The Forbidden Heart by V.C. Andrews

finished straightening
     my clothes. I saw that he was just listening, and what he was hearing had drained
     his face of blood.
    “I’ll be right there,” he said in French.
    “What’s wrong?” I asked.
    “She tried to commit suicide,” he said.

Darkness Really Fears the Light

    Neither of us said another word. Instead, we hurried out of the apartment. It wasn’t
     until I was at the hospital with him that I would realize I should have asked more
     questions before we started out, but Vincent looked so upset I was afraid to speak.
     He handed me the helmet quickly.
    “You don’t have to come. I can drop you off on a corner near your uncle’s home.”
    “No. I want to go with you,” I said, and got on. He started up, and we were off.
    I hung on to Vincent, because he was driving faster, taking more chances. I took off
     the helmet quickly when we reached the hospital. Without talking, we hurried into
     the emergency area. Once we entered the lobby, Vincent spotted his parents. He hurried
     to them. They didn’t look surprised to see me with him.
    “How is she?” he asked.
    His mother had been crying. She took a deep breath. His father looked away.
    I drew closer to hear what she was telling him in French, concentrating hard on every
     word.
    “We thought she had left,” she began. “I was already upstairs when your father shouted
     for me. He saw the bathroom door slightly opened, and the light was on. He went to
     check, and he found her. She needed transfusions. She bled that much,” she added.
    “With my good bread knife,” Vincent’s father said, as if that was the most serious
     thing.
    I tugged on Vincent’s jacket sleeve, and he turned to me.
    “I don’t understand. Denise went back to the pastry shop?”
    He grimaced. But he didn’t have to reply.
    Denise came walking into the lobby.
    “Mon Dieu!” I exclaimed. For a moment it was as if I was looking at a ghost. She was pale, and
     she was crying. I looked at Vincent.
    “Sorry,” he said. “I just wanted to get here. I should have made it clear. It’s my
     aunt, Denise’s mother.”
    One of the doctors came out behind her, and Vincent and his parents rushed to speak
     to him.
    Still stunned, but definitely happy it wasn’t Denise, I hurried to greet her, hugging
     her and then helping her to a seat. I didn’t know what to say. I certainly didn’t
     want to say that I just assumed it had been she who had tried to commit suicide. All
     the way here, I had a terrible fear that she had learned Vincent had a date with me
     and I had lied to her, not that it alone would be enough to drive someone to suicide.
     However, she was depressed and sensitive enough for it to be the last straw or something.
    “She was tired of the struggle,” she said. “She thought my life would be better without
     her. She blames herself. She thinks she’s responsible for my sad life, for all that
     has happened to me. She thinks her whole life is a terrible failure, and all she can
     do is drag me farther and farther down with her. I told her she was wrong and what
     she tried to do would only make life more miserable for me.”
    Yes, I thought, but you did blame her for so much. It was easier than taking responsibility for yourself now. I was thinking the way my father would, I thought, Roxy and my father, the man she
     loved to call “the general.” But I had to believe that even he wouldn’t be so hard
     on Denise at this moment. He would never say what I thought.
    “How is she? What did they say?” I asked, looking at Vincent and his parents talking
     to the doctor.
    “It was very close. She almost went into a deep coma.”
    “I’m sorry, Denise.”
    She nodded, and then she looked at Vincent and his parents and back at me.
    “ Je ne comprends pas. How did you get here? Why are you here now?”
    Of all the times to have to admit to a lie, I thought, but I couldn’t think of any way out of it.
    “I was with Vincent,” I said. “He invited