Chapter 1 THE MANIPULATOR (Part - 1)

...CHAPTER - 1...

...The Manipulator ...

Sometimes

I have very dark thoughts about my mother

—thoughts no sane daughter should ever have.

Sometimes, I’m not always sane.

“Addie, you’re being ridiculous,” Mom says through the

speaker on my phone. I glare at it in response, refusing to

argue with her. When I have nothing to say, she sighs loudly. I

Wrinkle my nose. It blows my mind that this woman always

called Nana dramatic yet can’t see her own flair for the

dramatics.

“Just because your grandparents gave you the house

doesn’t mean you have to actually live in it. It’s old and would

be doing everyone in that city a favor if it were torn down.”

I thump my head against the headrest, rolling my eyes

upward and trying to find patience weaved into the stained

roof of my car.

How did I manage to get ketchup up there?

“And just because you don’t like it, doesn’t mean I can’t

live in it,” I retort dryly.

My mother is a bitch. Plain and simple. She’s always had a

chip on her shoulder, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out

why.

“You’ll be living an hour from us! That will be incredibly

inconvenient for you to come visit us, won’t it?”

Oh, how will I ever survive?

Pretty sure my gynecologist is an hour away, too, but I still

make an effort to see her once a year. And those visits are far

more painful.

“Nope,” I reply, popping the P. I’m over this conversation.

My patience only lasts an entire sixty seconds talking to my

mother. After that, I’m running on fumes and have no desire to

put in any more effort to keep the conversation moving along.

If it’s not one thing, it’s the other. She always manages to

find something to complain about.

This time, it’s my choice to

live in the house my grandparents gave to me. I grew up in

Parsons Manor, running alongside the ghosts in the halls and

baking cookies with Nana. I have fond memories here—

Memories I refuse to let go of just because Mom didn’t get

along with Nana.

I never understood the tension between them, but as I got

older and started to comprehend Mom’s snarkiness and

underhanded insults for what they were, it made sense.

Nana always had a positive, sunny outlook on life, viewing

the world through rose-colored glasses.

She was always

smiling and humming, while Mom is cursed with a perpetual

scowl on her face and looking at life like her glasses got

smashed when she was plunged out of Nana’s vagina. I don’t

know why her personality never developed past that of a

porcupine—she was never raised to be a prickly bitch.

Growing up, my mom and dad had a house only a mile

away from Parsons Manor. She could barely tolerate me, so I

spent most of my childhood in this house. It wasn’t until I left

for college that Mom moved out of town an hour away. When

I quit college, I moved in with her until I got back on my feet

and my writing career took off.

And when it did, I decided to travel around the country,

never really settling in one place.

Nana died about a year ago, gifting me the house in her

will, but my grief hindered me from moving into Parsons

Manor. Until now .

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***