Marianne by Elizabeth Hammer (best books to read in life TXT) 📕

first. Marianne had walked slowly into the court and realized that she wouldn’t be able to do it before she even tried. She proceeded to cross her arms and weep at the pavement until the teacher sent her back.

Fast forward to second grade. There she was, whiling away her recess time by gently hitting the tetherball back and forth with her friend Laura. Marianne would hit it softly. Laura would catch it and hit it back just as softly. Two pleasant, quiet little girls trying desperately to make it through recess without having to talk to anyone but each other. Until a little group of bastards came and got in line to wait for the court. Little Marianne decided then that she wasn’t too lame at this game. She was better than Laura, for sure. She’d just beat her real quick, and then they could get out of the spotlight. Maybe she’d even look good doing it. Hey, if it went well enough, she’d play the next kid, too. Marianne hit the ball as hard as she could. It whipped around the pole and smacked her right in the face. No one even had the grace to laugh at her. She spent the whole next hour sobbing outside her classroom until the teacher finally just called Mom to come pick her up. That’s when Mom had pulled her out of school and started teaching her at home. Marianne was a real crybaby when she was little. Hell, she was still a crybaby.

The static hissing sound of the shower startled her again. She kept getting lost in thought and then getting surprised that the surrounding sounds hadn’t changed. Marianne finished shaving her legs and got out. She got dressed in her pajamas because she was feeling exceptionally lazy. She sat down on the couch with a pop tart and watched a recorded episode of Law & Order.

There was something about that pop tart she just didn’t like. She was in an especially crappy mood, so she decided to vent by punishing the pop tart. She drank a bunch of water and puked up the contents of her stomach in the bathroom by the kitchen.

That was stupid. Hell, her whole existence was stupid; maybe she was just acting out in response to that knowledge. Acting out self-destruction like a little child. Oh frick, that made her even stupider.

Her thoughts were full of drama today, yes. But that didn’t mean they were untrue. It was a constant cycle in her life—feeling stupid, not feeling stupid, feeling stupid. She used to think that she was a total idiot, but she’d gotten over it. She’d thought that since Patrick liked her, she must not be that bad. She thought that she could be better, even. She’d lose weight, wear perfect makeup, and look better for him. She’d try doubly hard to be attentive and helpful. She’d make sure he didn’t feel unwanted. She’d be affectionate and show him how much she liked him. That’s what he’d wanted, and she thought if she gave it to him, then he would like her more. And he did. He loved her. Marianne had done well, and he loved her for it.

Wrong. All the struggling and fearing had been in vain. All her thoughts still orbited around Patrick and his opinion of her—and she still loved him—but the fight that had been there was gone now. Now, she knew that she hadn’t accomplished anything. He would have loved her and stayed with her, anyway. Like God. Like Dad. Nothing she did made any difference at all. That should have been comforting. If you couldn’t lose something, then you didn’t have to worry. But, at the same time, you could never know if you had deserved it in the first place.

She’d set those people up as measuring sticks, but they refused to cooperate in measuring her. Was she worthy or not?

No. But I love you, anyway, said Jesus, said Dad, said Patrick.

Okay, then—was she closer today than she was yesterday?

Nope, not telling.

Why shouldn’t she just say to hell with it and be done? She wouldn’t lose one fricking thing. Heaven would still be there—salvation didn’t depend on perfection, after all. She’d still have her bedroom in Dad’s house—she’d always be his pooky little angel. Patrick would still sit next to her, and love her, and tell her that they shouldn’t talk about his feelings because they would only screw her over.

Marianne grabbed her cell phone and left a message at home that she had a sore throat and wouldn’t be coming for dinner that night. Then she called Sally. Marianne was in the mood for sterling silver vampire fangs.

Marianne stood at the cream and sugar table of the Main Street coffee shop in a borrowed black corset and miniskirt. She wrapped her cup of black coffee with three napkins and smiled politely at the forty-something lecher that would not leave her alone. He was dressed in a cape—that’s right, a cape—with long greasy hair, and his belt was studded with collectible Disney pins. “Actually, I’ve got to go now to meet my friends,” she said.

“You sure?” He growled out in his disturbingly gravelly voice. “Why don’t I give you my cell number, in case you change your mind and want to meet us later.”

Apparently, dressing Goth had more disadvantages than she’d known about. She didn’t want this much attention. “Oh... that’s okay.” Marianne turned and headed for the door.

“I’m a druid.”

Marianne stopped dead and turned her head around slowly.

“I’m a druid,” he repeated.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” she said. She should have kept going and not responded, but geez. “Aren’t druids... extinct?”

“Nah,” he said. “You should come with us to a vampire club.” He shrugged his meaty shoulders in an innocent, shy way. Wow. He hadn’t actually responded to her comment, but it only emphasized how nervous he was to be asking her out.

Marianne was tempted to give him a kind reply, but then she remembered how old