Hollow (Heaven Hill Generations #4) - Laramie Briscoe Page 0,10
haven’t felt in years.
It could be the new medication they have me on to control my mood swings, or it could be that I’m finally coming out from underneath this dark cloud I’ve been under for so long.
“When was the first time you realized you weren’t like everybody else?”
The leader of our circle asks the question, and I do like I’ve done every day since I got here a week ago - I truly think about it. I close my eyes and settle into the question, giving it a few moments to dig itself into my conscience and then answer it truthfully. When it comes to my turn, I speak slowly.
“The day my mom was served papers saying that they were going to take our house.” I clasp my hands together in front of me. “Things had been rough prior to that. Me and my twin brother, Drew, knew they had been rough, but we’d always known we had a roof over our heads and food in our stomachs.” I stop for a second breathing in deeply and letting it out. “Mom,” I continue, “not wanting us to know, she hid the foreclosure paperwork before she went in for her shift, but Drew and I found it.”
“How did Drew take it?”
We’re in a habit in this group of asking questions to force the person telling the story to see it from each angle.
“Like he always did, he got angry. Pissed that Mom was a single mother and upset that our dad had left her instead of sticking around to raise us. That’s always been his MO - he gets angry. Not angry enough to hurt someone he cares about, but it’s almost as if he holds his anger like a shield.”
“How did you take it?”
I close my eyes, and I’m back to that day, so clearly. “I was scared to death. I can remember running to my room and laying down on the bed, putting the pillow over my head, and screaming. I don’t know why I was screaming, but I screamed until my voice was wrecked. Immediately I began thinking about all the things we’d have to do. There was no way I’d be able to take all the things I loved with me, there was no way we’d even be able to transport our beds in mom’s small car. And that’s when it hit me, right in the stomach…”
I don’t mean to stop, but I need a slight break.
“What hit you?” someone asks.
“All the things I’d missed. I ran down the stairs and threw open the fridge and freezer. There was barely any food, and then I went to the pantry. There were two bags of microwave popcorn and a half loaf of bread. It was like that night my eyes were opened, and since then I haven’t been able to close them.”
“What do you mean?” the group leader asks. “We’re doing really good work here, Mandy, but you need to go just a little bit deeper. Don’t think about it, just say the first thing that pops into your head.”
“It started an obsession with always having and trying to be enough.” I clap my hand over my mouth after the words come out.
“Don’t silence yourself. Keep going.”
I’ve never spoken these feelings aloud before, I’ve never confided them to anyone, and it’s nice to finally not hold my mouth closed after so many years. But at the same time, I’ve kept this in front of me like a shield and it’s hard to let that shield down.
“No one knows this, but as a teenager and into my twenties when I lived at home, I would go downstairs and make sure there was still food at night. If anyone caught me, I’d pretend like I was thirsty or hungry so none of my family would think I’m crazy. My bank account? I’m so frugal I keep enough living expenses for a year in there, even though I know I have family and friends who would make sure I never want for anything.”
“Does anyone know this?”
“No.” I shake my head, feeling shame. This is just one more thing I’ve felt like I had to do to keep myself safe and taken care of. “The account is in my name only because I’m always worried something will happen between me and my husband, and I’ll be left with nothing.”
“Keep going, Mandy. You’re almost there. Why?”
“I’m scared to death he’s going to leave me alone the way my biological father left us