"Evie—" he starts to argue, but then he stops abruptly, his head cocking to the side. I scan the room, trying to figure out what he senses, but there is nothing.
"I must go," he says with a suddenness that has me reeling.
I almost trip on myself, following him into the bedroom. "No, wait, don’t go."
In a moment, he disappears under the bed.
I’ve done it a thousand times before with a thousand empty results, but I still drop to my knees with bruising force, hoping to see a door, a portal, something.
Nothing.
He’s gone, and I’m alone to work out the confusing sordid events of my evening.
A strange, humorless laugh escapes me. I thought Shadow could fill me, but now I’m even emptier, lonelier, meaner.
The hunger inside me gnaws like a ravenous wolf who would chew off its own leg.
Peeling my sweaty clothes off, I head toward the bathroom and the freezing cold shower I need to feel bite into my flesh.
The sting will keep me from contemplating when I turned into a bottomless pit of obsession.
Because all I can think is how Shadow may be able to leave easily, but everything has changed and I won’t allow him to forget it.
Braids, Popcorn, & Boys
16 Years Old
In David and Jean’s house, I have more freedom than ever before. Not to mention money to buy brand new clothes and school supplies. But I never make friends.
While David stays silent on the matter, Jean often tries to prod as to why I don’t want to go to football games, join the drama club, or invite a single solitary friend over.
I tell her that I’m focused on my studies and stick to my line.
While I’m not getting bullied anymore, I sure as fuck don’t intend to let anyone close enough to find out what a freak I am.
I dress normal, I stay quiet, and no one even knows I’m in a foster home. I’m just a background prop in everyone else’s high school drama, and that’s how I intend to keep it.
When I go to grab a soda, Jean starts in on me again.
David’s focus remains on his laptop at the breakfast table, decorated with fresh-cut flowers Jean arranged herself.
"It’s Friday night. Don’t you want to invite one of the girls over for a sleepover, maybe? We can get a bunch of junk foodand you can do a marathon of rom-coms or... " She stalls because she doesn’t know what I watch.
I hardly watch movies. I read a lot. Mainly horror novels. I find them comforting—a genre where being haunted is the norm.
"I’m good," I say, trying to edge my way back out of the kitchen.
"Then how about you and me," Jean chirps. "We can make it a no boys allowed space." She sends a teasing glare in David’s direction. "Just you and me and bowls of popcorn and rotting our brains out. I can paint your nails and we can do facials."
My stomach flips and heats with shame. Popping the soda can open, I’m not stupid enough to say out loud that I’ve gotten plenty of facials from David, but I can’t help but think it.
Instead, I take a long slug to settle my guts. "No, thank you," I say, as gently and nicely as possible.
It’s not Jean’s fault she has no idea she’s married to a monster. But it’s hard not to get impatient with her need to connect or get involved in my life.
This is just a roof, a nicer roof than most, but I don’t have time or the inclination to play perfect daughter in her fantasy life. This is a trade situation, and my deal is already made with the devil—or as I call him, David.
Jean wants to bond over braids and popcorn, while her husband uses that hour between the end of school and her return to the house to do any number of depraved sexual things to me.
