Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
I slip down lower on his legs, fumbling to get the button undone, but when I do, a song I haven’t heard in weeks violates our good time. I still my fingers and look up at him, my heart already dropping to the pit of my stomach. “That’s my phone,” I say as if I need to explain.
His fingers slip through my hair, tucking hair behind my ear. “Don’t worry about it. If it’s important, they’ll leave a message.”
I don’t get many calls these days. It’s either Marcy or Keats, and both tend to text me if they need me. My phone pings, alerting me to a message that’s been left. I look from one of his eyes to the other, hoping this doesn’t get ruined. But then it goes off again, causing me to sit back on my heels.
He lifts to his elbows and says, “That’s a ringtone you’ve assigned to somebody?”
“Yes.” I sound as meek as I feel. It’s incredible how fast I can return to the person I always hated being. A generic ringtone, chosen from the phone’s available options, works like Pavlov’s dog to pull me right back into the life I thought I had escaped.
Sitting up, he slides down the mattress and takes hold of my hands. “Whose?”
My mind wanders to the repercussions of not answering. I tick through boxes of punishment and threats, what I want and what I’ll have to give up. I keep my eyes locked on his, even when another pinging voicemail intrudes this small space of peace I thought I’d found, and when I’m startled and shaken to the core when the ringtone goes off again. Security is found in the comfort of his brown eyes. “Sosie? Who’s calling?”
“My mother.”
CHAPTER 31
KEATS
“What are you going to do?” Fear arises, followed by a boiling rage as I watch uncertainty fall across my girl’s features. They did this to her.
“What should I do?” She voices the question so quietly I’m unsure if I’ve heard her right. The soft sound disarms me, the rage falling away.
She’s shrinking before my eyes. The life that shone in her hazel eyes dims at the mere intrusion of a phone call, as if her mother were standing here in person. “I don’t know, Sosie. What do you think is best?” I struggle with my own familial issues, so I’m not one to lecture on how somebody handles their situation.
“I don’t know.” Her voice is strained as her gaze treks through the windows. The irony of her paying extra to move in this week to start feeling truly herself, only to have it ruined by the ringing of her phone. Fuck them for doing this to her.
She needs support, not another obstacle. So I do what I think she needs to be able to put this behind her. I dig the phone from her purse and kneel beside her. Holding it out, I say, “She’s left several messages. You don’t have to answer her call, but you can still see what she wants, if you want.”
She takes the phone from me and looks at the screen. Although I saw the voicemail transcribed into text, I didn’t read it. Her gaze rolls over the words and then dart to mine.
“At a party . . .”
She rolls her eyes as she slides her phone open to hear the full message.
“. . . dropped.”
I quietly mouth, “What dropped?”
Tapping a finger against her lips, she shakes her head and looks down as if it helps her hear better. I only catch bits before her grip tightens on the phone, and she leans her head against it. Now I can’t tell if they’re threatening her or trying to reconnect, so I grow increasingly frustrated as the message drags on.
When tears wobble in the corners of her eyes, her hand trembles as she begins to fall apart. I rub her thigh to comfort her, though I’m not sure what she’s dealing with to know what she needs. She pulls the phone down and hits the speaker button, and I hear her mom say, “Call me.” The phone goes silent as we stare at each other.
I’m not sure what to say, but I can already see a myriad of emotions playing out across her face. Shock. Guilt. Sadness. Pain. But what I don’t see is happiness from hearing from her or the tenacity she’s shown since leaving.
Suppression only works to hide the trauma temporarily. Every kid wants to please their parents. Sosie is no different. Pain doesn’t change that need. It reshapes it.
“I . . .” She stands with the phone at her side, her fingers whitening at the tips as if she needs something tangible to hold on to. One call is all it took to shake the foundation she built without them and rock my world in the aftershocks.