Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
So, I started seeing Karen. Karen who always looks so put together yet probably crumbles in the dark early mornings when her secret truths come out and no one’s around.
She diagnosed me with post-traumatic stress disorder. When she announced it, I had to bite my bottom lip not to scream no shit. But she doesn’t know the truth. I’ve had my heart torn out, been betrayed. The attempted rape is nothing compared to the actual truth: I lost Edge.
So yeah, I might be a little fucked up.
But the biggest reality check was when the club decided what was best for Edge and me.
The Disciples decided that I couldn’t visit him.
Of course, I didn’t listen… until I did.
So fucking stupid, yet I got the point the first time I made it over to the jail to visit him. I gave my name and boom, I was asked, no forced into a small room with only a chair until my dad picked me up.
I was told no writing. Nothing. He was supposed to disappear from my mind until he served his time.
I still wrote to him and my mom said that if he wanted to, he could reach out to me.
He didn’t, and it doesn’t matter anymore since the sting of him never even trying makes me want to berate myself even more. God, he didn’t even try to use a code to let me know he was thinking of me, like make a collect call and hang up. Nothing.
Things like school and friends and being popular don’t seem to have the same shine to them anymore.
Without Edge, the drive to succeed disappeared. Shattered. I tried to explain this to Karen, thinking she might understand and help. But she sat behind her large dark wooden desk. Her tight white pantsuit and pumps made me wonder how she made all her money. It definitely couldn’t be from helping people.
I tried. I was honest and poured out my feelings. Even tried to get her to take me to see him, anything. I mean if I brought my therapist, I figured they’d be forced to let me see him. But it seems money can buy you everything: even Karen’s loyalty.
I needed to talk to him, tell him things. Maybe it would have helped with my nightmares. When I told her all this, she looked shocked then nodded and told me to continue to wear my neck guard at night and keep writing in my journal about what happened.
Fucking worthless.
Somehow, I squeaked through and graduated, then threw away all my college acceptance letters I’d received before my life went to shit. Instead, I enrolled in beauty school in Sherman Oaks.
I moved out of my parents’ dump of a house. This time, I happily used Karen’s words and told my dad I needed a loan to go to school and get an apartment. He said no to both, but I dragged his ass into Karen’s office for group counseling and left with him agreeing.
He even went so far as to promise me my own salon when I graduate. I’m not stupid anymore. It’s not because he wants me to succeed, but rather he needs a new place to launder money. Still, I don’t care. I’m amazing at this. Beauty, hair, makeup, it’s what I love. So, I’m going to let him buy me the shop and I’ll make it a success.
“Baby Doll?” Doug leans his face close to mine. “Are you going to sit there daydreaming or are you going to get your ass in the shower so I can put your makeup on?”
He’s wearing those black leather jeans he loves so much. I smile. He stepped out of the shower at my place a few minutes ago and smells fresh and clean.
“You’re lucky. You can get ready so fast.” I stretch and pour us another glass of cheap Merlot.
“No more wine. It’s turning your teeth purple,” he snaps and takes the glass from my hand, then steps back to look at me. I roll my eyes. “Well, besides some Bud Lite, Merlot is all I have.”
“Go take a shower. We can drink at the club. I’ll get Michael to buy for us tonight.”
“Perfect.” I laugh and step into the bathroom, calling over my shoulder, “I guess I can whore myself out for a couple of shots also.”
Turning on the light in my tiny bathroom, I strip off my clothes. The mirror is still steamed up from Doug’s quick shower, and I can’t see myself.
I turn the water all the way to scorching. I’m nervous, have been for days, so wound up my muscles need the hot water to calm me.
I don’t know what it is. It’s not like this is my first time clubbing. Far from it.
I roll my head back, letting the hot water soothe me while Doug’s favorite band, the Cure, plays in the background.