Page 2 of Fighting Chance

A wail of pain rushes from me as my knees, cheek, and hands scrape along the gravel. The heat of the cuts joins the fire burning in my chest and throat.

As I try to stand, the pain wrenches a yelp out of me, this one different. I sound like one of the animals on the nature channel when a predator tears into it.

Lifting my head, my lip quivers, my gaze blurred through the pooling tears.

“Mom, please! I’ll be good I p-promise!”

My heart pangs forcefully, skipping beats before it thud, thud, thuds. Another wave of panic rises for an entirely different reason.

My grandpa died of a broken heart. AmIdying of a broken heart?

Scrambling up, I ignore the pain flaring in my body, because it’s nothing like the hurt in my heart. Maybe I can catch up to her…

I try to run again, but my legs won’t let me.

Whimpering, I fall to my knees as I sob, “Mom, please.”

Is this because I ate the last Pop-Tart? I couldn’t stop myself. I was so hungry my stomach was hurting. I hadn’t eaten in days.

She didn’t look mad when she told me to check the side of the road for the puppy but maybe she got mad that I couldn’t find it for her? I looked really hard; I searched and searched but I couldn’t see it.

“Mom?” I croak out.

My stomach churns with that squishy feeling, spit filling my mouth.

Oh no.

I hate vomiting. It scares me. It comes out of my nose and I can’t breathe.

No one can help me feel better, not that my mom did anyway,but sometimes when I was sick and she wasn’t home I’d lie in her bed and cuddle her pillow.

Her pillow isn’t here for me to cuddle.

I have nothing.

My eyes widen as my stomach rolls and before I can move to the side of the road I’m vomiting, gagging and choking on it as tears run down my cheeks.

Not a lot comes out because all I’ve had was the strawberry Pop-Tart.

“P-please,” I hiccup when the vomiting stops, not knowing who I’m begging.

I’m alone. Panic like never before—stronger than the times she left me in the apartment for days without food and water, stronger than the fear of never seeing her—fills my entire body.

Stronger than the bad man that visits sometimes.

My hands start to tingle, my chest rising and falling so fast I’m scared I’m going to fall asleep and never wake up. Black spots like the night sky take over my eyes.

Did she…leave me here? For good?

“Mom?” I whisper between sobs.

I’m up the mountain. We were in the car for hours before she saw the puppy. I’m not allowed to be alone outside of home. Mommy says bad things happen to little kids like me when we’re alone.

Are bad things going to happen to me?

“Mr. Ashford.”

Her voice is like a whip, striking my brain to the here and now. Grunting in response, I try to give myself a second to shake off the feeling that memory always leaves me with.