I stepped around him and took hold of my mother's injured arm. "It’s not deep. She went across, not down. Here, Mom, let me stop the bleeding. Don't worry, I'll clean up, too," I said.
"I'm worthless, don't bother. Just leave me alone. I deserve it," she sobbed.
"That's not you talking, it’s your sickness, Mom. Here, sit down on the edge of the bathtub. Let me clean you up," I said. I took the first aid kit from under the sink and tore open a package of gauze. The bleeding slowed as I dabbed it away to reveal a small cut. She had not really tried to kill herself, the horizontal cut meant she was just crying out for help.
"Sick?" she asked in a small voice.
"Yes. Mom, I think you have a type of bipolar disorder. It explains the big mood swings, the times you feel jumpy and unsettled, the talking too fast, and any inappropriate behavior that seems way outside the ordinary for you. This isn't you, it’s the sickness," I said.
"Quinn, baby, you shouldn't know. It’s too much. My baby, my baby doesn't need to know. I love you and I don't want you to look at me different," she said.
I hugged her tight. "I love you and I will always love you."
"Does she need stitches?" my father asked. He pulled himself to his feet.
"No, but she should go to the hospital," I said.
"We have something to calm her, she just needs to rest," he said. "Darling? Quinn is going to fix up your little cut and then we'll get you settled in bed. Alright?"
My mother nodded meekly. I stood up and pushed my father into the hallway. "She needs to be observed all night. This was not okay. Please tell me you know this is not okay."
"Quinn, please, I've been dealing with this a lot longer than you," my father said. "She has sleeping pills that will help calm her down, and I am here. This isn't for you to worry about."
"So you won't take her to the hospital?"
"No, everything's fine. Why don't you go downstairs and get your mother some water? I'll help get her comfortable," he said.
My legs felt like jelly all the way down to the kitchen and back upstairs. I spilled part of the water when I saw the unhinged door leaning against the hallway wall. The whole incident was terrifying, and it took all my concentration not to drop the water glass completely. I took deep breaths all the way down the hall to my mother's bedroom.
She was tucked into bed, sitting up and wrapped in a tight hug from my father. He sat next to her and smoothed her hair as he held her. When they heard me come in the room, he stood up and took the water from me. I watched my mother take a sleeping pill, her eyes still darting back and forth wildly.
Finally, she started to calm, and my father gestured for me to go downstairs. I waited for him at the foot of the staircase.
#
I waited at the bottom of the stairs for what felt like a decade. After 15 minutes, I was sure my father had gone down the back steps and sneaked into his home office. Then finally, I heard his soft tread in the upstairs hallway.
He did not think I would be there. The tight frown on his face said he was trying to think of what he could say to send me away.
"I'm not helping Owen, Quinn. You can forget it," my father said. He marched down the stairs.
I blocked his way. "We can talk about that later. I'm not going to let you pretend that nothing just happened. She should be at a hospital now."
"Your mother is fine. You said so yourself. You saw the cut, it was superficial. She was just being dramatic and probably slipped," he said.
"How long are you going to try to deny this?"
My father pushed past me and headed towards his home office. "I'm not denying anything. I'm not the one trying to live in an imaginary video game world."
"Do not turn this around on me. I am not leaving you alone until you tell me the plan for her care. Mom needs to see a doctor. She needs help."
"She just needs to rest. Your mother gets anxious and blows things out of proportion."
"Then at least tell me why she thought we were talking about her? What is so bad that she doesn't want me to know?"
My father wrapped his arms tight across his chest. "That is none of your business. I would think after the scene your mother made wanting her privacy kept, you would not ask such a thing."
"Did she cheat on you?" The question fell heavy between us. "You know that inappropriate sexual encounters are a sign of bipolar disorder. As are the mood swings, anxiety, and paranoia."