“And you.” I glare at my mother. “Your mouth was conveniently shut, any time it wasn’t gulping back Xanax and Pinot. You never said a goddamn word to me, never asked me if I was alright, or if I needed to talk to someone.” A furious laugh puffs from my lips. “No, I’m sorry. You said something… You said, ‘You have to just move on, Kyran. Dwelling on it will only give it power.’ Great advice for a twelve-year-old who just told you his goddamn priest stuffed a cock down his throat.”
