1. 1994
BUNNY
“I’m out of here!”
“Oh yeah?! And where the fuck do you think you’re gonna go? Huh? You don’t got no fucking money! No job! No place to stay!”
“I’ll figure it out! Don’t you worry about that!” I gotta get out of here. These walls, this house, and the people in it, it’s all too damn suffocating!
I’ve been bounced around from group home to group home since I was six, but none of my other houses were ever as venomous as this one. I promised Tori at OCFS that I would give this place a chance, that I would stick it out until I was legally out of the system. But I can’t. I can’t do this anymore. Two more years of this shit, two more years of Denise and her merciless punishments, and I’d end it all before she even got the chance.
No, she doesn’t come into my room and touch me like the man at the Wilkins’ house, nor does she whip me with wire like Jane on Second Street. Denise is a different kind of abuser, the type that the state easily overlooks because we keep the house clean and our bruises covered. It doesn’t matter that they can hear our stomachs rumbling or see the lice jumping from our scalps whenever they do their house visits. We stand in a straight line and tell them everything they want to hear because lying is better than the alternative.
Denise isn’t the best, but she sure as shit isn’t the worst. And we’re taught very early on, better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.
But I just fucking can’t.
I can’t stay here anymore.
I can’t take the late-night beatings because her boyfriends prefer to crawl into my bed instead of hers. My shouts of refusal don’t matter, and neither do my tears. All she sees is their dick and hands trying to pry my thighs apart, and her fists go flying.
At some point, I stopped shedding tears, which almost seemed to piss her off more. She wanted me to cry. She wanted to see the fear in my eyes whenever she came for me. It fed something inside her. So, when I stopped and deprived her of whatever sick joy she got from my pain, she stopped, too. She stopped feeding me, stopped allowing me water.
Denise stopped protecting me, and without that little security, I was living in a snake pit. So, if I’m going to be fed to the lions, I will do it on my own.
“You won’t last two seconds on your own!”
“I survived you, didn’t I?” That one earns me a punch to the back of the head. It’s weak due to all the alcohol swimming in her veins, but the impact of her gaudy gold ring cracking into my skull still sends slivers of pain down my neck. I ignore the oncoming headache and continue shoving my clothes into the only bag I have, an old army duffle from the forties I found behind the dumpster. It’s worn, belongs to some guy named Weary, and has some questionable stains on the outside, but it’s sturdy.
Enraged that I’m not giving her drunken rambling any of my attention, Denise pushes me forward and attempts to rip the clothes from my bag when I lose my footing. “And just what the fuck do you think you’re gonna do out there? Huh? You ain’t got nothing. You ain’t nobody.”
Tying the drawstring of the duffle closed, I rip it from my mattress and shove her out of my way. “I will be somebody! One of these days, when you’re drowning in your own piss and shit, you’re going to see me on TV. I’ll be surrounded by cameras and flashing lights, and the crowd will be cheering my name!”
Denise follows me down the rickety stairs, her toes hot on my heels while her vile, hot breath blows across my cheek. “You’re gonna end up on the corner just like your momma, legs spread with a needle in your arm!”
“Fuck you!”
“And when that happens,” she laughs, chasing me out the front door, “don’t you come crawling back here, asking for a home! You understand me! As far as I’m concerned, you’re dead to me, Bernice! Just another fucking lost cause!”
I flip her off as I stomp down the sidewalk, but her parting words almost have me spinning, ready to knock her bony ass onto the curb.
“I look forward to seeing you on TV, Bunny! You’ll be the dead whore in the ditch! Used and abused! Just like all the rest!”
Balling my oversized plaid wool winter jacket into my fists, I keep marching straight. My white sneakers splash in small puddles, mudding up my two-day-old socks and the bottoms of my torn denim jeans. “Fuck you, Denise,” I mutter into the frosty New York breeze, kicking cans and pebbles out of my way to distract me from marching back to her door.
I will be somebody.
I’m gonna be a fucking star. I will have fans and people shouting my name all over the goddamn world. Denise can just wait and fucking see, I’m?—
“Bunny!” Halting in the center of the sidewalk with my tongue trapped between my teeth, I force my anger to the side and spin around with a kind smile. Missy runs to me with unshed tears. Her wild mess of blond curls fans out behind her while she stretches her arms forward to wrap around my waist. It takes everything in me not to break when I feel dampness spread over my belly.
I never wanted to hurt her. Missy is the little sister I never had. At only seven years old, she is the greatest person in my life, and if I could take her with me, I would, but I don’t know what challenges I’m going to have to face on my own. I can’t put her through that, not when she has a roof over her head and food in her stomach. For the most part, Denise treats Missy and the other little ones decently. It was me she hated.
Missy is better off here, even if that means I don’t get to see her anymore…
I wipe away the stray tear rolling down my cheek,
dropping to my knees and taking her gently by the hands. “I left you something. It’s under the loose floorboard on the stairs. Remember how I showed you to take it off?”
Missy sniffs back the mucus dripping from her nose while blinking away the heavy teardrops. Her soft nod hides the vibrancy of her pale blue eyes, but I brush those curls away and force her to promise me she’ll be the tough girl I know she is.
“What if he comes for me, too?”
The thought of Denise’s current boyfriend, Alan, coming anywhere near Missy, sets fire to my veins. It’s possibilities like that that have kept me here for so long. I can’t let them stop me, no matter how much I want to save her.
“He won’t, but if he does, I want you to take those scissors I know you hide under your pillow and jab them into his eye, and then you’re going to run. You’re going to go across the street and ask that nice lady to help you. Okay?”
Her sniffles break my heart, but she understands. My brave girl even stands tall, straightening her shoulders as I taught her before giving me a firm, “Yes.”
Sighing, I roll my thumbs under her eyes, imprinting her look, as well as her touch, into my head before squeezing her in for one final hug. “I love you, jellybean.”
“I love you, too, Bunny.”
With a heart-clenching kiss to her crown, I send her off. “Go play with Caroline and Oliver. They’re waiting for you.” Missy holds me for a moment longer, burying her face in my neck before sprinting back to her friends in the house.
At least she won’t be alone.
It’s my only relief.
As I rise to my feet, I exhale the breath I was holding, and continue moving. I have to remind myself every few paces not to look back. If I see Missy standing there, watching me from a distance, with her hands wrapped around her petite body, I know I’ll drop everything and run back for her. So, I keep going, forcing my eyes to stay straight ahead, vowing to myself that I’m doing the right thing.
“I’m going to be a fucking star.”
“What was that, baby?” Tongue in cheek, I roll my eyes to the sky and turn to face Javier with a grin.
“Just talking to myself.”
“Well, why don’t you sit your fine ass up here and talk to me?”
Javi thinks that if he flashes those sweet, innocent, brown doe eyes at me, I’ll fold like half the women on this block as if long lashes and plump lips are all it takes to have me bouncing on his undoubtedly used cock. It doesn’t matter that I’ve turned down every single advance he’s thrown my way or that our eight-year age gap makes his flirtatious promises a crime. He still tries. I’m flattered, but being from the tracks doesn’t make me easy.
“Thanks, but I gotta go.”
Pulling a blunt from his back pocket, he eyes my duffle curiously. “I see that. Where you off to?”
“The city,” I say, keeping that pride high in my chest while I struggle to stop the straps from digging into my shoulders.
“What the fuck are you gonna do in the city?”
When I first mentioned my plans to Denise, she laughed so hard in my face that I felt her spit drive holes into my skin. Her ridicule and mockery went on for days until she grew bored and let her bitchiness take over.
I didn’t let it show, but it’s a punch to the gut when someone taunts you for having dreams. Of course, I expected it from her, but I really don’t want to hear another asshole tell me I’m destined to stay where I am.
“I’m going to be a model.”
“No shit? Okay. You gonna be on those big-ass billboards and screens above Times Square?”
“That’s the plan.” Pride warms my insides as a gust of wind threatens to knock me over. While I wait for his teasing to begin, I snatch the joint from his limp fingers and take a breath. The earthy flavor of pot never did anything for me, but I welcome the heat that spreads across my chest as I inhale.
“Dope,” he says, taking the weed back. “Do me a favor and make sure you’re wearing that skimpy-ass lace. If you’re not gonna let me see your tits inside, then I’d like to see them hundreds of feet in the air.”
Flipping him the bird, I hike the pack up my shoulders and continue forward with a smile that comes easier than a few seconds ago. I ignore the sleazy, sordid comments about my ass in these jeans and thread my fingers through my coppery hair.
“I’m gonna be a fucking star.”
* * *
My mantra kept me going for a few hours. It was the only thing I told myself as I crossed from one city to the next. But as time went on, and the sky faded from blue to gray, my pep-talk quieted with the town. Soon, darkness was the only thing surrounding me as I wandered across quiet railways.
I heard someone say that if you follow these tracks, it’ll lead you right into the city. Before today, I never had the courage to try. There were always other things I had to take care of first; the house, the kids…surviving. Denise wasn’t going to handle those things, and I may not care much about the others, but I wasn’t going to let Missy struggle more than needed.
I stuck it out for as long as I could, but there came a point when I started to forget I was a person, too. I had spent so long being bounced from one home to another, taking care of kid after kid while I watched the adults, who were supposed to be protecting me, treat me no better than trash. Finally, after almost seventeen years, I felt myself beginning to fade into the dirty grey walls. It was time for me to get out before I was nothing but a stain in their lives. Missy will understand…
“I’m gonna come back for you.” She may not be around to hear it, but it’s a promise I make and vow to keep. I will come back for her… I just need to be able to take care of us first—to take care of me first.
Thoughts of Missy have the first tear springing to my eyes. I hate myself for leaving her, but I had to go. Maybe if I say it enough, it’ll wash away the guilt.
Heaving a sigh into the night, I glare at the puffs of breath clouding before my eyes. “Shit.” It has to be below twenty degrees. Soon, I won’t be able to feel my fucking toes through these sneakers.
I wrap my arms across my neck and swivel left to right. Some of these houses have families inside, but along the tracks, they’re usually abandoned or full of squatters.
I don’t feel like sharing my first night alone with a bunch of strangers who wouldn’t hesitate to rob or slice me in my sleep. Those aren’t even the worst options. Life has taught me on more than one occasion that if the world deems you pretty, you have to sleep with one eye open. There’s always someone lurking in the shadows, just waiting for the opportunity to make you hurt.
Fighting for my safety isn’t something I’m up for tonight, not while I’m cold and starving. So, with my arms folded across my throat, I peer into all the broken homes, checking them for any signs of life.
Through the cracked windows and busted-down doors, I see everything from filthy dirt-caked feet to discarded piles of clothes and needles. “Mmm…no.” It isn’t until I reach the end of the block that I find a house that isn’t falling to pieces or spilling with squatters.
Stepping over dead, frozen grass, I try the door, fighting with the knob until it threatens to break in my clenching grasp. Irritated curses spit free from my lips when I can’t get the windows open, either. I would throw a rock through the glass, but I don’t want to attract any unwanted attention from the homeless I know are canvassing the streets.
I release a frustrated, silent groan into the air, setting free all the aggravation of today. It doesn’t solve my problem of getting inside this house, but it does make my chest a little looser.
As my breath of cold air dissipates with the wind, I travel around the side, easily climbing over the waist-high gate to break in through the back. Who knows how long these homes have been abandoned, but whoever is in charge of clean-up has completely ignored the backyard. The front didn’t look so bad. It almost appeared as if someone came by with a lawnmower every now and then and tried to bring nature back to life, but the back?
“Holy shit.” Now I know why the inside looks untouched, because everyone decided to shoot up, fuck, and get drunk back here.
Kicking broken bottles and used condoms out of my way, I trample over the icy earth and step up the cracked staircase. The metal handrail wobbles as I ascend, threatening to break off in my hands if I don’t let it go. It doesn’t matter. I’m already at the top, fucking pissed that this door won”t budge, either.
“Are you fucking—” Before I finish my statement, I spot the basement window on the other side of the staircase. Excitement courses through me, but that thrill is quickly shattered when I see its glass has already been broken.
Shit.
Bending low, I snatch a broken tequila bottle from the ground, arming myself before peeking my head inside.
“Hello?” Nobody answers. I’m met with nothing but an uncomfortable quiet. I don’t trust it. Nothing in the world is silent. With a broken window and homeless walking the street, there’s no reason this house should be.
“Hello!?”
Again, nothing.
“Well, alright then.” I throw my bag inside, waiting until I hear the silence continue before climbing in feet first. The broken shards of the window scrape against my back as I jump down. I can feel the welts rise and little rivulets of blood seeping through my shirt. The sting of glass embeds itself deep within my skin, but I hardly wince. Denise threw plates and cups at me so often that I think my body got used to this type of pain.
Once on my feet, I run my fingers along my back, swiftly plucking out the glass fragments before pressing on my wounds with the bottom of my shirt. Then, with one hand on my back, I use the other to scoop up my bag and explore the basement. It’s exactly as I expected it to be, full of garbage, moldy boxes, and remnants of strangers.
Abandoned, but empty.
“Thank fuck.” Using the moonlight, I search around the crowded space. I don’t expect there to be any electricity, but maybe a flashlight…or a lighter… I’ll make my own damn torch if I have to, but I need something.
Just…don’t let it be dark.
“Okay. Okay,” I mumble, my voice shaking while I dig through the first couple of boxes.
It takes a while. Most of them are full of old crumpled-up newspapers, others with moth-eaten blankets and clothes. It isn’t until the fifth box that I find an old lantern with barely enough juice to create a dim orange glow around me.
It isn’t much, but that faint light is enough to keep the pinpricks of my anxiety out of my chest. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been afraid of the dark, not the shadows or the dim spaces, but the pitch-blackness that steals my sight. It takes everything with it, including the humanity of some.
I take one of those holey, moth-ridden blankets, draping it across my shoulders and wrapping it around me tight. When my mom was sober and loving, she would make sure my blankets were snug enough to leave me motionless. Those moments were far and few between. Most of the time, the only thing she cared to snuggle with was a bottle and a needle.
That’s how the police found us the first time. She had brought us to an empty house on Ruckers. I was exhausted from panhandling all morning, so it didn’t take long to tuck myself into a vacant corner and fall asleep. The sound of stomping feet and screaming woke me from the best sleep I’d had in a long time.
I opened my eyes to find two cops shaking my mother, who was hunched over against the wall. She wouldn’t move, wouldn’t…breathe.
“Come on, sweetie. Let’s get you some food.”I followed the kind female officer without ever taking my eyes off my mom. Something told me that would be the last time I saw her. At six, I couldn’t process what that meant. I thought I was just going to be placed somewhere for a couple of weeks while she pretended to get her life in order for the seventh time. I didn’t know she was gone. I want to believe I would have fought harder to hold her had I known…
Wrapping the blanket tighter around me, I drift off the way I did that night, vowing that I will never end up like her.