Black hair. Snake eyes. Black hair. Snake eyes.
Pictures and voices flash in my head until my brain hurts almost as badly as the rest of me. When the lump in my throat grows so large I can’t pull in a breath, I hug my arms around me tighter and pretend it’s my mom’s embrace. I try to remember what that felt like. The thought warms me, but a shiver shakes my body anyway, and I know it’s not from the cold.
I want to be brave.
I am brave.
Liar, liar.
My face twists into a scowl, disgust flooding me. How did I let this happen?
A drop of rain hits my face, making me start. Another follows. Soon, thunder roars, and droplets slap my cheeks.
Teeth chattering, I push on until I can’t feel my feet.
I don’t know how many hours have passed when I start shutting down, but the rain has slowed. Shops withclosedsigns line both sides of the street. My legs wobble, the area between my thighs still throbbing. I inhale, begging my muscles to keep going.
Don’t let me down now.
But, like usual, I fail myself. When I try to take another step, a quiver shoots down my back, making my vision blur. My chest burns. I can’t remember how long it’s been since I had water.
I need a break. Just a second to rest.
Leaning against the nearest brick wall, I let my head sag and focus on my breathing. My legs feel like they’re made of jelly, but I’m scared if I allow myself to sit, I’ll fall asleep and get caught.
The rumble of an engine whips my head up.
I squint through streams of rain and foggy vision, making out an old pickup truck one shop away. It’s idling in place, a portly man in the driver’s seat focused on a paper in his hands. My heavy-lidded gaze slides to the truck’s bed. A tarp covers it from one end to the other, but the furniture underneath is too big, resulting in the bed hanging open and a bungee cord holding everything tight. A shadowed sliver of space pulls my attention toward the left side of the bed.
My pulse ticks like a clock in my ears.
I know I can’t rest in this spot for long, but on the road, in a moving vehicle ...
The driver reaches for his seat belt, and my heart slams in my chest. It’s now or never. I sneak close and try to be quiet, ducking down as I climb into the back, but I can’t help whimpering at the strain. Positioning myself like a snake, I squeeze into the narrow opening beside a couple chairs and a desk.
The engine putters, drowning out the rain hitting the tarp. Then, we’re moving. A strangled exhale leaves my lips, something between relief and terror.
I’m okay.
I’m okay.
I’m okay.
Liar, liar, liar.
I want my mom. I want my cousin. I want this nightmare to be over. But I doubt I’ll ever see either of them again, and an end to my nightmare is nowhere in sight. Bile hits my throat, hotter than ever. My wet nightgown—the nightgownhedressed me in—chafes against my skin. My eyes water, but I won’t cry. I won’t, not over him.
Even though I don’t know where I am.
Even though I have nowhere to go.
It’s not like I can go home. Dad’s debt runs back further than the time I’ve been alive. If he’d sell me once to pay it off, he’ll do it again. Probably to the same man, if he makes it out of the hotel room alive. I shudder as if the thought could conjure him.
No. I have no home now.
I am lost.
At that last thought, my eyes drift shut.
