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Mom and Dad say their goodbyes after a few hours. Mom kisses me on the cheeks and forehead too many times before Dad finally ushers her out. They promise to be back to pick me up first thing in the morning. After they’ve left, I sigh and put the mechanical bed down flat again and start counting the tiles–trying to will myself to sleep so the morning, and freedom, will come sooner.
Chapter two
Aubrey
“I’mgoingforawalk, Dad,” I call out as I slip on my sandals in the hallway.
My attempt to get out the door before he can stop me fails when I hear his stern voice booming from down the hall.
“Aubrey, come in here. Now.”
I return my book bag I had just picked up to the floor and head toward his study.
Dad’s sitting behind his big oak desk that’s covered in papers and books. Half of the books are copies of the Bible or other church printed material. He doesn’t look up at me, his eyes still trained on whatever document he’s reading.
Dad is in his late fifties, old for a parent of a nineteen-year-old girl. He’s nearly ten years older than my mom, who turned fifty this year. They tell me routinely that I am their gift from God. That they were both living sinful lives when they were younger, and that’s why God didn’t let them get pregnant with me until they were older and more righteous.
Science and the fact that they lived much healthier lives all around as they aged would say otherwise, but I don’t dare tell them that. The same way I don’t tell them I spend every free minute I have reading the books I have hidden in my room so I can learn about the real world. I don’t tell them about this because reading books that aren’t printed by the church is forbidden. None of the books I have hidden between my mattress and box spring come close to being something the church would approve of.
“Dad?” I finally say when I’ve been standing there bordering on five minutes.
“Did you finish your chores?” he asks.
He looks at me now, his bright green eyes a reflection of my own.
“Yes,” I tell him.
“What about your morning Bible study?”
“Yes, Dad. I read fifteen pages,” I say, hoping that telling him I read more than the required ten will get him to stop questioning me.
You’d think fifteen pages isn’t much, but from what I’ve come to learn, my Bible isn’t like the ones you’d find in your average church. No, the Bibles in our house are printed by our church specifically. They’re books the length of my forearm with a miniscule font size to accommodate all the bullshit lies they needed to fit in.
My white lie works. He nods his head and waves a hand, dismissing me. Not wasting any time, I close his study door behind me and race to grab my bag before heading out the front door.
I walk quickly to get off our property and out of view of the windows should he decide to peek through the curtains. So that I don’t raise suspicion, I take a path toward the woods that surround our property where I can cut through to town without him noticing. Going into town isn’t exactly off limits, but I’d rather lie about going there altogether than lie about where exactly I’m planning to go. I’m headed straight for the college library.
Since Easton is a tiny town, the library on campus also serves as the town's public library. I discovered a few years ago I could get a library card without my parents’ permission and have been checking out the maximum number of books allowed nearly every week. When I first came to the library, I took a stack of twenty books up to the checkout counter and was only mildly embarrassed when I learned there was actually a limit on how many I could borrow at one time.
I’ve only got about two hours before I need to be back home. If I’m gone much longer, my excuse of a walk may not hold up. It takes me about twenty-five minutes to run to the college campus two miles away. I started running almost every day when I was fifteen. It was an excuse to get out of the house and my parents accepted my reasoning that I was honoring God by taking care of the gift of the body he’d given me. What a load of crap. I’m still impressed with myself for coming up with that one. Although, fifteen-year-old me plausibly still believed it to some degree.
I can usually run two miles in about eighteen minutes when I’m not weighed down by the books in my bag. I get to the library and catch my breath outside for a minute before heading in and making a beeline for the textbook section. Sadly, the textbooks can’t be checked out, but I’ve gotten lucky a few times and found a few used ones that have been discounted to only a few dollars. Even if it’s not the most up-to-date edition, I still soak the information up like a dehydrated plant. That’s what I feel like sometimes, a plant that hasn’t been watered in far too long and is barely clinging to life. Now, though, I’ve had a taste of water and I pull in as much of it in the form of books on math, science and history, as often as I can.
I pull one out of the shelves that’s thick with a hard green cover. It readsFundamentals of Life Scienceacross the cover. I find a corner to sit and hide in while I read and set a timer on my phone for twenty minutes.
When my phone buzzes next to me, I could swear only seconds have gone by. I close the book I’m reading and move to go put it back when I spot him. He’s standing with the pretty blonde that works here at the library with him. He’s flirting with her like he usually does–giving her that big goofy grin that makes my stomach flutter.
I’ve learned from the few romance books I’ve read–that queasy feeling is often referred to as butterflies and is supposed to be a good thing. It’s supposed to mean I like this guy–that I havefeelingsfor him. He’s not the first person I’ve ever had a crush on. When I went to a family church camp when I was twelve, I got this same flutter in my stomach over a boy named Tommy. He lived in another state though and I haven’t seen him since that summer I was twelve. I also know that those butterflies are different from the butterflies I get now at nineteen.
I put the book away and hurry over to the section of books I can actually check out and take home. I’m working my way through the classics section. The Great Gatsby and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest are both finally back in stock and I grab them both. The recent rush of emotions from seeing the cute library boy makes me wander absentmindedly over to the romance section. I grab a book at random from the nearest shelf, my eyes bulging when I see the cover. It’s a man and woman in a tight embrace. The man is shirtless, and the woman is only wearing a lace bra. Not something I would normally choose, but I stick it in my stack under Cuckoo’s Nest and head to the counter.
I sigh with relief when the blonde girl is the one at the counter and the cute boy is nowhere to be seen.
“Hi!” she says, greeting me with a smile.
I set my new books on the counter and dig out the ones I need to return from my bag.
“I need to return these, and check out this stack, please,” I say, avoiding eye contact with her.
