The Afflicted

DAXTON

AUSTIN, TEXAS

3:18 AM

JANUARY 2nd

"Jalon. He said if I go, all our debt will be erased. I already signed up to go," I whisper.

"I will not allow you to go, Daxton. Los Angeles is very dangerous, even for adults. I'm not gonna risk my child's life," Mom spits. She is not happy I'm going to LA. Unfortunately, I'm going whether she likes it or not.

"If I don't go, I'll have to work off hundreds or thousands of neros in debt being a drug runner!" Now I'm angry, too. Why can't she see that this is the lesser of two evils?

"Mariella, can you come here?" Zea calls.

"Sure," Mom says. "This conversation is not over."

I bolt out the window as soon as Mom leaves to get to Jalon's. Jalon lives about ten minutes away, so I get there quickly.

"Jalon, I have to go to LA this morning. Before my mom knows I'm gone," I notice the rising panic in my voice, so I try clearing my throat before Jalon notices.

"I can put you on the train at 6:45, or you can wander off by yourself for nineteen days and die," he says. So damn pessimistic. But also right.

"The train will work fine."

"Listen, if you're not back here by 6:30 the train leaves without you. No exceptions for a pretty boy," he snips.

"Can't argue with you there," I call back as I head to the tree in Heaven's Gate to grab my bag, then head back for the train, my thoughts assaulting me. Thoughts of my father beating my mom and brother. Memories of waking up in the middle of the night to my mother nursing a new wound. Memories of my sister overdosing on meth.

My sister Athena was fifteen when she died of an overdose of Ketanyl mixed with meth. She was the kind of person who was very defensive of things she loved. She was very loving and protective of me and Cadence when we were little all the way up to her death two years ago. She was dating my best friend's older brother, Jase; they were so in love that he committed suicide when she died. I loved my sister dearly and was devastated when she died. The worst thing was my father was the reason for her death.

He supplied her with drugs and slipped the Ketanyl in there. Daily, she consumed eight milligrams of Ketanyl for about two months as it slowly ate her to death. I went to wake her up one morning and found her dead in her bed. I ran out of the room screaming and crying for my parents to wake her up. Even at fifteen I believed she had a chance at waking up.

I refused to accept her being dead. I refused to lose my sister.

"I love you, Little B," she'd say at night.

"I love you, too, Thena," I'd respond. We'd shared a room, all three of us, and we survived. We never fought; we were as tight as can be. We weren't like normal siblings; after what our father put us through, we were closer than ever. We stuck up for each other and helped nurse each other's wounds. At the time, I couldn't imagine living without her. She is my twin sister, my other half.

I still miss her and see her in my sleep.