Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
They called it a school, and men showed up in the middle of the night to arrest me. What kind of person lets that happen? What kind of mother hides in her bedroom and lets her daughter get dragged out of the house?
My mother, that’s who.
No. I’m never going to want to speak to her again. I’ve done a lot of work to be satisfied with my life, and she bears some of the responsibility for why that was so hard, and why I suffered so much in the process.
Then she didn’t believe me. She tried to send me right back to them. She called me insane. I fucking hate her. I hate what she did to me. What she made me.
I’m done with her. I’m done with my parents. One more phone call, and I will go to the judge.
As if fate heard my thoughts, my phone rings again.
I fish it out from the blankets, ready to unload on a woman who won’t hear a word of it. Just for the sake of hearing myself scream.
This time, the number isn’t blocked. I can see exactly who it is. I’m quick to answer.
“Hi. How are you?”
There’s some noise on the other end of the line, like he’s outside in the breeze. The rustling continues for a few seconds, then clears.
“Haley.”
My heart kicks up, pushing past my calm. The sound of his voice always does this to me. Aden’s voice isn’t something I can teach myself to respond to, not that I’d want to. I can only react on a deep level.
“Did you see?” I ask him, “The news that was just on?”
He’s quiet on the other end of the phone.
“Aden.” I pull the blanket tighter to my body, relishing the warmth. It would be warmer if his arms were around me. “I’m here. Are you alright? Tell me if you’re okay.”
I wait, listening to him breathe. I can tell he’s deciding what to say. The wind blows a little louder, then quiets down again. I push the blanket off and get to my feet. The waiting is easier if I move around a little bit.
I wander across the living room to a low bookshelf and run my fingers over the spines. There are mostly textbooks here, but also a few novels and one other book.
Sometimes he needs time to think of what to say. He needs a moment of just knowing I’m there. I get that. More than anything, I get that we need a moment sometimes to understand what’s going on in our heads.
I pull that book off of the shelf, carry it back to the couch, and set it on the coffee table. Then I trace the cover with my fingertips, focusing on the shape.
Down, and over. Down and over. The shape never changes. The lines of the book are always the same. The edges of the cover are getting a little worn from how many times I’ve done this, but that’s okay.
They won’t break completely, just like I didn’t break completely. Lots of people tried, but they couldn’t do it. Like my mother. I almost tell Aden but I bite my tongue.
I survived. I got out. We both got out. I have all the patience Aden needs. For him, and for me. For both of us together.
Down, and over. Down, and over. I trace the corners with my eyes closed.
“Can you—” I can hear him exhale, as if he doesn’t want to ask this of me, but can’t keep the words inside. “Can you come out tonight?”
“I don’t know about tonight. I—”
I open my eyes, then open the book. The page I flip to is worn down a little, too, because I always flip to this page.
It’s the page with Dean’s picture. I don’t know why I pulled this book out. I wasn’t thinking of it. I was thinking of what seeing him like that would do to me.
I remember when he looked like he does in this picture.
I remember everything about him when this photo was taken.
“I don’t know,” I say softly. “I don’t know.”
DEAN
10 years ago
Today is like any other day at this place. The shuffling of feet is vaguely heard in the background of the lunch hall, as is the slow drip of a leaking pipe.
The school. The prison. It doesn’t matter what it’s called. No names matter to me anymore.
The only person’s name that matters is the one belonging to that girl.
I still don’t have her name.
I listen whenever I can, hoping one of the teachers or staff members will let it slip. They talk about everyone in here the same way, without using many descriptions, so I’ve heard a few names. I’m not sure if any of them belong to her.
If I knew what her name was, I wouldn’t say it out loud. I’d keep it safe and protected. I definitely wouldn’t call to her even though I want to. That would be breaking every rule in this place, and I’d probably end up buried under the floorboards.