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.