Page 212 of Broken by my Bully

Standing on the front of my skirt.

Tripping.

Sprawling on hands and knees.

The woman who’d been standing near the podium rushes over to me, bending to help me to my feet. She’s wearing a black evening gown, the spotlight sparkling on swirls of intricate embroidery over the bodice.

“You okay, honey?” she asks as she guides me to the center of the stage.

“Tripped,” I manage. Barely.

I’m blushing so hard, so hot, it feels like my face is going to peel off.

“It’s my honor and privilege to introduce Haven Lee, this year’s recipient of the Agony Hollow College Social Change grant.” She claps, and eventually the crowd gets a little more enthusiastic.

I guess they were waiting for me to take a pie to the face, and they’re all feeling just a little disappointed.

At least it’s not that intimidating up here as I thought. I can’t even see anyone in the crowd because the spotlight is so damn bright. I quickly pull down my hand when I realize I’m shielding my face again, and grip the sides of the podium.

“Uh, hi.”

The woman leans in. “A little louder, honey.” Then she adjusts the microphone, putting it closer to my mouth.

“Hi.” There’s a screech of feedback that puts a lump in my throat. “Sorry. Uh.”

Great. My mind has gone utterly blank.

…get out…

…he’s coming for you…

Sweat prickles at the back of my neck. The podium digs into my fingers where I’ve got the sides gripped white-knuckle tight as I try to work moisture back into my mouth.

“I’d like to thank the academy…” I force a laugh. “Whoops. Wrong speech.”

Silence.

I mean, seriously?

“Okay, I’m going to be honest. I didn’t know I had to give a speech tonight.”

More silence.

“I only found out last night that I was even supposed to be here.”

I lick my lips, swallow.

My eyes are adjusting. I can see the edges of the crowd now, and they’re all staring at me with blank faces.

You know what? Fuck them.

Fuck them all.

“Because I never got the invite.” I let out another laugh, bitter, and it’s easier this time.

“Because I don’t live there anymore. Until yesterday, I’d been living in my car. And trust me, you can open a little slit in your driver’s side window, but Ted still won’t deliver your mail.”

That gets some laughs, which is fucked, because it wasn’t a joke. Not really. I can’t yell at these people. They’re not responsible for my shitty life. But it feels good getting this off my chest when I’ve been trying to hide every aspect of my life in case someone found out I was a fraud and sent me packing.