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Somehow, even being outside I feel just as imprisoned here with my father as the beautiful woman I've locked in my house.
As we work, I can feel his eyes on me, watching me. I know he wants to say something, to break the silence, but he doesn't. He's scared, I can see it in his eyes.Scared that if he opens his mouth, the floodgates will open, and he will never be able to stop the tears.
I, on the other hand, am angry. Angry at the world, angry at God, angry at everything and everyone.But above all, angry at myself.
I slam the lawnmower to a stop and turn to face him.
"Say something." I say, my voice echoing through the quiet yard. "Tell me what you're thinking. You're so locked up in your mind, I can't help but think..."
My words trail off.
He turns away, going back into the house.
He can’t even look at me.
I can’t blame him.
There’s a tug in my chest, one I know I should ignore; I want Lindy.
She’s sweet. Funny. Naive and innocent.
A light to my darkness.
Just looking at her lifts the ever-present tightness that haunts my chest.
I’ve been so screwed up since my mom’s death. Guilt, self-hatred, doubt, all swirl around my mind; a toxic brew. Thinking about Lindy, looking at her picture, have been my only relief.
Why would I think I could protect Lindy?
When I’m the one responsible for my mom’s death?
may 11th-14th
A little over a month after Lindy and Damian arrived at the Parrish…
thirteen
Lindy
Ino longer have a job. No responsibilities other than raising a tiny kitten, and the glam team currently has her borrowed for a photo shoot. And no boyfriend to take care of. My brain chides me on the boyfriend thing, asking me what I call the giant man-monster I beg for sexual favors.
I push the annoying thought away.
Like I said before I so rudely interrupted myself, no responsibilities, and the Adriatic Sea is currently my backyard.
Why not go for a swim?
The idea alone sends a fresh wave of energy through my body.
I was a lifeguard during summers at the town pool in Cherry Grove. Our small town had a tiny budget for their rec department, but thanks to a generous donation from a celebrity who had a house in the Catskills, the pool was upscale.
Olympic-sized and heated for our mild summers with a view of the mountains in the background. I often showed up early when I had the opening shift, just to swim laps in the quiet mornings. I hold fond memories of those summers.
I nip through the deep, white-lacquered dresser drawer, its insides lined with a lavender-scented gray-striped drawer liner. The swimsuits are neatly folded, each one tucked in its own soft fabric divider box. I have no idea who ordered all of this, not to mention my clothes, my gowns, my cosmetics.
I don’t ask.
I would never complain. They spoil me so. My only comment, if I ever were to make one, which I wouldn’t, would be just that everything they’ve purchased for me is so—sensual.
