For a moment, I thought again about telling her the truth, not even caring if she believed me. Breaking it off with Luke would be hard enough, but our relationship was superficial in comparison to my friendship with Amber. Best friends were supposed to be forever. I glanced at the darkness to my left that was completely blocking the hallway. A ripple of fear crept down from the nape of my neck. Even if I could get the words out, I had no idea what to say.
Amber’s face closed up. She stalked off toward third period without as much as a backward glance. Her movements had finality to them. A lump formed in my throat. I wanted to call her back, to beg her to not be mad, but I couldn’t do it. I let her walk away. I crumpled up the late pass she had given me and chucked it into the trash can. As I walked down the hallway, I was well aware that the creature was following me. I didn’t pause again at my locker or stop by the office to offer up some lame excuse they would likely buy. After all, I was the good girl, the one who was always on time for class and never missed a day. I got straight As and dated the perfect guy. I managed to do it all in spite of losing my twin sister and living in a house with a family that was a shell of its former self. My life had already been tragic enough. I had no idea what I had done to deserve any more.
I didn’t head for the side entrance everyone else used when they wanted to ditch. I walked boldly out the front door, giving no thought to the possible consequences. I left my school behind without bothering to look back. I had one thought: Leah. I needed to connect with her the only way I could. I needed the journal tucked away under the mattress in my room.
10
LEAH
I WOKE to a buzzing noise in my ears. I couldn’t see anything, but it gave me comfort to have my eyes open. Judging by the familiar spring poking me in my left hip, I knew I was on my bed. My throat burned like fire had scorched its way down my windpipe. My hands moved to see how tender it felt to the touch, but I was stopped by the rattle of a chain and the cold steel of a handcuff binding my right wrist. I jerked my arm toward me in a panic. The sudden movement made the metal bite painfully into my wrist. I gasped. Not from the pain, but from the surprise of being shackled. I yanked again, harder. The result was the same, only this time I did hurt my wrist. My hand closed around the chain, following it until I reached where it was firmly locked around the metal frame of my bed.
A slight whimper left my lips before I could stop it. Mother had never chained me up before. I knew she would be angry if she ever found out about my plan, but I only wanted to show her that it was okay if I went out at night. I never planned to hurt her or abandon her. I just wanted a chance to be outside, even if for a moment. If she would only listen, I would explain it to her.
My reasoning gave me some comfort. Surely Mother would understand. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the burning in my throat. I reached with my free hand, searching the small table beside my bed for a glass of water. Mother would never chain me up without providing provisions. I fumbled around blindly on the table, refusing to give up hope. After a few futile seconds, I realized she had proven me wrong. It wasn’t worth it to panic. Mother had to be planning on returning soon. This was my punishment for stepping so far out-of-bounds. Mother had her reasons and I had to respect them. She would understand when I finally explained everything to her. Maybe I could even try again to convince her to let me go outside under the cloak of darkness where the sun could not hurt me.
The idea gave me some comfort as I let sleep coax me back into its embrace. Mother would return soon.
* * *
Mother did return.
The basement lights came on, jerking me from an uneasy sleep. I tried to climb out of bed, but forgot about the shackle on my wrist that limited my movements. I sat up so I could take in the rest of the room. My heart sank when I spotted my empty bookshelf. Every single one of my books had been removed. My couch was completely stripped. The cushions that hid Daisy from sight for so many years were gone. My heart pinched painfully in my chest at the loss of my beloved doll and friend. She was my one and only confidant and champion and now she was gone. I had no idea what I would do without her. I wanted to weep at the loss of my belongings, but I knew I needed to stay strong. I would earn them back. I would prove to Mother that I could be good.
I could hear her heavy footsteps as she descended the stairs. She appeared in the doorway and stopped, staring expressionless at me. I smiled tentatively as an initial apology, searching for any sign that the storm had passed. When she turned her eyes away, I knew all was not forgiven.
I remained patient as she bustled about my bed, roughly removing the blanket and sheet from around my legs and waist. I opened my mouth to apologize. The words were broken and scratchy, hurting my tender throat. Mother never acknowledged me, even when I begged and pleaded for her forgiveness.
She was all business as she tugged my pajama bottoms down and held the bedpan under my bare bottom. It was truly embarrassing. I was capable of using the bathroom if she would just let me up. My bladder couldn’t resist the cold plastic and quickly emptied. After I finished, Mother set the pan aside and jerked my pants up without looking at me.
“Mother, I’m sorry,” I pleaded as she carried the full container to my bathroom.
She flinched, but didn’t answer, working instead to finish her chores. I could hear her rinse out the bedpan before flushing the toilet. A few minutes later she returned with the small cup I used when I brushed my teeth. I searched her face for any sign of forgiveness, but her expression remained as hard as granite.
She held out the cup. I croaked out a thank-you, clasping it tightly. I was afraid she might take it away before I could drink. The first few drops teased my dry lips. I parted them desperately, letting the cold water sooth my burning throat. The contents of the cup emptied long before I was ready. I wanted to ask for more, but she had already turned for the stairs before I could get the words out.
“Mother, I’ll be good,” I promised in a raspy voice.
It was as if I weren’t there. Her only response to my plea was to switch off the lights, plunging the room into darkness again.
I tried not to cry, I swear I did, but I couldn’t stop it from happening. Large tears streamed down my face, soaking the pillow on either side of my head. I could have swiped them away but I continued to let them fall. It had been a long time since I’d allowed myself the indulgence. Years of repressed moisture escaped my eyes at an alarming rate. I cried for the mistakes I’d made and for the sins I had committed. I cried for my sister who was stronger than I was. I knew if Mia were here she would be the perfect girl. She would never commit the countless infractions that seemed to come so easily for me. Mia was the good girl. She would never disappoint Mother.
I cried until I dozed off. It was a troubled sleep. The slightest noise would wake me again until eventually I gave up. Lying in the dark, I tried passing the time by counting. That lasted until I grew weary of seeing numbers in my head. I switched to recalling some of my favorite book passages. I would break them down scene by scene to see how much I could remember. My throat dried again to a dull ache with a burning sensation that heightened every time I swallowed.
I found myself yearning for light, even the smallest of beams. The very darkness which had always held me in its tender embrace was now betraying me as an enemy. Its oppressive torment was almost too much to bear as seconds and then minutes and then hours trickled by.
At least my other heightened senses picked up the slack. My ears zeroed in on the muted sounds above me—the creaking of the floor, the faint sound of running water. I was tempted to call out to Mother, but I knew better. I just had to wait. Wait for her return. Wait for her forgiveness.
I was in the process of trying to recite all the US presidents and vice presidents in order when my bladder began to clamor again for relief. I shifted in the bed, ignoring my stomach that cramped from hunger. Crossing my legs, I tried distracting my mind by thinking about anything that didn’t have to do with water.
Sometime later, it could have been an hour. Or maybe it was only a few minutes, I had no way of knowing, my bladder hit a new level of insistence. My mind played tricks on me, pushing me to stand when I knew I was unable to. The urge to get to the bathroom was so strong nothing else seemed to matter. I jerked on my arm, letting the cold steel dig into it. It was agonizing, but still I tugged. I knew my attempts were futile. There was no way my frail stren
gth was any kind of match for the chain that bound me in place. My wrist was tender and raw with fresh abrasions from the cuff. I felt a thin trickle of liquid run down my arm. Without thinking, I moved my arm to my mouth, tasting the slight hint of iron in my blood. It was a reminder that I was still me.
Somewhere between trying to recite poetry and the words to my favorite songs, I lost my battle with bladder control. I would like to have said that I was embarrassed, but the truth was I felt nothing but great relief when it emptied. Mother would be upset over the mess, but my aching side practically wept with joy. I scooted myself as close to the edge of my bed as possible so the majority of the urine would flow to the floor rather than soak my mattress. My pajamas were, of course, soaked, but even that was a small price to pay. When Mother finally returned she would help me clean up since soiled clothes were not allowed. She could punish me again if need be. None of that mattered anymore.
Time continued to drift.
No Mother.