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.