Sam Reigel Is BANNED From Dallas.

Sam Reigel is BANNED from Dallas.

breaking bad, fight club, rick and morty, clockwork orange, and the catcher in the rye are all arguably good things - but if a man says they are his FAVORITE book/movie/tv show? RUN.

Watching Our Friendship Dissolve From The Cheap Seats

It’s easy to brush off your face

as an uncanny valley;

deep crevasses ripple down your forehead

like I’ve seen before,

a thousand times in the mirror.

.

Yes, it would be simple

to write a story

between those creased lines—

using lies to define the truth,

and turn a character into you—

but what a writer doesn’t know

could fill a book.

.

Or at least the rocky canyon space

I keep shoveling between us.

(I’ve worked so hard

to make reaching me

a pit you must climb out of,

though I can think of no reason

to attempt crossing.)

If this is what digging two graves is like,

why am I filling both?

.

I thought

I played you well;

I thought

this was winning.

.

“You must be unreliably reliant

If you are to get the upper hand.

Defiance and obedience

are both so easy to turn,

but one who deals

a mixed game

is almost certainly

a match

for their opponent.”

.

You say,

“Is that what you think?

This is a game?”

.

I reply,

“It always has been.”

.

And I watch as

your worn-out shoes

match your expression

and thump away,

feeling each concrete step

as a blow

hitting

my

stomach.

.

I haven’t lost a game;

I’ve lost my friend.

.

Regret will come later,

ready to greet me

like a lingering lover

striving to win

me back.

.

I hope

I can make this regret feel regret,

but at this point,

when will I settle for someone

who loves me?

.

And regret

knows me so well.

~King Best

I went to my first Adventure League today and ended up unconscious during a fight with 10 players - but I got some new dice and a figurine of my character so it was worth it!

As a former saxophonist, I must concur...bravo

*Novel Excerpt*: “Beware the Stars”: Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Burning of the Bras

“Baby, I’m a fire; I can’t be touched because I’m already burning.”

 HELENA

The first snow in Coal Creek was unanimously the most magical. Coal Creek was a quiet town, generally, and especially at night, with only a few cars making their way through the snow at dusk. It was two days from Christmas and everywhere the town glowed softly with multicolored angel lights and inflatable snowmen.

Her eyes closed, Helena Jane McCoy stood perfectly still between the pine trees at Geoffrey’s Park just listening to the quiet: the hush and silence of the gentle snowflakes caressing the ground; the occasional batting of her eyelashes; her long ginger hair, flowing freely from out her maroon cap in a mixture of orange and white…it was nice. Calming.

No incorrigible mother to deal with.

No stupid sisters to look after.

No father to…

Well, no father.

Thanksgiving wasn’t the same without him—even if he wasn’t missed. Mrs. McCoy, or Ms. McCoy now, had locked herself in her room to work all Thanksgiving break. And try as she might to distance her personality from her mother’s, Helena had been having the same reaction. Since her sisters were gone often for visitation, she’d been spending most of her time these days writing her story or staring up at the ceiling dully. Aunt Carol ended up coming over and cooking dinner for her every other night.

But right now, here at Geoffrey’s Park, Helena didn’t have to worry about any of that ridiculousness. No laughter, no crying, no screaming, no wind, no noise—nothing. She was in a sensual space void of sound and feeling. Snowflakes floated down beautifully in an endless purity rain. Helena breathed in and out, opening her eyes to watch the breath escape from her lips. It was quaint.

It’d been a few weeks since she’d last talked to or seen any members of the Jay Team. Cal had been coming around and knocking at her door, but Helena’d had Sara answer it and tell him she wasn’t home. And it wasn’t just him: everyone who tried to talk to her, including Gaia, was pushed to a distance for the moment. She didn’t even care if J.T. was taking over as leader in her absence; they’d all probably be better off with him than her. Though she’d been the one to create and lead the Jay Team for so many years, Helena had long ago learned that people would steal whatever they could. There was no good left in the world, just in fiction. And love obviously didn’t exist—couldn’t exist, really.

After all, what was love but a manic delusion?

Helena sank to the pine needles on the ground and sat with her legs crossed gracefully. Even if she wanted to cry at this very moment, she couldn’t. It felt like there was nothing left inside of her. How strange to be so young yet so devoid of youth.

For a while, Helena just sat where the dark grey sky met the earth, thinking absolutely nothing. No one came, no one went. It was bliss. Eventually, she was able to will herself to leave. She was grateful for the control. Sighing, Helena proceeded to sift her way through the snow back into the neighborhood.

Maybe she would go visit Cal finally. She could really tolerate his face right now.

#

CALVIN

Meanwhile, thirty minutes prior, Calvin Hunter sat snug under toasty camouflage bed sheets in his room, alone, rereading The Andalite Chronicles to try and get his mind off Helena. She’d been avoiding him since Thanksgiving, offering no explanation as to what he did that would make her want to stop talking to him. Every time he knocked on her door, Sara would tell him she was at a Hapkido tournament or doing homework or at Gaia’s. It was so rehearsed that even Calvin could see through the ruse. But despite everything and the hurt that came along with it, Calvin just kept reminding himself that she must have her reasons and maybe it wasn’t about him.

As he flipped the page, Martha entered his room with two steaming mugs in her hands. Treading carefully over the constant state of disaster that was Calvin’s floor, Martha sat down on the side of his bed, taking a long slurp from one of the mugs while simultaneously offering her brother the other.

“Cocoa?” she asked, wiping a pale mustache away with her bare arm.

Calvin accepted gratefully. “Thanks.” Licking his lips, he put down his book and tipped the mug towards his mouth cautiously to avoid actively burning his tongue. Thankfully, it turned out to be the perfect temperature. “Is this Dad’s cocoa?”

Martha leaned backwards towards the window where snow had been piling at the bottom of the glass. “Yeah. Lemongrass-lavender white chocolate.”

“Dad always made the best cocoa.”

“I know.”

There was a slight pause. Martha closed her eyes delicately, as if trying to regain something lost within herself. With his free hand, Calvin sat up straight and adjusted the pillow behind his back. He pushed another across the covers and onto Martha’s stomach.

“Thanks, Cal,” she whispered without opening her eyes.

Calvin breathed slowly. “I miss dad.”

To this, Martha reopened her eyes and turned on her side to face her brother. Normally his sister was a very lively person, but right now she looked like a deflated balloon: her arms and face were drooping and she didn’t look remotely as pretty as she normally did, what with her long brown bangs and smoky grey eyes—just like their mothers. But here it seemed as if her spirit was out of breath.

Martha clicked her fingers once on his camouflage covers. “You know…it’s been three years since Dad died and Mom never talks about him at all. I mean, sometimes I feel…I feel like maybe he never existed in the first place and was just a character I made up in my head as a child—which, I know, is really stupid, but that sorta aligns in my head with something Dad used to tell Ariel and I when we were growing up.”

“What?” Calvin questioned earnestly.

“He always said…um…give me a second…” Martha took a moment to remember. “Oh, right. Dad always said—and I hope I’m not butchering this—he said, ‘It’s better to be a person than a character, for people are smaller in what they do yet so much bigger on the inside.’ ” Martha waited for Calvin to respond. When he didn’t, unsure of what to say, she continued, “It always gets me thinking: maybe he is a character now. Because he doesn’t have an inside or an outside. He’s dead. I can remember him, but there’s nothing more I can learn from him that doesn’t seem, I dunno, fictional. Even those boxes of letters he left us…” She choked for a second, but wasn’t crying at all. “I just can’t grasp that anyone really wrote those…especially not dad. He’s gone. There’s nothing left. But everybody wants him to stay dead—and that’s why I can’t reawaken him. It’s indescribably horrific.”

“Dad was really wise,” Calvin stated in his smallest inflection. “Dad loved us.”

“Yeah,” Martha agreed. “Yeah he did. I’m so sorry that you were the one to—”

With a sudden panic, Calvin jerked his head ‘no’ and cut her off. Martha’s face fell even more.

“Right,” she said. “Sorry. Never mind.”

There was another brief pause. Calvin took this moment to sip a bit more of the cocoa.

“What’re you reading?” Martha asked.

“It’s an Animorphs book,” he replied, holding up the cover to her.

“Should have guessed. Hey, mom’s asleep. Want to come build a fire with me and Kassi?”

“That’d be fun. But we don’t have any wood.”

“Oh, we’re not going to be using any wood.” Martha chortled mischievously. She seemed to be trying to hold in whatever it was making her laugh—which of course made her laugh even harder. Martha brought the mug of cocoa to her lips to stifle it.

Calvin sipped his again to match. “What’s so funny?” he inquired seconds later, semi-suspicious of his older sister’s intentions.

“So, you know how Steve is shit-terrible at hiding gifts?”

“Martha…”

“Alright, alright. Very terrible at hiding gifts?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I found his hiding spot this year. In the back of the pantry, where the liquor is. Like we don’t already know where he hides it.”

“And?”

“And I found out what he got me this year. There was a post-it note: ‘For Martha – DON’T FORGET.’ You know what it is?”

“What?”

“It’s a fancy bra from Victoria’s Secret.”

“A bra? Gross!”

Martha laughed. “Ah, you won’t be saying that in a few years. Anyway, Kassi and I are gonna gather up all our bras and burn them in the backyard.”

“You’re going to burn them?”

“Burn them, scorch them, set them aflame!”

“Wait, why does Kassi want to burn her bras?”

“Who knows? I didn’t ask. Regardless, it’s gonna be a big ‘fuck you’ to Steve.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry, not sorry. So, are you in?”

“I dunno, Martha…”

“Oh, come on Cal, now really! Aren’t you the one who, like, loves burning shit—”

“Martha!”

“—burning stuff?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then no more questioning it.” Martha yanked him and stepped off the bed. “Off we go—ow!” There was a small crunch. Martha reached down and pulled the shards of one of his toy helicopters off her bare foot. “Really, Calvin?!”

“Sorry.”

“Seriously, little brother, you have got to keep your room clean. It’s appalling!”

Shrugging meekly was all Calvin could muster as a response before he found himself literally whisked away in another one of Martha’s rebellious escapades, leaving the half-empty mugs of their Dad’s cocoa behind. Usually he might have protested, but his subconscious was just grateful there weren’t any thoughts of Helena clouding him at the moment. Calvin layered on his puffy coat, snow pants, and combat boots, ready to step out the door when Martha took a slight detour after she’d finished getting dressed as well. His sister walked over to the window and pulled back the curtains.

“Dear God, is he still out there?” she said, peering hard through the snowfall.

“Who?” Calvin asked, moving right beside her.

“That kid living at the Alderman house. I don’t think he’s been inside for at least six hours.” Martha pointed at the blurred figure across the street. It was Brendan, shivering in an overlarge sweater and jeans as he shoveled the driveway. “Huh.”

“Can’t we invite him over?”

“I…don’t think that’s a good idea, little brother.” Before Calvin could ask why, Martha looped her arm with his and changed targets. “Alright, let me get my bras—and then to the backyard!”

#

HELENA

Helena was trudging up the sidewalk when she saw Cal’s face fogging up his front window. She was about to go knock on the door but stopped when she noticed there was someone standing right next to him.

Ugh. Martha. Any motivation to stop by and grace Cal with her presence was instantly shattered. Reactively, Helena darted behind a pine tree in J.T.’s front yard, hoping the flurry would mask her movements and they wouldn’t spot her. (Like a spy or a superhero.) There was a low rumbling sound and Helena watched as the garage to J.T.’s house suddenly opened. A puffy figure in a boy’s coat hurried out, trailing footprints across the empty street.

It must’ve been J.T.

Curious, Helena visually tracked the figure as he ran right up the driveway to the Alderman house, where Brendan—whom she hadn’t noticed until now—was huddling in the middle of the driveway with a snow shovel. He had nothing on but a sweater and jeans. His face, ears, and hands were bright red and chapped, making each pained expression he made look less like he was bitterly cold and more like he was recovering from a very bad sunburn. He was ridged as a rock too.

The person who must have been J.T. darted to him and back in expert time, quickly passing something off between them. A box, by the look of it. Helena took note of that as the figure left Brendan and headed back across the street. Helena bent a little further around the pine tree to see their face. It wasn’t J.T.

It was Kassi.

Figures, Helena thought. She must’ve been dropping off a Christmas present to—oh no.

Helena’s heart skipped a beat. She’d forgotten to give Cal his Christmas present! She’d put so much hard work into it—and it wasn’t even wrapped! Immediately, she continued walking past Cal’s house and towards her own. But from across the street, she spotted Brendan waving to her, shivering.

“H-h-hi H-Hele-lena!” he sputtered out, the closest equivalent to a verbal wood chipper as humanly possible.

“Hi Brendan,” she responded simply, then took off into the white. But even though she didn’t look back, she suddenly got a ping sympathy for him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she regretted how she’d treated Brendan that night in the cornfield. When she’d woken up the next morning to see him all alone in the basement…well, she felt a bit of remorse. It wasn’t her proudest moment, by far. And he seemed to have it a lot worse than she did.

Maybe she should do something to make it right.

Helena quickly turned around and powerwalked back to Brendan. Wordlessly, and before he could get anything out, she took her maroon cap that read “WEASLEY IS OUR KING” and stuck it on his head, heading off again as he stood stunned behind her.

“Th-thank you!” Brendan called.

You’re welcome, Hummingbird, she thought to herself.

# CALVIN

As Calvin dug the snow from out of their clay chimenea, Kassi came trudging into the backyard looking as round as a boulder in her coat.

Martha hurried over. “Where are the bras?”

“In here.” Kassi pointed underneath her coat. “It’s the only way I could sneak them over without my brothers catching me.”

“And the matches?”

“If you’ve got the gasoline.”

“Thanks for reminding me. Hang on a sec, I’ve gotta go back inside and get everything.”

“No problem.”

Martha zoomed back into the house and out again, carrying an armful of bottles and cans—most of which were Blue Moon—and a lacy bra between her teeth. Like a dog, she dropped the bra into Kassi’s open glove, then handed over half the beers. “I’ve gathered every drink I could find, just as planned. Here, bring the bras over to the canoe. Calvin, help?”

He hesitated for split second, then reluctantly got up to join them. Well…maybe not quite as reluctantly as he wanted to tell himself he was. In a peculiar way, Calvin found it exciting and gratifying to do something so wrong like this. (What would Helena think of him right now? She’d probably like it.) He walked over to Steve’s old decaying canoe and grunted as he tipped it on its side, pounding the bottom to shake out the fresh snow. Martha swept off the rest.

Kassi began unzipping her coat. “Alright, let’s do this.”

“Calvin, hold out your hands!” Martha ordered, beckoning him over to catch the bras when they fell.

Calvin clinched his mittens. “Do I have to?”

“No, you don’t have to,” Martha replied. “But I did make you Dad’s cocoa.”

The realization suddenly hit Calvin like a giant snowball from the sky. How had he not seen it before?

“You tricked me!” he accused his sister, who only smirked mischievously in return. “You only did that so I’d help you!”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, little brother.” Martha waved the thought away through a broken British accent. “But do help, Calvin dear.”

Seeing that he had no choice—as she had made him Dad’s cocoa—Calvin grumbled his way over to help his sister as Kassi unzipped. About two-thirds of the way down, twenty different colored bras tumbled out. They were mainly beige and black, but there were a few girly ones in the mix as well. Calvin couldn’t help but grimace and throw them quickly into the canoe alongside his sister. Beaming like a ray of unfazed sunshine, Martha clapped him on the back. He crossed his arms, huffed, then feigned ralphing as she mixed in her own bras she’d set aside next to the chimenea with Kassi’s, rearranging a few onto separate ends of the canoe. Like a cherry on a sundae, Martha garnished the lacy one on the top of the pile.

“What?” said Martha in response to his confused look. “They have to be judged by a jury of their peers before we abuse our power. That’s democracy.” She then turned to Kassi, pulling a rather serious tone out of nowhere. “Shall we begin?”

“Yes,” replied Kassi in rivaling gusto. “Let us commence with the trial.”

Martha turned back to the canoe with commanding vigor. “Bras, you stand accused of constraining and holding hostage four collectively innocent boobs, inflicting pain on a torturous level, demonstrating insensitivity, a mocking lack of diversity, and have been the cause, quite clearly, of blatant sexual harassment. Have you anything to say in your defense?” She paused, as if waiting for the bras to reply.

“Martha,” Calvin whispered, concerned, “what are you doing?”

But his sister continued, ignoring him completely. “Then the jury has no choice but to find you wholly and inexcusably guilty. Judge, what is your sentence?”

“Death,” Kassi spoke low, “by fire.”

“Your execution is set. We will now commence with the burning of the bras. Intern Executioner Calvin, if you would.”

He blinked as Martha gestured to the chimenea. “Um, okay…” Calvin stuffed just enough bras to fill the base of the chimenea, then looked up. “Good?”

“Mucho appreciation.” Martha gave him a thumbs up, but then stopped. “Wait, no.” She reached in and grabbed the lacy one out. “Save Steve’s for last. Judge?”

Kassi reached into her coat pocket, pulled out a bottle opener, and, with a trivial amount of effort from her muscles, popped the cap off one of the Blue Moons. They all stared in silence (though Calvin wasn’t sure why he was) as she held it high for a moment, like the beer was radiating starlight on top of a majestic pedestal. Kassi lowered the beer and tipped it all the way down the chimenea. She tossed the bottle aside and, after a few more drinks were added, fished back into her pocket and handed Martha a box of matches. Martha lit one, a dangerously wicked expression illuminating her face, and with one final nod to each other, cried, “Au revoir, bitches!” before tossing the lit match into the base of the chimenea. In a flash, the first round of bras went up in flames.

A strange feeling overtook Calvin as she saw this. He loved to watch fire: to feel its comforting heat; to gaze at its mesmerizing dance; to become completely engrossed by the shadows it cast in the night…it was so ensouling. Calvin hadn’t even noticed how fast the daylight had slipped away, but he didn’t care. All he wanted to do was hear the crackle of the blackening bras while sitting in complete and utter bliss. When the first round died out, they scraped out the ash and twisted metal before lighting up the remaining bras. While the rest burned, Martha took out a black sharpie and wrote Fuck You, Steve on the lacy one. At this point, Calvin didn’t even care; he just wanted to watch it burn. Once the chimenea had been emptied and the bra had been stuffed in and doused with the remaining beer, the two were finally ready to burn the gift.

“Ready, Executioner Martha?”

“Let’s do this. Fuck Steve.”

Yet as she said this, Martha suddenly went stiff and quiet. Both sensing something wrong, Kassi and Calvin moved shoulder to shoulder with her. Calvin held onto his sister’s arm comfortingly. He’d done this on the couple of times where she’d lost control, such as when she’d found out that their dad had died. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was doing it now, but in a way, Calvin just knew. Unexplainably. Because some things don’t need to be explained, like love and all the beautiful heartbreak it brings with it.

Calvin could feel his sister crying silently—just like their mother—as the snow settled on their shoulders in the quiet darkness of the cold December night. He looked up to see that the tears coming down were drying quickly on her cheeks. That didn’t cause her to lose her beauty, however—it just added to the heartbreak instead. Kassi was hugging Martha tight now, whispering something inaudibly reassuring into her ear.

“Martha, are you okay?” Calvin asked, tilting his head to meet his sister’s gaze.

But she wasn’t looking at him. Instead, in a voice that Calvin had only ever heard once before; a tone Martha had used standing over the casket at their father’s funeral; a voice of incalculable rust and despair, she said, “Who needs gratitude if you can never have what you really want?” She lit a match, threw it onto the beer-soaked bra, and collapsed into Kassi’s arms, sobbing. Calvin knew exactly what to do next before Kassi could even signal him: he ran to the backdoor and opened it. They helped Martha inside, who sunk into a chair at the dining table, crying her heart out.

There was a frantic voice from upstairs. “Martha? What’s wrong?”

Calvin’s mom came hustling downstairs in her pajamas. Upon seeing Martha in anguish, she immediately clutched her daughter to her breast. “Sweetheart, what happened?” When Martha kept wailing, Mrs. Hunter-Oswald turned to Kassi and Calvin. “What’s going on?”

“Doug,” Kassi answered slowly.

Mentioning his name made Martha sob harder. Mrs. Hunter-Oswald held her tighter, stroking her daughter’s hair. “It’s okay, honey, it’s okay…” She turned to Kassi. “You can go home. I’ve got it from here.”

“Are you sure?” the teen responded. She seemed hesitant to leave Martha’s side.

“Please.”

Kassi nodded. She gave Martha a long, heartfelt hug before leaving out the backdoor.

Martha spoke up as soon as she left, sobbing into her mother’s arms. “I hate Steve so much! He’s horrible! He’s nothing like Dad!”

“I know you do,” Mrs. Hunter-Oswald replied softly. “I know.”

She continued stroking her daughter’s hair for a while before Martha pulled back up, wet-faced, yet a bit calmer. From what Calvin knew about his sister, Martha only liked acting out of control, but never truly wanted to be it. She took a breather before responding.

“Kassi and I burned the bra Steve got me for Christmas. It was creepy, Mom, and I didn’t want it.” Martha frowned as Mrs. Hunter-Oswald gave her a look. “I found it on the top of the pantry, behind the liquor. It’s not an okay thing for him to get me! You understand that right? I’m not sorry I did it.”

“Martha—”

“And I know that you want me to like him, Mom, but I can’t—I just can’t. He’s an asshole and he’s nothing like Dad, who you never want to talk about anymore. It feels like he never existed in the first place. I hate it!”

“Martha, please—”

“And don’t you blame Kassi for this, alright? She burned her bras for other reasons. I told her to help, so it was me, okay? Me! I just can’t stand that you’d stay married to someone who isn’t Dad and who would buy his teenage stepdaughter a bra from Victoria’s Secret!”

“Martha,” said Mrs. Hunter-Oswald. “I bought you that bra.”

Shock and horror registered across Martha’s face. She was about to say something but choked briefly as the words were ejected back into her throat, before uttering, “Wh—what?”

“I bought you that bra because I thought you’d want something nice for Christmas. You’re growing up so fast and this was the age I bought Ariel expensive things like this.”

“But…but it was in the back of the pantry with the Blue Moon!”

“Steve didn’t think you would look back there.”

“Why would you—why would you even get me something like that?”

“Martha, you’re sixteen. I do get that you’d want to feel worth something in the way you look. I don’t worry about your self-esteem in that aspect like I did with Ariel, but quite frankly I think it’s time you have something nice to take care of.”

“Wait…you don’t think I’d look like a slut in it?”

“Honey, I don’t care how you dress, I care how you act. You’ve always had such a headstrong, well, spunk about you—something neither your father nor I had. I know you’ll do the right thing if you’re ever in a circumstance where someone is pressuring you into something you don’t want to do. And even if you do want to—I know this is a whole other talk—but if that’s something you want to do someday, having something like a fancy bra might make the whole experience that more special.”

For a moment, Martha was speechless. Then she bowed her head shamefully. “I’m…I’m so sorry, Mom. I really am. I shouldn’t’ve—I didn’t think—I just thought—”

“It’s okay, honey. While I am disappointed that I won’t get to see you unwrap it on Christmas, I think there’s a bigger talk needed. Let’s,”—Mrs. Hunter-Oswald took a breath—“let’s…talk about your dad. Okay, honey?”

“You really…” Martha looked as though she was fiercely holding back emotions as to not burst the Hoover Dam inside of her. “Just…thank you.”

They embraced again—sweeter this time.

Mrs. Hunter-Oswald turned to Calvin. “Honey, do you want to talk too?”

He shook his head, immediately about to head up to his room when Martha said, “Calvin?”

“Yeah?” he whispered.

“Thank you…I love you, little brother.”

He needn’t reply. Calvin was certain everyone knew what was not being said was more important than what was about to be. Fixing back on his original course, Calvin walked to his room, closed the door, shut the blinds, turned off the lights, knocked the half-empty mugs to the floor in a haste—not bothering to clean up the spill—and crawled into bed as swiftly as he could. He closed his eyes and tried not to think. His dad wasn’t something he wanted to talk about ever. Talking of Douglas Hunter was too upsetting.

Awhile later, the sound of the garage door rumbled through the whole house. Steve was home from O’Leary’s. Calvin wanted to be asleep before he heard anything said downstairs. At this point, he decided he’d rather think about Helena than anything else and did so until she showed up in his dreams.

#

HELENA

Around midnight, Helena snuck out of the house and left a Christmas present wrapped in red ribbon on Cal’s doorstep. Then, around one A.M., she realized how much of a mistake that was, snuck out again, and took it back. Deciding it was never meant to be seen by anyone (especially not Cal), Helena dug a hole with her hands under a pine tree at Damocles Park and buried the gift. She woke up at 2 o’clock the next afternoon in her bed, exceedingly tired and numb.

Author: @besttardywrites

NOTE: This is my personal favorite chapter in the book. Some names of places were changed that are not in the final draft for personal reasons. This is a work of fiction inspired by real events taken from the author’s life experiences but is by no means an accurate representation of the truth.