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I take two steps toward her house before arms band around my chest and haul me into ours.
Flailing my feet, I kick out, losing a shoe on the porch. Dad sets me down but doesn’t let go, pressing my back against the wall of our living room.
“Control your temper, Niko. Control it. You can’t go flying off the handle. You’re just a kid, but one of these days, you’re going to wind up in a mess of trouble if you lose control like that.”
My shoulders tremble with the speed of my breaths. Clenching my palms so tightly, I cut bloody crescents into them with my fingernails. All I want is to get my friend and bring her somewhere safe. Knowing she’s in that house with her momma on drugs, egging on some strange man, makes me want to throw up.
“Go to your room and get ready for bed. I’m sure she’ll come over soon.”
Knowing all I could do is nod, I do as he says.
I lie in bed, listening to the screams of Aislin’s momma become less frequent and trying not to keep count of how many minutes have passed. Aislin still hasn’t shown up. Knots form in my stomach, and I have to get a glass of water because my mouth is so dry. Something close to panic closes in when I remember the way we left things earlier. She probably thinks I’m still upset with her. Why did I do that? Why did I get mad at her in the first place? She was only trying to help.
After forty-two minutes, and the sounds of my parents getting into bed, I throw back the covers. Aislin isn’t coming, which means something is terribly wrong.
After pulling two hooded sweatshirts over my t-shirt, I lace up the old pair of sneakers I keep in my closet and carefully remove the screen from my bedroom window. Gripping the ledge, I lower myself the four feet to the ground. My toes touch silently on the soft, damp soil.
Creeping across the side yard that separates Aislin’s house from mine, I find her window, the far one on the left of the gas meter, and peek inside. The glow of a light from inside her house allows me to see easily into her bedroom. It’s empty.
My legs shake as I take off around the back of her house, nearly tripping at the sight of the back door swinging wide open. An ocean of sick pitches in my stomach. Someone left through that door, but who and where they went, I’m not sure. As I take off into the woods behind our houses, I hope and pray with everything inside me that Aislin was running to our treehouse.
A shiver runs down my spine. I can’t help but dart my eyes around the unlit area, straining to hear anything other than the sounds of my feet pounding the forest floor and my harsh panting. As soon as I’m far away from the houses, I click on the Maglite I stuffed into my sweatshirt pocket. Compared to the blackness of a country forest, the light is measly, but it’s something. I’d be lying if I said I’m not scared half to death. Every crunch of leaves and twigs beneath my shoes echoes, and I can’t tell if I’m truly alone. Why didn’t Aislin come to me like she always does? Why is she making me look for her?
The running has made me sweat, but I feel so cold inside. The treehouse comes into view, and the panic begins to recede. She’s got to be in there. Where else would she be?
I swallow past the lump in my throat, past the doubt, and call out. “Aislin?”
At first, I can’t hear anything over my own breaths. Not even an animal scurrying nearby. I call out again. “Aislin, are you there?”
I begin climbing the ladder when the wood above my head groans. My heart kicks into overtime. It must be Aislin.
I hesitate a second. Filled with anticipation and fear of being attacked or finding it empty, I poke my head through the hole.
My shoulders slump, and I hoist myself up. “Aislin.”
Her only movement is to squeeze her arms tighter around her knees.
Crawling over to her, I prop the flashlight against the wall for some light and sit beside her. She’s been out here all alone in the pitch-black darkness. “You didn’t come over.”
She responds by turning her head to the side, away from me, and lays it back down on her knees.
“Are you okay?”
“Go away, Niko.” She’s quiet, but the hint of stubbornness in her tone relieves me. My Aislin is in there somewhere.
“I’m sorry. For earlier. And I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t come over when you needed to because I was a jerk.”
Silence.
My hands tremble so I stuff them into the hood of my sweatshirt, and then I remember why I put on two. Grasping the top one by the hood, I pull it over my head and drape it over Aislin. She doesn’t acknowledge it, but she will. The jeans and tee she has on are thin and holey. They can’t be keeping her very warm, and she’s been out here for over an hour.
I pull in a deep breath. “That man didn’t touch you,” I state instead of question. The thought of dealing with the alternative makes me want to throw up. “Your momma was just high again… right?”
“No, he didn’t touch me. Now go away,” she spits.
I throw out my arm, hook it around her shoulders, and drag her to my side. I wrap her tight, one hand pulling her head to my shoulder while the other rubs at her bare skin, attempting to warm her up.
She squeaks in surprise. When her head contacts my shoulder, that squeak turns into a muted sob, and it breaks my heart. Sometimes I feel so helpless toward my best friend. I can be there for her and sneak her into my house when she needs somewhere safe, but I don’t feel like I’m doing anything for her. She still has to go home and live with that monster of a mother.
