Cut Read Free Page A

What have you been doing?” Go away!
    “I can’t hear you over the water, Dad!”
    “Then turn it off and get out here.”
    “Soap in my hair! Be out in a moment!”
    His hand slithered in and shut off the water. “Now, Persephone.” He pulled the curtain back and handed me a towel. I snatched it, hiding my body as quickly as I could. The brief glimpse was enough. Satisfaction flickered in his eyes. He could make me do whatever he wanted, no matter how old I was.
    “Go do your homework.” And he walked out.
    Homework was put on hold while I carved a pattern of hash marks across my left hip. One for the first time he touched me. Another for the first time Mom got drunk. A third for the first time I realized there was nothing I could do about either. And one last cut for the first time I didn’t cry because there were no tears left.

    “Persephone, are you okay to drive? I’m ready to go.” Maggie was at my arm, eyes a little red, speech a whole lot slurred. Thankfully, I saw where the night was going within thirty minutes of arriving and drank accordingly. Maggie was obviously not going to exhibit a lot of self-control. It was amazing how much Red Bull and vodka a girl her size could put away before ten o’clock.
    “Yeah, I’m good. Let’s get out of here.” We half-heartedly mumbled our goodbyes. A few idiots whined the party was just getting started. I saw some plastic baggies peeking out of jacket pockets and knew I wanted no part of the next phase of the night.
    “You want to stay over? Dad’s on a trip, so it’s only Mom at the house.”
    “Yeah, that’s sounds good.” Maggie’s head lolled on the headrest.
    “Hey, Maggie, do you think God exists?”
    “Sure, and He hates me.”
    “No, seriously. Do you believe in God?”
    “Yeah, I guess so. I mean, how could you not? There has to be some ultimate power creator-type force out there. But do I believe in the whole Jesus loves me crap? C’mon. Have you looked at our parents recently?”
    What could I say? She had a point and she was too drunk to debate the issue further.
    After tucking her in, I sat on my floor thinking about what Maggie said. Little strains of Bible school songs played in my head. Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so… This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine… Jesus loves the little children… Suffer the little children, come unto Me. And then my phone rang. It was the same number as before. Who the hell called someone this late at night? I was fed up.
    “Hello?” Silence. “Hello?”
    “Um, yes, is Ken there?”
    “No, Ken is not here. As a matter of fact, you will never reach Ken at this number no matter how many times you call it because this is not Ken’s phone! This is my phone! And I would appreciate it if you told Ken the next time you actually call him instead of me to stop giving my number out !”
    “I’m so sorry, miss. I guess this isn’t 555-8786?”
    “No! This is 555-8687.” What a moron.
    “I do apologize, miss. Ken’s an old buddy and not doin’ too well. Guess I musta misdialed. I won’t bother you again. You have a good night now.”
    Wow, did I feel like the biggest bitch on the planet. Poor guy was only checking on his friend, got the numbers confused, and I went off on him. Nice going, Persephone. Maybe tomorrow you can go kick some puppies.

4.
    Maggie’s mom called at some God-awful hour the next morning, demanding her daughter’s immediate presence at home. That meant I had to drag myself out of bed and drive her there. On the way back home, I started thinking about the poor guy on the other end of my tirade the night before. I actually worked up a pretty high level of guilt about my behavior. It wasn’t his fault my life sucked. My need to make it right was overwhelming, as weird as that was. I pulled my phone out and scrolled through the recent calls. There it was—multiple times. I pushed call.
    “Ken?” His voice was anxious. Apparently he still