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I stop walking and look back at Rachel. I hadn’t thought of that, but it would make sense, so I nod. “Yeah, live-in would be preferable.”
Rachel nods, smiling brightly, and I turn away, not wanting to even think about what’s in her head. Whatever it is, it can’t be good. Nothing ever is when one of the ol’ ladies gets an idea.
As long as she finds someone to help take care of Bride, that’s all I care about.
CHAPTER2
NOELLE
“Come on, Noelle, we’re gonna be late,” Noah says from my bedroom door.
I turn to him with a smile. “I’m coming. Just need to get my sweater.”
“I swear, Elle, you are going to drive me crazy with your constant need to change clothes.” He snorts, shaking his head. “It’s not like you need to do anything to impress someone.”
That’s what he thinks. Noah and I have always been close. He’s my big brother and I look up to him, but he knows nothing about the teenage mind and how it works. I like to look pretty, though lately I want to be seen. Not by everyone, just someone—Beckham. The boy next door and my brother’s best friend.
I grab my sweater and start pulling it on over my shoulders as I leave my bedroom, join my brother outside, and yell, “Ready.”
Noah grins and rolls his eyes as he looks in my direction. “Finally, now, come on.” He chuckles and starts heading for the sidewalk but before he makes it, the squeal of tires stops us and Noah jumps in the line of fire, covering me with his bigger body.
“Noah,” I scream, jerking awake, my body coated in sweat as I pant, catching my breath.
It wasn’t just a dream. It’s always a nightmare. The same one haunts me every day since it happened so many years ago. I never thought I’d be without my tough big brother, but here we are going through life without him. It’s not easy, and some days it’s even worse.
I glance over to my nightstand and check the time—five a.m.—great, no need even to try and go back to sleep. I need to continue my job hunt. Thanks to my parents and their needs, I’d lost my last job. We can’t survive without me working, otherwise we’d lose the house and have nowhere to go. At least that’s what my mom says when she’s not yelling at me and blaming me for Noah dying. She said if he hadn’t covered me with his body, he’d still be alive. Instead, here I am, guilt filling my very soul at breathing while he’s not.
My dad can’t stand the sight of me. He calls me every name in the book, and I’m nothing more than a burden to him. I could have easily left so many times over to escape his abuse and my mother’s blame, but I haven’t and won’t because I blame myself right along with them. If Noah hadn’t shielded me with his body, he’d be here.
That day, I lost everything I ever cherished and became stricken with such guilt, it eats at me every day. My parents, who have always been drug addicts, took to it even more, going from functioning junkies to downright junkies. They stopped working when Noah died. Granted, those jobs they held down were simple minimum-wage positions, but it was money to help. Now, they depend on me for everything . . . including their habits. I’ve had to give up money for food to pay their debts. I’ve gone hungry. I also lost all my friends. Including Beckham—he also blames me for my brother’s death.
After the funeral, I never saw him again. He left me to my guilt, and I don’t blame him.
I don’t blame any of them. I live with the remorse and know I will never be rid of it.
Needing to prepare for the day, I sneak down the hall and take a quick shower. My parents had a party last night, and I don’t know if anyone is still here, but I don’t want to take the chance of running into one of them. I’ve lost count of the times they’ve tried to hit on me or even attempted to get into my room at night. But I make sure to lock my door, though if they really wanted, they could easily pick the damn thing to open it.
I wash my hair with watered-down soap and conditioner and take the time to scrub my body down, as I do every day.
Shutting the water off, I climb out of the shower and dry off. I open the door, check to make sure no one’s out there, and make a dash for it to my room. I lock the door behind me and pull out my nicer pieces. I’ve put in several applications already, and I’m going to go in search again today. But I really hope I can get the nanny job I put in for. It would be perfect. I do have a certificate in CPR and First Aid, and in high school, I did take a vocational course in childcare. This job would be perfect, and it’s not like I don’t have experience. My last job was at a daycare facility, and my boss said she’d give me a recommendation if I found something that would suit my needs and my parents.
Once I’m dressed, I brush my hair out and braid the long dark brown waves down my back. I would blow dry it, but the dryer broke a while ago, and I can’t afford to get a new one. Pretty much, I guess you can say I’m all but homeless because of my parents.
I need a way out, I know I do, I just don’t know how or if I can honestly leave.
* * *
I wait until the sun is up and leave the house quietly. I drive over to the gas station and buy a newspaper. Hopefully, I’ll find something, or someone will call from the applications I put in already.
However, with my luck, it will be a crapshoot.
Getting in behind the wheel of my car, I start flipping through the paper, reading through it as I get to the classifieds. I notice a few new jobs listed and circle them. I check the time and figure I can go to the store to get a few minuscule items we need at the house, like bread.
I barely get parked in front of the store when my phone rings. I glance at the screen and pray it’s not one of my parents. My heart rate picks up seeing the blocked number, and I’m tempted not to answer, but it could be someone for one of the jobs. Nervously, I swipe my finger along the screen and answer, “Hello?”
“Is this Noelle Colon?” a woman asks.
“Yes,” I respond, straightening in my seat. “This is Noelle Colon.”
