Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
After my conversation with Logan this morning, I couldn’t stop thinking about my stepdad, specifically what he’d said about my grades. As much as I didn’t want to admit that I cared about his opinion, knowing he was proud of me made me feel more proud of myself. I drew my hair back into a makeshift ponytail. My feelings for him were complicated and not something I wanted to deal with on a Tuesday afternoon.
I rose from the chaise and slowly paced the den, scanning Logan’s collection of classic literature and books about technology and economics. With the mahogany bookshelves and dark leather furniture, the room easily could have felt claustrophobic. But the floor-to-ceiling windows let in so much natural light that I didn’t need to switch on a lamp to read comfortably. Outside, it had stopped snowing, and I wondered what the weather was like in Northern California where Graham was imprisoned.
Was it warm and sunny, or rainy and gray? Did he get to go outside every day and for how long?
I scolded myself for wondering and turned away from the window. Thinking those kinds of thoughts would only lead me down a dark and depressing rabbit hole. I’d diligently cultivated my anger so as not to let the pain of his absence affect me. It was hard to believe we’d once been so close that I couldn’t imagine my life without him. He’d been my sole caretaker for over a decade.
I was six years old when Graham started dating my mom. I liked him right away. He was kind to me, and he didn’t flinch at the thought of raising someone else’s kid as his own. My sperm donor had taken off when I was just a baby, and thanks to Graham, I never had a reason to miss him. Then my mom died suddenly from a weakened heart muscle about a year after she and Graham were married. My entire life imploded in an instant. I could only imagine how heartbroken and terrified Graham must have felt, having lost his wife and become a single parent overnight. But he didn’t let grief get in the way of raising me right. His younger brother Logan and my grandparents stepped up to help, but Graham always made a point of being there when I needed him. He worked hard to give me a good life in Eureka, and while he allowed Logan to spoil me rotten on special occasions, he insisted on supporting us with money he earned from running his own business.
Graham was proud, but also loving. He encouraged me to believe in myself and not to let other people’s opinions about me dictate my self-worth. He was protective of me.
Too protective, in the end.
I sat back on the chaise and gazed down at my soft belly rolls and plump thighs. I’d been mercilessly bullied for being fat all through middle school and early high school. My efforts to rise above the snide comments worked half the time, but the hardened shell I’d built around my self-esteem could only take so much abuse before it cracked. One guy in particular made it his mission to tell me exactly how un-fuckable he found me every time we crossed paths. He and his friends would harass me in the halls, on the school bus, and especially in the cafeteria.
In hindsight, his obsession with my body probably stemmed from his own self-hatred, or his rich parents’ perfectionism, or a secret attraction to big girls. Maybe he was just a dick. Whatever his reasoning, it wasn’t on me to understand or excuse his behavior. He’d certainly never tried to empathize with me.
For years, I kept the bullying a secret from my family, too ashamed to admit how deeply some asshole’s words had affected me. Then one day, that asshole thought it would be hilarious to film an upskirt video of my ass as I was walking up the stairs. By the time fourth period rolled around, it seemed like everyone had seen the video. Some people recognized it for the violation that it was, but just as many used it as an excuse to laugh at the fat girl in the blue thong.
After faking a headache so I could go hide in the nurse’s office, I called Graham and asked him to take me home. I was barely holding it together by the time he picked me up. He could immediately tell that something was wrong. When he asked what happened, I finally broke down crying in his arms and told him about the bullying and the boy who’d made the video.
I can still remember the cold, hard grit in his voice when he asked me, “What’s his name?” I told him, assuming he’d lodge a complaint with the school or call the guy’s parents. If I’d known he would use the information to track the kid down and confront him in person, I never would have said anything.