Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 116263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Gasps heaved my chest as confusion blistered through my body. The memory was so distinct I could have sworn I was right there with him.
I blinked, trying to rein my uneven breaths as I took in my foreign surroundings.
The room was cold and grimy, and dingy rust-colored tiles covered the floors. A drone of voices filled the musty atmosphere as people came and went. A voice announced over crackling speakers that a bus was arriving from New York City.
You’re at the bus station.
You’re fine. You’re fine.
Breathing through the weight of the strain, I struggled to rid myself of the memories of the first time I’d descended into Faydor.
I rarely dreamed of the past, or even dreamed at all. Only in the moments when I didn’t fully lose myself to sleep, when I hovered somewhere between consciousness and the ethereal.
Stuck in limbo.
Not awake, but also not deep enough for my spirit to have been fully carried to Tearsith.
And when I did dream, it was often of my first experience in Faydor. The night that had changed everything.
I touched the spot on my chest that would be forever scarred with that moment.
As if it were inscribed on my heart.
A moment in time when I’d met my fate.
Who I was supposed to be.
My attention traveled the area as I oriented myself.
Dreariness pressed at the windows that ran along the front of the brick building. Outside, a freezing drizzle fell from the sky, and a damp cold seeped through the walls. I hugged my backpack to my chest as if it could protect me from both the chill and the prying eyes that gauged.
Speculated.
Judged.
Those who worried I was unstable and about to snap.
I almost laughed.
If any of them had any clue about what was in my head, they would have believed that I had.
A woman in her sixties sat on a bench opposite me, clinging to her purse, not sure if she wanted to get up and move or stand to comfort me. Worry and compassion were clear in her expression.
I dropped my head to hide my eyes because I didn’t want to freak her out any more than I already had, and I blew out a heavy sigh and ran my fingers through my hair to gather myself.
It was reckless—dozing off that way.
I needed to remain vigilant.
Cautious.
To watch my surroundings and protect myself, because who else was going to do it?
I was trying to flee a city I could no longer remain in.
Alone for the first time in my life.
Lost, yet seeking a new purpose.
A way to live out this life in the best way that I could, and I knew I couldn’t do it here in Albany.
I couldn’t continue to cause my parents pain, and I couldn’t continue to succumb to the pain that they caused me.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I checked the time. There was still an hour before my bus left. Cringing, I forced myself to ignore the missed calls and texts from my parents.
Mom had immediately known I wasn’t going to school, and I’d hidden myself behind the neighbor’s fence as I’d listened to her shouting my name from the front yard. Frantic, she’d run down the sidewalk before she returned home, only for the garage door to rise a minute later and her minivan to slowly drive down the street.
Searching.
It was then that my phone had started ringing incessantly.
I’d listened to her first message. She had begged me to come home.
Swore she was only trying to help me.
Was there to protect and love me.
She’d promised to get me help.
Panic had lit at that because I knew exactly what that meant, and I hadn’t been able to bring myself to listen to any more of them, so I’d turned off the locator right before I’d gone to the nearest bank and emptied out my savings account.
When I got to California, I would check in with them.
I would let them know I was safe but that I wasn’t coming home.
Once I was eighteen.
Once this place was far behind me.
Grief sank deep into my spirit with the thought of leaving, pain shearing through me at the truth that I would likely never see them again.
I loved them. Fiercely and wholly.
And the thought of leaving my brothers and sister behind, never getting to watch them grow and thrive and experience their joy, left a gaping hole inside me.
But I wasn’t sure my parents could ever love both sides of me. They would never accept me or take me at my word—the word I’d kept hidden for years because of it.
Leaving was the only way.
I readjusted myself on the uncomfortable metal bench.
My attention jumped around at the different people sitting in the bus station lobby. Every age and every race. It was impossible not to wonder what might be in each person’s mind.