Turning the precious possession around in my fingers, I read the inscription on the inside.Stay true to you.My tears run down my cheeks now because I’m as far from being true as can be. He’d be so disappointed in me.
Grabbing my phone from my back pocket, my finger hovers over his contact like I’ve done a thousand times. And just like every time before, I chicken out.
What if he’s moved on?
I hope he has, but I know I’m not strong enough to confirm that.
Returning the ring to the shelf, I quickly wipe away the tears and attempt to pull myself together. Tears are not something I want to bother explaining to Grandma Julia.
Opening my laptop, I click through some emails and check the discussion boards for my classes. It doesn’t take me long to complete the bit of work I missed from the day; I was already caught up and a bit ahead with my writing assignments in mypsychology and education classes. Just needed a few finishing touches on my school counselor case essay.
Despite what others may think, I’m not an idiot. Schoolwork has always been easy for me. However, I no longer look forward to the future. My chance, I thought, to truly make a difference and be that safe space I never had growing up.
Until that one stupid fucking day, and thenboom, no more future. Or at least not the future I pictured for myself. It’s almost like the independence I had fought so hard for was erased from my life; and then left dangling like a carrot just out of reach.
The door to my room opens, and Grandma Julia enters. She eyes my open math book and then my foot propped up on the corner of my bed. My boot is currently off because the joint has started throbbing and is making my concentration wane.
She sets a plate with a ham and cheese sandwich and carrot sticks on top of my schoolwork before rushing back out of my room. I stare at the open door, mouth agape. I’m not fully sure if I was planning on saying something or if it fell open in confusion. But she returns a minute later, and I click my teeth together as I raise a single brow.
Without a word, she places a thin kitchen towel over my ankle and then gently settles a bag of frozen peas over it.
“I’ve ordered an orthopedic ice pack, but it won’t come until tomorrow.”
I start to ask her how much that’s going to set me back, but that’s not what comes out. “Thank you,” I mumble instead.
She dips her chin and leaves me with my lunch.
I manage to stall another hour, pretending to work, before I know she’ll start asking questions. I was done when she dropped off lunch, but she didn’t need to know that. Now it’s time to face the music. To accept my punishment in the form of a Bible study.
It really shouldn’t sound as bad as it does to me. She never raises her voice or a hand to me. It’s simply reading from a book. As if she hopes by reading it enough I’ll correct my wicked ways.
What stings the most is that when she is lecturing me, there’s no love there. All I want is to be wanted. Yet I can’t even be loved by those who are supposed to love me. Instead, she thinks she knows me because I made one bad choice. That and the fact that I am sexually aroused by men.
My way is different than hers and therefore unacceptable.
It’s not much different from how my own mother treated me. If she was even sober enough to know she had a son, she spent her days wondering why I was still mooching off her or had eaten all of the food. It was thanks to the internet that I even learned how to do my own laundry or cook. It’s why I filed for emancipation at sixteen.
With a heavy sigh, and my boot back in place, I limp down the hallway. I quickly wash up my dishes and put them away. After throwing away the bag of thawed frozen peas, I stand in the doorway to the front living room, watching Grandma Julia rock and knit. She looks almost like a kindly old bitty sitting there. Her glasses have slid to the tip of her nose and her silver hair has started to fall out of the clip holding it in a bun.
“All done?” she asks, not looking up from her work.
“Yes, ma’am.” I hate the meekness I can hear in my voice.
She stretches out her most recent row of work and verifies none of the stitches are gonna fall off her needles as she places it delicately in the basket by her chair. Pushing up with a slight groan, I follow my tiny little warden into the dining room. There are already several workbooks stacked up along with two empty mugs and a plate of her famous shortbread cookies. The sight both excites and sickens me.
What if she really is only trying to help?
I inwardly scoff at my own brain trying to play devil’s advocate. Right now, I don’t want to be rational.
I take my usual seat at the back of the table, leaving my leg stretched out to ease some of the pressure on my injury. She flits off to the kitchen, knowing she’s got me where she wants me and I am too weak to fight it. My slumped shoulders portray my defeat like a beacon to anyone paying enough attention.
I could run away. I’ve thought about it on numerous occasions. But at what cost? Constantly looking over my shoulders and never truly being free. Sounds even worse than what I have going on now.
Perhaps Sawyer would take me in.I shuffle uncomfortably in my chair at the thought of seeing him again. Part of me is certain he’d take me in, even if he had moved on. But the louder part of me can’t put him through that.
Grandma Julia pops back in front of me, pouring mint tea into my mug before my thoughts have enough time to formulate a plan.
She slides the cookie plate closer to me in encouragement, and I willingly take one before she gets down to brass tax. “I ordered this study I would like for us to do together,” she says, taking up the chair opposite me. “Each day you will have to read and prepare for us to discuss over dinner. I will do the same.”
