Reading Online Novel

Ugly(4)



My thoughts begin to drift, and the darkness of twilight finds its way into my mind. The hopeless sting of the chilled night air keeps me hovering between the living and the dead.

Dead…such a pleasing, calming word. The dead get to sleep, to rest without being tortured by the doomed.

As my eyes close and my mind drifts into shadows of peace, I feel my book slip out of my fingers. I jerk awake and meet the angry, drunken green eyes of my father. “Dad,” I startle, as I try and grab at my book.

He rips it out of my hand and begins to flick through it. “Is this what you fill your head with? Trash?” Dad keeps turning the pages slowly, as he slightly sways from side to side.

“What have I done for you to treat me so badly?” I ask. It’s something I ask from time to time, and I never get an answer, other than more alcohol filled mumblings.

He slowly lifts his eyes from the book; an evil, deviant smile gradually tugging at the corners of his mouth. He moves my book so he’s holding it in two hands, and suddenly rips straight through it.

“NO!” I scream as I leap out of bed and throw myself at him. “Please!” I beg. My voice is laden with pain, pleading for him to not destroy the only thing that allows me an escape from this hell-hole house on this hell-hole street; where no one hears anything, and everyone ignores everything.

Dad looks at me, his face set and his eyes frighteningly cold. He takes in a breath, and with complete clarity he says, “It should have been you.” Those words are filled with malice, his tone lethal, destructive.

“What did I ever do?” I cry as I slump at his feet. The torn pages are strewn carelessly all over the floor.

“Listen here, bitch. You should’ve died instead of them.”

Them? My eyes fly up to look at Dad. I don’t even know what he’s talking about. I have no idea who ‘them’ are.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry for whatever I did. I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry,” I sob as I clutch my hair and bring my head to my knees.

“So you should be.” Dad just walks out of my room, leaving me with an ache so deep in my soul I don’t think I’ll ever be able to feel normal again.





I get off the bus and Trent is waiting for me again. He’s got a cute dimple in his right cheek as he smiles at me, holding a different flower for me, a lily this time. I can’t help but smile when I see him waiting.

“Hi,” he says, as he takes a step toward me.

I look down at his shoes and keep my eyes focused there.

“Hi,” I say in a small voice. I start walking home, my bag to my chest, the way I always hold it.

He offers me the flower, but I shake my head. His eyes look to my book bag, then he turns and watches the footpath as he walks with me. “May I carry that for you?” he asks.

“No, thank you.”

We walk in silence for about fifty yards when Trent starts singing. It’s a soft song, nothing I can recognize, but I don’t have a radio or anything else to listen to music. Dad’s television is in his room, and he keeps that locked when he’s not home. I don’t really know any artists or bands.

We keep walking toward my house with Trent singing and not talking to me. “So, are you going to tell me your name?” he finally says when we round the first corner.

I take a huge breath and gulp down the golf ball clogging my throat. “It’s Lily,” I finally say after a long silence. Trent chuckles and I peek at him to see he’s shaking his head. “What’s funny?”

“I think you and I are meant to be friends, Lily,” he says, as he holds the flower up to me. “This flower is prettier than the one from the other day. As soon as I saw it, it reminded me of you and I had to get it.” He casually holds the flower out, trying to give it to me again.

We walk a few more yards before I take the flower and bring it to my nose to smell it. The aroma coming from the flower is sweet and subtle, nothing too overpowering.

“Thank you,” I whisper. I keep my eyes trained on the sidewalk as we continue to walk.

“Can I take you out to the movies?” Trent says. His tone is leisurely but controlled.

I sneak a look at him over my right shoulder, and his light brown hair is flopping to the side. “To the movies?” I ask. I haven’t ever been to the movies. I don’t know what it’s like. I wonder if it’s scary. I’ve heard the kids at school talk about it, but seeing as I’ve never been, I really don’t know what to expect.

“Yeah, you know the big screen. Sharing a popcorn, watching a movie?” he says, as if I should know what going to the movies is like.