So Much for My Happy Ending

'Please, Dear God! I know I don't pray as often as I should, but I'm begging you! Don't let my dad crash into a fucking mailbox or something larger!'
Should you cuss in a prayer? I decided that with my eyes flashing before my eyes, that I could make an exception. I could only pray that he made that exception as well. Just this once.
I gulped loudly as we came dangerously close to clipping a SUV that drove beside us.
I chanced a glimpse at my Dad. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly in his hands. I thought he was beginning to gain some sense when his hands gripped the wheel even tighter and he jerked it into the lane next to us. I squeaked and gripped the dash and hand grip like it was Jesus.
Cars behind us honked at us in anger, dad flipping them off in response.
On a whim, I snaked my hand out and rested my hand on his forearm. He didn't so much as look at me.
My frustration bubbled inside of me, I didn't want to die for fuck's sake.
"Dad?" I squeaked out. He cut a glance at me from the corner of his eyes.
Voice gruff with rage and sadness he replied, "What Meagan."
"Do you think you c-could maybe s-s-slow down?" I managed to stutter out in my panic.
Please, for fuck's sake, I don't need a panic attack right now.
"Why the fuck would I do that?!" His voice rose steadily with each word.
"Because! You're putting us both in danger Dad. You're scaring me!" I hastily let go of his arm and gripped the dash once more as he sped up.
"Oh, you're scared are you?"
"Yes," I squeaked.
"If you want to be scared, I'll scare you!" He slammed the wheel to the left swerving back over into the other lane, once again, and switched gears. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly through my mouth.
"If I didn't know b-b-better... I'd s-say you were t-t-trying to kill us." Dad didn't say another word, the car just slowly picked up the pace. "Please! Just fucking pull over! You don't need to be driving!" I somehow managed to keep from stuttering in that sentence.
"Shut up! Just shut up!" I let out a gut wrenching sob, "Don't you fucking get it?" Tears trickled down my face in a steady speed.
"Get what Dad?" He shook his head furiously. "Get what!"
"They're in my head!" I stared at my dad with fearful eyes.
They're in his head. What? Just... what?
"What do you mean," My lip wobbled in my fear and confusion.
His next few words were garbled with his influx of agitation. They seemed almost nonsensical. Like he didn't know what he was trying to say to me.
I built up my bravery once more and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Whose in your head." He shrugged my hand away.
"The voices," he pointed two fingers to his temple. I gulped and looked away from him. "You think I'm crazy?"
"No! I don't!" I replied quickly. He relaxed slightly, but I could sense his doubt. "What... What do they tell you to do? What do they say?"
I never thought I'd see a day where I would actually be terrified of my Dad.
I don't know how to react to what he just told me. How am I supposed to react! Fuck! I should have pulled my phone and sent a text to someone about what he said. So why haven't I? I mean it's obvious he wants to talk about it... but why?
Oh my Gods, does Dad have schizophrenia. He certainly fits the image of being volatile and he's hearing voices. He doesn't seem disturbed...
'What do you call hearing things other than disturbed?' I clenched my eyes to get the thoughts out of my head.
There are many scenarios that could have played out, all leading to my dad hearing voices, and me calling a fucking nut house. This, this is not okay. Not okay! I am not overreacting, I'm underreaccting. Any other person would have thrown their selves out of the car if a crazy person was driving.
Okay, so maybe a normal person wouldn't have jumped out of a car... Or maybe they would.
"They are! I don't know what they are, or why they're here." He was so distressed and I wanted nothing more than to ease that, but how was I going to do that? "I need the drugs, Megs. You have to understand, they make it better."
A cold feeling settled into the pit of my stomach.
The drugs... My dad, the man who has been my hero, my idol, my rock, since I was a baby, was on drugs. None of this was right. No.
"Dad, what drugs?"
He hesitated, "You have to understand that I need them. I need them."
"Yeah, I get it. You need them. I just want to know what it is that you're taking." I soothe him, a hesitant smile carving its way onto my face.
"You gonna steal 'em." I sucked on my teeth at the territorial anger that was in his voice, "That's why you want to know? So you can take 'em."
"No! I don't want to take them," I paused for a second, "I just want to know what it is that's making the voices go away! That's all!"
His fidgets for a few seconds and slams the wheel to the right so that we could off the interstate.
Jesus, single-handedly way worse than Aleia's driving. And she drives really bad.
"Amphetamines."
"Amphetamines?" He nods, seemingly hesitant.
"I... I'm not proud, I never meant for it to go this far. I keep telling myself that I'm going to quit, go cold turkey. Then... they start talking and it drives me so fucking crazy. It's all the time," he stops at a stop sign and checks around for something, " they never give me a break. I-I just want it to stop, I just want them to stop." I grab his hand and squeeze it.
"We can get you some help! I can talk the guys! I can talk to Mom-"
"No!" He squeezed my hand to the point o the joints popping and me ripping my hand free.
"No Mom then." I responded quietly holding my hand to my chest
"I don't need help! I can do this myself."
The next thing I know is Dad slamming his foot down on the pedal and us pulling out in front of a truck.
I can hear myself screaming as it impacts on the passenger side, I feel something in my leg snap as the trucks bumper slams into me.
The pain is so intense that the last thing I see is my Dad's shoulder split wide open with a piece of glass sticking out of the blade from the window.