Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Thankfully, my faded purple backpack and my books are hidden in my suitcase, despite my mother’s continued insistence that I get rid of them because they are filthy reminders.
Filthy reminders for her, not for me.
“If these items give her comfort, let her keep them,” Dr. Reynolds said to my mother during one of our recent therapy sessions. “She’ll let them go when she’s ready.”
Standing here in this room that isn’t mine at all, I’m not sure I’m ever going to be ready.
Later that night, after a home-cooked dinner of spaghetti and meatballs with my family and watching a cute comedy with them in the living room, Zac and Anna go home to their own apartment, almost as if they can’t leave fast enough. I get the feeling family time doesn’t happen often.
I catch Lizzie staring at me as our parents clean up the popcorn and soda from the living room. “Do you want to help me set up my new dollhouse?” she asks shyly. “I just got a couch, a fireplace that lights up, and a cat in a bed to put in it.”
Before I can answer, my mother has practically warped herself into the room with lightning speed. “Lizzie, Holly must be exhausted with it being her first day home. Maybe another time she can play with you. I’m sure she just wants to go to her room and relax.” She clears her throat. “Besides, it’s late and Grandma is coming tomorrow, so you should be getting to bed soon yourself.”
I stand. “Mom’s right,” I say, even though the last thing I want to do is go to my room and be alone. I haven’t spent the night alone in a dark room since I was in the bad place. Feather, who slept in the bedroom next to mine at Merryfield, is quiet like me, but she’s still good company.
Our mother visibly relaxes, like she just dodged a bullet, and I smile weakly. I wonder if she notices my smile rarely reaches my eyes. Most likely not—she never looks at me long enough to notice. I turn and give Lizzie a real smile, because she’s young and innocent in this whole mess.
“I think I’ll go to bed,” I tell Lizzie gently. “But I’d love to spend some time playing with you tomorrow if you want.” From the corner of my eye, I watch my mother’s face and, just as I suspected, she grimaces slightly at my last comment. At first, I thought I was imagining that she’s been purposely keeping Lizzie away from me, but now it’s too obvious to ignore. For some reason, she’s doing her best to keep the replacement from getting too close to the defective daughter.
The sun shining in my face awakens me, and I squint toward the window, spotting tiny flecks of dust floating in the beam of light, like microscopic faeries in flight.
Sometimes, I wish I were a faery that could just fly away.
Mornings are still confusing to me, even a year after returning to society. When I was held captive, I’m not quite sure when I went to bed. I just slept whenever I felt tired or bored. I think I usually took a few naps during the day, but I never slept for long periods. The ritual of people going to bed at night, staying asleep, and then getting up in the morning to start a new day is still a bit hard for me to get used to.
Waking up in my dedicated weekend-visit bedroom at my parent’s house is no exception. Funny, I thought sleeping and waking here would feel different, since it’s where I slept for the first eight years of my life. It’s the only place I felt safe and had a routine. I thought a certain degree of contentment would return to me, but it hasn’t. The room feels uncomfortable. The paint is too new, the bedsheets and comforter too stiff. Maybe if I had been in my old room, where Lizzie now gets to sleep and feel safe, I would feel like I was really home.
But this isn’t home, not anymore, and it scares me inside to realize that I really don’t belong anywhere. I’m still lost and alone, living an illusion, a ghost haunting my own past.
I rise from the bed, stretch, and go to the window to look at the tree-lined street of huge houses that all look mostly the same to me. I wonder if the prince lives in a house like that, but I quickly decide he wouldn’t. He would live in a castle on a hill that touches the clouds or in a cottage deep in the forest.
Please come get me soon, I silently beg, hoping he will somehow hear me, wherever he is.
A knock on the bedroom door distracts me from my hopeful subliminal message. “Holly?” Mom’s voice is muffled through the door.