"See that?" I ask casually, pointing towards the television set. "They've set up specialist medical facilities for people who're unwell."
I'm trying desperately to get through to Dad, to make him get help before things get too bad, but now he won't even meet my eye. I don't feel like I can just outwardly address it when he utterly refuses to, but I'm starting to feel like I might actually have to say something however much it scares me to do so.
I glance my eyes towards Mom, but she quickly averts her gaze when she sees me looking. "So, that boy you've had over seems pretty nice," she changes the subject quickly, hoping to distract me.
The sad thing is it actually works.
"Oh, yeah, Zac, he's...he's okay..."
The weird thing is, the more time I spend with him, the more confused I become. He's shown up twice, uninvited, and both times have left me all churned up inside. I haven't mentioned the party, nor has he, I don't discuss the rumors, and we haven't kissed again either. It's been more like an odd friendship with something constantly buzzing under the surface.
We talk, we laugh, we chat about the prospect of school not opening when it's supposed to...but that's it. I spend most of my time gazing into his eyes, trying to read his facial expression and body language, trying to work out how he might be feeling, but nothing makes much sense. My lack of experience with boys is a constant problem for me.
"He's going to be in your class then, is he?"
"Yes, if the quarantine doesn't kick in before then." I'm trying to rile her now, to get her to talk about her new favorite subject, but she says nothing. She simply nods silently and fixes her eyes back on the screen.
Frustration balls in my chest, I want to scream and shout, to get some sort of reaction from someone, but what would be the point? Things are so fraught, so uncomfortable already, and now this situation is hanging over us like a guillotine. I don't want to make things harder than they already are.
"...the level of fatalities are at an all time high..."
Mom chokes back a loud sob, proving what I already suspected. She's either seen the bite wound, or she's taking note of Dad's graying skin, the thick sheen of sweat covering his face, the way that he can barely breathe he's in so much pain.
We share a look, both of us knowing, neither of us able to accept the inevitable. Both of us want to push Dad towards help, but we're too afraid to actually take that step because of what could come afterwards. There's no naivety here, we're both acutely aware of what could come.
Then, I stand up and I snake out of the room, feeling my childhood die. Maybe it's taken me longer than others to grow up, because I've never been desperate to do so, not like other girls I know. But now I'm going to have to anyway, I'll have to accept adulthood as it looms towards me along with grief, because it doesn't matter how much I don't want it to happen, soon or later I could very easily lose my father.