The next day we eat a large breakfast of pancakes and maple syrup. We each gorge ourselves on seven pancakes, we might as well let our self control go. I give Stelli a glass full of lemon juice and honey, because that helps with sickness. And we just talk the whole day. 

We talk about what we would do if we had magic powers. What powers we'd want. How we'd hide them. What havoc we'd wreck. We talk about how we'd surprise people when we had fame and fortune as supervillains. How we'd get revenge. 

Sometime around two o'clock Josenen comes to pick Stelli up to go to the hospital. Kalkita goes with her. And it's just the three of us for a bit. We talk about what Stelli must be experiencing at the doctors. We talk about how much Kalkita cares for her. We talk about anything except the eventuality of this month ending. 

Stelli comes back with a bottle of pills and we put her right back to bed. Kalkita is smiling. And it seems genuine, if strained. For the first time since we got here. 

We make dinner, which is tacos and milkshakes. And after dinner we lay around Stelli's bed, talking. We give her medecine befire she goes to sleep. 

This day is perfect. Well, almost. 

The next day Stelli is better than she was before. And the day after that she's even better. And the day after that she's barely sick. And by the time the week is up her medecine is out and she isn't sick. We celebrate with a box of cookies being passed around. 

And the next day Josenen calls me. He asks to talk to me specifically. And I oblige. He tells me that he's coming to pick me up and him and his friends want to talk to me privately. I let him, because I have to. 

Kalkita gives me a long hug. Her eyes are worried. 

———

There are four girls and three boys in the van. And me. They drive me to a library and we rent out one of the soundproof rooms. We all sit around the table and they look at me seriously. I feel a bit too hot. 

"We're not expecting you to pay us back for this month," a girl with curly brown hair tells me, "but we are going to tell you something important." 

"Why do you think all the street kids are teenagers?" A boy asks me. 

And I turn that question over and over in my head. I had always wondered the same thing but I had never found the answer. I always thought the social security system must've been better before and it's only this generation of runaways and thrown outs that got screwed over. 

"I don't know," I finally answer. 

"My dad's a cop," a red-haired girl tells me. "He says that it's because every few years they do a clean sweep of the streets, killing every unhoused person they find." 

I try not to let my fear show on my face. I don't even know if I believe it. But it doesn't sound too far fetched. The police are always killing us. 

"What if we told you that we could get your whole family off the streets? We could allow them to stay in the flat. And we could send them to school. With an education they'd all be able to get jobs and live their lives. We just ask for one thing in return." 

My spirits soar at the thought of my children no longer having to face hunger, harsh weather, sickness, and constant fear. I would give anything for that.

"What do I have to do?"

"See that's the thing," a boy in a silver-buttoned jacket starts, "we're going to sign a blood deal."

Blood deals are deeply illegal to break. They have to hold up their end. I have to hold up mine. If either of us breaks it we get life in prison. Everyone knows this. 

"Our side of the bargain is that we will provide food, shelter, medecine, and education for Kalkita, Monan, Trayve and Stelli until they all graduate. Your end of the deal is that you let us kill you." 

"What?" What kind of a deal is that? I think about my children. How incredibly much I will miss them. How achingly much they will miss me. I know it's not worth it. I know they wouldn't want me to do it. Wouldn't let me do it if they knew what I was signing over. 

But I think about the constant, multi-pronged dangers of the streets. And how I'm constantly afraid for them. And my fear wins over. There is no choice I can say but yes. 

"Alright." The word flies out of my throat too fast for me to catch it. I apologize internally to my family for leaving them. And I let fear fall thick and heavy over me like a blanket in the summertime. 

We walk to the court and sign the documents. My hands shake as I write down my name in the neat white page that is cleaner than I usually am. 

When I get home I practically collapse into Kalkita's arms. 

———

I tell my family that the nice people will be paying for their needs and schooling. I tell them that I will be away working in a diamond mine far away. They tell me not to go and I hug them tight and tell them that I will miss them. I start crying and they don't know the real reason why. 

I spend as much time with all of them as I can. I savour it as much as I can. I know that I signed my own death warrant. I know I don't have much time with them left. 

The world is dark around me. Each word of Monan's, each question of Stelli's, each sarcastic quip of Kalkita's each wondering of Trayve's, it cuts deep into my heart and makes it overflow with pain. It feels like it's all too much and not nearly enough. 

I try to hide my sorrow but I cannot. 

"Why do you look so sad?" Trayve asks me. 

"I... I'm just going to miss you guys," I lie. 

"So don't go." Kalkita's tone is much deeper and darker than the words she speaks. 

"I have to pay them back for helping us so much." 

"But we'll miss you!" Stelli whines. "We're a family and we have to stay together." 

"We will be together in the Sky World," I promise her. 

"We're going to see each other before then, though?" Monan's words are worried. 

"We will," I lie. I gather everyone up in a group hug and my heart feels as if it's about to burst. I can't take it anymore. But I love them. I love them. I love them. 

———

Finally the day of reckoning arrives. Fear courses dark through my throat and my chest and every part of my body. The world seems like it's a blurred smearing of gray. My tongue tastes like rainwater. My steps are heavy. The world around me flows strangely and slowly. 

I hug each of my family members. Far too tight for it to be comfortable. I try to savour them. And then we do a group hug. And I let myself cry. 

My tears are still flowing as I get into the white car the rich kids put me in. It's too soft and claustrophobic. It's too dark and dismal. I speak no words. 

I silently strip out of my clothes and put on the shorts they give me. I speak no words. There are none to say. 

I think everyone can hear my heartbeat in my chest as I'm lead to a large, polished mahogany room.

It's somehow both light and dark in there at the same time. It's all polished wood. Wooden walls. Hugh wooden ceilings. A wooden floor with rugs. Wooden frames around the windows. 

There is a row of plush chairs against one wall that is filled with college-aged people talking and looking at me. They are intrigued at the sight of me. Like I'm some odd curiosity. I have to fight to get my breaths in. 

I feel like an animal. 

There is a chain and a metal collar that extends down from the high ceiling. And a metal board under that. The sight of them makes me shiver. My hands get cuffed behind my back as I am put in the collar. I can still stand while I'm wearing it but they push me down to make me kneel. They've gotta make sure I know my place after all. 

"Now," Josenen declares to the crowd in a booming voice that sends fear shaking through me, "who wants to draw the first blood?" A dozen eager hands shoot up. But it's a girl with dyed blonde curls and a bright orange dress that gets picked. She holds up a shining silver knife and makes a small cut on my bare arm, just by my shoulder. 

It doesn't hurt very much but it makes the whole world tilt devastatingly sharp. Undeniably real. Here I am. Doing this. There's no way to escape. I start praying in my head. Try to not let my terror and grief and my horror and desperation show on my face. 

The next one to walk up to me is a boy in a blood red shirt. He crouches down in front of me. His eyes are dark and steely and hard. He digs the knife into my thigh and I try not to cringe in pain. 

Then it's another boy who comes up and hurts me. Then it's a girl. Then two more girls then a boy. 

The cuts get more and more numerous and it gets harder and harder to hide my pain, until I can't anymore. The knife digs into my flesh and slices through me. Across my chest. Over my ribs. Down my legs. Over my back. Around my arms. Across my chin. The blade is sharp and stinging and bloody and cruel. There is no place it leaves untouched. I lose more and more blood, getting increasingly dizzy and lightheaded. The cuts cross over each other in intricate, deep-cutting, agonizing lines. 

I end up shying away from the knife. I end up begging for them to stop. For mercy. But they do not listen. They just hold me in place and keep going with their macabre show, the audience looking on in delight. It is as if I don't have a voice at all. 

I think vaguely that I must look terrible. Covered in blood and cuts and scars on every part of my body. A wretched beast that is more creature than human. But the onlookers just stare at me in horrible fascination. Like I'm a strange new science experiment for them. Like they are getting to pick and prod at their new toy until it breaks. They are enthralled by me. Fascinated by my pain and my blood and my wretchedness. 

A girl walks up to me and she crouches down in front of me, dark blue eyes meeting my own. But she doesn't dig in with the knife. She just reaches over and kisses me on my bleeding lips. And this, somehow, is more disturbing than everything everyone else has done so far. She holds me by the hair so that I can't get away. The onlookers laugh. It's a terrible, grating sound. 

And then it keeps going just as it has been before. People raising their hands and lining up to press the knife into my body. New and expensive shoes striding across my increasingly swimming vision. The hurt goes on and on and on. Each minute there is a new person making their mark on my body. As if my body is theirs to do what they wish with it. And there is no respite. 

The hard metal sheet I'm kneeling on is covered in blood. Dark and red and horrible. I feel sick looking at so much of my own blood. I feel sick in so many ways. In more ways than it's possible to count. I miss my family. 

The room looms dark and the windows glow eerie. This place is too rich for people like me. It's too cruel for people like me. 

I wonder who these people are, to be so sadistic. What unholiness have they embraced and why? 

The pain burns through me, sharp, burning agony all over my body and especially in my soul. I try to retreat into my mind but I can't. There is no escaping this. I know that death is coming soon. I cannot even cry, but I want so desperately to cry. To scream. To go back to my family. 

I pray that they will forgive me.