Hated Art Thou Amongst Women
Dad snores on the other side of the wall. Blue-green light leaks from under the connecting doorway. I wear earplugs, use a sock as a sleep mask. I drift off for a few minutes, then startle awake. I’m now standing, facing the window. Great, now I’m sleepwalking. I lie down over the covers.
Tomorrow’s Friday. The thought brings me no joy. Who cares? I can’t drive. Even if I had a bike, I can’t. If I get caught with drugs or booze, even wine, I’m finished. Forget s*x. I’d never sleep with any man who’d have me—not in my current state, anyway. I can’t even open the window without sounding an alarm. I have to sleep in my clothes and shoes, pepper spray tucked into my front pocket, because Mom might pay some fake rehab to kidnap me.
A bad idea blooms in my mind. T
