APRIL
"Wait!"
A loud, angry voice sounds from behind us and my mother stops her rapid movement. As she whips around, she doesn't relinquish the tight hold she has on my arm, so I lose my balance as my knees buckle and fall to the ground. She yanks me back up, though, as she stares at Jackson with fiery eyes.
He's panting, chest heaving as he hurries from the shed to meet us in the driveway where we've stopped. His face is flushed and distressed, and I assume mine must look the same. I don't know what to feel, because all of my emotions are at full capacity. I'm mortified, terrified, angry and impeccably sad. Fear gathers in the pit of my stomach and drifts to my nerve endings in waves, pulsing with rhythm. I have no idea what to expect.
"I don't want to hear another word out of you," Mom says to him, her voice low and gravelly. I've never heard her sound like that - her tone holds pure rage. Her hand shakes as she grips me, but it doesn't lose any of its strength.
"No, you need to hear me," Jackson says, and I gasp. I never knew it was possible to talk back to my mother like that, and he just did. My eyes flit to her face to see that she's gritted her teeth, seemingly in disbelief herself. "April is eighteen. She can do what she wants, and be with who she wants. She and I are in love."
"You're in nothing of the sort," Mom spits. I actually see the droplets fly from her mouth and stay on her lower lip and chin, and she does nothing to wipe them away. "She has no idea about those things. Having you here was a mistake. You are a mistake. I shouldn't have ever welcomed you here."
Fury boils my blood hearing her say those things about him. She has no idea who she's talking about - a caring, thoughtful, intelligent boy. I don't know why she's bent on turning a blind eye to how wonderful he is.
"It's not his fault," I say, mustering all my courage to speak. My voice shakes, but I power through. Jackson did it, so I can, too. "He didn't do anything wrong. We made a choice together."
She shoves me away, fingers breaking their circle around my bicep. I stumble but stay upright, struggling to keep eye contact. It's hard when her gaze holds so much contempt towards me.
"A choice," she says, laughing sardonically. "And what would you know about choices?"
"I don't know," I say, trembling with fear and emotion. "But I know that I love him. And you can't take that away."
Surprising me, she raises her left hand and backhands me across the cheek, which forces me to the cool, wet ground. My elbows bend and my palms press into the dewy grass, and I stay there for a moment to catch my breath.
"Hey!" Jackson bellows. "You can't do that!"
I hear his footsteps heading towards me to help me up, but Mom gets there first. She takes my elbow again and pulls me to my feet, and I try my best to stay steady. She yanks me close to her side and extends one arm out straight, barring him from getting any closer.
"You have no place to say what I can and can't do to my daughter," she says, jaw clenched. "You are not her husband."
Without missing a beat, Jackson replies, "But someday, I will be." His voice doesn't quaver, his eyes stay in one place, and his shoulders are set strong. He's as confident as he always is.
All Mom does is laugh - loud, brash and disrespectful. Jackson fumes because of it, which was exactly what she wanted. She doesn't say another word to him, just shakes her head and turns to walk towards the house with me in tow.
As we get further away, I turn and look over my shoulder. Jackson is still standing there, at a loss, not sure what he can do. Truth be told, I'm not sure, either. I part my lips to mouth something, but my mother barks in my ear before I can.
"Face front," she says. "Take your sinning eyes off of him."
I have no choice but to obey. I try and match pace with her as she pulls me up the front steps and into the house, and she doesn't even try to be quiet once we're inside. She slams the door, forces me in even as I trip over my own feet, and practically throws me at my father who's standing in the entryway.
"Matthew was telling the truth," she says, breathless. I stand there, shoulders hunched forward and head bowed towards the floor. I refuse to lift my eyes and look at either of them - there's no way I'd be able to stomach it. "I found her in the shed on top of that boy, practically fornicating."
My father clears his throat and takes a step closer; all I can see are his shoes. I don't know why he's wearing them - it's the middle of the night. I blink softly and tears collect on my eyelashes, waiting for the perfect moment to fall.
"Is that true, April?" he asks, and I can't read his tone. It isn't malicious like hers, but it doesn't sound normal, either. It's laced with deep emotion that I'm not used to from him.
"Tell him," Mom says, hovering behind me. She isn't touching me anymore, but her presence alone is intimidating enough. "Tell him the whole truth."
"Have you been having sex with this boy?" my father asks, and I close my eyes to keep them shut for a good, long moment. I have no choice but to set everything free now.
"Yes," I admit, as quietly as I can.
He lets out a long, slow exhale from his nose as my mother stiffens. I don't have a guess on who will speak next, but I'm terrified of what they'll say. I never imagined what it would look like if I got caught, because I never thought it would happen. There were a lot of things I didn't see coming, and should have.
My father speaks, and he doesn't yell. I would prefer it if he did - I can't handle this calm, collected tone that reflects so much shame.
"It's entirely possible for you to know how disappointed I am in you," he says. "April. Look at me, right now."
I brace myself and lift my head for the first time, still submissive. My father's eyes convey everything I knew they would - deep feeling and disappointment. He's very ashamed of me.
"But there's no way for you to fully grasp how much you've disappointed God," he continues, and I feel that strike in the hollow of my chest. The two things I've depended on my whole life - the security of my parents' love and God's - have been stripped from me. What do I have left? What am I without them?
My mother starts breathing louder from behind me, then she walks around to face me. Her face is beet-red and her eyes are wide and unblinking. I flinch when her gaze lands on my face, almost if she burnt me with her eyes. At this point, it almost seems like she'd be capable.
"I trusted you," she says, very slowly and deliberately. She raises one hand and points at me, and I notice it's still shaking like it was before. "I put my faith in you, April. And what did you do? You betrayed it! Worse than that, you lied to my face. You looked me in the eyes and pretended like nothing was going on between you and that boy. I'll never look at you the same way again."
I cross my arms and rub my hands over my goosebumps-covered skin. I'm barely dressed, only in a short-sleeved shirt and shorts. It's not an unusual summertime outfit for someone my age, but I feel horribly underdressed around my parents. They've never allowed me in something this scant. I'm surprised my father hasn't thrown a sheet over me yet.
"Matthew won't want you now," she continues, voice trembling just as her hand does. "You're used. Tainted. Someone else's hands have been on you."
I squeeze my teeth together so hard that it feels like they might pop out of my cheeks. My temples bulge and my fingernails dig little half-moons into the pads of my palms. The inside and outside of my body is hot - I can't believe she's this blind.
"Good!" I explode, shocking myself and the both of them.
I stand there for a moment in the wake out of my outburst, reeling from it - but feeling empowered, too. I've never raised my voice at my parents before now, and I didn't get instantly struck down for it.
"Good," I repeat, a bit quieter, a bit more controlled. "Because I don't want Matthew." I steel myself, set my shoulders, and keep going. "I want Jackson."
Even though I should, I don't see this one coming. My mother slaps me again, straight across the face, and knocks me to the floor. I collapse onto the hardwood, knees bent with my hands supporting my weight from behind, and pant as I watch her. Time moves in slow motion as she aims for me again, but my father pulls her arm back. It's like I'm watching from above, seeing it all play out before me, since I have no control anyway.
I come back to myself when my father yells. It's not directed towards me, but it still makes me jump.
"Karen!" he barks. "You can't hit her! That's our child." He pulls me up from the ground and gets me to my feet, then holds me by the upper arms to look me in the eyes and wordlessly make sure I'm okay. "You can't hurt her," he says, cupping my jaw and looking at me while speaking to my mother.
"As if she'll learn anything from the way you coddle her," Mom spits, from a few feet away.
"She's not going to learn anything from getting slapped, either!" Dad answers, eyebrows tilted towards each other as his face turns red, too. And I'm just there, caught in the middle without a voice.
"I'm protecting her," Mom says. "From a world she should never know. I never want her to know that awful world and the awful things I was subjected to."
"What, by scaring her more? By making her home life so unbearable that all she wants to do is leave?"
"I'm hard on her because I love her!" Mom says. "I wouldn't wish my life on my worst enemy. You think I want to imagine it for my daughters?" She shakes her head, eyes glassy now. "That's the last thing I want. I don't want April out there, getting hurt and getting taken advantage of. You know the kind of person she is, Joe! She would get hurt!"
The wavering quality of my mother's voice and the fact that she's on the brink of tears should make me feel sympathy, but all I feel is white-hot rage. They're arguing for me, about me, while I stand right in front of them. It's like I'm not even there.
"But I'm not you!" I shout, as loudly as I can. I didn't even know my voice could reach that level. "I'm not!" I'm breathing hard, chest rising and falling violently with my inhales and exhales. "I want to live a life different than yours. I want to live a life different than mine! I've been trapped here for eighteen years, and when I got to see how normal people lived, I loved it."
I look at my mother, right in her eyes.
"I loved it. I felt free, because I was free. You can't keep me trapped in this bubble. The world isn't out to get me. What happened to you isn't going to happen to me. I'm very sorry that it happened because it was horrible, but you can't keep taking it out on me. I deserve more than that. I'm not going to get hurt like you did. What's going to hurt me is if you keep me here against my will, and keep me away from the boy I love."
Her eyes are huge and fearful as she looks at me, and she takes a few steps back. She doesn't say anything for a long time, and all my father does is look at her. She doesn't take her eyes off me, though. It strikes me that I let the secret slip; I was never supposed to find out what happened to her in a life she pretends never existed.
She can't do that to my life, though. There's a world out there that I'm determined to experience. Just because she erased more than half her existence doesn't mean I have to suffer the same fate.
She shakes her head slightly, lips quivering. My father touches her arm but she shakes him off, and an errant tear slips down her cheek without any sound. It disappears under her chin and out of sight, and my heart sinks to my gut at the realization that I've made her cry. I might have built-up malice and resentment towards her, but I never meant to make her cry.
The emotion makes her seem all too human. My mother has always been a faraway figure, untouchable and stoic. Now that she's right in front of me, crying because of something I've said, I can't help but let the guilt sneak back in. Should I have been a better daughter? Should I have compromised and settled for Matthew, then been rewarded for it in the end? The look on her face tells me I shouldn't have ever brought up her past - why would she want to relive it? My words sent her back to that place, and for what? Because I'm lashing out at her for trying to protect me?
"I… I'm sorry," I stammer, insides twisting.
My father wraps an arm around my mother's shoulders, and this time she lets him stay. He rubs her arm and she folds into him, and that's the first time I've ever seen her do anything like that. She never defaults to him; it's usually the other way around.
"I'm sorry, mama," I say, nearly desperate.
I don't want to have hurt her. All I wanted was to be free and speak my mind for the first time; I didn't want to betray her in the process. Was it selfish to have done this? Should I take it all back, somehow?
"That's enough, April," my father says, sternly but not loud anymore. "Go to your room."
My breath catches in my throat and I lose it for a second, grasping for straws and wondering what to do. I want to make this better, I don't want to be left in limbo wondering what my mother is thinking and what will happen to me, yet again wasting away in my room.
"But…" I say, stepping forward. "I said I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought that up… I didn't mean to."
"I said, that's enough," he repeats, a little firmer. "To your room. Now."
I don't argue any further. Without looking at my mother again, I round my shoulders and turn to head up the stairs. I feel sick - I've broken into a cold sweat that I wipe from my forehead, and my stomach is churning. I wrap my arms around myself as I walk into my cold bedroom filled with stagnant air, and waste no time before gravitating towards the window to look out.
The lights are off and the shed is dark. I can't help but wonder if Jackson has already left.
…
I don't even try to sleep. Even if I was tired, adrenaline keeps me from doing much of anything besides pacing the length of my room and thinking of everything that went wrong. I shouldn't have been so careless with Jackson. I should've known Matthew would betray me in the way he did, and I shouldn't have sought solace in my boy. I was the one who put our relationship in jeopardy - it's all my fault. There's no coming back from this. At least, not in any way I can think of.
When the sun begins to rise, I stand by the window and watch the world come to life as I die inside. With every breath, my heart splinters a bit more. With every passing moment, reality sinks in and I find it impossible to believe that he'll never hold me again, never kiss me again, that I'll never know that kind of love again.
I miss him already. And for all I know, he hasn't gone anywhere. But I'm here again, trapped in my ivory tower, locked away from the one who makes me happy.
Maybe it's what I deserve for throwing my mother's past in her face in such a cruel way. I never meant to do that, it was an evil thing to do, and yet it was so easy. What does that say about who I am inside? Have I really abandoned God so much that I would speak so carelessly, throw such volatile words around like they're nothing?
I skip breakfast, but not voluntarily. My stomach grumbles for food, but no one brings me anything. The house is silent and unmoving below me; it doesn't even sound like my sisters are awake. Or if they are, they're quarantined, too. Apparently by satisfying myself, I've hurt everyone around me in the process. And in the end, the only thing I got out of it was a broken heart.
I stand at the window and wait for something to happen. The first movement comes from the shed a bit later, and my stomach jumps at the prospect of seeing Jackson.
And I do see him. He comes out dressed in the same outfit I left him in last night, a scowl on his face. I press my palms against the windowpane in a weak attempt to get his attention, but I don't bother banging on it. I just let my hands rest against the cool glass and wish with all my heart that he would look up and see me.
He walks to the barn and I lose sight of him until he comes out hauling a bale of hay. The muscles strain in his arms under the sleeves of his t-shirt when he tosses it over the fence, and my heart swells as I watch. No one is out there telling him to do that, and he has no obligation to, but he's doing chores anyway.
I want to be with him so much it hurts. I want to send my fist through this window and escape, leaving behind all the pain the farm has given me. But instead, I lift my hand just slightly and set it back down with care, making almost no sound at all. I sigh through an open mouth and wonder what I'm supposed to do now, getting lost in my negative thoughts when another sound attracts my attention. It's the sound of tires on gravel, the sound of a car coming up the driveway - a familiar car. It's Catherine.
I gasp aloud as I watch her climb out of the driver's seat. Her expression matches Jackson's - that familiar scowl - as she marches towards the barn to collect him. He sees her before she gets very far, though, and his expression totally changes. From determined anger comes soft sadness, and he collapses into his mother's arms like a small child. My heart feels like it physically cracks inside my chest. He's broken, too.
She hugs him for a long time, rubbing his back as he rests his head on her shoulder. Though he's much larger than she is, he looks small while she holds him. Her arms are tight around his shoulders and her mouth is moving close to his ear as she speaks quiet words. I don't know if either of my parents have ever hugged me like that. The only one who's ever shown me that kind of affection is Jackson, and now I see where he learned to give it.
I ache all over. I ache with desire to be touched and comforted like that, I ache to feel the safety of his arms, or even the safety of hers. I ache to be anywhere but confined in my room, all alone, to contend with my emotions and heartbreak by myself. I can't do this anymore.
I have to do something. I can't just stand here and watch my life pass me by, I have to make a move. Take action and be something other than complacent.
I dig out my backpack from under my bed and do my best to fill it as quickly as I can. I throw my toothbrush, toothpaste, pajamas, and whatever clothes I come across inside, along with a dilapidated pair of sneakers. Maybe Catherine will take me shopping again for everything else I need, and I can find some way to pay her back. I don't have time to think about bringing anything else, anyway. This is all I can manage.
I sling the bag over my shoulder and burst out of my room, down the stairs and past the kitchen to head out the front door. When I reach the porch, I see that my father is standing in the driveway talking to Catherine - actually, being berated by her. I stop dead in my tracks and stare at Jackson while incendiary words pass between our parents, and all I can do is watch everything play out before me.
"Of course it's no surprise that my son and your daughter have fallen in love," Catherine says, face pinched. "It wouldn't have come as a surprise to you, either, if you knew her at all."
"You don't know a thing about my daughter," my father says.
"I might not," she says. "But I've seen more of her heart than you've allowed yourself to. Do you know what flavor of ice cream she likes? Her favorite hymn? Do you know what her goddamn favorite color is?"
"I'm aware of the important things," he argues. "I know she has a deep love for God and her family. And the presence of your son in our home has diluted that. He needs to leave. Neither of you are welcome on this property ever again."
"I wouldn't force my boy to stay in this prison camp for another second if you paid me," Catherine says, and extends her arm. "No one should be subjected to a life like this, and that includes your children. I have half a mind to call Child Protective Services on the both of you." She gives my father a hard stare. "I understand what Karen went through when we were girls. I was there with her before you were. But her trauma doesn't give her the right to neglect and shelter her daughters in the way she has. Don't you see how much of a disservice you've done them? Don't you see how much you've hindered their growth?"
"A glimpse into our life doesn't make you an expert on it," my father says. "Walk a mile in her shoes. Then, you might have a chance in understanding."
"Walk a mile in your daughter's!" she persists. "Why don't you ask her how she feels about the way you've forced her to live?"
Catherine makes eye contact with me, and my father realizes I'm standing behind him. He spins around with glistening eyes, and I wonder if he's on the brink of tears. Never in my life have I seen him cry or even show any strong emotion. I never knew he could.
"Go inside, April," he says, voice low and gruff.
I don't budge. I don't plan on going inside. I didn't come out here to talk. I came out here to take a stand.
"April Olivia," he says, barking like the intimidation will work like it always has. But this time, I try not to let it. "Get in that house. Now."
I shake my head just barely, just enough. "I can't," I say, and wish my voice was louder and stronger. But I have to work with what I've got.
He comes closer, eyebrows lowered. "Why's that?" he asks.
I make eye contact with Jackson over my father's shoulder and wish he were closer. I've never felt so trapped in my life, and there are no walls surrounding me.
"I'm going with him," I say, trying to sound indignant and sure. But my voice is a mere peep once again. "With them. I'm going with them, and you can't stop me."
"If she wants to come, she's welcome to," Catherine says. "Let me take your bag, sweetheart. Get in the car. We'll figure this out."
Tentatively, I take the bag off my shoulder and extend a hand to give it to Catherine, but my father snatches it away before she can take it. After, he throws it with all his might across the lawn, and it lands by the front porch steps in a heap.
"No way on God's green earth are you going with them," he says. "Not on my watch. You live under my roof, you abide by my rules. You go by God's word. You won't go off and live a life of sin in the same house as a man you aren't married to. That's not what He's taught you."
My whole body shakes as I stare at the ground. I want to look up and make eye contact so badly, but something within me prevents that. I'm still so terrified, I can barely move.
"I don't care," I say, mustering everything within me. "I love him. And you can't take that away."
"You don't know what love is," he snarls.
"You don't!" I insist, and then my father grabs my wrist and holds it hard.
"Let go of her!" Jackson cries, hurrying forward to try and save me from my longtime protector, only to be stopped before he reaches me. My father lets go of my wrist and stands in front of me, and without any agency, I balk and quiver behind his broad back.
"Get in your car and leave our home," he tells them. "If you're still here by the time I count to five, I'm calling the police with a trespassing charge."
There's a charged moment between the three of them, one I'm not included in - one I'm not welcomed for.
"You're a horrible man," Catherine says, and I feel the sting of her words as they come out.
A part of me wants to stick up for my dad, the man who raised me and loved me for so many years, to tell her he isn't really horrible. He's stuck up for me against my mother countless times. He does want the best for me. He isn't horrible. What he's doing is confusing and might be unforgivable, but at his core he isn't a bad person.
As I think that, though, I wonder if those thoughts only cross my mind because they've been conditioned to. Are my mother and father actually horrible people? Is the only reason I think otherwise is because I can only see them in the light they've painted? Will I ever know that answer if I never get far enough away to put this farm into perspective?
"Your words mean nothing to me," he responds, coolly.
"Jackson, let's go," Catherine says, and opens the driver's side door. Before she gets in, she throws me an apologetic look, but I'm not sure what my mirrored expression returns.
Jackson takes a step towards the opposite side, but turns on his heel before he gets there. In the blink of an eye, he rushes over and takes me in his arms, wrapping me in the hugest hug he's ever given. His arms almost feel like they could wrap twice around, and when I bury my face in his chest I try and memorize the way he smells so I never forget it.
He gave me more in a summer than I've ever had in my life. I might never see him again, and there's no way I can repay him.
I entwine my arms around the small of his back even as my father tries to pry me off. Catherine does nothing - she sits in the car and watches our expression of love happen before her - but my father works for the both of them.
"Let go!" he demands, but I block out his furious voice and tip my head up to look at Jackson's face.
He's openly crying with tears running down his cheeks. The whites of his eyes are red with bags underneath, sadness layered throughout; I've never seen them look so heavy. Even as my father pulls on me, I reach to cup my boy's jaw and kiss him softly - not roughly, not with passion, but for a long time. Through our lips, I try and communicate everything he means to me, and I hope I've done it right.
"I love you," I say, and my father finally gets me out of his grip. "I love you, Jackson."
"I love you so much!" he shouts, as I'm being pulled back towards the house with brute strength I can barely feel. "Kitty, I love you."
"Don't forget me," I plead, barely using my feet to walk. Instead, my father drags me.
"I'll come back for you," Jackson says, and the tiniest flicker of hope sparks in my chest. It's impossible to ignore now that it's lit.
I see the look of resignation on Catherine's face as she shuts the door behind her son, and as the car pulls away, I break free of my father's stubborn grip. I bolt towards the reversing car and press my hand flat against Jackson's through the window, looking into his desperate eyes with my own.
"I'll come back," he promises, shouting through the glass. "I'm coming back for you!"
I run after the car until I can't feel my legs, until my lungs burn with exhaustion, until I collapse in a heap in the middle of the dirt road. I collapse onto my hands and knees with my eyes forward, watching the taillights as they burn out in the distance, until my father comes to collect me once again.
…
I don't see my mother for days, and it isn't because I lock myself in my room. It's because she's holed herself away, hidden from the rest of us, much to the confusion of my three sisters. Of course, I know why. But I would never say.
I do everything quietly, nearly silently. In the mornings, I go out and do the same chores as always with no questions asks or greetings offered. I make lunch with my sisters, read my bible, go to church when I'm told to and at the end of each day, I get to my knees and pray.
Kneeling beside my bed with my hands clasped together, I pray for release at first. I pray for an escape, for rescue. But after a handful of days pass, I give up that up and move onto something more tangible, more realistic. Once I get my head out of the clouds, I pray for acceptance. I pray that I can become used to this life, and settle for what I've been presented with.
It's clear now that there was never a future for Jackson and me, so the only solace I can find is a reconciliation with Matthew. Once we're ready, our children will bring me joy. At least that's a blessing I can look forward to.
I don't let myself think about the mundane life ahead of me, though. If I think about it too hard, the inside of my body starts to itch - an incredible scratch that I can't get anywhere near. I think of the hundreds of thousands of days that lie before me, before us us, that all look exactly the same.
My father won't look at me. I don't think he can. I'm surprised I wasn't punished for the happenings of that night; but I think, more than anything, that he wants to forget it ever happened. And once my mother comes out of her room, that will be easy.
With each day that passes, I try to push Jackson a bit further out of my head. I don't let my thoughts drift and settle on his face as the sun beats down on mine. Instead, I focus on things I can touch and feel, things I have in front of me. The horse fur I'm brushing, the stall I'm sweeping, the clothes I'm folding. As long as I keep my hands busy, my mind won't get distracted.
The only person who makes this impossible, though, is Alice.
"Sissy," she says, unassumingly as we sit in the grass after our chores are done. "Where did Jackson go?"
I'm surprised she didn't ask sooner. It's been a couple weeks now, long enough to get used to the idea of life without him.
"He left," I say, and rest my head against the tree behind me. For a moment, I consider leaving it at that - but wonder what the truth could hurt now. Everyone who wasn't supposed to find out already knows. "Mom and Dad kicked him out."
She gasps quietly. "What?" she says. "Why?"
I swallow hard and the saliva barely makes it down. "They found out about me and him," I say.
"Oh," she says, directing her eyes towards her lap. She lets a long silence pass as she plucks grass from the ground and sets it in straight lines across the fabric of her skirt. "Do you miss him?"
I haven't allowed myself to think it, let alone say it. So, I'm caught off guard by the way it makes my body feel when I say, "I miss him so much it hurts."
She looks up then, turning her face towards mine. "Do you really, really love him?" she asks.
I stare at my feet, clad in dingy boots that I've been wearing for too many years. I can't help but remember the flip-flops I wore on the shore with Jackson, the cheap pieces of plastic that meant so much.
I nod. I'm not sure what words I could say in response, I'm not sure what would mean enough. There's no way my ten-year-old sister could possibly understand the gravity of everything I felt and still feel for Jackson, though I can't help but wonder if I'm underestimating her.
"What did it feel like?" she asks, and I smile to myself. It's a question I would've asked before all this happened, because it's a concept so foreign to us. I hadn't the first idea of what romantic love felt like, and now I wish I still didn't. Just like when he was taken from me the first time, the second cut is ten times worse.
"I don't know," I say, then pull my knees to my chest. "Being around him was like the first real, warm day of spring. When everything is green, and there's that smell in the air. That sense of renewed hope, and everything is happy. It feels like there isn't anything to worry about. You're safe, and there's a lot to look forward to." I trace circles on my knee with my fingernail. "Being around him was like feeling a thousand things at once. But the breath of fresh air, that was the biggest part."
She doesn't say anything to follow, probably because she's absorbing my explanation. I glance over to find her eyes on her feet, staring with intent.
"I wanna feel that someday," she says, and knocks the toes of her shoes together.
I take a moment before I answer. "You will," I say.
But as the words come out, I can't help but wonder if I'm lying to her.
…
I don't sleep much anymore, but on the night that it happens, it works in my favor.
I'm lying in my bed that I'm so used to, staring at the ceiling while trying to keep my mind as quiet as possible. But because of the quiet, I hear something that makes me think I must be hallucinating.
Everyone is home, yet I hear tires on gravel.
I sit up slowly, supporting my weight with hands behind me on the mattress. I swing my legs off the bed to touch my feet to the cold floor, and spend a moment just listening to the engine rumbling in the driveway.
I rub my eyes. I must be dreaming.
But when I pinch the soft skin of my arm, right over the J formation of freckles, nothing happens. I'm awake, and there's a car in the driveway.
As softly as I can, I slip out of my room and down the stairs, where I hurry to the front door and quickly unlock it. I throw it open and stand in its wake, locking eyes with Jackson where he stands just outside of a car I don't recognize - one that must be his.
"Kitty," he says, and the word breaks open a floodgate inside my heart I'd been forcing closed.
By the light of the moon and the grace of God I knew he would come back for me. I wouldn't let myself feel hope because I was saving my heart, but standing in the inky darkness of a thick summer night with the boy I love just feet away from me, hope courses through me in waves.
"Jackson," I say, and run to him.
When we meet, I leap into his arms. I wind mine around his neck and latch my legs around his waist, and he holds me with ease. He presses his face into my neck and we simply hold each other for a while, soaking in the fact that he's here, this is happening, and we're together again.
"What are you doing?" I finally ask, setting my feet back on the ground. He keeps a firm hold on my waist, though, and doesn't let me go far.
"Rescuing you," he says. "I told you I'd come back."
My eyes fill with tears, and the warm look on his face makes them spill over. He wipes them away with the pads of his thumbs, only to have more replace them.
"I love you," I say.
"I love you, too," he says, then nods towards the car. "Get in. We should go."
"I…" I begin, then look back towards the house. "I have to grab a few things. I'll hurry."
"Okay," he says. "Go."
I sprint back inside without bothering to close the front door. I make it up to my room, grab that same ratty bag, and fill it with things from home. I include my bible, a few necessary articles of clothing, my red notebook, and a handful of the notes Alice wrote me while I was stuck in here.
As Alice crosses my mind, I come to a halt outside my room. I try and take a step forward, a figurative step into my new life, but a strong thread still holds me to this one. My littlest sister.
I frown standing there, completely stuck. What kind of person am I if by escaping a toxic environment, I leave my helpless baby sister behind? Who does that? How selfish could I possibly be?
Almost as if it were meant to be, the door next to mine comes open very slowly and Alice appears in the crack. She's wearing one of my old nightgowns, a blue one, and her eyes are bleary with sleep as she rubs them.
"Hey," I say softly, walking towards her. Her eyes catch on my backpack, but she doesn't comment at first. Instead, she lets me hug her and hold her for a long time.
"Sissy," she says, pulling away to take one of my curls and weave her fingers through it. "Why haven't you left yet?"
I blink hard, surprised at the question. But even from here, I can still hear the engine and she isn't stupid. She knows what's going on; I don't have any explaining to do.
"I can't leave you," I say, framing her face with two gentle hands. As I look at her, I remember the baby I met when I was eight years old, the one I loved with everything I had and still love, though in a different way. She isn't that infant anymore - she's still a child, but a much wiser one now.
"You have to go," she says, nodding firmly.
She throws her arms around my neck and lingers for a moment before letting me go.
"The breath of fresh air," she says, still holding tight. "You need that."
My throat clogs as I pull away, staring into her eyes that match mine. "I'll find you when I can," I promise her. "I will. I love you."
She nods, lower lip trembling though she's trying her best to keep it from doing so. "I love you, sissy," she says. "Quick, go!"
With that, I bolt down the stairs and out the front door that I'd left ajar. Jackson is still waiting and leaning against the car, and when I appear, a relieved smile breaks onto his face as he opens the back and tosses my bag in.
As he enters on his side, I jog around to the other and climb in, too. Dressed in a nightgown with no shoes, I buckle myself in and prepare to leave behind my previous identity as the possibility of the future sits right beside me.