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I squeeze my eyes shut, my limbs quivering and jerking every so often. But it no longer hurts. I’m just cold. Hollow. Exhausted.
Something sharp pricks my upper arm—a needle. I don’t even flinch. Nor do I shrink away from the hands gripping me, moving me as they see fit.
It’s all just so far away, and I’m just too heavy to move, like I’m sinking right through the bed, and deep into the earth.
There we go,I think. Or maybe someone says it.
I can’t be sure.
All I know is I’m not scared anymore. I’m no longer burning alive.
Even Hell didn’t want me…
Finally, finally, the blackness takes hold of me once more.
And I let go.
* * *
The next timeI come around, it’s to Mother’s nasally voice.
“He’s a black stain on the Sinclair name.”
She doesn’t even bother to quiet her tone. I wish I could say it’s intentional. But no, it’s much worse than that. She just doesn’t care.
“Marisol,” my father says in that dry, pitiful way of his.
Letting my eyes remain closed, I picture her whipping her hand out in my direction, pointing a sharp burgundy lacquer nail my way. “Look at him. You told me that place would set him straight—”
I flinch, but I don’t think they notice. Or maybe I just do it in my head.
“—but all it did was fuck him up more.” A loaded beat passes. “I mean,drugs,Charles?Drugs?”
I don’t even have to open my eyes to know my father is currently pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what you want me to say—”
“I want you to tell me how such an esteemed school failed so spectacularly,” she hisses. “Kenneth said Canaan was the best of the best for boys like him.”
“Drugs don’t discriminate, Marisol,” he says calmly, like he’s talking to a child.
“Clearly, but how the hell did he get access to them?”
“Well, he did overdose on your—”
“That’s beside the point.” This time, in my mind’s eye, I see my mother slashing her hand between them.
They continue to bicker, but I sink into my head, only half paying attention, caught somewhere between the lingering effects of whatever sedatives they gave me, and just plain old indifference.
No matter how old I am, or what circumstances I find myself in, it’s always the same.
They’realways the same.
Exhaustion weighs heavily on me, pressing down on my eyelids, despite the claws of consciousness pricking my awareness, prodding me to wake up.
Pay attention.
You’re not safe here.
Don’t let your guard down.
