The Bullet List (The Saving Bailey Trilogy, #1) by Nikki Roman Page B
Authors: Nikki Roman
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to boost her.
She grabs my hand. “We can make it without him. We have already for so long, so why fall apart now?”
I finish off three plates of food, and having eaten my fill, place my napkin on my plate.
“I should be going to work,” Mom says holding her car keys.
Work in the early morning? Why couldn’t she just tell me the truth? I had known she’d been sneaking off to sleep with men, when I was as young as eight. But only now did it start to bother me. Only now that I am old enough to realize sex isn’t a game of tickle monster between two adults who love each other.
Only recently have I figured out that instead of laughter, sex brings intimate feelings, and instead of stiches in your stomach from laughing, you need stiches in your heart to repair it when the person you gave it to decides to rip it apart.
I put on my navy pea coat and a pair of boots to combat the cold that is not only right outside my door, but forming in me as I think deeper into my situation with Mom.
Chapter 12
“I want to go for a walk,” I say. “Maybe I’ll check out Walgreens or Goodwill.”
Mom nods, and digs in her purse for a few crumpled five-dollar bills.
“Here, take this, it is all I have. Get yourself some lunch at McDonalds.”
“Thanks Mom,” I say and kiss her cheek.
“I’ll be home by ten, baby, okay? Don’t go anywhere without calling me,” Mom says.
Her hair is curled and her face is done up, her makeup dramatic. I see myself in her, but only for a moment, because when I look deeper her wrinkles show themselves, and the dark circles appear through a disconcerting amount of foundation.
“What? Do you like my hair? I get more tips this way,” she says playfully.
“You look nice,” I say.
I follow her out the door. She pulls out of the driveway, and I watch her until the car is a silver speck on the road, like a piece of glitter.
I speed walk to Camelot Park. It is a beautiful winter’s day; one can hardly tell the air is frosty, the way the sun is shining.
Alana and I used to come here when we were small, back then it only had a few swings, slides, and a tunnel. The tunnel was a target of teen graffiti; we would climb on top of it, and jump down to the sand below. There wasn’t much to do, but we always found some way to enjoy ourselves.
Alana could climb trees like nobody’s business; she would scare Mom half to death by shimmying up the thin branches and propping herself at the top of an oak tree. One time she fell, and broke her arm. Her mom wouldn’t speak to mine for weeks.
During those weeks, I would come to the park alone, with my dolls, and sit them on the swings. And with my feet and hands buried in the hot sand, stare and stare at them. I didn’t know what to do with myself without Alana. I had been using her as a crutch, as a way to forget my dad, and that unmentionable night.
Mom took me to counselors, but I wouldn’t talk to anyone. I was living in my own lonely world, unreachable by those who thought they could help me forget my dad, and forget Jack, and forget that my mother used to be happy. We all used to be so happy .
There are twice as many swings now, and slides so tall I wonder if they are even safe. I usually come here to swing in silence; it is almost always empty. I could swing for hours and hours, daydreaming. Today that is what I do. I have conveniently left my cellphone at home, there will be no distractions . I need all the concentration I can muster up to sift through my thoughts.
I think about Ashten, and how she will never be the same again after last night. My stomach goes queasy at the thought of her burns. I don’t want to throw up my breakfast, so I force my thoughts down another path. A path called, I kissed Trenton, and Clad is never going to forgive me. No, forget Clad, what about Miemah? What will she do to me when she finds out?
I imagine the scenarios: a death match with her knife, perhaps, or maybe her fists. If she really wanted to spice
She grabs my hand. “We can make it without him. We have already for so long, so why fall apart now?”
I finish off three plates of food, and having eaten my fill, place my napkin on my plate.
“I should be going to work,” Mom says holding her car keys.
Work in the early morning? Why couldn’t she just tell me the truth? I had known she’d been sneaking off to sleep with men, when I was as young as eight. But only now did it start to bother me. Only now that I am old enough to realize sex isn’t a game of tickle monster between two adults who love each other.
Only recently have I figured out that instead of laughter, sex brings intimate feelings, and instead of stiches in your stomach from laughing, you need stiches in your heart to repair it when the person you gave it to decides to rip it apart.
I put on my navy pea coat and a pair of boots to combat the cold that is not only right outside my door, but forming in me as I think deeper into my situation with Mom.
Chapter 12
“I want to go for a walk,” I say. “Maybe I’ll check out Walgreens or Goodwill.”
Mom nods, and digs in her purse for a few crumpled five-dollar bills.
“Here, take this, it is all I have. Get yourself some lunch at McDonalds.”
“Thanks Mom,” I say and kiss her cheek.
“I’ll be home by ten, baby, okay? Don’t go anywhere without calling me,” Mom says.
Her hair is curled and her face is done up, her makeup dramatic. I see myself in her, but only for a moment, because when I look deeper her wrinkles show themselves, and the dark circles appear through a disconcerting amount of foundation.
“What? Do you like my hair? I get more tips this way,” she says playfully.
“You look nice,” I say.
I follow her out the door. She pulls out of the driveway, and I watch her until the car is a silver speck on the road, like a piece of glitter.
I speed walk to Camelot Park. It is a beautiful winter’s day; one can hardly tell the air is frosty, the way the sun is shining.
Alana and I used to come here when we were small, back then it only had a few swings, slides, and a tunnel. The tunnel was a target of teen graffiti; we would climb on top of it, and jump down to the sand below. There wasn’t much to do, but we always found some way to enjoy ourselves.
Alana could climb trees like nobody’s business; she would scare Mom half to death by shimmying up the thin branches and propping herself at the top of an oak tree. One time she fell, and broke her arm. Her mom wouldn’t speak to mine for weeks.
During those weeks, I would come to the park alone, with my dolls, and sit them on the swings. And with my feet and hands buried in the hot sand, stare and stare at them. I didn’t know what to do with myself without Alana. I had been using her as a crutch, as a way to forget my dad, and that unmentionable night.
Mom took me to counselors, but I wouldn’t talk to anyone. I was living in my own lonely world, unreachable by those who thought they could help me forget my dad, and forget Jack, and forget that my mother used to be happy. We all used to be so happy .
There are twice as many swings now, and slides so tall I wonder if they are even safe. I usually come here to swing in silence; it is almost always empty. I could swing for hours and hours, daydreaming. Today that is what I do. I have conveniently left my cellphone at home, there will be no distractions . I need all the concentration I can muster up to sift through my thoughts.
I think about Ashten, and how she will never be the same again after last night. My stomach goes queasy at the thought of her burns. I don’t want to throw up my breakfast, so I force my thoughts down another path. A path called, I kissed Trenton, and Clad is never going to forgive me. No, forget Clad, what about Miemah? What will she do to me when she finds out?
I imagine the scenarios: a death match with her knife, perhaps, or maybe her fists. If she really wanted to spice
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