Nameless

11. Gone

My mother rushed at me, arms outstretched, and flung herself on me in a hug. My face contorted in pain as she crushed my broken ribs. Once again, the people mobbed us, and started asking questions. My mom smiled pleasantly, and answered all of them, reveling in the attention. When someone asked why I wasn’t saying anything, she responded that I was overwhelmed, and ushered me away annoyedly.

As soon as we turned the corner though, her whole demeanor changed. The first thing she did was slap me across the face.

“What inthe hell were you thinking?” she roared, “How are you still alive? I was hoping that you’d died somewhere out here, and was looking for your body, but no. You’re out working the damn street corners, and your pimp gets arrested. I say good riddance! You know, I’m the one that called the cops and told them to look for him.” she finished smugly.

“W-why?” I asked carefully.

“We didn’t have our worthless punching bag, and can’t afford to buy one.” she spat. Her words hurt. After staying those days with Chris, who surrounded me with love and kind words, her insults cut deeper than they normally would’ve. I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything to my own mother.

When we got home, she manhandled me past partiers and into my bedroom. I heard the sound of the lock slide into place, and sank to the mattress. How could I tell Susan that Chris had been hauled off if I was trapped in my bedroom? I curled up on my mattress and wept for hours, at a loss for what I should do. There was no window in my room—it was only technically a closet, after all—so there was no escape there. The door deadbolted from the outside, so waltzing out the door was also out of the question. I felt so helpless.

“Whoa! Fuck! Shit!” someone exclaimed, right as there was a loud thud on the door. My eyes widened; I’d never heard this voice before.

“Excuse me,” I yelled over the house music. It was quiet for a minute, and I thought he’d gone away.

“Hello?” he finally answered.

“Can you unlock this door?” I asked, “I, uh, seem to be stuck.” After a moment, I heard the lock slide out, and the door swung open. “Oh, thank you!” I cried, sliding out of the room. The drunk man shrugged, and stumbled on his merry way.

Locking the door back behind me, I thought about the best way to get out of the house. Mom would no doubt be on the front porch or the back yard, either taking hard drugs, or trying to seduce one of the male guests. Dad would be in the living room, drunk off his ass and looking for a fight. I knew I couldn’t get out of either of the doors, so the bedroom window was the only choice. I crept down the short hall, but the possibility that I could get caught made it feel like it took forever.

Slowly, carefully, I turned the door handle to my parents’ bedroom. I pushed the door open and instantly covered my eyes. Some people had no decency! They seemed undisturbed, though, so I made my way across the room, peeking between my fingers so I could see my destination. Not wanting to be in the house any longer, I threw the window open, and left the sounds of the groaning bedframe and pounding house music behind.

As soon as my feet hit the ground, I sprinted away from my house. Not once did I look back; I never wanted to see that prison again. After what my mother had done to Chris, I would do anything to not have to go back. I just wanted to be gone.

I had no idea where I was. I knew that I wasn’t where I was supposed to be, that was evident as soon as cars started rolling up to me, asking my “rates.” All the buildings around here seemed closer together, and loomed over the street menacingly, glaring down on the lonely people below. Half of the streetlamps either were broken, or flickered like they were about to go out. I didn’t need the raised hairs on the back of my neck to tell me that this place was dangerous. It was all around me. I could even taste it. Junkies were everywhere, shaking and sniffling, and just waiting for their next high. The prostitutes paraded about unabashedly, selling their wares to anyone who would pay for them. Dealers were practically hawking their drugs, and I was terrified.