I wanna scream. I wanna kick and hit something. I wanna stomp my feet like a toddler and throw the most soul-ripping tantrum a girl my age could, yelling at the world and to anyone who’ll listen how I hate all of them. I want to scream so hard that blood comes out. I wanna do it all, but I don’t. It’s a war inside me, but I hide it well. What’s the point of exposing it? It’s not like it’s going to make a difference. No one is coming to rescue me. So instead, I sit on these steps and quietly cry.

I have a million questions swarming, finally asking, “How?”

“It seems there was a fight that broke out with some of the inmates and your father was stabbed. The place went on lockdown and by the time the guards were able to get to him, it was too late.”

“Why? I mean, I-I . . .” I can barely speak as the sobs start breaking through my façade, causing my body to wrack in heaving tremors. “Are you sure it was him? I mean, what if they made a mistake?”

“There’s no mistake, Elizabeth,” she says softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“But I don’t have any other family. I mean, w-what happens n-now?”

“Nothing changes.”

Glaring over at her, I say, “Everything changes.” I turn my head back down and begin crying, covering my eyes with my hands. The instinct to run is fierce, but I have nowhere to go, and that pisses me off. I don’t wanna be stuck here. I don’t want this life. All I want is my dad. So with that, I stand and spit my words at my worthless caseworker, “I fucking hate you! I hate everything about you! You don’t give a shit about me or my dad! You’re just a stupid bitch!” I go inside the house, slamming the door as hard as I can behind me and run upstairs. But I don’t go to my room; I go to Pike’s. I’m loud, bawling like a baby when I walk in. He immediately pops off the bed and is in front of me in a second, asking, “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Falling into his chest, he bands his arms tightly around me while I release the most wretched sobs of my life. I fist his shirt in my hands so tightly it feels as if I could break my own fingers, but I like the pain. I need the pain. I need something—anything—to distract me from the most unbearable pain of all.

It can’t be real.

He can’t really be dead.

He just can’t be.

“Elizabeth,” Pike says, and I feel like I’m gonna throw up the emptiness that fills me because if he’s gone, I’m gone.

I don’t even realize we’ve walked across the room until I open my eyes and we’re lying down.

“What did she say?” he asks.

“I hate her, Pike. I hate everyone,” I choke out around the pain.

“Tell me.”

My words hurt as they come out, “M-my dad. She said he’s dead, Pike. That someone stabbed him, and he died.” Saying the words cuts deep, and the hold that Pike has on me suddenly becomes a thousand times stronger.

“Shit,” he murmurs under his breath before I cry, “It isn’t true. It can’t be.”

Hearing it from Lucia, I felt numb, but now, with Pike—my safety—the emotions overpower me. I’m drowning and I can’t breathe. All I can do is scream and cry, and so I do, just like a helpless baby, never letting go of my grip on Pike’s shirt. It’s as if his shirt is my lifeline, and if I let go, I’ll free-fall into nothingness.

And now I lie here, crumbling into a million pieces. I’ll never be whole again. I’ll never forgive the world for this.

I want my dad.

Now.

I want the rough whiskers of his face scratching me when he gives kisses, I want his smooth voice singing to me again, I want his touch, his hold, his love, his healing, his smile, stories, tickles, laughs, eyes, hands, smell—everything. I wanna be saved.

I want my prince.

Pike tucks me under his chin, kissing the top of my head every now and then. Eventually the noise in the room begins to fade as I tire and quiet down. My body feels so heavy and my head pounds, making it hurt to open my eyes. Pike continuously runs his hand up and down my back in an attempt to soothe me, but nothing can dull this agony.

Into the quiet room, I whisper, “Do you ever think about dying?”

“Sometimes,” he responds softly.

“Does it scare you?”

“No. You?”

“Not anymore,” I tell him, and then ask, “Do you think my dad was scared?”

“No,” he says without any hesitation.

“How do you know?”

“Because, if he’s dead, then he’ll always get to be with you. Knowing he’d finally get to see you again, I doubt he was scared.”

His words bring on a slew of silent tears that soak into his shirt. “It’s not fair, Pike.”

“No, it’s not. You deserve everything that’s good in this world, and I swear to you that I will fight to give you that. One day, when we’re out of this mess, I’ll find a way to make you happy.”

“I don’t believe in happiness,” I weep. “I don’t believe in anything anymore.”

He brushes my hair back and scoots down to look me in the eyes. “Believe in me.”

His dark eyes are stern, and I realize, that in this moment, he’s my only chance at survival. Pike has always done his best to protect me; he’s always cared about me. From the first day I got here, he’s been my brother. It was instant. And now, I have no other choice but to believe in everything he says because he’s my only constant.

When he leans in and kisses my forehead, I don’t even think when I nuzzle in and kiss his neck. He keeps his lips on my forehead and doesn’t move, but his hands find my cheeks as he holds me close. Before I know it, his lips are on mine in an unmoving kiss. I grip on to his wrists, and in a blur, in an unnoticeable moment, our mouths move together.

I’ve never kissed Pike before—never even thought about it—but somehow, this feels right. He’s the first boy I’ve ever kissed. We’ve been having sex for two years, so you wouldn’t think kissing him would feel like anything at all, but it does. Out of nowhere, he’s taken my mind away from everything bad as I focus on only him. It’s like I can finally breathe.

Rolling on top of me, he reaches back to take his shirt off, and I sit up to remove mine as well. When we’re stripped down to nothing, he pulls the sheets over us, and I’m tucked in warm with him. Everything about this feels different than the hundreds of times we’ve done this before. It’s always cold and dirty, with Carl watching us the whole time.

“Don’t go there,” Pike says, knocking me from my thoughts.

“Where?”

“Don’t think about him. He has nothing to do with this. We’re not on that mattress down there; we’re here in my bed. You’re safe.”

“Just us?” I ask.

“Just us,” he says as he pushes himself inside of me, and for the first time, I find the magic that I gave up believing in. It turns out Pike had it all along, because in this moment, I don’t feel any more pain or hurt.

It’s just us, and I’m safe.

MY TEETH CHATTER as I walk home from school. I wound up getting in trouble for fighting a girl who was making fun of me today, landing me in afterschool suspension for the next two weeks. Pike has been working more and more, so we haven’t been walking home together much lately, and he refuses to let me tag along with him. He says he doesn’t want me getting mixed up with his friends, but he always makes sure he’s home before Carl gets there so I won’t be alone with him.

Life hasn’t changed that much. I’m fourteen—a little taller, filling out more, my hair has grown a few more waves than it used to have, and I have more scars on my wrists. It looks like I’ve been trying to slit them, but six years of being belted up in a tiny closet will do that to you. I hide them well though, wearing long sleeves that fall past my wrists that I often tug further down.

Since learning about my dad’s death two years ago, I’ve grown pretty numb to everything around me. I feel like a living, breathing machine most of the time. I’m able to turn myself off and on pretty easily. For the most part, I’m in off mode, frozen and void. I only allow Pike to see me on. He’s my only release, the only one I show my true self to. Since that afternoon, the afternoon I learned that I would never see my father again, Pike and I have continued to sleep together, privately, in his bed. I’ve found myself becoming selfish with him, using him to take away all the bad. It’s so hard to explain, but when I’m with him like that, I feel like I’m washed clean. Once I realized what I was doing, I was honest and told him. The guilt was overpowering me, and when I explained my feelings to him, I thought he’d be mad, but he wasn’t. He told me to take whatever I needed to take from him. I still feel the guilt though. The shame of using him so selfishly eats at me after we’re done and I grow quiet, often crying. Pike soothes me as best as he can, holding me, assuring me that it’s okay—that everything’s okay.