Because I'm Disposable Read Online Free
Author: Rosie Somers
at least suspect it, anyway.
It wasn’t until I was on my way back down to the kitchen that I realized what a respite that had been. For the entire twenty minutes I’d been seeing to my wounds, both new and old, I hadn’t thought about my father—or anything else for that matter.
Chapter Four
The rest of Thursday passed without incident, and Friday arrived with a bang—a series of them, to be precise—pulling me out of a peaceful dream about lounging on the beach at Grandma Harris’ lake house. Someone was knocking on the door. I dragged myself out of bed and down the stairs. All the while, the person on the other side of the door kept up that insistent pounding.
“All right, all right. I’m coming. Keep your pants on!” I tore open the door, letting it slam into the coat rack. I didn’t know what I’d been expecting to find on the front porch, but I certainly hadn’t pictured an arrangement of flowers so big they blocked the delivery guy from view.
He lowered the vase enough to reveal the brim of a tan baseball cap and a pair of close-set brown eyes. “Delivery for Carol Tanner and family.” His voice was muffled.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I told him, reaching out to take the mass of lilies and snapdragons and some flower I didn’t recognize.
“You’re Carol?” Now that his face was revealed, the flower guy looked confused. And sweaty—probably because it was a million degrees outside.
“No. And family.” I didn’t wait for further comment. Carrying the arrangement high above me so I could see where I was going, I spun on the heel of my multi-colored toe-socks and stepped back into the house, kicking the door shut behind me.
“Have a nice day,” Sweaty Delivery Guy called from the other side.
“Yeah, you too,” I answered to the empty room and made for the dining room table, where the rest of our pseudo-conservatory was. I left it next to the bouquet of carnations from the nurses at the hospital and left the room without bothering to read the card. It didn’t matter who’d sent these flowers any more than it mattered who’d sent the last ten arrangements.
The steady shh, shh, shh of my socks rubbing against the oak floor, echoed off the walls of the otherwise silent house as I trekked into the kitchen. For a brief second, I eyed the stove, but then the knife block caught my eye. I didn’t want a repeat of yesterday’s mishap. I swiped the box of Fruity Crisps from the cabinet and the whole jug of OJ from the fridge and went back to my room. I spent the next several hours curled up in bed with Frankenstein.
* * * * *
A beam of sun-lit reflection rolled across my ceiling seconds before the school bus rumbled to a stop on the street outside my house. I thought about getting up, crossing my bedroom, and watching through the window as the kids from my school filed off and dispersed like ants leaving their hill, but I couldn’t muster the energy. I closed Frankenstein and set the book on my bedside table—I hadn’t really been reading it anyway. For the last half-hour or so, I’d been staring at the lines in my ceiling thinking about how easy it was to relate to the monster. Being created to satisfy someone’s selfish desire, cast away for what he was, forced to suffer alone. Yeah, I totally got it.
“Callie, I’m home!” Corrine called from downstairs. Footsteps pounded up the stairs, and seconds later, she burst into the room, out of breath and flushed from the effort of running. “Get up, and put some clothes on, quick!”
I didn’t move.
“Callie, come on!” She grabbed my hand and yanked. “Lincoln, from across the street, is coming over in a minute. We need to make you presentable.” When I was on my feet, Corrine twirled away, across the room to the closet.
“What—why?” I didn’t follow her.
“Because, I want you to look cute when he gets here.” Came her muffled reply from somewhere in her half of the closet. Great, she was going to make me wear a
It wasn’t until I was on my way back down to the kitchen that I realized what a respite that had been. For the entire twenty minutes I’d been seeing to my wounds, both new and old, I hadn’t thought about my father—or anything else for that matter.
Chapter Four
The rest of Thursday passed without incident, and Friday arrived with a bang—a series of them, to be precise—pulling me out of a peaceful dream about lounging on the beach at Grandma Harris’ lake house. Someone was knocking on the door. I dragged myself out of bed and down the stairs. All the while, the person on the other side of the door kept up that insistent pounding.
“All right, all right. I’m coming. Keep your pants on!” I tore open the door, letting it slam into the coat rack. I didn’t know what I’d been expecting to find on the front porch, but I certainly hadn’t pictured an arrangement of flowers so big they blocked the delivery guy from view.
He lowered the vase enough to reveal the brim of a tan baseball cap and a pair of close-set brown eyes. “Delivery for Carol Tanner and family.” His voice was muffled.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I told him, reaching out to take the mass of lilies and snapdragons and some flower I didn’t recognize.
“You’re Carol?” Now that his face was revealed, the flower guy looked confused. And sweaty—probably because it was a million degrees outside.
“No. And family.” I didn’t wait for further comment. Carrying the arrangement high above me so I could see where I was going, I spun on the heel of my multi-colored toe-socks and stepped back into the house, kicking the door shut behind me.
“Have a nice day,” Sweaty Delivery Guy called from the other side.
“Yeah, you too,” I answered to the empty room and made for the dining room table, where the rest of our pseudo-conservatory was. I left it next to the bouquet of carnations from the nurses at the hospital and left the room without bothering to read the card. It didn’t matter who’d sent these flowers any more than it mattered who’d sent the last ten arrangements.
The steady shh, shh, shh of my socks rubbing against the oak floor, echoed off the walls of the otherwise silent house as I trekked into the kitchen. For a brief second, I eyed the stove, but then the knife block caught my eye. I didn’t want a repeat of yesterday’s mishap. I swiped the box of Fruity Crisps from the cabinet and the whole jug of OJ from the fridge and went back to my room. I spent the next several hours curled up in bed with Frankenstein.
* * * * *
A beam of sun-lit reflection rolled across my ceiling seconds before the school bus rumbled to a stop on the street outside my house. I thought about getting up, crossing my bedroom, and watching through the window as the kids from my school filed off and dispersed like ants leaving their hill, but I couldn’t muster the energy. I closed Frankenstein and set the book on my bedside table—I hadn’t really been reading it anyway. For the last half-hour or so, I’d been staring at the lines in my ceiling thinking about how easy it was to relate to the monster. Being created to satisfy someone’s selfish desire, cast away for what he was, forced to suffer alone. Yeah, I totally got it.
“Callie, I’m home!” Corrine called from downstairs. Footsteps pounded up the stairs, and seconds later, she burst into the room, out of breath and flushed from the effort of running. “Get up, and put some clothes on, quick!”
I didn’t move.
“Callie, come on!” She grabbed my hand and yanked. “Lincoln, from across the street, is coming over in a minute. We need to make you presentable.” When I was on my feet, Corrine twirled away, across the room to the closet.
“What—why?” I didn’t follow her.
“Because, I want you to look cute when he gets here.” Came her muffled reply from somewhere in her half of the closet. Great, she was going to make me wear a
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