Paint Me Beautiful

borrow his friend's truck and help move my furniture. I only hope that my father doesn't kill him when he finds out.
    “ Mmm,” I grunt as I move past her and out the front door. I set the box next to the bench on our porch and go back for more. Already, my legs are shaking and my breath is labored. I guess I don't have to feel guilty about not getting in as much exercise as I wanted today. This more than makes up for it. Plus, I woke up at the crack of dawn and went running, so all is not lost. The scale loved me hard this morning, flashing a number a whole digit lower than it was yesterday. I feel accomplished for the day, but I know that feeling can quickly turn to guilt and disgust if I don't remain vigilant.
    “ Honey, I've got a Goodwill corner in the garage. You can just stack your boxes there with the rest of the stuff and I'll take it down next week.”
    “ Besides,” my father grunts, sounding gruff and very businesslike. His meaty hands are clasped tightly around the armrests of his chair, and I can tell that even though he and Marlena have made up their mind about what to do with me, he's having second thoughts. I don't care though. That changes nothing. I am still leaving and there is nothing, nothing that will change my mind now. “You have no vehicle to transport them.”
    I ignore him, too, and head back up the stairs. My second box feels twice as heavy as my first and by the time I get it outside, I've got sweat pouring down the sides of my neck, pooling on my lower back and slicking up my thighs.
    “ Claire?” my mom asks again as I pass by her. “What are you doing, sweetie?” I keep going, afraid that they will physically try to stop me if they find out what's going on. I take my laptop down next, carrying my laptop bag in one hand and a stack of bedding in the other. It's awkward but not heavy, giving me a much needed reprieve.
    “ Claire,” Marlena says, sounding alarmed. As soon as my feet hit the floor, she's in my face. “You don't have to pack for Bayview just yet. They have a day patient program we can look into. You can continue to live here while you recover.” I keep walking and force her out of my way, depositing my items on top of the bench this time. In the distance, a coyote howls like it can sense the tense atmosphere around this house and will do anything to break it. “What the hell are you doing? Have you lost it?” she continues as I shoulder my way back inside and up the stairs.
    My silence is agitating them and now my father is getting pissed.
    “ Claire Simone,” he booms, but I don't stop. I go back into my room with Marlena on my heels and can't seem to hold back a satisfied smile when she freezes at the door and looks around at my empty walls, at the stack of boxes I dragged up from the garage.
    “ Where are you going?” she asks, but I still won't answer her. I go into the bathroom next, grab my rugs, pull down my shower curtain and throw it all into another box. Marlena disappears, and I swear I hear shouting downstairs. It's hard to tell because my music is loud enough to kill. Nobody bothers me until I take my next box down. By that time, Emmett is already pulling into the driveway in a big, white Ford. My mom sees it and immediately begins to cry.
    “ Where do you think you're going?” my dad asks, standing big and tall in front of me. He forgets sometimes that I'm six feet tall, taller even with my heels, and I can look him straight in the face. I will not be intimidated.
    “ I'm moving in with Emmett.”
    “ Sinclair?” Marlena asks like she just cannot believe it unless she says it aloud.
    “ Like hell you are,” my father snorts. As if on cue, I hear the deliciously devilish tones of Amy Winehouse drift down the stairs. I ain't got the time and if my daddy thinks I'm fine/ He's tried to make me go to rehab but I won't go go go. I try to forget that she's dead.
    “ Bob,” my mother says, touching his arm. His eyes hold a cold, quiet anger. “Don't.”
    “ If you leave this house today, don't bother coming back.”
    “ Bob!” my mother shouts as Marlena spins away from us all and runs her hands through her hair. He doesn't mean that, my inner voice tells me as my heart begins to pump faster and fear begins to nibble at my spine. This is a scare tactic, a way for him to control you. Don't let him, Claire. You're in control of yourself and nobody can stop you now. You're going to become a model, even if it kills you.
    “ So be it,”