Page 49 of The Vow Thief
She frowned.“What does that mean?”
“Some people act out because they’re angry. Others because they’re afraid. But boredom,” I said,“boredom can be dangerous. It’s the space where people start making noise just to hear themselves exist.”
She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other.“You think I act out because I’m bored?”
“I think you cause trouble to feel alive,” I said.“That’s not the same thing.”
Her gaze sharpened, but she didn’t look away.
“What do you feel right before you do something that gets you in trouble?”
She hesitated.“Restless.”
“Restless,” I repeated.“And what helps when you feel that?”
“Nothing,” she said.“It’s like I’m in a box. The only way out is to break something.”
“Does it work?”
“For a minute.”
“And then?”
She looked down at her hands.“Then I’m still in the box. It just gets more crowded with the shit I get myself into.”
I nodded once.“You sound familiar with that box.”
Her laugh was low, humorless.“I redecorate it every few weeks.”
“When did you start building it?” I asked, pleased that we were jumping right in.
She glanced up.“You mean the mess?”
“No,” I said.“The box. The part that keeps you from climbing out.”
Her fingers twisted together.“Probably childhood.”
“What was happening then?”
“Nothing dramatic. Just a lot of pretending.”
“Pretending what?”
“That everything was fine.”
I waited. Silence worked better than pressure. She filled it.
“My dad ran a company that chews people up. My mom played hostess to whoever was left, including his mistresses. I learned to smile, keep my posture, and never let anyone know when I was drowning.”
“So you learned early that presentation matters more than peace,” I said.
Her mouth curved.“You make it sound like a diagnosis.”
“It’s an observation.”
“Same thing.”
“Then tell me this,” I said.“When did pretending stop working?”
