Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 46716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Then I realize that his eyes are still ice cold despite his upturned lips.
“Hi, Daddy,” I say nervously. “What’s up? You’re not usually home right now. Are you sick?”
“I should ask where you’ve been, but I don’t really care now that you’re home,” Jason says in his usual cold tone. “Anyway, I have news for you. Come with me.”
My legs turn to jelly as my father leads me into his office. I can’t remember the last time I was in here. When I was a little kid, Lacey and I snuck in once but thankfully it was my mother who caught us and not my father. Instead of getting punished, Mom served us cookies and made us promise never to snoop again.
I swallow painfully hard at the memory. Even though I’m only in my early twenties, childhood seems really long ago and far away.
My father closes the door behind us and crosses the room. He takes a seat behind his desk and I nervously lower myself into the leather chair across from him. It’s almost too narrow for my ass and I grunt as I shift my thighs to fit. My father smirks unpleasantly as I wriggle from side to side.
“So, um, what is it?” I ask nervously. My palms are sweaty and no matter how many times I wipe them on my thighs, the sweat won’t dry.
“I’m glad you asked,” my father replies. He steeples his hands together and gives me an arch look. “I’m sending you to a rehabilitation facility. You’ll be going tomorrow, for the week before Christmas.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“Emma, you’re not stupid,” my father says. “I know you’ve heard of rehab before. Come on, don’t you watch television?”
“But…but I’m not on drugs,” I say softly, shaking my head. “Dad, you know I’d never touch that stuff. I’ve never even smoked a cigarette before!”
My father clicks his tongue against his teeth and shakes his head. “Emma, you don’t understand,” he says slowly. “This isn’t for drugs. This is a different kind of facility. A kind of facility that caters to girls like you.”
I wrinkle my nose in confusion. “What do you mean, girls like me? Dad, I told you. I’m a good kid. I go to school. I have friends. I’m not a troublemaker.” My heart is racing as I speak. I know that Dad can’t possibly know about Dane and what we do together in the woods, but part of me is wondering if this so-called rehab is a program for sex addicts.
My father sighs deeply, as if the mere mention of my mother has exhausted him. “Emma, I don’t think you understand. Use your brain. Look at yourself.”
When I don’t move, my father slams his fist down on the desk. The sound startles me and I jump in my chair, dragging the feet across the wooden floor with a painful screech.
“You can barely fit in that chair,” my father says derisively. “You’re a cow. I don’t even know what size you wear, but your mother has told me that clothing from regular stores won’t fit you anymore.”
My cheeks burn bright red with shame as I look down at my belly. It’s poking out of my shirt and a huge lump of shame wells in my throat.
“You’ve let yourself go,” my father continues. “And that might be fine for some people, but not the daughter of Jason Hadley.”
I gasp. “What are you talking about? Why does my weight have anything to do with you and your business?”
My father sighs. “You really don’t get it, do you? You’ve skated by your whole life, Emma, and I’m not going to let that continue. You’re an adult, and it’s time to take control of your own life. Do you really think that anyone will want to marry you if you stay looking like that?”
My mind immediately leaps to Dane. How he loves cooking for me, and how he always makes sure that I have enough to eat.
“I haven’t skated by,” I protest feebly. “I’ve done whatever you’ve told me. Dad, I’ve taken tons of classes that I never wanted to take, just because you thought it would be good for me. Like Accounting. I was never interested in the subject, you just wanted me to take it.”
“And you’re a mediocre student at best,” my father snaps.
I squint at him in disbelief. “And you think that sending me to a fat farm will fix all of that? Because, Dad, I have news for you – it won’t. If I get skinnier, it’s not going to turn me into a brain trust with a mind for business.”
To my surprise, my dad throws his head back and laughs. “Emma, god, you really are stupid, aren’t you! Of course losing weight won’t make you any smarter. Has all that fat gone to your head, too?”