8. Crime for Survival
Crime for Survival
Nichole
Damian stands.
Slowly, deliberately, with the kind of resolve that doesn’t belong to a child. His movements are careful, calculated, but I can see the tension in his small frame—the way his fists briefly clench before he releases them, the way his jaw locks so tightly it looks like it hurts.
He already knows what he has to do.
This isn’t a reckless decision, not a burst of impulse fueled by desperation. This is survival. A reality he’s come to accept, one that most kids his age would never have to consider.
He reaches for Alessandra’s hand, curling his fingers around her small wrist, careful but firm.
"Come on," he murmurs, his voice low but steady. "We’re going to get food."
Alessandra stirs, her lashes fluttering weakly as she blinks up at him. It takes her a moment to process his words, her sluggish mind fighting exhaustion and hunger, but when she does, she nods without question.
She trusts him with everything.
She doesn’t ask where they’re going. She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t complain. She just lets him pull her up onto shaky feet, her tiny fingers gripping his like he’s the only thing anchoring her to the world.
Because he is.
I follow.
I don’t think about it, don’t hesitate—I just move, my steps soundless as I trail after them. The apartment is eerily quiet as Damian leads Alessandra toward the door, his small, bare feet making no sound against the dirty floorboards.
He moves like a shadow, his grip firm but careful as he guides his sister through the darkened space.
His eyes flick toward the hallway, pausing just for a second. He listens. Watches. Waits.
The weight of caution is something no child should have to carry, but Damian shoulders it like second nature. His breathing is so controlled, his focus so sharp, that I almost expect someone to stop him.
But no one does. No one in this house cares enough to notice. No one in this house will stop him.
Not because he’s being careful, not because he’s invisible like I am, but because to them, he doesn’t matter.
Rage tightens in my chest.
I want to shake this world apart, to scream at the walls, to drag every adult in this house out of whatever drunken haze they’ve drowned themselves in and force them to see the two starving children slipping out their door.
Damian cracks the front door open, just enough to let the night seep in. The air outside is cool, damp, alive in a way that the apartment never was. He grips Alessandra’s hand tighter, his fingers curling around hers like a silent promise.
Then, without a word, he leads her into the night.