Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“I cannot believe you yesterday!” I sneer, ready to fight this out on the lawn and give Tenly something to come over tonight and talk about. “How many sluts have you had on your arm and I never said a thing? But I have a guy over and you act like some jealous teenager? Why? For what? You don’t want me, you made that clear, so why the hell would you pull something like that?”
He steps closer, a scowl on his face, a cold shadow beneath his feet as if the reaper has attached itself to him. I feel small, the insecurities I harbored while married to him growing inside my chest. I refuse to let him see how much he still affects me and stand tall.
“I choose who’s in my daughter’s life.” He points to himself, his teeth clenched. Is he serious? He does not get to dictate who I see!
“No, Cam, you lost that right when I left your ass.”
I turn on my heel, starting toward the house.
“Right, because how many times were you on the floor crying for me not to leave you, Rain?” His voice carries. In fact, it’s so loud, I know the neighbors heard. I close my eyes, take a slow breath in, and hurry inside, choosing not to reply. I stand behind the door, one hand on the knob, the other on the lock, fighting back tears. I did beg him not to leave me more than once. I still remember the pain in my chest at the thought of us not together, the idea of my daughter not having both parents fueling me to look past the drinking, the mental abuse, and the cheating. It was seen as a fail in the parenting handbook. A few slaps later, he knocked some sense into me. I took Paige and left in the middle of the night to stay at my mother’s house, praying he wouldn’t wake up and come searching for us.
15
I sit on the couch. The room is dark except for the lamp letting off a soft glow and the low hues illuminating the TV screen. My eyes heavy with sleep, I stare blankly at the screen, completely zoned out. Paige put on a show called Bates Motel, but I’m exhausted from finishing up my pottery room the rest of the day and can’t focus on what’s happening. At least it’s finally done and everything has its place. But now the room is crying for me to hide inside it and pour every emotion into my work. I can’t wait to see what I create after everything that’s happened recently.
“Mom, I think I’m going to go to bed.” Paige’s voice snaps me from my mind. I sit up with a deep inhale.
“Okay, babe. I’m going to stay up a little longer.” My eyes sweep to the kitchen, where the stove reads ten thirty.
“Dad got me up at the crack of dawn to go fishing. I didn’t catch anything, and he drank and told stories about how his dad never took him. It was boring and exhausting.” God, I don’t miss those stories. They were all so depressing.
“Mom, you look tired. You should go to bed too.” She stands there with droopy eyes, her arms at her sides.
“Heston said he might come over tonight. I don’t want to lock him out if I go to bed. I’ll just wait a little longer.” I sound like a teenager waiting for a boy who never intended to call back, and it makes me sick. Have I succumbed to needing a man’s attention? Am I this eager for another person in my life to disappoint me? No, I’m not doing this to myself, and I sure as hell don’t want my daughter seeing me waiting up for a guy and thinking this is what she’s supposed to do when she’s interested in one.
“Actually, I think I’ll go work in my studio for a bit,” I say, stretching my legs out. I don’t mind staying up a little longer because I feel like I do my best work at night, but I’m not sitting here waiting and looking at my phone every five minutes.
She crosses her arms in front of her chest, her face unreadable. “Is he staying the night?”
I don’t answer. She’s old enough to know she doesn’t want that answer because she already knows what I’m going to say. Her eyes shine with curiosity, but whatever she’s thinking, she doesn’t say out loud. Turning around, she runs her hand along the back of the couch, heading toward the stairs.
“Night, Mom.”
I stretch my arms above my head and yawn, trying to wake myself up. Standing, I fold the blanket Paige was covered up with and place it on the back of the couch. Maybe I should dust or wipe the counter before Heston comes over. No, I don’t really want to do that. Looking at the stairs that lead to my studio, I think about my pottery room. My fingers itch to slip into the clay and let everything I’m feeling but won’t say into my work. Screw it, even if I just get some supplies out to start something another day, it will keep me awake for a little while longer. After climbing the stairs, I open the door and flip the light on, the room glows from the one fixture above, giving off a barely-there white light. Turning on my floor lamp that hangs over my shoulder illuminating my space, I grab my apron from the back of the door and slip it over my head, tying it behind my back. Opening Spotify on my phone, I put on my playlist and sit in my low wooden chair that’s behind the wheel. Taking a deep breath, I grab a box of clay next to my foot, and some water from the jug on my art cart and start kneading them together. My foot presses the pedal and the wheel starts to move the chunk of clay in my hands, helping me transition it from nothing into something. Closing my eyes, letting my hands do the seeing for me, I listen to “You Give Love a Bad Name,” and go into a deep state of relaxation. I needed this so badly. My mom passing, the accident, moving…it’s been a lot. I feel spread thin, trying to keep my head held high, especially in front of Paige.