I'm not okay at all, but I never will be. The thought pierces me. How can he ever love me?

I struggle to talk without slurring.

"I...I'm okay. No, don't pick me up. I'll sh-see you at school."

Love is about helping each other through dark times, Kaeleigh.

Try to remember that, okay?

Getting drunk tonight won't make tomorrow better. But letting me love you will. It's all up to you.

312.

I So Do not Deserve Him He is Mr. Perfect and I'm a perfect ass to have ever, for even a moment, believed we could even resemble a real couple, in real love, like such a thing exists beyond media-fed fantasies.

He says he loves me and he'd never lie to me, not on purpose.

But would he love me if he knew my secrets? I go from Chopin giggles to a Chopin breakdown, steeped in Chopin teardrops.

313.

Time For a Chopin Pee I force Ian out of my mind, do the best I can to do that, anyway. Head spinning, gut churning, I go into the bath- room, try not to look at the girl in the mirror as I pass by.

Every time I think I've gained a little control, actually played an active role in determining my future, reality punches me in the face. I have no control at all. All I can do is hang on for the ride, and it's starting to make me completely insane.

The toilet beckons and my body responds, evacuating Chopin and undigested mac and cheese every which way imaginable. Finally I lay my sweaty forehead against the cool porcelain. No! I don't deserve such comfort. In fact, right this moment, all I really deserve, really desire, is pain.

314.

Not Mental Pain Not emotional pain, things beyond my ability to control. But physical pain is most definitely within my limited realm of power.

I pull back from the mac spattered toilet, feel a fleeting sense of shame and commiseration for Manuela. But then I remember she's out of commission. Just who will scrub this mess?

Can't trust my shaky legs. I crawl over to the tub, hoist myself inside, slide out of my vomit- crusted clothes. Ugh!

My legs are fat. Fat and hairy. Time for a major shave. And not just hair.

315.

New Blade No razor burn.

No razor nicks.

No more hair.

Legs are smooth.

But still fat.

Open my skin.

Right ankle.

Left ankle.

White flesh.

Red polka dots.

Ha! That's funny.

Ouch. Stings.

Behind right knee.

Left knee. Oops.

A little deep.

Blood pumps.

Check it out .

Thump. Thump.

Oh my God.

Can I stop it?

Who really cares?

The drain runs red.

316.

I've Heard Exsanguination Is a pleasant enough way to go.

Bleeding out, ebbing away, one heartbeat, ever slower, at a time.

Thump-thump. Thump...thump. Thump...

...thump ......until you look death right in the eye, decide you like what you see. I've always feared dying before, psychological fallout from my childhood near death experience. The accident replays in a series of black-and- white snapshots. Raeanne laughs.

Daddy swears. Mom screams, Ray!

Glass rains. Darkness. Someone calls, Wake up, and I open my eyes to a swarm of disembodied faces.

Halloween masks. Bloated. Distorted.

Hands, gloved red, reach out to me.

I fall back into blackness, stumble toward an orange glow, vaguely aware of spectral movement. Ahead, a figure leans into a low-banked fire. He lifts his horned head. Daddy! I leap from the shadows into antiseptic white.

317.

Raeanne OM-Effing-G The bathroom looks like a battle field. Tangerine-colored puke paints toilet and tiles, and the whole place smells like death, not only because of the barfed- up whatever, but also because of the blood, thick maroon drips all over the tub and towels. And near the sink is a sticky crimson puddle.

What's up with Kaeleigh, anyway?

I mean, yeah, I get throwing up.

It's not bad at all, except for the stomach acid part. The barf monster calls to me regularly. But hey, you're supposed to get it inside the bowl, and if you don't, protocol dictates you clean it up. I guess maid duty falls to me from who-knows-where this morning. Kaeleigh is gone, and if Daddy sees this, all hell will break loose. That girl seriously owes me, and I'd better collect soon, before she succumbs to the shadows overtaking her soul.

318.

Speaking of Souls, Monsters, Etc.

Tonight is Halloween.

Ghouls. Goblins. Witches.

Avoidable candy. And way avoidable children in costumes.

Kind of fun to jump out and scream boo at the little brats. Then they avoid you.

Woo-hoo.

Not only is it All Hallows Eve, but it's also Friday. The perfect excuse to party hearty. All I have to do is decide who to party with.

Tricks? Treats? Ty? Mick?

A little (a lot?) of both?

(I don't think it's the right night f or Lawler, but never say never.) **

Daddy won't try to stop me. He knows who he wants to party with. Well, maybe. I could have read the whole Hannah thing wrong, I guess. But if he was flirting and Hannah didn't go for it, he's a bomb with a very short fuse.

Tick. Tick.

319.

Daddy and Hannah As I scrub away Kaeleigh's disgustingness, I can't help thinking about them. Truth is, the idea makes me crazy.

(Crazy jealous.) **

Am I jealous? I guess I must be, because right now, all I can see (besides orange puke) are still shots of Daddy and Hannah.

(Doing the dirty.) **

Shot one: missionary, Daddy on top.

Shot two: doggie-style, Daddy on top.

Shot three: can't even say it, let alone dwell on the picture, but Daddy's on top.

(Always on top.) 320.

Being [the words below, above the asterisks, in the book are arranged in the shape of the letters o and n On top means never saying you're sorry, not for any damn thing you ever say or do. Daddy has got to be the king of on top, with Mom a very close runner-up. Hm.

Wonder who was on **

T O P.

when they did have sex.

321.

Sex, Sex, Sex I have really got to stop thinking about it so damn much, you know?

Daddy and Hannah; Daddy and Mom; **

Daddy and Kaeleigh; Daddy and whoever; Mom and Daddy,- Mom and whoever; Lawler and whoever; Mick and whoever; Ty...