Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 149338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
No longer full of anything.
I leaned forward, kissing her forehead, expecting to feel her warmth. Instead all I got was her freezing cold skin against my lips. “Peace, I leave with you. My peace I give you,” I whispered the bible verse, making the sign of the cross over her body.
I nodded to the coroner, unable to find the words to say this was Amari. Holding back the desire to fall apart and die right along with her. I couldn't, her baby girl needed someone, and I’d made her a promise a long time ago, a promise I intended to keep. I left the morgue without looking back. The hospital where I held Daisy as a newborn, welcoming her into the cruel world, was now the same hospital I said goodbye to her mother.
My beloved sister.
I walked into Daisy’s hospital room, her tiny frame hooked up to several machines, as she laid unconscious in her hospital bed. The beeping sound of the heart monitor and the rhythmic hissing sound of the ventilator echoed all around me. Filling me with some kind of hope. She looked so small and delicate holding her favorite blanket, the one I had sent to Amari for Daisy’s first birthday. I may not have kept in touch, but I never missed my niece’s birthdays or holidays.
I pulled up a chair beside her bed and took a seat. Taking in her beautiful face that reminded me so much of Amari's. Reaching for her hand, I lifted it and placed it in my grasp. My hands so big compared to hers, they swallowed them whole. I leaned over, bowing my head in shame over her broken, bruised, cut up body.
“I’m so sorry, peladita. I didn’t want this for you. I’m so fucking sorry," I sobbed, laying my forehead on our joined hands.
This would be the last time I cried for the rest of my life.
The last time I would apologize to anyone.
Saying goodbye to my sister was the final farewell to what was left of my heart and soul. I was now hollow inside. It was easier that way, I needed to turn off my humanity. No longer wanting to feel anything.
After this…
There was nothing left of me.
“Alright, little lady Lexi, this is your stop,” my bus driver, Anna called out. Peering up at me through the mirror above her head.
I stood, walking down the aisle, passing all the kids I went to school with. Ignoring the hateful glares I had to endure every day. I usually sat near the front of the bus, the closest seat I could find to Anna, or else the kids picked on me for one reason or another
“Thanks, Anna. See you tomorrow,” I announced as she slid the doors open to let me out.
“No problem, sweetie. I’ll bring some of that yogurt you love in the morning.”
I smiled, I loved Anna’s breakfasts. They were the best way to start the day. I often didn't get breakfast from home before I had to leave for the bus. Mom was always asleep, never bothering to get up and help me get ready for my day. I was lucky if I got lunch on most days.
Stepping off the bus, I looked back at Anna one last time. She was shaking her head in disappointment, and it made my heart hurt. I didn’t like it when she got sad, especially when I was the cause.
I was around enough sadness.
My mom wasn’t there, again. I was not surprised. It was rare for her to pick me up from the bus stop. I made sure to always smile wider and bigger as I stared back to show Anna I wasn't fazed by my mom’s absences. Trying to ease the worry I knew she felt. Anna hated that I had to walk home by myself. She said six year olds are too young to be walking by themselves. It wasn’t that bad, except in the summer, I got really hot and sweaty. Anna always made sure to bring me a water bottle so I wouldn’t get dehydrated.
Sometimes if there were enough kids absent, she would drop me off right in front of my house. Those were my favorite days, but they were few and far between.
Anna waved one last time and I waved back. Watching some of the kids stick their tongues out at me as the bus drove by, but I didn’t pay them any mind.
“Sticks and stones,” I whispered. Repeating what my stepdad always said, over and over again in my head.
I never met my real dad, but my mom had shown me a few pictures of him. Including the one that's framed on my nightstand. She didn't tell me much about him, but she did tell me he wasn’t a nice guy and I was better off without him. My stepdad, Phil, wasn’t so bad, but he worked a lot. Which made him cranky. As much as I wished he was home more because he played with me, the house was quieter when he wasn’t. He yelled at my mom all the time to get out of bed, take a shower, clean up the house, and I didn’t like that very much. It scared me sometimes when he was in a really bad mood. I always made sure to give my mom extra hugs and kisses after he was done making her cry.