2) the blue sedan slowly creeping up the street was following me.
Not waiting to see if I was paranoid, self-preservation kicked in, and I quickly cut through the yard on my immediate left.
There wasn’t another soul in sight; not even a dog was barking. Another con about living in a small town. When something bad happened, it was either covered up or swept under the rug.
If I went missing, that would be it. Though, my mother would more than likely burn the whole town to the ground to find me. Not for the sake of having her daughter back, but to save her reputation.
I could picture her smug face if I got hurt and made it back on my own. “I told you it wasn’t safe for you to leave this house.”Those were her exact words when we argued about me returning to my job.
Breaking into a light jog, my white Converse moved silently over damp grass. Glancing over my shoulder every few minutes, I didn’t stop jogging until I could no longer see or hear the car.
Just as I relaxed, a pair of headlights turned down the street. Within one second, I recognized the car.
What the hell do they want?
Refusing to stick around and find out, I took off again.
Panic had me zigzagging through different yards, taking every narrow shortcut I knew, tripping over my own two feet a million fucking times.
All the houses I passed by were dark; my breathing was so loud I wondered how anyone could sleep through it. When I finally stumbled into my mother’s split-level and locked the door, my chest was heaving, and my hands were shaking.
I leaned over and peered through the front curtain, just in time to see the car slowly cruise past our house.
Chapter Four
Iwas sitting at my vanity when my mother finally showed herself. She walked into my room like a queen gracing me with her presence. It was almost two in the morning. I’d thought she was sleeping; based on her appearance, that wasn’t the case.
I had no idea where she spent all her time.
She’d been leaving me alone for hours upon hours since I was a little girl. My father traveled a lot, so he wasn’t aware she locked me in a closet - or sometimes the basement - when she had places to be.
That obviously wasn’t feasible anymore, but there were still days where we didn’t see or speak to one another.
Without my permission, she waltzed up and began running her talon-like fingers through my dark hair. I watched her brown eyes scan over every inch of me. I sat studying her just the same. Did she know I’d already killed her in my head fifteen different ways?
My favorite was with her flat iron. I’d lodge it in her throat and burn her from the inside out. The smell of her burning flesh would give me so much joy. Then she would know how bad the ceramic plates hurt when she used to press them into my skin.
Of course, I would never actually hurt her. I was a good girl; it was my mind that was rotten.
Her floral scented perfume was making my stomach turn. She had to have used half the bottle to smell so strongly. And her crows’ feet were getting worse; I could see where she tried to cover them with some makeup.
I didn’t know how old she was, but neither Annie, my older sister, or I looked anything like her. Glenda had dark, natural red hair, and was pencil thin. Annie was a dirty blonde with brown eyes and an athletic build. And I was dark haired with electric blue eyes. None of us fit the description of the other; we each had drastically different personalities.
“So, did anything exciting happen today?”
“What do you mean byexciting?” I kept my tone light, but her question put me on guard. She never asked me anything about my day, and I knew she couldn’t care less.
Did she set me up? It wouldn’t surprise me. My mother did whatever she had to to coerce me into staying home. It was that simple fact that made me decide not to tell her about the car.
“This is Redwood. We both know nothing exciting happened.” I stated dryly.
She froze with her fingers still in my hair.
“Your mouth has been getting worse and worse lately,” she reprimanded me in her usual sharp tone. “That isn’t how you speak to your mother. After everything I’ve given up to raise you, I deserve your utmost respect.”
It didn’t work like it once had, and her traditional adage had long ago begun to irritate me. She complained about having to raise her children, but wasn’t that generally what a mother did?
She believed she had the right to control me, even now I was an adult. I was expected to honor her, and pay homage, just because I was her daughter. She wanted me to be her idea of perfect. Ignore the fact that there was a whole world out there; I never got to explore, never spoke up for myself, and did exactly as I was told.
