Page 25 of Her Wicked Plan

I walked out and never looked back. If they were to fire me, they wouldn’t give me a two-week notice, so why should I give them one?

Eventually, I worked at a fancy restaurant where it was challenging not to strangle the guests, but I forced myself to deal with them because the money was that good.

All the customers were fucking prissy and entitled. Reminded me of my family. I want to take each of their entitlement and shove it up their asses. It still blows my mind that the fancy restaurant was my longest job.

Reeling in my anger that I wanted to explode at the guest was difficult, to say the least. I managed, though, and made it two months before the lid finally popped off and was fired.

Did I mean for the plate to slip out of my hand and hit the disgusting man who groped me and then got angry with me because I called him out? I sure did.

And I don’t regret my decision.

I’m getting off track, though. Reading, as I was saying, I used to hate it until I got locked up here. It took a few tries, but then I didn’t seem to mind.

Reading became an escape for me—a way out of the thoughts whirling around in my head. It took me out of this obscene reality I’m forced to live in.

When I read, I get transported into the book, almost as if I were watching a movie in my head. It makes me wonder if I had given it a chance in school, would I be where I am today?

It’s stupid, but maybe if I had shown more interest in reading back then, I would have done better in school. I would have gotten an excellent job to please my parents and made something of myself—something other than the person I am today.

I'm not saying I hate who I am because I don’t. I’m genuinely okay with the person I’ve become. Everyone else doesn’t like who I am. That’s why they try to fix me.

My parents still hope that the right person will come along and return me to who I was meant to be. Jokes on them. No one in this world could fix me because I’m broken to the point of no return.

It’d take a fucking miracle and then some to get me back on the right track. Let them hope and pray all they want. That miracle will never happen.

Dr. Madden believes he can turn me around. Hidden behind the nervousness I witnessed today, hope flares in his eyes. It’s the same fucking look everyone other doctor has given me.

Except Dr. Davis, but we aren’t going to talk about her. I’m still pissed she left me, so, therefore, right now, she is dead to me.

Leo might think there is a way to bring me out of the darkness, and for a little while, I’ll let him believe that. I’ll pretend to get better for him.

It’s all a part of the plan.

I’ve been mulling around the steps in my head. What actions must I take for him to be on my side?

I’m sitting in the common room—in the chair I have deemed mine—with my journal sitting unopened. A fresh, unbroken pen is grasped between my fingers, and as soon as I am about to flip the cover, a person sits on the couch.

My personal space is essential to me. Even though whoever is on the couch is a couple of feet away from me, they are still too close.

Slowly, my eyes slide up and then shift to the person occupying the space.

Eliza Green.

“Hi, Ronnie!” Her smile makes me feel sick. Not because her teeth are awful because they are perfect, but because she is too damn happy all the time. Eliza has only been here for a few months, and the poor girl seems to gravitate towards me.

No words leave my mouth as I stare at the girl. Her skin looks as if it were made from rich chocolate. It is smooth to the point you’d think she was wearing makeup or had been photoshopped in real life.

Not a blemish on her dark skin. Not even a trace of freckles like I’m blessed with.

Eliza is extremely beautiful.

A beauty that you’d see and think how unfair it is that she gets to walk around looking the way she does while you look the way you do. Women, in general, are beautiful creatures, but Eliza? A Greek Goddess sculpted her.

Her eyes are interesting. One is dark brown, while the other is light green. Her curls aren’t as maintained as mine, and the ends sit right at the tops of her shoulders.

I wonder if she will ever ask for products to maintain all of her hair. They’d most likely give them to her right away. All she’d have to do is flash them her bright smile.

However, it took me months to convince Dr. Bennett to let me have any products for my curls.