46. ROXANNE
Chapter forty-six
Numbness crept through me as Noah’s line continued to ring. Ring after ring after ring, with each unanswered buzz, my hopes shriveled up a little more.
I return the phone to its cradle, the silence making all the ghosts around me point fingers and laugh. Why can’t I find my guy today? I don’t know, but I have to be a big girl and break down later.
Wiping off my cheek and then the mascara on my palm, I blink my eyes and take a couple deep breaths to recenter myself.
Okay, so Noah is a no-go at the moment. Who else can I call?
In a panic, I try the hospital, wondering if my mom had ended up there somehow. The bored ER worker says no one named Diane Wishmore was admitted. I’m relieved by that, but even more confused. Where is she?
Authorities is my next thought. I should try the police station, as much as I dread that option. Knowing my mom’s track record, it’s possible she got hauled in for something stupid again.
The last time was on my eighteenth birthday, and the call came at 3 AM, her voice a slurred mess on the other end. “Baby, I need you.”
The police station somehow reeked of both piss and bleach. I scrawled my signature on the release forms, my hand shaking, and Mom stumbled out. “My little savior,” she had cooed, pinching my cheek too hard before she asked if Jasmine was okay.
“Yeah, we brought Mrs. Wishmore in earlier today for passing bad checks again at the liquor store,” the cop on the other side of the line confirms. “Nothing too serious this time.”
I sit up straight on the floor, crossing my legs. “What exactly happened? Is she okay? What’s the damage this time?”
The cop sighs at my rapid questions. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss all the details with you.”
“But I’m her daughter!” I shout into the receiver. “Roxanne Wishmore. Doesn’t that count?”
“Look,” he replies, obviously getting impatient with me. “All I can really tell you is some friend of hers came in with cash to post her bail about an hour ago. That’s all I’m at liberty to say.”
I grip the phone tighter. “She made bail? How... how much was it set at?”
“I’ve already said more than I should. You’ll have to get the specifics from your mother herself.”
“But—”
“That’s all I can tell you, miss. I’d suggest waiting for your mother to contact you.”
Before I can argue more, I hear a click and the line goes dead.
My heart pumps through every vein in my body.
This is far too convenient that my money had been stolen from my room, vanishing with my mother. Who mysteriously got bailed out. It’s all too perfectly fucking timed.
The facts start to click into place. She called someone, and had them ransack my room to find any cash I saved with my own blood and sweat. Had them take what mattered most, probably to sell to a fucking pawn shop since I was too broke to cover her stupid mistakes this time, all to get herself out of trouble. No regard for stealing from her own daughter of course, just pure selfish survival instincts kicking in.
I stupidly thought I might get the money back if I could find her and reason with her before she blew it all. Now realizing she has taken it and spent it, hope’s corpse rots at my feet.
A kind of rage and heartbreak I’ve never known before pulses through me so hard that I start to feel a little dizzy. My own mom, my only family left, the one I try to take care of and still love despite it all, sliced me open down to my fucking soul.
My blood doesn’t feel like it’s boiling, it’s turning to steam in my veins and I can’t breathe. Plasma screams through arteries as my lungs collapse. This house can’t hold our shared grief anymore, and stealing my money and records severed the last thread binding us together.
I’m officially alone now.
The phone slips from my fingers and clatters to the floor as I pull my knees into my chest, tucking my head down as I shake through gulps of air, but no tears come. My insides run dry, like all emotional capacity has drained from me. I’m hollowing out, all connections being clipped one by one.
I can’t handle this nightmare right now.
My body’s heavy as I force myself to rise to my feet. I snatch my keys, not bothering to grab a jacket, and stumble out the front door, needing my thunder buddy’s arms around me to put pressure on the bleeding in my heart. Any more cuts like this and I’ll end up with scars all over me forever.
It doesn’t seem that weird to me to show up unannounced. I’ve done it before and I’m sure he’s expecting another spectacle of me storming for him. He’s probably sitting and waiting for it and going to turn it into some sex game where he wants to be punished.
The only thing that does worry me is if his parents are at home, and if they are, well… I’ll have to throw pebbles at his window until he comes out.
Thinking about the window to his room sliding open upstairs, and Noah leaning out on his arms, smiling down in that way of his, clears some of the hurt as I speed towards his place. No judgment or pity. It would be instant concern and care shining from those thick strips of blue around the dark pupils of his eyes.
I hope he calls me angel this time.
When I see his dirt bike leaning against the edge of the garage, my chest caves.
He’s home.
The living room lights glow too, and I hope that means the TV is on and his parents aren’t sitting in front of it.
I park across the street from his house and cut the engine, wrapping my arms tight around my stomach, and rush up to the double doors. The night air’s got teeth, but I barely notice because each step’s a war against gravity and the urge to collapse.
My fist raises up, but before my knuckles touch the wood, the door swings open, and wafts of cigarette smoke and perfume come rushing out.
A thin woman stands in the doorway, her half-lidded eyes and sloppily tied robe showing one too many nightcaps. From photos, I recognize Noah’s mom, though in person she looks way more drained.
“Oh, uh, hello Mrs. Jackson,” I stammer, anxiety spiking.
“It’s Mrs. Ward.”
Shit . I forgot about that.
“Sorry, Mrs. Ward,” I correct. “Is, um, Noah home by chance?”
She looks me up and down, and I hate how it makes my heart crack like a broken bone. “No, I’m afraid my boy’s out.”
I frown as I hear that drunk slur in her voice. I back up one more step until a small gap separates us, but I don’t turn away yet. There’s something strange in his mom’s face, that face which is so like Noah’s, yet so different. What I see inside her eyes is something haunted and vacant behind that glassy stare, as if she’s looking at me through a thousand windows from somewhere very far away.
I still can’t stop hoping Noah will suddenly appear behind his mom, squeezing her shoulder and taking my hand with his warm ringed fingers, murmuring in my ear, “Now, what are you doing here, angel?”
Fuck, I need him.
I feel that sting of self-conscious humiliation as I ask, “Do you know where he is?”
She takes a sip of red wine. “I believe he’s with that pretty little mayor’s daughter.”
All the remaining air whooshes out from my lungs as my world, already crumbling, fully collapses.
Oh my god. Oh my fucking god.
A date. He’s on a date with the polished, pedigreed girl from the upper side of the pond who probably doesn’t know the difference between hair metal and glam rock instead of his bandmate who can name each KISS band member but is most definitely too damaged for him anyway.
My eyes don’t move off Mrs. Ward’s mouth creased into an unhappy line. Through the roaring in my ears, I hear her apologize that he isn’t home, her tone making it clear this conversation is over.
I nod and play with my bracelets, spinning the thick blue one around my arm over and over until my fingers start to cramp against the plastic. I want to puke, feeling properly kicked to the curb like so much trash and nauseous while also trying not to make a total fool of myself in front of his mom. Not unless I want her bringing up the “weird girl with mascara all over her face” showing up unannounced to him.
My brow tightens, but I keep my voice calm. “Okay, I’m sorry for bothering you.”
Putting my legs into motion, I force air back into my deflated lungs and walk to my car, vision clouding with more fucking tears. My fist pounds against the hood at the same time my throat starts to ache from trying to fight back the scream that might be stuck in my throat forever. Asshole!
I climb in my car, turn the key, and start driving. I don’t know where I’m going. I drive, and drive, and drive, and fucking drive until the night starts to suck out the sun completely and leaves me cold and dark and alone.
My hands shake on the wheel. I feel crazy for acting this way. Noah and I are in a no-strings relationship. We have fun, but it’s never been official, and I’m letting myself get so worked up over everything. Obviously he’s still playing the field. It makes sense when I won’t be here forever. Why would he wait for the girl who’s leaving?
It just burns that Wendy is still on that field.
“I want to know we’re exclusive with each other. No kissing, no dating, no anything with other people,” he had said to me two months ago. Guess that rule’s fucking breakable.
Even if he has me feeling like shit right now, I want to reserve judgment. Maybe there’s a reason. Maybe his mom’s drunk ass got it wrong. Maybe, maybe, maybe .
I want to give him a chance to explain himself, to tell me why he’s out with her after she treated him so terribly. I want him to tell me the truth, even if my stomach clenches at what it might mean that Noah is with her.
Whatever the reason is, he didn’t show up to practice for Wendy.
And now he isn’t showing up for me.
The truth stares me in the face when it comes down to it. I will never be a priority for him the way he quickly became for me. I’m disposable. Story of my goddamn life.
Headlights flash by, the lights reflecting off the water in my eyes making it hard to see, but I keep driving. I keep moving down winding back roads, past the tall pine trees that create a wall between me and Lake Lickrage, right until my fuel gauge starts to edge toward empty.
My soul knows what I need, because before I realize it my lights are shining on Stephanie’s front door. I can’t cry alone at home, not when my bedroom is a wreck, and certainly not when my mom could be there by now. If she is home, I'll turn into a fucking animal and rip her stupid fake red hair out by her roots.
I should go steal her jewelry and sell it and see how she feels about that.
My door slams shut and I walk up to her porch step, avoiding so much as a glance at the bush where Noah once put the fat garden snake after he tried to make me touch it.
AssholeAssholeAsshole.
My throat tightens again. I don’t want to think about him right now.
I don’t want to think about anything.
I just want—
“Roxanne?” The door creaks open, and Stephanie’s mom peers out, forehead creasing in concern. “Honey, what on earth is the matter?”
What? How can she tell something was wrong?
Oh, duh. I spent an hour crying so my face is swollen like a fucking walnut, and I still forgot to check if I have mascara all over my face.
A lump forms where the snot sticks to the back of my throat and I swallow around it. “Is Steph here? I really need to see her.”
“She’s at the movies with Daniel, sweetie. Is everything okay?”
At the pity and worry swimming in her eyes, the last fragile thread of my composure snaps.
The joints in my knees click as I sink to the steps, crouching down with my elbows on my thighs, fisting at my hair as I stare at the button on my flannel, trying to keep my mouth shut so I don’t gasp out an ugly cry in front of Ms. Bell.
The sinking feeling in my chest never seems to leave since even breathing hurts, but when warm arms wrap around me as I dig my nails into the side of my scalp to distract from the pain, that’s what breaks me. Those great, heaving sobs I’ve been holding down finally tear through me.
My entire body feels as if I’ve pulled every muscle as the ache inside me expands until I’m sure I’ll shatter like the scene in The Wall when Pink’s emotional brick wall explodes. Stephanie’s mom’s embrace tightens as I start to dig my nails into the side of my legs.
I don’t understand why it hurts so bad. I want to get rid of all the problems inside of me, but instead, they’ve only piled up and gotten worse tonight.
“Oh, sweetheart. Come on, let’s take a step inside, and I can make you some hot chocolate while we wait for Stephanie. I’ve finished baking some cookies to go alongside it.”
She helps me up from the porch, my face sore from all the tears that keep falling. I sink into the thick cushions of the Bell’s sage green sofa while she moves to the open kitchen, and the lavender and vanilla scent that always lingers around Ms. Bell covers me up in a tiny force field of normal , of safe.
Stephanie’s house has always been a soft landing, where the strong smell of missed AA meetings and cigarettes sticks into the walls of mine no matter how many times I air out the rooms.
Here, warmth seeps into your bones. Even the damn houseplants look happy here.
Ms. Bell moves around the kitchen, humming to herself as she gathers mugs, and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. The sweet, buttery smell makes my stomach growl despite all of the emotions twisting with the acid inside me. It’s no wonder her bakery is so successful. She always has cookies on deck.
When she glances my way, I duck my head down. I don’t want her to see me crying again.
Catherine Bell has always been super sweet to me, but it’s turning me into more of an emotional mess that no one else seems to be around, so I’m stuck crying on her couch. To my best friend’s mother.
I don’t know why I didn’t try calling Tyler.
She returns, pressing a warm mug into my hands. “Careful, it’s hot,” she says, her kind brown eyes crinkling as she smoothes back a lock of my hair. I wrap my hands around the mug and take a small sip, the rich chocolate melting over my tongue.
My eyes dig holes into the coffee table, where an open box of chocolates sits. Several empty wrappers are scattered around it, and I notice Ms. Bell reaching for another as she settles in beside me. It seems I'm not the only one stress-eating today.
“What’s the matter? This seems more serious than a girl having her heart broken.”
“Nothing,” I mumble, wet heat pooling behind my eyes that’s totally not at the softness of her voice, and because the cocoa is too hot. “What movie is Steph at?”
“Do you really have to ask?” She tilts her head at me, and I grin a little bit over my cup.
“Edward Scissorhands?”
“You know she can’t get enough of that Mr. Depp.”
“No, she really can’t.” Better than her Uncle Jesse era, even though she still has one of his posters taped to her closet door.
I hide behind my mug, letting the cocoa work its magic. The TV across the couch catches my eye, MTV’s logo dancing on the screen. I always thought it was weirdly adorable how Ms. Bell tries to keep up with the latest music scene. Half the times I come over here, I walk into Stephanie and her mom karaokeing to whatever songs are playing.
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” she asks, and I know she’s trying to give me some space by keeping her eyes on the TV.
God, do I need to talk. But being around parents—any adult—is foreign to me. It makes me twitchy and I act weird, defaulting with humor because I don’t know how to talk to them.
“Oh, you know, the usual. Cute boy is a prick. My mom is off the rails. Life is totally unfair.”
See?
I set the empty mug down on the rustic oak coffee table, avoiding her kind eyes. Stevie Nicks is starting to walk on the beach across the screen in her Landslide music video, but my ears are so clogged that I can’t really hear the acoustics.
“Ah, typical teenage boy then,” she muses. “But you listen to me, any boy who can’t see what a smart, funny, beautiful young woman you are isn’t worth your tears.”
Ms. Bell reaches over, giving my hand a supportive squeeze. Goddammit . Her touch is so gentle, so maternal. Everything my own mom hasn’t been in years.
I flash her a watery smile, brushing angrily at the new tear starting to slip down my hot cheek. It takes everything I have not to burst into more. Not because of today, but of how lonely I actually am, and the way that Ms. Bell is making me feel so loved .
“I thought—I thought Noah was different,” my voice hitches on his name. “We were having such a good time these past few months and then today...”
A heavy sigh climbs up out of me as made up images rotate through my head: Noah’s jacket perfectly fitting across Wendy’s shoulders, Noah’s ring denting the skin of her knee as he touches her there, his lips pressing against her mouth and thinking strawberry Lip Smacker is so much better.
Ms. Bell makes a sympathetic clucking sound, nudging the plate of cookies toward me. My stomach screams hell no at the thought of eating, but I don’t want to seem rude, so I take one and pathetically bite into it. The chocolate chips melting on my tongue makes me want to cry even more.
It’s sweet—too sweet. I don’t deserve anything sweet.
Ms. Bell pats at my knee. “Boys his age can be thoughtless. Try to remember it’s in those moments of pain and doubt where we find strength. Find yours. You, my beautiful girl, are enough.”
I wish I could believe that right now.
With everything else happening, having Noah made me feel like I could be normal too. I wasn't constantly paranoid and living in anxiety over life—I was happy and in love and being a teenager. I should have known better. Real life is nothing like Stephanie’s beloved Edward Scissorhands where even the weirdo gets the love interest.
“My dad used to say the same thing,” I comment. His words ring in my head: We have to find our voice. You are enough.
I have to find my way.
My cries start to become quieter but they’re still there, hidden underneath cookie crumbs and milk clogging my throat. Stephanie’s mom reaches out and starts to gently rub at my back, and the hot water begins to rise up like a tide again because I love this family with the intensity of a dying star. Her mom’s been adopting me with each gentle stroke, grafting me onto their family tree with touch alone the past three years. This might be the only time I’ll ever experience this, because I know I’ll never get this kind of love from my own mother for the rest of my life.
I wish I could have grown up in this house as her actual daughter. To have inside jokes and family traditions. To experience what it’s like to be chopping tomatoes while Stephanie boils the pot of pasta, the MTV awards on in the background, her mom on the couch with her magazine after allowing us both only one glass of wine.
To be and exist together in a family, where the comfort of being around each other and together is enough. I’ve always wondered what that feels like, to know there are people who are always going to be in your corner, who you can turn to for anything even as you grow older.
“He always was a lovely man, and he raised you so well,” she smiles, pulling my hair to the right side of my shoulder. “I’ll be here for you, the same way he’s still here within your heart, watching you grow and bloom into the beautiful girl you are. I have faith in you. You’re going to be just fine.”
“I miss him so much sometimes.” My bottom lip shakes as I choke back another sob and cover it up with a bite of cookie.
“I know sweetheart, I know,” Ms. Bell murmurs, her arm around my shoulder keeping me from drifting too far in the stormy sea of grief. She reaches for the center of the table and hands me a tissue.
I dab at my eyes, smudged mascara staining the white. “There are days where it still feels so fresh,” I confess in a whisper. “Like I’ll walk through the front door and he’ll be sitting in his recliner, beer in one hand and using his boots to keep rocking him back and forth.”
I picture his tan skin around his dark eyes every time I came home from school, the roughness of his bear hugs that let me know I was so safe and loved, and the excitement in his voice when he’d ask me what we were going to do today. God, I miss that. Things have never been the same since that look on my mom’s face.
Ms. Bell reaches for a cookie, and sighs as she crosses a leg at the knee. “Grief comes in waves. Some days the good memories buoy you up. Other days the pain pulls you under again, and sometimes it’s nice to feel those waves pull you under, because it means you’re alive. You’ll always miss him, but it won’t always hurt this much.”
The way she says it sounds so personal, as if it’s something she’s struggled with all her life—a pain that’s become a part of her. I wonder who she’s lost, and I want to ask, but I don’t want to pry. Ms. Bell has always been there for me, but I realize I don’t know much about her life before she became Stephanie’s mom.
I wipe at my nose with another tissue as I focus on the good memories. The ones that make me smile and help me heal a little.
“He used to rock out with me all the time in his car when he was teaching me how to play drums, and he made me listen to Toto’s I’ll Supply The Love on repeat.“ Those were the days, jamming in his Chevy before I named it Kevin. It was the first song I learned, too. “Whenever I decided to get into his music, I’d sort through his collection and find new albums every week that I became obsessed with. I’d make mixtapes out of them. So, when he left, that collection was really important to me. It was our thing.”
I glance at Ms. Bell, my chin doing that annoying wobble thing as I try to keep it together. “And today I came home to find the whole collection gone.”
Her eyes go wide, and she puts a hand over her heart. “Oh, honey. What happened?” She tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I know this might be a silly question, but have you spoken to your mother about this?”
“I’m pretty sure she’s the one who took them and sold them.”
Ms. Bell’s face falls, and her head shakes slowly. “Roxanne… I’m so very sorry. That collection must have meant the world to you—” She sucks in a breath through her teeth, her empathy palpable, which makes me sad for a whole different reason that even she was hurting over this. “I can’t imagine how devastating it must have been to find it gone.”
I nod quietly, another wave pulling me under as I imagine the empty shelves in my room: The Doors, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd—so much beautiful music we enjoyed together.
“I don’t understand how she could do that,” I whisper bitterly, biting down on my tongue to keep the swear words at bay in front of her, especially the mighty F-bomb. “That music was all I had left of him. We would spend hours bonding over it. And—and now—” My stupid chin shakes again and her arm wraps tighter around me, rubbing at my shoulder.
“It’s so—so—” My brain is digging for a PG-rated alternative to the string of expletives racing through my mind. “So fudged up!”
Ms. Bell doesn’t even blink. “Addiction makes people do fucked up things, I’m afraid.”
I stare at her, my eyes wide with shock. Did the same woman who once scolded Stephanie for saying “half-assed” in front of her cuss out loud?
“Your mother is very unwell, but that’s no excuse,” she continues, still rubbing my arm. “She should have respected how precious those albums were to you.”
Damn fudging right , I think to myself, the PG-rated version still not quite as satisfying.
“The most important thing is that he lives on in your heart and memories. No one can take those from you. And Stephanie and I, we’re your family, too.”
Oh, god. My eyes well up again, and I cling to her like one of the heirloom quilts she makes, crushing my cookie and tissue in both hands as I fall into her chest, grinding my teeth together as I squeeze my eyes shut.
“That’s awful, truly awful.” She pulls back, taking my head in her hands and wiping her thumb against my cheek. “Now you listen here.” Her fingers slide into my hair, gripping my head as she looks at me with a ferocity that I admire. “If you can track down where those records and tapes ended up, you let me know. I will repurchase them for you, no arguments.”
“That would be so expensive! I couldn’t possibly—”
She holds up a hand, smiling with that stubborn set to her jaw that I’ve seen on her daughter so many times. “We consider you a part of this family. Family helps family. No conditions, no payment required.”
More tears squiggle in my eyes at the thought of someone who isn’t blood related family treating me with, well, love . That’s what it is. Love . Maybe that’s why I keep crying on her couch, in awe that here sits a woman extending support out of the fondness of her heart, simply because she cares.
All that blood is thicker than water nonsense holds no water for me.
“I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you,” I sob, breathing through the ache, and she responds by pulling me into a tight hug, rocking us from side to side.
“I told you, no payment is necessary, kiddo. I want you to know we’ve got your back. You and Stephanie against the world, right?”
“You would really do that for me?”
“Yes, I would. I want to do everything I can to help you. I want you to be able to honor your father’s memory and cherish those memories at your own home. I know this sounds corny, but remember, you are so very loved.” Her nails come up quickly to scratch at the back of my head. “I love you as a mother would.”
Those words wash over me as soothing as the waves on sand, and my nostrils flare from the emotions spilling over my lashes. I love you as a mother would.
Those precious words are everything I’ve ever wanted to hear for so long.
Her hand presses between my shoulder blades, smoothes along my spine while lightly patting, and something in me starts to unwind as she lets my head rest in her lap.
I think I even whimper.
This is a feeling so rare to find, a feeling I thought died years ago, and I’m going to bask in it. I let the tears flow unrestrained as her fingers run through my hair. Each little scratch of her nails down my back slowly knits up the scraps of my beat up heart.
I cry for all that I’ve lost. My dad’s presence, my mom’s sober love. I cry for the careless cruelty my mom has shown. I cry for the overwhelming relief that even if my own mom fails me, I have someone I can go to.
Somewhere I’m welcomed. Wanted.
“Th—thank you,” I hiccup between sniffs. “For everything. For being here when I had nowhere else to turn.”
Ms. Bell smiles down at me. “We’ve got you, I promise. You can always come to us.”
Stevie Nicks blurs out on the screen as Stephanie’s mom holds me, keeping me from slipping too far down that landslide, until my eyes clear up and my breath evens out. When I finally sit up, scrubbing at my swollen face, she strokes my hair over my forehead.
“I think someone could use a slice of my special five layer chocolate cake.” She winks. “We’ll get some sugar and caffeine back in you while we wait for Stephanie to get home. How does that sound?”
I nod, wanting to now cry from how amazing that sounds. “I’m sorry I cried all over you.”
“What’s my time for if I can’t spend it with those I love?” She kisses at my forehead loudly as she gets up from the couch, and I'm officially about to cry again. “I think Stephanie would be very unhappy that her mom didn’t help out her best friend, too.”
I shake my head, laughing with a phlegmy edge to it as she moves into the kitchen and removes the lid off of a circular cake container, then puts a slice on an empty plate.
“And Roxy, I know that he would have wanted nothing more than for you to be happy. You are his voice, his soul, his legacy. Be great.”
“Who?” I ask, reaching out to take the plate from her.
“Your dad.”
I smile, holding on to her words for a little longer before I lock them away.
For the rest of the night, she tells me stories about her high school days while I swallow her cake, throwing in jokes that actually have me thinking Stephanie’s mom might have been really cool in school. Her eyes light up as she tells me about my dad in school growing his hair out to his shoulders—always the rebel—even though some jerkwads would yank at it. The cookies, cocoa, and cake settle, and even though I hate my blood right now, I thank it for giving me my iron stomach that is able to handle so much sweets.
We don’t talk about anything else as we watch music videos and wait for Stephanie to get home. She keeps me company, refilling my mug with more hot chocolate.
It’s only when she gets up to clean the kitchen, when Van Halen comes on the TV, that my head starts drifting back to earlier today. Going to Riley’s to get the truth and finding out everything was designed to purposely hurt me, showing up at Noah’s after he missed practice and I dealt with everything at home, needing my… Whatever he is.
I needed him, and I went there for his mom to tell me he was out with Wendy.
My throat may as well be gargling push pins, but I swallow them down with more hot chocolate. I’ve always prided myself on being independent, never needing to lean on others so as not to inconvenience them since I know firsthand how that can be, even when life kicks me down. But Noah became my rock lately. We have endured and celebrated so much since I met him.
Swiping at a tear that trails down my cheek without permission, I feel that dependence annoy me. I never wanted to need someone the way I’ve found myself needing him. But he has always been there.
What the hell is he even off doing? How could he not at least tell Daniel something?
Okay, okay, breathe. Think of that mom hug from Ms. Bell.
I need to give Noah some benefit of the doubt. I’m sure he would’ve had the decency to call me with an excuse, but I wasn’t home for the past four hours to hear it. Even if he did call me right now and I was home, I’d be too emotionally drained to deal with that conversation.
I breathe in and out, trying to rationalize things. Noah deserves a life beyond me and my never ending drama, even if it stings like a bitch knowing I was so quick to seek him out in my pain, only to find him unavailable.
It’s unfair to him that the only time I’ve ever felt safe in my life is in the shelter of his arms. I guess that, looking back on it, I never noticed how badly I’ve been needing that kind of safety until it got swept away by his sudden absence, and without him, I’m back in that scary place, where everything seems like a threat, and everything feels like a monster.
I should be happy for him living his best life and all that jazz. I'm just so very alone. The foundations of my world are shifting, and this loneliness is opening up inside me a large tsunami that's ready to wipe out the entire town. Maybe one person can only deal with so much bullshit before they start to crack.
A Heart music video pops up next, and I start to feel those wings again, the ones that sprouted when I first thought about getting the hell out of this town two years ago. And you know what? There’s no need to test their strength. I know they’re ready now more than ever to take me away from Diane Wishmore, and far, far away from Bellpond.
I need to hold onto that feeling. Nurture those wings and let them grow, day by day, until they can carry me on the wind into a better future where I’ve got bigger plans.