Page 15 of Not Your Little Girl Anymore

I cringe, the memory of Billy fucking Rogers blasting through my mind. “Please. Let’s leave that embarrassing experience in the past.”

She laughs, wrapping her arms around me and resting her head on my shoulder. “That was the best story I have ever heard.”

I pout, closing my eyes. “It was mortifying.”

“Oh, hold on. Hold on.” She taps my shoulder before rushing off the couch. When I open my eyes, I make a face. Chloe clears her throat to make her voice sound low and rough. She pops her chest out and rubs her palms along her breasts. “Hey sweet thang, lemme pop that sweet cherry of yours. You can have all of this.”

My mouth drops. “Oh my god, Chloe. Stop!” I shout, leaving us both laughing.

“Seriously, did he really say that?”

I press my fingers to my temples and stare up at her through my eyelashes. “Close enough.”

We both shiver, disgust rolling through me.

Suddenly, the front door swings open with a loud bang, colliding with the wall and causing us to jump. We jerk our heads simultaneously to see my dad storming inside and going up the stairs. My eyes narrow as Chloe’s gaze locks with mine.

“What the…” she mouths.

I shrug, quickly getting up and running toward the stairs.

I rest my hand on the railing. “Dad, is everything alright?” I shout.

Dad curses, ignoring my question, and storms back down the stairs, passing me and slamming the door shut on his way out.

What the fuck?

Chapter Six

Summer

I look at the time on my computer screen. It’s nine o’clock at night. Chloe left four hours ago—I think. It’s hard to know for sure when time has blended together over the past couple of days.

Dad said he would be home for dinner earlier but given how he stormed into the house and left without a single word, I had a feeling that ship had long sailed.

I should feel more upset than I actually am. If being honest with myself, I’m hardly upset. I’m actually quite thankful Dad hasn’t come back home. Not that I don’t want to spend time with him or catch up. But I need time to myself.

A heavy weight of fear and sadness are mingling in my body. Fear of upsetting Dad about dropping out of college, and sadness because I miss Mom. Everything feels empty. I feel empty.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and blow out slowly. My heart starts fluttering because all I can see behind my closed eyes is a very attractive singer with gorgeous gray eyes staring back at me.

The last thing I should be doing is thinking about a guy. Not when I have a million things I need to do. At least, it feels like a million. Mom’s funeral, figuring out my career path, heal. But for some reason, what little conversation Alec and I had keeps whirling through my mind.

He didn’t ask for details about my mother’s death or why I was sitting alone on a bench. Not once did he mention how red my eyes were, and I know they were as red as a sunburn because I pulled up the camera on my phone and flipped it so I could look at myself when he left. The only thing he did was try to comfort me and make me laugh. He made me forget.

He made me feel normal.

It’s bizarre looking back at my life. I know I had a good, normal life. But I can’t shake the feeling inside of me that my life was actually a lie. And I can’t pinpoint why I feel this way.

I shuffle to my bed, hoping that even just a little bit of sleep will help clear my head. When I pull my covers to my shoulders, I think about Mom and what it truly feels like to lose here.

Honestly, it just feels like she’s at work or the grocery store. That she has only left for a short time, like she always did. It feels like she’ll walk in the front door at any moment with a pile of mail or her hands full of plastic bags stuffed with this week’s dinners. But that isn’t the case. She’s gone, and I’ll never see her smile again. I’ll never see her eyes light up when she notices me. I’ll never be able to go to her for advice or feel her hugs. I can’t ask her what I am doing wrong.

The more I remind myself of this, the harder her death sinks in. The tears begin falling, soaking my face, my pillow, my shirt. They don’t stop; I can’t get them to stop. Not until my eyes slowly drift closed, and I fall into a deep sleep.

***

My eyes flutter open, quickly followed by a yawn. Strands of hair stick to my cheeks from the tears I shed before falling asleep. Or is that drool? I can’t tell. I pull the hair off my cheeks and roll onto my back, watching the ceiling fan spin around and around.

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