Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 87058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
I don’t regret not tying the knot. I don’t regret never having that one special person that I’ve opted to label my own above all others, even if my mother still whines on about grandchildren over Sunday dinner. I watched Michael and Molly live in a state of romantic mediocrity for years and it didn’t nothing whatsoever to raise the green-eyed monster in me. I think I’d have been bored to death if I’d been in his shoes.
Carrie Wells – the little minx that pushed my poor sensible friend off his sensible rocker.
I’m still shaking my head at the insanity of it all as the other delegates filter in.
Carrie
Michael didn’t come back last night. I thought maybe he’d call or text, but he didn’t. I sat by the landline with his business card in my hand, flipping it over and over and wishing my stupid dumb mouth would open up enough to tell him I’m sorry. But it wouldn’t.
I hate TV, so the minute Michael left I turned it right back off again. I don’t get why people like the stupid thing so much. Almost every house I’ve ever set foot in has a stupid screen blaring somewhere. I’ve spent loads of time watching people stare at moving pictures on a box like big dumb shits, and I just don’t get it.
When you’ve been in foster care as much as I have, you come to know it’s an easy option to palm off every kid that ever wants attention. Why don’t you just behave and watch some TV? Why don’t you sit down in front of the TV and be quiet? Why don’t you just watch the kids channel like every other kid we’ve ever taken care of?
Because TV is a fucking life-stealer, you dumbfucks. TV is a fucking sedative for your fucking brain.
Know what burns more calories, watching TV or staring at a blank wall? Staring at a blank wall, because at least then your brain has to make moving pictures for its fucking self.
I want to put my boot through posh guy’s big fucking screen, because even looking at it reminds me how I pushed Michael away last night. But I don’t. Because I like it here, even though I know I won’t be able to stay.
I’m never allowed to stay anywhere, not for long. But for now I’m gonna make the most of it, because posh guy’s house is amazing – the best house I’ve ever been in. If you look through the back windows, especially from upstairs, you can see for miles, a patchwork of fields and trees and sheep. I wonder if posh guy has any animals here. There’s no dog, which is sad because this place would be the best place ever to have a couple of Labradors. I can’t see a cat, either, and there’s no cans of petfood in the cupboards. The guy must be an idiot for not having pets here. If I lived here I’d have a whole zoo in my backyard.
It looks like it’s gonna be a nice day today, even if the ground is still bound to be boggy from the rain last night. I got up early because that springy bed makes stupid squeaks every time I roll over, but that’s alright. I like getting up early. It makes sense that travelling is in my genetics, because there’s nothing I like more than exploring as the sun comes up outside. I hate being cooped up while there’s a big open world out there.
I’m so desperate to get out into it that I don’t even grab any breakfast. I lace up my boots and head through the back door, wondering just how many of the fields I counted from the window belong to this house. I bet it’s all of them. Most of them at least.
I have to climb over some fences, but my ankle holds up just fine. I scrabble through a couple of broken hedgerows and find a little stream that’s just perfect for hopping over.
Being in the middle of nowhere excites me. Being just me amongst the magic of nature is the thing that makes my soul happy. The hours disappear so easily out here. I find I’m smiling, even though I still feel like shit about Michael. I find I’m twirling, laughing, calling to the birds in the trees. They probably think I’m as crazy as I feel, but my blood is pumping and my hair is flying all around me and I love it. I really love it.
And then I see something. A bedraggled something flapping around on the ground by the hedge at the far side. I head over to get a closer look, and it’s a crow, a big black one with beady eyes that glint as it stares at me. My heart drops as I see he’s got his leg caught in some wire, and I hate posh guy for having such an amazing place and not taking care of the maintenance. The fence is crap down here, all broken and battered, and nature’s suffering, yet again, for humanity’s dumbfuck ignorance.