Page 77 of Haunt Me

Maybe the only solution is writing my own words.

I turned sixteen in the spring. It’s time I do something about my situation. Maybe that something could be writing. Maybe I should start writing my own words.

They suck, I know. But at least, they are true and they are mine.

And they will tell a story, a new one, one I haven’t already read. I know I can’t write my way out of my prison, but maybe I can start there.

But if I do start writing properly, it won’t be on the margins of already written books. If I write, it will be my words on paper that belongs to me alone. If I write, it will be my freedom. My truth.

twenty

We text incessantly for the next two months.

OrItext her incessantly, and she replies… whenever she can. At best, it’s once a day. At worst, it’s days before her dad allows her to use her phone. And then, she deletes my new texts almost immediately.

Europe, or at least the Europe we visit, is filled with music, beauty and summer. But mom, James and I see it all through the black glasses of grief: every color muted, every beach gray, everyconcert off-key. But at least, we are together. That is the only thing that is keeping us sane.

It is too early for healing.

I think, deep down, that it is impossible for me to heal, anyway. Only Eden did that for me. And she had only just started before I left.

I call her a few times, when I get really desperate, but her phone is always turned off. I want to climb out of my skin. Finally, she texts me, and the instant relief is so potent, it’s like a drug.

I was worried… No, scared. I was scared. Scared that it had ended between us, somehow.

Father has taken time off work to spend with me, she texts me.I think he suspects I don’t need him like I used to.

That’s right, you don’t, I think and instantly recoil as possessiveness rears its ugly head. It’s the girl’s dad, jeez. He’s entitled to spend time with his daughter. Even though she called him ‘Father’, which sounded kind of weird. But whatever, who am I to judge? I call mine ‘Dad’ and he doesn’t even exist.

Does that make you happy?

I don’t know why I type that. Something inside me wonders if he is stifling her. If she will feel more pressured now than ever. In spite of her adoration of him, I personally think he is an asshole if he is so strict she can’t even tell him about me.

Yes, she replies. I wait, but she doesn’t add anything. Weird.

When can we talk?

We are talking right now, she types.We’ll need to stop in a minute. He’s in the bathroom.

Oh, this is unbearable.

I need to call you,I type. I need to be calling you. I can’t exist on these desperate texts that won’t even stay on my screen. I need to talk to you several times a day to survive.

That’s not possible right now.

Then give me a specific time.

I can’t call you, my father will hear me.

Ok, then I will call you. Every night, when he’s asleep.

I’m scared he’ll hear me talking, and then… He’ll take my phone away, Isaiah.

Look, I don’t know what type of relationship you two have, and it’s none of my business. But you shouldn’t be afraid of your own father, Eden.

I’m not.This one comes very quickly, almost the same time as I press ‘send’. Did she even read what I wrote?

Oh, good, I type.

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