I still remember that feeling. Hearing the screaming voices, the slamming of furniture against the wall. I heard my dad cry for the first time that night. In response, I dug my fingernails mercilessly into my bare stomach, screaming for someone to make it all stop. I cried until it hurt, until I shook and couldn’t see straight.

I got it all wrong at first. I blamed my dad; he was the one screaming. I can’t believe I was compared to my dad, I screamed in my head. I held my head in my arms, roc king back and forth, each thud and yell slowly killing part of me. I pictured myself walking out to the living room, screaming at him to leave her alone. Instead I just cried.

Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I walked out, and stood in the hallway. My dad saw me. “Alice, come here,” he said, and I froze. “Come here.” I walked out, shaking.

“I’m sorry we’re yelling. Your mom doesn’t want to live with us anymore. Don’t worry; I’m not letting her leave.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. I cried harder than before, something that wouldn’t have seemed possible.

“Don’t cry,” my mom begged.

My gaze hardened as I looked up at her through my tears. “Don’t cry? How can you expect me not to cry?”

I ran to my room, scratched up my arms and cried. For the first time in my life I considered drugs. I honestly considered drugs. If they can make this pain go away, I thought, If anything can make this go away, just for an hour or two… I wondered where I’d get them. Me, A-student, devout Christian, never partied in my life, actually took a moment and wondered where I’d be able to get high.

I was so scared. So alone.