I Never Said I Forgave You

Summary

I think I was born with a target on my back.

Some people inherit blue eyes or a soft jaw; I inherited a severe, unrelenting paranoia. No historical despot had anything on my suspicions.

When I was an infant, I refused to drink from any bottle unless it was warmed and tasted by my mother, terrified that anyone else would scald me. In elementary school, I spent entire semesters staring at the humming ceiling fan, certain the rusty bolt would give way and decapitate me. I ended up sitting on the floor beneath my desk, taking notes in the shadows.