Page 11 of If Our Hearts Collide

“Penny?”

I turn to the sound of the knock on the door and my momma’s concerned voice. “Everything’s fine.”

“I heard you crying. Do you want to talk?”

I flop back on the bed, covering my hands over my eyes. Even being surrounded by the fluffy cotton candy cloud of my pink comforter isn’t very comforting. I am tired of talking. I am tired of feeling like I’m surviving as only half a person. For the past year, I’ve been forced to talk—forced tofeel.

And now I’m done.

I just want to move forward with my life, the best way I know how.

Visiting Mark Tanner in prison was not one of my brightest ideas—even I can admit that. However, seeing him did actually help me unload some of the feelings blistering my heart from the inside out. Despite feeling emotionally drained by the time Graham and Nic arrived to pick me up, it was therapeutic to see the person who trashed my life behind bars. Unfortunately, though, I think it only served to make my brothers more on edge.

And when they are nervous like that, freedoms get taken away.

Poor Angie and Claire…

How do they even cope with my controlling and possessive brothers?

“Pen?” Momma asks, reminding me I never responded.

I sit up in bed, dragging my fingers through my hair. “No, Momma. I promise I’m fine.” I want to believe that. I do. Maybe if I keep saying it, I eventually will be.

I quickly dry my tears, throw on a shirt dress, and open the door. My smile is forced, but I know that there is major cause to be concerned considering I just spent the better part of the last year in a mental facility. Now everyone in this house is walking on eggshells around me, worrying that if they take the wrong step, I will break and go back to my unresponsive self.

It’s a lot of pressure to put on myself to act like my emotions are in check and to go through life wondering how many people are filtering their words for my fragile ears, when all I am yearning for is normalcy—which for me means drama.

Controversy.

I crave it.

I just want to feel like myself again and not this washed-out, broken version of me. My eyes don’t even recognize my own reflection anymore, and maybe that’s for the best. Maybe I can reinvent myself beyond changing my hair. Maybe I can start over again. Perhaps, I can reacquaint myself with what I want out of life.

“You would tell me if something’s wrong?” Momma asks, reaching for my hand to hold.

“Yes, Momma, of course.” I glance at the watch that was a gift from Graham for Christmas last year, seeing that I’ve slept way too long today. It is now afternoon. Maybe if I had something I’mpassionate about, I’d be better able to channel my energy and focus my mind. I need a hobby or, better yet, a job.

“It’s nice out.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure is. I can pack you up food and you can eat out in the garden or by the pool if you want.”

My smile is genuine this time. If it wasn’t for my momma who sent me weekly letters while I was in Seattle at Soulful Mind, I may not have recovered as quickly as I did. Her love is pure and without measure.

I’m just in a slump. Or maybe it’s a mood. Regardless, it’s probably because I’m turning another year older tomorrow, and I’m still struggling to find my purpose.

I get it—I am young.

At least that is what everyone around me tells me. They say I have so much time to figure it all out, yada yada. However, I am readynow. If I wait until tomorrow, I will miss out on all that I can accomplish today.

I need to make a road map. Some plan of action to get me out of this mental rut and on to bigger and brighter things.

I follow Momma into the kitchen and help her wrap up some fruit, pasta salad, and a sandwich.

“Is Dad still working?” I ask, noticing that the house is quiet.

It’s always quiet here.

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