Читать книгу Gabi, a Girl in Pieces - Isabel Quintero - Страница 36

October 21

Family is one of those things you can’t escape and mine is no different. Apparently getting sober didn’t mean going to rehab. Why would I think that that is what it meant? Oh, Gabi, you’re so funny. No, Dad said he could go cold turkey. Again. That he could stop whenever he wanted to. Again. He has tried this method once, twice, and now he’s going for the third time. The hallucinating will start soon. Then he will begin killing demons (inside and out), screaming in pain. The spiders will arrive after that. The bugs under his skin that make him scratch and bleed. It’s horrible. I only know what’s coming because the first time, when I was twelve, my mom told us what would happen so we wouldn’t be scared. I think it was really so she wouldn’t be scared. It hasn’t really helped. Beto and I slept in the same bed for weeks. I’m not a little kid anymore though, and I know my dad isn’t/will never be himself again. He’ll always be a man struggling with an addiction and every day will be a battle for him. Like I said, the beast never goes away. And it’s calling all the shots. Sometimes it just wants you to think your dad is getting sober and will be the man he wants to be. But the whole time, it’s in control.

School didn’t really matter today. I told Cindy and Sebastian what was going on, and they tried to be understanding. I really don’t feel like I can tell Eric because even though we’re going out, I’m not sure I can trust him with something like that. The only two people who know about my dad’s “problem” are Cindy and Sebastian and only because of that time we saw him at the park. Talk about being mortified.

Eric was upset because I wouldn’t tell him what was wrong, but I said it was girl stuff, and he backed off. He seemed somewhat afraid to touch me after that. I told him it wasn’t contagious. He got really uncomfortable so I went to the library to write my grandpa poem, but I couldn’t figure anything out. To top it off, I have to start writing the college essays that I should have started writing a month ago. Ms. Rodriguez, my counselor, says we should be on our second or third drafts because they are due at the end of November. Since I want to apply to six different universities, I have a shit-load to write. AHHHHHHHH! I think I should just go to sleep. Maybe I’ll be sick tomorrow and not go to school. No, my dad will be home. School will probably be less crazy.