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Peyton
My mom was dead.
Seven days, eight hours, and twenty-five minutes, give or take.
I didn’t want to count the time. It seemed so pathetic to mourn the loss of a woman who never wanted me around. A woman who loved her next high more than she ever loved me. A woman who, in the end, had given me a parting gift I would never forget.
A gift that wasn’t a gift at all but more like a curse.
So yes, mourning Kate Myers was as undeserved as it was pathetic.
Yet, I couldn’t stop.
Seven days, eight hours, and twenty-six—
“Peyton?” My best friend Lily touched my arm, startling me.
“Yes?” I blinked over at her.
“I asked if you wanted any more pizza?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“You barely ate your slice.” Concern laced her words.
“Not hungry.” I didn’t meet her eyes, I couldn’t.
Lily was my best friend in the whole world. The girl who knew me better than anyone. She knew my flaws and insecurities, my hopes and dreams. But she didn’t know.
How could she?
Lily had a family who supported her. She had two amazing parents who were there no matter what. I mean, they’d taken me in more than once when my mom couldn’t put food on the table or keep her shady associates out of the house.
“Go on now, you little brat. Stay in your room and don’t come out until I say.”
“But, Mama,” I sniffled, my stomach cramping with hunger. I’d only had a bruised banana for breakfast and if she made me go into my room now, who knew how long I’d have to stay there for. Sometimes, she forgot about me for hours. “I don’t like it when you—”
“I said go,” she snapped. “And you don’t come out until I say.” She shooed me away with her bony, stained fingers, ignoring the tears rolling down my cheeks. Sometimes, when she was like this, I hated her. God, I hated her so much.
I shook the thoughts away. I wasn’t a small helpless kid anymore. I hadn’t been for a while. Still, I would never forget my childhood.
I’d lived with the Fords over the summer and the start of senior year before Mom got clean, again. Then I went home to be with her.
What a fucking mistake that was.
A shudder ran through me as I stared out of Lily’s bedroom window. She had one of those window seats overlooking her family’s huge yard. There was something peaceful about sitting there, watching the trees sway gently in the frigid Pennsylvanian wind.
“I’m worried about you,” she said.
“You don’t need to be. I’m fine.”
I internally cringed at the words.
“You know, nobody’s expecting you to return to school tomorrow. It’s still—”
“Lily,” I snapped, finally looking over at her. “I said I’m fine.”
“Sorry.” She perched on the end of her bed. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”
