Lucy's breath catches before she shoves past everyone and runs upstairs. I go after her but Mom holds me back. "She might just need some time, honey."

I get out of her grasp and ignore her words. Lucy doesn't need time. She needs me. My heart thumps as I take the steps to her room. She's not there, but I can hear her loud cries through her bathroom door. My hands cover the doorknob, but then Mom's words repeat in my head. She might just need some time. I press my ear against the door and listen for any sign that she's okay. And then I hear the one sound that changes everything.

She's vomiting.

I turn the knob and slowly push open the door. She's standing over the toilet with her finger in her mouth.

She's making herself vomit.

"Lucy," I breathe out. "Stop."

Her eyes stay on me, while I watch them turn to stone. Face wet from her tears, she slowly pushes her finger further into her mouth.

I move.

Faster than I thought possible.

I shove her hand out of her mouth and wrap my arms around her, pinning her arms to her body. "No," she cries, but I can feel the strength leaving her. I tighten my hold and bring us both down to the floor. "What are you doing, Luce?" I'm crying. And I don't care. I don't care for anything but her. I grab a towel of the rack and wipe her mouth.

"I just want it stop."

She cries, and I let her.

Her fingers grip my arms so tight I know they'll bruise. But it's nothing compared to the pain I feel for her. She wipes her face on my shirt and looks up at me with an emptiness in her eyes I never want to see again. "I want it to stop, Cameron. Please make it stop."

My eyes drift shut. "Okay, Luce. I'll make it stop. I'll make it better. I promise." And I do. I promise her, and I promise myself, right there and then; I'll make it right.

I carry her to her bed, thankful that I'd spent the last few months hitting the weights. We lay together on top of the covers, with her head on my chest and my arms around her. At some point, she falls asleep. And just like the light inside of her, I watch the daylight outside her window turn to darkness.

*

Mom stands at the doorway of Lucy's bedroom with a frown on her face. We've been in here for hours. I forgot that she was here. I bring my finger to my lips and point to Lucy. She nods and quietly walks over to the bed. "How's she doing?"

"Not good." I try to keep my voice low but Lucy wakes anyway. She sees my mom standing over us and buries her head on my chest.

Mom smiles, but it's sad. "Lucy, honey?"

She starts to cry again. I stroke her hair, hoping it comforts her just a little.

Mom sighs. "Pack a bag, sweetheart. You're going to stay with us for a few days."

She doesn't argue. She doesn't put up a fight. She packs her bags, walks downstairs, out of the house and into Mom's car.

She never once looks back at her family.

***

She doesn't speak on the drive home so neither do I.

We sit at the dining table while Mom makes us food. I haven't eaten anything since breakfast and she puked the contents of her stomach.

Mom places the plate in front of me and I take continuous mouthfuls until I hear her clear her throat. I look up at her, she jerks her head toward Lucy.

Lucy's looking down at her plate with a frown on her face. I set my fork on the table and turn to her. "You need to eat something, Luce."

Her head moves slowly from side to side. "I'm not hungry."

Sighing, I reach for her hand under the table and lean in close to her ear, my words meant only for her. "Please, babe. You need to eat. I'm worried."

She slowly turns to face me, the same emptiness in her eyes from earlier.

"Please," I beg. "For me."

She nods and picks up her fork. I watch her take a mouthful, slowly, almost painfully. Like what she's doing is a form of punishment. She has two more bites before pushing the plate away, her mind lost in a world of her own thoughts.

I wish I could read her better.

Her gaze lifts, first to Mom, then to me, and back down to the empty spot in front of her. "He hates me because I look like my mom."

***

She's lying in my bed next to me—her head on my chest with my fingers stroking her hair. My mind is on overdrive, much like the churning in my stomach. She hasn't brought it up so I try hard to forget what I saw in her bathroom—but I'm worried. And I can't ignore that worry anymore. "Lucy?"

She whimpers in response.

"Liam—he told me that sometimes you get so sad it makes you sick?"

She lifts her head, her gaze searching my eyes.

"Is that what he meant... that you get so sad you make yourself throw up?"

Her eyes drift shut and she releases a breath, along with her fight to keep being fine. She nods slowly, almost as if she's sorry for admitting it.

"Never again, okay?" My tone is firm. Final. "I'm not letting it happen again, Lucy."

Tears start to well in her eyes. "Okay, Cameron. I promise."

Mom opens the door without knocking. The concern on her face is overwhelming. "I made your bed on the couch, Cameron."

"Okay," I answer without surprise. I knew I wouldn't be able to stay with Lucy.

I start to get up but she holds on to my arm, gripping it tightly to her chest. "Please," she whispers, her eyes pleading.

I look at Mom, still standing in the doorway. "Please," I mouth.