Better Off Dead by Eva Sloan Read Free Book Online

that looked up at her with his arms outstretched.  She gasped as her memory caught up with her eyes.  The familiar amber glass eyes, the cute little upturned snout, the small green heart in the middle of its chest.
    As Lucy scooped it out of the box, its soft, soft fur caressed her fingers.  “Mr. Gordo...” she whispered.
    “I forgot you even left him here, back...well, whenever it was.”
    Third grade.  I was eight.       
    “Found it in my cedar chest a couple weeks back…I thought you’d like to have it back.”
    Lucy didn’t realize she was crying until she felt her tears splash as they fell on her hands, and onto the green bear’s soft fur.     
    “Lucybean—” her grandmother tried to say more, but Lucy jumped up, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and then ran up the stairs, her vision a blur.  She bolted into her little room and pushed the door closed with all her weight.  She stood there as she swiped at her eyes and tried to catch her breath.
    But the mere sight of her bed—her grandmother had made it up fresh with faded yellow sheets and a good heavy blanket—made the tears flow harder, and her breath come in gulps and gasps.  The world pressed down on her again, threatening to grind her into dust.  She staggered toward the bed and then tentatively lay down, letting her beaten and bruised body slowly sink into the soft old mattress. 
    As she wept into Mr. Gordo’s soft green fur, she prayed that weight would crush her.  Please...take all this pain away. 
     
    ~*~
     
    It was almost a nice way to wake up...almost.  Gentle morning light spilled through the curtains on her window, amber and yellow that warmed the room.  Lucy’s eyes were sore as she opened them, her vision fuzzy as she blinked.  She had big time cotton mouth, and as she licked her parched lips she tasted her grandmother’s icing, just a hint.  But then she turned her head to look at her alarm clock.  Her head, her neck, her shoulder and arm, all ignited in a fiery chorus of pain.  Her good hand shot up to hold her head and she felt something soft and fluffy against her forehead.  She pulled her hand away and looked at Mr. Gordo.
    At least you’re here. ..
    Lucy set him down on her bed, and then pulled herself up until she was sitting with her legs dangling off the side.  She still had on her Dr Scholl’s.  When the throbbing in her arm and shoulder cooled, and the room stopped spinning, she took a deep breath.
    Something stinks!
    And suddenly she realized it was her. 
    The special sauce...
    Lucy groaned as she pushed off the bed with her good arm and stood, wobbly on her feet.  Her head started to spin again, and the rest of her body ached.   She trudged to her bedroom door, pulled it open and walked slowly down the hall, her hand braced against the hall wall every so many steps—her head was really threatening to fall right off her poor tortured neck.
    Then, just a few feet from the bathroom door, she felt the bottom of her stomach give out, and then heave.  Lucy ran through the open doorway and hit her knees in front of the toilet.  A gush of vomit leapt up out of her and made a sickening splash as Lucy’s hands gripped the cold porcelain of the toilet.
    Lucy hated throwing up.  Her mind always screamed for someone to help her, to call an ambulance, for she was always certain she was going to die.  But for the first time ever those thoughts didn’t even occur to her.
    I’m eighteen.  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and reached with her sore arm, and through the pain pressed down on the toilet’s handle and flushed.  I can handle throwing up all by myself.
    Lucy was tempted to just lie down on the cool linoleum and curl up in a little ball, maybe curl up around the bottom of the toilet, just in case she had to puke again.  But it was Sunday, and she wasn’t off on Sundays.  That meant she would have to go back to McDonalds, back to her disgrace.  The thought was