Total pages in book: 331
Estimated words: 315585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1578(@200wpm)___ 1262(@250wpm)___ 1052(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 315585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1578(@200wpm)___ 1262(@250wpm)___ 1052(@300wpm)
But it’s currently summertime. The sun is out, and everything is green. No clouds to be seen.
The glass is warm on my fingers, and I press my forehead to it. Closing my eyes, I imagine what it’d be like to go outside and breathe fresh air. It’s not allowed. I’m not sure why. Where would I go? What would I do?
A sound has me spinning around, expecting my father to be standing there, but he’s not. It’s my imaginary friend. She comes and goes. Sometimes I dream of her. And we’re playing tag outside. Or having a tea party. I’ve never gotten to have one of those.
“Hi.” I smile at her. I love it when she visits me.
The first time I saw her, my father’s friend called me crazy and said I needed professional help. Thankfully, my father blew her off, and I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut about what I see.
To my surprise, she steps forward and smiles at me. She’s always pretending I don’t exist, and that’s okay. Her presence is enough. “Want to play with me?” the girl asks.
“Yeah,” I answer without hesitation. Unable to contain my excitement, I smile so wide my cheeks hurt. “What do you want to do?”
“Let’s go downstairs,” she suggests.
My face falls. “I’m not allowed to go down there,” I tell her sadly. I knew it was too good to be true. “I’ll get in trouble.”
She tilts her head to the side. Her long blond hair is in two braids that hang down her shoulders and chest, only stopping at her stomach. So pretty.
I wish mine looked like hers. I only get to wash mine twice a week. It remains dirty and short. Pieces are always breaking off, and my father said it needs to be cut.
Her vibrant eyes glance at my clothes, and her lips pull back with disgust. I wrap my arms around myself, instantly insecure. “Why are you dressed like that?” she asks.
“It’s what my father laid out for me today.” I don’t get to choose what I wear.
“Why?”
I shrug. “It’s what he likes me to wear.” It’s as simple as that. I’ve never questioned it. At least I get to wear clothes today.
“Come on.” She waves her arm and turns toward the door.
I stay where I’m at, with my arms folded across my chest, biting my lip nervously. “I shouldn’t…”
She rolls her eyes. “No one will see you. It’ll be fun. Come on.”
Fun? I’ve never had fun. “Someone is always watching,” I decide to say. It’s not worth getting beaten over. Especially since she’s not even real. Turning my back to the window, I hear the door open, and I know she’s left me.
“Talking to yourself again?”
I spin back around to see that my father has entered and my imaginary friend is long gone. Poof. Like magic. Because she doesn’t exist.
My father isn’t alone. He has that same woman with him. The brunette who’s always dressed in a tight-fitting dress and heels.
“Did you ever get her—”
“Don’t start,” he interrupts her.
“Seriously.” She places her hands on her narrow hips. “The girl could be a danger to herself. I have someone she can talk to.”
“I already know who you’re going to suggest, so save it.” He places his attention on me and orders, “Get back to your room.”
My shoulders drop, and I let out a long breath. “Yes, sir,” I say through the knot forming in my throat as I pass by him and through the door.
I decide to take the stairs because the elevator will be too quick. I hate my room. It’s too quiet.
Pushing open the door on my level, I step into the hall and come to a stop. The girl stands outside my door, staring at me with a blank look on her face. “Maybe next time, we can play,” I tell her, but just like all the other times, she ignores me.
Entering my room, I climb onto the bed and curl up into a ball. I have a bathroom, but there are no mirrors. There are no towels or toilet paper. My father brings those things in when he decides I need to bathe or use the restroom.
I’m a prisoner here. The worst part is I hate being alone. I just wish there was someone for me to talk to. Someone to play with. I just want to be seen and heard.
KASHTON
Twelve years old
I sit on the concrete floor with my legs crossed. It’s late. The sun will be up soon, and I’ll have to go home, but I needed to see her. To see how she’s doing.
“I brought you some milk,” I tell her. This time I came prepared.
She sits in the corner with her knees pulled to her chest. She rests her head on them, and her matted dark hair covers her face.