The Probability of Violet and Luke

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Who knew a fucking phone call could be so complicated. It should have been a piece of cake for me. All these years spent hating my mother—this is what I’ve been waiting for. Finally, I’d get some form of revenge for all the years of torment, drug injections, the fucking mind games she loved to play with me, and all the other shittiness that made up my childhood. To this day, I still haven’t even begun to fully accept or admit all the stuff she did to me. This should be the moment when I let it all go. Move on. Start over. Except I feel guilty, like I’m a child doing something wrong.

I feel sick to my stomach.

All twisted inside.

And I know it’s because of her. Everything she engrained into my head is surfacing, all the stuff she said to me when I was a child that kept my lips shut. The shame. The embarrassment, not just because she’s my mother, but for myself—because of what she turned me into.

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