easier. Cut and dried. A few minutes here and there of her
time, a few signatures on a few binding legal documents and
she’d be done.
She didn’t like that images were starting to linger in her
head. Images of Emily. Emily laughing, Emily smiling, Emily
discovering things for the first time. Her stunned outrage at the
buying of eight chickens, leaving none for anyone else. Her
look of pure enjoyment when she bit into that drumstick in the
car. The tender way she’d bent down and petted Mr. Pickles in
the kitchen. Her teary eyes when she considered her family
and her situation. Her hair fanned out golden yellow on the
pillow on the couch, her lithe form tucked under that thrift
store yellow and green afghan. The shining hope in her eyes
when she said her vows, even though they were fake.
What the heck is happening to me?
Those images were not in line with the way Dani shut out
the things she didn’t want to think about or process. Things
she couldn’t change. Like the past. Things she’d had to live
through to get where she was now. She could block those
images out, but she couldn’t cut Emily off. It was like a
livestream into her brain. It felt like an intrusion. Worse was
the way her body reacted to that stream.
Dani had never been able to not control her feelings.
Emotions were dangerous, and she’d always shut them down
pretty fast. She’d never cared about anyone. Never allowed
that, because getting attached when you knew you weren’t
staying, or when they weren’t staying, didn’t make any sense.
Yes, she’d stood up for other foster kids in the past. Defended
them. Even protected them physically. She’d offered a few
hugs here and there, dried a few tears, slipped pilfered granola