Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 129323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Dad pinches my crusty sleeve, almost disintegrating it. “Why’d I give you money for a new coat if you don’t even wear it?”
I turn in time to catch his vicious snarl. He scrapes his gaze up and down my practically see-through frame, sneering as though I’m dirt stuck to the bottom of his shoes.
I am wearing a coat. Just not a new one.
Turns out, Dad forgot we had no groceries. So, instead of warmth, I chose to eat.
I don’t say any of that because it would do no good. He’d grumble something, likely yell some nonsense excuse, and then stomp off, leaving me to wonder if I made a mistake
It’s always my fault.
I glance down at the white-striped, navy jacket. The coat has seen better days. Ripped and tattered, it’s practically useless. But the truth is, that’s not why I shake.
I’m scared.
I hate change.
And this is more than change. My whole life is about to be uprooted.
Nothing will ever be the same again.
I swallow down the lump in my throat and rub at my chest. I won’t be able to survive unless I fortify my walls. A skill I mastered at the tender age of ten, when everything went to shit, Dad lost his job, and I was forced to grow up.
This is your life, Pippa. You have no choice but to survive.
I find a new sense of purpose and stride up the path that leads to the weathered metal door. As soon as I’m in front of it, hand lifted to turn the knob, the squeak of rusty hinges sends me jumping backward. My spine goes ramrod straight as it swings open.
An older woman glowers down at me. Deep lines pepper her forehead, short gray hair sprouting from her scalp.
“Pippa,” my dad barks. “Get back here.”
The stranger narrows her eyes at me, running a hand down her pinstriped pants, her nose turned up. I blink several times until one bushy eyebrow lifts, and I realize my dad ordered me back to him.
Turning around, I try to navigate the rickety steps with tears welling in my eyes. I stand at the bottom, silently waiting for my father to approach. The muscles in my back tense as he strides past without a word, making his way toward the nasty woman.
“It’s about time you got here.” She motions him in, turns without waiting, and stalks farther into the trailer. “We have some things to go over.”
I follow behind, giving my dad some space. Crowding him only makes him angrier. The two of them start talking about things I don’t understand. I lose interest very fast. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t pertain to me. Even if it did, I wouldn’t be allowed a say, anyway. I’m used to being invisible and easily dismissed. It comes naturally.
I take a step deeper into the small trailer, deciding I might as well look around. It’s much smaller than the last place we lived, which is oddly comforting. Dad might act like he’ll run the place, but I’m the one who will have to clean and care for this space. Small is a blessing.
Every inch of the trailer can be viewed from my spot by the door. Chunks of wood peek out of holes in the carpet. Dents pepper the walls, along with mysterious stains. Could be worse.
It’s a roof.
And walls.
That’s a plus.
In my nightmares, I envisioned this place. The reality is much better than the fears that plagued me before I arrived.
I catch bits and pieces of words the woman barks out.
Rent.
Utilities.
Maybe I should be at this meeting. These are all things Dad forgets to do when he’s drinking. I’ve never had the luxury of being a kid. My father is an alcoholic, barely around, leaving me alone to raise myself. When he’s not working, which is always seeing as he gets fired more often than he changes his clothes, he’s drunk.
And Mom…
She’s dead.
What does this mean for me? If we want to eat, I have to buy it. It also means that it’s my responsibility to cook the food. There will be no dinner if I don’t. If I want a clean space, free of beer cans and booze bottles, I pick it up. If I want to keep the roof over my head, I ensure the bills are paid.
If this woman wants the rent on time, she’d be better off telling me where to drop off the check, because my dad might appear sober right now, but this is temporary. By tonight, he’ll be passed out on the couch, not even realizing where we are.
Glancing at the woman, I know it would be pointless to insert myself. She wouldn’t listen to a thing I say. She’s bad-tempered and dismissive.
“Dad, can I look around?” I ask, wanting to get away. To explore my new living arrangement.