Back The Listeners Save as PDF
Chapters (26)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. Postscript
  24. Acknowledgements
  25. About the Author
  26. About the Publisher

Of the complete disintegration of your life!

I couldn’t bear to look her in the eyes, so I stared down at my feet on the stair. I touched the tip of my big toe, poking through the small hole it had worn in my left sock.

I wish you could just be happy for me, I said. I have found a community of people who care for me and love me.

They do not fucking love you, Mom. I’m your daughter, I love you. Dad loves you. These people barely know you.

They know me better—Ash, they know things about me that even your dad doesn’t.

That’s fucked up.

No, it’s not. Because they treat those parts of me, and my life, and my story with a care and a, and a compassion that even he could never muster.

That’s just bullshit, she muttered.

Well it’s not, and I wish you’d stop dismissing me, it hurts.

You think this hurts you?

I tried to explain how I had found a space where I could be truly free and uninhibited for the first time in my life. A space where I felt truly safe.

Do you know how rare and precious to me that is? I asked. I don’t understand what you are so afraid of.

That Howard’s a fucking psychopath, she replied.

Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it out of her bra to check it—They’re outside.

Without looking at me, she got up and descended the stairs.

Ash, wait.

I hurried down after her, and put my hand on her shoulder—Have fun tonight, okay?

She mustered a faint smile—Just promise me you’ll be gone when we get back.

I told her that I would. And don’t leave your drink unattended, I called as she walked out the door. I watched as she hurried down the front walk, waving to her friends Sophie and Jess, who whooped and cheered while leaning out the windows of a white Escalade. If they saw me in the doorway, they pretended not to. I closed the door, turned back to the half-decorated dining room, and felt the wind escape from me like a punctured tire. The room was a mess. There was still so much that needed doing. I crossed to the table, sat down, and poured myself another whisky, before glancing up at Ashley’s homemade banner.

10