She pours another glass of wine. With each sip, the truth becomes clearer. She’s a burden to the people she loves. There isn’t a single place she belongs. And no matter how she tries to spin it, she’s a failure in every role of her life.

I can’t take this anymore, she thinks.

The room starts to spin as she pulls herself off the floor. She stumbles to the bathroom. It smells like a mixture of Zack’s minty aftershave and Suhani’s floral perfume. Natasha leans over the white toilet and waits to throw up. Nothing.

The medicine cabinet above the sink is full of luxurious toiletries and every possible over-the-counter item someone could need. Pepto Bismol, Advil, Tylenol, Tums, Q-tips, safety pins, bobby pins, tweezers, Band-Aids, an assortment of Drunk Elephant skincare products, serums for the morning and evening, clay face masks.

Her head pounds as she shuffles through all of it. She removes a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol. She takes one and then, before she has a chance to think, she takes another. Each pill is smooth and easy. There’s a brief second of satisfaction from just doing something, anything, besides sitting here and waiting for her mind to quiet down.

She takes another Tylenol. At some point, she starts existing outside herself. She has to get rid of this pain, to stop feeling anything, to escape.

As everything becomes hazy, she rolls multiple pills in her chapped palm and tosses them into her mouth. Fuck it. Just fuck everything.

In moments of emotional chaos, she’s always caught a brief glimpse of clarity. It hits her now. She’s so tired of caring. She’s just so fucking tired.

She crawls out of the bathroom and back into the living room. There’s a sharp pinch in her gut. Maybe she should call Suhani or even Dad. One of them would know what to do right now.

But she can’t pick up her phone. She can’t bring them into this. Just before her eyes close, she enters her passcode and lies on the floor as everything starts to feel numb.

Seventeen

Suhani

It takes Suhani a few seconds to process the summer evening sounds of the suburbs: cars slowly gliding over pavement, the occasional barking dog, the hum of voices and clink of glasses on the neighbor’s back deck.

How did she fall asleep at this hour? The last thing she remembers is watching Natasha’s videos again and again, until she had the words memorized, and then texting Vanessa the link to Natasha’s YouTube channel with the message I can’t even.

She sits up and runs her hands over her pink rose-printed sheets. Mom has been using the same floral, frilly bedding since Suhani was in high school.

She checks her texts. None from Zack. I hope you’re doing okay, she types to him. Before sending, she adds, I miss you.