After at least five minutes with the same result, my patience begins to fail me, and frustration seeps inadvertently into my voice. “You don’t like any of those? Not a single one of them?”
He shakes his head again, looking back down at his drawing. Hunching his shoulders, he lifts his hands and signs: “None of them feel right.”
“Do you know your name?”
This time, I get a different response, a nod. Just one. Yes.
“But you don’t want to tell me? You don’t want me to call you by that name?” I push.
Back to the same head shake. No.
With a deep sigh, I give up for the moment, forcing myself to calm down, reminding myself once more that his situation isn’t his fault. If I push too hard, I could damage what little trust I’ve been able to build with him.
“Come on, it’s time to start rounding everyone up and getting ready for bed.” I roll to my feet, tucking the shirt that I’d cast aside earlier into the laundry basket.
He looks up at me with relief as he pushes to his feet and signs to me: “Story tonight?”
Despite my frustration, I can’t help but smile. The fact that he has come to enjoy the nightly story time proves to me that my tenacity is slowly wearing on him. He’s slowly accepting the routine of the orphanage.
If only I had more time…
“Of course, sweetie.”
He brushes his teeth along with several other boys, all crowding in and out of the bathroom in turns to get ready for bed. Once they’re all ready to lie down in their beds, I settle into the armchair beside his bed and pull out the book we’ve been working through — a fantasy story about a boy who discovers he can communicate with animals. The boy’s eyes are all fixed on me as I read through chapter four, where he meets a wise owl who joins him on his journey.
By the time I finish the chapter, half the room is asleep, and the other half has droopy eyelids heavy with sleep. I close the book and set it on the nightstand, then stand to leave. The boy with no name grabs my hand as I pass his bed, his other hand moving to spell out: “S-T-A-Y.”
I pause, wiping his shaggy hair frame his forehead fondly. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me. I still have a few things to take care of. Get some sleep.”
It only takes a few minutes of my stroking his hair for him to fall asleep. His breathing deepens, and hushed snores escape his pouty lips. Carefully, I slip my hand from his and back out of the room, closing the door quietly behind me before heading downstairs.
The orphanage has settled into its evening routine. I hear the wheels of the trashcans outside as Jay drags them to the curb to be collected in the morning, and the muffled sounds of a TV from the older kids' room upstairs — they still had another hour before it’s lights out. Everything as it should be.
I’m headed to make a cup of tea when I hear them — sounds that don’t belong. The sharp closing of a heavy car door, followed by another, then the crunching of gravel. Multiple pairs of footsteps.
My body goes on alert instantly. It’s past visiting hours, and we have no nearby neighbors. Jay lives on site, and we aren’t expecting any company. The only people who would show up unannounced at this hour would be —
The back door crashes open, wood splinters flying before I can take a single step back towards the stairway.
I’m running even as it shatters. My body is moving on impulse and ten years of defensive training with Jay. I round the corner into the kitchen just in time to see three large men, dressed in dark clothing, moving in perfect synchronicity, force their way through the doorway. Held between two of them with his arms wrenched behind his back is Jay.
His lip is split open and bleeding, a bruise forming on his cheek already, but his eyes are on alert, fury evident in them. He fixes his gaze on me with an expression that screams at me to run. Instead, I freeze for a split second, my mind racing.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” one of the men says, a hulking figure of a brute with a shaved head and tattoos crawling up his neck from beneath his shirt. He’s grinning at me like this is all just a game. “Looks like we found another one.Bonjourno tesoro. Why don’t you come here nice and easy? We just want to talk.”
He moves toward me, reaching for me, his hand extended palm upward as if he simply expects me to comply with his request.
Ten years of fear, ten years of training to be able to defend myself in this exact situation, ten years of promising myself I’d never be helpless again, all of it collides in a single moment of clarity.
I move just like Jay has taught me. Like a viper striking, quick and smart. My hand snaps out, catching his meaty wrist, its girth barely fitting between my fingers. Using his momentum against him, I pivot, shifting my weight and sending him flying. His massive body crashes into the floor with a thud strong enough to rattle the cabinet doors.
For one intense and glorious second, I feel utterly invincible.I did it,I think with relief. I’m not that terrified, incapable sixteen-year-old girl anymore. I’m —
My silent victory is cut off by the cold press of something metallic against the back of my head, shattering my moment of bravery.
I’d know that feeling anywhere. It’s a gun. Someone has a gun pointed at my skull.
“Don’t test my patience,dolcezza.” The voice is low, smooth, rich like liquid chocolate laced with amusement and something far darker. “Turn around. Slowly.”
