chapter 21

Joan’s pov

My thighs were sore, I placed my hands where it felt sore the most, and it reminded me of reasons why: I was staring at the ceiling so early, why I was so unmotivated and tired, why I didn’t want to step outside my door, my alarm danced by five this morning, and I threw it on the floor.

Looking at it beside me, I see misery. It was an unlucky day, I guess. I had shattered it out of rage so early when it was doing its own task. I hated that it reminded me of another day—a day full of work and enough misery. I didn’t want to wake up, not this time or any other time.

And for goodness sake, I was tired of everything. It was a Wednesday, two days before the weekend, so maybe I could lock myself up in the room. For all I care, it would be nice.

But I couldn’t wait until the weekend. I didn't want to go out today; I was sick and tired, and the thought of it gave me an idea: I could call in sick for the week, which I didn’t hesitate to do. I took my phone, and I texted mom a very l