Becca

Hiding in the dark where no one can find me feels as natural to me now as it did when I was a frightened 6-year-old girl. It’s a game my mother taught me early on. With a strained smile, she’d crouch down in front of me and whisper, “Hide, baby. Remember, don’t come out until mommy comes to get you.”

By then, I knew better than to ask questions. As the daughter of a drug addict, I was aware of the dangers that lurked outside the dark safety of the closet that over the years had become my refuge.

There were times when all was quiet, and Mother would return minutes later with my orange popsicle and a beaming smile that indicated all was right in our little world. Yet there were other times when hours slipped by while I remained huddled in the corner, clutching onto Roofus and my blanket tightly. With tears in my eyes, I’d listen to the awful sounds of my Mother fighting off the monsters that were a constant in her life. She always won.

 Nevertheless, it wasn’t until she swung open the closet door with a smile on her face and the orange popsicle—a symbol of safety even to this day—that I finally felt the weight lift off my chest, and I could breathe again.

I think that’s what I’m waiting for at this moment, and why I’m choosing not to resist the fog that engulfs my mind. Nothing feels safe anymore. It’s as if I’ve plunged off the highest cliff, and I’m still plummeting downward, waiting for the inevitable crash that will shatter me to pieces.

A loud crash.

The piercing screech of rubber against pavement.

Metal grinding and twisting in a cacophony of unsettling sounds.

It’s the last thing I remember, but it affirms I need to do as Mother asked. It’s safer to remain in the dark where no one can find me until she returns with my orange popsicle to tell me it’s going to be okay. Because I’m not safe. Of that, I am certain, even as I don’t fully understand what’s happening. 

As pain courses through my body, I resist the urge to open my eyes. The distant, loud hissing combined with a sweet acrid smell churns my stomach and fills my mouth with saliva in warning I’m going to be sick. Swallowing back the bile rising in my throat, something wet and sticky trickles down my forehead. Reaching up to wipe it away, I flinch at the sharp pain that compels my eyes open.

“No…” I wail miserably, berating myself for not succumbing further into the safety of unconsciousness. I’m not ready to confront reality. I don’t want to see the latest injustice that’s certain to upend my already difficult life. But when I make the mistake of looking at the bright crimson liquid that stains my fingers, I realize it’s too late. There’s no going back.

“Oh God. No…” As a gush of moisture soaks into the seat beneath me, I sob uncontrollably and squeeze my eyes shut. “Nooooo.” I can’t bear to look. I already know what this means, and I refuse to allow the image of this moment to imprint itself permanently in my memory. “Where are you, Shane?” I scream into the void, tears streaming down my face as the life we both longed for slips away. “You promised you would be here, that you’d keep us safe.”

Like my mother and everyone else who has claimed to love me, he’s absent when I need him the most. I never should have trusted him with my heart. I never should have believed him when he claimed our love was the only thing that mattered, and that it was strong enough to withstand any obstacle they threw our way.

He was wrong. We both were.

Our love didn’t shield us, it shattered us.

It’s just as they warned. We didn’t stand a chance because, in the end, people like them always win.

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Author’s Note:

What are your thoughts on the Prologue? Any ideas on what might be happening?

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