Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Scrubbing the sleep from my eyes, I strip off my clothes and head for the shower. The water is scalding hot when I step inside, but I don’t move. It singes my nerves and washes away any emotions I may have allowed to creep back in over the past few days. It’s time to pull my shit together and get back to the grind.
I don’t want to think about my father dying. I want to bleach our entire conversation from my mind. And even though it’s easier not to think about her, I wouldn’t dishonor my sister by pretending she never existed. So, when I exit the shower and wrap a towel around my waist, I reach for her necklace in the cabinet. Sitting down at the table with her memory is how I punish myself. Every time I stare at that faded gold pendant, I force myself to remember she isn’t here. If she was, she would have done a hell of a lot more with her life than I have. But she never got that chance.
Katie was one of those rare people who genuinely cared about others. She was good and kind and pure. She spent her time volunteering and brainstorming ways to solve problems and make the world a better place. It never occurred to her that the world was a better place simply for having her in it. I didn’t inherit the same benevolent genetic makeup. As much as I’ve tried to resist the notion, there is so much of my father in me. Self-loathing is a familiar friend of mine, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered ending it all as my contribution to world peace.
Except this year, I haven’t. Not since Stella came into my life like a bright, burning flame. She gave me purpose. A new project. She’s the one I keep telling myself I will save somehow. But how the fuck can I save her when I don’t even know how to save myself?
My attention drifts to the red envelope she hand delivered yesterday. The essay on choices and consequences that at the time of my ruling, I thought was rather clever. Now, I don’t know how I feel about it. But I pull it out of the envelope anyway and set the necklace and my warring thoughts aside as I begin to read.
Stella goes into great detail about the choices she has made to get to where she is. The choice to stuff down her emotions to appease her parents. The choice to fit in when she knows she was never meant to. The choice to follow her father’s path only to be led astray. Her words are full of passion and emotion and an insight atypical of other students her age. Stella is legally an adult now. Yesterday was her birthday, and I intentionally chose to disregard it like the bastard I am. I sent her away to prove how little she matters to me. My default setting is programmed to push everyone away, and that includes Stella, especially, because she’s the most hazardous of all.
I want her to hate me, but worse yet, I want her complete submission and devotion. She is so pliable. So soft. She craves my guidance and attention, and that’s a dangerously intoxicating feeling. I don’t have as much self-control as I should when it comes to her. So many times, already, I have toed the line and even stepped over it altogether. It’s only going to get harder with time. Every day, I find myself studying her, reading her expressions, and watching the way she moves. I’ve committed these things to memory, and I don’t want to let them go.
While I read through the rest of her essay, a fleeting urge prods me to abandon this project. She doesn’t have to be the one. I could pick someone easier. Someone who doesn’t challenge me and make me question my methods. There’s a boy in my first period class whose mother has convinced him he wants to be a doctor. Meanwhile, he spends all his free time dreaming up new video game ideas. It would be easy to set him on the right path. But would it fill the void in my soul?
The end of Stella’s essay draws nearer, and the escalating desperation of her words reaches a crescendo. She’s being vague, but something is off. I can feel it in the hopelessness of her tone. Stella looks at the world through rose-colored glasses, and these bleakly chosen words are more suited to my personality than hers. How can someone so bright possibly be so conflicted? She speaks of being disappointed, abandoned, and completely alone, but it still isn’t clear why she feels that way. At the end of the frantically written mystery, there is only one haunting final sentence.