Page 187 of Fighting Chance

He won’t be able to find me here.

He won’t be able to see me.

I just need to be very, very quiet.

I flinch as glass shatters somewhere in the apartment, then another and another.

It must be the beer bottles.

I was getting so hungry before I had poked my head out to see if I could leave and get something to eat but when I saw all the beer bottles and heard the giggles I knew I couldn’t yet.

“You stupid fucking whore!” he roars. “Where is it, Carol? Where is my money?”

“I-I used it.”

“Used it?” he sneers. “Used it?”

His voice is bellowing and no matter how hard I press my hands against my ears, I can’t shut them out.

My mom begins to cry, whimpers and sniffles until she sobs in pain.

“You know the drill. Strip, you fucking bitch.”

“No!”

“No one gets free handouts in life and your sorry ass certainly isn’t one of them. Fucking strip!”

My mom wails, and I think of going out there to…I don’t know, help her? I haven’t heard my mommy this scared before.

“No!” she screams and then there’s a loud thud.

“I said fucking strip! If you can’t give me my money then you’ll fucking pay this way you fucking whore.”

“Let the boy pay! Let him do it! Please!” Her strangled words make my eyes fill with tears. “Use Kieran as payment. He’s a good boy.” There’s such a heavy pause I stop breathing. “I know you like him.”

Black spots fill my eyes, my ears ringing as bile burns its way up my throat.

No, no, no.

I hate that man. I hate him. She knows that. She hears me cry and cleans me up afterward.

She knows how much I hate that man’s touches!

The closet door suddenly flings open and before I can let out a scream his hands are shooting into the clothes, wrapping around my arms.

“Come here, boy.”

“No!” I scream until my voice turns raw, but as I’m dragged out into the living room and thrown on the couch, as my eyes lock on my mother whimpering in the corner, rocking back and forth, her eyes big and black, I know that no amount of screaming will save me.

Flinging upwards in bed, my hand clutches my chest as my heart pounds furiously. That fucking memory hounds my dreams every goddamn night.

My back is lined with sweat, my hair slicked with it. I blink furiously around the room to prove to my mind that I’m not in that apartment, that I’m in my bed, in my home, and I’msafe.

I’m safe.

I’m safe.

I’m safe.