Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 155798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 779(@200wpm)___ 623(@250wpm)___ 519(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 779(@200wpm)___ 623(@250wpm)___ 519(@300wpm)
I got her number.
7
BILLIE
My phone buzzed as I crawled into bed.
Unknown: This is Brett. Thank you for leaving your phone number.
My tummy fluttered, and my heart lifted.
I smiled as I rolled to my back and texted a response.
Me: I’m glad we ran into each other tonight.
Brett: Me too. You got home safely?
Me: Yes. Just going to bed now.
Brett: Can I see you tomorrow?
The flutters tripled.
Me: Yes.
Brett: Great. I’ll call you tomorrow.
Me: Night.
Brett: Night. (smile emoji)
I stared at that smile emoji for five full minutes before I put my phone away.
I went to sleep smiling.
8
BILLIE
I need to be smaller.
I need to be quiet.
Thump.
My heart is so loud.
Thump.
Mom, where are you?
Ben?
I want to cry, but Mom would tell me not to cry.
I can’t cry.
If I do, I’ll die.
Another bloodcurdling scream rose from the living room.
I can’t make a sound. Not a sound.
I jerked awake, a scream already building in my throat.
I wasn’t there, hiding at my friend’s house. I was in my own place, at Vicky and Howard’s farm. I closed my eyes, counting things I knew to be true in the now.
I was in a bed. Not Jojo’s hiding space.
I was thirty-two. Not twelve.
I reached for my phone. I had a cell phone. I hadn’t had a phone then.
I was in my house, in my own bed. I rarely had a bed then.
Chickens.
I could hear the chickens. Cluck, cluck, cluuuuck. That would be Marsha P. Johnson.
I was here. In Texas. I wasn’t there anymore.
I’d not been there for so long.
He can’t get to me.
He couldn’t get to me.
He couldn’t get to me.
I kept repeating that as my heart slowed, and slowly, I came back. I was okay.
I pushed the fear away. There’d always be residue. There’d be residue as long as I lived, but I was functioning.
I could manage this.
It’d been a long time since I’d had a nightmare. I was tempted to use the bathroom, then curl back in bed with the lights off. I doubted another one could happen so soon after this one, so I would probably be fine. I could sleep normally. Though, who was I kidding? There was no normal sleeping for me. If I got four hours a night, I was happy. Medications had me sleeping fourteen hours and barely functional during the day, so I’d stopped using them. Four hours got me through, usually.
I got up, washed, and made coffee. Vicky came out to check on the chickens, and I dressed for my day. I had a job where I could work anywhere, and I was my own boss, so sweats and a tank were just fine.
Vicky wouldn’t be in the coop long, not if she let them out. I filled two cups with coffee and headed over to the patio table. I was just sitting down when clucking filled the air.
Miss Sylvia Rivera was running around, her chestnut head bobbing. She kept circling, which wasn’t normal. Usually she’d do a run, then settle and go back to doing whatever she and the other hens felt like doing for the free-range part of their day. I figured they had their own schedule.
She kept circling and clucking, until I frowned and stood up. “Miss Sylvia Rivera, hey.”
Her head turned. I was never sure how much they could see, but whether she heard me, smelled me, or saw me, she took off running right toward me. She’d never done this. I sat back down and once she got to the patio, she jumped up and flapped her wings, landing in my lap.
Her clucks quieted as she settled into my arms.
“Well, I never.” Vicky stood just beyond the patio, her eyes wide. She was a tiny woman, around five foot three inches, with meat on her bones, but nothing in excess. She liked working in the garden and around the farm, and it showed, but she had pale skin so she often wore a giant hat to protect against the sun. And she was strong, which her size didn’t show. Her red hair used to be amber, but it’d faded to pale strawberry, with silver highlights mixed in. Today it was pulled back in a loose ponytail at the base of her neck, her sun hat pulled low to cover her eyes. She wore working gloves, hands at her hips. “Has she ever done that before?”
I shook my head.
“Never seen that in my life.” She chuckled, stepping up and taking a seat, her eyes still on the hen. “She must’ve missed you, I guess?”
“I guess I’m sitting tight.”
“Absolutely.” She picked up the coffee I’d brought for her. “It’s considered sacrosanct. If a chicken flies into your arms, you have to hold her until she decides to move. If you move first, the wish you’ve wished for is considered broken.”
“You just made that up.”
She laughed, sipping her coffee.
I gave her a grin, content to sit here. It felt nice. It felt settled. Peaceful.