How was the world going to ensure that I lived a bad life today?
Well, by throwing three people into my day that were sure to send my stress levels through the roof.
One, Aodhan.
Two, my stepmother and my dad.
Aodhan, I knew would never send my stress levels out of whack on purpose. My father and stepmother, though? Yeah, they were more than willing to make my life hell if they felt the need to.
But there was always the option to avoid them if I could…so that was what I was currently trying to do.
I’d seen them the moment that I walked into the grocery store.
Sadly, I really needed the damn milk, or I couldn’t run my business. And, since my milk order was running late due to an accident on the interstate, there was no way in hell I could avoid heading to the one and only store in Accident, Florida without having to drive an hour out of the way.
An hour I didn’t have today seeing as I’d waited until the last minute to get out of bed, which had been a mistake.
Now, I was left scrambling for milk, and had no other choice but to go into the store even when I knew two of the four vehicles in the store belonged to people that were known triggers for me.
All I had to do was avoid them, however.
I could do it.
I could walk in the door and go the opposite way of where I heard their voices.
Because I knew they would be talking.
There was no way that Aodhan would be rude enough not to say hi to my father if he saw him, and my father loved Aodhan. Always had.
When Aodhan and I first started dating, my dad was truly surprised that I was “actually able to pull a guy like Aodhan.”
I guess maybe I had been surprised, too.
I mean, obviously, Aodhan had been gorgeous. If it hadn’t been for the fact that we’d been connected since birth, I’m fairly sure that my dad would’ve thought I’d paid him to be something to me just to get my father off my back.
See, my father had grand disillusions. He felt that a woman’s place was in the kitchen, with babies on her hip and at her feet, with very little life experience and the knowledge that her husband was king.
If I was being completely honest, that was why my mother had tried to kill herself.
My father.
Or, my father’s ideals.
I didn’t think that my mom had any clue what she was marrying into until she’d been forced to have her fifth child, which turned out to be a set of twins.
Though, my parents were very unlucky when it came to children.
My first brother was stillborn. My second and third died of childhood illnesses because my father refused to allow my mom to take them to the hospital for fevers that could’ve been handled with antipyretics that he refused to allow them to have. My fourth sister, though she’d made it through the home birth, had Down syndrome. Upon seeing that, my father had decided that she would need to be put up for adoption because no St. Pete could be seen as anything less than perfect.
Then, my mother taking matters into her own hands, had decided that everything needed to end.
Including mine and my sister’s lives.
Only, she hadn’t succeeded. My mother and I had survived her suicide attempt.
And I’d had to live with my father for the rest of my informative years.
Luckily, early on, I’d learned that I needed to take care of myself because my father wouldn’t.
He saw anything modern medicine as the devil, and even went as far as to shun teeth cleanings.
At the age of nine, I’d had to make my own dentist appointments, doctor appointments, and go to them without my father’s help.
The one saving grace was my grandmother.
My mom’s mom was the best person in the world, and it’d ruined my life when she’d died.
Luckily, that was at the age of sixteen when I could make my own life choices.
Unluckily, that’d been when my issues stemming from my diseases started popping up.
I’d hidden them the best I could, which had been why Aodhan hadn’t realized they’d gotten as bad as they had when he’d broken it off with me.
My father refused to admit that anything was wrong with me, and even went as far as to say that I faked it.
I didn’t fake it.
Not even close.
Who the hell would wish to be vulnerable in her lowest of lows in the world that we were now living in? Certainly not me.
I entered the doors and intended to make a wide turn to the right, but came to a stuttering halt when right inside the front door stood Aodhan, my dad, and my stepmother, Lizzie.
I knew without my eyes even adjusting to the darkened room that they’d marked me even before I’d made it inside.
However, I decided to play dumb and continue straight ahead, my goal to get past the checkout lanes and head into the cold section for my milk.
But my stepmother, who I decided was absolutely clueless when she wanted to be, called my name. Loudly.
“Morrigan!”
And I had no choice but to stop and turn.
“Come here!” she called, acting all friendly.
I was convinced that it was because we were in public that she was being so welcoming—she was rarely ever welcoming, because she fed off my father’s vibes—otherwise she would’ve ignored me just like I’d ignored her.
Or tried to, anyway.
I waved, trying to get out of getting closer to her, and said, “I’m sorry, but I’m very late this morning. I need milk, and I need to get back.”
I needed a cart, which they were standing next to, but I’d rather break all of my fingers and arms, completely dislocating my shoulders, and wonder if I was going to make it to the checkout, than walk next to them to get a buggy.
I was able to grab three milks per hand—I needed eight really, but I could send Theresa out after I was opened—and walk back toward the front.
The first sign that something wasn’t going to end well for me was the little niggle that signaled an impending episode.
My heart started to race, my watch alerting me that it was damn close to red-line territory.
Then the sweat started to pop out over my brow.
If I could just check out and get to my car, get seated, I would be okay.
I’d done it plenty of times before.
I just needed to sit. Once I could sit, things would regulate.
But my life never went the way that I wanted it to.
Aodhan and my dad were crowding the checkout line—with absolutely no items to be seen in either one of their hands—and my stepmother was standing near the door, her eyes taking me in as I walked toward them.
I could feel my anxiety ratchet up ten degrees just looking at them.
I dropped my head and powered through the rest of the fifty-foot walk toward the checkout line, then cleared my throat at Aodhan when he didn’t move for me to place my items on the belt.
“’Scuse me,” I said quietly.
Aodhan jerked, moved toward the side, then cursed when he saw everything in my hands.
I shook my head and said, “Don’t worry about it. I got it. Just move. You take one and they’re all going to drop.”
Aodhan dropped his hands that were already reaching out to help, and I heaved my left arm up just to miss the checkout belt completely.
“Maybe if you worked out more, you could make it up onto the belt,” my father said.
I knew that to others, it would likely sound teasing.
But to me, I knew the real reason he said it.