Abel
This apartment smells like meth. It’s seeped into the walls, in the carpet. Hell, it’s even clinging to my grimy skin.
I scratch my arm, smearing around the dirt and grease that’s caked on. There’s no water here—not even to drink.
I swallow against the dryness while also forcing down the heated indignation that’s been simmering for far too long.
“You okay?” I lean over, pushing my face into Mo’s neck. She doesn’t even move at the pressure of my touch. It makes my blood run cold.
She’s so young—too young to know better.
“Mo, wake up.” I nudge her shoulder, hating the way her bones creak. “Come on,” I plead, mostly to myself, but I never raise my voice an octave above a hushed whisper. Sound bounces off the walls in this apartment, like the walls are as hollow as my heart.
She finally startles away, whipping her head around in disorientation. I hush her, running my hand down her thick, matted hair. “You’re okay. It’s just me.”
“What’s wrong?” she asks, so quietly I have to read her lips in the dim light coming from the kitchen.
I shift around on the hard, ratty carpet. Every shift brings shocking attention to my fresh bruises. Mo’s eyes crinkle in a way no child’s should.
She’s too good for this.
“Nothing. Was just worried,” I tell her. Which is true, but I also, selfishly, didn’t want to be alone in my head.
“Are they back yet?” She blinks sleepily.
“Yes.”
She stiffens. “Where are they?”
“Their room.” I hold my breath, knowing what she’s gonna ask next.
“Are they…”
Sighing, I haul her against me, bone against bone. Harsh but oddly comforting. Just having another person touching you without malice.
“Yes.”
“So, they’re gonna—”
“Yes, Mo.” I cut her off, hating that’s where our first thoughts take us. I’ve been here for two months. Mo, only three weeks.
Honestly, it’s fucking baffling how many bad people slip through the cracks in the system. It’s broken beyond repair. Too many kids, not enoughgoodpeople willing to take care of them.
All we’re ever seen as is broken and unfixable. And when you’ve had that beaten into you as much as I have, you learn to accept it. To be the very thing they taught you to be. Except I also rebel—because I can. Because it makes me feel something other than this ugly loneliness.
She trembles against me, teeth chattering, the heavy clicking sounding far too loud. I shove my hand against her jaw, snapping it shut. The vibrations travel through me, radiating down my forearm.
And that’s how we stay, my arms wrapped around her, until the tell-tale creak of the bedroom door opening forces us apart. Mo’s eyes widen, tears welling, bottom lip quivering. I kiss the tip of her dirty nose and pet her head.
“It’s okay,” I tell her sincerely. “Lie down. Pretend to sleep—you’re good at it.” I push against her, forcing her back down where she curls into a ball, her head tucked into the crook of her elbow, face buried in the nasty carpet—but it’s better than the alternative.
I drag the thin, ratty blanket over her, leaving none for myself because I won’t need it.
“Just close your eyes. I’ll be back before you wake up.”
“Abel,” she whimpers. It makes my cold, dead heart thump once. “I… I’m sorry,” she chokes out.
Fuck.
