AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Pretending I’m luring you in against your will or something. You could always say no to me.”
I could. The pros outweigh the cons of cutting this off.
“Fine. I’m saying no,” I decide. “No more.”
“What a shame,” she says.
And then she slams her front door in my face before I can think twice about any part of this conversation.
I hate her. I really truly do, and I wish on every star in the sky that she had never moved in here and messed up my life.
The next time I see her at the top of those stairs, I put a hand up.
“Not a word.”
She snickers, but listens to me and moves along.
I brace myself to go inside and grab my sleeping daughter so we can head to my parent’s house.
When Dahlia is at her dad’s, I take to keeping track of every minute of sleep I get. I mark the last known time before passing out, and whatever it is when I wake up. Then I do some quick math, and jot them down on sticky notes. I bought them just for this reason.
1 hour, 27 minutes.
2 hours, 52 minutes.
2 hours, 43 minutes.
3 hours, 57 minutes. That was nice of you.
Dahlia and I are playing with dolls, pretending to bake a cake— go figure— when someone starts pounding at my door. No one ever really knocks on our door, so we’re startled at first.
I slowly and quietly get up, in case we need to pretend we’re not home. I put a finger over my lips for extra measure, and she motions zipping hers.
I walk out of her bedroom, and through the living room to the door. It’s a great thing peepholes exist, because I utilize mine. The small circular window shows me a hot redhead with her arms crossed. She looks mad.
I press my forehead to the door, deciding on my next move. She knocks again, and it rattles through my skull. Not my smartest move, considering the immediate headache.
Against my better judgment, I open the door.
And I’m attacked by pieces of paper flying at my face. When I look down at their remains on the floor, I realize they’re my notes.
I smile wide.
“Problem?” I ask in my sweetest voice.
“What the hell are all these?”
I immediately shush her, and watch as it lights a fire in her. Her eyes seem ablaze with it, but as soon as she opens her mouth to fight with me, I physically shut it. I pinch her lips together.
I don’t know what fuels me to do such a thing, but I pull away quickly and try to contain a laugh. That was the funniest image I’ve seen in a long time.
“Quiet,” I scold. “My daughter is here.”
“What are these?” she asks through gritted teeth. She’s still pissed, but at least she respected that one wish of mine by whispering.
“Those are how many hours I’ve been sleeping at night,” I explain, smile still in place.
“I don’t care about your sleep schedule. Stop leaving things on my door.”
