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That's supposed to be my life.
The plan makes my stomach churn. But the thought of throwing away the plan and walking into a huge question mark—that's just as bad. Worse even.
Dad is right. It's always best to have a lawyer, just in case. And there's no reason for me to believe that our week is going to end in anything but divorce. This makes sense. "Okay. I have to check, but I think our appointment is at eleven."
"It will be okay, sweetie. This will be over soon. You'll get back to your life."
Right.
I'll be home soon.
I'll be able to get back on the good school, good job, good future track.
"I'm going to set this up, then I'm going to call you back tomorrow," he says. "I love you, sweetie."
"I love you too." I end the call.
I should feel relieved, but I don't.
I feel empty.
Lonely.
Like I have no idea where home is anymore.
Like I'm never going to fit into the prodigal good girl box.
Like I'm never going to be good enough.
After twenty minutes of sinking into the carpet, I force myself to get up, brush my teeth, wash my face, put on a pot of tea.
Joel is still asleep on the couch.
I want to be in his arms. I want his comfort wiping everything else away. Dad's voice is still echoing in my ears. You're not good enough, Bella. You made another mistake. You failed again. You'll never been good enough.
I'm on my second cup of tea when Joel stirs. He throws off his blanket, nods good morning, and moves into the bathroom.
I don't want to mold myself into the shape that pleases everyone else anymore.
But what fucking shape pleases me?
What the hell do I want out of my life?
I don't know.
But there's one thing I'm sure I want.
And the second Joel is in the living room with me, I'm going to have it.
15
Bella
Joel steps out of the bathroom and stretches his arms over his head. He's wearing nothing but boxers and damn does his pose give me a nice view of his sculpted torso.
He looks like a magazine cover model.
He is a magazine cover model.
