four Leni Age ThirteenI hate them. I hate them. I hate them.
I glare toward the kitchen where my parents are talking. I don’t even attempt to hear what they’re saying. It doesn’t matter. I haven’t uttered a word to them in two weeks. I hope to never speak to them again. I’ll never forgive them.
Thinking about it now still makes me sick. I wipe an errant tear that insisted on falling.
I won’t cry.
I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I’ll never let them know how deeply they’ve shattered my heart. They can’t think they’ve won because they haven’t. I’ll never stop fighting until I’m out of here. I’m going to go to some fancy art school, and I’m going to be the best artist the world has ever seen.
I’ll show them.
Thank God I get to go to Mimi’s tomorrow. I suppose they c
