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She paused. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shrugged, but I couldn't say anything. I felt the knot forming, my knees buckling. My entire world was crumbling around me as the loneliness in the pit of my black soul ignited. The light blinded me behind my eyes. It hurt to feel the heat of that searing anguish. My hand came up to my chest and I gripped my shirt. Tugged at the collar because it was now too close to my throat.
“Oh, Raelynn. I’ve got you. Come here.”
I held my hand out. “No. No, no. No hugs. Please. I just—”
“Stop it. You have to let it out. You know better than that.”
The second I felt my mother’s arms around me, I collapsed. I threw my arms around her neck and my knees finally buckled. She gasped as she sank us to the floor, her arms holding me tight. And as I tucked my face into the crook of her neck, I sobbed. I cried like I did when I was a child. When I first skinned my knee, or when I first jammed my neck. When Allison first hurt my feelings, or when I got my first failing test in middle school.
“What’s wrong? Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s happening?”
My lower lip quivered. “I-I-I, Clint—he’s mov—mov—school just—”
She kissed the top of my head. “Deep breaths, Rae. Even breaths. You’re close to a panic attack.”
“My chest. It hurts.”
“I know.”
“I can’t—”
“Just do as I’m asking. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. And focus on keeping the rhythm even.”
I did as she asked. My chest kept jumping, but I kept at it. She murmured softly in my ear. She cradled me as if I were still a child. She rocked me side to side, groaning and grunting underneath my weight. She didn’t let me go, though. She didn’t push me away. She simply let me cry into her neck until my breathing finally stabilized.
Then the words poured from my lips like water from a backed-up fountain.
15
Clinton
California state assistance for teenagers.
Jobs that require only a high school degree.
Cheap motorcycles for sale.
Places for homeless students to sleep in Riverbend
Can I sell my dad’s stuff if he’s selling the only place I live in?
I slammed my finger against the ‘enter’ key and watched the search engine whirl away. I picked up my third cup of coffee and chugged it back, groaning at the taste of rosewater. Fucking hell, I loved this coffee place. I’d miss it when I left. And I was damn lucky they didn’t charge me for the usage of their computers.
Because my neck had grown stiff researching shit on my cell phone.
I typed in everything I could think of. Any search that might give me some sort of reprieve from the insanity coming down around me. Weeks. I had only weeks to figure out what my next moves were. Otherwise, I’d be homeless. I’d have to sleep on the streets. Possibly drop out of school. Make my way in this world scrubbing dishes for less than minimum wage in some food truck while I sweated my ass off.
“Come on, there has to be something.”
I clicked around and sent myself articles. I highlighted things I jotted down in the notebook I carried around with me now. More and more, my notebook filled with ways to live. Ways to eat. Places that might take me in versus poems and short stories and novel ideas that came to me at the drop of a hat. My notebook had gone from creative to proactive. Artistic to sadistic. I felt like it mocked me some times, laughing at me. Like my father probably was right now.
Satanic.
The devil. My father was Lucifer himself. How he could do this to his own flesh and blood, I’d never know. How my mother could leave me with a man like this, I’d never understand. I didn’t want to understand. I never wanted to be as cold-hearted and as desolate as the two of them were.
I just wanted to find a safe place to be myself.
