Page 2 of Whispers From The Dark

And the little shit knows it.

“It doesn’t matter if it was an accident or not. It happened, and I want to know how,” I say, channeling my best elementary school teacher voice.

“My soccer ball hit the lamp, and it smacked into the window,” he says, turning to face-plant onto the bed. “It’s just a little crack.”

“Oh, good. I’m sure Mom won’t freak out because it’s just a little crack.”

At this, he tenses, and I regret saying it. In order to give my little brother a chance at a normal life, I try really hard to be optimistic around him. But this is stressing me out, and I let it slip into my words.

Scanning his shirtless body, I search for any signs of the shit I dealt with when I was his age. When I don’t see any bruises or cigarette burns, I relax a little. I hate the situation we’re both in.

I’m in my mid-twenties, sleeping on the futon of a tiny two-bedroom apartment, with a shitbag of a woman I hate, acting as a buffer between her and my kid brother.

Not for much longer, I remind myself. I’ve finally convinced Jack’s dad, Robert, to file for custody. It feels selfish trying to pawn off my brother’s safety to that deadbeat, but I dream of California.

And it’ll be okay, as long as I can follow my brother out there. If I could find a place of my own, his dad would undoubtedly let Jack live with me—no questions asked. I’m the one Robert deals with any time he wants to check on his kid. I’m more of a parent to Jack than either of them have ever been. Robert’s indifference is a gift, which is pretty fucked up. Mom doesn’t want to be a mother, but she still wants control. She gets her shit together every time a caseworker comes out, and she refuses to let Jack move out with me because then she’d have to admit to herself that she’s a shitty parent.

So, we’re stuck until I can save up. I can’t let him live here alone, and I pay most of Mom’s bills so she lets me stay.

This broken window is just another setback.

Wincing, I calculate how much money I’ll be able to save this month after all. After the family lawyer’s retainer fee and the replacement window, I don’t even want to think about it. Each month, some new expense ruins my progress. Last month, it was new school clothes because Jack grew a ton this summer. The month before that, it was a cavity—even with his dad’s insurance, it wasn’t cheap.

Every time I’ve had to pull a wad of cash out of the freezer, I refuse to count what’s left. It’s the only time I’m grateful I can’t keep my money in the bank like a normal person. I never have to know just how badly I get fucked over. Mom only had to steal my debit card once, resetting the PIN with my social over the phone, before I decided cash was best. Cash is easier anyway, with the tips I get through Last Drop. Each dollar accumulated from long nights and sore necks goes into the cardboard box of freezer-burnt ice cream sandwiches nestled beneath the vegetable steamer packs.

Knowing just how much I’ve had to dip into it recently makes me nauseous. If I had to guess, I probably only have about half of what I need to move to California. On the one hand, I wish Robert would hurry up with all the damn documents he needs to submit. On the other, I’m grateful for the extra time to save.

“I have forty-eight dollars and sixty-seven cents,” Jack’s muffled voice murmurs from the fleece tie blanket I made him. I’d gathered scrap fabric from discontinued bolts at the store when the shitty laundromat washer destroyed his comforter. It has chickens on it, and he hates it with every inch of his four and a half foot frame.

I sigh, sitting beside him and placing my hand on his leg. “A window costs more than that, Jack. Besides, that’s your birthday money.”

“Am I grounded?” he asks, and I can’t tell if he’s crying or not. “Do I still get to go to Micah’s sleepover?”

“You’re not grounded,” I say. “I’ll take care of it, but you cannot let Mom find out.”

“What if she comes in here?”

“She leaves for Aunt Kathy’s tomorrow. You can make it one day without giving her a reason to come in.” I check my phone, eyes widening at the time. “I need to shower, or I’m gonna be late. Is your homework done?”

He grunts into the mattress.

“Dude,” I admonish.

He finally sits up, eyes dry and face only a little red. He’s still so little, but his chubby baby cheeks are thinning out every day. I try not to think about the fact that I was only a few years older than he is now when I had to take care of a newborn baby.

“Wait until she’s snoring for at least twenty minutes, then go sleep on the futon. It won’t be as cold out there,” I say, mussing his hair. “And get your homework done. Mr. Vonell has already emailed me once this month.”

“I’m sorry, Petra,” he says, and then his body slams into mine. He’s all limbs, and he’s going to be taller than me soon. “Are you mad at me?”

“No, buddy. I’m not mad.”

“Cross your heart?” he asks.

“Hope to die,” I reply. Hugging him close, I try to think about how big he’s grown instead of how small my pile of cash has gotten.

As I turn on the shower, waiting for the water to heat up, I scroll down to Gabriela’s text thread. We don’t talk as much since she quit her job at Last Drop, but she’s busy so I get it.

Hey. I need a favor.