Chapter 1

My suicide attempt was a failure.

I woke up in a hospital bed, the sharp smell of antiseptic burning my nostrils. My mother, Debra, stood at the foot of the bed, her arms crossed. Her face was a mask of cold fury.

"You're taking a medical leave from school," she said, her voice clipped and hard. "Your father already arranged it."

She didn't ask if I was okay. She didn't ask what happened.

"A medical leave," she repeated, tasting the words like they were poison. "Do you have any idea what this does to us, Molly? The questions people will ask? It's a stain."

My father, Andrew, hovered by the door, avoiding my eyes. He just wrung his hands, a nervous twitch he always had when Mom was angry.

I tried to speak, but my throat was raw. The memories of the sorority hazing flooded back-the darkness of the freezer, the punches to my ribs, their laughter. It all mixed with the empty feeling of the pills I'd swallowed.

"I... I needed help," I whispered.

Debra scoffed, a short, ugly sound. "Help? You needed to stop being so dramatic. You think life is easy? You have to be strong. We don't raise quitters in this family."

She saw my depression as a character flaw, an embarrassing weakness that reflected poorly on her.

"Your uncles are coming over tomorrow," she announced, her tone leaving no room for argument. "We're going to have a family intervention. We are going to fix this attitude problem of yours, once and for all."

My father flinched but said nothing. He just opened the door for her, another silent act of agreement.

I closed my eyes, a single tear escaping and tracing a cold path down my temple. The intervention wouldn't be about help. It would be about punishment.

The next day, the house was filled with the loud, booming voices of my mother's brothers.

Uncle Caleb, the football coach, sized me up like I was a lazy player on his team. "Look at her. Skin and bones. No fight in her."

Uncle Brian, the wellness guru, shook his head, a pitying smile on his face. "It's a toxin buildup, Debra. Poor diet, negative thinking. My supplements could clear this right up. Clinical depression is a myth created by big pharma."

But it was Uncle Anthony, the ex-Marine with a dishonorable discharge, who took charge. His eyes were cold and hard. He looked at me with pure disgust.

"She's soft," he declared. "She's never faced a real challenge. You have to break them down to build them back up. That's how you build character."

My mother nodded eagerly, hanging on his every word. "What do you suggest, Anthony? We have to do something. She needs to be back in school by next week."

"A boot camp," Anthony said, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "We start right now. We're going to sweat the weakness out of her."

My father opened his mouth. "Now, hold on, Anthony, I don't think-"

"Shut up, Andrew," Debra snapped. "Your soft-parenting is what got us here. My brothers know what they're doing."

They dragged me into the garage. The air was cold and smelled of gasoline and dust. Anthony grabbed a roll of rope from a shelf.

"Stress position," he announced. "It's a classic. Teaches discipline. You'll thank us later."

They tied my wrists together, tight enough to cut off the circulation. Then they forced me into a wall-sit, my back flat against the cold concrete, my knees bent at a ninety-degree angle.

"You will stay here until you admit you're done with this nonsense and agree to go back to school," my mother said, her voice devoid of any emotion. "No food, no water. This is for your own good, Molly."

The pain started almost immediately, a deep, searing burn in my thighs and back. My bruised ribs from the hazing screamed in protest. I looked at my father, a silent plea for help.

He just looked away.