Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 102708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
He was skipping school again. When he did happen to show up, he was acting up in class and getting detention for talking back. He was staying out until all hours of the night and not telling me where he’d be or who he was with. As it was, he barely answered my texts. Constantly throwing out that I wasn’t his parent, and he could do whatever the hell he wanted.
If it wasn’t for me dragging him to perform on the streets a few nights a week, I wouldn’t see him at all, and that was always the first sign he was up to no good. I was exhausted and barely sleeping, so that didn’t help.
Now, with another mouth to feed, I had to work extra hours. Not to mention, the property taxes were due, and I was late on the mortgage. I was working overtime, and something had to give before I stumbled flat on my face.
I resorted to what I’d always done to survive in moments like these, completely hating myself in the process.
Luckily, one less thing to worry about was that she was enrolled in an online program for school and only left the house to use the computer at the library for her classes. Kraven had been on my ass to let him join one for the last two years, but he didn’t have the discipline she did. I joined her one afternoon, immediately noticing her 3.9 GPA on the screen. I wasn’t surprised in the least that she was smart.
Thankfully, the cops hadn’t come looking for her. Nobody had. Every day that went by didn’t lessen the anxiety and worry I still felt for her. Especially when I only knew her first name. It was the only thing she had shared with me.
I even kept the piece of paper on which she wrote it. For some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. I guess you could say I was a sentimental schmuck like that. And from our family photos she unexpectedly found in the kitchen drawer that evening, it simply proved my point.
Turning left at the light on my street bike, I remembered it as if it were yesterday and not three weeks ago.
“Whoa!” I jolted, chuckling as she came up behind me. “I’m going to need to put a bell on you or something. You’re as quiet as a mouse.”
She hid back a shy smile I’d gotten used to as her cheeks lightly flushed with the prettiest shade of pink, mixed with a bit of red that crept on her nose, enticing me with those damn cinnamon-colored freckles of hers.
Despite her vibrant, copper-red hair and striking green eyes, they were the only bursts of color against her pale skin. She was always dressed in black or gray clothing, with dark eye makeup accentuating her vivid, intense gaze.
You could definitely see her from a mile away; her gothic appearance was such a stark contrast to her delicate, natural features, making it hard to look away. Which was interesting, considering she didn’t notice the effect she had on people. How she’d govern a room by simply walking into it. All eyes would gravitate toward her. Her presence was electric, charging the air around me when I was near her, but maybe it was because it was the only part of her I had since I still hadn’t heard her speak.
Nodding to the drawer next to her, I asked, “Can you get me a pen?” I needed to pay some more bills.
She reached for the drawer, opening it at the same time that I exclaimed, “No! Not that—”
It was too late.
She opened it.
There, in front of our eyes, was our past. A past I could no longer hide.
The pictures were from before our mother left. They were all scattered around in the drawer. However, the one I focused on was from the last Christmas we spent together. My parents stared proudly into the camera as they held us in their arms.
It was Christmas morning, and they weren’t loaded yet. They actually got us gifts that year too. We even put up a tree. It was one of the better memories I had as a child. They were few and far between.
As I grew older and understood how truly broken they were, I realized she already knew she was going to abandon us and was giving us a possible cherished memory that would eventually haunt us. What was supposed to be her honorable goodbye ended up being the nightmare she left behind.
“It’s my parents,” I simply stated when it wasn’t so simple at all.
Nothing about them was.
I hated them so much, though I also couldn’t bring myself to throw the photos away. Trust me, I tried several times. Especially when my rage overpowered my grief. Instead, I shoved it to the back of my mind with a rope, locking it there with a key I couldn’t throw away either. It was tied around my neck like a noose.