Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
But my first wig brought attention I’d never experienced before and sure didn’t ask for. What is it about some people? They sense the slightest bit of weakness and turn into sharks smelling blood in the water. Circling. Ready to snap their jaws.
And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, somebody spotted me at the hospital. Everybody swung from one extreme to the other. I was either the poor, tragic object of pity or the walking ghost everybody stared at like they were waiting for me to yell ‘boo’. I couldn’t have jumped faster at the idea of moving to a new town, where I could start fresh. Where nobody had to know. I could be free.
Bitter laughter mixes in with my choked sobs. How naïve could I be? There is no freedom. Not for me. Before meeting the evil twins, there might have been a chance, but I live with a storm cloud over my head. Meeting them and becoming their target was probably inevitable.
It takes a minute or two for the darkness to start clearing. The sobs turn to sniffles and the tears dry, and I can breathe again. Okay, so everybody knows I wear a wig. That doesn’t mean they know I’m sick. They’ll forget about this after a little while. They’ll have to. I get the feeling they’re easily bored, always looking for the next dopamine hit.
This doesn’t have to ruin anything for me. I can handle these assholes until they move on, and that includes the twins. They have to get tired and give up, right? How much more do I have to endure before they get the hint that I’m not going to cower in front of them?
Because I’ve lived through much worse than them. Losing Mom and Dad out of nowhere. Helping Grandma recover after her stroke. My diagnosis and everything that’s come after. Losing Granddad.
Those pussies think they can scare me?
My shoulders roll back as the last of my heartbreak fizzles away. I’m stronger than this. And I’m not hiding out in a public bathroom that reeks of bleach and cheap air freshener. Opening the door, I go to the sink to splash my blotchy face and make sure my wig is on straight. That asshole. He couldn’t even be decent enough to hand it back right away once he knew he made a mistake. Anybody with half a brain would have, but not Preston. I wish I had introduced my knee to his balls, too.
The door to the hallway opens with a soft whoosh before a voice fills the air. “I told him, I don’t swallow just any guy’s load. What do I look like?” a girl almost barks as she’s followed in by a pair of giggling friends.
Her obnoxiousness makes me wrinkle my nose before I can help it. “What?” the girl asks, stopping in her tracks. Because, of course, she noticed my reaction. Because this day needed an extra level of misery.
Looking up from where I’m washing my hands, I find them staring at me. “Hmm?” Because why not? Might as well pretend I have no clue.
“Take that shitty face off your head,” she warns, swinging a thick braid over her shoulder and putting her hands on her hips. As soon as her gaze shifts to my wig, her eyes light up. “Or you could spare us all and take that shitty wig off instead.”
“I don’t think it’s shitty, Tiana,” one of her little minions decides, while the other two snicker. “My grandmom wears one just like it, and she always looks nice.”
Once again, why? Why are people like this? Until just now, I have never exchanged a word with Tiana or any of these girls. Why do they have to start with me? It’s Friday afternoon. Don’t they have anything better to do?
When I don’t respond, Tiana moves closer. “I’m talking to you. Did you lose your hearing, too? Or just your hair?”
My ears are ringing. The sound gets a little louder with every beat of my heart. Who does she think she is? Who do any of these people think they are? Like wearing a wig is anything to make fun of somebody about.
“Where did you get it?” Tiana’s full lips curve in a nasty smile before she reaches out like she wants to test the quality… or yank it off my head the way Preston did. In my mind’s eye, I see the wig I bought at the high end of my budget shoved into one of the toilets behind me.
Does she plan on pulling it off and ruining it? I don’t wait around to find out. Instead, my arm shoots out in a sweeping motion, knocking her arm away before she can make contact. “Didn’t anybody ever teach you to keep your hands to yourself?” My question is sharp enough and loud enough to bounce off the walls and floor, filling the space until I can actually hear myself over the ringing that won’t stop.