In The Words Of My Daughter’s Twin, ‘You Can’t Hurt Someone Who’s Already Dead’
“It’s okay, mom. I know she died.”
“It’s okay, mom. I know she died.”
I’m not proud of the fact that I ran, scrambling back up the roots to pull myself onto the surface. Some might call it cowardice, but I know the certainty in her voice and I trusted her more than I trusted myself at that moment. Even above the ground, I could still feel the silent scream, so low and powerful that my entire body vibrated.
Do you know what it’s like to live without a soul? Because I do.
By the end of two weeks, there was nothing left of my husband.
The mirror was smiling, but I wasn’t.
We’re going to find what they were so afraid of, and we’re going to release it to the world.
My mother cost 10,000 dollars. That’s the standard price for a hit. My father was 25,000 because he was considered an “important person” — at least important enough to demand a formal investigation into his death.
Guys like Chase don’t look twice at girls like me. It doesn’t matter if we like all the same music.
This time the hand simply presses against the underside of the glassy window. Fingers spread wide in an intimate gesture as though inviting my touch from the other side.
“I’m happy. I’d never cry.”