Isolated // H.S {ON HOLD}

ch 11: Family

//A.N

Wow i havnt updated in aaaaaaaaaaaages!! Im going to start updating really frequently now so yeah:)

btw i have my yerlys next week so afetr that i can update a lot:)

*chapter 11: family*

I thought back on my family. As I did, I remembered something that had happened to me just a few months before. I had come home from school really upset. My mom asked me what was wrong. I told her I’d been sitting at a table with my friends, and this popular girl came up and said, “I’m having a party this weekend and all of you are invited.” We were all excited. This was a pretty big deal. To be invited to a party with the popular crowd. That’s the top of the mountain to a junior-high girl.

But then she turned to me. “Except you,” she said. “You’re not invited to my party.”

My friends didn’t even seem to notice. I felt so bad. I was embarrassed and hurt.

After I told my mom what had happened, she tried to make me feel better. “It won’t be that bad spending another weekend at home,” she said.

That didn’t help much.

“You can spend some more time with your family.”

No help at all.

My mom kind of smiled. “You know that ‘popular’ is just another word for rude.”

Now, that I could agree with.

Then she asked me something that added to my hurt: “Do you really think those girls sitting at the table with you are your friends? Are they really friends if, at the first offer, they abandon you?”

I didn’t want to answer that question. I mean, what did it say about my social life? That it was nonexistent. What did it say about what I and every junior-high girl more or less aspired to—being one of the popular ones? Worst of all, what did it say about the girls I thought were my friends? Not one of them had stood up for me. None of them had said, “Don’t worry, Violet, we’ll have our own party this weekend. We’ll hang out with you.”

My mom continued. “Violet, you’re going to meet lots of people in this life. Some of them will like you. Some of them won’t. But of all the people you’ll have to deal with, there are only a few people that matter.  Family. Your family will always love you. You are our daughter. We will never turn our back on you. The same thing is true for your brothers and sister. It doesn’t matter where you go, or what you do, or whatever else might happen, we will always love you. You will always be our daughter. Nothing can change that.”

As she spoke, I realized that she was right. How many times had she picked me up when I felt down? How many times had she talked to me when I needed her or helped me understand a problem or sat through my harp lessons (which weren’t always pleasant) or done a million other things that moms do? She had always been there for me.

Thinking back on this conversation, I realized that my mom would accept me back home again. The fear of rejection was still raw in my mind, but I knew that she wouldn’t reject me for what had happened. She still loved me. She would always love me.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that my dad would accept me back as well. I mean, how many times had I crashed one of our snowmobiles into a snowbank? How many other things had I done that he could have gotten mad at me for? But he hadn’t. On the other hand, how many times had he tucked me into bed and told me stories or sang me songs at night? He had always loved me.

Yes … my parents would always love me. My siblings would love me too. They would still accept me, no matter what the man had done.

Which meant I had something still to live for.

I took a breath and held it, a shudder moving down my spine. In that moment, the world seemed to tip ever so slightly toward the normal. It was as if, in the midst of all the blackness, I saw a ray of light. My mind focused in on it, grasping toward it as a falling man might grasp for a rope.

The realization that my family would still love me proved to be the turning point. In fact, it proved to be the most important moment throughout my entire nine-month ordeal.

It was at this moment that I decided that no matter what happened, I was going to find a way to survive. The conviction was crystal clear. I would do whatever it took to live. No matter what it took, no matter what I had to do, I was going to survive.

And then I thought of something else.

It was desperate, I know that—sometimes I laugh about it now—but it shows how frantic I was to think of some kind of plan.

I pictured my horrible captor. I thought of his long, curley brown hair and piercing green eyes. He had to be at least no older than 25. The other man Louis, lookedabout the same age.

Which meant I could outlive them.

The thought was like a lightning bolt inside my mind.

It might be fourty years, or maybe fifty, but one day they were going to die.

And when they did, I would be free of them. And I could go back to my life.