Read Online Before The Storm by Kels Barnholdt - Free Book Online

felt it every morning when I woke up to those same white walls, every Tuesday and Thursday when they handed out mail and I had nothing to open, but mostly I felt it every Sunday when everyone would line up to go see who was there to visit them that week and I would stay in my room with the door safely closed. The first month in the center was filled with tears, but after that I came to terms with everything that was happening to me. That’s when I started to become numb.
    If I’m being honest with myself, it’s really Eric who helped to pull me out of it.
    Eric showed me I was going to make it through. It’s his friendship that I’m most grateful for.
    “I didn’t know if you knew,” I say.
    She shakes her head. “I didn’t. I mean, I never… your father and me have a complicated past. But he did make out like you at least knew I existed.”
    “I didn’t. Well, I mean, maybe I did. I have a memory. Well, it’s more like a snapshot. Of a bunny, but that’s it.”
    “A bunny?” her voice falls flat. “But that’s impossible. I sent birthday cards and Christmas cards and well…letters. I just figured they weren’t ready, I never imagined…I didn’t know...”
    “Weren’t ready for what?” I ask.
    She looks at me like she’s just realizing I’m still there. “Nothing, I…I have some calls to make before bed. If you’ll excuse me.”
    And then suddenly I’m alone again, something all too familiar to me these days.

Chapter Five
    I stay up all night writing. At first I’m just staring at the ceiling of my room trying to make heads or tails out of the static that’s swirling around in my mind. I tiptoe out into the kitchen to find a notebook and a pen. Once I do I begin to write. I write everything I’m stressed about. I write about being scared of going back to school, about how I still haven’t talked to Angelina, about how scared I am to have to tell her what my life has been like without her. I write about the stress of having to figure out what to do about Stephanie still having my journal, and about how I’m scared she’s going to show Mrs.
    Newington at any time. I write about how I miss Eric, how I wish he was here with me. I write about how I’m scared something awful is going to happen with me and my aunt, how I’m scared somehow my only hope at freedom is going to get messed up, about how my dad and Missy don’t seem to care how long I’m gone for, or that maybe they made the wrong decision by sending me away to begin with.
    Mostly though, I write about Nathan. I write about his eyes, about his arms, about his perfect body. I write about his soul, and about how safe he makes me feel. I write about the emotions he brings out of me, and about how much I didn’t realize how little I’m living without him. But mostly I write about how much I miss him, about how nervous I am to see him again, and about how I don’t know how to act, how I don’t know what to say.
    I write until I can’t write anymore. And by five in the morning I’ve filled up twelve pages. When I’m done, I flip through the pages, looking at my curvy writing, at the words that seem to flow so easily. It’s so strange, getting out what’s supposed to be the hard part. Coming back to my world is supposed to be a relief. So, why does it seem like things are more complicated than ever? Why does it seem like the work is just now beginning?
    Mo moves a little closer to me from his spot at the bottom of the bed and I sigh.
    He hasn’t slept much all night either, probably because he can’t bring himself to relax with me scribbling away like a crazy person. I left the door open in case he wanted to leave me, but he hasn’t moved all night.
    “You can come closer,” I say slowly.
    He perks his ears up a tiny little bit.
    “Come up here,” I pat the pillow slowly next to me. He’s startled at the contact my hand makes with the pillow and quickly jumps down off the bed, instantly retreating underneath again. I