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convinces me to go on home,
do whatever is necessary
to keep my mom and Scott off
my back. Apologize like I’m
really, truly sorry. And, in
several ways, I really am. But
there’s no turning back now.
I Tiptoe Through the Door
Hoping the house is still
silent, and it is. Down
the hall, into my room,
where I quietly seek
out a new stash place,
then lie down on my bed.
The pink silk quilt is almost
too soft. Part of me—a small
part, growing smaller by
the minute—demands penance.
That small part, the Kristina
part, keeps whispering
what a fool the other,
Bree part, is. “Not only
were you stupid to sneak
back to the monster,” she
mumbles, “but ten to one
you’re going to get caught.
Mom and Scott will know.”
The Bree part just stares
contentedly at the ceiling,
really comfortable for the
