Sleep pulls on my consciousness, and I slip deeper into the well. It’s dark. Quiet. Safe.
I don’t know how long I’m lost in the depths before voices pull me to the surface again.
“It’s preferable to putting her into the system, isn’t it?” Silence. “Well, Vincent will return home, I’m certain of it. It will be like when we adopted Isaac. Don’t you remember what that was like? Vincent was home all the time. We were a real family.”
Family.
“We can be like a family again.”
Family.
“A stretch? He mentioned wanting a daughter, remember? After we got Isaac? No, I know that was years ago, but—” More silence. “Hush. It will work again, Becky. It will. Because ithasto, dammit. He can’t possibly hold one mistake over my head for the rest of our lives!”
Hush, hush, hush ...
“Because ... because it’s my last hope.”
Sleep has never felt so exhausting.
My eyes dart up, down. Left, right. The room is so clean and white, for a second, I imagine it’s Heaven. But then I remember, dirty girls like me, we don’t go to Heaven. A tremble shakes my body, and I sit up on the large bed while clutching a soft blanket.
Where am I?
What happened?
What have I done?
The door opens, and a familiar face appears. Curious eyes, messy brown hair, and two dimples in his cheeks. It’s the boy from the window.
He’s saying something, but the words drown beneath the ferocious beating of my heart. I’ve made a mistake. A deadly mistake. They’re going to find me.He’sgoing to find me.
Hairy hands. Strangled screams. Blood, blood, pain and blood ...
The boy steps out of the room, then, seconds later, he reappears with a full plate of food. The scent of bacon reaches my nostrils, and my stomach clenches painfully.
I don’t move. I can’t. Fear wraps around my neck like a snake, trying to suffocate me. He can’t find me. I’ll die before he finds me.
“It’s okay.” The snake loosens its hold, and I inhale a short breath. The boy says it again. Low, and gentle, and slow. “It’s okay.”
His voice matches his eyes, two buckets of smooth, warm honey.
“You’re safe now. I promise. Everything is going to be okay.”
I’ve said those words to myself so many times, but no one else has ever said them to me. A stinging starts in the backs of my eyes.
He sets the plate on the side table next to a glass of water and asks, “What’s your name?”
I stare at him.
A corner of his lips lifts. “It’s just a name. Something to call you.”
Something to call me.
Princess ...
The taste of bile hits my tongue, and I turn away.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.” His head hangs down, then he rubs the back of his neck before he finds my gaze again. “My name’s Easton.”
