CHAPTER EIGHT
It’s Thursday evening. There are only two more nights before I meet up with Mac, and I’ve found myself pacing the floors of my apartment like a caged animal. The carpet directly in front of my beautiful new wraparound is wearing thin already; I hope it survives. I didn’t shower this morning and haven’t washed my hair in a few days. I know I’m a sight, but couldn’t care less, really. No one comes here, and I have no intention of going out. I’m locked in for the long haul.
There was a full week that my mom locked herself in her room once; I was thirteen. I remember it like yesterday. She’d had a downward emotional spiral after losing business to a neighboring bakery. After my dad had delivered her food and drinks to the room for seven whole days, I decided that enough was eno
