Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
I moved closer so our legs touched. I felt the warmth of her skin on mine, even with the material that separated us.
“So Liv and Van adopted you, and your life changed.”
“Yes. You never really outgrow the abuse. You put it behind you, you move on, but it lingers. I was always the smallest, the shyest at school. I never made friends easily. Even once I grew up and entered high school, I was still awkward.”
“I bet you were adorable. Sweet and shy, so pretty. What color was your hair?”
She frowned and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “This color.”
“That’s natural?”
“Yes.”
“It’s spectacular. I was sure you had it professionally done when I saw you earlier.”
“No. It’s just mousy brownish blonde. It never makes up its mind what color to be.”
I gaped at her. “It is anything but mousy. It’s like a sunrise. Golds, blondes, reds. All woven together. Beautiful.”
She looked truly startled. “Oh,” was all she said.
“You must know that.”
She shrugged. “My family says nice things. I guess I don’t see them.”
“I see them.”
She fiddled with the hem of her shirt. “Thank you.”
“So, back to school.”
“I hated school. I loved learning, but the rest of it…” She shook her head. “The kids, the bullies. Gym class was awful. I was picked on all the time. Called names. My episodes had started, so my activity was restricted. I wasn’t allowed to climb ropes or do some of the intense activities since we never knew when I’d go down. I spent a lot of time on the bench or helping out. Kids don’t like it when you’re different. And they pick on what they don’t know.”
“You were bullied.”
“I was ostracized. Bullied from afar. My brother and sister defended me when they could. I think if Reed could have stayed and gone to classes with me, he would have. It was easier when they were around.” She smiled. “Reed and Sammy were often dragged into the principal’s office for defending me. I think they had my parents on speed dial. But eventually, the bullies got tired of me and ignored me. I was fine with that. I didn’t care about their parties or social cliques. Who was dating whom. I put my head down and worked. Got good grades. Made it through those awkward years.” She looked sad for a minute. “Luckily, I had a couple of good friends, and we looked out for one another. When we moved to Port Albany full time, it was easier. I had some cousins at school with me, and they watched out for me too.”
“Cousins?”
She explained her family dynamics to me, and I shook my head. “I can’t even imagine. All those people? All those families coming together as one? Living in the same place?”
“It happened slowly. More of us live there now. Most of the parents have retired to Port Albany. Lots of us live in the complex. Some come and go. Others are married with families of their own and come visit often. There is always someone around.”
“Wow.”
I couldn’t imagine having people around to talk to all the time. Share. A place to call my own where I was accepted.
“When did you decide to become a writer?”
“It sort of happened by accident. I think I lived in my head so much, I invented stories to entertain myself. I loved to write, and I kept notebooks of little stories. I entered a contest one day in the local paper for a short story, using a fake name, and I won. I let my mom read it, and she loved it. I started writing more. Once I graduated and started working, I hated it. I hated the nine-to-five thing. The office. The monotony. Most people would be thrilled. A family business. A secure job. But I hated it. I didn’t want to go to university. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, but when I wrote, I lost myself in the worlds I created. I loved it, and my parents encouraged me to follow my dream. I submitted a manuscript and got rejected. Over and over. But one day, Andi read my book and contacted me. She helped get me in the door, and well, the rest is history.”
“So here you are,” I murmured.
“Here I am.”
I realized I was still holding her hand. That at some point while she was talking, we had turned to each other, hands clasped, bodies close. Her head lay on the sofa cushion. Mine leaned on my arm I had draped over the top. Our hands rested on our knees that were pressed together. It had gotten dark outside, and the room was dim, the only light coming from the lamp in the corner.
“Does the dark bother you now?’ I asked. “Do you want me to turn on another light?”
“No, I love the dark now. As long as I know I’m safe, I’m okay.”