Page 123 of One More Chapter

“I heard you signed a new deal for them books of yours.”

Once upon a time, I thought sharing my books with my mom would finally make her proud of me. It was during that trip to Florida that she put the final nail in the coffin: Nothing I did would ever make herproudunless it benefitted her. In the end, that’s the wrong deadly sin. My mother is greedy and selfish. Which begs the question: What am I even doing here?

Being verbally berated and taking it like a punching bag, my subconscious taunts me.

Still, I don’t move my feet. I stand there like I’m twelve years old and take it.

“For all I ever did for you, you could send a little of that my way, Penelope. Your poor mother’s living in filth that put me in the hospital.”

If I continue biting my tongue, I’m going to make it bleed.You did this to yourself,dies along with my own pride. If I keep this up, it won’t be the sin that kills me, but the regret at all I’ve left unsaid.

“Mom, my books are?—”

“After all I did for you? You’d have none of this without me.”

I have had this argument with my mother a million times over inside my head. Every single time, I finally gain the courage to tell her off. To put her in her place. To remind her that, at the age of fifteen, Ihaddone something right by calling the police. It was the freest I’d ever felt, living with the Ellises for those few short weeks.

But when faced with your demons, you can either run, hide, or fight. I’d been able to stand up to Anthony, but standing before my mother, I feel myself shrinking again.

As something deep inside me relaxes at the thought of him, whimpers for him to be standing beside me, I wonder if he was ever my enemy at all.

I bite my tongue, this time to keep the tears in—or to feel physical pain to outweigh the pain on my heart. I don’t think the poor thing can take on much more.

“You wouldn’t have Deb’s place without me anyway. Let me know when you decide how I’m getting out of here.”

I flee, past my brother, down the hall into the spare room. She is the reason I don’t cry, the reason I have learned to lock down my emotions so that they don’t get the better of me. But face down in the mattress, I sob until sleep finally puts me out of my misery.

Sleep seems to make memoremiserable, if that’s even possible.

I dream of Ant.

At first, he’s feeding me cheeseballs while my arm is in a cast, but then all of a sudden, the cheeseballs turn to stones, and he’s tossing them like baseballs against a glass wall that, upon further inspection, is shaped like a heart. He grins from the other side, maniacally, as one can only do in a dream or a horror movie, asking me over and over again,Is that enough? Can you take it, boss?I startle awake, gasping for breath, clutching my hand against my chest. I sweat through my shirt.

One glance at the clock says it’s after six. She’ll be expecting dinner soon, and at the thought, my stomach growls. As I inhale and exhale to bring my heart rate down, I wonder if I’m still dreaming, because I swear I can smell Debbie Ellis’s famous lasagna. She made it three times when I stayed with them, and something about those noodles became a comfort memory to me.

Your mind is playing tricks on you.

I get up, stretch out a few kinks, and freeze.

Debbie’s lasagna must be real, because Debbie’svoiceis coming from down the hallway. And she doesnotsound happy. Creeping out of the spare room, I strain to listen.

“She doesn’t owe youanything. You made a lot of bad choices in your life, and you won thelotterywhen the one positive consequence of your actions was her. She is theonlyreason I am here right now. I am here forher.Notfor you. Untilshetells me to leave, I will get your pain pills with a smile on my face. But get one thing straight, Margie: she owes younothing.”

The rest of the world fades away. I float down the hall as if my body is tethered by the sound of her voice. Debbie meets me there, her hard set eyes and the furrow of her brow a defensive mask for the pain I can see ringed there. She doesn’t see me at first, the shake of her head and the sharp curse all to herself. Right before she turns to enter the kitchen, she lifts her gaze to me.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

She comes to me with open arms, and I swear her hug pieces me back together. After a long few moments, we peel away.

“How’s the patient?” I ask. Deb shakes her head.

“How areyou?”

I fold my arms but wring my hands over my forearms and shrug.

“I don’t know.”

Because I truly don’t.

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