Watching him cry feels funny. I don’t know much about boys, but I’m pretty sure ten-year-old ones don’t get this sad.
“Shh, it’s okay.” I try to hold his hand tighter, to let him know I’m here and not going to leave him, but his grip is so strong my fingers don’t move. “You’re not a bad kid, shhh.”
His crying gets louder. My heart races.
“Please, it’s okay.” I turn to look behind me out of fear that one of my parents will catch us. I don’t want to go back into the dark. “They’ll wake up if we’re not quiet.”
Some nights are bad like this, where he can’t calm down enough to breathe. On these nights, there’s only one thing that works to make him stop. The first time I tried it I was desperate for anything that would work. It did.
I start off in whispers and sing one of the only songs I know by heart, “Silent Night.” He quiets and his breath comes in hitches, until finally he stops crying. The song is so easy, I keep singing to avoid him breaking down again. Finally, my voice croaking and throat dry, I stop.
“I’m gonna die in here.” His voice so soft I wonder if I imagined it.
“Don’t say that. If I can figure out where they hide the key, I could—”
“No.” He sounds mad. “Stay out of it.”
A burning grows in my stomach and moves to my cheeks. “I won’t . . . I can’t stay out of it. You think I’m just a little girl and I can’t help you. You’re wrong—”
“That’s not it. It’s . . . if you get caught . . .” His grip grows tighter around my hands. “I don’t want them near you. I won’t let them near you!”
“Shh.” The heat in my cheeks warms and moves into my chest. “We’ll figure it out. But it’s late.”
We sit like this for a long time—not talking, only touching beneath the door—each of us with one eye on the other. My shoulder hurts, my arm is pins and needles, and my hand is numb.
I yawn and my eyes flutter closed. “You should go to sleep.”
“Sing to me?”
“Hmm . . . What do you want me to sing?”
“Anything. Your voice is enough.”
I sing a few lines of “Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and try to force my eyes to stay open. Finally, his blue eye disappears beneath the splotchy pink lid. His hold on my hand loosens. He’s fallen asleep.
I’m so tired from all the worry and fear that my body melts into the tile floor. “I don’t know what’s happening to you down here, but I promise I’ll be here for you always. I’ll get you out of here. You don’t think I can because I’m only eight, but I can. I will.” I slide my hand back from under the door and watch to make sure he doesn’t wake up.
Pushing up, I stretch and wiggle my fingers. Placing my hand flat on the only thing that separates us, that stupid door, I make a silent promise to save my foster brother from whatever’s hurting him. No matter what it takes.
I kiss the wood. “I love you, Rex.”
One
Fourteen years later . . .
Because inside my shell I’m that boy
Who was never given a say
The real me I’ll cover and destroy
To keep the worst of the pain away.
--Ataxia
Rex
“Rex, dude, heads up.”
I look just in time to see a bottle sailing through the air, and I snag it before it hits the dirt. “Thanks, man.”
Talon drops down into the folding chair next to me. I pop the cap on my beer and take a long drag. The bonfire flickers, illuminating at least two dozen faces standing around it. Some friends, others strangers, most shitfaced.
I keep my eyes to the fire but, with my peripheral vision, tune in to a few new faces that look as if they’re out to shake shit up.
“How many crates did Lane throw in that bitch?” He scoots his chair back a foot, distancing himself from the fire. “That shit’s hot. How can you sit that close?”
Talon’s been Ataxia’s drummer since the band started. He should know me better than to ask that.
It burns, yeah. But I like the pain.
“Don’t be a *. It’s not that hot.” Yeah, it is.
“Not that hot, my ass. That thing’s like, what, at least five feet of pure flame.” He cringes away from the fire. “Good thing we’re out in the boonies or the cops would be all over our shit.”
It’s become a tradition, coming out here in the middle of nowhere with nothing but our dirt bikes and enough beer to intoxicate a small country. Our band has been playing so many local clubs lately it’s a nice change from the everyday Vegas nightlife.
The sound of a girl squealing gets my attention. She’s wrapped up in the arms of some dude, and he has her lifted off the ground. She kicks her legs and he puts her down. I go back to watching the fire.