Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
After the excitement of the birth is over, I fall into a kind of a depression. I never read the texts or listen to the voice messages that Angelo sends like clockwork every day. I always delete them immediately, but I don’t dare to get rid of the phone. Getting those messages every morning and every night, even if I don’t open them, makes it impossible to forget about him. It makes me spiral into a place of desperation and heartache from which I find it difficult to return.
During that darker period in February, I stop deleting his messages. I tell myself I won’t read them, that I just don’t care enough anymore, but, like a lot of other things I tell myself about Angelo, it’s a lie.
One evening in my bed, when I’m at my lowest, I click on his message.
Angelo: Sleep well, cara. I’ll see you in my dreams.
An arrow shoots straight into my heart. Tears build behind my eyes. He has no right to say things like that. He has no right to make me keep this phone and force me to think about him day and night. I’ll never heal like this, and I have a sneaking suspicion that’s his intention. He deceived me, but he won’t grant me the mercy of setting me free.
Angelo: You’re awake.
The double checkmarks on his phone would’ve told him I read his message. I wipe angrily at the tears on my face.
Angelo: I miss talking to you.
Why am I even crying? I hate him.
Angelo: I miss you.
Angelo: Do you need something, bella? You only have to ask.
I blink more tears away.
Angelo: How’s school? Tell me about—
Dropping the phone on the bed, I bury my face in my hands. I can’t do this. I can’t pine for a man who doesn’t deserve me, a man who’s a deceitful blackmailer. So I go back to deleting the messages and putting on a bright smile for my family and teachers until March arrives and the preparations for my university enrollment distract me.
In April, Colin and I submit our applications for the University of Cape Town. A lot depends on the marks we’ll get in our final exams in October. The fight is far from over. My Dad drives us to the university and takes us on a tour of the buildings. It’s a magical day in which I have him all to myself—well, if you don’t count Colin—but Colin is kind and wise enough to give my Dad and me some space.
My spirits lift a little in May. I haven’t seen Roch in four months. There’s a good chance he’s no longer around and that I’m stressing about nothing. The more I think about it, the more I believe I’m right. My actions become carefree again, and I feel more like my old self. When a girl in my class invites me to her birthday party, I accept. It’s time to live again and to have some fun.
May is a pretty girl with a great sense of humor. I don’t tell my parents that hers are out of town on the weekend of her party. If Mom and Dad know the truth, they won’t let me go. May invited the whole of our class as well as Colin’s. The fact that Colin is going sways my parents to let me stay until midnight.
I pull on fishnet stockings and a black denim skirt with my Caterpillar boots, rounding off the outfit with one of Colin’s shirts knotted in the front. I do my make-up dark and tie my hair into two high ponytails.
I’m painting my nails black when Mattie enters my room.
She stops behind me and studies my reflection in the mirror of my dressing table. “I don’t know what look you’re trying to pull off, but you’re not quite cutting it.”
I shrug. “It’s my look.”
She sighs. “That’s why I’m not letting you wear whatever you want to my wedding. Thank goodness the bridesmaid dresses are designed in Cape Town.” Reaching over me, she takes the bottle of nail polish. “You’re smudging it. Let me.”
I prop my left hand under my chin and give her my right hand, spreading my fingers. I’m wearing a ring on every finger like I often do when I dress to go out, but her gaze homes in on the ring on my thumb.
“I never noticed this ring,” she says, frowning. “It looks like a signet ring.”
I swallow. “It’s just something I found at the antique flea market.”
She grips the brush, dips it in the polish, and drags a neat line over my nail. “Has someone told you that you have weird taste?”
“You. All the time.”
She sighs again as if there’s no hope for me. “At least one of us was born with a good dress sense.”
When my nails are dry, I grab my phone and a leather jacket, say goodbye to my parents, and meet Colin outside. Mattie is driving us. I can’t wait to get my permanent license when I turn eighteen.