Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 68006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Today’s thoughtful gift begins with the paper cut.
I finish unsealing the envelope and pull out the card.
The card itself is also pink, with sprays of flowers and different pastel colors. In script it says, For my daughter on her birthday.
Yes, most others who receive this card will open it and find a loving message.
I haven’t received any words of love from my mother in about five years. It all coincided with the point when she could no longer lock me in the closet.
At least back then, I got words of love on occasion. The next moment she would be vicious, but for those few seconds, I felt…
What did I feel exactly?
Not loved, for sure. I don’t have a clue what that feels like. I have some friends, and I’ve had a boyfriend or two. I enjoy being with them, but do I love them?
Hell if I know.
I open the card.
I force myself to read the message before I head straight to my mother’s writing at the bottom.
A daughter like you is a rare gem. I’m thankful every day for you, sweetheart. Happy eighteenth birthday.
Then my mother’s handwriting.
You’re an adult now. I expect you to be out of the house by the end of the day.
I gasp.
Seriously? She’s kicking me out in the middle of my senior year of high school?
My God, this is vicious, even for her.
Where am I supposed to go? I don’t have a job. She never let me have one. I was supposed to be here so I could fix her meals and clean her house and do whatever the hell else she wanted me to do.
Fine.
I just won’t leave.
What’s she going to do?
I find out the next day.
She has me arrested for trespassing and escorted off the premises by a police officer.
So I’m alone.
But I’m not locked in a closet. That must count for something.
Two hours have passed, and I can’t sleep.
What am I going to do? I need sleep. I’m supposed to work tonight. My shift doesn’t start until four, but still…
Leif, where are you?
I both like and dislike that I want him here.
I’ve never relied on another person since I graduated from high school and got the job at the diner. So why am I relying on Leif?
Sex doesn’t mean anything. I’ve been around the block—if you call sporadic experiences and then five years on the fucking island the block—enough to know that.
I need to stop counting on Leif. I never wanted full-time protection in the first place. I know better than to rely on anyone else. In fact, since my mother often let me starve when I was younger, I’ve relied on no one but myself for pretty much my entire life.
I close my eyes, squeeze them shut. That only makes me more tense.
So I open my eyes. You can’t force sleep, after all. Despite all the crap in my life, I never had trouble sleeping. Sleep was an escape, and I relished it.
But tonight? Tonight I can’t sleep. Leif. Images of Leif in trouble whirl through my mind.
What the hell is this? This thing I’m feeling? Why can’t I just—
And it dawns on me.
It’s an emotion I’ve never felt before. One I couldn’t even name.
Worry. Concern.
It’s kind of like fear, but different. I’m focused on someone other than myself.
I’m worried about Leif.
Worried for his safety. Because I want him to return. I want him with me.
I’m worried about him.
And my God… I hate the feeling.
Perhaps it’s better to live the way I did before, knowing only two emotions. Anger and fear.
Because if this is emotion, I sure as hell don’t like it.
I sigh and sit up in bed. I promised Leif I wouldn’t leave the bedroom, but I’m hungry. Strange, given that I also feel nauseous. Nothing about how I feel right now makes any sense.
I just want a snack. A little snack, but I can’t break my promise to Leif.
I sit in bed, twiddling my thumbs. Maybe I could try to read.
I scan the small bookshelf next to his TV.
Nothing strikes my fancy. Not that I thought it would.
The problem is the hunger. Hunger while I’m nauseated. Makes no sense, but it’s there, and the fact that I can’t sate it makes it weigh even heavier on my mind.
It’s the worry for Leif that’s making me feel sick. Like there’s a cannonball lodged in my gut. That if he doesn’t come back to me safely, I may not be able to go on.
“Fuck it,” I say out loud. I get out of bed. I’m still in my jeans and pink sweatshirt—God, I hate pink. Why do I even have this thing?—and I open my door slowly and head to the kitchen.
Just a snack, and then I’ll go back to bed. I pour myself a glass of water and open the refrigerator. A slice of cheese. That sounds good. I grab the package of cheddar slices, peel one off, and take a bite.