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I cover my ears with my hands, squeezing my eyes shut. “No, Mommy. I’m sorry! I’ll be better!”
She grabs my hands and pries them away, hissing so I have to look at her. Her skin is stretched tight, hair messy, and skin pale white. “I never loved you. No one will ever love you.”
Tears run down my face. I try to move away but she won’t let go. I’ve never seen my mommy this angry. Doesn’t she know she’s scaring me? Doesn’t she know what she’s saying hurts more than anything?
“I’m sorry, Mommy. Please don’t leave me again. I’ll be good. I’ll clean my room and never make any noise. I’ll be whatever you want. Please just love me!”
She lets go of me, wiping her hands over her pants like she’s wiping off something gross. I watch as she walks toward the door. The biggest hole tears through me, making my arms and legs stop working. “Mommy, no! I don’t want you to go. I’m sorry!” The door slams so hard the walls tremble and my entire chest drops.
“Mommy…”
She’s gone.
Again.
I think I need a new heart because I’m pretty sure mine is broken…
Everything begins to shake then, the things around me changing shape and color.
I’m back in my old room. The doll house isn’t against the door where I put it every night before bed. It’s lined up against the wall where I find it most mornings. I’m not alone in the room. Mr. Ambrose is here, standing at the edge of my bed.
“Hi, princess. Do you want to play a game?”
Luca says I shouldn’t let Mr. Ambrose in my room after nighttime. But I’m not even tired. “What kind of game?” I ask, hoping this means I get to stay up late. We’re never allowed up past our bedtime.
“It’s called mommy and daddy. You know what mommies and daddies do, don’t you?”
I never knew my daddy, but Mommy loved to cook. I wonder if that’s what daddies do too.
“Make mac and cheese?” My mom made the best mac and cheese. She even made it for my birthday once.
Mr. Ambrose chuckles, brushing my hair back. His hand is rough and scratchy on my forehead. “That’s right, princess. But it isn’t dinner time, is it?”
“No. We already had our dinner.”
“Exactly. It’s late now, so daddy wants to come to bed. Can you make room for me?” It doesn’t feel right for Mr. Ambrose to be getting into the bed with me, but he’s a grown-up, and you trust grown-ups, so I nod, scooting closer to the wall.
“Good girl.” He climbs in next to me, setting his large hand on my belly. He smells like cigarette smoke and that stuff he always drinks. It makes me want to cover my nose.
I get a real sick feeling in my tummy when Mr. Ambrose starts rubbing his fingers over me, too low.
“Mommies don’t usually wear clothes to bed.” He grabs at the bottom of my night shirt, lifting it.
My own hands try to push it back down. “I don’t like this game.”
“Good girls behave. Isn’t that right?”
I want to behave. I want to be a good girl. But I don’t want to play this anymore. I changed my mind, and I want to go to bed instead.
“Sumner?” I hear Luca’s voice. He stands at the doorway, looking from me to Mr. Ambrose. He must be sad because he has tears falling down his face.
“What are you doing out of bed?” Mr. Ambrose asks, sitting up and taking his hand away from me.
I curl myself closer to the wall.
“Please, sir. She hasn’t been bad.” He looks at me again, his lips trembling. “I have. Not her.”
Luca hasn’t been bad. He hasn’t done anything bad in weeks.
