SKYLA.
I had grabbed a baggy cream knit top and pulled it over my crop top, pushing it back from my shoulders so it would cover my ass up, until Dad drops me at school, anyway. I’m sitting in the car, with my earPods in and tapping my foot to the beat of the music.
“Can we try to talk about this?” He says, looking over at me.
“No,” I say, glancing at him but refusing to switch my music off.
He sighs, frowning as he stares out ahead at the winding road. “You know we’re worried about you Sky. That’s why we’re here, to help you and f*****g be there for you. It’s fine to struggle, it’s fine not to be f*****g in control. It’s fine to let others see that.”
No, it’s not and I’m dealing... somewhat.
Mama had healed me, the pain of the poisons and the bite were gone, and I feel alive. Not sur
