Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 130380 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130380 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
My father putting his hand on her knee had silenced her, and while he hadn’t so much as looked at her when he did it, I watched Mom take her first real breath, cover his hand with hers, and fall silent.
Mercifully.
I’d slept in my old room, which was pretty much the same, except that it was painted brighter now, with a bed set only my mother would love, and there was a treadmill in the corner facing out of my favorite window — the one I used to gaze out of as I sketched. It wasn’t any easier to sleep in here, not with memories of high school clinging to the space. I stared at the television that I used to play Xbox on with Leo, heart lurching every time.
I so desperately wanted to get high, but I didn’t have any edibles on hand, and I knew I couldn’t sneak a joint — not in my mother’s house. It didn’t matter if I walked down the street to smoke it, she’d find out.
So, I tossed and turned soberly through the night before Dad knocked on my door at two in the morning, his walking sneakers in hand.
We didn’t talk as we walked, and unlike when I was younger, it didn’t really help me sleep. But it did make me feel marginally better — less alone, at the very least.
And the next morning, I gave my mom all the answers she was looking for.
I also told her and Dad both about Nero.
Naturally, they wanted me to go to the police. They couldn’t see reason, not even when I pointed out that it was his word against mine, that if I moved against him, he’d move against Leo and me both. Mom swore the law would side with me, which made me laugh because clearly she hadn’t paid attention to any similar court cases in the last hundred years. Dad seemed to understand why I was hesitant, but he was like Leo. He wanted to murder Nero. And while my shot of ever working in Boston was already obliterated, I didn’t want to poke the bear that had the power to annihilate my career completely.
It was only after I begged and pleaded with them through my tears that they agreed to let me handle it the way I wanted to.
That’s the thing no one tells you about being a victim to harassment — that not only do you lose power during the assault, but afterward, too, when you’re expected to follow rules put in place by people who have no idea what you’ve been through or what’s at stake.
What my parents didn’t understand was that I needed to take back control of the situation. I needed to be the one to decide what happened next, to determine how much I let this incident impact me and the rest of my life.
All I wanted was to wipe my hands of Nero and the memory and move forward.
I wanted to live on without ever thinking about him or that shop again.
And I never wanted to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’d so much as slowed me down, let alone stopped me.
After the dust settled, once the questioning was done and Dad convinced Mom to leave it alone, I was finally able to breathe.
But each breath was a fiery assault on my lungs, because now all I could think of was Leo.
It was sick, how I knew I needed space from him and yet I stared at my phone all damn day wishing to see his name pop up on the screen. I’d asked him to leave me alone, and he’d listened — even when I knew he didn’t want to. He was giving me what I needed, and my masochistic ass was over here wishing he wouldn’t, wishing that he’d say fuck what you think you need and burst through the door.
But if he did, I knew I’d be upset.
I’d take it as further proof that I couldn’t trust him, that he didn’t care about what I needed, what I asked of him. It would hurt me. It would piss me off.
And yet, not hearing from him at all killed me.
I was a chaotic disaster, one he didn’t deserve to put up with. I was so angry with him, so betrayed by his actions — and yet, he was the only one I craved to make me feel better about it all.
The only one I knew could actually do it.
I’d beaten these thoughts around in my brain so much over the week that it felt like mush, and I sat outside in the cool morning fog with a dazed look on my face, my head floating in the mist, body on autopilot and just keeping me alive.
Someone opened the patio door, and Palico sauntered through it and right up to the couch I was sitting on. She hopped up, meowing before she nudged me as if to say, “Let me inside that thing, I’m cold.” I couldn’t smile, but I did open up the blanket long enough for her to make her way in. I swore, she knew something was wrong. She’d been glued to my side since we first arrived.