Survival (Twisted Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

head.
    “No,” he whispered, “but I can be here for you.”
    “Oliver should be here.”
    “I know.”
    He turned the key in the ignition and reversed out of the spot.

Seven
    Life didn’t stop, no matter how much I wanted it to. I had to go on living no matter how much it hurt.
    January 10 th , 2003.
     
     
    I had to go to work. I had spent days locked in my bedroom consumed by fear. I was afraid to live without Oliver. I was afraid of the life that awaited me just outside the door. I was afraid of only having my mother, knowing she didn’t want me. I was confused. I couldn’t accept that Oliver was gone and although the fact was that he was never coming back, I sat on my bed and stared at the door, wishing he would burst through it and tell me it had been some sort of sick joke.
    But he didn’t come. Nobody did. I was alone and afraid of the future.
    So I had to go to work. I mindlessly climbed in the shower, welcoming the burn of the hot water as it seared my skin, reminding me that I was living a nightmare. I scrubbed myself dry with the cleanest towel I could find and pulled on some clothes. I didn’t know what I put on; I was on auto-pilot, completely disconnected from everything. I just wanted it to go away. The pain. The regret. The ache that told me there was a hole in my heart that would never be filled. I wanted to forget it all, I just didn’t know how.
    I pulled on my coat and left the silent, dark flat. My mother was home, I could see the light from her room under her door as I left, but she didn’t come out.
    I walked the dark streets alone with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. Thoughts that weren’t welcome.
    I got to work and sat at my desk and pulled on my headset. I logged onto the system and looked around m e as it set up. I didn’t need to see them looking at me. I could feel it.
    Every pair of eyes in the room were on me. Eyes full of sympathy and pity. I didn’t know any of them; we just worked in the same call centre, but Oliver’s death had made the local news and it was immediately obvious that all of the eyes had read about the accident. That’s what they called it; an accident. It wasn’t accident, it was a tragedy and my fellow phone operators were looking at me like I was hot gossip.
    “You should take a picture. It’ll last longer,” I said, watching as they all hid behind their computer screens.
    “I’m sorry for your loss,” the woman in the seat next to me reached out and squeezed the top of my arm.
    I nodded and bowed my head, shielding my eyes with my hand to hide the burning tears that threatened to stream from my eyes. The beep in my ear alerted me to my first call.
    “Good evening, Lindan Insurance. Can I take your name and policy number, please?”
    I worked my shift, blocking out the sensation of being watched and the sound of whispers between calls. I kept my mind on the shoe box in my wardrobe, tucked away in Oliver’s drawer. That box, and what was in it, was my only hope. My only chance of escape. I kept my head down and ignored the unwanted attention, focusing on that goal.
    It was pointless; I felt like I was losing it. My anger grew. My frustration intensified and I felt more and more out of control with every minute that passed on my computer screen and every customer who called and expected me to move mountains because they’d crashed their car.
    What was the point? What was the reason for any of it? Money didn’t matter. My job didn’t matter. The people sitting around me waiting for me to break down didn’t matter. They weren’t going to get it. I was stronger than that.
    I finished my shi ft and left, walking home alone.
    I climbed in bed, covered my face with my pillow and screamed. I screamed until my throat was sore and then stared out of my window at the night sky as the tears rolled down my face, wondering what the hell I was going to do with my life.

Eight
    Sometimes, the only way to punish yourself is to let someone