had gone to my room and made my own ring out of paper and had worn it until it tore and had to be thrown away. My sad, pathetic paper ring. It hadn’t been silver. It hadn’t been engraved with intricate symbols.
It had been a fake. Easily torn and lost. Worthless.
Turning. Twisting. Rosie’s fingers were never still. I could tell that she was agitated, though I wasn’t sure why. She was doing what she loved. Tearing me down.
“Get out,” Rosie barked when I didn’t say anything else.
I stared at the woman beside me and wished there was just a part of her that cared about me. Because there had been a time that I had truly cared about her.
She had been my sister for a short while, and even though she loathed me, I had embraced her as part of my family.
Until I ran out of love to give. Until things changed so that two girls who could have been friends became the worst kind of enemies.
“Your last name isn’t Gilbert,” I pointed out, nodding my head towards the ID badge hanging from the mirror.
Rosie’s face flushed red and she snatched the lanyard and hid it in her lap. It seemed that I wasn’t the only one who felt the need to keep things a secret.
“Get out of my fucking car, Nora.” There was a clear threat in her voice. A threat I had heard a hundred times before.
And it still had the power to terrify me.
I scrambled out of the car and hurried into my doctor’s office. Away from the woman who wanted things that would never be hers.
I hated her.
She hated me.
We were more alike than either of us cared to admit.
Day 3
The Present
I wandered lonely as a cloud
My shock had worn off.
I was now officially angry.
And very, very freaked out.
I peeled off my shirt and stood in the middle of the room in just my bra and jeans. I ate my potato chips, one at a time, and drank the water sparingly.
I wished I could pour it over my sticky, dirty skin, but I couldn’t waste it. I didn’t know if I’d be given anymore.
I had just relieved myself in the corner and had to hold my breath so I wouldn’t gag on the stench that was starting to overtake the room.
I had woken up to the song. That dreadful, horrid song. But this time I didn’t scream. I let the person sing. I let them tell their painfully familiar story. And when it was over and the person tormenting me had retreated, I began to plan.
I had to get out of there.
I tried to think back to those last few moments. I needed to remember something, anything that would give me the clues I needed.
But my memory was patchy. There were holes that hadn’t been there before. Pieces of recollection that seemed disjointed and not connected to anything real.
Walking down a dark street. Wind on my face, blowing my hair back. And I didn’t care. I tipped my face to the sky and felt like howling. But not in fear. In something that felt a lot like happiness.
My heart slammed in my chest. In fear. In excitement. Trepidation that was delicious and new.
I couldn’t wait . . .
I ran my hands through my stringy hair and gave it a tug at the scalp. “Think, Nora!” I growled. My stomach rumbled, and the hunger gnawed at my insides, making me dizzy.
I held my hands out in front of me and walked slowly across the room until my palms came into contact with the hard, uneven wood. It was daytime. Sun streamed through the window, allowing just enough light to deepen the shadows. My blurred vision was incapable of giving me anything clear.
I stood in front of the window, trying desperately to see outside. I could make out fuzzy images that could be either trees or buildings. Tentatively I knocked on the glass. Then waited. I strained to hear but heard nothing.
Again I knocked on the glass, louder this time. I stopped and waited. Would someone hear me? Was there anyone out there?
I listened.
Nothing.
Only endless, patient silence.
I hit the glass with the heel of my hand. Hard and loud. I smacked it with all my might. Then I began to pound with my
Learning to Kill: Stories