"Evie?" Miguel says.
His voice is distant. Like it’s echoing down a long tunnel I’m not ready to come out of.
Finally, I release her wrist. She pulls her hand under the table, rubbing it with the other. "Freak," she mumbles.
I don’t stop staring at her, still playing with violent images in my mind. And she doesn’t meet my gaze again. She ignores my presence entirely for the rest of the night.
The realization that she’s afraid of me sparks something hot and dark in my chest.
I can’t help but feel Shadow would be proud of his little monster.
When it’s finally time to leave, Miguel wraps his arm around me. As soon as we’re out of earshot, he says, "I’m so sorry, Evie. Sometimes my friends can be real shitheads."
I can’t even fake a smile. "It’s not your fault. I told you, groups aren’t my thing."
Miguel stops me, turning to face me. His warm breath puffs in the cold night air. "You’re so much better than any of them. I don’t give two craps about Carla. She’s not half the woman you are. She’s threatened and needs to put you down to make herself feel better."
He hooks a finger under my chin and kisses me tenderly. I feel wooden under his touch, but I appreciate that he’s trying.
"There’s no one like you, Evie," he says against my lips. "I’d trade a thousand Carlas for five minutes with you."
The words are romantic, heartfelt, and sincere.
And yet, they bounce off me like petals thrown at a stone.
So why do they land like lead in my stomach?
Because I don’t want pretty words. I want the darkness that already knows me.
Dodge This
13 Years Old
Mark and Dana are going out for a date night at The Sizzler, leaving me at home. Dana fretted over and over, asking if thirteen was too young to leave a child alone. Mark and I assured her I’d be fine, until he finally bum-rushed her out of the house.
The door clicks shut behind them, and it’s as if the entire weight of the world crashes down on my shoulders. My breath catches, shallow and quick, like even the air doesn't want to be near me now that I’m truly alone.
I crumble, the emotional pain flooding over me like a torrential downpour. My knees give way and I slide down against the door, as sobs burst out of me in gut-wrenching spasms. I dig my fingers into the carpet, desperate to anchor myself to something—anything—real.
I’m glad they’re gone for this. It’s how it should be. Some ugliness is best kept private, like the way you cover a bruise instead of explaining how it got there.
I’ve been strong for so long, wearing the armor that gets me from classroom to classroom and back to Mark and Dana’s house.
That strength was strung together by a single thread of willpower—and tonight, it finally snapped. The hot rush of emotional pain engulfs me and it almost feels good after keeping it shoved inside for so long… almost.
For weeks now, the torment at school has struck me in my most vulnerable parts, hammering into me with merciless force. At the beginning of the year, it started as whispers behind my back, subtle enough that I could pretend not to hear. Then it escalated, the whispers turning into words, words turning into taunting shouts.
Today, I walked into class and found my desk covered with crude drawings and cutouts—pictures of families laughing, parents holding their children, images that served as a cruel contrast to my own life.
"Guess you can’t relate," someone snickered as I sat down. My cheeks burned, and I felt a lump forming in my throat. But I pushed it down, forcing myself to maintain composure.
Lunch was even worse. I found a note tucked under my food tray, written in mocking cursive.If you feel so lonely, why not just end it?
My hands shook as I crumpled up the paper, my appetite vanishing. Each letter of that note feels like a weight, dragging me further into a dark abyss.
Gym class was no better. When I was hit with the dodgeball, someone shouted, "Her parents dodged her, but she can’t even dodge a ball?" Laughter erupted around the room, each chuckle landing like a punch to my gut.
By the end of the day, I could barely hold it together. When I got to my last class, someone had scrawled on the board, "Nobody wants you, Evie. Why are you still here?"
