Chapter 9
Ashby
I was only seven, but I understood a lot.
I wasn’t super smart like Milow, because she was a pro with numbers and her secret language.
But I knew someone had done something bad to her before she came here.
Something that made her stop wanting to talk.
I didn’t know what happened. I didn’t want to ask and make her sad.
Wesley once said that some kids stopped talking when they got hurt badly, and the idea scared me.
It made my stomach feel sick every time I pictured someone hurting Milow.
But Milow was safe here with us, and I protected her from anything and anyone.
After dinner, we sat at the kitchen table, coloring with our markers spread everywhere.
Mom washed dishes at the sink, and Dad dried them.
Wesley sat across from me, working on a math worksheet.
Milow sat beside me, legs tucked up on the chair.
Her hair was falling around her face while she drew a big blue sky, and I watched her for a while.
I liked watching her draw. She always focused so hard that her brows furrowed, and her hand moved slowly and carefully.
“What are you drawing?” I asked, leaning in a bit closer.
She lifted her head and looked at me. [A jungle with lots of animals.]
“Oh, cool! You can draw a snake and spiders and a jaguar and lizards!”
She watched me wide-eyed. She always did when I talked so fast, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Slow down, buddy,” Dad said with a chuckle.
“Sorry! I know her drawing will be awesome. You want to know what I’m drawing”? I asked Milow with a grin, and when she nodded, I continued. “I’m drawing the pool and us swimming.”
She looked at my paper, then smiled at me and signed, [That’s amazing.]
I grinned proudly and picked my next color to continue my drawing.
After a while, when they were done with the dishes, Mom turned around and smiled at us. “You two could open a gallery. I bet people would pay millions for these.”
My eyes widened. “You think? Oh, boy! I have, like a hundred drawings upstairs.”
Dad hung the towel and came to stand behind us. “We can talk business tomorrow. You should get ready for bed. It’s late.”
“Aww.” I slumped in my chair. “Just five more minutes?”
Mom smiled and stood up straight again. “Five minutes. Then teeth and pajamas.”
The five minutes passed too quickly, and after saying good night to Wesley, Milow and I ran upstairs to get ready for bed.
We brushed our teeth fast, then went to our rooms. I got into bed, but I wouldn’t stay here long. As soon as Mom and Dad tucked me in, I would slide out of bed and sneak into Milow’s room. That’s what I did most nights.
After a long moment of staring at the ceiling, listening closely until I heard them walk downstairs, I jumped up and moved quickly but silently.
I tiptoed across the hallway, reaching Milow’s door. Without knocking, I slowly opened the door and peered inside. “Milow?”
She was sitting up in her bed, already waiting for me. I smiled and went inside, closing the door behind me, before walking over and climbing onto the bed. She scooted over, and we lay down facing each other.
“Milow, you know Mom was just joking when she said we could put our drawings in a gallery, right?”
She nodded. [I know.]
“Okay, good. Because I would never want my drawings to hang anywhere else than your room,” I told her. “I drew them for you, not for anyone else.”
She watched me with a pleased smile in the moon-lit room. She looked over at the wall above her desk. [Okay.]
“Okay,” I repeated with a grin. I wanted to say the next words out loud, but I decided to use my hands instead. With focus and precision, I signed, [You’re my best friend.]
Her eyes widened slightly, then she signed it right back to me. [You’re my best friend, too.]
My heart skipped a beat. It always did in moments like these. I placed my hand on the mattress between us, and her gaze dropped to my fingers as she moved her hand to mine. Her fingers wrapped around mine, and I gave them a little squeeze.
She squeezed right back, then she closed her eyes, without ever letting go. Our eyelids grew heavy, and I listened to her breathing evening out until I fell asleep, too.
Milow
I opened my eyes at the sound of footsteps coming from the hallway, and I sat up immediately, knowing who was about to open the bedroom door. My eyes stayed locked on the door as my skin prickled, and my stomach twisted.
The door cracked open, flooding the room with a harsh light from the hall. He filled the doorway, his face unreadable and his voice flat as he told me to get up. His tone left no room for hesitation or argument.
My hands curled into the blankets, and when he stepped toward me, he reached down, his fingers wrapping around my arm with a grip that was hard and urgent.
He pulled me out of bed, guiding me through the hallway and down the staircase.
The house was silent, and each step was cold under my bare feet.
I had thought he’d take me to his bedroom again, but we went down another flight of stairs, then another.
He pushed open the basement door, and the blinding white light hit my eyes hard. The room was so bright and sterile that it hurt, making me squint as fear crawled higher inside me, choking my voice before I could even think of using it.
He led me into a room I didn’t know existed. It was a long rectangular space with white walls and a metal table waiting in the center beneath a bright lamp. The smell of alcohol burned my nose while my legs trembled uncontrollably.
He told me to lie down, and although every part of me screamed to run away, I climbed onto the table. His hand pressed between my shoulder blades and kept me there, holding me in place as the cold surface shocked my skin.
The world narrowed to the light above me as something punctured my wrist. Sudden sleep came over me, and I tried to open my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
The room buzzed, and my heartbeat thudded louder in my ears as I fought with every inch of my body to stay awake. But I couldn’t. I was too weak.
“Let yourself go,” I heard him say, feeling his hands run along my thighs. “Let go, princess. Daddy will make you all better.”