Before I Go

Chapter 25- You Look Unhealthy

"Are you okay, Morgan?" my mother asks, pressing the backside of her hand against my forehead, her face contorted into a worried frown. You know, that kind that mothers typically have the instant that they suspect there's something wrong with their children? Yeah, that one. "You're looking quite pale," she mumbles, removing her hand from my head to carefully grasp my chin. As she tilts my face toward her to assess my face, I watch as her brows furrow further, noticing the motherly concern that is prominently displayed in her reflection.

Weakly, I clear my throat, forcing myself to sound stronger than I'm feeling in the hope that I'll convince my mom that everything is just fine. I definitely don't want to give my mom the impression that I might be sick or something; absolutely nothing good could possibly come of that. "I'm okay," I tell her, trying my best to believe the words as they slip off my tongue, and turning my face away from her pressing gaze. It totally freaks me out how easily she can read me. Is that a typical mother thing? Like, all they have to do is just look intently at their children, and they magically know everything? I hope not; gosh, that's a terrifying thought. "I think I just didn't get enough sleep last night; I was studying for that big math test, you know?" The lie comes to my mind quickly, leaving my mouth without hesitation. However, I can't deny the guilt slowly trickling into my stomach afterward.

Looking me over once more, my mom hums quietly before returning to the mug of coffee she had left waiting on the counter when she swarmed to me. She lifts it carefully, allowing the heat to warm her hands as she breathes in its scent. "I suppose I can accept that response," she states, sipping the steaming liquid, although her expression alerts me that she isn't entirely convinced.

Relief only barely washes over me before my father's voice can be heard from across the kitchen, instantly shattering what small reprieve I had felt. "You look unhealthy," he says, his voice gruffer than what I'm used to. Honestly, the words themselves, combined with his sharp tone, are like daggers stabbing directly into my gut. It startles me, and I can feel my muscles tighten as I stand as still as possible in the doorway of the kitchen. "You're white as a ghost, Morgan," my dad continues, leaning his elbows onto the table before him. "Your cheeks are sunken in, and you look like someone has given you two black eyes. Now, tell me what's going on with you."

My eyes widen in fear, and I internally tell myself not to fidget in my spot, no matter how badly I want to right now. My immediate response is to lie my way out of this, avoiding this tense confrontation entirely. Can I really do that, though? Am I capable of deceiving my parents in such a gigantic way? What's the worst that could happen if I just tell them the truth? Would they even believe me if I sat here and spilled my guts, pouring out every single secret, every last thing that I've been keeping locked up inside me all this time? Would they be angry at me? Maybe they'd think I'm insane or something and send me off to some mental institution... or even the psychiatric ward at the hospital.

Panic surges through me, igniting in my belly and burning through my veins as it suddenly consumes me. I don't have the foggiest idea what to tell them. Where do I begin? I don't...

"Morgan?" my mother calls, her worried expression not only returning to her face but also deepening drastically. "Are you sure you're not feeling under the weather, hun? Do you need to stay home today?"

"Uh, um..." I nonsensically begin, sweat accumulating on my forehead and dampening my hair. All of a sudden, I'm not feeling so great. It's really hot in here, and my ears feel like they're on fire. Wrapping the fingers of one hand around the collar of my shirt, I carefully pull the fabric away from my skin; I feel like it's choking me or something. My breathing becomes labored, my breaths drawing deeper with every passing second.

"Morgan!" my dad's voice booms, pulling me out of my panicked stupor. He looks at me expectantly, a hint of concern darkening his features.

I shake my head; I can't do this. I don't want to talk about this right now. Why now, of all times? Why would my parents choose this precise moment to finally notice my struggles? How could they not feel pressured to ask if anything was going on sooner? I clear my throat, hoping the giant lump formed within it will budge enough so I can speak clearly. "I mean, I think I'm not feeling the greatest, but I don't have a fever or anything. Maybe I'll just take a nap after school or something; that should help a little. I just... I haven't been sleeping so well. But I can't miss my classes today; I have a math test that's worth a big chunk of my grade," I blurt out, praying that they'll find my bullcrap excuses to be suitable reasoning.

I really just want to disappear right now. Actually, this would be the perfect time for the floor to just swallow me up.

My parents exchange looks that I can't understand, too frazzled to really care to figure out the meaning behind them. In my peripheral vision, I catch my mom shaking her head at my dad, her brows furrowed into an expression I don't think I've ever seen before. My dad sighs deeply before nodding at me, gesturing toward the door as if giving me permission to bolt.

And I snatch it up quickly, hurrying away before I can be pulled back into another unwanted conversation.

"Have a nice day, honey!" my mom's voice calls after me. I throw a hand up, giving some awkward, dismissing wave over my shoulder as I book it out of the house faster than ever before.

Thank goodness that's over.