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Chapter Two
Eleven years later… Present day
Happy fucking twenty-seventh birthday to me.
I really thought I wouldn’t still be in this shitty ass, run-down trailer for this one, never mind being alone. To anyone who asks, I tell them I prefer it, even Mitch-bitch. That I don’t need anyone, that I’m strong and independent. But here, in the dark, with the neighbors’ lights splashing through the blinds onto the couch where I sit, that façade crumbles.
Tears form in my eyes. I’m truly and utterly alone. I don’t even have Mitch anymore. This old trailer is silent apart from my ragged breathing as I try so hard to push back the tears. Earlier, I walked past a club where a girl was celebrating her birthday. She had on a sash and was surrounded by friends. They were laughing and joking, while I was cold, angry, and bitter as I stormed back to my trailer by myself. My feet ache from all the walking because I can’t afford transport unless I absolutely have to.
All thanks to my fucking brother.
Sighing, I eye the cupcake in my hands—the one thing I splurged on recently. It’s small and sad as I look at it, and it doesn’t even have a candle on the top. The icing tastes sweet as it sticks to my fingers, the sprinkles making me ache for a real cake, like I used to have when I was a child.
I remember my sixth birthday, the last one I had with my parents. My mom tried baking me a Barbie cake. She did a great job too, stuffing a Barbie’s legs down into a tiered cake and shaving it down so it looked like a dress. I can still hear my family singing “Happy Birthday” to me and remember how good it felt to be loved.
Just then, gunshots go off, startling me. I drop the cupcake to the floor in shock as my heart slams in my chest and my veins turn to ice. Flashes go off in my head like the barrel of a gun, of a man in a mask, of my mom’s blood, their bodies. Rapidly, they continue, one after another, until I’m screaming and sinking to the floor next to the cupcake, my face pressed to the threadbare carpet in panic. My body curls around itself, my knees drawn to my chest, while tears drip down my cheeks to the carpet as I stare at the smushed icing.
I breathe through the panic, through the flashbacks.
One, two, three.
Rose Street. Marton Corner. Park Drive.
One, two, three.
I repeat the mantra in my mind, the list of homes I was in after my parents’ death before Mitch-bitch saved me. I say it until my lips are numb and the tears have stopped, their tracks across my face and hair still wet. My heart continues to race, but I don’t feel like I’m about to scream again, and I’m no longer lost in my memories.
Fuck, that happens every time, and each time, it gets worse.
I want to get up, but my body is suddenly exhausted, so I lie there. My neighbors’ laughter reaches me as I stare at my sad little ruined cupcake. Just then, the lights in the kitchen area flicker off, and I bite my lip until I taste blood to stop a sob from escaping.
I knew the electricity would be cut off, but I didn’t know when. No electricity, no hot water… Fuck, I can’t even afford to do laundry. I have nothing, I’m like a parasite. Loneliness creeps in again, wrapping around me like a constricting snake, injecting its venom into me.
I lift my head, my eyes locking on the photograph I have tacked to the wall—a memory set in stone of the last time I was truly happy. I was so little then, so young, so trusting in the world. I thought nothing bad would ever happen. My smile is huge, taking up my entire face, my front tooth is missing, and my gaze is off to the side. Mitch is next to me with his arm around my shoulder as he tugs on my birthday hat. Before me is a cake with candles on it, and behind us both are…
My parents.
Their faces are filled with such joy as they stand with their arms around each other while they watch us. Mitch looks just like Dad, with dark hair and a crooked grin. I’m the spitting image of my mom, well, besides our smiles. Hers could brighten up a whole room, but I seemed to have lost the ability to smile some years ago.
I sigh, looking at the faded photograph. We were a family. But now they are gone, and Mitch is all I have left. Even the thought of my parents’ killers rotting behind bars for the rest of their lives doesn’t settle me. They deserved more, but sometimes you have to play the hand that is dealt. At least I still have Mitch. He needs me, I can’t afford to break. I can’t afford to be weak. The poison in his veins is slowly killing him. It started gradually, but one night, he passed out and I had to take him to the hospital.
They never let him come home afterwards. He’s sick, really sick. All those years of drug and alcohol abuse have ruined his body, rotting him from the inside out. His liver is gone, decayed with cirrhosis, turning his skin and eyes yellow. They say if he takes one more drink, he will die. His memories are fucked as well, a side effect apparently. Sometimes, he barely even remembers me.
I didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. He was erratic toward the end, but I just figured it was the drugs. He was mean, cruel even, but I never knew something was wrong… I should have. I should have been a better sister instead of being wrapped up in my own shit. I was graduating school early, finding jobs, stealing, basically doing anything to get by.
And I lost the most important thing to me.
Him.
No matter what he does, or has done, he’s still my brother. Still the boy who saved me that night, who got me to safety. The boy who looked tirelessly for our lost dog. The man who took me away from a life in a string of foster homes, put a roof over my head, and gave me a bed to sleep on. He’s still family, and nothing will ever change that.
Reaching up, I cup Muffin’s dog tag that hangs from my long necklace, which is currently spilled onto the floor. It’s the one from his collar. I’ve carried it with me ever since, a reminder of home. “I promise, Mitchy, I’ll figure this out. I’ll keep you safe, and I’ll fight your monsters just like you fought mine,” I whisper.
I get my ass up. Crying solves nothing. I pick up the cupcake and throw it in the trash. I have no time for weakness. I need to make more money. I need to keep him in the care facility he’s in now, and I have to pay my bills.
I need to figure out a future where I’m not scraping by every single day. Where hunger doesn’t hurt my stomach, and where I’m not scared of the next blow. Where I’m not constantly watching the lights for them to go out, where I don’t open the fridge only to find it empty.
No one is going to save me but myself. This isn’t a fairy tale, this isn’t some happy fucking love story. This is real life, and bad shit happens in real life.
