by Nicole Hart
As soon as I was within arm’s reach, he grabbed my bicep, and his dirty nails dug into my skin. A small cry escaped my lips, causing him to tighten his oversized hand so hard I worried he’d break the bone.
“You need to learn your fucking place and stay out of shit that doesn’t concern you.” His mouth didn’t open as he spoke, his teeth grinding together. A moment later, his free hand clutched my neck, and he pressed my cheek onto the scorching, leather seat of the beat-up, old motorcycle. I didn’t make a sound as the hot seat burned my face.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell him what a worthless piece of trash he was. But I didn’t. I couldn’t say a word. My body wouldn’t move. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he dug into his pocket. My lip began to tremble. He pulled out his weapon of choice, and I squeezed my eyes closed, scared to death of what was coming next.
A lighter.
I heard the flint spark but refused to look. It would be worse if I saw it and anticipated it coming. With one hand still forcing my face into the seat, the other lit the flame and moved it close to my neck. He didn’t touch me with the fire. He just got close enough for me to feel the heat along my throat. And he knew I wouldn’t move, because if I did, there would be contact. Fire was his go-to punishment. He used it frequently. I couldn’t count the times he had placed a lighter behind me, just waiting for me to jump from the heat. He considered it a game.
I suppose the devil would.
I remained a statue, tears rolling from my eyes and over my nose as he chuckled. He actually thought this was funny. The moments felt like an eternity as he waited for my response. The one I refused to give. On the inside, I panicked, the fire was so close to me. Tears were my only outlet, but those I couldn’t control.
“Little bitch,” he roared, just before his hand left my head, but not before one last shove into the searing leather.
I hate him.
I hate him.
I hate him.
As soon as he left my side, I stood and ran into the house, hearing Sara’s footsteps directly behind me. Once I was in my bedroom, I threw myself onto the bed, my face still stinging from the seat. I heard the door close and felt my little sister lay beside me. I kept my eyes closed and started to sob.
“I’m sorry, Rachel. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have touched it. I’m sorry.” Her words left me feeling even more guilty. It gutted me that she thought any of this was her fault. The only person who deserved any blame was him.
“Hush. Please. I don’t want to talk about it,” I whimpered through my sniffles, unable to catch my breath.
One of these days, I would get us out of here. Sara and Mama. We couldn’t live like this forever. We just couldn’t.
I stared in the mirror at my chest, wishing more was going on in that department. After all, I wasn’t a little kid anymore. Someone needed to tell my boobs. It’s like they hadn’t grown a single bit in the last two years.
“Are you almost done in there?” Sara barked at the door, tapping her fingers along the wood.
“Almost.” I rolled my eyes and pulled my shirt back down, hoping one of these days they would come in and no longer look like ant hills.
“Mama is making you a cake!” Her excitement caught my attention.
“Really?” I squealed as I opened the door quickly.
“Yep, she’s in the kitchen now!” Her toothy grin made me chuckle. Sara hadn’t quite grown into her two front teeth yet. But I only made fun of her once about it. I’d felt guilty when she’d cried, and I didn’t want to be the cause of anyone’s tears in this house. I zipped past my little sister and made my way into the kitchen where the smell of chocolate lingered in the air.
“You’re making me a cake?” I grabbed her around the waist and gave her a squeeze just as she turned her back to the stove.
“Well, it’s not every day you turn fourteen.” She placed her soft but frail hands on both of my cheeks before pressing a quick kiss to my forehead.
“Happy birthday!” Mama and Sara both sang in unison.
A genuine smile spread across my face. “Thanks!”
“Is it almost done?” Sara bent down and tried to peek through the gap in the oven door.
“Almost.” Mama’s giggle caused my chest to tighten. She didn’t laugh very often, and it was nice to hear when she did.
I spotted the can of frosting on the table. It was already open and begging for a taste. So, I did the rational thing and swiped my finger across the top layer before shoving it into my mouth. The rich chocolate melting on my tongue was heavenly.
“So good,” I moaned, basking in the sugary deliciousness.
“Hey, no fair! You told me not to touch it!” Sara folded her arms and pouted at Mama then back at me.
“It’s my birthday; I’m allowed.” I giggled as she stuck her tongue out at me.
“Speaking of the birthday girl, I got you something. I know it’s not much.” She pulled a box from under the counter, and my heart began to pound. The entire day had gone by without any mention of gifts, and I assumed she just didn’t have the money. I wasn’t mad, but this definitely made my heart skip a beat, and I bounced on my toes with excitement.
“Thanks, Mama!” I stared at the box as I took it from her hand. I didn’t waste any time ripping it open.
“I hope you like them.”
I threw the paper to the side and found a brand-new pair of shoes—turquoise high tops that folded down to yellow. Everyone at school had a pair, they were the in thing. Mine didn’t have the star on the side like the name-brand ones, but I didn’t care. They were awesome, and I loved them.
“They’re so cool, thank you.” I hugged them against my chest before turning my affection to my mother.
“You’re welcome, sweetie. I’m glad you like them.”
And I really did. It wasn’t easy for her to come up with money to get us gifts for the holidays, but she always did the best she could. Maybe I didn’t get the things the other kids got, but I was thankful for what she managed to provide.
“I love them,” I gushed, examining the shoes from side to side, giving them a thorough inspection.
The sound of the door slamming made us all jump, and I knew the happiness and peace would be short-lived.
“Go ahead and take them to your room. Sara, go with her.” Mama shooed us both out of the kitchen, and then she bent down to take the cake out of the oven.
“But I want some cake.” The whine that escaped Sara’s lips stopped when Duane marched into the room. He didn’t have to say a word to show all three of us that he was in a bad mood.
Figured.
We did as our mom had ordered and shuffled our feet to our room, shutting the door behind us. Minutes after we’d hidden away, the sound of metal hitting the wall was followed by my mother’s muffled words, too faint to understand. Not long after, their bedroom door closed, and I knew that was the end of my celebration. My cake now littered the kitchen floor—Duane made sure none of us got any.
Sara didn’t say another word, although I knew she was fuming on the inside. Instead, she stared at the ceiling until her eyes started to drift closed, deep sleep immediately following.
I waited a bit before sliding out of my bed and then slowly cracking the window to climb out. The summer days were longer, and a hint of light still brushed across the woods, leaving me without the need for a flashlight to make it to our shed.
But a small light was illuminated the closer I got. Jackson was here, and my heart began to pound faster. Somehow, I knew he would be. Some nights when I came out here, I’d be alone, left to my own thoughts. But not tonight.
“Hey there!” He nodded as I ducked my way into our spot.
“Hey.” I couldn’t help but stare at him.
He’d gotten a haircut recently, and as the light reflected off his eyes, he seemed different. Older, maybe. I wasn’t sure. But definitely different.
“Close your eyes,” he muttered as soon as my butt hit the ground.
“What? Why?” I was always suspicious.
“Just do it,” he demanded, and his grin caused my eyes to close on command.
I heard the flicker of a lighter, and my body grew tense. It took me a second to realize this was Jackson and I was safe and allowed my body to relax.
“Okay, open them.” My eyes fluttered open, and a flickering candle on top of a little white cake sat before me.
“Happy birthday.” He smiled, staring at me, my eyes drifting between the sugary goodness and those honey-colored eyes.
Without a second thought, I blew out the flame and then leaned forward, pressing my lips against Jackson’s. It was our only kiss since the first time, and it felt right. Actually, it felt necessary.
As we parted ways, we continued to stare at one another.
“Thank you.” My voice shook, and I wanted to kiss him again.
“It’s your birthday.” He blew me off and ran his finger over the side of the icing before sticking it into his mouth.
“Do you want to share it?” I tried not to focus on his tongue as it ran across his bottom lip.
“Nah, it’s for you.” His smile was genuine.
“Then I think I’m going to save it to share with Sara.”
“Good idea.” He took it from my hands and then intertwined his fingers with mine.
“That was really nice of you to remember.” I stared at our fingers. Linked. Just like us.
“I’d never forget your birthday,” he whispered and leaned forward, pressing his soft lips to mine once more.
It was so hot already, summer blazed through my window, although I tried to shield myself from the sun with an old blanket. It didn’t work. I didn’t know how Sara handled playing outside in this heat, but she did. I guess we both had our own ways to escape. I just preferred a cool paperback in my hands.
It was too hot to even wear clothes, but I did. I had on my favorite baby-blue tank top pulled up over my stomach, trying to keep a little of my skin cool, and paired it with cut-off blue jean shorts.
I heard my bedroom door creak open but didn’t pay much attention, assuming Sara had come in for a break from the humidity, in the slightly less blistering heat of our bedroom. But the stench of cigarette smoke filled my nostrils, causing me to shutter internally as his bare feet padded closer to my bed. I automatically pulled my shirt down over my stomach, my fists clenching it as close to the zipper of my shorts as it would allow.
“What are you doing?” His tone was low and threatening.
“Just reading.” My own voice was just a squeak. Fear of what was to come washed over me.
Without another word, he slid his sweaty body on top of mine, and my throat began to constrict. I turned away as he brought his mouth closer. When his breath fell onto my face, bile rose into my throat.
Escape. Escape. Escape.
I wanted to beg him to get away from me. Force his disgusting body off me. But I knew it was impossible. The tears began to fall involuntarily, although I tried to keep them at bay. My weakness only gave him strength.
“Hush,” he hissed between gritted teeth. “Shut the fuck up.” His command filled my thoughts, and I knew I was drowning. Suffocating. Grasping for breath that refused to give me relief.
Escape.
Escape.
Escape.
I went to my usual place. A place of my own where I controlled my life and everything in it, including who I invited in. And who I kept out.
One day, I’ll have a beautiful apartment in the city. It’ll overlook tall skyscrapers, like the shows I’ve seen based in New York City. A place where people shuffle around, minding their own business and allowing you to do the same.
My apartment will be filled with leather furniture that’s cool to the touch, with paintings depicting laughter and happiness. I will have plants covering a small patio and fresh flowers decorating my kitchen table, giving it life—just like the purple flowers I’d seen in the magazine at the library. I should have looked up what kind they were to keep a mental note, that way I would remember when the time came.
And a bookcase. A beautiful black bookcase. I’d always been a fan of modern furniture. So it had to be black and sleek and filled with all my favorites. The classics we were forced to read in school—the ones most of the kids griped about, but I enjoyed so much I always read ahead. And I will have copies of my favorite childhood stories and all the books I’d ever checked out from the library. Each and every one of them. I’ll have a job I loved, where people are nice to me, and I can pay for the things I want and need.
I would do it. One day, I would escape.
Escaping was my mission, and my dreams of escaping were the only survival technique I had. But one day that would change. It would all change. I would make sure of it.
Escape.
Escape.
Escape.
“Pretty soon, we won’t need these piece-of-shit bikes to get around. I’ll have a real set of wheels.” Jackson pumped the back tire of my second-hand bicycle full of air for the third time this week.
“Yeah, that’ll be cool.” I tried to be supportive, but the truth was, I was unsure how he planned to get a car. But I didn’t want to be a dream crusher and slam reality in his face. That’s not how I worked—it’s not how we worked. We had dreams of getting out of this place, and one of these days, we would make it happen…even if I didn’t know how.
Jackson straightened his lean body and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He placed one between his lips and inhaled deeply once the flame of his lighter touched the end. I watched his chest puff out and then relax as he blew the smoke past his lips.
He smoked all the time now, and it got on my nerves a little. I hated the smell that radiated around him when he did, and the scent it left behind was even worse. He even noticed me cringe when he tried to kiss me after smoking one night. He didn’t kiss me again for over a month after that. I felt guilty, but I couldn’t help it—the stench reminded me of things I couldn’t stand.
We were back to kissing now though, and I usually just tried to ignore the smell as best as I could. It had been over two years since the first time under the old tree, and I was convinced Jackson was the only boy I would ever kiss. And do anything else with, for that matter. And I was okay with that most of the time. Jackson never pushed me to go further, and I often wondered why. I thought boys wanted to do things with girls. It bothered me, thinking maybe I wasn’t good enough to have sex with, or even try. I wasn’t ready for that stuff anyway, but it would have been nice to be wanted.
Maybe.
I wasn’t sure.
My emotions were all over the place these days, even worse than normal. I assumed it was my ever-changing hormones.
Besides, the boys at school didn’t like me that way. I thought it might be different once I started high school in the fall. But Jackson would also be there, and I wasn’t sure how that would work. Part of me just figured our relationship was a secret that would carry over once we went to the same school. But we hadn’t discussed it. I wanted to bring it up a hundred times but never did. He was going to be a junior, and I would only be in the ninth grade. It wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t want to be seen with me.
I pushed my heavy thoughts away before Jackson caught on. I always felt like he could read my mind, and I wasn’t in the mood to discuss this now. I just wanted to go for a bike ride down the long, winding roads before it got late. Mama would want me home before dark, and I didn’t want to worry her. She had enough to worry about without my adding to it.
“That should be good enough—for tonight, anyway.” Jackson squeezed his long fingers against the back tire.
We both hopped on our bikes and started down the long road. These rides were always relaxing and helped me breathe a little easier. I forgot about my life at home and just concentrated on the road with the wind blowing in my hair as I pedaled faster down the winding paths of dirt.
We rode in silence, taking each corner side b
y side and smiling at one another every chance we got. A strange scent caught my attention, and I inhaled a little deeper trying to place the familiar smell.
I looked over at Jackson, who must have noticed the same thing, his eyes glancing straight ahead intently, then wandering to the left.
I followed his line of sight with my own stare and then noticed a puff of smoke coming from the ditch about fifty feet away. We both pedaled faster with the scent getting stronger the closer we got.
My breathing hitched, and both of our bikes came to a screeching halt.
A mangled motorcycle lay in the deep ditch, the back wheel still spinning. I studied the wreckage before looking to my left. Duane’s body lay on the ground, a long rip in his jeans, blood covering the denim. His wild, copper hair covered his face, a streak of crimson across his cheek. His eyes fluttered, and when the wheel came to a stop, silence filled the air—other than a quiet groan that came from his lips.
His eyes met mine, and I couldn’t move. The evil glow in his pupils pierced straight into me, through me. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. I just stared at his face, watching the saliva spill from his chapped lips, and the moans continued.
“What the fuck?” Jackson spoke, pulling me from my state of shock and drawing my attention to the familiar voice next to me.
“What do we do?” My voice croaked. Fear washed over me, and my body started to tremble.
Jackson stared down at Duane. His fingers were still wrapped so tightly around his handlebars the knuckles were white.
“Let’s go.” Jackson glanced at Duane before looking back at me.
“What?”
“Let’s go,” he repeated, his voice commanding my attention. He placed his boot on the pedal and moved farther away from the wreckage, and farther away from me.
So I did the only thing I knew to do. I followed him. I pedaled my bike as fast as my legs would allow, trying my best to keep up with Jackson. He looked back at me twice, and I knew he was making sure I was still behind him. My body shook and sweat ran down my face. And we rode…as fast as we could.
