Miss O'Connell | B.E

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Highly recommend playing 'What Was I Made For?' on loop as you read this.

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Two weeks.

Two whole weeks.

Two weeks was a very long time if you thought about it properly. It was fourteen days, and fourteen days were three hundred and thirty-six hours, and three hundred and thirty-six hours were twenty thousand one hundred and sixty minutes. Twenty thousand one hundred and sixty minutes were two million two hundred and nine thousand and six hundred seconds. 

Two weeks was no joke. A small unit of time at first glance, but it was currently being stretched into infinity. Everything dragged on. The clocks on the walls ticked louder, she swore their hands moved slower in spite of her.

Divine was losing her mind. No, scratch that. Divine was losing her shit.

Not only was she forced to cope with the absence of the person she had been inseparable from for months, but she also had to watch the other students at Blessed Mother's leave with glowing smiles, their suitcases in tow, all just so overjoyed and thrilled to reunite with their families for Christmas break. So happy. So damn Happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. 

Divine, however, was stuck here between four walls, like she was every year. But four walls was an understatement. It wasn't just four walls. No, it was far worse than that. Hundreds of walls made up the hollow walkways. The vastness only created more floor room to stage her loneliness.

She nearly had the entire building to herself. And why wouldn't she? Who in their right mind would choose to stay here? Who would choose these echoing hallways and empty dormitories when they could run home to their mother? When they could squeeze her in a tight hug, tell her how much they missed her, how much they loved her. Who would choose this place over a good father's presence, a man with love-bearing hands and kind eyes, a father who viewed their child as a gift from God rather than a burden or a paycheck?

Who would want to stay in this building when they had a loving family waiting for them?

Divine didn't have that.

And she didn't want to stay in this building.

She had to stay in this building. What choice did she have?

Soon, the foster agency would show up for their routine visit, clipboard in hand, faux smiles plastered on their faces. They'd make her sit through another painful, awkward phone call with her father, just like they did every year. It was their way of "assessing the dynamic," gauging if there was any glimmer of hope, any sliver of stupid hope, that she could live with him once he got out of jail. But every year, the answer was the same. If anything, the man seemed to deteriorate further with time. 

At least she got to see Janice.

Of course, in a million lifetimes, in a million universes, she would never agree to live with him. Least of all in this one. The very thought of it made her skin crawl; her bones shiver.

He had a way of making her teeth cringe. He thought he was the life of the party, cracking jokes, and slurring words in that drunken, theatrical voice he liked to put on for show. He'd play the clown, the harmless fool, making people laugh as though he was some kind of lovable character in a sitcom.

But that was only when there was an audience.

When it was just the two of them, he told a different story. Always did. He thought he was fooling the world, and for a time, he almost had.