Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 109882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Maybe I should’ve left it with her. Maybe she was the one who really needed it.
None of that mattered anyway. She hadn’t given two shits about me when I lived with her, so I shouldn’t care about what was going on in her life now or if she was okay.
Part of me wanted to check up on her, call her and see if she was all right. She was my mother, after all, even if the only thing she ever did that classified her as a mom was give birth to me.
But it wasn’t like she’d be coherent enough to actually talk to me. She was out of her mind, high most days, sleeping her life away in that shitty little trailer we called home. The money she’d gotten from disability and government assistance checks helped pay for her nasty habit, inflamed it like gasoline to an open fire.
Growing up, I’d have to scour for food and money, loose change between the torn and stained tweed couch cushions, praying I found a dollar to buy a hamburger from the fast food restaurant down the street.
When I was old enough, I’d gotten a part-time job. That had helped pay for my food, and it was then, as I stared at my measly little check, that I knew my life was truly fucked up. Of course, I’d known already, but seeing what I’d earned, knowing I had to use it to eat, to buy clean underwear and socks, told me how shitty my mother really was.
And it was depressing. It was life-sucking. It also made me stronger and turned me into the woman I was today.
I felt the gun move across my fingers, the smooth, cold, and hard metal giving me relief, confidence.
As I walked home, I let my mind focus, the cool breeze blowing over me, chillier than normal for this time of year. But I welcomed it. I was tired of the muggy, sweltering heat that lingered after the sun had set.
The sound of my shoes hitting the pavement was what I focused on. I didn’t pay attention to the car horn honking, music blaring in the distance, or people talking behind me who lingered around the bar.
I rounded the corner and continued to make my way toward the apartment complex. I still had my hand in my purse, my fingers wrapped around the grip of the gun, the feel of it in my palm giving me strength and calming me slightly.
I’d been walking for about five minutes, halfway to my destination, when that prickling sensation started on the back of my neck and moved toward my limbs. I didn’t stop but slowed considerably, keeping my gaze ahead of me and scanning my surroundings.
Maybe I should have increased my pace. Ran.
But I didn’t want to be the prey who sensed the predator and tried to escape.
I didn’t want to be that person in life.
I knew the danger was behind me. Felt it lick over my skin.
Over the past few days, I’d been feeling more on edge, and it didn’t help realizing I was being followed, that the dark SUV was at the forefront of my mind. That was why I was anxious.
The thought that he found me, that I should run, hide... fight back.
I made sure to scan my surroundings before leaving anywhere. But I thought they’d either given up or they were being stealthier, because I wasn’t seeing that SUV anymore. Of course, anymore meant the last couple days.
And then I heard the vehicle behind me, slow and steady. I did stop then, ready to end this once and for all. Ready to confront the person who was making my life even more stressful.
My anger overrode my fear, confusion, and worry. I tightened my hold on the gun even harder, took a step forward, and another one. The vehicle stopped, the headlights shining right on me.
There was no one else around, the neighborhood I was in shady, shifty. No one would think twice if they heard me fire off a shot. And maybe that was best.
And so I pulled that gun out and pointed it at the vehicle, my heart racing so hard and fast I could feel it in my throat, hear it in my ears.
I swear I could feel it rushing through my body. The fight or flight instinct was riding me hard right now, survival mode telling me to just leave, to run. To hide.
But I couldn’t run forever. I had to face my problems. I had to know who was following me, watching me, but I wasn’t going to surrender. I wasn’t going to submit. And so I took a step closer, and another, and another. And then I was almost to the driver side door, the windows so dark I couldn’t see anything. But I know whoever was sitting there watched me, was staring right at me.