RosieDoll528: Even if I was, I couldn’t go.
JessaBelle2002: Why? You STILL grounded? Damn, girl. What did you do to get into so much trouble? It’s been weeks.
It’s been a lot longer than that.
Twirling a lock of hair around my finger, I think about how to answer her innocent question.
Jessa and I have been friends on Solitaire Slam for a couple months now. When my mom set me up with the game last year, she figured it was a one-player game. She didn’t realize there’s a chat feature. All along, she’s had no idea I can talk to people from anywhere in the world.
I was a good little daughter for a while. I blindly followed her rules, ignoring message requests. Then a spunky girl started blowing up my inbox. Jessa broke me down with questions about makeup advice, of all things.
As if I knew anything about that. I didn’t then, and I still suck at it now, even after practicing every day since I got my cosmetic collection in the mail several weeks ago. I’ve found that I enjoy painting my face. It’s like a blank canvas. I can change myself into someone different. Someone better. Although, most of the time, I’m a little too heavy handed with the stuff, and I end up looking like a clown.
At least I have someone to commiserate with. Jessa’s specialty is hair, but makeup is something we’re learning together.
Like me, she’s homeschooled, so she understands what it is to be isolated. I’m not sure she knows the meaning of the word like I do, though. She’s still allowed to have friends. Go out. Meet people.
Over time, our friendship has developed effortlessly. At this point, Jessa knows me better than anyone else ever has—besides my mom, of course. I’ve told her superficial stuff, like my favorite books and my art hobby. We talk about movies and music. She even knows about my obsession with true crime documentaries and podcasts.
I take credit for the fact that I got Jessa hooked on Harlee Verona’s videos. Harlee’s a beauty influencer who posts a few times a week. Since social media sites are blocked on my laptop, I have to look her up on YouTube, and luckily, my mom hasn’t forbidden me from that website yet. Sometimes Harlee talks about new fashion trends or Hollywood scandals, but my favorite episodes are when she tells tales about serial killers. At the end of every video, she gives out a life hack or a safety tip. Like how to escape from the trunk of a car, should you ever find yourself stuck in one.
My mother frowns upon rated R stuff with violence and sex, but who needs movies when you have real stories? They’re surprisingly educational. It’s amazing what you can learn about crime when you watch shows about murderers. Stalking, weapons, hard drugs, forensics, DNA, evading the police, capture, prison.
Oddly enough, my mom doesn’t mind that I watch them. If anything, she likes that they scare me. “See, Rosalie?” she’ll say. “The world is a horrible, horrible place.”
I’m smart enough to know you never fully trust someone on the internet, so I’ve held back my deepest secret from Jessa. Sure, she’s nice and she’s sent several pictures of herself to prove she’s not a creep, but maybe she isn’t really a seventeen-year-old girl from Florida. Maybe she’s a middle-aged man from New York.
Either way, I need this friendship like I need air, so I’ve chosen to believe she is who she says she is while hiding the ugliest part of myself.
She doesn’t know I’m sick, and I’d like to keep it that way.
Deciding not to respond to her question, my finger goes to the mousepad as I move a few cards around. I’m about to finish the game when a notification pops up with a chime.
I have a new message request from Jimbo6969. Clicking the icon, I open my inbox, and it takes me a second to figure out what I’m looking at. Covering my mouth, I make a noise of disgust.
The video features a closeup of a guy exposing himself. It’s just a five-second clip of him pulling his camo-print underwear down to reveal a penis buried in a lot of hair, but it keeps playing over and over again on a loop.
Gross.
JessaBelle2002: Hello? You still there?
RosieDoll528: Yeah, I’m here. I just got my first ever dick pic. Or video, in this case.
JessaBelle2002: EW. Forward it to me.
RosieDoll528: Why?
JessaBelle2002: Just do it.
Well, if she really wants to see this mess, who am I to stop her? I send it her way. Maybe we can laugh about it. Plus, there’s nothing like a floppy dick to distract someone and change the subject.
JessaBelle2002: Omg, he’s not even hard. It looks like a drunk guy falling out of the back of a cab.
I laugh.
See? She’s funny. This is another reason why I keep her around.
RosieDoll528: LOL. Well, I’ve never seen a drunk guy fall out of a cab.
Or a penis for that matter.
JessaBelle2002: Trust me. They’re both flaccid and clumsy. So, what did you do to get put on lockdown for so long?
Ugh. So much for that subject change.
Should I tell her the truth and risk losing my one and only friend?
Sometimes when I’m talking to Jessa, I forget I’ve been locked in this attic for the majority of the last six months. On this side of the screen, I can be anyone I want. I can pretend I’m not an emotionally troubled, mentally unstable captive in my own home.
I used to have free roam of the house until something my mom calls ‘the incident.’
The incident being, I might’ve stolen some of her happy pills from her nightstand and accidentally overdosed. I didn’t want to die—I just wanted to feel good. And I did feel good for a few minutes until I got really sleepy and passed out next to the grandfather clock in the hallway on the second floor. I remember staring up at it, watching the arms go round and round the Roman numerals as darkness closed in. Instead of annoying me, the tick, tick, ticking made me happy. Giddy, even. Hearing that sound is the last thing I can recall from that day.
Waking up in the hospital wasn’t scary. It was worth it. I got to meet people. Even with my mother hovering every time the nurses came in, it was fun. There was noise and life.
But during the days I was away, Mom had a heavy-duty lock installed on my bedroom door so I couldn’t leave the attic unsupervised. Now she’s always watching me. Always breathing down my neck.
I’ve been trying to gain back her trust ever since, but so far, she won’t budge on the new arrangement. I get to go down to the dining room for meals. If I beg enough, she’ll let me go outside for about fifteen minutes at a time. Bedtime is at seven, at which point, I’m locked in here until the next morning.
Fridays are still cleaning days, and I think the only reason my mother includes me in the activities is because she needs the help. I’ve actually started to look forward to polishing floors and dusting just so I can do something different with my hands. How sad is that?
To sum it up, my life is hell.
Oh, to hell with it. Friendship is nothing without honesty.
RosieDoll528: I can’t leave. Ever.
JessaBelle2002: What, like you’re grounded for life? Lol.
RosieDoll528: I guess you could say that, but there’s a reason. I’m bat-shit crazy. Like, legit looney tunes.
JessaBelle2002: You’re kidding, right?
RosieDoll528: Nope. I have to stay in my house for my own good. And the good of everyone else. It was either that, or a mental institution.