Read Online This Raging Light by Estelle Laure - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Estelle Laure
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try to pick the blood from under my crooked nails. Iâm pretty sure the splashing makes my mascara run, but right now I am too pissed off to care, and I donât want to look in the mirror because I donât know who I will find looking back at me. Mirror smashing will ensue. Just in case the seven-years-of-bad-luck thing is real, Iâm not messing around. Iâm not that far gone.
Welcome to my life.
The worst joke ever.
They are watching me like theyâre not sure what to do. I go to Wrenny on the couch and put my arm under hers, scoop her awake.
âShower time?â she says.
âYeah,â I say, make my voice quiet so she wonât hear the hurt. âShower time.â
I start up the stairs. Twelve to go. I donât look back, but I hear the door close behind me, the Beasty rumble. Mad that they left, but I would have shredded them if they had tried to stay.
Once I have Wren upstairs with her head leaned against the bathroom wall, I go back downstairs, close the blinds that look out onto the street, turn off the lights, and lock the door.
Day 50
I go to the public library to email Mrs. LaRouche from Momâs account, since one of the things Mom took was Dadâs laptop. The librarian doesnât look up from her book, just hands me the sign-in sheet and waves at me with her very long nails.
âGood book?â I ask.
âYeah,â she says, nodding me into the computer room. âItâs a good book.â
I type in Momâs password. Tonylaura1031. Itâs probably not the best password ever, but my parents met at one of Dadâs shows on Halloween, and then Mom wound up magically having Wren on that same date however many years later. 1031. If you knew that one simple set of facts, you could get into just about any private Bennett business there is. Well, if you also knew the bank account number, that is.
Mom has 551 new messages. Thereâs no sign that sheâs been on this email at all since she left. Some of the messages look important, so I scan the subject lines for a second. Mostly itâs a lot of nothing. A sale at the Gap. Special deals on travel to the Bahamas.
I get to it. As Mom, I explain to Mrs. LaRouche that I work days and that I am sending Lucille in to discuss Wren after school and that she should feel free to pass along whatever information she needs to.
I wait.
I read some Internet news, which makes me feel a little guilty, considering that I have so much homework to catch up on and that a very nice-looking lady with way too many bags is waiting for my computer. Whatever. I still have thirty minutes. In that time I wander onto E! news and find out that the guy from the forthcoming zombie/werewolf/slasher movie slept with this girl while on that set, while his pregnant wife sat at home, and heâs here to tell the world just how sorry he is. Not so long ago I could have told you all the celebrity news. Now I know nothing. Lately, it all filters as superfluous babble, but itâs pretty nice right now, I have to say.
Just as my hour is running out and Iâm about to have to turn the computer over to the lady with all the bags, a new email pops up.
Mrs. LaRouche will be fine having a conversation with Lucille. It will be delightful to see her after such a long while, she says. How about this afternoon?
I want to call Eden and tell her, ask her what I should do, how I should handle it, but I know I canât. Something bad happened last night when I made Eden leave, but Iâm not sure what.
Â
The classroom looks almost exactly the same as it did when I was in fourth grade. The book-cover posters have changed, but it still smells like apple juice and impending puberty. Wren is waiting for me on the playground with Shane and Melanie, and I can hear the kids shrieking out there.
Mrs. LaRouche is cute behind her desk, with her glasses hugging the tip of her nose so far down that I donât even know how they stay
Welcome to my life.
The worst joke ever.
They are watching me like theyâre not sure what to do. I go to Wrenny on the couch and put my arm under hers, scoop her awake.
âShower time?â she says.
âYeah,â I say, make my voice quiet so she wonât hear the hurt. âShower time.â
I start up the stairs. Twelve to go. I donât look back, but I hear the door close behind me, the Beasty rumble. Mad that they left, but I would have shredded them if they had tried to stay.
Once I have Wren upstairs with her head leaned against the bathroom wall, I go back downstairs, close the blinds that look out onto the street, turn off the lights, and lock the door.
Day 50
I go to the public library to email Mrs. LaRouche from Momâs account, since one of the things Mom took was Dadâs laptop. The librarian doesnât look up from her book, just hands me the sign-in sheet and waves at me with her very long nails.
âGood book?â I ask.
âYeah,â she says, nodding me into the computer room. âItâs a good book.â
I type in Momâs password. Tonylaura1031. Itâs probably not the best password ever, but my parents met at one of Dadâs shows on Halloween, and then Mom wound up magically having Wren on that same date however many years later. 1031. If you knew that one simple set of facts, you could get into just about any private Bennett business there is. Well, if you also knew the bank account number, that is.
Mom has 551 new messages. Thereâs no sign that sheâs been on this email at all since she left. Some of the messages look important, so I scan the subject lines for a second. Mostly itâs a lot of nothing. A sale at the Gap. Special deals on travel to the Bahamas.
I get to it. As Mom, I explain to Mrs. LaRouche that I work days and that I am sending Lucille in to discuss Wren after school and that she should feel free to pass along whatever information she needs to.
I wait.
I read some Internet news, which makes me feel a little guilty, considering that I have so much homework to catch up on and that a very nice-looking lady with way too many bags is waiting for my computer. Whatever. I still have thirty minutes. In that time I wander onto E! news and find out that the guy from the forthcoming zombie/werewolf/slasher movie slept with this girl while on that set, while his pregnant wife sat at home, and heâs here to tell the world just how sorry he is. Not so long ago I could have told you all the celebrity news. Now I know nothing. Lately, it all filters as superfluous babble, but itâs pretty nice right now, I have to say.
Just as my hour is running out and Iâm about to have to turn the computer over to the lady with all the bags, a new email pops up.
Mrs. LaRouche will be fine having a conversation with Lucille. It will be delightful to see her after such a long while, she says. How about this afternoon?
I want to call Eden and tell her, ask her what I should do, how I should handle it, but I know I canât. Something bad happened last night when I made Eden leave, but Iâm not sure what.
Â
The classroom looks almost exactly the same as it did when I was in fourth grade. The book-cover posters have changed, but it still smells like apple juice and impending puberty. Wren is waiting for me on the playground with Shane and Melanie, and I can hear the kids shrieking out there.
Mrs. LaRouche is cute behind her desk, with her glasses hugging the tip of her nose so far down that I donât even know how they stay
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