What's the matter? Didn't I love you good enough?"

153.

That Brought Him Out of His Trance Like he suddenly realized just what he'd done. He scrambled for cover.

Yes, you loved me good enough.

So very good! But it's our secret, okay?

Because if anyone knew how much you love me, they'd be jealous.

Now Kaeleigh was really confused.

"Can I tell Mama our secret?"

No! Especially not Mama. She'd get mad because she doesn't love me **

like you. She might even go away.

You don't want that, do you?

She thought it over. Again and again.

But she finally agreed, "I won't tell."

Daddy pulled her against him. Good.

That's very good. It's okay to have **

secrets between Daddy and his girl.

Just remember. No one likes a tattletale.

Especially not Daddy.

154.

She Never Tattled Didn't want Daddy to get mad.

Didn't want her mama to go away, though she'd already gone in spirit, if not yet physically.

Hard to understand.

Harder yet to believe.

Especially when your own need is so great. The simple need to absorb your mother's love.

Kaeleigh always needed that more than I. No, I crave more our father's affection.

But can anyone really love him good enough to fill a well of want so deep it must extend all the way to his core, the very "who" of who he is? And one bigger question remains, begging an answer: Just who (or what?) drilled that well in the first place?

155.

Kaeleigh This Morning I Wake Mired in confusion, an odd sort of throb in my torso.

Hunger. The specter of my genie, physically haunting me. Stalking me.

Beneath my silk pajama top, my empty belly lies, flatter than ever. I need that binge, and something more. Something to make me feel necessary. Alive. This thing I crave (no, can't) is new. Forbidden.

(No. Don't.) What's wrong with me? I can't believe I want this. Why me? Why now?

Why at all? My hand floats across my curvelessness, moves lower, to the need.

Who (or what?) can I make believe is loving me?

156.

Am I Sick?

My skin is hot. Fevered. Demanding to be soothed. Touched. Satisfied.

Have I gone crazy? I have never, ever done such a thing. Never unlocked **

this private room inside of me. Never ever wanted to take a look inside.

Am I possessed? Entered by a demon, chained and padlocked, inside of myself?

I feel possessed, taken by some evil, sick desire. Desire I can't control.

What is wrong with me? I don't want this. Oh God. It can't feel good.

But it does.

But it does.

It does.

It does.

Does.

Does.

157.

Totally Humiliated I go into the bathroom.

I'd like to take a hot bath, but no time now. I'll have to settle for a shower.

The steamy cascade streams over my body.

Sandalwood soap lifts in a fragranced fog, cleanses and perfumes skin and air.

Nasty stickers of hair defile me, the goddess within. I reach for my razor, triple bladed and critically sharp.

I've shaved my legs for years, know to be careful, yet suddenly I don't give a fuck and push hard. The consequences are immediate. Blood streams from the long, wide slice I've opened.

It vanishes down the drain, and I can't help but smile.

158.

Yeah, it Stings But at least I feel something.

Something besides hungry.

Something besides afraid.

Weird. I always thought cutters were sick. Sicker than me, even. But with **

a single swipe I understand why they do it. Why they like it, even though they hate it.

I let the water run over the cut, ratchet it hotter, watch the blood slow, stutter, almost halt.

I like the way the exposed flesh looks, all pinkish white. It looks new, although I know that isn't right.

It's the same age as my skin, my bones. Me. It's been there with me since the beginning.

Been there with me through thick. Thin. Daddy. Suddenly I don't like how it looks at all.

159.

Ugly Flesh Still exposed, I dress in loose drawstring pants, a soft, baggy blouse. Definitely not haute couture.

In fact, I look like a pregnant hippie.

To complete the look, I make two long braids with my grown-out bangs, pull them together in back. All I need now is some daisies to weave in.

Several minutes behind my usual schedule, guess I'd better skip breakfast. Somehow I've lost my appetite anyway.

Not gonna go double digits like this, but I've got plenty of time to work on it.

And the baggy pants make me look larger than the size seven **

I keep trying to outgrow.

160.

Backpack Stuffed With homework and books, I maneuver the hallway as quietly as possible.