Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 73663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
My boyfriend dumped me right after getting the first naked picture I ever took. I ventured way, way outside my comfort zone, like so far out that I’m honestly surprised I survived it, and his response was We have to talk.
Now he’s driving to California—in my freaking car—to join some weird snake cult.
And he still has the picture.
I’m so overwhelmed, so completely freaked out that I can’t even bring myself to cry, even though I’m losing the one constant in my life. I should call the cops and file a police report, but I can’t make myself do it yet. Mark’s been my rock since college, and yeah, he’s not exciting, he’s not the kind of guy that lights fireworks in my stomach—but he was always there.
I crave consistency.
I need comfort, routine, trust.
Mark gave me all that.
Now what do I have?
Slowly though, like the scales of some invisible creature rubbing up against my back, I recall one final comment.
I really hope you won’t miss the stuff.
“Oh, no, you didn’t,” I say, jumping to my feet. “Mark. You didn’t.”
I run to my tiny desk jammed in the corner of the supply closet, grab all my things, and hurry home.
On the trip, I’m a total mess.
Maybe this is a prank.
Maybe it’s a joke.
Mark wouldn’t do this to me, he just wouldn’t.
He’s not that kind of man.
Except I open my apartment door, step into the living room—and he definitely did.
The apartment is empty.
The big stuff is still there—furniture, television, most of the plates and dishes, the bedframe and mattress—but everything else is gone.
Electronics, clothes, decorations, anything that might be worth a few dollars. My collection of vintage milk cups. My records and the turntable. My knitting gear. My freaking laptop and hair dryer.
All gone.
“Mark!” I scream into his voicemail. “You stole my car. You stole my life! I hope your stupid new snake friends poison you! I’m calling the freaking police, you asshole!”
I throw my phone at the wall, but that doesn’t help.
The silence in my small apartment remains unbroken as I finally sink down to the floor, my knees pulled up to my chest, and start to cry.
Chapter 4
Renzo
Iplace the cup of tea down in front of Mother and press my hand against her shoulder. She looks up, smiling at me with clear eyes. “You’re a good boy, Renzo,” she says, putting her hand on top of mine. “But we have staff for that.”
“I can make my mother tea.” I sit across from her, glancing over at the clock. It’s three in the afternoon, and while she still seems herself, that will change soon. “Saul told me your appointments went well.”
“Ah, doctors, they do nothing for me.” She makes a face and waves a hand. My mother is thin and gaunt now, her dark hair turning gray, though still long—she refuses to cut it, refuses to become just another old woman, in her words. “It’s the same thing each time. I’m healthy as a horse.”
On her best days, she understands what’s happening to her.
In some ways those are the worst.
Today isn’t one of those days.
“They’re helping. You take your medication, don’t you?”
She sips her tea, making a face. “I swallow pills. Is that the same?”
“I think so, that’s basically the definition.”
She rolls her eyes and glances down at the cup in front of her. “You’re a good boy, Renzo, but we have staff for that.”
I keep a smile plastered on my face. “I like making you tea, Mother.”
“Said no son ever, in the history of the world.” She smiles at me, eyes crinkling. Over in the doorway, Saul appears, giving me a tight nod. He comes over and kisses Mother’s cheek and she pats his face lovingly.
“How you doing, Mom?” he asks.
“I’m always good, you know that. Look at this, both my boys in one place. How often does that happen?”
“Every day.” Saul glances at me. “We gotta talk, bro.”
“Family business,” Mom says with a sigh. She picks up her teacup, takes a sip, and crinkles her nose. “You’re a good boy, Renzo, but we have staff for that. You don’t have to make your mother tea.”
“I know, Mom.” I kiss her cheek. “I’ll have Savina come sit with you.”
I send Mother her housekeeper-slash-nurse and retreat into my home office behind Saul. He seems agitated, fidgeting too much, as he takes a seat in one of the chairs facing my desk. I lower myself behind it, head cocked to the side, already wary of this conversation.
Saul fiddles with his phone. He’s not looking at anything—only swiping the screen, bringing up the notifications and sending them away, over and over again. His knee jostles up and down and he keeps running a hand through his hair.
It’s been over a week since I saw meek little Maddie’s fantastic body.
That’s how I’m marking time now: before Maddie and after.