Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
One of the guys she’s with places his hand on her shoulder and gently pulls her toward him. “Let’s go, Stella. She doesn’t want to make friends, no matter how adamant you are.” The smile he gives her is one of love and admiration, and I’m only a little jealous. A frown appears on Stella’s face as she brushes some blonde hair from her eyes.
I feel bad, like someone kicked me in the stomach, but I still turn around and rush back to my apartment. I’m halfway to my complex when I realize the streets and quad are much fuller than usual.
“I can’t wait to show you my dorm and the library. You’re going to love it, Mom,” a girl exclaims as she walks past me, a middle-aged couple following behind her.
Oh, god. Pressing a hand to my forehead, I can already feel the onset of a migraine. I continue down the sidewalk, and that is when my reality becomes a nightmare because of all the things I could forget, family weekend definitely shouldn’t have been one of them.
“Kennedy!” my mother squeals as she runs down the sidewalk, wrapping her arms around me. “We called, but it went straight to voicemail. I wasn’t sure if you still wanted us to come, but since we hadn’t seen you in a while, I figured it would be nice to make the trip,” she says as she pulls back. I gaze at my father over her shoulder. He hasn’t moved an inch and doesn’t look like he’s happy to be here either.
My mother takes my clammy hand into hers and walks me toward my father as if I’m a small child that can’t do it on her own.
“Kennedy,” my father greets in a monotone voice. He used to tell me he loved me, that he was proud of me. Now, he barely acknowledges me.
“Hey, Dad,” I mumble back.
“I got you a dress, sweetie. I want you to wear it to the dinner they’re having for us tonight. Your father has to work on Monday so we can only stay tonight. We’re gonna make the best of the time we have together.”
I force my lips into a smile. It almost hurts, definitely feels strange and wrong because I’m not even close to being happy.
“Thanks, I’m so happy you guys are here. I need to head back to my apartment and drop off this stuff, then we can do whatever you want.”
The next twenty-four hours are going to be pure torture, but at least it won’t last forever. Soon enough, they’ll leave, and I can get back to my life, or what’s left of it.
“Of course. Let’s go,” Mom exclaims, and I want to groan, but bite back the sound. If one thing is off, this could turn into so much more than a weekend from hell.
“Let’s,” I reply and start walking toward my apartment again.
It takes far too long to get my mother to leave my apartment, and by the time we do get out, it’s too late to show them around Blackthorn because the dinner party is starting soon.
With each step I take, I worry about the dress my mom made me wear riding too high up my thighs. It’s not terribly short. It sits above the knee, but only a few inches higher is where my scars begin. I don’t want anyone to see those, least of all, my parents. God, they would ship me off to the next loony bin in a heartbeat.
“I don’t understand why you couldn’t have put on a bit of makeup?” my father says under his breath as we walk inside that banquet hall. His remark both hurts and angers me. It’s obvious when he says put makeup on, he’s asking me to cover my scar, so I don’t draw any attention to us. Or, more so, to him. It’s been clear to me for some time that my father cares more about himself than me. Ever since the accident, I’ve been more of a nuisance to him than a daughter. He is ashamed of me, and he doesn’t miss a chance to show it.
My stomach lurches into my chest when we walk into the event, and I see how many students and parents are inside. I’m tempted to turn around and run back to my apartment, but if I do that, my mother would question me, and my dad would have yet another reason to belittle me.
I’ve told her I’ve been working on being more social, working on getting outside my bubble. I’d be giving myself away if I tried to leave now.
“Let’s get a table,” I say and tug my mother in the direction of an open table. She’s bubbling over with excitement while I’m drowning in misery. Guess things never change.
“Kennedy, is that you?” I know that voice. The softness of it. For a long time, Jillian and Jackson’s mom was like a second mother to me. I can’t tell you how many times I slept over at their house. How often she made me pancakes or bandaged up my scraped knees. Still, seeing her after what I did, all those good memories are tarnished by the one bad thing I did.