by Loretta Lost
We sit together awkwardly for a moment before I clear my throat. “With these AP classes, it’s mostly about the exam at the end anyway. That’s what determines whether I get the college credit, so I can get the hell out of here faster. It’s all I really care about, Scar. I’ll ace that test; I promise.”
“Good,” she says, standing up and moving over to my desk. “If you flip through the papers I gave you, you’ll find some practice questions. They may or may not be the exact questions that will be on this year’s final exam.”
“Are you kidding me?” I ask, flipping to the questions to scan through them. “Jesus, Scar! You’re a little cyber criminal.”
“No,” she says, glancing back at me with an innocent smile. “I’m just a good sister.”
I shake my head in disbelief, placing the papers down beside my baseball bat. “This is really impressive, but I don’t need to cheat.” Proudly sticking out my chest, I give her my most charming smile. “I actually am a genius.”
“Maybe. I’m not convinced.” Scarlett curiously fingers some of the sketches on my desk. “Is this what you’ve been working on instead of going to class?”
“Don’t look at those,” I warn her nervously. “They aren’t finished. They are just… doodles.”
She holds a sketch up to the light and squints at it. “This is a beautiful house,” she says quietly, removing her glasses to study me from across the room. “Most teenage boys draw pictures of naked girls. You’re a strange one, Cole Hunter.”
“Most teenage girls are into makeup and shopping,” I counter smoothly. “Not cyber sabotage.”
“Maybe we could take over the world together,” she says to me with a playful smile.
“Sure. If we survive adolescence in this house.”
She looks down at her feet, and her smile abruptly disappears. “It’s not so bad,” she says with a shrug. “We have food and internet access. There are plenty of books on the shelves. What more could we need?”
“Parents who give a shit,” I inform her.
She gives me a sad little smile. “Well, I’ve never had that. The Browns are pretty great compared to some foster parents. I don’t mind being here.” She hesitates and places my sketches back down on the desk before looking at me shyly. “And it’s kind of nice having a genius big brother.”
I am unable to respond before she rushes to the door, disappearing as quickly as she arrived. “Goodnight, Cole!” she calls before slipping out into the hall and back into her own room.
A goofy smile settles on my face as I snuggle down into my blankets. Scarlett has the ability to lift my spirits so easily. Maybe I will take some of my medicine so that I can get a better night’s rest and avoid falling asleep at school tomorrow. If I can pull off great grades while half-asleep, I am sure that I could get scholarship-worthy results with a little more effort.
Scarlett doesn’t know that I have already taken the SATs and applied to colleges. I didn’t want to get her hopes up if I was rejected. It’s still early, but if all goes well, I could be out of this place in a few months—while I’m still fifteen. And maybe I could take her with me.
Reaching for the bottle of pills, I feel a renewed sense of determination. Can I really do this? When I originally planned my future, Scarlett wasn’t in the picture. Could I manage to provide a good life for her, even if I am living on campus and going to school full-time? Does she even want to be around me after we leave this house? I hope so.
I think I can take care of her.
And I don’t want to be alone anymore.
She will probably like the idea of getting away with me—anything would be better than this hellhole. Closing my eyes, I imagine how awesome it would be to get into the college of my choice. I could study architecture like I’ve always wanted, and start my own company as soon as I graduate. Then our real lives in the real world can finally begin.
A muffled sound in the distance pulls me from my drugged daze. I feel like I have been sleeping deeply for several hours, and my limbs are heavy, like I have been partially turned to stone. This is strange for me, as I can normally only reach a state of limbo where I am partially awake. Falling any deeper would require letting go—something I refuse to do unless I’m artificially knocked out.
When I open one eye to peer at the clock, I am surprised to see that only about thirty minutes have passed. What the hell? Maybe the medication isn’t that effective after all. I am grabbing one of the bottles to check the expiration date when a bloodcurdling scream causes me to drop the plastic cylinder to the ground.
“No!”
Ripping the covers off my legs, I jump from the bed and rush out into the hallway. I dive for the doorknob of Scarlett’s room and turn violently, but it is locked. Visions of all the horrible things that could be happening behind this door flash across my brain. I know that I heard her scream. I wasn’t imagining that, was I?
“Scarlett?” I call out frantically. Imagining her bedclothes and curtains going up in flames, I place my hand on the door to check for heat. It is cool, but the temperature isn’t enough to assuage my fears. “Scar!” I shout again, wrestling with the doorknob.
I hear her then, speaking softly. “How could you?” she is saying between sobs. “How could you do this?”
“I told you not to dress like that in my house!” a deep voice bellows. His speech is marred by his country drawl, and the unmistakable slur of alcohol. “As long as you’re living under my roof, you gotta follow my rules, y’hear? Ain’t no girl o’ mine gonna go around town looking like a slut!”
“Professor Brown!” Scarlett begs with a gasp. “Stop. Please—dammit. Don’t!”
“You filthy orphans are all the same!” Mr. Brown spits with an angry hiss. Something crashes to the ground and the volume of his voice escalates. “We took you in to save you, but we should have let you rot. You don’t belong among civilized folk with good breeding. You’re just dirty little animals. Dirty, disgusting animals!”
There is another crashing sound, and I hear Scarlett sob.
I feel like I am going to be sick. “Hang on, Scar!” I shout, running back to my room. My mind is racing, and fear is pumping through my veins as I quickly grab the baseball bat. On second thought, I pause and reach under my mattress to grab a switchblade I have tucked away there, and shove it into my pocket, just in case. I rush back to the door and slam my foot into the wooden panel near the doorknob.
“Leave her alone!” I yell as I kick the door until it splinters. When it is starting to open, I shove my baseball bat into the opening and use it like a crowbar. I am startled when the baseball bat is ripped out of my grip, and the partially broken door swings open to the inside.
I am assailed with the scent of Jack Daniels and cigarette smoke. These two substances seem to seep out of Mr. Brown’s pores. I reach for the knife in my pocket, but the large man is already slamming my baseball bat into the side of my head. I find myself crashing into the wall. Dizzily, I stumble backward, and Mr. Brown looms over me with a sneer.
“You ungrateful little shit,” he says slowly, advancing on me.
His eyes are full of hatred and drunken rage. My own anger grows as I wonder about Scarlett. What has he done to her? Is she okay? My heart beats in my throat and I try to pull myself off the floor, but Mr. Brown plants his heavy boot in my shoulder to kick me back down. He clenches his fingers tightly around my baseball bat, and I tense up, ready to defend myself from the swing.
“I give you everything,” he says. “I work my fingers to the bone to keep you fed and clothed, and this is how you repay me? By damaging my property? By ruining the house that shelters you? Worthless pig.” He sneers at me hatefully for a few seconds, as though he is considering smashing my head in until my brains spill out on the floor. I would like to see him try. He may weigh around two hundred and fifty pounds, but I’m fast and I know I can take him.
My fingers hover over the switchblade in my pocket.
Glaring at the old man, I al
most challenge him to act, but he seems to change his mind. He spits on me, tosses the baseball bat to the floor beside my arm, and then walks away.
As quickly as I can, I push myself off the ground and run into Scarlett’s room. I am relieved when I see that she isn’t unconscious or lying in a pool of blood. She is kneeling on the floor near her bed, and staring at her smashed laptop, which lies on the floor before her in several pieces. A lump forms in my throat, for I know how much that little machine meant to her.
She looks up at me with tear-stained cheeks. “He broke it. He broke my computer.”
I move to her side and crouch down so that I can give her a hug. I can feel her small body shaking in my arms.
“Damn him,” she mutters. She turns into my chest and buries her face against my shirt. “I hate him!”
“It’s okay,” I tell her, holding her close against my chest. It occurs to me that I don’t remember the last time I hugged someone like this. It may have been back when my mother was alive. I am in the middle of thinking that I might need this hug even more than she does, when I notice that her black-rimmed glasses are also broken and lying near her laptop. “Scar,” I ask her urgently. “Did he hurt you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she says in a shaky voice. “My whole life was on that laptop. What am I going to do now, Cole? I’m useless.”
“The computer is replaceable,” I tell her reassuringly, trying to soothe her by running my hand over her hair. “Don’t worry. I can try landscaping again to make some extra cash. I’ll get you a new one soon. I promise.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she tells me. “You need to save up for a car, and college…”
“Scar,” I say suddenly, noticing the way she is clutching her side. “Did he hit you?”
She turns away from me, trying to conceal her body. “It doesn’t matter.”
Reaching forward to grab the hem of her t-shirt, I pull the fabric up to expose her abdomen. My eyes widen at the sight of her skin. “Shit,” I whisper, staring at the scars in disbelief. My fingers reach out to examine her wounds, and it takes a moment for me to be able to speak. “How long?” I finally manage to blurt out.
She shakes her head in response.
Little circular lesions are littered all over her side like ugly, unnatural freckles. They can only be one thing: cigarette burns. One of the wounds looks fresh, like it was done tonight, but several of the other marks look older and faded. I lift her shirt a little more, and I see blue and purple bruises on her skin, like she was punched repeatedly. Some of the bruises are turning yellow, so I know that they are relics of past injuries. Unfortunately, it looks like there have been new bruises added to her pre-existing bruises.
How did I not know this was happening?
I gulp down a bit of bile that has been gathering at the back of my throat. The muscles in my jaw tighten until it hurts. I suppress my urge to unleash a cavalcade of curses inappropriate for the ears of a young girl. “How long has he been doing this?”
“A while, I suppose.”
My blood is simmering to a boil beneath my skin. “You suppose?”
She shrugs and brushes her hands over her middle as if she could remove the pain as easily as pieces of lint. “It doesn’t bother me that much. I can easily block it out.”
“But—,” I say slowly, trying to keep calm, “but I barely sleep. I would have woken up. I would have heard you scream before now.”
Scarlett shakes her head. “I don’t scream, Cole. I’m not weak. I mean… I guess I screamed tonight, but that was only because of my laptop. Not because of pain.”
“This ends now,” I say finally, rising to my feet. “The professor is right about me. I’m a useless piece of shit. I could have stopped this sooner. I had a feeling something was wrong, but I never came into your room to check on you…”
“It’s okay,” she says softly.
“I’m going to kill him.”
“No, no, Cole. Please don’t.” Scarlett grabs my hand with both of hers to keep me from leaving the room. “This isn’t a big deal. I swear. I’m happy here. Relatively. I’m happy-ish.”
“You’re happy?” I ask her incredulously.
“Yeah. You don’t know what my life has been like.” She gives me a small smile. It’s rare to see her smile, and it catches me off guard. Her voice grows softer when she speaks. “This is easy.”
“Easy?”
“Just sit down,” she says, tugging on my hand. “Relax. A few burns aren’t the end of the world.”
“Burns killed my whole family,” I remind her gravely.
She sighs and uses all her strength to pull me back down beside her. “Just sit with me for a minute. I’m glad you’re here.”
“I should call the police,” I say suddenly. “He should go to jail for this.”
“No!” Scarlett says sharply, fear flashing across her eyes. “We’ll be separated. They’ll take us out of this home and move us god knows where.”
I pause. “You—don’t want to be separated?”
She looks down and shakes her head. “No. I really just need some stability. It’s driving me crazy, moving around all the time. A new school, a new town, a new family. I’m so sick of it.”
“I understand,” I tell her softly. She’s right. If I call the cops, we will probably never see each other again. I’m not going to risk that. “Just let me get my baseball bat. What if he comes back?”
“He won’t. Professor Brown gets tired quickly when he’s this drunk. He will barely remember any of this in the morning.” Scarlett pauses and studies me carefully. “Cole… did I ever tell you why I ran away from my last home?”
“No. But you said you were adopted by a really rich guy who was paying for you to go to private school. I thought that sounded like a sweet deal.”
“It was,” she says, with lowered eyes. “It was great. Until I got my first period.”
I look at her in confusion. Fear grows in me as I study her expressionless lips. Is she saying what I think…?
“He was molesting me,” Scarlett explains.
My jaw muscles grow slack. A wave of heat washes over me, and I feel sick to my stomach. She speaks so calmly that it gives me chills.
“No one believed me,” she says as she stares at her broken computer. “My adoptive father was a well-respected member of the community, and anyone would take his word over some troubled orphan kid. He was a politician, you see. Everyone I tried to tell called me ungrateful for not valuing his kindness more. The local police were all his buddies—and the social workers considered him a hero. These were the people who were supposed to protect me.”
“Scarlett... that’s terrible.”
“Yeah, but I started to realize they were right. In my situation, I couldn’t afford to be choosy and I needed to try to see the bright side of things. It didn’t matter if Benjamin—that was his name—came into my room at night; I had a good life, a good school, many comforts I’d never experienced before. He wasn’t really hurting me that much; he was gentle. Most of the time, I just had to lie there and focus on something else, and it would be over quickly.”
“How old were you?” I ask her hoarsely, almost afraid to hear the answer.
She hesitates. “Nine. I was nine when it started,” she responds.
I feel like I’m going to be sick. I am caught between a violent surge of rage that makes me want to grab my baseball bat and break everything, and just wanting to cry into Scarlett’s shoulder and tell her how sorry I am. Her body is so delicate and small, even though she is now fourteen. Her wrists and ankles are paper thin. The thought of someone abusing her like that—for so many years—when she was even smaller and more delicate than she is now…
It’s unimaginable. It breaks my heart.
It’s wrong. It’s completely wrong that she had to suffer this.
I briefly close my eyes. Nine. She was only nine.
That number again. That stupid number. Nine is how old I was when the
fire happened. My thoughts drift back to the person I was then, who is so clearly immortalized in my mind. I hardly remember who I was when I was eight, or seven, but I remember every second of every thought and feeling I had when I was nine. All I know is that it was an awful age for awful things to happen; or is every age that awful? I can imagine a younger Scarlett, just as young as I was, going through pain similar to what I experienced.
But maybe hers was worse.
I had lived in pure blissful ignorance until I was nine, in a real home that was filled with love and laughter. Scarlett never had that. Her life was just one awful experience after another. Her life was just a series of getting her hopes up that she would find a placement with a good family, and being disappointed. I wonder if she remembers all her years as clearly as I remember the one when I was nine? And as clearly as I remember all the miserable years after?
“It wasn’t so bad,” Scarlett says with a shrug, in a voice that I am starting to realize she uses when she lies. “I would have stayed there until now, but I started freaking out when I knew I could get pregnant. If I stayed in that house, I probably would have. I was twelve at the time, when I ran away.” She turns to fix me with a serious look. “I can take anything, Cole—I can tolerate any kind of abuse. But the idea of bringing a child into this world, and not being able to take care of it, and letting it grow up scared and alone like I was…” Her eyes fill with tears, and they flash like daggers when she shakes her head violently. “No. That is one line I will not cross. Never.”
“That… was brave of you,” I tell her haltingly. “I’m glad… you got away.” It’s hard to find the words. Scarlett’s mouth is set in a hard line, but I notice something I never saw before; her lips quiver slightly at the corners, revealing how fragile she is under this falsely tough exterior. I swallow, wishing I could have somehow been there to help her. “I’m glad you’re here, now,” I say in an awkward whisper. “No matter what the circumstances were that led you here… I’m so thankful I met you.”
“I didn’t mean to tell you all this,” she says suddenly, looking up at me with surprise. “I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this.”
