TRAPPED

12

Celine

"There you go, sweetheart." My father mutters as he helps me into bed. I'm still in joggers, but I don't care. As soon as my head hits the soft pillow, I have the urge to fall asleep forever.

But my father brings the blanket up to my chin, then kisses my forehead tentatively. I'm too tired to react, so I just close my eyes.

"I'll come check on you in half an hour, okay?"

"Mhm."

Then I fall asleep.

•

When I wake up again, it's because my head hurts, and so does my chest. The doctor said that could he a common side effect, though. But it's still agitating and it hurts like hell.

My vision is a little foggy as I slowly kick the blankets off of me, discarding then at the side. I sneeze as I climb off the bed and wrap a sheet around my shoulders.

I stagger over to the door, then pull it open with as much force as I can muster. Once it's open, I step outside and walk down the hall, then down another hall, then another. I think this is the way to the stairs, I don't know; it's an unnecessarily big house.

"—was I supposed to know?" My mother whisper-shouts.

"I messaged you fifty two fucking times, Isabel." My fathers cold voice responds. "And I called you. Where the hell were you?"

"That's none of your business."

"Yes it is, if it meant ignoring me while our daughter was in the hospital!"

     "I had things to do. I had to organise things, since we moved. Because of you!"

     "Give me a fucking break, Isabel." My father says. I frown. "You need to stop blaming everything on me. Did you think I just wouldn't want my daughter with me, in a safe place as opposed to the shit hole she has to endure when she's with you?" He questions. "Camilo and Léo saw her room. I gave you more than enough money to buy her whatever she needed, or wanted, so why is she sleeping on an air mattress?"

     "I have other responsibilities I have to pay for. I used the money for that."

     "Yeah, and what are they?" My father asks.

     Alcohol. I think. Drugs. Money she owes to old, horrific boyfriends.

     "I don't have to tell you that." She snaps.

     "You wanna know what you do have to do?" My father questions.

     "What?"

     "Find a fucking lawyer." He says. "I'm fighting you for full custody of Celine."

     My eyes widen.

     I'm about to step out and tell him that he can't do that when a hand pulls me back. I turn around, weighed down by fatigue, to look at Camilo. He shakes his head, appearing exasperated. As our parents continue to argue, he says: "you should be in bed."

     I pull away from him, wrapping my arms around myself. "I can—can walk."

     "That's not the point." He says, frowning. "You're sick, and you look really pale. Come on, I'll help you back to bed."

     "No." I respond quickly. "Go away."

     "You shouldn't listen to them argue, Celine." He says softly. Slowly. As though I'm an insolent child. "You'll hear things you shouldn't or don't want to."