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Coarse ropes duginto my wrists as I tugged on the pipe running against the wall in the closet, cold sweat sliding down my nape and soaking the back of my t-shirt. Not even a sliver of light seeped into the bottom of the closed door, and the thick darkness threatened to choke me.
How long had I been in here this time? More than a day at least. I’d already used the pot Rena tossed in the corner before locking me in. I’d puked too, and the smell started to make me dry heave. If I had anything left in my stomach, it would have been in the pot hours ago.
“Please!” I yanked on the binds again. “I learned my lesson. I won’t take your food again. Please just let me out.”
Rena, my current foster mother, gave us kids shit food like peanut butter and jelly on stale, moldy bread while she had take-out, frozen pizza, eggs, bacon, fried chicken, and even steak.
At twelve, I was the oldest of four foster kids. Yesterday, the two little ones looked like they might pass out because she’d only allowed them stale crackers and ketchup for the last two days. So I snuck into the kitchen to make them ham and cheese sandwiches and poured them a little of her orange juice. I didn’t think she’d notice.
I was wrong. The bitch probably took inventory every evening. When she realized some of her precious food was missing, I confessed, keeping the little ones out of it. As punishment, Rena tied me up and locked me in the bedroom closet again.
“I promise I won’t steal from you.” I kicked out, trying to reach the door to get some air that didn’t reek, but my legs weren’t long enough. “Please, Rena!” My voice cracked, and angry tears burned my eyes.
The walls closed in, and invisible bands tightened around my chest. The ceiling seemed to lower every few seconds, pressing on the top of my head.
Just breathe. Just breathe. The walls are not closing in. The closet will not collapse around you.
But the panic crashed over like a tidal wave attempting to drown me. My movements became frantic as I jerked my wrists against the pipes so hard my skin broke, and a coppery hint filtered into the air, mixing with piss and vomit. Hot blood leaked over my hands.
I continued to pull on the ropes, the pain barely making an impact compared to the panic. I didn’t care if I ripped my skin to the bone or pried my own hands off if it meant I got out of this closet.
Screams tore out of my mouth as I fought against the binds, bucking like a wild animal caught in a trap…
My lids popped open,and I bolted up in my bed in Corvin Manor. My ragged breaths filled the room as the nightmare faded.
Son of a bitch. That was a bad one.
I brushed the snarled locks from my sweaty face and reached over to grab my cup off the nightstand. My throat ached as I chugged the stale water. I must have been screaming like a banshee.
Rena Morgan, that evil psychopath, never should have been allowed to foster children. She locked me in that closet tied up more times than I could remember. Once, I screamed so much my larynx never recovered, and I had a permanent rasp to my voice.
I remained at Rena’s until thirteen when she told Social Services to move me because I’d become too much trouble. They placed me with Darla and Ken Peachtree next, and they were no better. After that, I went to the Bowdens.
A shiver rippled down my spine. I wasn’t there long before I ran away the first time.
My fingers traveled over the scars left behind, rubbing my wrists as if the ropes still dug into my skin. Giving up on sleep, I yanked the covers off, stumbled out of my bed, and collided with my dresser. I steadied the silver frame holding the picture of Hawk and me.
A stranger snapped the photo for us while we stood under a massive oak in Forsyth Park. That was the first night we hung out together alone, and Hawk had revealed that sub-demons killed his parents when he was ten.
He’d said being orphans—no matter how it happened—connected us, and we should stick together.
We’d become almost inseparable ever since.
I marched toward the end of my bed and jammed my feet into my fuzzy slippers. It was too early to head to the training room for a workout, and there was only one person I could stand being around right now.
The hall was silent and dim as I slipped out and tiptoed down the cool hardwoods, my legs shaky and weak. I pressed my ear to the solid wood of his door to listen for any sounds. Hawk didn’t bring normal humans back to the raven headquarters, but he’d hooked up with plenty of trainees.
A bitter taste coated the back of my mouth just thinking about catching him with some skank. Maybe I should return to my room before making a fool out of myself.
Instead, my hand lifted of its own accord, and my knuckles lightly tapped the door. “Hawk,” I whispered. “You awake?”
After a few moments passed, I shook my head and stepped away. I should have texted him. But then the wooden floorboards creaked inside his room, and the door opened, revealing a sleepy Hawk.
“Strawberry Shortcake? I thought I heard you.” A lazy smile pulled at his lips, and he waved me in. “Couldn’t sleep so you decided I should have the same problem?”
“Exactly.” I slid inside and poked his bare chest. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”
Hawk shrugged and closed the door behind him. “Too bad.”
