Splintered Desire (Fighting Temptation #1)

1. Zela

My life’s always been kinda shit, but right now, I’m not sure it could get much worse.

I thought it was bad when I was younger, and it was, but this is a different level, one that I wasn’t aware was even possible as a child.

I grew up in a shit town, in an even shittier little apartment complex.

My dad worked his ass off, but it was all he could do just to keep food on the table, and it wasn’t ever enough.

Most nights, we ate microwave noodles. As a kid, I loved them.

Now, after years of them, I can hardly stand to look at them.

There were plenty of nights when we would be down to just one pack.

Dad always tried to give them to me, insisting he wasn't hungry. It wasn’t until I was about eight that I finally caught on.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t hungry; no, he was probably a lot hungrier than I was; he just wanted to make sure I ate. He put my hunger above his own.

He put me above him.

Life was shit, but Dad always did everything he could for me with what he had. It didn’t change our lives or the shit we had to deal with, but it felt good knowing he was always in my corner.

I don’t remember my mother; she could be standing in a crowd in front of me, and I wouldn’t be able to pick her out from every other stranger.

Dad never talked about her except for the rare times that he would comment on how I looked just like her.

Whenever he did, his eyes would get sad.

I didn’t want him to be unhappy, so I never asked about her.

Eventually, I just didn’t care. She wasn’t around, so why waste my time?

If she didn't want to be around, that was fine by me; we didn’t need her, anyway.

My dad was my whole world, and I hated the idea of him starving so that I could eat more.

One of the girls in my class at school recently lost her dad.

All I could think about was him withering away and dying, leaving me all alone because I ate all the noodles.

The night I realized he wasn’t eating because of me, I lost it.

I cried and cried, too hysterical to even explain what was wrong, and he held me the whole time.

Looking back on it now, I can only imagine how it must have seemed to him that I was crying over noodles.

But he was always patient and kind. He held me until I was calm enough to explain why I was so upset and then held me again after I lost it all over again thinking that he might die and leave me alone.

From that night on, we shared the noodles when we were at our lowest.

We had a routine. Every morning, Dad would get me up and give me something small to eat, enough to get me through to lunch, which the school provided for free.

We walked to the city bus, and he rode with me to school before taking it to his job.

After school, I rode the school bus back home.

Dad worked later than I was in school, so I was alone for a few hours.

Dad couldn’t exactly afford a sitter, but I didn't really need one. Old lady Jan was only two doors down and would often come to check on me when Dad worked late. He said it gave him peace of mind. I’m not sure why, considering she was older than the dinosaurs, but it did, and that was all that mattered.

When I got home, I would do my homework and clean up. We didn’t have a lot, so it wasn't as if the house was ever really messy, but I wanted to help Dad any way I could.

After that, I would usually read until he got home.

But even as much as I loved reading, I couldn’t do it every day.

We didn’t have many books; they were too expensive, but Dad would bring home second-hand ones he found at a good sale every once in a while.

Thankfully, the library was right down the road.

We tried to go at least once a week, but they only let you check out three books at a time, and I was usually finished with them the same day.

On days when I didn’t feel like rereading a book or just didn’t feel like reading, I would go down and play at the park.

Though calling it a park might have been a bit of a stretch.

In reality, it was a rusted old metal swing set and some tires in the ground that had been put in half-assed.

It was sad and pathetic, just like the apartment complex we lived in, but it was better than nothing, and back then, I loved that death trap of a playground.

The best part about it was that it was near the edge of the parking lot.

Most of the residents couldn’t afford cars, so it was almost always empty.

There was an old basketball hoop that the older boys used on the far side of the lot.

But right next to the grass, someone had taken an old can of spray paint and painted hopscotch squares on the pavement, along with a few fun little designs. I loved it.

Whenever I went out, I would grab a piece of the busted concrete to toss, hopping back and forth until my legs were no better than jello, hardly able to support my tiny body.

Dad always said it was good for me to be active.

When I turned ten, Dad finally said I was old enough to go to the library on my own. I practically lived there after that. The second I was off the bus, I would head there to work on my homework. I kept my books in my backpack, so I was able to get new books every single day.

It was the best present my father had ever given me, and I was ecstatic.

It’s also where I met Ozy.

The apartment complex we live in might be full of kids, but none of them were my friends. Nobody really was.

The one and only friend I’d ever made was a girl named Sophia. Her family had moved into one of the apartments on the top floor when I was about seven. She’d been the first person to play hopscotch besides me. Most everyone else fought over the swings.

I’d walked out to find her with a shiny rock instead of the chunks of concrete I always used.

Watching her, I went over and sat down on the curb, ready to wait my turn the way Dad taught me to.

I sat pulling up the little bits of dead grass, letting my mind wander to nothing of meaning as the sounds around me flooded my senses.

The sound of the boys who fought with sticks like they were great knights in battle.

The squeak of the old rusty chains on the swings as girls pushed themselves higher and higher, uncaring of the way the legs would come off the ground with every pass.

Kids screaming and laughing, and the way that shiny rock hit the ground before the girl would hop all the way from one end and back to the beginning.

I was known for ‘daydreaming’; it was a problem my teachers loved to tell my father about, despite my good grades. But I wasn’t really daydreaming. There was nothing magical going on in my brain, more a lack of things. It was the one time I was at peace.

Which is why it’s not surprising that when she came over and crouched down in front of me, I almost jumped out of my damn skin.

I jumped so high that I scared her, and she fell back on her butt, which was enough to send us both into a fit of laughter.

“You scared the crap out of me,” I told her after I got myself mostly under control again.

“And you scared me!”

Fair.

“I was coming to ask if you wanted a turn,” she said, jerking her head back toward the hopscotch squares before holding her hand out and offering me her rock.

It was shiny, polished, and bright blue, and I couldn’t help but reach out and take it. It was soft in my hand but also weighed more than I thought it would, considering how small it was.

She offered me her hand, and I took it. She hauled me up, and we played hopscotch until the streetlights came on. For the first time in forever, I was back in the apartment after Dad was home.

For the next week, we played together every day, and on Friday, she asked me to stay over at her house.

I’d never stayed the night anywhere before, and while I was nervous about being somewhere new without my dad, I was also so excited.

My dad was less than thrilled, though, and I had to beg him to agree.

I should have listened to him.

The night was normal enough to start. Sophia came down and got me, and we ran up to her apartment, laughing and joking the whole way.

Her mom had pizza delivered before I got there, and when we walked in, the whole apartment smelled of it, making my mouth water.

Pizza was very, very rare in my house. I’d probably had it five times in my whole life, and it was usually a small one that Dad and I would split for a holiday or birthday.

It was so good I could have cried, and when her mom offered me a second piece, I almost died.

We spent the next hour watching a movie, eating, and lying on plush blankets and pillows.

It was the best night I’d ever had.

Until her dad got home.

The door opened with a bang, slamming against the wall. Before I even knew what was happening, Sophia was dragging me down the hall, our movie forgotten.

“Shhh,” she hissed, a finger pressed to her lips as she pulled me into a room I could only assume was hers. She didn’t flip the light on, so I couldn’t be sure. She closed the door, cutting off the light from the hallway and plunging us into darkness.

I kept quiet, unsure what was going on or what to say, as she continued to pull us further into the room. I heard another door before she pulled me into a tight space and closed that door too.

It took me a second to realize she had closed us in the closet.

“What’s goin—”

Her hand over my mouth cut me off.

“You have to be quiet,” she hissed in my ear. Her words trembled, and only now do I feel the shake of her hand that pressed against my face.

Whatever is going on has her terrified. Her fear bleeds into me as if through her touch, and I no longer feel the need to ask questions.

We sat in silence for a few minutes before the screaming started again.

I can’t make out words, but the tones are enough as her mom and dad scream back and forth. Something breaks, and her mom gets louder before a slap rings out, cutting her off.

She cries out, and I sink further into the closet. I was too young to really understand what was happening, but I knew it wasn’t good.

They argued for a long time before the front door slammed shut again. The silence was almost deafening after so much shouting, and when the closet door was pulled open, I couldn't stop the sob that broke free.

Sophia’s mom stood with the light of the bedroom behind her, momentarily blinding me. She flung herself into the closet, wrapping her arms around both of us, squeezing me so tightly that I struggled to fill my lungs, but it still felt nice, comforting.

I’d never had a mother in my life, never been held like that by anyone but my father, but something about it only made me cry harder.

She held us as we both cried, and when we finally stopped, she pulled us both out, and I finally got a look at her. The black eye and split lip she had that weren’t there before.

She carried us both in her arms all the way back downstairs before pounding on my dad's door.

The second he pulled it open, I was in his arms. I’m not sure if he grabbed me or if I went for him, but being in his arms felt safe, and that was all I needed to start crying all over again.

Sophia and her mom came in, and my dad and her mom talked while they held us.

I didn’t hear a single word they said, though, and before I knew it, I was asleep.

The next day, I woke up on the couch with Dad still holding me tight. I wasn’t sure he even slept; he looked so tired and sad.

He let me know that Sophia and her mom had left in the middle of the night and wouldn’t be back.

Now looking back on it, I’m glad they left, but back then, I’d just been sad to lose my only friend.

Most of the kids in my complex were either assholes or had friends already, and nobody liked the quiet girl who played alone. It was fine. I had a few friends in school, none of whom were super close, but it was enough, and I preferred my books anyway.

It wasn’t until after Sophia left that I thought friends might be nice.

Daniel, a boy a grade higher than me, had suddenly noticed my existence one day, but that wasn’t a good thing.

He, his two friends, and his little sister, Jaz, had, for some reason, decided that making my days worse was the highlight of theirs.

I’d gone from almost invisible to the butt of all of their jokes and taunting. Thankfully, they were mostly easy to ignore; it wasn’t until later that things got physical.

I was an easy target; at least that’s what they told me, and for a while, they were right.