Page 67 of Abundance of Obsession

My head fills with many scenarios. I pray—even though I don’t even believe. But I have to be sure.

“What does that mean, Zoe?”

She speaks in a choked voice only after a moment, “Promise me, Eli, that you won’t tell anyone. You won’t reveal to anyone what I’m about to tell you.”

“Nothing will leave this room. I promise.” And I do it without ever having to wonder if I can keep my promise.

I don’t know by whose grace, but this woman trusts me. And that makes my heart race.

And I’m fucking terrified of what I’m about to hear. Almost as much as I feared for her life the day before.

“When our mom died, we ended up in the system’s care. I was too young to remember many details from that time, but what I remember most is the daily fear. Real and suffocating fear. That we’d be separated. That I’d never see my sister again. We had to stay together at all costs.”

Instinctively, I grab her hand and intertwine our fingers to let her be aware that she’s not alone. I hope to give her even a little comfort.

“I don’t want to bore you with the ups and downs we went through, but eventually we ended up at one home that would take us both in. Rick and Ingrid had made it their life’s work. When we came under their roof, they were already caring for four boys. And for a while, things were pretty good there. Enough that I became a happy child again. I was safe, even if they didn’t love us like their own children. But I had Ash. And my foster brothers. Hope that everything in our lives would still work out took root in me. But one day, everything changed—”

Zoe closes her eyes momentarily, and I don’t press her. I wait until she’s ready to continue.

I’m worried about what she sees behind her eyelids. I know she’s back there now, in that house.

Finally, Zoe takes a breath and continues. “When Ingrid died, it was just us. I mean, nothing changed except that one day she was just gone. But no one batted an eye at the fact that Rick, a widower and a man, was left alone with six kids to care for. It was convenient for the system not to see, so everything else remained the same. Ash was growing up and had seen a lot of shit in life by then. She didn’t trust anyone. She saw danger everywhere. One evening, she told me the day would come when we’d have to get out of there, and she had to find money so we could survive. The next day after school, she disappeared for hours. No one asked where she’d been or if something had happened. No one reacted to her absence, though my panic wouldn’t let me settle down. But she came back. The next day she disappeared again, and the next, and so on. Later, I found out she’d started pick-pocketing. Thanks to her charm and quickness, it was a piece of cake for her. Then she got into the underground scene and started fighting in the ring.”

“But what was happening to you during that time?”

“Exactly. I—it started innocently enough. A little teasing here, a shove there. I had foster brothers a few years older than me, so there was a natural gap between us. My hope of having older, caring siblings turned to dust. It wasn’t the fairy tale that had lived in my head before. It was—”

Unable to find the right words, Zoe breaks off. I stroke her knuckle with my thumb, but I doubt she feels it or even notices. She’s in a different world right now. There. With them.

“What did they do to you, Zoe?”

She bites her lower lip so hard that she breaks the skin. Then she licks a drop of blood and clenches her jaw. She keeps her eyes closed for a long moment, and that worries me.

“Sweetheart,” I whisper, and finally her eyes open again. But my breath catches in my throat when I see they’re glazed over. She’s barely holding back tears, though trying her hardest.

And something strikes my heart.

“It was hell,” Zoe starts again. “The kind no child should have to survive. At first, they only inflicted emotional and mental wounds. They made fun of me, taunted me, and called me names. Sometimes they threatened to hurt me or Ash. Jeremiah, Rick’s favorite, was the first to trip me up. Scraped knees and hands were the first physical wounds, but not the last. With each passing day and week, the bullying got worse. The boys got more and more creative. I was the center of their attention, and I hated it.”

“What else did they do to you?”

A single tear rolls down Zoe’s cheek, but she tries hard not to look away. Finally, the covers drop to her waist. She points to a round scar near her navel. “That’s from when Owen lit his first cigarette. He stubbed it out on me.” Next, she points to a pale scar on her arm. “It hurt like hell here when they pinned me against the wall. When they threw darts, I was their human target. Scared shitless, I dodged at the last second. As punishment, Jeremiah threw a knife lying on the table...”

Jesus Christ.

With every word, I experience the same pain she went through. It hurts like a motherfucker.

But I have to be strong for her right now. All the shit that happened…

Zoe grabs my hand and places it on the back of her head. She guides me until I find a lump on her skull beneath her hair.

“This is from after Jeremiah was left alone with me one day. I hid from him, so he had to punish me. This is a reminder of when he pushed me down the stairs. Then he made me kneel naked in the basement and punished me with his belt.”

It proves too much for me. A moan, or perhaps a growl, escapes me. Words fail me.

“There was one week when I didn't get out of bed. I was so sick. After Owen decided to teach me how to swim in the lake. In the winter. Except—he wouldn’t let me catch my breath when I was thrashing my arms and—” Zoe’s voice breaks and tears stream down her face.

I can’t take it anymore and pull her close, wrapping my arms around her. Every few seconds, I kiss her forehead. How can I take these memories away from her? How can I help? My heart breaks for everything she has been through. And at the same time, I’m sure there’s more, so much more. These are small fragments she has survived, and she lived through every single fucking day.