Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
The youngest child, a girl about the age of eight, is the last to leave the table, and she looks around the room, then walks to me and holds out a big chunk of chicken that she must have hidden in her napkin for me.
“Hurry,” she whispers, and I snatch it out of her hand and shove it into my mouth. But as I chew, the mom comes in and sees what’s happening.
“Go to your room, Elizabeth.”
“Mama—”
“To your room.”
The mom hasn’t raised her voice, but the girl swallows hard, gives me a sympathetic look, and then slinks away up the stairs.
I’ve just finished swallowing the chicken when the mom walks calmly to me, rears her hand back, and slaps me across the face so hard that I see stars.
I cry out, so she does it again.
And then a third time.
Then she grips onto my face, her fingertips digging into my flesh. “You eat when I tell you to eat, you hear me?”
I can only whimper a response.
“You’re a gross, fat pig, and I’m going to get all of this fat off of you. You don’t want to be fat, do you?”
More whimpers.
“Now you have to go another two days.”
No. God, no. I’m so hungry.
I sit up in bed, gasping, tears coming down my face. At first, I panic because I don’t know where I am. Am I in another foster home? Oh, God, will they hurt me here?
But then I remember that this is Polly’s house, and I’m with my friends.
I’m okay.
Everything is going to be okay.
I miss Brady, and I reach for my phone, but it’s not even dawn yet, and I woke him up late last night. He has to ride today, and I don’t want him to be distracted or too exhausted.
“You’re okay.” I set the phone down and pad into the bathroom, where I splash some cold water over my face. “You’re fucked up, but you’re okay.”
I look at myself in the mirror and remember the young woman I once was, and feel the tears well for her. She didn’t deserve to be treated like that. Hell, no one does. People can be so cruel, so evil and mean, and I just don’t understand that.
I was a good kid. I was a nice kid. And still, I was brutalized mercilessly by the people who were supposed to help me. And why? Because I’m not naturally thin? Because they could? It’s so fucked-up.
I shake my head and splash the water once more and then pat my face dry with a thick, soft towel.
And then another memory hits me. In that same fucked-up house, they didn’t let me dry off with a towel after bathing.
I had to use my own dirty clothes.
“Enough.” I shake that off and pad back to the bed. That’s not where I am anymore. My life is amazing. I have friends who care about me, my daughter is safe and happy, and I have the love of an amazing man who is what dreams are made of.
There’s no need to dwell on the past. I wish my subconscious would catch up to the rest of me.
I have no intention of falling back to sleep, but I lie down anyway and take a long, deep breath.
I’ve had a sinking feeling in my gut all fucking day. Of course, I’m hungover, but that’s not it.
I did end up falling back to sleep after the nightmare, but still rose early and chatted with Polly over coffee in the kitchen. Everyone else was still asleep when I left to go home to shower and change my clothes and then go to work.
I’m working seven days a week right now. Sometimes, I take off earlier than I should, but for the most part, I’m spending a lot of hours working. I usually go out in the field in the mornings to help clean some of the units, and then I go to the office in the afternoon to get laundry underway, work on the schedule, and run errands for more supplies, as needed.
To say that I’m busy is a massive understatement.
I helped clean four units all before noon today, and then I came back to my office to do that laundry, but all day, I felt like something bad was going to happen.
“Please don’t let it be Brady.”
I’ve texted him more than usual today. I’m never this needy when he’s gone, but something isn’t right.
I don’t mean between us. Brady and I are solid. But there’s something in my gut that won’t shut up. The poor man has texted me back twice, reassuring me that everything’s normal and absolutely fine on his end, trying to put my mind at ease. I need to let him focus and do his thing so it stays that way.
The dryer signals the end of a cycle, so I walk back to the laundry room and realize that I’m sloshing through water.