“My eyes are always on you, my dear,” she manages.
As soon as she’s gone he can move again. He throws himself from his bed into his desk chair, opens his notebook, and finds that the day’s entry has already been written, in a slanting scrawl he doesn’t recognize.
july 8. keep this between you and me doc but there’s something very wrong with mother july 9. mother’s been watching me while I sleep. her eyes are always on me july 10. mother won’t hurt me anymore. she’s under the garden
His stomach bottoms out. For a moment all he can do is stare at the page. Then he gets to his feet, ignoring the shooting pain in his leg, and grabbing his crutches makes his way downstairs. He fixes himself a bowl of oatmeal which he promptly scrapes into the trash.
I’m not okay. I’m not okay. I’m no
