Dancing with Molly - Lena Horowitz Page 0,68

myself with it? Honestly I think my skull might break, but I refuse to ask them for anything. I’m just going to go back to sleep. They can’t stay out there all night, right? Later I’m going to look up how to pick a lock on the internet. God. I can’t believe I even just wrote that. I wonder what my parents would think if they knew that they were forcing me to become a criminal mastermind. But later. Right now, I can barely keep my eyes open.

Wednesday, July 9

I just slept for twenty-one hours straight. When I woke up, there was a sandwich and a bottle of water on my nightstand, and I was so starving I wolfed it down and then threw it right back up. I guess when you don’t eat for like a day and a half your stomach can’t handle that much food at one time. Anyway, I finally had to cave and ask my mom for my toothbrush and toothpaste. She stood in the doorway of the bathroom and watched me brush my teeth, then made me hand the brush and tube back to her.

I feel like I’m broken. My whole body is tired, and I can’t even stand up straight. When I looked at my mom, I felt this pathetic impulse. I wanted her to hug me and kiss my forehead like she always does when I puke. But instead, she just gave me her patented look of disappointment, walked out, and locked the door again.

Later, she brought me toast and chicken soup. I refused to eat it. I swear it’s like I’m in Guantánamo or something.

Thursday, July 10

I can’t take it anymore. I can’t. I’m going to lose my mind. I did find out how to pick a lock, but every time I so much as touch that doorknob, one of my parents barks at me. Is this the last day of my incarceration? I think it is, but I’m not sure. I swear if I have to stare at my walls for five more seconds, I’m going to lose it. I really am. I feel like my blood is made of caffeine. I can’t stop shaking. Is it a panic attack? I think it’s a panic attack. They can’t keep me locked up in here anymore. They just can’t. I’m texting Jess and Carson. Maybe they can figure out a way to get me out of here.

Later . . .

Oh my god Oh my god Oh my god.

I’m so screwed. My parents caught me climbing out my window, and now they’ve taken my phone away too. And I have to go back to therapy tomorrow. And I’ll also probably never see my friends again.

I spent half the day texting with Jess and Carson, trying to come up with a plan. Jess wanted to just come over and beg, but I knew that wouldn’t work. Not with the state of crazy my parents are currently living in. They knew they couldn’t get me out through my door, so then Carson suggested he bring an escape ladder. I think he was actually kidding, but I jumped on it. I mean, my parents are always inside the house, guarding the door. Would anyone really notice if he came over and put a ladder next to my window? The Jensens next door are away for the summer, so there’s no one on that side of the house to see. It was the perfect plan. Or so I thought.

Carson knew that if he stepped foot on my yard, my dad would call the cops and this time he wouldn’t get off with a warning, so he sent Reid. I didn’t exactly love the idea of getting rescued by him, but I was so desperate at that point, I didn’t care. Plus, Reid is turning out to be the guy who’s up for anything, which I guess makes him a good person to have around. Sometimes, anyway.

We decided to wait until ten o’clock, because I’d figured out that that was when my mom took over so my dad could go watch the news, probably. If Reid could get there right when my parents were having their nightly update about how my life is going down the toilet and what they can do to control me, then they might be too distracted to hear anything. I swear, time passed more and more slowly as we headed toward ten p.m., but then, finally, it was here, and Reid was