{"id":1230,"date":"2019-02-14T13:32:55","date_gmt":"2019-02-14T18:32:55","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/read.whitefire-publishing.com\/?p=1230"},"modified":"2020-07-28T17:46:53","modified_gmt":"2020-07-28T21:46:53","slug":"paint-chips","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/paint-chips\/","title":{"rendered":"Paint Chips"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Paint Chips<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

by\u00a0Susie Finkbeiner<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

What lies beneath the layers of hurt?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Though haunted by her troubled past, Dot has found a safe haven. She has a fierce protector and a colorful collection of friends\u2026but sometimes she wonders if her life will ever be normal again. Though college and romance<\/a> await her, embracing them requires a new kind of strength\u2014one she isn\u2019t sure she has.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emerging from years of confusion, Cora struggles to latch hold of the sanity she needs to return to the real world. She yearns to find a place of peace\u2026but first she must deal with the ghosts of her past.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Can this mother and daughter overcome abuse, betrayal, abandonment, and the horrors of sexual trafficking, and make it back into each others arms?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Facing the past is never easy. But as they chip away the layers, they might just find something beautiful beneath the mess.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t

Cora 1<\/span><\/span><\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t

South\nof the city, past all the tall mirror windowed buildings and the long twisting\nhighways. Past the billboards and stores. In an out-of-the-way,\nbehind-the-trees sort of place. That\u2019s where I lived out the punishment for my\nsins. Separate from the schools and churches and parks and neighborhoods. An\noff-to-the-side, overlooked place is best for hiding hell. That\u2019s where I\nlived.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A\nwinding and curling driveway unfurled itself through the dense woods. The deep\ngray path ended at a coarse fence, barbed wire pointing in. Within stood a\nlarge, tan building. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Up\nthe flights of stairs, through secured doors, down an empty hallway, the third\nroom on the left. My room. And in that space, dreams haunted. Each dream a\nvariation of the same thing. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Five\ngunshots. His dark eyes. The blood. Her screams.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCora.\u201d\nThe voice of an orderly jolted me awake. \u201cBreakfast.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m\nnot hungry,\u201d I replied. \u201cLeave me alone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAll\nright.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\nsat up, the hard, plastic-lined mattress made a cracking sound, stiff under my\nmovement. Standing, I flipped on the light. The bulb buzzed and let off a\nsickening green-blue hue. I pulled my bathrobe on and turned the knob, opening\nthe door. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGood\nmorning, Cora,\u201d the nurse at the desk said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\nignored her and made my way to a seat in the dayroom. Ugly, burnt-orange chairs\nlined one of the walls. A brown couch sat under the large window. I slid my\nfingers across the smooth green Ping-Pong table, trying to remember the last\ntime someone played. The net hung limp. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

A\nbox, placed on the table, distracted me. I put my hand on the cardboard lid,\nwondering what it contained. Had it been there the day before? Had I not\nnoticed?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

An\norderly pushed Edith into the room. She sat, silent. Her wheelchair squeaking.\nThe orderly stopped her, leaving her near the window. A ray of sunlight touched\nher face. She didn\u2019t acknowledge it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\nis this?\u201d I asked the orderly as he walked past me. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust\nsome books somebody brought over,\u201d he answered. \u201cGo ahead. Look through them.\nMaybe you could read to Edith.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\nremoved the lid. Books, spine up, filled the box. Musty, dust-covered titles. I\ntouched them. Each one. Until my finger rested on a blue book. Gold letters,\nwithout flourish, joined together, spelling a title that I recognized. I pulled\nit from the box, rubbing the cover on my sleeve.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\ndid you find?\u201d the orderly asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\njumped, holding the book against my chest. Hiding it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m\nsorry,\u201d he said. \u201cI didn\u2019t mean to scare you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cI forgot you were here,\u201d I whispered, my\nbreath choppy. \u201cI\u2019m okay.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Still,\nclinging to the book, I took slow steps to the chair furthest from the table\nand the box and the orderly. Sitting, I peeked at the book.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cSense and Sensibility<\/em>,\u201d I read the\ncover, my voice sounded wispy. \u201cWhy this book?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\nopened it, letting the book rest on my lap. Turned the yellow pages. So gently,\nslowly, afraid they might crumble. Closing my eyes, I tilted my head back.\nTrying to recall. Images swirled through my mind. So rapidly, I couldn\u2019t catch\none.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCora.\u201d\nA voice broke through the spinning of my thoughts. \u201cCora.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Opening\nmy eyes, the lights above me too bright, I winced. Exhaled. One of the nurses\nleaned over my face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTime\nfor your morning meds.\u201d She put a tiny cup full of pills into my hand. \u201cIn they\ngo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\nswallowed numbness, forgetfulness, apathy. Chased them down with tepid water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s\ngood,\u201d the nurse said, walking away. \u201cYou\u2019ll be feeling just fine soon.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Feeling.\nAll anyone ever seemed to care about around that place. How I felt. What my\nfeelings told me. They couldn\u2019t understand. Or I couldn\u2019t articulate. I felt\nnothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nothing\nbut the poverty of silent emotions. A memory that hid from me. And guilt for\ndestroying everyone.<\/p>\n\n\n