Out of the Blackness Read Online Free PDF

his optimism. He keeps telling me that none of the things that happened to me are my fault. I know he genuinely believes that, but I don’t. It’s impossible to think that way when I’ve been told over and over from practically my first memory—and by almost everyone but Sam—that I never should have been allowed to draw breath.
    Sometimes I wish I had Joey’s strength. I’ve heard people rant and rave about how selfish and evil suicide is, but until those people have endured the physical and emotional living hell Joey and I have lived, they can’t possibly understand. What happens when the “temporary problem” they always talk about isn’t temporary? Try telling the seven-year-old me that the beatings would eventually come less frequently but never stop, because he would never be worthy of that, and see if he wouldn’t rather swing freely from the end of a rope. If only I were convinced I wouldn’t mess it up, I’d do it right now.
    Of course, I know that would hurt Sam terribly and render all his years of protecting me pointless. And the last thing in the world I want to do is hurt Sam. Maybe that’s the real reason I haven’t followed Joey’s lead. Sam doesn’t deserve any more pain, and I’ve grown accustomed to it. I know it will win in the end, just not by my own hand. Probably not, anyway. Definitely not today.

 
    Chapter 2 - November
     
    I return to work more than a little embarrassed. When Molly sees me, she extricates herself from a chatty customer and wraps me in a giant hug. We cling to each other for a moment before she remembers herself and steps back.
    “No more reading in the stockroom,” she commands sternly, like she’s the boss. Then her black-lined lips part in a cheeky grin and she amends, “Unless it’s “ The New Joy of Gay Sex .”
    I grin half-heartedly after her as she moves off to field a new customer’s query. I head back to the stock room to complete yesterday’s task, but find it already finished and cleaned up. On one of the rolling carts, I see the book that started all the mess and glare at it. I know I shouldn’t. I know it could start the whole process all over again, but I’m compelled to open the book again.
    “Oh, no…!” The wail is ripped from my soul as I see what I’ve done. Desperately, I flip through page after page. Each one shows the same thing. Somehow in my agitated state, I managed to draw in the margins of almost every page. Train cars and dog houses, over and over again. I don’t even remember doing it, but I know I did. I’m the only one here obsessive enough to bring my own pens to work. Walter supplies ones with black ink, but for some reason, I have to have blue. Tears slide down my cheeks as I confront the evidence of my madness.
    Angrily, I dash the tears from my face and take the book out to the sales floor. I find Molly behind a cash register and wait silently until she’s finished with her customer. I toss the book on the counter and reach for my wallet.
    “I ruined it,” I say in answer to her questioning look.
    “What?”
    “Yesterday. I drew in it. I don’t remember doing it, but I did. It’s all over the insides.” Still shaken by the discovery, I look at her through watery eyes. “Please just ring it up so I can throw it away and forget about it.”
    Quietly, Molly scans the book into the register and places it in a bag as I slide my debit card through the reader. “Maybe you should hold on to it for a while,” she suggests, her expression showing her concern.
    I nod silently, take the bag and walk away. I want to throw it away, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’ve never thrown away a book in my life. Instead, I stow it in my backpack and wonder what possessed me to deface it like that in the first place. I haven’t drawn since I was a little kid. Back then it was the usual stuff, a bright yellow sun in one corner shining down on a house with a big green yard. Sometimes I would try to draw a little boy and