Seven, eight ... Gonna stay up late (Rebekka Franck #4) Read Online Free PDF Page B

scream into
the tube.
    "HEEELP!"
    Then she sunk back into her own feelings of
misery and pity. She cried and howled and let her tears wet the floor of her
cage. Her body was beginning to hurt from being in the same position for so
long and from the hard material she was lying on. She tried to move, to turn
her body, but there wasn't enough room. 
    She was afraid to lose her mind while wondering
why this was happening to her, what she could possibly have done to deserve
this? She hadn't been a good person, she knew that. She was spoiled, a typical
rich-girl with an attitude that she expected everybody to wait on her. Yes, she
knew that. And it was bad. She was bad. She knew she had not treated people
well. Was God somehow punishing her for that? She had been mean, acting
superior towards even her best friends, even towards Camilla. Oh, Camilla. How
worried she had to be. She at least had to know that Amalie was gone, didn't she?
Had she told her father by now? Amalie hoped she had, cause then this would be
over soon. But what if Camilla didn't care? What if she thought that Amalie had
deserved what she got? Deserved it for treating her poorly?
    Amalie had brought so much pain to others, she
thought and regretted each and every thing she had ever done. She had hurt so
many people especially her own mother whom she didn't care much for, since she
left four years ago for some Spanish man named Pedro and moved to Spain to get
away from Amalie’s father. Amalie detested her for that. No, she loathed her
for leaving. The few times she had been invited to Spain to visit, Amalie had
acted like a spoiled brat, slammed the doors, refused to spend time with her
mother and constantly told her how much she hated her and how she hated Pedro
even more. In the end her mother had stopped inviting her to come. It was her
own fault, she had said to Amalie's father on the phone. And her dad's fault.
    "You have turned her into this cold beast
with no emotions," Amalie heard her say while listening in on the
conversation from a phone in another room. "She's all yours."
    Now Amalie missed her mother more than ever. She
missed the mother she remembered from her childhood, the one who had enjoyed
her company and loved her like a mother should love her child. But something
had happened. Something that had made her mother angry and resentful toward her
father. Suddenly they barely spoke and her mother started drinking before noon.
In the beginning it was just a glass of white wine now and then when only
Amalie noticed it, but later her mother would lie in her bed upstairs in the
middle of the day when Amalie came home from school. She would be asleep, an
empty bottle on the floor and several pill bottles on the nightstand. In the
end Amalie hardly saw her mother anymore. Her father took over the education of
his daughter and soon he had taught her all she needed to know. All he had
learned about life.  When Amalie's mother came back from her third stay at
a rehab center, she came home only to pack her stuff. She was leaving, for
good, she told Amalie. She had met someone else, Amalie overheard her tell her
father. She also heard her father laugh and send her away with the words:  Get out. I'm busy.
    Amalie's father had told her that he didn't
care, but Amalie knew he did.  He cared so much he had sent a pack of his
reservoir dogs to beat the living daylights out of this Pedro and send him to
the hospital for several weeks. He was attacked in his village in Spain by what
seemed like a random gang only out to rob him, but both Amalie and her mother
knew who sent them and they also both knew that this was just the beginning of
it.
    On the day the mother told them she was leaving,
Amalie's heart was torn to pieces. Still she managed to keep her calm like her
father had taught her. Never lose it ,
he said. Never show emotions in front of
people. They'll think you're weak. So she stood proud and stoic, not
moving a muscle in her face while watching her