One
Jace
Fifteen years old
The kitchen goes from being filled with laughter and light conversation to quiet when I enter. Years of therapy and spending time in group homes have done nothing to help me feel like I belong any more than I did the first time my mom came to get me from the hospital. I remember the distraught look in her eyes as she reached for me. She held me for hours, promising to never leave me again, and then she did when I wasn’t acting normal enough for her. I didn’t eat more than once a day, hardly spoke, locked myself in my room, and slept in the closet. To them it was something to worry about, but for me it was what I’d become accustomed to. All I was doing was following the rules. Before, I got in trouble for breaking them, and now I get punished when I abide by them.
“Morning, hun,” my mom says, with a smile on her face. “How’d you sleep?”
“Good enough.” I shrug and sit in the empty chair, inhaling the delicious scent of pancakes on the table.
“Are you taking the bus to school today, or did you want me to give you a ride?” Terry asks. He keeps wanting me to refer to him as dad, but doesn’t seem to understand how detached to the word I’ve become. I’m also struggling to find a connection here. Calling someone mom every day is already almost too much for me to handle.
“The bus is fine.” I reach for my fork, shifting in my seat.
“Are you sure you’re ready? You don’t have to rush it.” My mom’s eyes fill with worry, and my stepbrother Nate has barely said a word to me ever since I moved back in a week ago. He just stares like I’m some new breed at the zoo he’s trying to figure out. He’s either scared of me, or doesn’t like having to adjust to me being here. Maybe both. I’d made a mistake on my second day back. I meant well. It had helped the others. They thanked me for it too, sometimes.
Nate had looked like he was having trouble sleeping, so I crushed up some of my sleeping meds and put them in his water bottle when he wasn’t looking. I only wanted to help. Why can’t I stop doing the wrong thing? What does that even mean anymore? Years later and my brain is still somewhere trapped between bad and good, unable to fully differentiate the two. Will I ever get it right? Will I ever belong here? My stomach feels as if a boulder has landed inside it.
“I’m sure. I miss school—regular school,” I finally respond. I do too. Homeschooling is lonely when it’s only me and my mom. She’s better company than my dad was at least, giving me room to learn from my mistakes instead of beating me every time I get something wrong. And she smiles a lot more. I both prefer it and hate it. Why give me those now when I needed them more before?
My mom rests a hand on mine. “Okay. But if you need me to come get you at any time—”
“I’ll call you. I have everyone’s number saved on my phone.” My mom got me a new one for when I was away from home, so she could call me every day. She mostly talked while I listened, and I nodded like she could see me, but she never brought up the day I’d let my dad down. It’s taken a while for me to come to terms with the fact that he was the one who messed up, not me. What we were doing wasn’t for the good of anything or anyone except him and the sex-trafficking ring he got himself wrapped up in. He told the cops they’d come after me if he stopped providing what they agreed upon, but I doubt that’s the main reason he kept at it.
My dad liked the fancy life—nice cars and our big house in a quiet neighborhood. He was too lost in his own dreams to care about anything else, and I was too scared to believe anything other than what he was telling me. Scared and loyal. As kids, we only have our parents to rely on. To teach us and guide us. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing half the time. Everything I learned to be from my dad has been ingrained in me, and it’ll take a lot longer than a few years to unlearn.
We finish eating in silence. They can’t be their full selves around me and I don’t even know how I’m supposed to be, or who they want me to be. That’s why I don’t do anything but eat until it’s time to leave for school. Nate steps up onto the bus behind me, walking past me to sit by his friend Jenny. I sit alone, holding my backpack to my chest, watching the bus doors close. They’re so loud. Everything is. The kids singing and laughing. The music playing from someone’s phone nearby.
The seat squeaks as I shuffle my legs. Maybe I was wrong and I’m not ready. I need to be out of that house, though. I’ve been cooped up inside for too long. I can go outside whenever I want now, and I can talk to anyone, but it all still feels like something I’m not supposed to do. My heart races every time I open my mouth, and I wish I could get my dad’s repercussions out of my head, wipe my brain clean of him and all I knew for the first eleven years of my life. He went to prison and is serving time for his crimes. He won’t hurt me anymore, and I can finally be who I want to be . . . do what other teenagers do. Sleep in. Watch too much TV. Hang out with friends. Sneak out to parties and go on dates.
Except I don’t know how to do any of it without feeling like I need to be punished afterwards. I also know nothing about being someone my age, carefully watching everyone at school and home so I can mimic them the best I can.
When the bus stops in front of our school, I get off after everyone else and head straight inside, the hot sun leaving a warm spot on the back of my neck. I find my locker, place my backpack inside, and take what I need for my first class. I pretend this is a usual day for me. To sit around other people my age and lend someone a pencil when they ask. Taking notes in chemistry and buying pizza from the cafeteria for lunch with money I got from a weekly allowance. I’d hate to get used to it only to have it taken away again.
My stomach twists. I don’t want to go back to the group home and wonder if I’ll ever see my mom again. I don’t want to go back to dad’s house either, or the basement storm room. I can be like Nate, can’t I? I can be the son my mom always wanted, one she’d never consider leaving behind or sending away. I take a deep breath and keep walking through the crowded hall.
The rest of my day consists of smiling at people in the hallway and making small talk. When I turn toward the guy using the locker next to me, I say hi, and he’s friendly back until some football player comes up behind him to whisper something in his ear.
“Oh, shit. You’re that freak who should’ve been locked up with his old man. Yeah, I’ll have to talk to someone about getting a new locker. I sure as hell won’t be using this one anymore.”
“Yeah. You don’t want to end up in this guy’s basement,” his friend jokes, shooting me a glare, and they walk off in the opposite direction together. My chest tightens when I realize how many people heard them. They’re all looking at me. The room’s closing in on me, the air surrounding me feeling tight on my skin. It’s like I’m being trapped between two heavy walls. My books slip from my hands and I run toward the front exit, slamming into Nate who at first blended in with everyone else.
“Jace,” he says almost a little too quietly. “Is everything okay?”
I shake my head, looking back at a group of kids pointing our way with their faces twisted in disgust. “I need to go home.”
He nods and takes my hand. “Okay. We can walk there together.” There’s warmth in his voice and it’s almost as comforting as his fingers tangling with mine.
“Yeah. Okay.”
“Yeah, go home, freak,” someone screams.
“Shh. It’s okay. Don’t listen to them. They don’t know what they’re talking about,” Nate whispers to me as he tugs me toward the double doors. Some guy blocks our way, grinning. “What do we have here? Freak boyfriends?”
“Fuck off, Kyle,” Nate spits. “This is my stepbrother and he’s been through a lot, so just get out of our way.”
Kyle’s jaw tightens and he shoves hard against Nate’s chest, nearly knocking him off his feet. “Not until he knows what it’s like to be tied up and left in the dark like he did his victims.” He grabs me by the collar of my shirt, and Nate tries to stop him from dragging me toward my locker but a group of others hold him back. Kyle removes his belt, and everything happens so fast as he binds my arms behind my back and shoves me inside the cramped space of my locker. I’m scrawny enough to mostly fit, due to my bad eating habits, and whatever part of me doesn’t fit gets slammed by the locker door.
My screams cut through the air and I can hear someone shouting for everyone to get to class. “What’s going on out here? Do you have someone in that locker?”
I’m curled into myself, closing my eyes, when light invades the darkness I was worried would swallow me whole. What they don’t realize is that I do know what it’s like to be tied and kept in dark places. I was the reason my dad was able to get it right the first time he tricked some young guy into coming home with him from the club.
A hand lands on my shoulder and I shake my head. “I’m sorry,” I shout. “I’ll do better next time.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s just me.” I open my eyes and the vice principal who I’ve only met once smiles down at me, her eyes heavy with sympathy. “Those guys will be dealt with accordingly, I promise. Your brother is here and your mom’s on her way. Do you think you could take my hand so I can help you out of there?”
I struggle against the belt until I’m able to pull my hands free, my wrists burning from the leather rubbing my skin raw. Sniffling softly, I take her hand and allow her to help me to my feet. Nate rushes my way, pulling me into a hug. I haven’t felt one of these since my mom first brought me home. I forgot how nice they were. Why isn’t he running away like the others? Why is he still here? I wouldn’t have blamed him if he joined them. After all, I deserve it, don’t I?
“How about you two come and wait in the office?”
Nate nods against me and pulls away. “Want to come sit with me for a bit?” He grabs my hand, his expression soft.
“Yeah,” I say, and I follow him to the principal’s office. We sit beside one another in matching purple chairs. The principal asks me if I need anything or if I’m hurt anywhere, and I assure her I’m fine at least three times before she finally gives us some space.
“You didn’t run.” I tug at the ends of my shirt sleeves, looking everywhere but at him.
“Did you want me to?”
I bite on the inside of my cheek, considering my answer before speaking it out loud. “No. But everyone is usually scared of me. Aren’t you?” I finally look at him and his blue eyes hold me hostage. Big and beautiful like the ocean I’ve only ever seen in movies, giving me a temporary vacation from reality.
He blinks a few times and my palms sweat as he opens his mouth to speak again. “I wasn’t sure what to think at first. So many people said you’d end up being like your father. Some of my family call you evil and dangerous. Our parents even worry how everything you went through will affect you later. My mom tried to convince my dad to let me live with her. She said you weren’t safe.” He takes a breath. “Today, when I searched for the danger and evil they all mentioned, I didn’t see it in you. I saw it in everyone else. The way they cornered you like prey, held you down and hurt you. It’s why I didn’t run—the reason I won’t run. I don’t think you’re like your dad, and you should have at least one person on your side to remind you that you aren’t.” He smiles softly and my lips copy his.
We don’t say anything the rest of the time, and for once silence doesn’t feel like a bad thing. Not with Nate next to me, sitting so close to remind me of everything he said he would. Because my dad had proven to be nothing but a monster, and who wants to keep a monster company.