Ultraviolet

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Promise

My 17th birthday was by far the worst one I'd ever had. Not only was I stuck in the Wilkes' dingy house, but I woke up to the dryer and washing machine running in the laundry next to my broom closet bedroom. I hated when that happened. The idea of someone walking through my room while I was asleep sent shivers down my spine. It was one of the few things the Wilkes' did that made me uncomfortable without their intention to.

But I had turned 16 under the same roof and yet this was still my worst birthday, but that was not the fault of the Wilkes' only. From getting ready, to walking to school, to sitting class, to walking home, to crying as I sat on my worn and musty bed, I spent the whole day dreading over the fact that this was exactly how my 18th birthday was going to be spent. I wasn't going to get a big party, or even a fancy dinner. I would turn 18 with little fanfare, and most likely a discussion from the Wilkes' about getting a full time job.

And next year, my 18th birthday would also be my first day out of school, as my graduation was scheduled for 364 days from now.

The last thing I wanted on my birthday was to be weighed and subsequently humiliated yet again in the hopes of getting dinner. So, I skipped voluntarily and went to bed, trying with all my might to cry quietly so I wouldn't interrupt the Wilkes' dinner and family viewing of Family Feud.

I heard the tv fizzle off, and Quinton wished his parents a good night, but after they'd left for the bedroom, I heard the fridge opening and closing, and the microwave running. Of course, I'd thought, I was being starved to death while perfect little Quinton made himself a midnight snack.

But then the door flew open, and Quinton walked in with a mug that reeked of burnt vanilla and had a small candle sticking out of it. He smiled his creepy smile, that I usually found upsetting and unsettling, but was now kind of comforting.

He had remembered my birthday.

"Happy Birthday." He whispered. He took a seat beside me on the bed and held the mug by its handle in front of my face. "Make a wish."

"I wish to escape from here." I'd wished silently, willing myself to believe it might be the first ever birthday wish to come true. I took in a shaky breath and blew out the candle, not letting the way Quinton stared at my lips upset me.

"The mug cakes probably not edible." He laughed quietly. "But it's the thought that counts."

"Thank you for remembering." I hushed, trying to discreetly lean away from him. His rough hand grasped hard on my knee, and I gagged internally. "You should get some sleep." I added, hoping he'd take the message and leave. He did not.

"We can't be together, because you're still only 17." He reminded me, as if I had placed my hand on his knee. "But you turn 18 next year." I tried to hold in tears as his creepy smile carved into his scrub of dirty blond beard.

"I don't..." How do you turn down someone like Quinton without having to fear being murdered in your sleep?

"You don't need to worry about anything." He hissed. "You haven't been adopted, we're not siblings in the eyes of the law and of God." The way he said God made me sick to my stomach. The idea of this boy who was 25 and obsessed with a 17-year-old thinking God was on his side made me wish God would strike him with lightning in this very moment.

"What are you talking about?"

"Us." He hummed. "Next year, on your 18 birthday. I'm going to marry you. You will be mine forever."

"No!" I didn't care if I upset him. I would never agree to marry him, even for my own self-preservation.

"Don't worry, don't worry." He placed his hand on my cheek as fear ran through my veins. "You don't have to pretend anymore. You don't have act like you haven't felt what I felt this whole time. Since the moment you stepped into our house, I knew you were the one."

He grabbed my biceps tightly and pulled me into him, connecting our lips as I let the tears fall. I pulled my lips tightly together and pushed hard on his chest, but he pulled me closer three times harder.

"I love you." He promised as he pulled away and stood up. "Good night, my bride." I burst into quiet sobs the second he left, my body shaking in fear and disgust.

Quinton had stolen my safety, stolen my future, and now, he had stolen my first kiss.

Next year I wouldn't wait until he woke up. I wouldn't let him try to marry me. The second I turn 18, I'm running. I don't care where. I don't care how. I don't care who to. I just know I would rather die, then spent a moment with the Wilkes' that I didn't have to be there.