Page 211 of Broken Saint
Having her eyes on me and seeing every single crack I’m desperately trying to fill is a whole other kind of torture.
I want to be the daughter she deserves. One who can stand tall and strong and help support her in her own grief. Instead, I’m too busy drowning in mine to be there for her.
I hate it.
I hate everything about everything right now.
“Yeah,” I call back, trying to push an image from my head of a time when I loved life.
College.
Those four years were the best ones of my life.
Finally, I’d been able to break free from the shackles that held me down.
I was able to be the person I always should have been, and I found the most amazing people to experience it with.
My cell on the nightstand beside me catches my attention as Mom pushes my door open, but I don’t reach for it.
I’m too terrified to see who’s been trying to contact me since I came home. Too scared to read the messages they’ve sent.
It’s why I let the battery die and haven’t even attempted to charge it.
Maybe…just maybe…if I can vanish, everything else will disappear with it.
“Hey, sweetie,” Mom says, walking straight toward the window and pulling the curtains back. The bright Texan sun floods the room, making me squint.
"Really?” I complain, throwing my arm over my eyes to block out the light.
“Yes, really. It’s time, Ella.”
I sense her moving closer before the bed dips next to me and the warmth of her hand blooms on my forearm as she tries to find my eyes.
“I’m not ready,” I whimper.
“It’s been a month, Ella. You can’t hide in here forever.”
I know. I do know this.
But also…
Why can’t I?
There is literally nothing outside of this house wanting me, waiting for me.
With Mom’s support, I quit my job when I got back to Texas. It was a miracle I still had one after checking out on life while Colt was in the hospital. But despite needing the money, I couldn’t return to that.
Somehow, I need to make a fresh start. And Colt was right a few weeks ago…what about my dream? What about the things I want?
Right now, I don’t know what that is, but I sure know what it isn’t.
Guilt floods me as I think about my friends. I left Seattle and haven’t been in touch since.
I don’t have a life right now. I don’t have anything.
“Oh, sweetie,” Mom soothes, pulling me in for a hug. “I wish I knew how to make all of this better. But I promise you, hiding isn’t helping anyone. The best way to move on is to continue forward. I know it hurts, and I know it’s the last thing that you want to do. Trust me...”
The guilt I was feeling earlier over what a shitty daughter I am surges through me again.