how-long now, just so I can keep up the image you want me to. I've been in dozens of clubs at school and applied to handfuls upon handfuls of colleges just to make you happy. I don't even know what I want to do, but dad wants me to be a doctor, so that's what I was going to do. I've thought of killing myself, I've had depression for the longest time, and I can't get out of it. John died, and if that wasn't hard enough, I was in a wreck, and then was almost murdered by a drunk man at a bowling alley, and I wish it was me instead of Tobiah, but if that happened, then who would be telling you all this now?

"What would it take to make you change your ways? Revelations two twenty-one talks about the time given for someone to change, but they don't want to change. They're stuck in their sinful ways, and they refuse to get out. They're stuck in the ways of the world and they don't want to get out. So what would it take to get you two out?"

My parents just look at me. I can't tell what's going on in their mind, but I know they don't know what to say. Here I am, their daughter, shouting and yelling at them about their faults and their wrongdoings, and then there's them, who try to stray from rudeness and from prying. I am going against all they have brought me up to be.

"Amabel," my dad says quietly and reaches forward to touch my shoulders. I back away, not wanting either of them to touch me, either of them to say anything to me but I'm sorry and we've changed our minds. "Amabel, nothing you say will change our decisions."

My heart shatters and twists into a black hole.

"I'm done." I say. "That's it."

I turn away and ignore them as they call my name and try to follow me. I'm faster.

I go all the way up to the attic, my leg sending pain through my body. I still need my crutches, but I need to walk. I need to get away. Away from them, from all of this... all of it.

I stuff my bag full of random things in my room, although I don't expect to stay out overnight. I just need the effect. I need them to see what they're doing. I need to make a statement and make something stick out to them.

I hobble downstairs, my parents waiting on the bottom.

"Where are you going?" My dad asks, looking infuriated.

I push past them, feeling him grab my arm and yank it back towards him. I nearly trip over my crutches.

I glare at him for a moment.

"Let go."

"No. Amabel, you're going to sit down with us and talk about this in a civilized way."

"No I'm not," I say. "I'm done. That's it."

I rip my arm away and open the door, my dad following me. I step out into the night and crutch down to the sidewalk. My dad's footsteps sound from behind me, but I've gotten better at working with the crutches. I'm fast.

He falls behind as I turn a corner and another. I don't know where I am anymore after a few more turns. I don't recognize it through my tears. But there are so many headlights, so many street lights, so many voices... Too many.

14. Headlights

Buildings seem to pass by quickly as I keep crutching on. My leg is crying out in pain, but so is my heart, and it wins over my leg.

Streetlights shine down as I go under them, people seem to be talking on their phones a lot, cars zoom by, needing to get somewhere. Six o'clock traffic. Isn't it great? It drowns out the thoughts of everything and everyone everywhere and each little thing that needs to be fixed in my life, each little thing that needs to be erased from my memory.

People look at me strangely and a few ask if I need help, but I just shake my head and keep going forward, not knowing where it is I'm actually headed.

My phone rings constantly.

They're trying to call me.

So they couldn't follow me and stop me from heading out into the city, but they have the audacity and the energy to call me? They couldn't get into their expensive little cars and come find me, but they could call me to ask me where I am? Are you serious?

Great parenting, mom and dad.

I sit down on a bench.

I'm exhausted.

"That's my seat—hey, it's you!"

The drunken slur startles me. I look up to see the low-life that stabbed my brother.

Rage takes over my bloodstream and I stand up, my leg screaming out. He looks worse than that night, but my brother can't even see that now. It's this man's fault. It's his fault I'm grieving, his fault my brother is dead. Gone.

I swing my fist around and connect it with the man's nose.

"You killed my brother!"

A few people stop to watch and move on.

"I—"

"This is all your fault!" I push the alcohol-smelling man roughly and take a step back, breathing heavily. "You have no idea what you've done to my family—what you've done to me!"

"Don't yell at me, kid!" The man slurs.

"I will yell at whoever I want to fricking yell at, and right now it's you, because it is your fault!" The man tries to talk over me, but I don't let him. "You chose to be drunk. You chose to prey on a minor. You chose to send that knife into my brother! Don't tell me it's not your fault!"

"Hey!" The man shouts as I keep on yelling. "Shut it. Shut it! The cops—the cops are right there."

"Good! Let them hear! This man killed my brother!"

The man shoves me.

I stumble into the road.

Headlights.
Epilogue

Amabel Ray Doll's closed-casket funeral was the next week. Her parents were torn and they finally cracked. Everyone saw through the charade.

Her dad eventually stopped seeing the other woman and decided to work on what he had with Amabel's mother. He encouraged her to stop drinking, and today is her one-year anniversary of staying sober. They had Amabel buried right next to Tobiah, and they visit the graves often, telling their children about all of the good things in their life. They apologize for their actions, their parenting... they said they should have known better. They had turned into their parents, something they'd sworn never to do.

Mark Doll quit his job as a doctor and decided to help out Sarah Doll at the bakery. It has really flourished since then, and it's usually packed with customers.

The drunken man that had killed both of the kids was arrested thrown into prison after pushing Amabel into the street.

Dahlia was at the funeral. She never thought Amabel would be the type of person to die young, even with the situations that had been at hand. She didn't know her long, but she feels horrible about everything that happened.

Dahlia's family prays for her every day, and Sarah and Mark have gotten extremely close to them. At church, they don't hide anything from anyone anymore. If they need help, they go to the pastor or his wife for counseling and advice.

And they know that both of their children are watching from up above, proud of what they've turned into. Especially Amabel, who had seen what no one else had.

About the Author

K. Weikel self-publishes all of her books. She edits the contents, the covers, and the pages all herself.

Dollhouse was inspired by Melanie Martinez's song called Dollhouse, and K. Weikel took what she had to offer in her song and put it into a story. She feels like things like this really do happen, and that people fake it 'till they make it, even when they're not going anywhere.

If you or someone you know is being abused, please find help. Don't wait it out.

If someone has an addiction to drugs or to alcohol, help them out and try to encourage them to stop. They're killing their bodies, even if they say 'it's alright, I'm fine—look nothing has happened yet." Don't wait it out for them to come to their senses. Help them.

And for any of you going through something similar to this, don't be afraid to speak up. Silence is never the answer, especially when it's something like this.

Other Books by K. Weikel

The Vampire's Carnival

Figures

Match

Caged

Catrina Billowson

The Haunted Mansion #1

The Haunted Mansion #2: the Haunted Band Room

The Haunted Mansion #3: Revenge

Coming Soon

Trapped

Unnamed

Labyrinth

Krystal's World

Face It

