Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 140184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 701(@200wpm)___ 561(@250wpm)___ 467(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 701(@200wpm)___ 561(@250wpm)___ 467(@300wpm)
I get so caught up in the music that I don’t notice when my bedroom door opens.
Apparently deducing I’m ignoring her despite my focus not shifting in her direction and my obvious bobbing to music with headphones on my ears, my mother storms in. I hardly have time to register movement in my direction and she’s ripping them off my head. A lock of hair gets stuck in the headband as she rips.
“Ouch!” I shout, coming up off the bed. Instinctively, I put out a hand to shove her away as she continues yanking on the headphones, and my hair with it.
“Oh yeah?” she says, smiling malevolently. “You want to fight with me, Kennedy?” She shoves my chest, knocking me back onto the bed.
“I’m not trying to fight you, you fucking psycho. You’re pulling my hair.”
She yanks harder, ripping those strands of hair out and freeing the headphones.
“Jesus.” I place a hand on my head, but tentatively, since I might need to block an attack. “What is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me?” she echoes, nodding. “I’m not the one, honey. You don’t want to fuck with me.”
“Oh my god. Grow up, Mom. Seriously.”
Her eyebrows shoot up in utter disbelief. I register more movement from my peripherals and look to Larry standing in the doorway of my room, scratching his belly, a can of beer in his other hand.
“She is a little bitch, isn’t she?” he says.
“I’ll show her a bitch,” Mom says before digging her nails into the buttery leather ear pads on my expensive headphones and tearing them off.
“Mom, stop! Those were expensive—” I grab for them, but she pulls them out of reach, then backs up and starts slamming them against the top of my dresser. “Mom, stop!” Rage burns inside me, igniting a sting of tears behind my eyes, which pisses me off even more. “Stop!”
She claws my chest pushing me away as I try to reach for the headphones. Apparently seeing his damsel in distress, Larry puts down his beer long enough to come into the bedroom and bear hug me from behind to pull me away from her. My skin crawls as his meaty arms form bands over my boobs and he drags me back toward the hall.
“Get your hands off me,” I scream, bringing my elbow back into his fleshy side.
He doesn’t listen on purpose, but his grip on me slips. That seems to piss him off. He lets me go, then shoves me backward into the hall.
I catch the doorframe, panic clawing at my insides. All I want is to get out of here, but I can’t leave my things here. I don’t have much, and the most valuable thing I had was just ruined. I worked my ass off pulling extra shifts to buy really good headphones so I could block out the noise at home, and now they’re just… in pieces.
My mom’s a hothead, though, so I know further engaging just increases the chances of more of my stuff getting destroyed.
Larry grabs my bicep.
“Get your fucking hands off me,” I spit, glaring at him. “Do not touch me.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, you little bitch. I’m not your last stepdaddy, you can’t stroke my dick and get your way.”
My mom smirks like he just rode up on a big white horse. She wraps her arm around his back and moves close to him, shooting me a look like I’m her rival instead of her daughter. “Yeah, that’s right, hon. I got a good one this time.”
Disgust contorts my features. I can’t stop it.
I shake my head, turning and escaping into the bathroom since at least that door I can lock.
I lock it and back up, sitting on the closed toilet seat and staring at the door. There’s a lock, but it’s a cheap, flimsy one. I’m sure someone could get in here if they really wanted to.
Tears well up in my eyes. I ignore them now that I’m alone. I don’t have to waste energy holding them back. No one will see me cry.
Once I’ve got it all out, I swipe away the tears and pull my cell phone out of my pants pocket. I’m hoping—praying—to see an invite from Jet, but there are no new notifications.
I’m not so proud to wait for an invitation now. I want to get the hell out of this apartment, and I don’t have anywhere else to go.
“You don’t want a fake girlfriend this evening, do you?” I ask with a smiling emoji that reeks of desperation and makes me cringe, but I don’t care. It’s just Jet.
He types back, “Lol no, you’re off the hook tonight. I’m staying the night at Stephen’s. We’re working on an astronomy project.”
My heart sinks. “Oh.” Claustrophobia closes in on me, but it’s not his responsibility to always be my place to go. “Well, that sounds fun. Have a good time.”