Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“What’s an ideal parent?” she asks with a chuckle. “I wouldn’t know.”
I’m about to clumsily segue into her having another living parent, but she speaks over me. “Besides, knowing I have you here is pretty nice. Like there’s still somebody watching over me other than Q,” she adds. “There’s somebody I can go to who’s not going to bullshit me, and that means everything.”
If only I had spoken faster. Because now my tongue is tied. She couldn’t hit me any deeper if she tried.
“You know, I don’t have to be the only one… I mean, there might be more than just me.”
“I know. I have Brittney and Dr. Lauren. And I know Quinton would never let anything happen.”
“Of course. We’re all here for you.” You coward. You fucking coward. The opportunity was right there, but now a trio of kids saunters into the gym for a workout. My golden opportunity fizzles into nothing.
“You know what? I forgot about a call I have a little later. I better get back. I’m obviously no good to you right now, anyway.”
“Make sure you get some rest, okay? You look really tired.”
“Which one of us is the adult here?” Because it’s easier to be sarcastic than to admit her concern is both a blessing and a curse. If she knew me, really knew me, she wouldn’t give a shit. She’d hate me, and I wouldn’t blame her.
Here I am, running from my daughter, retreating to my apartment like the damn coward I am. Running away from everything the way I’ve been doing for weeks.
Every day that passes makes it worse. It’s one day further from when I should have finally opened up and been honest. One more opportunity to do the right thing, which I squander. If I only had the words. Why is it so impossible to find the words?
There aren’t any answers in my apartment, either. No one to talk to, no one whose advice I can use. I’m alone, the way I deserve to be. The way I was always going to be.
More and more lately, it seems I want it this way. I must, or else I wouldn’t insist on making one wrong decision after another.
My hands flex, clenching and unclenching. I need to hurt something. Someone. Nothing else will do. Only a good fight would ease what’s burning its way through me. A way of forgetting everything, venting all my ugly thoughts and unwanted emotions. Cleansing myself. Punishing another person in lieu of punishing myself.
But I can’t even do that. I’m trapped here, in this fucking apartment, in this goddamn school.
Before I decide to do it, I pick up one of the chairs around the kitchen table and hurl it against the wall. Delilah sat here with me. We ate meals together. I learned what it’s like not to feel so damn alone, if only for a little while. And now I’ll never be able to get rid of that memory. Everything that happens from now on will be tainted by the experience of being seen. Understood. Hell, even accepted, something I have no right of hoping to be.
One chair isn’t going to cut it. I smash another against the floor and send wood flying everywhere. One of the legs is fully intact, so I pick it up and use it as a club, smashing it against the counter before sweeping the surface.
There’s something about this that appeals to my darkness. Destruction, chaos.
Destruction I now have to live with. Clean up somehow. Explain away. In other words, once again, I’m fucking myself over.
I can’t bring myself to care much. Not when it feels so good to let it go. I strike the counter hard enough to snap the wood in half and stand here panting, craving more. More release. More destruction. More of the sense that I can control something.
A knock on my door makes my head snap up. “Who is it?” I bark, marching to the door. Charlotte is the last person I want to see right now and the only one I can imagine coming straight to my apartment. She’ll want to know if I spoke to Aspen, how much longer she’ll have to wait to see her precious little girl. She’s going to find out I don’t much care what she wants.
And I’m so convinced I’ll find Charlotte standing in the hallway that the sight of Delilah knocks me off-balance. “What are you doing here?” I whisper once the surprise wears off. “Don’t you know it’ll only make things worse if somebody sees you here?”
Now I see her. I really see her. The disgust is written all over her face. The rage in the fists clenched at her sides. The fear shining in those wide eyes.
“Does it even matter?” she mutters. “Do you know what I did today? I spent the entire day putting my room back together after somebody broke in and trashed it yesterday.”