Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Inside, a DVD and a note. Never show this to your father or your brother. NEVER. Love, Mommy x
Since then, I’ve transferred the videos to my laptop. I’m not sure how Dad can claim Mom had a heart attack when she left this for me. It seems too planned. Almost like she… But I can’t go there. Does it make me crazy that I keep watching them, even if they mess with my head? Should I stop and try to save a little piece of my mind?
Yet I can’t. It’s Mom. She filmed it in the living room, three hours of footage. She’s wearing different outfits in each, so I know she did it over some time.
The video begins. “Mary, my beautiful, good girl. I need to leave this for you to teach you to be what a woman should be.”
The videos didn’t make sense to me at first. However, as I got older, I began to understand. “Don’t dress like you’d happily go to bed with any man who looked at you the right way. You’re better than that, and you have to remember it. In fact, don’t look at any man unless you’re confident he’ll put a ring on your finger.”
“Be ashamed of any feelings of desire. People say shame is a bad thing.” My mom laughed, flashing her straight, white teeth, a smile that always lit me up like the Fourth of July. “That is absolute silliness. Shame is a useful emotion. You shouldn’t feel any sexual attraction, Petal, until you’re married, and it has a purpose.”
These teachings have always been tied so closely to my mom. Maybe I’m messed up, but whenever I start thinking about Rust’s big round shoulders and how it would feel to sink my fingernails into them and feel his power and firmness, it’s like I’m spitting in Mom’s face and Brad’s. Two betrayals for the price of one. First prize in worst daughter and worst sister of the year award.
I have to fight it, always. This means I must be as cold as possible when he gets here. Thankfully, Rust has absolutely no interest in me whatsoever. Yeah, I’m really grateful for that. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.
The next day, I’m sitting in the local diner with Chrissy, the late-summer sun shining down on us. She looks over with a big smile on her face, but then she lets out a long sigh. “I wish you were coming to college with me.”
I shrug. “I might be, just a little later.”
She fiddles with one of her bracelets on her wrist. “Might.”
“What does that mean? Why say it like that?”
“I love you, Mary,” she says.
“Yeah, obviously.” I wink. “And I feel the same.”
“That’s why I have to say this,” she continues. “I don’t want you to live your life on a might basis. I don’t want you to look back and think of everything you could’ve done. You’re so talented. You could draw better than me after two weeks when I’d been doing it for months. You were great in drama class before you quit.”
“Thanks, seriously,” I tell her, “but I’m fine for now. I’ve got work at the motel. I can help Brad with the bills.”
Chrissy rolls her eyes.
“What?” I snap.
“Brad doesn’t need help with the bills,” she says in a kind, warm tone, the one she uses when she’s worried about upsetting me. She knows I can have annoying up-and-down moods and get mad at myself afterward. Sometimes, I can’t help it, but I’m trying to do better. “He’s doing well with the hardware chain, you said. He doesn’t even raise animals on the land anymore. It’s there to look pretty, and his best friend is Rust freaking Hadley.”
Chrissy often says his name like that, with a hint of awe that makes me want to tear my best friend’s eyes out. It’s absolutely ridiculous. A pearl necklace flashes into my mind. Mom glares. Violence, dear, really?
“Brad doesn’t ask him for money.”
“I’d ask him for more than money,” Chrissy says, giggling, ha ha ha, with no idea how painful this is for me. “He’s so huge, it’s crazy. I was watching the fight commercial online. He towers over the cage.”
“Hmm-hmm,” I say, resisting the urge to tear up my napkin.
She smiles at me, really not meaning anything by it. I’ve never dared to tell her about the dreams that grip me sometimes of Rust laying that heavy, hard body against mine, trapping me so it’s like I’m not the one making the choice. I’d want it. I’d be wet for him. My body would tingle as it does just thinking about it, but it wouldn’t be bad. He did it. Not me. He’s claiming me, but I can’t tell anybody, ever. It would break Brad’s heart.
“You’re not going to work at a motel for the rest of your life,” she says.