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"Okay," I say, giving her hand another squeeze.
"A week ago I came home from school with a bad test score."
"When you say 'bad,' what do you mean?"
"Less than a 100," she says.
"Okay," I say, confirming my suspicions.
"She was very angry about it. I mean, she's right, right? My father worked very hard to pay to put me into our school. I don't have a scholarship or anything like that. For me to get less than perfect grades is disrespectful."
"Let's put a pin in that to unpack later," I say to her. I get the feeling that trying to convince her that she's not a bad child or responsible for her parents' actions towards her is going to take legitimate and professional help. "Just know that you are not at fault here. I know it's hard to believe, but just trust me on this one, okay?"
She nods her head, but I can tell she isn't fully convinced.
"It all happened so fast," she says. "My father came home and my mother let me out like she always does. I was so hungry. I hadn't eaten for so long. I always managed to sneak something to eat when they'd gone to bed. They'd never kept me locked up overnight."
"But this time they did?" I ask.
"This time they tried," she says. "It's all a blur. I think she was trying to put me back in the cage, but she fell. My father went to help her."
Tears start falling rapidly from her eyes.
"It's my fault," she says. "I pushed them in there and locked the door."
"You didn't give them anything to eat or drink, did you?" I ask her.
"I wanted to," she sobs. She puts her face in her hands, but the tears are flowing through her fingers. "But every time I went down there, they would scream at me or try and grab me. I was scared.
"And then, two days ago I went downstairs and they were silent. I thought they were sleeping. I put some water and food there, but they never ate it. Because they weren't sleeping."
I can barely make out the last of her words through her sobs. I can't stop myself. I stand up and pull her into me. I'm squeezing her tightly.
I want to take away the pain that this girl has gone through. She's been literally traumatized since she was a small child, and none of it has been her fault.
Sometimes good children are born to bad parents.
And sometimes the best of us fall victim to the worst of us.
"It's going to be okay," I say against her dirty hair. "I'm going to help you."
"Why?" she says against my shirt.
I don't have an answer for her. I don't fully understand why I want to help her or why I feel so drawn to her.
I just know that I do.
And that's what I'm going to do.
"It doesn't matter now," I say to her. "What matters is that now, you're safe and I'm not going to let anyone hurt you again."
ChapterSeven
"Come on," he says to me, standing up and practically lifting me with him.
"Where are we going?" I ask as he starts leading me toward the back door.
"Somewhere safe where you can get cleaned up."
