Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 119476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
If that still holds true, it should be easy enough to get inside.
This time, I don’t bother being quiet; I’m far too anxious for soft steps.
A quick jiggle of the knob tells me that I’m right—there’s no deadbolt—and so, with a quick swipe of a card from my wallet, the door is open and I’m caught between hoping to find Nora and praying she’s far, far away from here.
Stale air greets me as I step into the house. If it wasn’t clear from the smell alone, the sheets still covering the sparse furniture tell me no one’s been here in a long while.
I still do a quick walkthrough, finding each room as empty and untouched as the one before it.
They aren’t here, which means I’m back at square one.
“Where else could they be?” I ask as I retrace my steps, making sure there’s no sign of my visit as I head back for my truck.
Without knowing where else to look, I start for home, hoping like hell that Nora’s diary has something—anything—that will point me in the right direction.
DIARY ENTRY, AGE 15
Dear Diary,
Something’s wrong with Mama. I don’t know what, but I know it like I know my own name. She’s not right, but anytime I mention it, Mama and Rand act like I’m crazy.
I think they’re gaslighting me, but it doesn’t matter because I’m not crazy. There is something wrong with her, and I’m the only person who cares.
She’s been going downhill ever since she and Rand got together. It’s like his presence alone sucks the life out of her, and now her health is going, too.
It started off with a stomachache. “Just cramps,” she said. But then the cramps turned to full-on nausea that hasn’t let up. I’m talking weeks of feeling so sick and dizzy that she hasn’t been able to eat.
But you better believe she still cooks and serves Rand a feast each and every night. He even makes her sit at the table with him while he prattles on and on about God knows what, not even caring that she’s literally wasting away before our very eyes.
I know I sound dramatic, but she’s lost enough weight that I’ve got more meat on my bones than she does—and that’s saying something, seeing as Dad always called me his bean pole.
Things have changed a lot between us these last few months, and not for the better, but she’s still my mom and I still love her… Even if it feels like she doesn’t love me anymore.
Rand doesn’t allow me out of my room any time after seven, so I had to sneak into the kitchen to confront her while she was cleaning up. She was swaying on her feet, struggling to load the dishwasher, so I took over doing it for her.
As I was scrubbing the pots and pans, I told her we should go to the doctor tomorrow to make sure she was okay, but she refused. She swore up and down that she was fine, that it was probably just a virus, and that she’d be better in no time.
When I insisted she at least call the doctor, she scoffed. I guess since she went to medical school, she knew everything about everything. I wanted to press the issue, but she waved away my concerns and said she’d ask Rand to bring her some meds from the pharmacy where he works.
I know I’m only fifteen, but I didn’t know pharmacists could just bring home medicine. I thought they needed a prescription too, but maybe not.
Stupidly, I let her easy dismissal of my concern get the better of me, and I slammed the dishwasher closed. The next thing I know, Rand had me pinned to the fridge with a thick, meaty hand wrapped around my throat, squeezing tightly as he snarled like an angry dog.
He yelled and screamed and called me all sorts of names. He told me I was ungrateful and worthless and a spoiled little bitch. He ranted and raved about breaking my spirit.
I kept my eyes locked onto Mama the whole time, silent praying for her to make him stop, but she just sat there on her barstool with her head bowed and her eyes closed.
What kind of mother sits quietly while someone chokes and yells at her kid?
Sick or not, she’s a coward, and I told her as much when Rand finally removed his hand from my throat.
Rand didn’t like that, though. He backhanded me and told me not to speak unless spoken to.
I know he wanted a reaction from me, for me to cry and beg for forgiveness, but I refused, which made him big mad.
He roared like a lion and then grabbed me by my hair and dragged me back to my room. Before he slammed the door in my face, he said if he ever caught me out of my room after seven again, he’d lock me in the basement for a few days to teach me a lesson.