Bang

  I’m a mess, but that’s to be expected with the harsh introduction I received to this crazy, fucked up life. I’m fourteen—too young to be this bitter and angry. For a while, when I would see a child with their parent, I’d wish for that parent to die. I wanted every kid to feel the pain I was feeling because it wasn’t fair to me.

  Life’s cruel, and I’m its bitch.

  I’m Carl’s bitch too. Lately he’s been fucking me, wanting Pike to watch. He made me promise to never look at Carl, so I always keep my eyes locked on Pike’s no matter who I’m fucking that day.

  My first orgasm came about a year ago. Carl was jerking off in the corner while Pike and I were having sex. It had never happened before, so when what was always such a sickening act turned into pleasure, it scared the crap out of me. I couldn’t face Pike afterwards; I was too ashamed. When I finally unlocked my bathroom door a few hours later, he came in and talked to me about it. It was humiliating, having my brother explain to me what had happened. He told me it was a natural part of sex, but I didn’t like it. It made me feel dirty and embarrassed. And now, knowing it could happen again, I fight hard to prevent it. Pike knows this, so when we’re alone in his bed, he tries to get off fast so that he doesn’t accidentally make me feel it again. It’s weird, because I like having sex with Pike when we’re alone, but at the same time, it scares me because I don’t want it to feel good—it shouldn’t feel good. But I want to be with him because it’s with him that I don’t feel the misery and the ugliness. He takes it all away, and even if it’s only for a moment, I feel free.

  When I turn the corner, I see Pike sitting on the curb smoking a cigarette. “Pike!” I shout from down the street, and he looks over to me then stands up.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he asks, pissed.

  “I got in a fight and now I have afterschool suspension.”

  Taking a drag from his cigarette, the smoke drifts lazily out of his mouth when he gets all big-brother-protective, saying, “Tell me what happened.”

  “That girl I’ve been telling you about, you know, the one who’s been making my life hell? She just kept running her mouth in the cafeteria, calling me names. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I lost it.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “She was sitting at the end of the same table as me, so I chucked my apple at her and it hit her in the head. Before I knew it, we were out of our seats and I had her on the ground.”

  “No shit?” he says with a mild, pleased grin on his face. “Well, I don’t see a mark on you, so I take it you won?”

  “It wasn’t a competition, Pike,” I say, still feeling like the loser the kids at school tell me I am.

  “What’s wrong? You kicked her ass; you should feel good.”

  “You’re such a boy,” I sigh, dropping my head. When he drapes his arm around my shoulder, I add, “I hate it there. I have no friends.”

  “They’re bitches, Elizabeth. Young, stupid bitches.”

  “I’m young and stupid.”

  Pike tosses his cigarette before we walk inside the house. “Young, yes. Stupid, no,” he says as we go upstairs. “You only have a couple months left there. Next year, you’ll be with me again.”

  “Right,” I scoff. “You’ll be a senior and I’ll be the freshman freak.”

  He plops down on the bed, folding his arms behind his head, responding, “Nothing about you says freak. Trust me. Those girls are just jealous because you’re prettier than them.”

  His words heat my neck, but at the same time fill something inside of me. The last time anyone ever said I was pretty, I was five, and it came from my dad. He would always tell me I was beautiful and pretty, saying I had the most gorgeous red hair. Looks are shallow, I know that, but I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that until just now.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, noticing the sadness behind my eyes. “Come here.”

  I walk over and sit down next to him.

  “What’s wrong?” he repeats.

  “I feel ugly inside,” I admit.

  “Don’t,” he states as he sits up next to me. “There’s nothing about you that’s ugly.”

  “Really, Pike?” I question with ridicule.

  Annoyed with my tone, he defends, “Nobody knows us. Nobody knows. It’s you allowing what other people might think or say that makes you feel that way.”

  “It’s what I feel, Pike,” I argue in a pitched voice.

  “You have the power to change that. How you feel is how you allow yourself to feel.”

  “So, it’s my fault? My fault that I feel this way?”

  “Feel sad. Feel angry. Hate whoever you want. Blame whoever you want, but don’t, for one second, think that you’re any less than what you are. You’re not ugly or dirty or whatever else you’re thinking.” His tone is hard and stern when he says this, but in an instant, he softens it, saying, “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. You still believe in me?”

  I nod.

  “Good. Because it won’t always be like this.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “Tell me, Pike. What’s it gonna be like? Tell me the fairytale,” I voice with a slip of mockery.

  “I’m gonna make you believe in the fairytale again.”

  I laugh softly at his determined words, and he smiles at me.

  We spend the next hour goofing around and getting our homework done. Carl got home a while ago, but he hasn’t said a word to us, which is a relief, and now the smells of food cooking fill the house. Bobbi hardly ever cooks. More like never.

  “You think we’re gonna get any of that?” Pike asks, referring to whatever it is she’s making in the kitchen.

  “Doubtful,” I respond with a roll of my eyes, and we both smile at each other.

  “Pike,” Bobbi calls from downstairs after the doorbell rings.

  “Be back,” he says.

  I stay on his bed, and when I hear the front door shut, I turn to look out the window to see Pike and his caseworker on the front lawn talking. Whatever is being said, Pike is visibly pissed, raking a strong hand through his hair. His muffled yells are distorted and I can’t make out what he’s saying. When he turns his head and looks up to the window, my stomach drops hard. The expression on his face tells me I should be worried, and I am. I jump off the bed when he walks back to the house. He runs up the stairs, meeting me at the door. With his hands on my shoulders, he pushes me back into the room and closes the door behind him.

  “What’s going on?” I question as the panic rises.

  Looking down, he shakes his head, and then pulls me tightly in his arms, hugging me.

  And now I’m freaking out.

  “Pike, what’s happening? You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he says, and I know it’s bad. He only says that when something bad is about to happen. He doesn’t let go of me as we stand there, holding on to each other.

  I didn’t think life could get any worse for me, but it could—and it would. I’ve always battled with the idea of hope. Hope had always failed me, but for some reason, I kept holding on to a tiny piece of it. I was scared to know what the world would be like if I didn’t have it. But Pike’s next words to me would stab me from the inside—white horror—filling me with the blood of life’s harsh reality. A reality that would spit its gritty words in my face, telling me, “Hope is for the ignorant, little girl. Give it up.”

  Taking his arms from around me, he cups my cheeks, takes out the knife, and stabs me to the core with his words.

  “You’re gonna be okay, Elizabeth.”

  My whole body shakes, my voice trembling in confusion, “What?”

  Pressing his forehead against mine, I hold his wrists in a death grip as he says, “I’m leaving.”

  He just siphoned all the air from my lungs with those two words, and I turn cold, shaking my head vigorously against his.

  “I have to go. They’re placing me in a group home.”

 
“No.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he painfully breathes.

  “No.” My word, a wretched plea.

  Pike presses a hard kiss to my forehead, and I cry out, “No!” as his back shakes against my hands. “No!”

  “It’s done. Apparently Carl made a call. He wants me out.”

  “Don’t go. You can’t go.”

  “I don’t have a choice,” he says, and when he pulls back, I see the fear in his eyes, and I know it’s all for me. We both know what’ll happen without him here. I’ll be all alone for Carl to do with as he pleases.

  “You can’t leave me here. You can’t leave me with him,” I desperately plea.

  He takes a step back, fisting his hair, gritting under his breath, “Fuuuuck.” He paces as I stand in shock, crying. Eventually, he turns back to me and affirms, “Fourteen is still gonna be your year. Your dad won’t be coming back for you, but I will.”

  “Don’t do that,” I tell him. “Don’t you dare give me hope.”

  His eyes are burning, dark coals when he says, “I swear to you. I’ll give you that fairytale. Let me age out. I’ll come back for you.”

  “A year? Pike, don’t leave me here with him for a year!”

  “We can’t run away now. Think about it—two of us go missing—it’s too risky. But just one—you—we could get away. Less than one year, you’ll be free from here. One year alone and out at fourteen; you can do it,” he tells me while I cry in fear of what life is going to be like without him. “You’re so fucking strong,” he asserts. “I will come back for you.”

  I sling my arms around his neck, and continue to beg him not to leave me. I’m terrified I’ll never see him again, my only friend, my only family—my brother. Who’s going to protect me?

  “I have to pack,” he whispers.

  “Now?”

  “My caseworker is downstairs waiting on me.”

  “Oh my God,” I mutter to myself. I can’t believe this is happening. My heart feels like a wrecking ball inside my chest, pounding away at my pathetic life. I wander over to Pike’s bed and sit down, gripping the edge of the mattress with my hands, and watch as he starts shoving clothes into his duffle bag. The tears simply fall from my eyes with no effort. I lost my dad with the faith that I would see him again, and now I’m losing Pike with the knowledge that life doesn’t guarantee you anything, no matter how badly you want it.

  Once his bag is zipped, he kneels down in front of me with his hands on my knees. He’s a blurry vision, muddled through the tears that separate us. “You’re all I have,” he says. “You’re it. I won’t lose you, and you won’t lose me.”

  “Please.” It’s a vague plea—a plea for anything, really.

  “I need you to listen to me, okay?” He takes his thumbs and wipes the tears from my eyes. “Really listen to me.”

  I nod.

  “I’m with you,” he assures. “When you’re in that closet, I’m with you. When you’re in that basement, I’m with you. I’m always with you, okay? But I need you to make me a promise. I need you to promise me that you’ll turn yourself off. Just shut it off. He can’t hurt you if you don’t feel. The people who get hurt in life are the ones who allow themselves to feel.”

  My tears grow heavy, plunking to their death in a free-fall, landing on my knees. Looking down at him, without much thought, I kiss him. We’ve never kissed outside of his bed when we’re having sex, but I kiss him now because I don’t know what else to do. He holds me tight, kissing me back as I cry against his lips, refusing to let go of him.

  When our mouths part, he looks into my eyes, saying, “I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  He stands, grabs his bag, and promises, “I’ll come back for you.”

  And just like that, as if I ever had a choice in the matter, my brother, my only lifeline, walks away from me.

  And I’m all alone.

  I DON’T NEED to tell you what happened next.

  You already know.

  Life without Pike was worse than the swamps of hell. Alone. Desolate. A life no one wants to believe is real—but is. I became dark inside. No. That’s not true. I became colorless. You couldn’t have painted a portrait of me because I no longer existed. To exist, you have to have life and I was merely a robot—a machine—tell me what you wanted and I’d do it, paralyzed to emotions and consequences.

  Fuck you, life.

  I hate you.

  The moment Pike walked out the door, Bobbi came up to my room. I was crying, begging her to use the phone when the threat came. She told me that she knew about Pike and I having sex, and if I told anyone or attempted to leave, she would tell Social Services and I would be placed under mental evaluation in a state hospital. She also told me that Pike would be arrested and sent to jail for statutory rape of a minor since seventeen is the legal age of consent in the state of Illinois. So that was it; I kept my mouth shut.

  I haven’t heard from Pike since he left a little over three months ago. He’s gone, probably happier, and left me to fend for myself. I don’t blame him. Run away, Pike. Run far from me and this life. I’ve come to accept that he wouldn’t be coming back for me. I had my first freak out after the first month, missing him, wondering if it was all a lie and whether I’d ever see him again. That first month was really the only time he would have been able to see me. I was still in school, but as soon as summer hit, I was rarely let out of the closet. No longer did I have Pike to talk me through the nights; I had no one.

  School started up again last week. I was so anxious, nervous to see Pike now that we would both be in high school. Would he grab me and hug me, or would he look right through me as if I no longer existed? But I didn’t have to worry so much because he wasn’t there. I searched the halls and then wound up going to the office only to find out that he transferred to another school. They wouldn’t tell me where though. Walking out of the office that day, I thought to myself, Maybe this is where you give up, Elizabeth. Maybe this is where you realize life’s fate for you. Maybe this is where you finally stop fighting for something that was never meant to be.

  That was last week, and I still haven’t made any decisions about those thoughts. And so I resume my mechanical life. Wake up, go to school, go home, be fucked by my greasy, fat foster dad, shower, homework, bed. Bed is always a variable; it’s either bed or leather restraints and locked in the closet. Despite the disgust, I’m hyperaware of my appearance. I’ve been lucky so far to avoid the puberty pimples; my skin is soft and flawless from the neck up. Beneath my clothes is a different story—various colors of new and healing bruises, welts, and cuts. My wrists look like I’ve had a few failed suicide attempts. My red hair is bright and full of lazy, loose waves that fall past my slender shoulders. My face, it deceives everyone because no one would ever guess the horror that lives beneath. But no matter how ugly I feel, I try to take care of myself.

  When the final bell rings, I shove my books into my backpack and walk through the halls. I have no friends here; maybe it’s my fault, or maybe it’s theirs. I keep to myself. I never speak unless called on by a teacher, and even with that, I never say more than necessary. My grades are good, not that I have any aspirations after I graduate. I’m sure I’ll be flipping burgers somewhere or turning tricks, giving out blowjobs depending on how much money I want to make.

  Cynical?

  Yeah, I am.

  I move slowly, letting everyone pass, bumping into me as they rush out of this school and into their freedom. But this is my freedom—here at school and away from home. So I take my time, and when I finally walk out the metal double doors, I tighten my coat around me and start heading home. Before I can make it off school grounds, a black, vintage Mustang pulls alongside me, and I think I’m imagining things when I hear his familiar voice.

  “Elizabeth, thank God.”

  Pike gets out of the car and has me in his arms fast. The comfort is overwhelming, and it doesn’t take long before I’m weeping into his shirt.

&nbs
p; “Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he breathes in my hair, and I nod against his chest. “Are you okay?”

  I pull back and look up at him, ignoring his question, asking, “Where have you been?”

  “I didn’t know how to find you. I tried sneaking by the house a few times this summer, but you were never there.”

  “I was there,” I tell him. “He kept me locked up for most of the summer. He knew about us . . . that we were . . . you know. It pissed him off and he said that’s why he got rid of you.”

  “Shit.”

  And then the crying starts as I deflate and say, “I thought you gave up on me.”

  “Never.”

  He then turns to the car, and when I peek around him, I see the driver. He’s older, maybe in his twenties, with tattoos down his arms.

  “Come with me. We can talk,” Pike says as he looks back at me.

  “Can’t be gone long. Carl normally gets home around five.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll have you back in time,” he tells me and then opens the door to crawl into the back seat before holding his hand out for me. “This is Matt, by the way,” Pike introduces, “He’s a good buddy of mine.”

  “Hey,” Matt says, giving me a nod in the rearview mirror before pulling back out onto the street.

  “Hey.” My voice, barely a whisper when Pike pulls me into his arms.

  “Talk to me.”

  I keep my eyes on Matt, not wanting to speak in front of this stranger.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Pike tells me. “He’s cool.”

  “I was scared I would never see you again,” I admit quietly.

  “I told you to believe in me. I’m not leaving you. The place I’m staying has strict rules. Basically school and then back by eight o’clock curfew.”

  “What’s it like?” I ask. “The group home, I mean.”

  “It’s okay. You’re not there, so I spend most of my time worrying about you.”

  “This cool, man?” Matt says when he pulls into the back lot of a rundown strip mall.

  “Yeah. Just give us an hour,” Pike tells him as he parks the car and then gets out.