Between Lifelines & Undying Embers (The Charlotte Socials #2)

Prologue

Lifelines

Ender

Ican’t sleep. Half of the dozen or so partygoers are loud and obnoxious, laughing and screaming along with the horrible music, and the other half passed out—probably with needles still stuck in their arms—my parents among the latter.

For years now, it’s been the same old story dealing with these parties.

It wasn’t always like this—they used to be decent parents.

My father had a good job that paid well enough for my mother to be a stay-at-home mom.

Back then, she did fun things with me all the time—she made me feel special.

We used to build pillow forts in the living room, and sit in them all morning, reading until lunchtime.

The one time I ran off in the grocery store, and she found me eating grapes in the produce section, she didn’t even get mad.

She just sat on the floor with me and joined in.

When we brought the half-eaten batch of grapes to the register, she let me tell the cashier what we did, all the while smiling like it was no big deal.

I remember her letting me help bake her famous oatmeal raisin cookies the PTA always raved about. We ended up eating half of the batch before we even went to bed. Before things got bad, I found out she would secretly stay up late to make another batch, knowing there weren’t enough.

Those days are a long-lost memory, seemingly a dream, given the stark difference to how we live now.

I can’t remember the last time I exchanged a single word with either of my parents; we’re complete strangers at this point.

This house is just a roof over my head, nothing more than a means to not mooch off my friends and their families.

Most of the time, that reason isn’t even worth the shit I put up with, making me want to cave in and take up the offer of Connor’s spare bedroom.

Even if I could take on more hours, the money I make working at the local grocery store as a stocker after school still wouldn’t be enough to get my own place.

Between school and work, I’m barely home except to sleep two or three hours a night after the parties die down to a dull roar.

The impending dread of drowning in the nothingness I feel inside every day from the stress of my home life and lack of sleep is never-ending.

Taking naps at Kaden’s or Connor’s house on my days off has become a regular occurrence just to survive.

Both their families keep telling me to come stay with them, so I don’t have to deal with this bullshit, making sure I know they expect nothing in return.

They only recently found out minor details about my parents’ problems and living conditions when Connor and Kaden explained why I was always over at their houses sleeping away the hours I should have spent with my friends.

The thought of unloading more of my bullshit on them weighs too heavily on my conscience.

I can’t afford to pay them much for staying there, but I don’t want to feel like a freeloader.

They insist I don’t have to contribute anything given I’m “family”—their words, not mine.

I appreciate them, but I’ve been taking care of myself for so long that it’s difficult to accept help, even when I know I need it.

The jiggling of my door handle alerts me that someone has made their way down the hall to my door.

Fuck, did I lock the door? I couldn’t have forgotten. I haven’t in months—it’s second nature now.

I jump up to lock the door before whoever is on the other side can come in, but I’m too late. In stumbles one of the regulars who frequents my parents’ house parties.

“Hey there, darling. Want some company?” Sally’s slurring her words, which means she’s either high as a kite or drunk—could be either, but she never gives up her attempts at flirting with me.

I’ve told her to fuck off I don’t know how many times in the past year she’s been coming around, always making her way to my door.

“Sally, get out.” I turn her around and gently push her back out the door. She must be more sober than usual, quickly spinning around to throw her arms around my neck trying to pull me into her as she aims her mouth at mine. My knee-jerk reaction sends her falling into some guy standing behind her.

“Heeeeyyyyyyy.” Sally’s whining is nothing new, but this guy isn’t someone I’ve seen at the parties before tonight.

Grabbing my shirt, the guy pushes Sally to the side. “Did you make a move on my girl, you little punk?” He doesn’t sound as fucked up as the rest of them out there, but the spit flying from his mouth makes me think he isn’t far from it.

“I didn’t do shit. Get your hands off me.

” He’s twice my size, but it doesn’t stop me from struggling to break free from his grasp.

I barely have a chance to get my hands on him when he throws a right hook into my jaw.

The hold he has on me gives enough stability for him to throw punch after punch until my raggedy sleep shirt rips, dropping me to the ground.

Blood begins to pour out of my nose when he decides he’s not finished with me yet, and the intense pain in my stomach from the multiple impacts of his boot leaves my body broken inside in so many ways.

Sally, of all people, steps in between us, pulling him away from me.

“Hey baby, baby, stop. He’s just a little kid.

He’s got nothing on you, baby. C’mon, show him how a real man can fuck me.

” Her words mean shit to me; I’m just thankful they work when I see the asshole turn all his attention to guiding her to my bed, both of them ripping each other’s clothes off along the way.

Despite the pain coursing through my body, I crawl across the floor, trying to get as far away as possible from what's about to happen on my bed. I grab my backpack with all my important belongings I keep packed every night for this exact reason. The ground feels shaky beneath my feet as I enter the living room, where my predictable father is unconscious on the couch. My mother, however, is on some guy’s lap with a needle in her arm, pushing the plunger to inject her next fix.

His hands are all over her, taking what he wants as payment for whatever’s in the syringe this time.

While her preference is heroin, ultimately, she isn’t picky and will take whatever she can get.

My parents have acted like I don’t exist for years now, so they don’t care what I overhear while hiding in my bedroom—whether it’s noises of random men having their way with the women, or their dealer delivering drugs.

Once the contents of the syringe empty into her arm, her eyes wander until they meet mine.

Knowing I have blood dripping down my face, I have a last shred of hope that maybe she’ll say something—anything—to me.

For a moment, I’m back to being that alone and scared ten-year-old, when the worst years began, internally begging her to show me she cares.

To give me a sign that she loves me like she used to.

There’s no reaction, only her blank stare in my direction—as if she’s looking through me with nothing behind her now-glassy eyes.

When those vacant orbs roll behind closing lids, she falls back into the guy’s chest, and I know it’s a lost cause.

I’m faced with the obvious: there’s nothing left for me here.

No parents, no family, no one to love me unconditionally the way your own flesh and blood should—I'm alone.

I don't cry. Though the agony inside my ribcage fights to break free, needing an outlet, pleading for understanding and comfort, the tears don't fall.

The adrenaline surging through my body simply won't allow it.

I don't even think I'm capable of releasing everything that's been building inside me for so long. Not yet.

I need to get out of here. Connor’s house is only a couple of blocks away, and I can walk.

Each step has every muscle in my body screaming in agony, but I fight to keep my legs moving.

My mind and body both want to crumble, to give up, to crawl into the nearest hole and hide from the pain. To hide from everything.

Banging on Connor’s door with the last of my energy, I try to catch my breath. I’m terrified I’ll have to reveal everything I’ve been through, but when the door opens and I free-fall into his arms, all I feel is relief. I’m safe.

“Kyle, what’s going on? Mooooommmm!”

“I’m right here. What’s with all the noise?”

Footsteps pound down the stairs, then Mrs. Ackerman’s alarmed voice fills my ears. And just like that, every barrier shielding my friends from the hell I’ve been living in for years breaks. My breath hitches, and suddenly I’m sobbing.

“Oh, my goodness. Kyle, you’re bleeding.

” After years of stifled silence, the lost child inside of me finally frees himself from his prison, and my body shudders as the tears I can no longer hold inside flow down my face.

And when my knees buckle beneath me, we fall to the floor, Connor unable to support both our weight any longer.

Why did this happen to me?

Why can’t they stop?

We used to be happy. They used to love me.

They were good parents once.

Why is it so hard for them to love me more than their drugs?

Why am I not good enough for them?