But he doesn’t get it.

Before, I was confused as to whether or not I should be angry. Now, I know.

I’m enraged.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Ben’s mouth goes slack, and his parents watch me with wide eyes.

“You think I’m not going to give you my kidney? Of course I am, you fucking idiot! Of course I am! And your mother, with her stupid-ass check, is trying to ruin it all! And my—” I choke on a sob and do my best to push back the furious tears that want out. “My brother is dying. And it’s all going to shit. And you think I’d let you get sicker? When I—when I—”

No. I can’t say those words now. Not here. Not like this. Maybe not ever.

They’re the reason I can’t help Marcus.

I take another step back.

“Shh, Holly. Let’s just go upstairs. Just you and me,” he pleads with me, still holding his arms wide, tempting me to run into them.

A laugh spills out of me, high-pitched and manic. “Just you and me? So you can what? Make me feel safe? Tell me it’s all going to be okay? You gonna lie to me, Ben?”

He grimaces.

My brain is on fire.

I see the three of them standing there. Together. A family.

It’s too much.

“I have to go.”

My sneakers squeak on their beautiful hardwood floor as I sprint from the room, down the hall covered in smiling family photos, and out their charming blue front door.

“Holly! Wait!”

I run, a full-on track-star sprint. I’m the healthy one. Even if he follows, he’ll never catch me because I don’t want to be caught. I just want to escape.

Once I pass the bus stop, none of the streets look familiar, but it doesn’t matter because I just want to keep running.

And I do for some time until my lungs demand that I stop to catch my breath. But I keep moving, walking through the vapor clouds formed by my own panting breath. Now that I’m not running, a chill creeps over me, starting a persistent shivering that radiates out from the shattered organ in my chest that somehow continues to pump.

Spotting a city bus, I board it because the action is familiar, and in a way, it soothes me.

I sit in the back and curl in on myself. The pain claws under my skin, and I can’t keep it inside anymore.

So, on a public bus, surrounded by strangers, heading in an unknown direction, I do my best to sob silently into my hands.

I’m very bad at it. Probably from lack of practice.

This goes on for a decent amount of time. Like a make everyone else on the bus uncomfortable amount of time.

At one point, when we slow down for another stop, I hear someone clear their throat next to me. Glancing up, I find a middle-aged woman with a kind, pitying expression watching me. She stands next to my seat, holding on to an overhead handle in order to steady herself. Without speaking, she hands me a package of travel tissues.