Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“Pretty sure he’d do the same, though, so it’d be as if someone cut his expenses.” I try to joke with the only dark humor I know, but Mario isn’t laughing, and the driver is tapping his finger on the wheel impatiently.
So I sigh and slide in.
I don’t want Mario to get in trouble because of me. I’m sure he’d rather be doing something better with his time than following a boring girl like me.
And he needs to have his arm checked.
I’m shaking the entire ride, though. Because who would hire someone to kill me?
I’ve gone out of my way not to offend anyone—aside from Jude.
He must be the one behind this. There’s no one who wants me to suffer more than him.
My mind is still racing as I push the lasagna into the creaking oven. I really hope it doesn’t break down. I’m scared that our current landlord will be like all the previous ones and not care about repairs. In the past, we had to fix things ourselves while being told, ‘You’re lucky to find a cheap place so close to town.’
I pull out the two remaining cans of ginger ale from the case and frown as I set them down on the counter. Dahlia buys these for me because I once said I liked the taste. Ever since then, she’s stopped buying her favorite soft drink—Dr. Pepper—so I buy it for her.
But I forgot today because I can’t stop thinking about the attack this afternoon and whether or not Mario is okay. He left as soon as he dropped me off, but I could tell he’d lost a lot of blood, judging by the mess on the car’s carpet.
Not that I should be worried about him, but he did save my life and got shot protecting me, so I can’t pretend not to care.
If anything, I feel guilty that he’s hurt because of me, and I keep having flashbacks from all the times Mama called me a curse.
As soon as I got home, I took a shower, dressed in a dark blue shirt that reaches my knees, and got busy with cooking so I wouldn’t allow those thoughts to take over.
But I find myself doing that anyway.
Overthinking. Overanalyzing.
Blaming myself.
I squat down to the last drawer beneath the counter that I use for extra storage. Rummaging through the worn-out tote bags and old, slightly chipped cups, I pull out a chocolate tin from when I was young.
My fingers slide over its scratched exterior as I recall the day Mama gave it to me. It was for my sixth birthday and one of the few presents I ever received from her.
I pull it open, the scrape of metal against metal loud in the silence. Inside, there are other things Mama gave me.
A blue clip with ribbons that she bought me from a thrift shop because I kept looking at it. A cheap pair of sunglasses that one of her customers left behind. Pearls I unclasped from around her neck after she died because the people came and took everything, and I didn’t want them to have the necklace. Mama always said her mama gave them to her—a family heirloom of sorts.
My fingers wrap around the most prized possession she gave me. A gold bracelet. It’s nothing much, just a slim gold chain with a flat rectangular plate in the center about the size of a dog tag but much thinner and sleeker.
“Maybe it’ll do you some good,” she said, throwing it at me when she was coughing up blood right before her death.
She’d been sick for a long time by then. Customers dwindled and she barely had anyone over. We had to move to a smaller place with no heating and black mold on the walls, and it made her coughing worse.
Her hatred for me as well.
Even weak and lifeless, even as I wiped her down, mimicking the stupid TV shows, thinking it would make her better, she said, “It’s all your fault, you little whore. All my misfortune started when I became pregnant with you, and you sucked out all my good luck and opportunities. I was beautiful, so beautiful…the most beautiful…no one could resist me. No one.” She laughed as tears streamed down her face. “Look what I’ve become because of you.”
“I’m sorry, Mama.” I hugged her frail body, moisture staining my cheeks. “Please get well soon.”
“Stupid bitch.” She shoved me away, sending me against the wall, crying and coughing and laughing. “You ruined my life, but I ruined yours, too, so let’s call it even. I hope you die in a shithole, all alone and miserable and ugly just like me.”
“Mama…” I stood up and walked to her on unsteady feet. “I’ll be good, so, please, can you love me?”
She stared at me for a long beat before she let out a hollow laugh. “No one loves the reason for their demise, demon.”