Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 119476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
Which is bullshit. Nora fucking lived it, and I’m over here pussing out over reading about it?
“Get your shit together, man,” I grumble out loud, trying to calm the beast raging inside of me.
Finding Nora is the only thing that will bring me peace.
If only I knew where to look. For now, my best bet is to keep searching for some kind of clue between the pages of her diary. She left it in my mailbox for a reason—I just need to figure out why, and fast.
And so, I read, pouring over her words, until it feels like I’m drowning in the pain she bled onto these pages.
I read until I physically can’t take another entry without puking from the pure agony laid bare before me.
Nora might look small and unassuming, but I swear to God, she’s the strongest person I’ve ever met.
After a quick break, I jump back in, trying all the while to prepare myself for the hurt. But it’s a fruitless effort, because each new entry is like the slice of a sharpened razor blade across my skin—merciless and full of stinging anguish that lingers long after the cut’s been made.
Hours pass, right along with the pages as I read about Grace’s sickness—one that is eerily similar to my mother’s—and about Nora’s abysmal sixteenth and seventeenth birthdays and about the horrors she experienced at my father’s hands.
By the time I’m a little over three-quarters in, it’s dark outside and my stomach is rumbling. Though, I’m not sure if it’s from hunger or the need for vengeance brewing inside of me…
The sheer amount of loathing I feel toward—fuck, calling him my dad at this point feels like another sin against Nora—him is unlike anything I’ve felt before.
It’s this driving need that sends me back into her words, because if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that I will find him, and he will pay.
DIARY ENTRY, AGE 17
Dear Diary,
She’s gone.
Devastated, Nora
Dear Diary,
I knew it was coming. Deep down, I knew. But knowing doesn’t ease the pain. Knowing doesn’t fill the gaping hole in my chest, ease the burning in my eyes, or help me take a full breath.
I tried to write about it afterward but I couldn’t—I wanted to hold onto the hurt for a little while longer.
It’s weird, knowing that I’m truly alone now. I’m not sure there’s anyone left that even remembers I exist, besides Rand. There’s definitely not another soul on this earth that cares about me. Or maybe that’s been the case for a while, because I’m pretty sure Mama stopped caring a long time ago.
But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t give anything to have her back.
She was so sick for so long, and a small part of me is glad she isn’t suffering any longer, but the rest of me—the most of me—wishes she was still here. That she was healthy and that we could escape the hell that is Rand’s house together.
But instead, she left me here. All alone. And now it’s me who can’t eat or sleep, because every time I do, I see her lying there in her bed, completely unmoving—and that’s not how I want to remember her.
At first, I thought she was just sleeping really hard. Rand said her new meds would do that—that they would make her tired. Well, more tired.
But when I turned on the overhead light, it was clear she wasn’t sleeping. Her body was stiff, like all of her muscles were tensed up, and when I tried checking her pulse, her skin was as cold as ice.
If it weren’t for her blue lips, she might have looked peaceful.
I feel like I should have cried, but I didn’t. I can’t. It’s like Dad all over again. My eyes burn, but the tears refuse to fall.
Maybe Mama was right. Maybe there really is something wrong with me. Two parents dead and gone and I’m as dry-eyed as ever.
Up until my dad died, Mama was always the brightest light in any room. Losing my dad may have dimmed her glow, but Rand… He completely shattered the bulb, leaving me all alone in the dark without her.
It’s the same with me. I was a little bent after losing Dad, but Rand broke me. I know I need to figure out some kind of plan—either to escape or to survive. I guess they’re one and the same at this point.
Because whether he keeps me here or kicks me out, I’m screwed.
I’m nothing more than an unwanted orphan with a monster for a stepdad. Huh—maybe in another life I was a Disney princess…
Then again, Rand hasn’t bothered me much since Mama passed. He hasn’t even been home.
Or maybe he has and I just don’t remember. Everything’s been a blur. The only parts I remember clearly are finding Mama and then watching them wheel her bagged body out the front door.