Taylor

I clutch my pillow to my face and scream. I don’t hold back. I let a scream start in my lower abdomen and creep up my chest. I can’t control it. This scream hid inside the pit of my stomach for years. As it tapers off, I worry I will be hoarse. My throat is dry.

Lying on the bed, the room spins. My day replays as I close my eyes. A hug from Kennedy, a group hug with Jackson, his arm around my shoulders and her holding my hands. Jackson’s hand on my lower back. ...