I’m muting you guys. I have to write this report. Love you.
SG Tristan:
Fine. Hey, wait, I have to do an opening at St Gabriels hospital soon. Anyone free to come with me?
SG Raney:
What? *laughing* Dad can’t go with you? *laughing*
SG Tristan:
Are you upset I asked you after he said no? *smirking*
SG Raney:
Emoji middle finger
I don’t get between Tristan and Raney as the two of them blow up our chat with a barrage of gifs and emojis. Instead I enjoy the peace and quiet of our apartment while everyone is out for the night, starting by triple checking my emails to see if I have any responses from Hendrix or Rye.
Seeing Lawson only amplified how short life is. It spurred me on, added fire to experiencing life to its fullest before returning to being nothing but a trophy.
Reinstalling the message apps and chats I had with the girls, Hendrix, and even Rye, was the first thing I did after leaving my family. My guilty conscience kicked in midway between take-off and landing but after logging on to my iCloud account and rereading the entry in my journal after Brody visited in the hospital, it cemented the path I had chosen.
Relationships were a big part of my journey, strong, real ones as opposed to the ones I was born into, where alliances were more important than actual ‘spiritual’ connections. The Scorned Girls were my soul sisters for life. It didn’t matter ifI was in front of them or if I had disappeared for days, they included me in everything, acting like I was still there with them. Even back at the hospital I knew about everything they had done. My diary was now full of dinners, movie nights, and weekends away whether I wanted to attend or not. And I loved the chaos they brought.
But I’d also been busy making plans of my own—plans I wasn’t ready to share, because I wasn’t sure I’d follow through. Meeting Rye, finding out if he was who I believed he would be, was high on my list. After a quick visit to his home he revealed he was back on the road touring, our communication returned to sporadic messaging, the time differences making it hit-or-miss. Still, I was confident that if it was meant to be, we’d find a way to catch up.
Hendrix was another story. My infatuation towards him was stronger—maybe because he was so accessible, living in the same city, or maybe because we’d already seen and tasted each other. Right or wrong, I was obsessed. I couldn’t stop thinking of him—and what I wanted to do with him.
I took that for what it was, a small but important milestone in terms of personal healing. I wanted to touch myself or I wanted to feel his hands on my body. And I wanted it with a desperation similar to a heat spike. It was getting so bad that anytime I thought his name, my lips tingled and buzzed and warmth blossomed through my blood.
Spurred on by obsession and coupled with the rare chance of having the place to myself tonight—I found myself taking risks I never thought I would. If any of the girls knew I was sneaking out after curfew, they’d demand answers before insisting on tagging along. I loved them dearly, but this was something I needed to do alone, on my terms.
As soon as I make the decision to go tonight, relief washes over me. Confirmation I’m doing the right thing. But the piercing shrill of the phone in the kitchen has mewondering if I’ve been busted before I even try to leave. “Simona speaking.”
“Good afternoon, Omega Simona. Can you come to my office please?” Omega Mother Beatrice doesn’t wait for a response.
Since it’s the first Saturday in the middle of our exam revision period, I’m sure she’s not calling me about my course work. The only other reason that comes to mind is Brody’s here pretending to be my ‘brother’ again. I wish I never answered the phone now. Minutes later when I’m standing at the door to her office, my hand shakes so much it looks like I’m waving.
“Simona, come straight in.”
When the door opens, it’s just her—I nearly faint in relief. Until I register the look on Omega Mother Beatrice’s face. She looks like a cat that ate a canary, far too pleased for my liking. Yet, despite myself, I can’t help but mirror her wide smile. Because Brody’s not here.
She points to a chair in front of her desk. “I have exciting news.”
I sit, unsure where this conversation is going.
“Do you remember the creative writing competition from the start of the year?”
Not what I was expecting. And I do remember the task because the stimulus hit close to home: an article on repression. The task was to write about what freedom means on a personal level. The words flowed as I poured my heart and soul into the paper.
She doesn’t wait for me to answer her question. “I’m overjoyed to share; you came in third in the competition.”
“Really?” I ask, trying not shudder or shrink under her attention.
“Congratulations. We’re very proud of you, Simona.”
Blushing under her praise, I lower my gaze to my hands,trying not to fidget as a wave of emotion hits. “I’ve never won anything.”
