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Prologue

Cinnamon

“Mommy?” I ask, reaching for the hem of her shirt.

We are outside a dilapidated trailer, it’s the middle of the night, and I’m sleepy.

She brushes me away. “Cinny, you need to keep your mouth shut. Just stay quiet.”

She knocks on the door again, harder this time, and it appears to give out under her hand.

It whips open. A large man wearing a wife beater and missing a few teeth sneers at her. “Honey, what the fuck you doing out here?”

“You gave me bullshit. It didn’t feel like anything.” My mommy throws a plastic bag at his chest.

It’s the wrong thing to do.

His hand wrenches out, catching the side of her face. She stumbles back a few feet, but it isn’t enough to deter her. “Just give me another bag! You know I’m good for it.”

“It’s the middle of the night.” The man’s gaze lands on me, his beady eyes are scary, and I wince back. He smiles, showing off holes where teeth should be. “You brought your kid.”

My mommy lands on her knees beside me. “Yes, isn’t she the cutest? She needs her mom to be up and ready to go. Especially after her dad fucking died. Come on Herb!”

“Fuck, fine, get inside. I got some new shit.” Herb looks left and right, but no one else is outside. Just us.

Mommy jolts upright. “Wait out here.”

“No, bring her.” Herb’s lips twitch as he takes me in.

My mommy hesitates for a single beat. “I—she’s—”

“Do you want this shit or not? Free of charge, just come here. Both of you.” He widens the door.

That’s all it takes, and then mommy drags me in. Except I don’t like it, I attempt to dig my heels in, but she’s much larger than me.

And it only takes a minute until we are all in the musty trailer.

“Mommy, I’m tired,” I whine, taking in the space.

There’s a single lamp that illuminates a living room similar to our own. Torn up couches, to-go boxes littering the coffee table, an ash table over-filled with cigarettes resting in the middle. The stench of smoke wraps around me, burning my eyes and nose.

But I’m used to it.

“Honey, head to the kitchen, I’ll be right there. Maple is in there already, tell her to share.” Herb pushes my mom forward.

“Maple’s here? Fuck, fine.” My mom groans.

There’s noise to our right, and I turn my head to find a door opening, revealing a teenage boy rubbing his eyes. He sees me standing here and straightens up. “I’ll watch her.”

“Boy, get back in your room.” The smelly man in the wife beater raises a fist.

“Let the kids play, come on.” My mommy drags Herb away from us.

Leaving me with the teenage boy.

“Hi,” I offer softly, suddenly shy.

The boy focuses his attention on me, no longer appearing tired. But it’s clear he was just fast asleep, his dark hair sticking up in all directions. His intense eyes smudged on the bottom. A pillow imprint clearly defined on his left cheek.