“You sure that’s it?”
We watched each other and I remembered the first time he asked if I was okay. Five years earlier when I was brought to this house and met my new family. I didn’t remember a lot from that day besides thinking these people were too good to be true. I figured they’d wait until Kirk was gone then hurt me.
I couldn’t remember when I knew Dad was a good man who loved me. Not like my real dad loved me. Tad felt the kind of love a person died to protect. I saw the love in his eyes as he waited for his food to finish warming.
“I wish I was stronger.”
“So do I,” he said softly. “Everyone does. They just don’t admit it. That’s what makes you so brave. You can admit your fears.”
Even thinking he was full of shit, I smiled. “Thanks, Dad.”
Taking his plate out of the microwave, he inhaled. “Mom makes the best meatloaf.”
“I made it.”
Grinning, Dad nudged me with his hip. “If you make this meatloaf for the boy you’re hung up on, you’ll own him.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Dad left me to eat in the living room with Mom. I finished up the dishes, washed off the counter, and joined Jace outside as he raked the leaves.
“I saw a shadow last night,” I told him.
“A person shadow or a squirrel shadow?”
We laughed, but I knew Jace thought I was nuts. I freaked over minor noises and the doorbell sent me scrambling to my room. Having only lived with us for a year, Jace was still getting used to having two weird big sisters.
Once we finished outside, I took a shower and watched TV alone in my room. Usually my favorite show Monk soothed me. This night, I pinched the back of my hand.
Whenever I was tense, I pinched my hands until they were dark with bruises. If I ran out of space on my hands, I moved onto my arms. On really bad days, I pinched bruises up and down my legs too.
Ignoring the TV, I thought about Dylan’s strong arms around the pretty girl. He should have been mine, but I failed. No amount of pinching gave me a second chance, but I couldn’t stop. The depression needed an outlet.
I was still pinching my hands under the blankets when Harlow crawled into my bed. Damp from a shower, she wore shorts and a loose tee. I also noticed a darkening bruise on her eye.
“Did you win?” I asked as she cuddled next to me.
“Hell yeah.”
“Are you in pain?”
“No,” Harlow lied. “Are you still bummed about a sexy guy?”
Pinching harder, I shrugged. “I get disappointed sometimes.”
“Disappointed about what?”
“Disappointed in me. I was doing so well months ago. Now I just hide in the house.”
“You have a job and friends.”
“I should be stronger by now.”
“Things happened that changed us both.”
We were both thinking about the Devils. I was happy to have blocked most of the experience from my mind, but I remembered enough. Dylan getting shot. The way one guy pushed me against a wall. How he wanted to rape me because I was “extra.” Harlow was the one they wanted and I was disposable. Mostly, I remembered Harlow and me killing the guy.
“It’s my fault,” Harlow said, staring at the TV. “I’m why they came here and hurt you.”
“You kept that freak from…” I didn’t finish because Harlow’s mood always grew dark when we talked about it. “I wish I could be the way I was.”
Pinching my forearms, I glanced at my Cookie Monster doll. For years, I used the toy to soothe me when I was upset. Mom had given it to me when I first arrived. Even too old for a doll, I practiced hugging it like I couldn’t hug people. The doll also smelled like Dad after I sprayed it with his cologne when he went out of town.
At eighteen, I finally gave up Cookie Monster. I didn’t need the comfort until the Devils showed up. Now I craved the doll again. Needing to be strong, I forced my gaze on the ceiling.
“You still like Dylan,” Harlow said, nudging me. “When you girls get all hung up on a boy, you sigh a lot. I see it all the time.”
“You’re a girl too,” I muttered.
“So I’ve heard,” she said. “I know you want to be strong right now, but Dylan said he would wait.”
“It’s too late,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I saw him with a girl yesterday. They were hugging and she was really pretty. I lost my chance.”
Harlow rolled off the bed and retrieved the Cookie Monster doll from the shelf. Watching her through wet eyes, I considered telling her no. Harlow’s expression made clear she wouldn’t listen.
As I took the doll, Harlow joined me on the bed and pulled the blanket over us. She saw my red hands and knew what I was doing to myself. She didn’t say anything though.
“You need to make yourself happy. The doll relaxes you.”
“I’m not a child.”
“You haven’t been a child in a long time, Winnie. For too long really. Adults need help relaxing too.”