Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
I took off my school uniform and hurried into a pair of baggy sweats and a long sleeve shirt even though the weather was nice enough to wear less, but in this house, it pays to be prepared.
I felt bile rise in my chest at the thought and fought back the tears that always threaten when I’m here. Slumping down on the bed, I pulled the pillow into my lap and hugged it as I rocked back and forth in misery.
I feel like two different people here lately. The me that’s happy and free when I’m in his arms, in his bed, and the me who lives in fear of hearing the doorknob turn in the middle of the night.
I looked towards the nightstand where the picture of Debbie and me sat. The Debbie I used to know and love when I was younger. It’s those memories that keep my tongue still, that prevents me from telling anyone the truth about my life in this house.
I laid back across the bed and stared up at the ceiling sightlessly as my mind wandered. It’s something I’ve learned to do since moving here. I was already broken from the deaths of my parents who’d been taken so suddenly and seeking solace from my sister, my closest living relative, but I’d walked right into a trap of her making.
I had no idea she’d changed this much, or that her mind could even conceive of the things they do. Had I known that day at the graveside when they’d both spoken so kindly to me that my life would become what it has, I would’ve chosen a life on the streets. Anything would’ve been better than this, than living in fear each and every day.
I heard a sound outside the door and sat up with a quivering in my tummy that made its way up to my lungs. There was a dull ringing in my ears, and I had the worst urge for the bathroom, but there was no way I was opening that door on my own. One of them will be here soon enough to open it or force me to.
If only I had the courage to tell Damien the truth, but I’m too afraid of the consequences of what might happen after I open my mouth and even mention the horror that goes on behind these closed doors.
Michele
* * *
When I didn’t hear anything more coming from behind the door, I left the bed and tiptoed across the room to grab the diary I kept in my other hiding place in the closet behind the boxes of stuff they’d stored there and long forgotten, or so I hope.
It was pass coded, which is the only reason I wasn’t afraid of them finding it, and written in a language only I would understand. It’s something I’d made up when I was about seven or eight, but I doubt Debbie remembers anything about it, or that it would even be something her warped mind would recall.
Inside were all my innermost thoughts and fears. If anyone were to read it, they’d no doubt see the changes and realize that something had gone very wrong about a year or so ago. It’s only then that I’d had the need to use the special coded language.
Before that, my entries were usually short and sweet, filled with whatever I’d done that day in the home I shared with my parents and my friends in the neighborhood where I grew up, most of whom had been homeschooled as well. We were a sheltered bunch sure, but that didn’t keep us from enjoying things like any normal kid. Those days seem so far away now like they belonged to someone else, or another lifetime entirely.
I sifted through the entries from the past year until I came to the last few entries. I needed to add today’s happenings so I could look back at them and feel the joy and love I felt when I was with him. I have a sinking feeling that pretty soon that’s all I’m going to have left of us is the memories, and I want to write them down while they’re still fresh in my mind and heart.
My hand flew across the page as I wrote all that was in my heart, reliving the feelings from the moment I left the schoolyard and saw him waiting there for me. My heart, which I’d long started to believe was dead, had come alive at the sight of him, and the smile that came across my face was genuine and heartfelt.
I remember clearly how attentive he was, the way he always is with me. The way he stepped out of the car and opened the door for me himself instead of letting the driver take care of it. The way it felt when he placed his hand on my back protectively and helped me in before closing the door before walking around to his side and getting in.