Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
She always says I need to be careful with my spicy mouth, but I’m nowhere near as patient as she is and get easily wound up. I’d rather be beaten up and spend nights without any food and thrown in the attic than let Martha and Gerald get away with their shit.
Which is why Martha beat me the hell up earlier tonight. I clawed at her face, and when Gerald pretended to break up the fight, I kicked him in the nuts.
He punched me so hard, I lost consciousness. When I came to, I found myself locked in the attic.
It’s a dark, airless box, and the only light is the white streetlamp’s shadow slipping through a narrow, dust-coated window high on the wall. The wooden beams above are splintered and warped, cobwebs clinging to them like silent witnesses to the hours I’ve spent here.
The stale smell of mildew and trapped heat sticks to my skin as I pull my knees to my chest and rest my head on them. I stare at the light dusting of snow falling and landing on the windowsill.
Right. It’s going to be Christmas soon. I hate the holiday season.
Ever since my parents died and I became an orphan, it feels like a needle stabbing an old wound, undoing the stitches and making me remember what I lost.
The floorboards creak under a hesitant step. I perk up as a key jiggles in the lock and then the door opens.
Violet.
She always steals the keys when they’re asleep and brings me a sandwich. Usually, she’ll hug me and tell me to stop rebelling so I won’t get hurt again.
This time is different.
She’s dressed in leggings and a coat, with a duffle bag slung over her shoulder. But that’s not what makes me jump up and run to her.
It’s the black bruise around her left eye. Big, ugly, and so swollen, she can barely open it.
“Vi, what happened? That looks bad.”
She strokes my face. “You have a blue bruise, too.”
“I’m gonna kill them.”
She smiles and it’s the widest, most genuine smile I’ve ever seen on her face. “Want to get out of here, Dahl? Just you and me?”
It’s been some time since we both wanted to get the hell out. Tonight is as good as any.
I nod, inspecting her face.
The bruise looks worse up close, and there’s a small cut on her lower lip. “Who did this? It was that asshole Gerald, wasn’t it?”
“Forget it. I’m fine.” She caresses my cheek, and I wince at the sting of pain. “Your face looks worse, by the way.”
We both burst out laughing and we have to cover each other’s mouths so as not to be discovered.
As we sneak out of that horrible place where yet another couple is using the foster care system to act like God to helpless children, we’re still laughing.
Hysterically.
For both Violet and me, this is the first time in a long time, maybe ever, that we finally feel free.
Alive.
Like we can do whatever we want without creepy foster parents breathing down our necks, using us as a venting outlet for their unremarkable lives.
We stop by a bridge to catch our breaths.
The snow trickles down, covering our shoulders and shoes. But I still spin around under the lamppost and scream into the silent night, “We’re free!”
Violet grabs my shoulders, looking as if she has a halo under the dim light and the falling snow. “Dahlia?”
“Yeah?”
“From now on, we’re each other’s only family.”
“You’ll never leave me alone?”
She hugs me and whispers the word that gives me new hope, “Never.”
Sitting up, I stare at Violet’s face and hold her hand between my trembling ones. “You said we were each other’s only family. How could you leave me? Why didn’t you tell me about the man who was threatening to kill you instead of writing about it in your journal?”
Actually, I might have an idea as to why.
Violet has been soft-spoken and sort of a people pleaser ever since I met her. She never raises her voice and finds it hard to say no to anyone who’s in authority or who yells at her. However, she’s always been a mama bear when it comes to me, quickly transforming into a vicious protective girl if anyone hurts me or says anything negative about me.
I don’t doubt that she wanted to protect me from the man whose identity she probably uncovered. She’d rather die than have me implicated.
The joke’s on her because I’d do the same.
She gave up a lot for me, and it’s my turn to pay her back.
Vi used to say kids like us were always meant to be at the bottom of the food chain, a fringe of the system, a cog in the machine. Our lives, suffering, and trauma don’t matter.
No one cares.
But that’s where she’s wrong.
She matters more to me than the entire world.