Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Perfume bottles littered the vanity, her cheap satin robe, the high heeled ‘slippers’ with the pom poms on them that she’d screamed at me for trying on once.
“My father—I don’t remember,” I said, realizing I’d been silent for a long time, thinking about my mother.
Swiss hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t breathed, it seemed.
He was waiting, for more. Because unfortunately, there was more.
And I’d done it now, made the decision to give him everything. Absolutely everything. So there were no secrets, no lies. Nothing to hide behind. So there was a solid foundation for us to start over. I wanted him to really know me. Know me in a way that no one else did. And in order for that to happen, I had to give him pieces of myself no one knew existed. Pieces that had never seen the light of day.
“She divorced him. My father,” I cleared my throat. “And her parents disowned her. Which meant they no longer helped her out with me or financially. Which meant she had to get a job.”
I folded my arms across my chest, suddenly cold, the weather turning outside. My bones protested at standing for so long, but the hurt was good. Something to focus on.
I took a deep breath and continued. “She quickly discovered that she hated working, yet the only way to stop working while keeping the roof over our heads, food in the cupboards and perfume on her vanity, was to find a man willing to take on a widow with a child who wasn’t his. Our town was small, so there weren’t many of those, and even less of those men were decent, but she made do.”
I licked my lips. “Hal was the third. And he was the only one I liked. The only one who was kind to me. So I didn’t say anything. Because I didn’t want him to leave.”
My cheeks flamed in shame, but I had to keep going.
“I didn’t want to be stuck with my mother. She would’ve found a way to blame me for him leaving. Found a way to punish me. And then she would’ve just found another one. And I couldn’t be sure he’d be nice. Kind. I couldn’t risk him being like number one.”
I shuddered, thinking about the first of my stepfathers. The memories were blurry, muffled with the effort my brain was taking to repress them, but the fear I remembered. It was stark. Curled in a corner as glass rained down on my head.
The fury radiating off Swiss was red hot, but I ignored it.
I had to finish, and I was far from done.
“I dreaded the nights Hal would come to my room,” I rubbed my palms up and down my arms. “I’d tried pretending to be asleep, but he just… did it anyway. The only saving grace was that he didn’t take long. Three minutes and fifteen seconds, give or take. Three minutes and fifteen seconds. I told myself I could handle that. Anyone could handle anything for three minutes and fifteen seconds.”
Sometimes, I realized in horror—something I hadn’t put together until this very moment—I had repeated that mantra when Preston was on top of me, kissing me, apologizing for the fresh bruises on my body.
I shook off that realization, unable to hold the weight of that right now.
“Eventually, I told myself it wasn’t that bad,” my voice cracked. “That I must’ve liked it. If I didn’t, I would’ve screamed, despite my cruel mother. But I didn’t. Luckily, he died of a heart attack on my sixteenth birthday. But I cried when he died too. Real tears. I loved him. And I hated him.”
I laughed without humor. Swiss’s lips were a grim line.
The cicadas still sang outside, unaware of what was going on in this small house. Outside, the world kept turning, even though it felt like Swiss and I were the last people in the universe.
“I met Preston three weeks after my stepfather died.”
I considered that statement, rolling on my heels and steeling myself against my body aches.
“Three weeks,” I repeated, shaking my head as I realized how little respite I’d had between evil men. “I was a mess. Grieving over the loss. Relieved that he’d never touch me again. Scared of being alone with my mother. She was bearable because she was grieving. That meant sleeping until two in the afternoon and walking around the house humming showtunes with her sunglasses on. She thought a big payday was coming. Insurance,” I scoffed, thinking of my mother.
She had not shed one tear.
Well, apart from at the funeral, obviously. She’d howled. Sobbed. Lifted the lace veil she wore over her face to blow her nose loudly with a silk handkerchief one of his business partners had given her.
My mother knew how to play her part well.
Once we were behind closed doors, after everyone left, Mom was cheerful. She was nice to me.