Find Her, Fix Him

7 | Where will you go

7 | Where will you go

LILO~

I know something is wrong as soon as I open the front door.

It's one of those feelings you can't describe- the one that gets written in books as a prickle on the neck, an instinctive urge, a pressing feeling. The hallway feels wrong. It's quiet, but not in the usual way. At once, my heart speeds up in my chest.

"Dad? I'm home!" I call, fumbling to untie my laces. I texted him five minutes ago, like I said I would, but he didn't reply. This didn't feel exactly unusual- Dad may have had his phone turned off or something. Now, I'm beginning to wonder. I kick off my shoes and call again, "Dad?"

There is no reply. I drop my coat and run down the hallway into the kitchen, eyes going immediately to the sofa. There is some sort of shape under the blanket, but not a human shape. I throw back the blanket, and my breath gets caught in my throat.

Dad isn't there. Forcing myself to calm down and breathe more slowly, I walk out of the kitchen and into the living room. Then I head up the stairs and peer into Dad's bedroom. I pull back the sheets, the curtains, even throw open the wardrobe. I sink down to the carpet and sit there, feeling numb.

Dad isn't here. He isn't here. How can he not be here?

He can't have left the house- he isn't strong enough and he knows it. He wouldn't be that stupid- and he wouldn't want to worry me. So where is he? If he isn't at home, and he isn't outside-

His dressing-gown is missing from his bed-post. In a flash of inspiration I dash from the room and burst into the bathroom, battling with the faulty handle before practically falling in. What I see at once makes my heart implode inside my chest.

Dad is lying sprawled over the bathroom floor, arms and legs splayed out, smashed glass all around him. A gasp escapes me like someone has punctured my lungs, and I drop to the floor beside him, clapping a hand over my mouth. I don't think I'm breathing. Dad is pale, still, and there is dried blood speckling his hands. I draw in a breath that shakes inside my throat. I can't breathe.

"Lilo?"

Dad's voice is croaky and hoarse- as if he's been shouting my name at the top of his voice while I've been gone. How long has he been lying here, lying in the smashed glass and blood? I take another gasping breath, realising that I haven't taken one in a whole minute. My head won't stop reeling.

"Dad?" I whisper, voice scratching my throat, "Dad? Dad?"

I can't stop repeating it, mumbling over and over, rocking back and forth on the blood-dotted tiles. I don't know what to do. I feel like I've gone numb.

"I- I wanted to get some painkillers from the cabinet," Dad forces out, "The box you left out downstairs was empty. I stood on that stool to reach the box, and I don't know what happened- one minute I was standing, the next I was...down here. I- Lilo, I can't get up-"

There is a tear snaking its way down his cheek, and I gasp again, finding my own eyes welling up. I rub my eyes determinedly, grabbing for Dad's hand. His fingers are shaking.

"Looks like your old man has taken a tumble," Dad tries to laugh, but it comes out sounding like he's sobbing. I press his hand to my face, weeping.

I can't believe I left out the empty painkiller box. I can't believe I didn't check it before I left for Khan's. I can't believe I went to Khan's. I can't believe I left my Dad by himself. This is all my fault, my fault, my fault.

"Dad, I'm sorry-" I hiccup out, "I'm so sorry-"

"This wasn't your fault, Lilo-"

"No, it was! It was my fault!" I'm ugly-crying now, tears mingled with snot, making an absolute mess of my face. I rub my nose, wishing I could stop feeling so numb. I have no idea what to do. I'm always prepared for every situation, but the situations I thought of didn't include finding my Dad lying on the floor in his own blood.