Not Thinking About The Demon Whisperer

After that night, more than just our pride was sore. Kyle and Bryce stayed away from me and I had plenty of time to think. I laid in my bed, nursing my cuts and bruises, only getting up to eat. My mom would look at me, her brows pinched together in the middle, but she would say nothing.

I don’t really know how long I stayed in my room thinking, but once when I came out to pee, she’d ninja’d my bed sheets. They must have smelled by now. I retreated to the basement. The phone rang and I heard Mom stomping around and yelling.

The next thing I knew, Kyle and Bryce were in the basement. I really didn’t want to see them. Mom began to blare her cleaning music, which meant she was angry. I almost welcomed the sound because I didn’t want them to start in on that witch thing again.

They didn’t. Out of concern, they said, they opened up a paper bag. At least smoking with them meant they wouldn’t talk and I wouldn’t have to listen. I took a long drag.
Time stopped.
My thoughts flew.

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