"God, fuck you, Dawn! Fuck you!"

Vicki Byrne flinched when the screen door slammed shut. Her father's footsteps fell heavily upon the floor, causing their home to creak and groan. Even though it was early and they all should still be asleep, Vicki gently slipped out of her bed and grabbed Jeannie, whispering for her to hide under her bed.

Sometimes, she cursed the small house they lived in. She cursed it because it declared their poverty, that they would never get out of this damn trailer park, and she especially cursed it whenever her mom had to go bail her father out of jail after a particularly nasty fight on Saturday night.

"Tom, I'm not in the mood. You need to stop getting in fights. It's not that difficult."

Vicki hated hearing her parents fighting.

"Oh, fuck off, Dawn, I was just trying to protect you! You don't know those guys like –"

One of the kitchen drawers was slammed shut, and Vicki wondered, briefly, how her mother could get so angry. "Like you do?! Jesus, Tom, you all are the same! You flirt up a storm, and you get girls in over their heads, and then you do whatever the hell you damn well please! You've never changed! Don't give me that bullshit of 'protecting' me!"

Her mother cried out, and Vicki shrank against the wall. If her mother didn't stop arguing, then her father would come into this room, and there was nowhere else to hide. If she and Jeannie tried to slip out of their room and outside, away from the fighting, there was no way their father wouldn't catch them. She closed her eyes and exhaled shakily, hoping that her father wouldn't come in.

"I am protecting you!" her father shouted. "I am protecting the girls! I am doing what I know is right!"

Then, Vicki thought, licking her lips, her body trembling, why do none of us agree?

"Is hitting me protecting me?! Is hitting me protecting the girls?! This isn't right, Tom, and if I had the damn money to get a divorce and take the girls –"

Vicki heard her father's labored breaths and whimpered, scrambling over Jeannie's bed to close the door and push the desk chair under the doorknob. As she swung the door closed, her father wedged his foot between the door and the door frame, and Vicki gritted her teeth, trying to shove the door closed further.

Her dad grunted, pushed against the door with his shoulder, and leaned his weight into it. Vicki let go and tried to get underneath her own bed.

Unlike what she was hoping, her father didn't fall, instead tripping over his feet and regaining his balance in time to grab Vicki's ankle. She kicked and screamed, clawing at the floor, and when she found that would get her nowhere, she hooked her fingers into her bed frame above her head. "Let me go!"

There were a lot of things that sucked about being poor, she knew. She had to wear clothes that were either hand-me-downs from her brother or her mother, or she had to get them from charity drives that various churches organized. Occasionally, if she had the money, she could go to the thrift store with her mom and get something a little nicer, but she never had new clothes. It wasn't important, but she knew everyone at school knew that she couldn't afford anything.

She also couldn't read as well as her classmates. Her mother had some books – most of them were big and boring – but when Vicki had nothing else to do, and when her classmates would laugh at her for how slowly she read, even though she was in fifth grade, her cheeks would burn, and she would raid her mother's stash of books and read aloud until she messed up too many times and tears streamed down her cheeks.

Their home was small. They lived in a trailer park. Vicki constantly smelled like pot, alcohol, and cigarettes because the other families in the trailer park smoked pot, several people – including her father – spilled alcohol on her, and her father smoked in the house, causing her eyes to water.

But the worst thing, Vicki had decided, was that they couldn't afford a lot of food. The only time their parents agreed on going to church was for the Thanksgiving feast the churches nearby hosted. The food there was better than anywhere else, and the shelters didn't accept them because they weren't homeless, they were just poor. Most of the time, she hated it because the only meal she could count on was her school lunch five days a week, and that wasn't a lot to work with. Most of the time, she hated it because her stomach hurt and she was nearly faint with hunger. But now, right this moment, she hated that they couldn't afford a lot of food because that meant she was light, lighter than was probably healthy, and her father could pull her out from under her bed with ease.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled hard. She yelped as her fingers scraped against her bed frame, ripping some of the skin, and she twisted on the ground, kicking her legs in the air and swatting against his hands. "Let me go! Let me go!"

He leaned forward, and in her fear, Vicki slapped him as hard as he usually slapped them. Both of them froze. Vicki's mouth dropped open and her eyes widened with fear. Her father clenched his jaw, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and dragged her into the living room.

Vicki kicked against him, crying and holding his wrist. "Daddy, let me go! Let me go! Please, please, I'm sorry, please, I didn't mean to hit you! Just let me go!" The begging didn't work. The begging never worked. She tried to hit his wrist with one of her fists, but a man who had been beaten by the police could stand up against his fifty pound daughter. "Let go of me!"

"You're gonna take my daughters away from me?!" he shouted at his wife. "You really wanna do that, Dawn?!"

Tears welled up in her mother's eyes. "Please, Tom, don't do this. Don't hurt the girls."

Vicki gritted her teeth. Her mother always did this. She always fought back when it was just her who was at risk, but the moment Vicki or Jeannie were the subject of her father's fury, her mom just tucked her tail and cowed. "Fuck you, Mom," she seethed. "Fucking do something, or don't beg."

Her dad growled and dragged Vicki in a half circle, shoving her against the couch. He finally let go of her hair, but he pressed his boot against her chest, pinning her against the couch. "How dare you talk to your mother that way!"

She was tired of letting her father get the last word. She was tired of being a limp doll for him to beat. Her brother used to fight back. It was her turn.

Vicki lifted her chin in defiance. "I'm just taking after my sweet old dad."

For the first time in her life, her father's fist flying into her face didn't hurt as badly as it usually did.

When Vicki was old enough, babysitting became her saving grace. There were a lot of families in the trailer park, and a lot of said families wanted their free time to have sex, party, or drink. Vicki, though she didn't particularly respect the parents who would ditch their children like that, never said anything. Once she would get a babysitting job, she would tell her mother where she would be and how long. Her mother knew the trailer park system well enough to know that the time Vicki gave her was hit or miss, so she never worried when Vicki didn't get home by the time she said she would.

This realization hit her with a load of possibilities when her brother came back into town during the summer.

Eddie was nine years older than her, and he was the only child in their family who knew what it was like to live without fear of missing your next meal. He told her that their dad hadn't been that bad all the time; he used to be a good father, used to hold a decent job.

"Well, what happened to him?" Vicki had asked.

Eddie had looked outside their bedroom, at their father who had stood outside, a bottle of vodka in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Slowly shaking his head, Eddie had turned back to his sister. "He got hooked on drugs. You've never seen that, thank God, but that's when Dad got his first criminal record. He was in jail for four years, forced to rehabilitate. No one was gonna hire him for a drug record. We had to move here instead."

Eddie hated his mother more than he hated his father, and Vicki could almost understand, but their father was the one who hurt them all, the one who would drag Jeannie out by her hair and whip her with the belt whenever Vicki got smart. Vicki loathed her father and hated her mother. With Eddie, it was the other way around.

"She defends her goddamn family," he said, shaking his head, "even when they're beyond the scum of the earth. I fucking hate her. And whatever you do, Vick, don't turn out like her."

It scared Vicki when her brother talked like that. He never mentioned anything to Jeannie, who got the least of it all, thanks to Vicki's efforts. But she was tired. The only time she really enjoyed being alive was when she was babysitting the smaller kids in the park.

One night, during the summer, she was on her way home when Eddie ran into her. He grabbed her elbow, and without telling her what they were doing, he leaned down far enough to whisper in her ear, "When did you tell Mom you were going to be home?"

Vicki furrowed her brow. "I– I said I would be home ten minutes ago, but she knows that babysitting depends on how long the parents are gone."

Eddie nodded. "Okay. Good, I want to teach you something."

Vicki was scared. She stumbled over her feet, looking over her shoulder at her retreating house, until Eddie stopped in his tracks and pulled Vicki around to face him.

"Vick," he said softly, tucking her hair behind her ear, "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not Uncle Reid. I'm not Dad. You can trust me."

She licked her lips and nodded slowly. "What are you going to teach me?" She hated how quiet her voice was. Her hands shook, and she looked down and curled her hands into fists. They steadied.

Eddie, still holding Vicki's elbow, looked around. "You're tired, aren't you?"

"I mean, a little, I kinda wanna go to sl–"

He chuckled softly. "Not that kind of tired, Vick. Like…you're just done, right? You want to be away from home as long as possible? Life kind of sucks, right?"

She blinked quickly. "How did you –"

He waved a hand and slowly started walking with her. "I felt the same way when Dad was in prison. I couldn't really do much of anything. It got worse when we moved here, and Dad– Dad got better when you were born. Mom got worse. She was always upset, and she'd yell at Dad and me a lot. I think that if she hadn't yelled at us so much, Dad might be better."

Dad wouldn't be better, she wanted to say. Dad won't ever get better. Nothing is going to change, ever.

Eddie shrugged. "But living here has its perks. For instance, when you're tired of how much life sucks, there's a way to get rid of that feeling and to feel numb."

Vicki bit her top lip. "What's so good about feeling numb?"

Eddie grinned wickedly and pulled her behind one of the unoccupied trailers. A few older kids waved at them, and he pulled two rolled up pieces of paper and a lighter out of his pocket. "Here, take one," he said softly, moving her into the shadows, "and watch how I do it."

She didn't know how to hold it at first. Eddie pinched the roll between his fingers, stuck one end in his mouth, and lit the paper, holding it between his fingers like a cigarette. "Take a breath in," he told her, "no matter how big it is. Coughing is good. It'll hit good, but you might get nauseous."

Her fingers trembled when she held the paper to her lips, and he smiled softly, taking it from her and turning it around. "It's your first time, don't worry," he said past the joint in his own mouth. "No one gets the direction right on their first try. Now remember what I told you."

She nodded, eyes stinging with the smoke swirling around her. The other kids on the other side of the trailer were loud, and there were at least two people inside who were having sex. "Do I have to?"

"It'll help you sleep better tonight." Eddie smiled at her again. "I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, I promise."

Vicki inhaled shakily before putting the joint back in her mouth. Her brother lit it, and she sucked in, coughing as soon as she inhaled.

Eddie shook his head. "Good, good, Vick. You're gonna be nauseous in a second, but that's what I'm here for. You'll get used to it as time goes on, but for now, small breaths. Short breaths. You think you can do it?"

Truthfully, she didn't really know. If she could do what he asked of her, or even if she wanted to be numb, but she knew her brother. He was more a parent to her than both their parents put together. If he thought this was a good thing for her, it must have been.

She sniffled and nodded, putting the joint between her lips and inhaling again. "When will I know when it hits?"

Eddie grinned and clapped her shoulder. "Oh, you'll know." He sat on the ground, pressing his back against the trailer, and patted the dirt beside him. "Listen, Mom won't care what time you get in. We'll stay here a little while longer, and then we'll walk around long enough for the buzz and the smell to wear off, and then we'll go back home. She won't suspect a thing."

She closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall of the trailer. "I think I like this."

Eddie's grin was audible. "I'm glad you like it. I get some really good stuff up in Michigan, but I can't mail that to you guys. Mom or Dad might check the package first, and besides, the government is fucked up. They go through people's mail to make sure no one's mailing drugs, so I've gotta keep my head low and not mail you any."

Vicki pulled the joint out of her mouth. "So the only time I get to do this is when you're back home?" She pursed her lips and stared at the weeds growing in the dirt between her and Eddie.

Eddie lifted her chin and pointed to one of the older boys. He was around Eddie's age, maybe a little younger, maybe a little older, but he grinned wickedly and stood on a tree stump, holding a bottle of alcohol high in the air before bringing it to his lips.

"That's Jackson," Eddie whispered to her. "He deals a lot, especially in this neighborhood, and I can guaran-fucking-tee you that he's the richest goddamn person in this park. You want weed, you get it from him. He won't give you the good stuff just yet, you've gotta build up to that. But you got his face in your mind?"

Vicki pinched the skin on her palms, studying Jackson. He finished the bottle of alcohol, to the cheers of all his friends around him, and his eyes fell upon her. His smile grew. A small part of Vicki was uncomfortable, but another part of her – the giggly, spaced out part – thought he was sorta cute.

"I got it," she said, her stomach turning.

"Good." Eddie closed his eyes and took a hit. "He'll probably give you a good deal. You're young, your only source of income is babysitting. I'll put in a good word for you and maybe send you an allowance. Don't tell Mom or Dad, got it?"

Vicki giggled and took another hit. "Got it."

Smoking cigarettes was easier to pick up than pot was. The thing about cigarettes was the smell and the taste. She hated both those things, but she appreciated how much easier it was to get ahold of cigarettes than pot.

Jackson typically gave her the worst of what he had, but if she would kiss him, she generally got something a little bit better for the same price. Eddie's allowance didn't roll in fast enough, so Vicki resorted to other means to get the money she needed. She took on every babysitting job she could, sometimes cramming her nights so much that she would stumble back home at four in the morning, even without stopping to smoke pot or cigarettes. She always hated going home that late at night; when she had to, she would stick to the shadows and hurry between each individual trailer before she slipped into her own. Her mother had recently started caring where she'd been, and she would usually call the parents to see if Vicki had, indeed, been babysitting. Usually Vicki didn't get in trouble. Sometimes she did.

As much as Vicki loved smoking whatever she could get her hands on, her favorite thing was drinking. The next time Eddie came home after teaching Vicki how to smoke, he grabbed her hand, led her to the kitchen, and grabbed Dad's stash of alcohol. They slipped outside, behind the house, and passed the bottle between them. The drink burned on the way down, but she loved it. At first, she and Eddie talked excitedly, Eddie barely remembering to tell Vicki to quiet down or they'd have to move to one of the unoccupied trailers. She told him about how she started to develop a little crush on Jackson, how desperately she wanted to make him feel good, and – to his credit – Eddie growled, shook his head, and took a swig.

"Whatever you do," Eddie said, passing the bottle to his little sister, "don't fuck him. I'll try and find you another dealer in the park. Jackson's a good dealer, but he's a shithole of a person. Worse than the fucking rest of us. Don't get involved with him."

She licked her lips and took a strong gulp of gin. It hurt so badly that she had to squeeze her eyes shut against the pain. "But, assuming that I was older but still looked relatively the same, I'd have a chance?"

Eddie shrugged and took the bottle from her. "As long as you're a girl or have a vagina, Jackson will fuck you. Doesn't matter what your face looks like. To his credit, he doesn't go for little kids – like his standard is teenagers. I wish it wasn't the case, I wish the jackass would fucking be a decent person and only fuck people around his age, but I'm not his dad." He took a drink and knocked his shoulder into Vicki's. "Vick, please promise me that you're not ever – ever – gonna fuck Jackson." He set the bottle down and held up his pinky finger. "Pinky promise."

She locked her pinky with his. "Pinky promise."

Jackson was the first guy she fucked.

Of course, she was (relatively) careful about it. She consulted one of her older friends, a smoking buddy of hers, who told her to wait a couple of days after her period ended to have sex. That was the only way she wouldn't get pregnant. And to wear condoms, but Vicki had the suspicion that Jackson had condoms on him at all times.

And she checked his age. She knew that if there was any chance that he could go to prison for fucking her, he wouldn't. So she found one of his friends, asked how old he was, and breathed a sigh of relief when his friend said Jackson was seventeen. She was thirteen. It would work.

Jackson knew she wanted to fuck him. Whenever she would make a pass at him, often running her hands over his biceps or chest, he would laugh mockingly and give her what she asked for. It didn't mean she stopped trying. It was just that the only time he agreed was when she didn't have the money – any of it – and was begging him for just one gram until her brother could send her more money or until someone hired her.

Jackson leaned against his trailer. He lived in his own, now. "I'll give you your normal order on one condition," he said, and it was enough for Vicki, and she loved it. She already knew he was a good kisser, that he could use his tongue well, but it was even better under these circumstances.

It was casual sex. No strings attached. He got sex, she got pot and sex, and the both of them were pleased with said arrangement. Vicki's frustration came when he would only accept sex as a method of payment when she had no money.

She tried to get Eddie to stop sending her money. Eddie, the bastard, knew why she was asking and sent her more. Hell, he even wrote Jackson and told Jackson that he was making sure Vicki had enough to pay for her grass. Jackson was fine with it.

So Vicki turned to other guys in the trailer park. And when there weren't any guys good enough to fuck, she would fuck some of the girls. She would come home later and later, and her dad didn't really care, but her mom did. And when her mom started a fight, her dad would come out, and Vicki would go to bed with a few new bruises.

Jeannie cried at night. So did Mom. Vicki didn't really care. She just needed something – sex, pot, cigarettes, alcohol – to numb her. She was tired of this life. She wanted it to be over.

One day, when Vicki was sitting in the living room, high as a fucking kite, blinking at the opposite wall, her mother walked past. "Vicki, honey?"

"Hm?" Vicki blinked quickly. Had the wall always had speckles of yellow? Or was that just her vision swimming? They looked like little sunbursts.

Her mother opened the door. "I'm going to visit the Grants. Jeannie's doing her homework. Tell your father, when he gets home."

Vicki nodded. "Alright."

The door closed behind her mother, and Vicki blinked. The Grants. The Grants were one of the three religious families in the trailer park. They were the ones who had caught Vicki drinking behind their trailer once and called her mom, and her mom had greeted her with tears. That was the worst beating Vicki had had for years.

"Fuck the Grants," she murmured under her breath, curling up on the couch.

Though, not all of them were bad, she reasoned. Their son, Lucas, was a good kisser, and he would occasionally smoke a blunt with her. They'd gotten some over-the-clothes action before he blushed furiously and scrambled away.

Anyways. His loss.

As she drifted off to sleep, she realized something: her mom never called her "honey."

It started with the Grants and meeting once a week. Once in a while, Vicki would either be gone or at school when her mother went to meet them, so she usually avoided the daily recap. Jeannie wasn't as lucky. Vicki and her father knew these days and would spend an extra long time away from home, stumbling back only when it was dark or when they were too far out of it to make sense of anything else.

It started with the Grants, but it grew. The other religious families started hosting and inviting the Grants and Mom and Jeannie. Then it got worse, and suddenly, random ass people that Vicki neither knew nor liked were invading her home. She learned how to sneak out the window, but when the window broke in the middle of winter, her dad hammered it shut and made her swear that if she was going to sneak out, she was going to use something other than the window.

It started with the Grants, and it was once a week. Then it grew, and it was twice a week. Then it bounced around from family to family, and suddenly, it was every day. Vicki hated that it was every day.

When it got to be daily, Vicki snuck out of the house more and more. It was harder to get money for weed, so she cut back a little bit. She could score booze with a smile and a little bit of flirting, so she usually sat and drank with her friends.

It started with the Grants, and then it went to the daily Bible study. She thought it couldn't get any worse, but when her mother marched into her bedroom one Sunday morning, opening the blinds and allowing sunlight to pour directly into Vicki's face after a particularly hard night of partying, Vicki thought, Maybe this is the worst.

Her mother dragged her out of bed, tossed her nicest clothes at her, and hid her mascara and eye shadow.

Vicki blinked wearily and tried to push herself up, but her arms felt like jelly, and she collapsed back onto her bed. "Why is the sun so loud?"

Her mom put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. "We're going to church," she said firmly. "No ifs, ands, or buts about it."

Vicki, in the middle of her hangover, managed a laugh that rang throughout her head. Jesus. "Yeah, well, I'm not going. Have fun."

Her mother grabbed her ear and hauled her out of bed. "You're going, or I will personally make sure you don't get to go anywhere for weeks. I will sit outside your room if I need to. I will take time off of work to make sure of it. Do you understand me?"

As she dressed, Vicki understood why her brother hated Mom. This wasn't the reason, surely, but Vicki knew for a fact that Dad generally let her sleep off her hangovers, believing that hangovers were enough punishment in themselves. Mom would destroy all the alcohol in the world if she thought it would stop either her husband, son, or oldest daughter from drinking.

Jeannie bounced from foot to foot, fingering the necklace Eddie had sent for her birthday. Vicki had had to go without some pot money for a month, but she didn't particularly mind, seeing as how she got a solid hour in heaven with Jackson. Honestly, she didn't even want the pot that badly, she typically gave it away to her friends for free, she just wanted to fuck him some more. And she knew he knew, but he didn't mind anymore. The price she had to pay was less about money and more about sex, anyways.

"Get away from me, woman!"

"You're going to church with the girls and me, and that's final!"

"And what if I don't? Hm? Are you going to drag me out of bed like you had to with Vicki? Well, I'm much stronger than the all of you put together, so you better damn well think of a better plan!"

Vicki blinked fuzzily and stood on her tiptoes, peering around the half-closed door. Her mother crossed her arms. "Tom," she said, and the tone was enough for him to growl and slowly climb out of bed.

"Don't you fucking threaten divorce with me. Doesn't your precious Jesus say not to divorce your spouse?"

Her mom turned as Tom shut the door loudly. Vicki jumped, glancing at Jeannie, but Jeannie didn't seem fazed. She smoothed her skirt and flounced over to the couch while they waited.

"The Bible said that in the case of sexual infidelity, divorce was acceptable. And domestic abuse. Which, as I recall, you're guilty of both. Get out of bed and come with me to church. It might do you some good. At the very least, you and Vicki will be sober for a couple of hours."

The decision was final, apparently.

She hated Sunday school. The kids in her class looked at her strangely, and she pulled her mother's blouse – which was far too large for her – more tightly around her middle and slid down her chair. The leader tried to get Vicki to read, but Vicki just shook her head and clenched her jaw, looking at the wall on her right.

She still couldn't read quickly or normally out loud. She still couldn't pronounce a lot of words, and God fucking damn it all, she was stupid and useless and she needed a drink this damn second.

(Now let me tell you something about Vicki: she wasn't stupid. She was brilliant. She read the books her mother kept in her drawers, and she read over them again and again and again until she knew them well enough to know when there was a word she couldn't pronounce. When pot or alcohol or cigarettes or sex were scarce, she would grab one of those books, slip outside, and read to herself until the sun went down.

Victoria Byrne was not stupid. She was brilliant. Do not let her tell you anything different.)

(But, in her defense this time, 80% of the words in the Bible are hard to pronounce.)

Jeannie greeted Vicki after Sunday school, jumping from foot to foot, nearly bursting out of her skin. "Isn't church fantastic?" she crowed.

Vicki shrugged. "It's okay. Not my style."

Jeannie, unfazed as always, grabbed Vicki's hand and dragged her in the direction of the sanctuary. "Come on, it's time for big church!"

This wasn't, apparently, Jeannie or Mom's first time at this church. Mom saved spots in one of the middle front pews, and Dad sat with his arms crossed, glaring a hole into the wall while the worship team set up. Vicki had already resolved not to listen to the sermon, and based on her father's glare, he wanted nothing more than to block the sermon from his mind. His face softened slightly as Jeannie scrambled past him and into her mother's side with the biggest hug she could manage. Vicki just shrugged and slid into the pew next to her father.

Even though she had resolved not to listen to the sermon – wanting instead to determine how to seduce Jackson again, and who her second option would be if Jackson were unavailable – the pastor was too captivating not to pay attention. She didn't remember what he said, only that she couldn't concentrate on what she really wanted to focus on, but she caught something about how no one was past the point of no return, that Jesus was willing to forgive murderers and rapists, drug lords and Mob leaders, adulterers and liars, and she wanted to scoff because no one loved anyone like that, but when she glanced at her father to make some kind of crude joke, she was scared.

Her father was really, truly listening. There were tears in his eyes.

God doesn't love you, she wanted to say, because if He loved you, He would love me, and He doesn't. No one does. If He did, I wouldn't be in this hellish existence, begging to die every fucking day of my life. Don't listen to him, Daddy. Daddy, don't listen to him. He's wrong.

But all that managed to make it past her lips was a strangled, "Daddy?"

Her father reached out and gently squeezed her hand. She licked her lips and looked around – most of the teenagers and other audience members were bored. The teenager sitting closest to her was drawing something on his note sheet. His mother glanced at him disapprovingly, but he didn't pay any attention to her, continuing to fill in the rest of his drawing. She rolled her eyes, plucked the pen from his hand, and passed it to his father. The teenager glared at her, crossed his arms, and twisted in the pew to face her.

Understanding passed between their eyes. He must have seen the fear that was hiding beneath her skin because his face softened, and his eyes bounced around until he found the exit he was looking for. Smiling softly at her, he mouthed, "Go," and nodded his head towards the exit.

Vicki took a deep breath. "I have to go to the bathroom," she whispered to her parents. "Like, really bad."

Her dad nodded, uncaring as always, but he patted her back as she slipped past him. Once in the bathroom, she locked herself in the stall and cried.

After church, Vicki slipped into her room, changed quickly, and hurried outside before her parents could stop her. Jackson wasn't responding to her, and she didn't care all that much, anyways. She wasn't in the mood to get high today; it was harder to hide a high from her parents than drunkenness was.

She met up with one of her friends, who was a year older than her, and he promised that they could go to a party that night. And not just any party – one that the high schoolers would throw. These were the rich kids. They had space for a lot of people, money to buy beer, alcohol cabinets that didn't contain a bunch of cheap liquor, and good drugs.

Drugs scared Vicki, though. When her friend told her, she forced a smile and asked if there would be anyone to sleep with. Her friend rolled his eyes and said, "Duh. The only question is if I get to sleep with any of the guys there. You're lucky, V."

She spent the day with them, twirling her hair around her finger, swinging her legs back and forth as she sat on the hood of his truck, and exactly one minute before she got inside, Jeannie bounded up to the truck.

"Vicki!" she said, gasping. She bent over, placed her hands on her knees, and gasped again. "I've been looking all over the park for you."

Vicki winced at her friend and slid off the hood of the truck. Jeannie couldn't want much, and even if she brought a message from her mom, Vicki knew that their dad didn't care. She could get in the truck and go away, but only once she knew her little sister was safe. Jeannie was the only one in their family who hadn't tasted alcohol on her tongue or breathed marijuana into her lungs. She didn't need that.

"Jeannie, what is it? Is everything okay?"

Jeannie looked up and beamed, grabbing Vicki's hand. "Everything's great! Mom and Dad want you back home right now, though. It's dark, and you and I have school tomorrow."

Vicki furrowed her brow and slowly followed her sister. "Wh– Jeannie, Dad has never cared about that."

She shrugged and twisted around again, now pulling Vicki along with both hands. "Maybe not before, but he cares now! And just think – if everything works out okay, we might get out of here! We might get a real home!" Jeannie squealed and stopped walking just long enough to throw her arms around Vicki's waist. "And maybe we can go to college, just like Eddie!"

Eddie. Oh thank God, hopefully he doesn't buy into this. I need that money. Vicki awkwardly patted Jeannie's back. "Jeannie, I was hanging out with my friends. Can't you just tell Mom and Dad that you couldn't find me?"

Jeannie slowly stepped back, her face fallen. She didn't let go of Vicki's shirt. "You want me to lie?"

Shit. "Jeannie, this is just– it's just a little white lie. I'll be back home soon enough."

"I'm not going to lie. It's against the Bible."

"Fuck the Bible!" Vicki squeezed her eyes shut as soon as she saw her little sister flinch, so she sighed softly and bent to be at eye level with Jeannie. "Jeannie, no one here pays attention to the Bible. No one cares. Everything we do is against the whole 'be a good person' thing the Bible tries to make out. And I really– Jeannie, I just don't care."

Jeannie's eyes welled up with tears. "Don't you care about us, though? You always told me to find something that made life a little bit better, but now that I have, you hate it."

Vicki sighed again and straightened out. "Jeannie, let me tell you a little secret that I think you're old enough for: everybody in this goddamned trailer park is going to hell," she said, "and that includes you and me. God doesn't love anybody here, and if He did, we wouldn't be living in this fucking hellhole!"

Jeannie sniffled and set her lips in a straight line scarily reminiscent of their mother. "I don't care what you say," she said, jerking Vicki back in the direction of their home. "I'm not going to hell. I'm not!"

"I'm glad you have that kind of confidence, Jean, just don't be surprised when we find each other in the same place after death." She tried to pull her hand away from her little sister, but Jeannie just tightened her grip and dragged her all the way back home.

So much for that party, she thought.

Jeannie opened the door with one hand, wedged her foot between the door and the door frame, and dragged Vicki inside, giving her a final shove when it looked like Vicki was going to turn tail and run. Once inside, Jeannie closed the door and stood in front of it with arms crossed.

Rolling her eyes, Vicki started for her bedroom, hoping that some rest would get Jeannie off her back, but she stopped when she passed the kitchen. Her father paced the kitchen floor, rubbing his chin, and she held her breath, hoping that he wouldn't see her.

"Dawn, I– I just want to say that I'm so, so sorry for everything I've done to you and the girls and Eddie. I was so wrong, and I know that you can't forgive me, or that you shouldn't –"

Mom smiled softly and reached out to stop her husband from pacing. "Tom, all of us made our mistakes. And I hope you don't mind that I'm still a bit wary."

Dad huffed a laugh. "I'd be disappointed if you weren't. I did some pretty bad things to all of you." He cleared his throat and pulled out the kitchen chair opposite his wife, perching on the edge of it. "But I'm not going to do that anymore. I'm going to quit drinking and smoking. I'm going to turn over a leaf."

Mom propped her chin in her hand and reached for her husband's hand. "Now, Tom, no one said Christians can't drink or smoke."

He smiled sadly at her and squeezed her hand. "Except I know what I've been like drunk, and I know what my addiction has done to all of you. Maybe the Bible never condemns it, but I need to stop." He took a shaky breath. "Listen, I know– I know that, financially, we're in a really tough place, but I can't quit drinking and/or smoking without going to a rehab center."

Mom smiled wider and leaned over the table to kiss him. "I'm proud of you, Tom," she whispered, "and I'm fine with it if you think that's the best decision. I just want you to be the best that you can be."

Okay, they are so preoccupied. If I can get to the back, I might be able to sneak back out. As Vicki inched her way to the back door, her foot caught hold of the rug, and she tripped.

"Vicki!"

She winced internally and carefully pushed herself up. Her dad was right beside her, gently helping her up. "Sweetie, are you okay?"

Vicki frowned and pushed her hair away from her face. "Yeah, Dad, I'm fine. I'm just –" Okay, so I'm definitely staying in for the night and probably the rest of my life. "I'm gonna get ready for bed. There's nothing to do."

A question passed in his eyes, but he shook his head and beamed at her. "Hey, guess what, sweetie?"

Seriously, though, where did the sweetie thing come from? I can't remember the last time Dad used a term of affection on any of us. She tugged at her top. "I don't know, what?"

Dad backed up to Mom and squeezed her hand. "I became a Christian today, sweetie."

She didn't mean to laugh. Really, she didn't. She knew that Jeannie and Mom had become Christians, and maybe she could believe that they had, but her dad? With all that he's done to her? No one could really fault her for laughing.

"Yeah, right," Vicki said past her laughter. "That's a good joke, Dad."

Dad glanced at his wife and took a hesitant step towards Vicki. "I'm not joking, Vicki. I'm a Christian now."

Her eyebrows disappeared into her forehead. "Really? You?" She cleared her throat and looked around the room. Jeannie stared at her sadly, a frown on her normally smiling face, and her mother wrung her hands nervously. "So…do you really believe the Bible?" she asked.

It was the right thing to say. Dad beamed at her again. "You bet I do," he said.

And maybe it wouldn't have been so bad, and maybe she could have believed it, and maybe – maybe – she could have let it be, but her eyes found the hole in the wall and the scratched coffee table, and the bloodstains on the ground, and she could feel the belt stinging her skin, and she could hear her mother's cries and Jeannie begging, and she couldn't believe it. No one could change like that.

Vicki smiled bitterly. "You know what I bet?" she said. "I bet you'll be drinking and cussing and fighting and losing your damn job again."

Dad's smile froze and slowly fell from his face. Vicki's mouth fell open, and instinctively, she looked at her father's hands. They curled into fists, and his entire body trembled with rage, and she choked on a sob. He wanted to hit her. He really, truly, desperately wanted to hit her.

But he wasn't. His feet were planted in the same spot, and he closed his eyes for several seconds, no doubt counting to ten.

She swallowed thickly and gestured for Jeannie to get back to their room. Mom slowly stood from the kitchen table, craning her neck to see what her husband was about to do.

When Dad opened his eyes, he flexed his fingers a few times and stepped towards Vicki. She lifted her chin and turned her face away from him, keeping him within her range of vision. He reached for her, and she flinched.

"Don't you dare touch me!" she screamed, her body trembling. She hated feeling like this, she hated being scared, and it sucked, it fucking sucked, there was a reason she was drunk or high every goddamn day of her life.

Dad took a shaky breath and gently placed his hands on her shoulders. "I'm not going to hit you, Vicki," he murmured. "I'm going to hug you."

Her body continued to tremble, but when her father wrapped her in his arms, she sobbed out loud and turned her face into his shoulder. He nodded and cupped the back of her head. "I know you have no reason to believe me," he whispered, "but I promise, I promise I'm never going to hit you again. And I'm going to do right by you all. Let me prove it to you."

He didn't hit me, Vicki thought, eyes squeezed shut as she continued to cry in her father's arms. Why didn't he hit me?

Good thing she never put money down that her father would slip back into the same old lifestyle. She had, there wasn't a single doubt about it, and she had to find out how to sneak in and out of the house without either parent knowing. For the first month and a half after her dad became a Christian, it was easy; only her mom was at home, and Mom couldn't take care of everything, especially now that she was taking on more hours at work to help cover finances. Eddie sent home money to his parents instead, writing Vicki and telling her, "I'm sorry, little sis, but if Dad's getting clean, I'd rather send money to help the family rather than give you pot money. Don't sleep with Jackson, though. If you do, I'm going to fly home and I'm going to beat his ass."

Rehab worked, apparently. When Dad came home after that month and a half in the rehab center, he genuinely looked healthier and happier. He kissed his wife hello, he kissed Jeannie's head, and he nodded at Vicki – he knew that she wasn't willing to accept his love, not just yet, and he was willing to prove that he was changed for her.

Eddie came down once the semester ended, to help clean up the loose ends. He was more firm about her sneaking out than she would have expected, and one time, when he caught her elbow before she slipped out for a rendezvous with Jackson, she tried to jerk her arm away from him.

"Why do you all of a sudden give a shit about what I do?! You were the one sending me money to buy weed!" Vicki hoped – she hoped to fucking God – that her parents overheard.

Eddie set his jaw and tightened his grip. "Because Dad got clean, Vick! He's a good man, and you've never known him like that! I don't want you falling down the same trap, and I don't want you suffering what he had to! You're done. You are absolutely, so fucking done with pot." Before she could respond, he held up his index finger. "And don't you fucking dare try and sleep with Jackson. If you do, I swear, I'll call the cops and report him for statuatory rape."

Her eyes spit fire, and she pried his fingers off of her arm. "You wouldn't fucking dare."

"I never liked him in the first place, Vick. I warned you about him. You're the one who's gone on and fucked him! He's a shithole of a person!"

Vicki crossed her arms and smiled bitterly. "Oh, so like Dad, then?"

Eddie's jaw tightened. "That's not fair," he said lowly.

She threw her hands up in the air and started for the back door. "Why are you suddenly defending him? He's beaten me! Or do you not believe the scars on my back or the cigarette burns on my skin? Is that it? Do you want an excuse for your own behavior?"

Eddie closed his eyes, and Vicki gasped. He looked just like their father, the same rage simmering beneath their skin, the same way they curled their hands into fists and flexed their fingers to avoid hitting her. They were the same. He defended their dad because they were the same.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. "Vick, you're just like him," he said. "You're just like him. You have a heart of gold, but you numb it, you fucking numb it, and I fucking wish to God I'd never gotten you hooked on pot or cigarettes or alcohol. It was my own damn fault, and you shouldn't be listening to me!"

She smiled and waved at him. "Great, then I'm off to go meet my friends and tell Jackson you said hello."

Eddie growled and leapt over the couch, cutting her off before she reached the door. "You know what I meant. I was wrong, and– Vick, you need to get clean, okay? I promise that the path you're on isn't good for you."

She shoved him. "You're the fucking one who got me on this godfucking path, you bastard!"

Vicki had known her brother her entire life. She knew that he was the one who taught her to read, even though they both knew they could get in trouble for it. During the day, he would lead her outside and sit on the steps, and he would point to each word, and she would try and pronounce it. She wasn't very fast, but he said that was okay, at least she was trying.

He was the one who would get between her and Dad when Dad was drunk or high, and the belt was lifted high in the air, and all Vicki could think was how much it was going to hurt and how much Dad hated them, but Eddie didn't let her believe it for a second. He took the hit for her. She got away with the pain until Jeannie came along; then she and Eddie were taking the beatings for her.

Eddie was the one who would skip dinner so that she could eat. He was the one who would sneak out at night, once he was old enough to drive, and he wouldn't go to parties, he wouldn't always go and get drunk or high, he would usually borrow a car and go to the nearest gas station or Wal-Mart or convenience store, and he would buy her something to eat, and he would crawl back in through their window and smile and offer her the food he had procured with all five dollars he had.

He was the only person in the world Vicki knew loved her, and now that everything was changing, she wanted the familiarity of knowing that Eddie was her rock. He was unchanging, completely predictable in most every way.

So when he shouted back at her, "Why the fuck do you think I fucking hate myself every goddamn day, Vick?!", she didn't know how to respond.

Eddie hated himself.

She hated herself.

Their entire goddamn family was filled with people who hated themselves, and she couldn't decide if it was funny or just plain sad.

Eddie blinked back tears. "Vick, the biggest regret of my life is introducing you to all that shit. I shouldn't have done that. I– I'm not Mom or Dad, so I can't force you to stay in tonight, but please, please, at least give Dad a chance. I promise you, he's changed for the better. He's clean. He's going to AA meetings, and he's actively trying to make life better." He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed heavily. "I'm going to bed. If you're going out, just…please get home before midnight, okay? If for no other reason, then because I damn well am going to wake up when you get in, and I'd rather not be halfway through a good dream."

Vicki sighed. "He gets three weeks. After that, I'm calling it."

Once Eddie went back to college, Vicki resumed sneaking out, but one morning, she slipped in after staying the night at Shelly's, and as she closed the door behind her, she overheard her parents talking.

"A promotion?" her mom whispered excitedly. "Tom, this is– I can't believe it! A promotion?"

Vicki bit the inside of her cheek and peeked around the living room. Her dad nodded. "Yeah, and I get better pay and better hours. Just think: if I stay on this track, and if we pinch and save as much as we can, we might be able to get an actual house outside of here! The girls might get new clothes, not having to wear hand-me-downs, and we could afford books for them!"

Mom smiled. "You're going to spoil the girls for Christmas, aren't you?"

Dad blushed and played with Mom's hands. "I'm going to try. I'll ask Jeannie what she wants – I can't afford something big, like a flat screen tv, but I'll be able to get something for her. And I think I know what I'm going to give Vi–"

Mom put her fingers to her lips and pointed behind Dad's shoulder. Dad looked around for a moment, then twisted around in his chair. "You're home," he said softly.

Vicki nodded and shrugged off her jacket. "Yeah. I stayed the night at Shelly's. Their phone had been disconnected, so I couldn't call, but her parents can vouch for me."

Dad smiled and nodded. "I'm just glad you're safe."

As Vicki walked back to her room, hoping to take a shower and wash off the dirt of Jackson Trestley – her pot dealer turned near-rapist, the fuckwad – she took a shuddering breath. She used to never feel safe in this home, not even when Eddie was here. But now, now she knew that it was the safest place she could be, her father's arms were the safest ones in the entire trailer park, and she rejected it again, again, and again. She didn't deserve to feel safe; she numbed herself from the pain she was causing, and she would continue to do that until she ended up in a ditch, and even still, she knew her dad would find her, pick her up, and carry her to the nearest hospital, all while telling her, "You're safe now, honey. I've got you."

Vicki had made a decision concerning her father and his newfound faith: it was okay, she supposed, since it was that that got him motivated enough to get clean and stop hitting the rest of them. She could do without church, but on the days her parents managed to drag her out of bed and into the car, she usually found the same teen boy who saved her life that first time around, and she would try and sit closer to him. They wrote each other little notes, like how bored they were and how much they'd actually rather be at school – causing him to laugh out loud and earn him a harsh glare from his siblings and a pinch from his mother.

What should I call you? she wrote one day.

He smirked at her, pushed his glasses up his nose, and wrote, Just call me J.

Fine. Then you can call me V.

He had to bite back a laugh at that, and when he was sure his parents were no longer watching him, he scrawled out, JV. Like the level of high school sports? Get it?

She slowly shook her head and sighed quietly, though just loud enough for him to hear her disappointment. That was the worst joke ever.

Not true, have you heard this preacher before?

Valid point.

After a few months, though, he stopped showing up altogether.

The first Christmas after her father got clean, she resolved that she would be sober on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and then she would party twice as hard to make up for lost time. It was only fair that all of them were sober on the same day, though Vicki knew from experience that withdrawals were a real thing and alcohol was usually the one that got her the worst.

Either way, Jeannie bounced on her bed at seven in the morning on Christmas, and Vicki couldn't find it in her heart to be mad; it was Christmas, after all, and she remembered doing the same thing with Eddie, who would usually go and see if Dad was sober enough to wake up.

"It's Christmas it's Christmas it's Christmas it's Christmas!"

Vicki laughed and pushed off the covers. "Yeah, it is! And I got you a present this year. I think all of us did, but I think Santa came through."

Jeannie blinked. "Vicki, Santa's not real."

Vicki gasped sharply. "Who told you that?"

Jeannie giggled. "You did. A few years ago, when one of my classmates kept telling me Santa wasn't real." She crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side. "And besides, I'm ten whole years old. Of course I know that Santa isn't real."

Vicki shook her head and grabbed her robe. "Alright, then, let's see what we all got for Christmas."

When they stepped into the living room, Vicki was surprised to find that both parents were already wide awake. Jeannie squealed. "Is that bike mine?!"

Dad laughed softly to himself and took the coffee Mom offered him. "Sure is, munchkin. It's kind of hard to wrap, so I figured it would be your first present to open."

Vicki smiled softly and sat cross-legged on the floor. "Wow, this is quite a spread. Eddie couldn't make it?"

Dad hummed and shook his head. Mom blew on the steam coming from her mug. "His plane got snowed in, and he could barely make it out of the airport to go back to his apartment. He sends his love, though, and he promises to send your presents as soon as he can."

Vicki had scraped together enough money to buy Jeannie a new book from The Boxcar Children, a small, plastic necklace for her mom, and though she honest to God hated it, a leather cross necklace for her father. When he opened his gift, he beamed, set it aside, and kissed Vicki's head. "I love it."

She swallowed around the rock in her throat.

Most of Jeannie's gifts were books, aside from the bike, and Vicki winced when she noticed all of them were used books; they looked to be in great condition, but there was a slight wear to all of them, and she tasted the bile of poverty once again.

Jeannie had made Vicki a braided bracelet, and as soon as she opened the package and saw what was in it, she slipped it onto her wrist. "See?" she said. "Fits like a glove."

Her mom had bought the first three books of the Harry Potter series for her, and when Vicki's mouth dropped open, Mom shrugged. "I know the kids love them, and it's a story, after all, and I think it must be a very good one. Besides, you can't start high school without having read at least the first few books."

Vicki thought nothing could top either gift her sister or her mother bought her, but her dad leaned forward when she reached for his. "Go on, open it."

She shrugged and slid off the tiny ribbon, and gaped when she saw an iPhone staring back at her.

"It's not the new model, I know, but it was the cheapest good version I could find," he said, rubbing his neck. "I hope you –"

She threw her arms around his neck. "I love it, Dad. Thank you so much."

She had been wrong about her dad, and for once, for once in her damn life, she was glad she was.

Vicki decided that high school, for the most part, sucked. Sure, the parties were great, and she found herself coming across J on more than one occasion (and damn, he knew what to do with every inch of his body), but she also realized, for quite possibly the first time, that her only way out of the trailer park was to get to college. It didn't have to be the University of Chicago or Harvard or anything like that, but she needed to get away. That meant good grades. And that meant effort on her part.

She resolved that she would reserve one night a week for doing her best on her homework and studying for the test of the week. When she started making it Wednesday night, because of the convenience of it, people teased her for joining the church crowd, so she switched her study night to Mondays. Every other night of the week, she'd snap whichever guy she was currently talking to and turn her phone off for the night.

Her grades were…okay. They could certainly be better, and she was barely scraping by, but she didn't think it was important. She had four years to make up for her bad decisions in her freshman year, and besides, the SAT was way more important.

Vicki climbed onto the bus one morning and sought out her one busmate. Claire Washington, or something like that, looked at her and smiled. "Would you like to sit here, Vicki?"

The other kids from the trailer park hated the black kids. They called them slurs, tossed whatever trash they could find at the backs of their heads, but Vicki couldn't bring herself to hate them like the rest of the kids hated them. They were people, too, and Vicki had spent thirteen years of her life believing that she was not worth much as a person.

Vicki smiled and nodded, slipping into the seat next to her. "Thanks, Claire."

She looked down. "It's Clarice. I don't mind it, but my mama better not catch you calling me Claire, or else she'll tell you, right and true, 'If I wanted her to be named Claire, I would have called her Claire myself.'" Clarice laughed to herself. "You should hear what my poor little brother goes through, with a name like Lionel."

Vicki wrinkled her nose in a smile. "Well, thanks, Clarice."