chair and let my eyelids drift shut. It’d be easier if I could just go to sleep or pass out, but with all the memories floating around the room, even with the pills I took, make that impossible.
Growing restless, I open my eyes and move over to a short bookshelf in the corner where my dad kept a collection of older books that he was too in love with to sell. I lower myself to the floor and skim my fingers along the titles on the bottom row. Most of the titles I don’t recognize—my dad had an oddly unique taste in books—but there are a few that I know by heart because he took the time to read them to me. Stories of princesses and magical kingdoms. He was such a good dad, and how did I repay him? By lying to him in his final moments in life.
I’m so sorry, Dad.
I draw in a breath and clumsily get to my feet, but a thick, leather book with no title or author catches my attention. I slide it out and open it on my lap. My breath catches in my throat. The pages are covered with my father’s handwriting.
“He kept a journal,” I say aloud to myself. But as I fan through the pages, I realize my father’s journal endeavor was short lived because he only managed to fill up three pages.
I thrum my fingers against the page, wondering what to do with book. I want to read it. I want to burn it. I want to hug it and never let it go.
With trembling hands, I slam the book shut and hoist myself to my feet. I write Loki a note on a post-it, stick it on the office entryway where he can find it, and sneak out the back door with the book. I hike across the gravel parking lot toward the street. A cloud of smoke circles around me as I pass by the drearily dressed group that always seems to be smoking near the garbage cans. When I reach the sidewalk, something catches my attention in my peripheral vision.
Just down the street, Cece is leaning against Ben’s red lifted truck, twisting a strand of her blonde hair around her finger. She’s wearing a pair of yoga pants over her leotard, which means she just got out of ballet class. She has her flirty smile on and keeps biting her lip.
Guess they really are together.
I feel the slightest sting in my heart, but don’t react, won’t become that girl. Cece can do whatever she wants and so can Ben.
Ripping my gaze off them, I veer left toward the block my house is on. I have to move slowly; otherwise my leg won’t make the four mile walk home. Back when I helped my dad at the store, I’d sometimes pop in my earbuds and dance my way home. Yeah, people looked at me strangely, but I was too wrapped up in my own world to care. There was something freeing about dancing around in a world that was packed with so many people just walking around. It was probably the most abnormal thing I’ve ever done, and the toes on my good leg ache to relive those days of being so free, so at peace with who I was. But the toes on my bad leg are numb and my leg can barely handle walking anymore.
I don’t make it very far down the sidewalk before my muscles start spasming. Sometimes this happens and between the ache and the sweater and leather jacket I’m wearing, I grow exhausted quickly.
Sinking down onto the curb, I lay my head on my lap. I’m so sweaty that my clothes are sticking to my skin. How wonderful would it be if the world opened up and swallowed me whole?
“Annabella?”
I tilt my head and my eyelashes flutter against the sunlight.
Tammy, the new neighbor, is staring down at me with concern. “Oh, honey, are you all right? You look sick.”
She’s wearing a red sleeveless dress that matches her lipstick and black boots and hoop earrings. Again, she reminds me so much of my mom that my heart skips a beat. But beneath the fashionable outfit, is she really like my mom? Does she lie to her husband? Does she have Luca lie for her?
“I’m fine,” I reply, hugging the book against my chest.
Her brows knit.
Growing restless, I open my eyes and move over to a short bookshelf in the corner where my dad kept a collection of older books that he was too in love with to sell. I lower myself to the floor and skim my fingers along the titles on the bottom row. Most of the titles I don’t recognize—my dad had an oddly unique taste in books—but there are a few that I know by heart because he took the time to read them to me. Stories of princesses and magical kingdoms. He was such a good dad, and how did I repay him? By lying to him in his final moments in life.
I’m so sorry, Dad.
I draw in a breath and clumsily get to my feet, but a thick, leather book with no title or author catches my attention. I slide it out and open it on my lap. My breath catches in my throat. The pages are covered with my father’s handwriting.
“He kept a journal,” I say aloud to myself. But as I fan through the pages, I realize my father’s journal endeavor was short lived because he only managed to fill up three pages.
I thrum my fingers against the page, wondering what to do with book. I want to read it. I want to burn it. I want to hug it and never let it go.
With trembling hands, I slam the book shut and hoist myself to my feet. I write Loki a note on a post-it, stick it on the office entryway where he can find it, and sneak out the back door with the book. I hike across the gravel parking lot toward the street. A cloud of smoke circles around me as I pass by the drearily dressed group that always seems to be smoking near the garbage cans. When I reach the sidewalk, something catches my attention in my peripheral vision.
Just down the street, Cece is leaning against Ben’s red lifted truck, twisting a strand of her blonde hair around her finger. She’s wearing a pair of yoga pants over her leotard, which means she just got out of ballet class. She has her flirty smile on and keeps biting her lip.
Guess they really are together.
I feel the slightest sting in my heart, but don’t react, won’t become that girl. Cece can do whatever she wants and so can Ben.
Ripping my gaze off them, I veer left toward the block my house is on. I have to move slowly; otherwise my leg won’t make the four mile walk home. Back when I helped my dad at the store, I’d sometimes pop in my earbuds and dance my way home. Yeah, people looked at me strangely, but I was too wrapped up in my own world to care. There was something freeing about dancing around in a world that was packed with so many people just walking around. It was probably the most abnormal thing I’ve ever done, and the toes on my good leg ache to relive those days of being so free, so at peace with who I was. But the toes on my bad leg are numb and my leg can barely handle walking anymore.
I don’t make it very far down the sidewalk before my muscles start spasming. Sometimes this happens and between the ache and the sweater and leather jacket I’m wearing, I grow exhausted quickly.
Sinking down onto the curb, I lay my head on my lap. I’m so sweaty that my clothes are sticking to my skin. How wonderful would it be if the world opened up and swallowed me whole?
“Annabella?”
I tilt my head and my eyelashes flutter against the sunlight.
Tammy, the new neighbor, is staring down at me with concern. “Oh, honey, are you all right? You look sick.”
She’s wearing a red sleeveless dress that matches her lipstick and black boots and hoop earrings. Again, she reminds me so much of my mom that my heart skips a beat. But beneath the fashionable outfit, is she really like my mom? Does she lie to her husband? Does she have Luca lie for her?
“I’m fine,” I reply, hugging the book against my chest.
Her brows knit.
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