Prologue
Callie
? Never Let Me Go - Florence + The Machine
Sixteen years old
We were happy once;at least, I think we were.
Before my dad died.
Before Clio left me.
Before each day started to blur into the last, marred by unending grief and pain. There’s this distant memory I cling to on my worst days: Clio and me sitting on either side of my dad’s lap as he reads to us about princesses and happy endings. He’d do all of the voices and linger on the pictures so we could point out our favorite parts. Try as I might, I can’t remember his voice anymore.
When he died, I stopped believing in them—happy endings, I mean.
There were no happy endings after that. Not for me. I’m not a princess, and there’s no knight in shining armor comingto rescue me. Not now, not ever. I still search for them in books; it’s the only escape I have from this hell I’m living in.
There’s a pit in my stomach as I tiptoe out of my bedroom, glancing down the hallway between the open doors. The house is quiet for once—no sign of my mother or her deranged husband. If they were home, I’d know it before I left my bedroom.
I take another tentative step. My eyes catch on an old family photo hanging on the wall. I was still a baby, oblivious to the world’s cruelties and what would become of our lives after our father passed. Before Rodney arrived, and before Clio left. I wish I could remember more of those days—long before pain became a constant companion.
My stomach growls, urging me forward. I haven’t eaten since I got home from school, afraid someone might say something about my weight again. My stomach has been vehemently protesting my decision for the last hour.
I pad into the kitchen and set the frying pan on the stove to heat up. With any luck, I’ll have dinner made and put away before anybody knows I was here.If I’m really lucky, maybe they won't come home at all.
It takes about five minutes to make my grilled cheese. I slice it down the middle—diagonally, of course—and set the plate on the kitchen island. Only monsters cut sandwiches any other way.
I know a thing or two about monsters.
As I take my first bite, the front door crashes open. The doorknob embeds into the wall, leaving yet another gaping hole in the plaster. My entire body freezes as my stepfather barrels inside in another one of his alcohol-fueled rages. He must’ve been at the casino again.
“Where’s your mother?” Rodney bellows.
My body jolts from the sheer force of his anger. I should be used to this by now.
I calmly set down my grilled cheese and stand, inching backward to put some distance between my greatest tormentor and me. "I—I don’t know."
"Then you better get your ass in there and make my dinner, girl."
"O-ok." I creep around the far side of the island, careful not to let him out of my sight. If I let my guard down, this will end in disaster.
My shoulders draw up as he steps over to the fridge, way too close for comfort, and pulls out a beer. I set the pan back on the burner and turn on the element. Each tick of the clock feels like an ominous countdown.
My skin prickles. There’s something off tonight, a heady feeling of dread settling deep in my bones.
The chair legs scrape against the tile as he pulls out a stool beside the one I’d been using. He slams the beer against the counter. "What the fuck are you looking at?"
"S–sorry. Is grilled cheese ok?"
I learned long ago that it’s best to measure every word before I speak to mitigate their reactions.Head down, short sentences, stay quiet and submissive.
"Shut the fuck up and cook."
My bottom lip quivers. I have no choice but to turn my back on him as I pull open the cutlery drawer. I pause with my hand hovering above the utensils, my eyes snagging on the sharpened edge of a knife blade.One slice. One cut could be my ticket to freedom. His… or mine.
I pick up the paring knife and set it on the countertop with trembling hands. Inhaling a breath to compose myself, I get to work making two grilled cheese sandwiches. When the underside is perfectly golden, I slip the spatula beneath the first one and flip it.
