Page 126 of It's Always Been You
Before I dare to put pen to paper, I bow my head, clasp my hands together, and begin to pray.
Chapter 42
Evie
It’ssocold.Mind-numbinglyfrigid, in fact, like I’m trapped inside a freezer. My seatbelt cuts into my midsection as I hang upside down, feeling more hopeless than I have in a long time. I’ve been trapped in this ditch for an eternity, waiting for rescue as the snow piles up around me and clouds my windshield. If the paramedics don’t arrive soon, I’m going to die in my car, buried beneath an avalanche of snow.
God? Are you there? Do you even care?
No answer.
Why doesn’t Brandon want me, Jesus? Why am I not good enough for him? For You?
I’m starting to lose feeling in my hands and feet. My teeth chatter as I attempt to move my fingers, to keep the blood flow there, but they’re too heavy. Too stiff.
I’m going to freeze to death.
Panic sets in, and I thrash against the seatbelt, banging my palms against the steering wheel as I fight for my life. “God! Why? Help! I don’t want to die!”
Silence. More snow.
“Where are You?” I bawl, kicking and thrashing. Pain slices down my backside as I squirm around, like I’m breaking down the center. I might as well be. I don’t feel whole, and I haven’t for a very long time.
On the inside or the outside.
“Don’t You care about me?” I sob into the void. “Don’t Youloveme?”
Everyone is so convinced that He does, but it seems like whenever push comes to shove, He’s silent.
“Evie!”
My head is jerked to the side. A sharp smack registers against one frozen cheek, then the other. The sting bites so hard that I cry out in pain. “Evie! Stay with me. Open your eyes, baby.”
“Brandon?” I croak.
As soon as I open my eyes, I purge the contents of my stomach. Half a bottle of whiskey gushes down my naked chest like the rush of a river. I cough and sputter, wiping the sting of tears from my eyes as I come to.
Slowly, I return to Earth. Brandon has my hair twisted around his fist at the nape of my neck. He’s holding my head upright against a chilled tiled wall as a jet of ice-cold water streams down around us. When I’m finally more alert, it dawns on me that I’m in the shower.
Grandma’s shower.
Reality strikes me like a brutal slap.I’m not dead. I’m not even dying. I passed out in the shower.
“Evie,” Brandon yells, slapping my cheeks again. Water oozes into my eyes. “Baby, wake up. Come on.”
I don’t remember getting into the shower. In fact, the last thing I remember before blacking out is shooting off a series of unhinged, hysterical text messages to what used to be my Mom’s cell number, begging her for answers. When I close my eyes again, the messages are burned behind my retinas, mocking me.
Where are you?
Why won’t you answer me? I need you.
Why don’t you want a relationship with me?
I’M YOUR DAUGHTER. WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE YOUR SILENCE?
You’re a waste of space. I would have never abandoned my baby.
Each message bounced back as undelivered.
