Daddy says she's using me becaus she needs sumthing to love with the baby gone. That I shouldn't trust her. But I do. And I love her two. I put her baby on the bed. Daddy told me to throw her away, but I didn't want to. I don't know what to do with her. I'm stepin down now. You or Hell have to take care of it.
Woody's grammatical errors hurt my brain, and I pushed the diary away. I didn't want to read more.
I'd read enough, seen too much to know these people weren't getting away with hurting us like this.
My parents went to bed later than usual, both of them happy to avoid me, with neither of them tapping my door.
I could hear from my room that my father was making calls from behind his closed bedroom door. I couldn't make out what he was saying, but his tone rattled through the walls when it geared towards agitation. The person on the line wasn’t giving in to his demands.
I stared at my bedroom door. My father’s voice got louder beyond the dark wood as my mother entered their room, probably back after drugging Nessie. Poor kid, she hadn't slept well since Jolie was out of her room.
My system—me and all my alters—were tired, too; each of them told me in their diary entries. I glanced at the journal, sitting closed on my computer desk chair. Then I looked back to the door, and I waitedfor a while.
I stepped out of my room and crept down the stairs. This traitorous house whispered of my travels, the floorboards echoing under each step.
I made it to the bottom and paused. My father's bedroom door hadn’t creaked open, and there was nothing but silence beyond it.
I moved through the dusty hallway, following the prints I'd left earlier that hadn't been properly cleaned.
I turned on the kitchen light, my dirty fingers leaving a smudge on the dimmer switch.
The bulb settled on the low orangey hue.
The brass knob pulled me towards it again. I prayed Jolie was still down there, still alive. I couldn't hear her voice. Only the eerie silence was talking to me.
The key wasn't in the lock anymore. Vacated from its permanent home.
A rush of panic washed over me. I spun around, checking the table and the cluster of keys in the back door lock, where many irrelevant keys, attached to a fluffy photo frame—the pretense of a happy family—lived.
“It's in a cup in the high cabinet. One of Nessie's,” a small, broken voice told me through the broken wood. Jolie’s voice.
I followed her instructions, searching through a few cups before pulling out a ceramic mug with a yellow bear. The keys rattled as I pulled them out.
The lock clicked, the mechanism releasing. Light flooded down on Jolie as she sat at the top of the stairs. Her small hand was still on the doorknob when I opened the door, pulling her into the kitchen.
I scooped her up, straining my shoulder as I lifted her into my arms. Fresh blood dotted my fingers as I held her. Her weight-loss meant I could easily lift her now, but I missed the way she looked before.
“You came back for me. I knew you would.”
She wrapped her arms around my neck and her good leg around my waist, the other hanging down awkwardly. Her pretty hair was dank with tears and dry blood; it tickled my ear, but I didn't laugh.
“Always. I'll always comefor you.”
Her naked stomach rumbled against me, the round curve pushing into my ribs.
Quietly, I pulled out a chair, and I was about to set her down when she held on tighter.
I kept her with me, understanding that she wasn’t ready for even a small separation. I carried her over to the sink so I could wash my hands and make her something to eat before I got her out of here.
“Woodrow?” My name was called down the stairs, making my stomach drop.
The top step floorboard creaked, as my father's ugly feet threatened to descend.
Jolie reeled back in my arms. The deep breaths she was taking sucked the air from the room and from my lungs.
She was panicking, and panicking brought unnecessary noise.
I placed a finger on her lips, and cringed as her nose crinkled under the smell.
