I shake my head, hot tears in my eyes. “This isn’t fair. None of it. You didn’t sign up for any of this.”

“Yes I did. I knew what I was getting in for from the start.”

“Knowing something is coming and actually having to deal with it, though, are two different things.”

“Ava—”

I push away from him and climb to my feet, feeling a desperate need to get out of my skin. I start to claw at myself, feeling such a hatred I have never felt before. Hatred against myself, not the essence of me, but the physical part, the part that is failing and useless and beyond my control. It is bad enough it is hurting me, but I can’t bear the thought of what it is doing to him too. Sobbing, I rip at my clothes, my hair, my skin.

“Ava, stop.” His voice is terrified as he tries to stop me, but I am like a wild animal and I spin away from him, gasping, panting, heading for the water. I need to be clean, to shed this shell that is pathetic and faulty. That can’t do the things I need it to do; that won’t give me the future I long for and deserve.

The water is cool and takes my breath away, and I push through it until I am waist deep, then I dive, kicking away from the shore. Under the surface all sound of the world disappears. I enter a silence and darkness so complete it stills my fury. With my eyes closed, I hold my breath and let myself relax, floating, my hair splayed around me. This is how it must feel, I think. All I’d have to do is breathe out. Then I feel arms around me, and I am jerked to the surface. The silence is gone.

“Ava, what the hell are you trying to do?” He is angry, scared.

“Nothing,” I mumble, without opening my eyes. He scoops me into his arms and I relax against his chest, weightless in the gentle embrace of the water. I am more tired than I ever believed possible.

“I’m taking you home.”

“I’m already there,” I whisper.

Chapter Forty

I wake up as if I am still underwater. Disorientated, unsure which way is up and which is down. The light is harsh and I blink at it, wondering why it’s so bright and why it’s changed shape, elongated rather than circular.

“She’s awake.”

My mother’s face swims into focus. Too close. I can see the remnants of day-old makeup in her creases, her eyeliner smudged beneath a bleary eye.

“Oh, you gave us a fright, love.”

“Did I? Where are we?”

She puts a hand on my shoulder before she speaks, whether to comfort or restrain I’m unsure. “Hospital.”

I frown, trying to remember my last conscious thought but feeling as if I have entered into a conversation halfway. “How long? Why?”

“Just since last night. You were home with James, remember? He said you were acting a little bit off. Then you stopped responding to him altogether so he called an ambulance. They’ve run some tests, which we’re still waiting for the results of, but the doctor is pretty sure you had a seizure.”