“What? You mute too?” Maxim sneers.
I can’t help the sound that escapes when I’m yanked onto my knees by a painful grip on my hair. Maxim shoves my face into the book in my hands.
“Read it,” he sings.
My scalp burns from his vicious hold, pulling strands out of my braid. I know the moment my bottom lip quivers, they feel like they’ve won. Their malicious looks turn smug.
“I said fucking read it, bitch.”
I try to do as they say, but I can’t make out the letters through my blurring vision.
“Blind, too?” Mikhail laughs. “You gonna cry to your mommy? She gon’ knock you on the head even more?”
“Don’t talk about her,” I cry.
I know my mistake the instant I say it. I showed them my weakness.
One of them whistles. The only thing I can say for certain is that the ink on the page is bleeding along with my heart. Another shard gone, a stab at the hole in my armor.
“Isa’s mom is a whore,” one of them sings. They’re trying to get a reaction from me.
“I bet the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“She’s not!” I yell, knowing it’ll be hopeless. There’s no logic to what they do. They want someone to pick on. They don’t care what the reason is. If they don’t take jabs at my mother, they’ll keep trying until they find another way to sink the knife.
“Bet your daddy didn’t stick around.” More snickers fill the air as Maxim pulls me around again so I’m closer to Mikhail, yanking out hair as he does it.
I try to suppress a whimper. “Leave me alone,” I plead.
I’ve seen how those words affect Roman when someone says them to him. They make him smile as if they’re an invitation, rather than a rejection.
“We got it wrong, Mikhail. She’s all alone. Orphaned mutt. Neither of her parents wants her.”
Hot tears burn my cheeks. It doesn’t matter how hard I try to stop it, they keep falling. With each drop, another point is added on their side.
“Hey!” someone else yells, and the hold on my hair vanishes, but the burning sensation remains. I fall to the ground, and pain radiates from the side of my chin from the impact of the concrete.
I don’t hear the twins scurry off or notice Janelle and the teacher’s hands on me. Nothing seems to exist as they pull me to my feet.
Those boys were right—at least partly. My only living parent doesn’t want me. Jeremy will grow up and forget all about me. Mickey will probably fall in love with someone who actually deserves him. A person who can give to him as much as he gives to them, look him in the eye when he speaks, and have a proper conversation without choking up. He’s going to be with someone who knows how to love herself and the life she has. She won’t have a leaking heart. She won’t constantly need his protection.
Once everything—and everyone—is gone, nothing will be left of me. I have no plans for college, no idea what I will do with my life beyond the plans I made with Mickey, where we’d travel around the country.
I’ve read enough books to know about emotional journeys. The heroine will start off sad, chapters away from breaking. Then she’ll learn from every test, blossom after every trial, and she's healed by the end of her story. Whole.
That’s not my story.
A happy ending is not written in my book.
Nothing will change the fact that I don’t have my parents. Mickey is the only family I have, and I have to accept that one day he will move on to bigger and better things.
I’ll be cemented in the same spot, a spot of my own making.
The nurse lets me hang out in her office until the three o’clock bell rings. I spend each minute leading up to it dreading seeing Mickey. He won’t even need to see my face to figure out something went wrong today because my messed-up hair is enough of a tell. I won’t be able to lie to him, and he knows all my buttons to make me speak.
Then, he’ll be angry, and his fists will get involved.
I stare at my feet and ignore the ache in my scalp and the bruise forming on my chin, walking to where Mickey waits. The closer I get, the more the feeling of being vulnerable disappears. When he’s around, no one can hurt me. The only one who can is me; as much as Mickey tries, he can’t protect me from myself.
