Hopeless (Hopeless #1)

The doorknob turns.

I walk inside and shut the door behind me. The house is dark and sort of eerie. I turn left and walk through the kitchen, somehow knowing exactly where the door to my bedroom is. I’m holding my breath and trying not to think about the seriousness or implications of what I’m doing. The thought of getting caught is terrifying, because I’m still not sure if I even want to be found. I do what Holder says and walk carefully, not wanting to leave any evidence behind that I was here. When I reach my door, I take a deep breath and place my hand on the doorknob, then slowly turn it. When the door opens and the room becomes visible, I flip on the light to get a better look at it.

Other than a few boxes piled into the corner, everything looks familiar. It still looks like a small child’s room, untouched for thirteen years. It makes me think of seeing Lesslie’s room and how no one has touched it since she died. It must be hard to move past the physical reminders of people you love.

I run my fingers across the dresser and leave a line in the dust. Seeing the trace of my finger quickly reminds me that I’m not wanting to leave evidence of my being here, so I lift my hand and bring it down to my side, then wipe away the trail with my shirt.

The picture isn’t on the dresser of my biological mother where I remember it to be. I look around the room, hoping to find something of hers that I can take with me. I have no memories of her, so a picture is more than I could ever ask for. I just want something to tie me to her. I need to see what she looks like and hope it will give me any memories at all that I can hold on to.

I walk over to the bed and sit down. The theme in the room is the sky, which is ironic, considering the name Karen gave me. There are clouds and moons on the curtains and walls, and the comforter is covered in stars. There are stars everywhere. The big plastic kind that stick to walls and ceilings and glow in the dark. The room is covered in them, just like the stars that are on my ceiling back at Karen’s house. I remember begging Karen for them when I saw them at the store a few years ago. She thought they were childish, but I had to have them. I wasn’t even sure why I wanted them so bad, but now it’s becoming clear. I must have loved stars when I was Hope.

The nervousness already planted in my stomach intensifies when I lie back on the pillow and look up at the ceiling. A familiar wave of fear washes over me, and I turn to look at the bedroom door. It’s the exact same doorknob I was praying wouldn’t turn in the nightmare I had the other night.

I suck in a breath and squeeze my eyes shut, wanting the memory to go away. I’ve somehow locked it away for thirteen years, but being here on this bed…I can’t lock it away anymore. The memory grabs hold of me like a web, and I can’t break out of it. A warm tear trickles down my face and I wish I had listened to Holder. I should never have come back here. If I had never came back, I never would have remembered.

Thursday, May 18th, 1999 10:00 p.m.

I used to hold my breath and hope he would think I was sleeping. It doesn’t work, because he doesn’t care if I’m sleeping or not. One time I tried to hold my breath and hoped he would think I was dead. That didn’t work either, because he never even noticed I was holding my breath.

The doorknob turns and I’m all out of tricks right now and I try to think of another one really fast but I can’t. He closes the door behind him and I hear his footsteps coming closer. He sits down beside me on my bed and I hold my breath anyway. Not because I think it’ll work this time, but because it helps me not feel how scared I am.

“Hey, Princess,” he says, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I got you a present.”

I squeeze my eyes shut because I do want a present. I love presents and he always buys me the best presents because he loves me. But I hate it when he brings the presents to me at nighttime, because I never get them right away. He always makes me tell him thank you first.

I don’t want this present. I don’t.

“Princess?”

My daddy’s voice always makes my tummy hurt. He always talks to me so sweet and it makes me miss my mommy. I don’t remember what her voice sounded like, but daddy said it sounded like mine. Daddy also says that mommy would be sad if I stop taking his presents because she’s not here to take his presents anymore. This makes me sad and I feel really bad, so I roll over and look up at him.

“Can I have my present tomorrow, Daddy?” I don’t want to make him sad, but I don’t want that box tonight. I don’t.

Daddy smiles at me and brushes my hair back. “Sure you can have it tomorrow. But don’t you want to thank Daddy for buying it for you?”

My heart starts to beat really loud and I hate it when my heart does that. I don’t like the way my heart feels and I don’t like the scary feeling in my stomach. I stop looking at my daddy and I look up at the stars instead, hoping I can think about how pretty they are. If I keep thinking about the stars and the sky, maybe it will help my heart to stop beating so fast and my tummy to stop hurting so much.

I try to count them, but I keep stopping at number five. I can’t remember what number comes after five, so I have to start over. I have to count the stars over and over and only five at a time because I don’t want to feel my daddy right now. I don’t want to feel him or smell him or hear him and I have to count them and count them and count them and count them until I don’t feel him or hear him or smell him anymore.

Then when my daddy finally stops making me thank him, he pulls my nightgown back down and whispers, “Goodnight Princess.” I roll over and pull the covers over my head and squeeze my eyes shut and I try not to cry again but I do. I cry like I do every time daddy brings me a present at night.

I hate getting presents.

Sunday, October 28th, 2012 7:29 p.m.

I stand up and look down at the bed, holding my breath in fear of the sounds that are escalating from deep within my throat.

I will not cry.

I will not cry.

Slowly sinking to my knees, I place my hands on the edge of the bed and run my fingers over the yellow stars poured across the deep blue background of the comforter. I stare at the stars until they begin to blur from the tears that are clouding my vision.

I squeeze my eyes shut and bury my head into the bed, grabbing fistfuls of the blanket. My shoulders begin to shake as the sobs I’ve been trying to contain violently break out of me. With one swift movement, I stand up, scream and rip the blanket off the bed, throwing it across the room.

I ball my fists and frantically look around for something else to throw. I grab the pillows off the bed and chuck them at the reflection in the mirror of the girl I no longer know. I watch as the girl in the mirror stares back at me, sobbing pathetically. The weakness in her tears infuriates me. We begin to run toward each other until our fists collide against the glass, smashing the mirror. I watch as she falls into a million shiny pieces onto the carpet.

I grip the edges of the dresser and push it sideways, letting out another scream that has been pent up for way too long. When the dresser comes to rest on its back, I rip open the drawers and throw the contents across the room, spinning and throwing and kicking at everything in my path. I grab at the sheer blue curtain panels and yank them until the rod snaps and the curtains fall around me. I reach over to the boxes piled high in the corner and, without even knowing what’s inside, I take the top one and throw it against the wall with as much force as my five foot, three-inch frame can muster.

“I hate you!” I cry. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

I’m throwing whatever I can find in front of me at whatever else I can find in front of me. Every time I open my mouth to scream, I taste the salt from the tears that are streaming down my cheeks.

Holder’s arms suddenly engulf me from behind and grip me so tightly I become immobile. I jerk and toss and scream some more until my actions are no longer thought out. They’re just reactions.

“Stop,” he says calmly against my ear, unwilling to release me. I hear him, but I pretend not to. Or I just don’t care. I continue to struggle against his grasp but he only tightens his grip.

“Don’t touch me!” I yell at the top of my lungs, clawing at his arms. Again, it doesn’t faze him.

Don’t touch me. Please, please, please.

The small voice echoes in my mind, and I immediately become limp in his arms. I become weaker, as my tears grow stronger, consuming me. I become nothing more than a vessel for the tears that won’t stop shedding.

I am weak, and I’m letting him win.

Holder loosens his grip around me and places his hands on my shoulders, then turns me around to face him. I can’t even look at him. I melt against his chest from exhaustion and defeat, taking in fistfuls of his shirt as I sob, my cheek pressed against his heart. He places his hand on the back of my head and lowers his mouth to my ear.

“Sky.” His voice is steady and unaffected. “You need to leave. Now.”

I can’t move. My body is shaking so hard, I’m afraid my legs won’t move, even if I will them to. As if he knows this, he scoops me up in his arms and walks me out of the bedroom. He carries me across the street and places me in the passenger seat. He takes my hand and looks at it, then grabs his jacket out of the backseat. “Here, use that to wipe off the blood. I’m going back inside to straighten up what I can.” The door shuts and he sprints back across the street. I look down at my hand, surprised that I’m cut. I can’t even feel it. I wrap my hand up in the sleeve of his jacket, then pull my knees up into the seat and hug them while I cry.

I don’t look at him when he gets back in the car. My whole body is shaking from the sobs that are still pouring out of me. He cranks the car and pulls away, then reaches across the seat and places his hand on the back of my head, stroking my hair in silence the entire way back to the hotel.

He helps me out of the car and walks me back to the hotel room, never once asking me if I’m okay. He knows I’m not; there’s really no point in even asking. When the hotel room door closes behind us, he walks me to the bed and I sit. He pushes my shoulders back until I’m flat on the bed and he slips off my shoes. He walks to the bathroom, then comes back with a wet rag and picks up my hand, wiping it clean. He checks it for shards of glass, then gently lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses my hand.

“It’s just a few scratches,” he says. “Nothing too deep.” He adjusts me onto the pillow and slips his own shoes off, then climbs onto the bed beside me. He pulls the blanket over us and pulls me to him, tucking my head against his chest. He holds me and never once asks me why I’m crying. Just like he used to do when we were kids.

I try to get the images out of my head of what I remember happening to me at night in my room, but they won’t go away. How any father could do that to his little girl...it’s beyond my scope of comprehension. I tell myself that it never happened, that I’m imagining it, but every part of me knows it did happen. Every part of me that remembers why I was happy to get in that car with Karen. Every part of me that remembers all the nights I’ve made out with guys in my bed, never feeling a single thing while looking up at the stars. Every part of me that broke out into a full-blown panic attack the night Holder and I almost had sex. Every single part of me remembers, and I would do anything just to forget. I don’t want to remember how my father sounded or felt at night, but with each passing second the memories become more and more vivid, only making it harder for me to stop crying.

Holder is kissing me on the side of my head, telling me again how it’ll be okay, that I shouldn’t worry. But he has no idea. He has no idea how much I remember and what it’s doing to my heart and my soul and my mind and to my faith in humanity as a whole.

To know that those things were done to me at the hands of the only adult I had in my life—it’s no wonder I’ve blocked everything out. I hold barely any memories of the day I was taken by Karen, and now I know why. It didn’t feel like I was in the middle of a calamitous event the moment she stole me away from my life. To a little girl who was terrified of her life, I’m sure it felt more like Karen was rescuing me.

I lift my gaze to Holder’s and he’s looking down at me. He’s hurting for me; I can see it in his eyes. He wipes away my tears with his finger and kisses me softly on the lips. “I’m sorry. I should have never let you go inside.”

He’s blaming himself again. He always feels like he’s done something terrible, when I feel like he’s been nothing short of my hero. He’s been with me through all of this, steadily carrying me through my panic attacks and freak-outs until I’m calm. He’s done nothing but be there for me, yet he still feels like this is somehow his fault.

“Holder, you didn’t do anything wrong. Stop apologizing,” I say through my tears. He shakes his head and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“I shouldn’t have taken you there. It’s too much for you to deal with after just finding everything out.”

I lift up on my elbow and look at him. “It wasn’t just being there that was too much. It was what I remembered that was too much. You have no control over the things my father did to me. Stop placing blame on yourself for everything bad that happens to the people around you.”

He slides his hand up and through my hair with a worried look on his face. “What are you talking about? What things did he do to you?” The words are so hesitant to come out of his mouth because he more than likely knows. I think we’ve both known what happened to me as a child—we’ve just been in denial.

I drop my arm and rest my head on his chest and don’t answer him. My tears come back full force and he wraps one arm tightly around my back and grips the back of my head with his other. He presses his cheek to the top of my head. “No, baby,” he whispers. “No,” he says again, not wanting to believe what I’m not even saying. I grab fistfuls of his shirt and just cry while he holds me with such conviction that it makes me love him for hating my father just as much as I do.

He kisses the top of my head and continues to hold me. He doesn’t tell me he’s sorry or ask how he can fix it because we both know we’re at a loss. Neither of us knows what to do next. All I know at this point is that I have nowhere to go. I can’t go back to the father who has rightful custody over me. I can’t go back to the woman who wrongfully took me. And with light shed on my past it turns out I’m still underage, so I can’t even rely on myself. Holder is the only thing about my life that hasn’t left me completely hopeless.

And even though I feel protected wrapped up in his arms, the images and memories won’t escape my head and no matter what I do or how hard I try, I can’t stop crying. He’s quietly holding me and I can’t stop thinking about the fact that I need it to stop. I need Holder to take all of these emotions and feelings away for a little while because I can’t take it. I don’t like remembering what happened all those nights my father came into my room. I hate him. With every ounce of my being, I hate that man for stealing that first away from me.

I lift up and scoot my face closer to Holder, leaning over him. He places his hand on the side of my head and his eyes search mine, wanting to know if I’m okay.

I’m not.

I slide my body on top of his and kiss him, wanting him to take away the feelings. I’d rather feel nothing at all than the hatred and sadness consuming me right now. I grab Holder’s shirt and try to lift it over his head, but he pushes me off of him and onto my back. He lifts up on his arm and looks down at me.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

I slide my hand behind his neck and pull his face to mine, pressing my lips back to his. If I just kiss him enough, he’ll relent and kiss me back. Then it’ll all go away.

He places his hand on my cheek and kisses me back momentarily. I let go of his head and start to pull off my shirt, but he pulls my hands away and brings my shirt back down. “Stop it. Why are you doing this?”

His eyes are full of confusion and concern. I can’t answer his question about why I’m doing this, because I’m not even sure. I know I just want the feeling to go away, but it’s more than that. It’s so much more than that, because I know if he doesn’t take away what that man did to me right now, I feel like I’ll never be able to laugh or smile or breathe again.

I just need Holder to take it away.

I inhale a deep breath and look him directly in the eyes. “Have sex with me.”

His expression is unyielding and he’s staring at me hard now. He pushes up from the bed and stands up, then paces the floor. He runs his hands through his hair nervously and walks back toward the bed, standing at the edge of it.

“Sky, I can’t do this. I don’t know why you’re even asking for this right now.”

I sit up in the bed, suddenly scared that he won’t go through with it. I scoot to the edge of the bed where he’s standing and I sit up on my knees, grasping his shirt. “Please,” I beg. “Please, Holder. I need this.”

He pulls my hands from his shirt and takes two steps back. He shakes his head, still completely confused. “I’m not doing this, Sky. We’re not doing this. You’re in shock or something…I don’t know. I don’t even know what to say right now.”

I sink back down onto the bed in defeat. The tears start flowing again and I look up at him in complete desperation.

“Please.” I drop my gaze to my hands and fold them together in my lap, unable to look him in the eyes when I speak. “Holder…he’s the only one that’s ever done that to me.” I slowly raise my eyes back up to meet his. “I need you to take that away from him. Please.”

If words could break souls, my words just broke his in two. His face drops and tears fill his eyes. I know what I’m asking him to do and I hate that I’m asking him for this, but I need it. I need to do whatever I can to minimize the pain and the hatred in me. “Please, Holder.”

He doesn’t want our first time to be this way. I wish it wasn’t, but sometimes factors other than love make these decisions for you. Factors like hate. Sometimes in order to get rid of the hate, you become desperate. He knows hate and he knows pain and right now he knows how much I need this, whether he agrees with it or not.

He walks back to the bed and sinks to his knees on the floor in front of me, bringing himself to my eye level. He grabs my waist and scoots me to the edge of the bed, then slides his hands behind my knees and wraps my legs around him. He pulls my shirt over my head, never once looking away from my eyes. When my shirt is off, he pulls his own shirt off. He wraps his arms around me and stands up, picking me up with him and walking to the side of the bed. He lays me down gently and lowers himself on top of me, then places his palms against the mattress on either side of my head, looking down at me with uncertainty. His finger brushes a tear away that’s sliding down my temple. “Okay,” he says assuredly, despite his contrasting eyes.

He lifts up onto his knees and reaches to his wallet on the nightstand. He takes a condom out, then removes his pants, never once taking his eyes off mine. He’s watching me like he’s waiting for any signs that I’ve changed my mind. Or maybe he’s watching me like he is because he’s afraid I’m about to have another panic attack. I’m not even sure that I won’t, but I have to do this. I can’t let my father own this part of me for one more second.

Holder’s fingers grasp the button on my jeans and he unbuttons them, then slides them off of me. I shift my gaze to the ceiling, feeling myself slip further and further away with every step closer he gets.

I wonder if I’m ruined. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to find pleasure in being with him in this way.

He doesn’t ask if I’m sure this is what I want. He knows I’m sure, so the question remains unspoken. He lowers his lips to mine and kisses me while he removes my bra and underwear. I’m glad he’s kissing me, because it gives me an excuse to close my eyes. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me…like he wishes he were anywhere else right now than here with me. I keep my eyes closed when his lips separate from mine in order for him to put on the condom. When he’s back on top of me, I pull him against me, wanting him to do this before he changes his mind.

“Sky.”

I open my eyes and see doubt in his expression, so I shake my head. “No, don’t think about it. Just do it, Holder.”

He closes his eyes and buries his head in my neck, unable to look at me. “I just don’t know how to deal with all of this, baby. I don’t know if this is wrong or if it’s what you really need. I’m scared if I do this, I’ll make it even harder for you.”

His words cut to my heart, because I know exactly what he means. I don’t know if this is what I need. I don’t know if it’ll ruin things between us. But right now I’m so desperate to take this one thing away from my father—I’d risk it all. My arms that are wrapped tightly around him begin to shake, and I cry. He keeps his head buried in my neck and cradles my face in his hand, but as soon as he hears my tears, I can feel him attempting to hold back his own. The fact that this is causing him just as much distress lets me know that he understands. I tuck my head into his neck and lift myself against him, silently pleading with him to just do what I’m asking.

He does. He positions himself against me, kisses me on the side of the head, then slowly enters me.

I don’t make a sound, despite the pain.

I don’t even breathe, despite my need for air.

I don’t even think about what’s going on between us right now, because I’m not thinking at all. I’m picturing the stars on my ceiling and I’m wondering if I just tear the damn things off the ceiling if I’ll never have to count them again.

I’m successfully able to keep myself separated from what he’s doing until he abruptly stills himself on top of me, his head still buried tightly against my neck. He’s breathing heavily and, after a moment, he sighs and separates himself from me completely. He looks down at me and closes his eyes, then rolls away from me, sitting up on the edge of the bed with his back to me.

“I can’t do it,” he says. “It feels wrong, Sky. It feels wrong because you feel so good but I’m regretting every single f*cking second of it.” He stands up and pulls his pants on, then grabs his shirt and the room key from the dresser. He never looks back at me as he exits the hotel room without another word.

I immediately crawl off the bed and get in the shower because I feel dirty. I feel guilty for having him do what he just did and I’m hoping the shower will somehow wash away that guilt. I scrub every inch of my body with soap until my skin hurts, but it doesn’t help. I’ve successfully taken another intimate moment and ruined it for him. I could see the shame in his face when he left. When he walked out the door, refusing to look at me.

I turn off the water and step out of the shower. After I dry off, I grab the robe from the back of the bathroom door and put it on. I brush out my hair and place my toiletries back into my cosmetic bag. I don’t want to leave without telling Holder, but I can’t stay here. I also don’t want him to feel like he has to face me again after what just happened. I can call a cab to take me to the bus station and be gone before he comes back.

If he’s planning on even coming back.

I open the bathroom door and step out into the hotel room, not expecting him to be sitting on the bed with his hands clasped between his knees. He darts his eyes up to mine as soon as he sees the bathroom door open. I pause mid-step and stare back at him. His eyes are red and he’s got a makeshift bandage made out of his t-shirt, wrapped around his hand and covered in blood. I rush to him and take his hand, unwrapping the shirt to inspect it.

“Holder, what’d you do?” I twist his hand back and forth and take in the gash across his knuckles. He pulls his hand away and re-wraps it with the piece of t-shirt.

“I’m fine,” he says, brushing it off. He stands up and I take a step back, expecting him to walk out the door again. Instead, he stays directly in front of me, looking down at me.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, looking up at him. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do that. I just needed…”

He grabs my face and presses his lips to mine, cutting me off mid-apology. “Shut up,” he says, looking into my eyes. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. I didn’t leave earlier because I was mad at you. I left because I was mad at myself.”

I back out of his grasp and turn to the bed, not wanting to watch as he places even more blame on himself. “It’s okay.” I walk back to the bed and lift the covers. “I can’t expect you to want me in that way right now. It was wrong and selfish and way out of line for me to ask you to do that and I’m really sorry.” I lay down on the bed and roll away from him so he can’t see my tears. “Let’s just go to sleep, okay?”

My voice is much calmer than I expected it to be. I really don’t want him to feel bad. He’s done nothing but be here for me throughout all of this, and I’ve done nothing for him in return. The best thing I could do for him at this point is to just break it off so he doesn’t feel obligated to stand by me through this. He doesn’t owe me a thing.

“You think I’m having a hard time with this because I don’t want you?” He walks around to the side of the bed that I’m facing and he kneels down. “Sky, I’m having a hard time with this because everything that’s happened to you is breaking my f*cking heart and I have no idea how to help you. I want to be there for you and help you through this but every word that comes out of my mouth feels like the wrong one. Every time I touch you or kiss you, I’m afraid you don’t want me to. Now you’re asking me to have sex with you because you want to take that from him, and I get it. I absolutely get where you’re coming from, but it doesn’t make it easier to make love to you when you can’t even look me in the eyes. It hurts so much because you don’t deserve for it to be like this. You don’t deserve this life, baby, and there isn’t a f*cking thing I can do to make it better for you. I want to make it better but I can’t and I feel so helpless.”

He has somehow sat up on the bed and pulled me to him during all of that, but I was so caught up in his words I didn’t even notice. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me onto his lap, then wraps my legs around him. He takes my face in his hands and looks me directly in the eyes.

“And even though I stopped, I should have never even started without telling you first how much I love you. I love you so much, baby. I don’t deserve to touch you until you know for a fact that I’m touching you because I love you and for no other reason.”

He presses his lips to mine and doesn’t even give me a chance to tell him I love him in return. I love him so much it physically hurts. I’m not thinking about anything else right now but how much I love this boy and how much he loves me and how despite what’s going on in my life, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else than in this moment with him.

I try to convey everything I’m feeling through my kiss, but it’s not enough. I pull away and kiss his chin, then his nose, then his forehead, then I kiss the tear that’s rolling down his cheek. “I love you, too. I don’t know what I’d do right now if I didn’t have you, Holder. I love you so much and I’m so sorry. I wanted you to be my first, and I’m sorry he took that from you.”

Holder adamantly shakes his head and shushes me with a quick kiss. “Don’t you ever say that again. Don’t you ever think that again. Your father took that first from you in an unthinkable way, but I can guarantee you that’s all he took. Because you are so strong, baby. You’re amazing and funny and smart and beautiful and so full of strength and courage. What he did to you doesn’t take away from any of the best parts of you. You survived him once and you’ll survive him again. I know you will.”

He places his palm over my heart, then pulls my hand to his chest over his own heart. He lowers his eyes to my level, ensuring I’m here with him, giving him my complete attention. “F*ck all the firsts, Sky. The only thing that matters to me with you are the forevers.”

I kiss him. Holy shit, do I kiss him. I kiss him with every ounce of emotion that’s coursing through me. He cradles my head with his hand and lowers me back to the bed, climbing on top of me. “I love you,” he says. “I’ve loved you for so long but I just couldn’t tell you. It didn’t feel right letting you love me back when I was keeping so much from you.”

Tears are streaming down my cheeks again, and even though they’re the exact same tears that come from the exact same eyes, they’re completely new to me. They aren’t tears from heartache or anger…they’re tears from the incredible feeling overcoming me right now, hearing him say how much he loves me.

“I don’t think you could have picked a better time to tell me you loved me than tonight. So I’m happy you waited.”

He smiles, looking down at me with fascination. He dips his head and kisses me, infusing my mouth with the taste of him. He kisses me softly and gently, delicately sliding his mouth over mine as he unties my robe. I gasp when his hand eases inside, stroking my stomach with his fingertips. The feel of his touch on me right now is a completely different sensation than just fifteen minutes ago. It’s a sensation I want to feel.

“God, I love you,” he says, moving his hand from my stomach and across my waist. He slowly trails his fingers down to my thigh and I moan into his mouth, resulting in an even more determined kiss. He places a flat palm on the inside of my leg and puts slight pressure against it, wanting to ease himself against me, but I flinch and become tense. He can feel my involuntary moment of hesitation, so he pulls his lips from mine and looks down at me. “Remember, baby. I’m touching you because I love you. No other reason.”

I nod and close my eyes, still afraid that the same numbness and fear is about to wash over me again. Holder kisses my cheek and pulls my robe closed.

“Open your eyes,” he says gently. When I do, he reaches up and traces a tear with his finger. “You’re crying.”

I smile up at him reassuringly. “It’s okay. They’re the good kind of tears.”

He nods, but doesn’t smile. He studies me for a moment, then takes my hand in his and laces our fingers together. “I want to make love to you, Sky. And I think you want it, too. But I need you to understand something first.” He squeezes my hand and bends down, kissing another escaping tear. “I know it’s hard for you to allow yourself to feel this. You’ve gone so long training yourself to block the feelings and emotions out any time someone touches you. But I want you to know that what your father physically did to you isn’t what hurt you as a little girl. It’s what he did to your faith in him that broke your heart. You suffered through one of the worst things a child can go through at the hands of your hero…the person you idolized…and I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have felt like. But remember that the things he did to you are in no way related to the two of us when we’re together like this. When I touch you, I’m touching you because I want to make you happy. When I kiss you, I’m kissing you because you have the most incredible mouth I’ve ever seen and you know I can’t not kiss it. And when I make love to you—I’m doing exactly that. I’m making love to you because I’m in love with you. The negative connotation you’ve been associating with physical touch your whole life doesn’t apply to me. It doesn’t apply to us. I’m touching you because I’m in love with you and for no other reason.”

His gentle words flood my heart and ease my nerves. He kisses me softly and I relax beneath his hand—a hand that’s touching me out of nothing but love. I respond by completely dissolving into him, allowing my lips to follow his, my hands to intertwine with his, my rhythm to match his. I quickly become invested, ready to experience him because I want to and for no other reason.

“I love you,” he whispers.

The entire time he’s touching me, exploring me with his hands and his lips and his eyes, he continues to tell me over and over how much he loves me. And for once, I remain completely in the moment, wanting to feel every single thing he’s doing and saying to me. When he finally tosses the wrapper aside and readies himself against me, he looks down at me and smiles, then strokes the side of my face with his fingertips.

“Tell me you love me,” he says.

I hold his gaze with unwavering confidence, wanting him to feel the honesty in my words. “I love you, Holder. So much. And just so you know...so did Hope.”

His eyebrows draw apart and he lets out a quick rush of air as if he’s been holding it in for thirteen years, waiting for those exact words. “Baby, I wish you could feel what that just did to me.” He immediately covers my mouth with his and the familiar, sweet mixture of him seeps into my mouth at the same moment he pushes inside of me, filling me with so much more than just himself. He fills me with his honesty, his love for me, and for a moment…he fills me with a piece of our forevers. I grasp his shoulders and move with him, feeling everything. Every single beautiful thing.

Monday, October 29th, 2012 9:50 a.m.

I roll over and Holder is sitting up next to me on the bed, looking down at his phone. He shifts his focus to me when I stretch, then bends down to kiss me but I immediately turn my head.

“Morning breath,” I mumble, crawling out of bed. Holder laughs, then returns his attention back to his phone. I somehow made it back into my t-shirt overnight, but I’m not even sure when that happened. I take it off and slip into the bathroom to shower. When I’m finished, I walk back into the room and he’s packing up our things.

“What are you doing?” I ask, watching him fold my shirt and place it back into the bag. He looks up at me briefly, then back down to the clothes spread out on the bed.

“We can’t stay here forever, babe. We need to figure out what you want to do.”

I take a few steps toward him, my heart speeding up in my chest. “But…but I don’t know yet. I don’t even have anywhere to go.”

He hears the panic in my voice and walks around the bed, slipping his arms around me. “You have me, Sky. Calm down. We can go back to my house and figure this out. Besides, we’re both still in school. We can’t just stop going and we definitely can’t live in a hotel forever.”

The thought of going back to that town, just two miles from Karen, makes me uneasy. I’m afraid being so close to her will incite me to confront her, and I’m not ready to do that yet. I just want one more day. I want to see my old house again for one last time in hopes that it will spark more memories. I don’t want to rely on Karen to have to tell me the truth. I want to figure out as much as I can on my own.

“One more day,” I say. “Please, let’s just stay one more day, then we’ll go. I need to try and figure this out and in order to do that, I need to go there one more time.”

Holder puts space between us and he eyes me, shaking his head. “No way,” he says firmly. “I’m not putting you through that again. You’re not going back.”

I place my hands on his cheeks reassuringly. “I need to, Holder. I swear I won’t get out of the car this time. I swear. But I need to see the house again before we go. I remembered so much while I was there. I just want a few more memories before you take me back and I have to decide what to do.”

He sighs and paces the floor, not wanting to agree to my desperate plea.

“Please,” I say, knowing he won’t be able to say no if I continue to beg. He slowly turns to the bed and picks the bags of clothes up, tossing them toward the closet.

“Fine. I told you I would do whatever it was you felt you needed to do. But I’m not hanging all of those clothes back up,” he says, pointing to the bags by the closet.

I laugh and rush to him, throwing my arms around his neck. “You’re the best, most understanding boyfriend in the whole wide world.”

He sighs and returns my hug. “No, I’m not,” he says, pressing his lips to the side of my head. “I’m the most whipped boyfriend in the whole wide world.”

Monday, October 29th, 2012 4:15 p.m.

Out of all the minutes in the day, we would pick the same ten minutes to sit across the street from my house that my father picks to pull up into the driveway. As soon as his car comes to a stop in front of the garage, Holder lifts his hand to his ignition to crank the car.

I reach over and place my trembling hand on his. “Don’t leave,” I say. “I need to see what he looks like.”

Holder sighs and forces his head into the back of his seat, knowing full well that we should leave, but also knowing there’s no way I’ll let him.

I quit looking at Holder and look back at the police cruiser parked in the driveway across the street from us. The door opens and a man steps out, decked out in a uniform. His back is to us and he’s holding a cell phone up to his ear. He’s in the middle of a conversation, so he pauses in the yard and continues talking into the phone without heading inside. Looking at him, I don’t have any reaction at all. I don’t feel a single thing until the moment he turns around and I see his face.

“Oh my, God,” I whisper aloud. Holder looks at me questioningly and I just shake my head. “It’s nothing,” I say. “He just looks…familiar. I haven’t had an image of him in my head at all but if I was to see him walking down the street, I would know him.”

We both continue to watch him. Holder’s hands are gripping the steering wheel and his knuckles are white. I look down at my own hands and realize I’m gripping the seat belt in the same fashion.

My father finally pulls the phone from his ear and places it into his pocket. He begins walking in our direction and Holder’s hands immediately fall back to the ignition. I gasp quietly, hoping he doesn’t somehow know we’re watching him. We both realize at the same time that my father is just headed to the mailbox at the end of the driveway, and we immediately relax.

“Have you had enough?” Holder says through gritted teeth. “Because I can’t stay here another second without jumping out of this car and beating his ass.”

“Almost,” I say, not wanting him to do anything stupid, but also not wanting to leave just yet. I watch as my father sorts through the mail, walking back toward the house, and for the first time it hits me.

What if he remarried?

What if he has other children?

What if he’s doing this to someone else?

My palms begin to sweat against the slick material of the seatbelt, so I release it and wipe them across my jeans. My hands begin to tremble even more than before. I suddenly can’t think of anything else other than the fact that I can’t let him get away with this. I can’t let him walk away, knowing he might be doing this to someone else. I need to know. I owe it to myself and to every single child my father comes in contact with to ensure he’s not the evil monster that’s painted in my memories. In order to know for sure, I know I need to see him. I need to speak to him. I need to know why he did what he did to me.

When my father unlocks the front door and disappears inside, Holder lets out a huge breath.

“Now?” He says, turning toward me.

I know beyond a doubt he would tackle me right now if he expected me to do what I’m about to do. Just so I don’t give off any clues, I force a smile and nod. “Yeah, we can go now.”

He places his hand back on the ignition. At the same time he turns his wrist to crank it, I release my seat belt, swing open the door and run. I run across the street and across my father’s front yard, all the way to the porch. I never even hear Holder coming up behind me. He doesn’t make a noise as he wraps his arms around me and physically lifts me off my feet, carrying me back down the steps. He’s still carrying me and I’m kicking him, trying to pry his arms from around my stomach.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He doesn’t put me down, he just continues to dominate my strength while he carries me across the yard.

“Let go of me right now Holder or I’ll scream! I swear to God, I’ll scream!”

With that threat, he spins me around to face him and he shakes my shoulders, glaring at me with utter disappointment. “Don’t do this, baby. You don’t need to face him again, not after what he’s done. I want you to give yourself more time.”

I look up at him with an ache in my heart that I’m sure is clearly seen in my eyes. “I have to know if he’s doing this to anyone else. I need to know if he has more kids. I can’t just let it go, knowing what he’s capable of. I have to see him. I have to talk to him. I need to know that he’s not that man anymore before I can allow myself to get back in that car and just drive away.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t do this. Not yet. We can make a few phone calls. We’ll find out whatever we can online about him first. Please, Sky.” He slides his hands from my shoulders to my arms and urges me toward his car. I hesitate, still adamant that I need to see him face to face. Nothing I find out about him online will tell me what I can gain from just hearing his voice or looking him in the eyes.

“Is there a problem here?”

Holder and I both snap our heads in the direction of the voice. My father is standing at the base of the porch steps. He’s eyeing Holder, who still has a firm grip on my arms. “Young lady, is this man hurting you?”

The sound of his voice alone makes my knees buckle. Holder can feel me weakening, so he pulls me against his chest. “Let’s go,” he whispers, wrapping his arm around me and ushering me forward, back toward his car.

“Don’t move!”

I freeze, but Holder continues to try and push me forward with more urgency.

“Turn around!” My father’s voice is more demanding this time. Holder pauses right along with me now, both of us knowing the ramifications of ignoring the directions of a cop.

“Play it off,” Holder says into my ear. “He might not recognize you.”

I nod and inhale a deep breath, then we both turn around slowly. My father is several feet away from the house now, closing in on us. He’s eyeing me hard, walking toward me with his hand on his holster. I dart my eyes to the ground, because his face is full of recognition and it terrifies me. He stops several feet from us and pauses. Holder tightens his grip around me and I continue to stare at the ground, too scared to even breathe.

“Princess?”

Monday, October 29th, 2012 4:35 p.m.

“Don’t you f*cking touch her!”

Holder is yelling and there’s pressure under my arms. His voice is close, so I know he’s holding me. I drop my hands to my sides and feel grass between my fingers.

“Baby, open your eyes. Please.” Holder’s hand is caressing the side of my face. I slowly open my eyes and look up. He’s looking down over me, my father hovering right behind him. “It’s okay, you just passed out. I need you to stand up. We need to leave.”

He pulls me to my feet and keeps his arm around my waist, practically doing the standing for me.

My father is right in front of me now, staring. “It is you,” he says. He glances at Holder, then back to me. “Hope? Do you remember me?” His eyes are full of tears.

Mine aren’t.

“Let’s go,” Holder says again. I resist his pull and step out of his grasp. I look back at my father…at a man who is somehow portraying emotions like he once must have loved me. He’s full of shit.

“Do you?” he says again, taking another step closer. Holder inches me back with each step closer my father gets. “Hope, do you remember me?”

“How could I forget you?”

The irony is, I did forget him. Completely. I forgot all about him and the things he did to me and the life I had here. But I don’t want him to know that. I want him to know that I remember him, and every single thing he ever did to me.

“It’s you,” he says, fidgeting his hand down at his side. “You’re alive. You’re okay.” He pulls out his radio, I’m assuming in an attempt to call in the report. Before his finger can even press the button, Holder reaches out and knocks the radio out of his hand. It falls to the ground and my father bends down and grabs it, then takes a defensive step back, his hand resting on his holster again.

“I wouldn’t let anyone know she’s here if I were you,” Holder says. “I doubt you would want the fact that you’re a f*cking pervert to be front page news.”

All the color immediately washes from my father’s face and he looks back at me with fear in his eyes. “What?”He’s looking at me in disbelief. “Hope, whoever took you…they lied to you. They told you things about me that weren’t true.” He’s closer now and his eyes are desperate and pleading. “Who took you, Hope? Who was it?”

I take a confident step toward him. “I remember everything you did to me. And if you just give me what I’m here for, I swear I’ll walk away and you’ll never hear from me again.”

He continues to shake his head, disbelieving the fact that his daughter is standing right in front of him. I’m sure he’s also trying to process the fact that his whole life is now in jeopardy. His career, his reputation, his freedom. If it were possible, his face grows even paler when he realizes that he can’t deny it any longer. He knows I know.

“What is it you want?”

I look toward the house, then back to him again. “Answers,” I say. “And I want anything you have that belonged to my mother.”

Holder has a death grip on my waist again. I reach down and grip his hand with mine, just needing the reassurance that I’m not alone right now. My confidence is quickly fading with each moment being spent in my father’s presence. Everything about him, from his voice to his facial expressions to his movements, makes my stomach ache.

My father glances at Holder briefly, then turns to look at me again. “We can talk inside,” he says quietly, his eyes darting around to the houses surrounding us. The fact that he appears nervous now only proves that he’s weighed his options and he doesn’t have very many to choose from. He nudges his head toward the front door and begins making his way up the steps.

“Leave your gun,” Holder says.

My father pauses, but doesn’t turn around. He slowly reaches to his side and removes his gun. He places it gently on the steps of the porch, then begins to ascend the stairs.

“Both of them,” Holder says.

My father pauses again before reaching the door. He bends down to his ankle and lifts his pant leg, then removes that gun as well. Once both guns are out of his reach, he walks inside, leaving the door open for us. Before I step inside, Holder spins me around to face him.

“I’m staying right here with the door open. I don’t trust him. Don’t go any further than the living room.”

I nod and he kisses me quick and hard, then releases me. I step into the living room and my father is sitting on his couch, his hands clasped in front of him. He’s staring down at the floor. I walk to the seat nearest me and sit on the edge of it, refusing to relax into it. Being in this house and in his presence is causing my mind to clutter and my chest to tighten. I take several slow breaths, attempting to calm my fear.

I use the moment of silence between us to find something in his features that resemble mine. The color of his hair, maybe? He’s much taller than me and his eyes, when he’s able to look at me, are dark green, unlike mine. Other than the caramel color of his hair, I look nothing like him. I smile at the fact that I look nothing like him.

My father lifts his eyes to mine and he sighs, shifting uncomfortably. “Before you say anything,” he says. “You need to know that I loved you and I’ve regretted what I did every second of my life.”

I don’t verbally respond to that statement, but I have to physically refrain myself from reacting to his bullshit. He could spend the rest of his life apologizing and it would never be enough to erase even one of the nights my doorknob turned.

“I want to know why you did it,” I say with a shaky voice. I hate that I sound so pathetically weak right now. I sound like the little girl that used to beg him to stop. I’m not that little girl anymore and I sure as hell don’t want to appear weak in front of him.

He leans back in his seat and rubs his hands over his eyes. “I don’t know,” he says, exasperated. “After your mother died, I started drinking heavily again. It wasn’t until a year later that I got so drunk one night that I woke up the next morning and knew I had done something terrible. I was hoping it was just a horrible dream, but when I went to wake you up that morning you were...different. You weren’t the same happy little girl you used to be. Overnight, you somehow became someone who was terrified of me. I hated myself. I’m not even sure what I did to you because I was too drunk to remember. But I knew it was something awful and I am so, so sorry. It never happened again and I did everything I could to make it up to you. I bought you presents all the time and gave you whatever you wanted. I didn’t want you to remember that night.”

I grip my knees in an attempt not to leap across the living room and strangle him. The fact that he’s trying to play it off as happening one time makes me hate him even more than before, if that’s even possible. He’s treating it like it was an accident. Like he broke a coffee mug or had a f*cking fender bender.

“It was night…after night…after night,” I say. I’m having to muster up every ounce of control I can find to not scream at the top of my lungs. “I was scared to go to bed and scared to wake up and scared to take a bath and scared to speak to you. I wasn’t a little girl afraid of monsters in her closet or under her bed. I was terrified of the monster that was supposed to love me! You were supposed to be protecting me from the people like you!”

Holder is kneeling at my side now, gripping my arm as I scream at the man across the room. My whole body is shaking and I lean into Holder, needing to feel his calmness. He rubs my arm and kisses my shoulder, letting me get out the things I need to say without once trying to stop me.

My father sinks back into his seat and tears begin flowing from his eyes. He doesn’t defend himself, because he knows I’m right. He has nothing at all to say to me. He just cries into his hands, feeling sorry that he’s finally being confronted, and not at all sorry for what he actually did.

“Do you have any other children?” I ask, glaring at the eyes so full of shame that they can’t even make contact with mine. He drops his head and presses a palm to his forehead, but fails to answer me. “Do you?” I yell. I need to know that he hasn’t done this to anyone else. That he’s not still doing it.

He shakes his head. “No. I never remarried after your mother.” His voice is defeated and from the looks of him, so is he.

“Am I the only one you did this to?”

He keeps his eyes trained to the floor, continuing to avoid my line of questions with long pauses. “You owe me the truth,” I say, steadily. “Did you do this to anyone else before you did it to me?”

I can sense him closing up. The hardness in his eyes makes it evident that he has no intentions of revealing any more truths. I drop my head into my hands, not knowing what to do next. It feels so wrong leaving him to live his life like he is, but I’m also terrified of what might happen if I report him. I’m scared of how much my life will change. I’m scared that no one will believe me, since it was so many years ago. But what terrifies me more than any of that is the fear that I love him too much to want to ruin the rest of his life. Being in his presence not only reminds me of all the horrible things he did to me, it also reminds me of the father he once was underneath all of that. Being inside this house is causing a hurricane of emotions to build within me. I look at the table in the kitchen and begin to recall good memories of conversations we had sitting there. I look at the back door and remember us running outside to go watch the train pass by in the field behind our house. Everything about my surroundings is filling me with conflicting memories, and I don’t like loving him just as much as I hate him.

I wipe tears from my eyes and look back at him. He’s staring silently down at the floor and as much as I try not to, I see glimpses of my daddy. I see the man who loved me like he used to love me…long before I became terrified of the doorknob turning.

Tuesday, January 6th, 1998 6:20 a.m.

“Shh,” she says, brushing the hair behind my ears. We’re both lying on my bed and she’s behind me, snuggling me against her chest. I’ve been up sick all night. I don’t like being sick, but I love the way my mommy takes care of me when I am.

I close my eyes and try to fall asleep so I’ll feel better. I’m almost asleep when I hear my doorknob turn, so I open my eyes. My daddy walks in and smiles down at my mommy and me. He stops smiling when he sees me, though, because he can tell I don’t feel good. My daddy doesn’t like it when I feel sick because he loves me and it makes him sad.

He sits down on his knees next to me and touches my face with his hand. “How’s my baby girl feeling?” he says.

“I don’t feel good, Daddy,” I whisper. He frowns when I say that. I should have just told him I felt good so he wouldn’t frown.

He looks up at my mommy, lying in bed behind me, and he smiles at her. He touches her face just like he touched mine. “How’s my other girl?” he says to her.

I can feel her touch his hand when he talks to her. “Tired,” she says. “I’ve been up all night with her.”

He stands up and lifts her hand until she stands up, too. I watch him wrap his arms around her and hug her, then he kisses her on the cheek. “I’ll take it from here,” he says, running his hand down her hair. “You go get some rest, okay?”

My mommy nods and kisses him again, then walks out of the room. My daddy walks around the bed and he lies in the same spot my mommy was laying in. He wraps his arms around me just like she did, and he starts singing me his favorite song. He says it’s his favorite song, because it’s about me.

“I’ve lost a lot in my long life.

Yes, I’ve seen pain and I’ve seen strife.

But I’ll never give up; I’ll never let go.

Because I’ll always have my ray of hope.”

I smile, even though I don’t feel good. My daddy keeps singing to me until I close my eyes and fall asleep…

Monday, October 29th, 2012 4:57 p.m.

It’s the first memory I’ve had before all of the bad stuff took over. My only memory from before my mother died. I still don’t remember what she looked like. The memory was more of a blur, but I remembered how I felt. I loved them. Both of them.

My father looks up at me now, his face completely awash in sorrow. I stand up and Holder tries to take my arm, so I look down at him and shake my head. “It’s okay,” I assure him. He nods and reluctantly releases me, allowing me to walk toward my father. When I reach him, I kneel down on the floor in front of him, looking up into eyes full of regret. Being this close to him is causing my body to tense and the anger in my heart to build, but I know I have to do this if I want him to give me the answers I need. He needs to believe I’m sympathizing with him.

“I was sick,” I say, calmly. “My mother and I…we were in my bed and you came home from work. She had been up with me all night and she was tired, so you told her to go get some rest.”

A tear rolls down my father’s cheek and he nods, but barely.

“You held me that night like a father is supposed to hold his daughter. And you sang to me. I remember you used to sing a song to me about your ray of hope.” I wipe the tears out of my eyes and keep looking up at him. “Before my mother died…before you had to deal with that heartache …you didn’t always do those things to me, did you?”

He shakes his head and touches my face with his hand. “No, Hope. I loved you so much. I still do. I loved you and your mother more than life itself, but when she died...the best parts of me died right along with her.”

I fist my hands, recoiling slightly to the feel of his fingertips on my cheek. I push through, though, and somehow keep myself calm. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I say firmly. And I am sorry for him. I remember how much he loved my mother, and regardless of how he dealt with his grief, I can find it in me to wish he never had to experience her loss.

“I know you loved her. I remember. But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to find it in my heart to forgive you for what you did. I don’t know why whatever is inside of you is so different than what’s inside other people…to the point that you would allow yourself to do what you did to me. But despite the things you did to me, I know you love me. And as hard as it is to admit…I once loved you, too. I loved all the good parts of you.”

I stand up and take a step back, still looking into his eyes. “I know you aren’t all bad. I know that. But if you love me like you say you do…if you loved my mother at all…then you’ll do whatever you can to help me heal. You owe me that much. All I want is for you to be honest so I can leave here with some semblance of peace. That’s all I’m here for, okay? I just want peace.”

He’s sobbing now, nodding his head into his hands. I walk back to the couch and Holder wraps his arm tightly around me, still kneeling down next to me. Tremors are still wracking my body, so I wrap my arms around myself. Holder can feel what this is doing to me, so he slides his fingers down my arm until he finds my pinky, then wraps his around it. It’s an extremely small gesture, but he couldn’t have done anything more perfect to fill me with the sense of security that I need from him right now.

My father sighs heavily, then drops his hands. “When I first started drinking…it was only once. I did something to my little sister…but it was only one time.” He looks back up at me and his eyes are still full of shame. “It was years before I met your mother.”

My heart breaks at his brutal honesty, but it breaks even more that he somehow thinks it’s okay that it only happened once. I swallow the lump in my throat and continue my questions. “What about after me? Have you done it to anyone else since I was taken?”

His eyes dart back to the floor and the guilt in his demeanor is like a punch straight to my gut. I gasp, holding back the tears. “Who? How many?”

He shakes his head slightly. “There was just one more. I stopped drinking a few years ago and haven’t touched anyone since.” He looks back up at me, his eyes desperate and hopeful. “I swear. There were only three and they were at the lowest points of my life. When I’m sober, I’m able to control my urges. That’s why I don’t drink anymore.”

“Who was she?” I ask, wanting him to have to face the truth for just a few more minutes before I walk out of his life forever.

He nudges his head to the right. “She lived in the house next door. They moved when she was around ten, so I don’t know what happened to her. It was years ago, Hope. I haven’t done it in years and that’s the truth. I swear.”

My heart suddenly weighs a thousand pounds. The grip around my arm is gone and I look up to see Holder falling apart right before my eyes.

His face contorts into an unbearable amount of agony and he turns away from me, pulling his hands through his hair. “Les,” he whispers painfully. “Oh God, no.” He presses his head into the doorframe, tightly gripping the back of his neck with both hands. I immediately stand and walk to him, placing my hands on his shoulders, fearing that he’s about to explode. He begins to shake and he’s crying, not even making a sound. I don’t know what to say or what to do. He just keeps saying “no” over and over, shaking his head. My heart is breaking for him, but I have no clue how to help him right now. I understand what he means by thinking everything he says to me is the wrong thing, because there’s absolutely nothing I could say to him right now that could help. Instead, I press my head against him and he turns slightly, cradling me in his arm.

The way his chest is heaving, I can feel him trying to keep his anger at bay. His breaths begin to come in sharp spurts as he attempts to calm himself. I grip him tighter, hoping to be able to keep him from unleashing his anger. As much as I want him to…as much as I want him to physically retaliate against my father for what he did to Les and me, I fear that in this moment, Holder is full of too much hate to find it in himself to stop.

He releases his hold and brings his hands up to my shoulders, pushing me away from him. The look in his eyes is so dark; it immediately sends me into defense mode. I step between him and my father, not knowing what else I can do to keep him from attacking, but it’s as though I’m not even here. When Holder looks at me, he looks straight through me. I can hear my father stand up behind me and I watch as Holder’s eyes follow him. I spin around, prepared to tell my father to get the hell out of the living room, when Holder grips my arms and shoves me out of the way.

I trip and fall to the floor, watching in slow motion as my father reaches behind the couch and spins around, holding a gun in his hand, pointing it directly at Holder. I can’t speak. I can’t scream. I can’t move. I can’t even close my eyes. I’m forced to watch.

My father pulls his radio to his mouth, holding the gun firmly in his hand with a lifeless expression. He presses the button and never takes his eyes off of Holder while he speaks into it. “Officer down at thirty-five twenty-two Oak Street.”

My eyes immediately dart to Holder, then back to my father. The radio drops from his hands and onto the floor in front of me. I pull myself up, still unable to scream. My father’s defeated eyes fall on mine as he slowly turns the gun. “I’m so sorry, Princess.”

The sound explodes, filling the entire room. It’s so loud. I squeeze my eyes shut and cover my ears, not sure where the sound is even coming from. It’s a high-pitched noise, like a scream. It sounds like a girl screaming.

It’s me.

I’m screaming.

I open my eyes and see my father’s lifeless body just feet in front of me. Holder’s hand clamps over my mouth and he lifts me up, pulling me out the front door. He’s not even trying to carry me. My heels are dragging in the grass and he’s holding on to my mouth with one hand and my waist with his other arm. When we reach the car, he keeps his hand clamped tight, muffling my scream. My eyes are wide and I’m shaking my head out of denial, expecting the last minute to just go away if I refuse to believe it.

“Stop. I need you to stop screaming. Right now.”

I nod vigorously, somehow silencing the involuntary sound coming from my mouth. I’m trying to breathe and I can hear the air being sucked in and out of my nose in quick spurts. My chest is heaving and when I notice the blood splattered across the side of Holder’s face, I try not to scream again.

“Do you hear that?” Holder says. “Those are sirens, Sky. They’ll be here in less than a minute. I’m removing my hand and I need you to get in the car and be as calm as you can because we need to get out of here.”

I nod again and he removes his hand from my mouth, then shoves me inside the car. He runs around to his side and quickly climbs in, then cranks the car and pulls onto the road. We round the corner just as two police cars turn the corner at the opposite end of the road behind us. We drive away and I drop my head between my knees, attempting to catch a breath. I don’t even think about what just happened. I can’t. It didn’t happen. It couldn’t have. I focus on the fact that this is all a horrible nightmare, and I just breathe. I breathe just to make sure I’m still alive, because this sure as hell doesn’t feel like life.

Monday, October 29th, 2012 5:29 p.m.

We both move through the hotel room door like zombies. I don’t even remember getting from the car into the hotel. When he reaches the bed, Holder sits and removes his shoes. I’ve only made it a few feet, paused where the entryway meets the room. My hands are at my sides and my head is tilted. I’m staring at the window across the room. The curtain panels are open, revealing nothing but a gloomy view of the brick building just feet away from the hotel. Just a solid wall of brick with no visible windows or doors. Just brick.

Looking out the window at the brick wall is how I feel when I view my own life. I try to look to the future, but I can’t see past this moment. I have no idea what’s going to happen, who I’ll live with, what will happen to Karen, if I’ll report what just happened. I can’t even venture a guess. It’s nothing but a solid wall between this moment and the next, without so much as a clue sprawled across it in spray paint.

For the past seventeen years, my life has been nothing but a brick wall separating the first few years from the rest. A solid block, separating my life as Sky from my life as Hope. I’ve heard about people somehow blocking out traumatic memories, but I always thought that maybe it was more of a choice. I literally, for the past thirteen years, have not had a single clue as to who I used to be. I know I was barely five when I was taken from that life, but even then I would assume I would have a few memories. I guess the moment I pulled away with Karen, I somehow made a conscious decision, at that young of an age, to never recall those memories. Once Karen began telling me stories of my “adoption,” it must have been easier for my mind to grasp the harmless lies than to remember my ugly truth.

I know I couldn’t explain at the time what my father was doing to me, because I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that I hated it. When you aren’t sure what it is you hate or why you even hate it, it’s hard to hold on to the details...you just hold on to the feelings. I know I’ve never really been all that curious to delve up information about my past. I’ve never really been that curious to find out who my father was or why he “put me up for adoption.” Now I know it’s because somewhere in my mind, I still harbored hatred and fear for that man, so it was just easier to erect the brick wall and never look back.

I still do harbor hatred and fear for him, and he can’t even touch me anymore. I still hate him, and I’m still scared to death of him and I’m still devastated that he’s dead. I hate him for instilling awful things in my memory and somehow making me grieve for him in the midst of all the awful. I don’t want to grieve his loss. I want to rejoice in it, but it’s just not in me.

My jacket is being removed. I look away from the brick wall taunting me from outside the window and turn my head around to see Holder standing behind me. He lays my jacket across a chair, then takes off my blood-splattered shirt. A raw sadness consumes me, realizing I’m genetically linked to the lifeless blood now covering my clothes and face. Holder walks around to my front and reaches down to the button on my jeans and unbuttons them.

He’s in his boxer shorts. I never even noticed he took off his clothes. My eyes travel up to his face and he’s got specks of blood on his right cheek, the one that was exposed to the cowardliness of my father. His eyes are heavy, keeping them focused on my pants as he slides them down my legs.

“I need you to step out of them, baby,” he says softly when he reaches my feet. I grasp his shoulders with my hands and take one foot out of my jeans, then the other. I keep my hands on his shoulders and my eyes trained to the blood splattered in his hair. I mechanically reach over and slip my fingers over a strand of his hair, then pull my hand up to inspect it. I slide the blood around between my fingertips, but it’s thick. It’s thicker than blood should be.

That’s because it’s not only my father’s blood that’s all over us.

I begin wiping my fingers across my stomach, frantically trying to get it off of me, but I’m just smearing it everywhere. My throat closes up and I can’t scream. It’s like the dreams I’ve had where something is so terrifying, I lose any ability to vocalize sound. Holder looks up and I want to scream and yell and cry, but the only thing I can do is widen my eyes and shake my head and continue to wipe my hands across my body. When he sees me panicking, he stands straight up and lifts me into his arms, then swiftly carries me to the shower. He sets me down at the opposite end of the showerhead, then steps in with me and turns the water on. He closes the shower curtain once the water is warm, then he turns to face me and grabs my wrists that are still attempting to wipe the redness away. He pulls me to him and turns us both to where I’m standing under the warm stream of water. When the water splashes me in the eyes, I gasp and suck in a huge breath of air.

He reaches down to the side of the tub and grabs the bar of soap, tearing off the soaked paper packaging. He leans out of the shower and pulls back in, holding a washcloth. My whole body is shaking now, even though the water is warm. He rubs soap and water into the washcloth, then presses it to my cheek.

“Shh,” he whispers, staring into my panic stricken eyes. “I’m getting it off of you, okay?”

He begins gently wiping my face and I squeeze my eyes shut and nod. I keep my eyes closed because I don’t want to see the blood-tinted washcloth when he pulls it away from my face. I wrap my arms around myself and remain as still as possible under his hand, aside from the tremors still wracking my body. It takes him several minutes of wiping the blood away from my face and arms and stomach. Once he finishes that task, he reaches behind my head and removes my ponytail holder.

“Look at me, Sky.” I open my eyes and he places his fingers lightly on my shoulder. “I’m going to take off your bra now, okay? I need to wash your hair and I don’t want to get anything on it.”

Get anything on it?

When I realize he’s referring to what’s more than likely embedded throughout my hair, I begin to panic again and pull the straps of my bra down, then just pull the bra over my head.

“Get it out,” I say quietly and quickly, leaning my head back into the water, attempting to saturate my hair by running my fingers through it under the stream. “Just get it off me.” My voice is more panicky now.

He grabs my wrists again and pulls them away from my hair, then wraps them around his waist.

“I’ll get it. Hold on to me and try to relax. I’ll do it.”

I press my head against his chest and tighten my hold around him. I can smell the shampoo as he pours it into his hands and brings the liquid to my hair, spreading it around with his fingertips. He scoots us a step closer until the water touches my head that is pressed into his shoulder. He massages and scrubs my hair, rinsing it repeatedly. I don’t even ask why he keeps rinsing it; I just let him rinse it as many times as he needs to.

Once he’s finished, he turns us around in the shower until he’s under the stream of water and he runs the shampoo through his own hair. I release my hold from around his waist and back away from him, not wanting to feel like there’s anything getting on me again. I look down at my stomach and hands and don’t see any traces of my father left on me. I look back up at Holder and he’s scrubbing his face and neck with a fresh washcloth. I stand there, watching him calmly wash away what happened to us no less than an hour ago.

When he’s finished, he opens his eyes and looks down at me with regret. “Baby, I need you to make sure I got it all, okay? I need you to wipe away anything I missed.”

He’s talking to me so calmly, like he’s trying not to break me. It’s his voice that makes me realize that’s exactly what he’s trying to avoid. He’s afraid I’m about to break, or crack, or flip-out.

I’m scared he might be right, so I take the washcloth out of his hands and force myself to be strong and inspect him. There’s still a small area of blood over his right ear, so I reach the washcloth up and wipe it away. I pull the washcloth back and look down at the last speck of blood left on the two of us, then I run it under the stream of water and watch as it washes away.

“It’s all gone,” I whisper. I’m not even sure I’m referring to the blood.

Holder takes the washcloth out of my hand and tosses it onto the edge of the tub. I look up at him, and his eyes are redder than before and I can’t tell if he’s crying, because the water is running down his face in the same pattern that tears would be if they were even there. It’s then, when all of the physical remnants of my past are washed away, that I’m reminded of Lesslie.

My heart breaks all over again, this time for Holder. A sob breaks out of me and I slap my hand over my mouth, but my shoulders continue to shake. He pulls me to his chest and presses his lips to my hair.

“Holder, I’m so sorry. Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” I’m crying and holding on to him, wishing his hopelessness was as easy to wash away as the blood. He’s holding me so tightly, I can barely breathe. But he needs this. He needs me to feel his pain right now, just like I need for him to feel mine.

I take every single word my father said today and attempt to cry them out of me. I don’t want to remember his face. I don’t want to remember his voice. I don’t want to remember how much I hate him and I especially don’t want to remember how much I loved him. There’s nothing like the guilt you feel when there’s room in your heart to love evil.

Holder moves one of his hands to the back of my head and presses my face into his shoulder. His cheek presses against the top of my head and I can hear him crying now. It’s quiet and he’s trying so hard to hold it in. He’s in so much pain because of what my father did to Lesslie, and I can’t help but place some of that blame on myself. If I had been around, he never would have touched Lesslie and she never would have suffered. If I never would have climbed into that car with Karen, Lesslie might still be alive today.

I curl my hands up behind Holder’s arms and grip his shoulders. I lift my cheek and turn my mouth toward his neck, kissing him softly. “I’m so sorry. He never would have touched her if I…”

Holder grips my arms and pushes me away from him with such force, my eyes widen and I flinch when he speaks. “Don’t you dare say that.” He releases his hold and swiftly brings his hands to my face, gripping me tightly. “I don’t ever want you to apologize for a single thing that man did. Do you hear me? It’s not your fault, Sky. Swear to me you will never let a thought like that consume you ever again.” His eyes are desperate and full of tears.

I nod. “I swear,” I say weakly.

He never looks away, searching my eyes for truth. His reaction has left my heart pounding, shocked at how quick he was to dismiss any fault I may have had. I wish he was just as quick to dismiss his own faults, but he isn’t.

I can’t take the look in his eyes, so I throw my arms around his neck and hug him. He tightens his grip around me and holds me with pained desperation. The truth about Lesslie and the reality of what we both just witnessed hits us both, and we cling to each other with everything we have. We’re both allowing everything to escape through the tears we’re crying in each other’s arms. He’s finished trying to be strong for me. The love he had for Lesslie and the anger he’s feeling over what happened to her are pouring out of him.

I know Lesslie would need him to feel her heartache, so I don’t even try to comfort him with words. We both cry for her now, because she had no one to cry for her then. I kiss the side of his head, my hands gripping his neck. Each time my lips touch him, he holds me just a little bit tighter. His lips meet my skin and soon we’re both attempting to kiss away every ounce of the heartache that neither one of us deserves. His lips become adamant as he kisses my neck harder and faster, desperately trying to find an escape. He pulls back and looks into my eyes, his shoulders rising and falling with every breath he’s attempting to find.

In one swift movement, he crashes his lips to mine with an intense urgency, gripping my hair and my back with his trembling hands. He pushes my back against the shower wall as he slides his hands down behind my thighs. I can feel the despair pouring out of him as he lifts me up and wraps my legs around his waist. He wants his pain to go away, and he needs me to help him. Just like I needed him last night.

I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him against me, allowing him to consume me for a break from his heartache. I let him, because I need a break just as badly as he does right now. I want to forget about everything else.

I don’t want this to be our life tonight.

With his body pressing me into the wall of the shower, he uses his hands to grip the sides of my face, holding me still as our mouths anxiously search the other for any semblance of relief from our reality. I’m grasping his upper back with my arms as his mouth moves frenziedly down my neck.

“Tell me this is okay,” he says breathlessly against my skin. He lifts his face back to mine, nervously searching my eyes as he speaks. “Tell me it’s okay to want to be inside you right now…because after everything we’ve been through today, it feels wrong to need you like I do.”

I grip his hair with my hands and pull him closer, covering his mouth with mine, kissing him with such conviction that my words aren’t even needed. He groans and separates me from the shower wall, then walks out of the bathroom to the bed with me still wrapped around him. He’s not being gentle at all with the way he rips off the last two items of clothing between us and ravishes my mouth with his, but I honestly don’t know if my heart could take gentle right now.

He’s standing at the edge of the bed leaning over me, his mouth meshed to mine. He breaks apart momentarily to put a condom on, then he grabs my waist and pulls me to the edge of the bed with him. He lifts my leg behind the knee and brings it up to his side, then slides his hand underneath my arm and grips my shoulder. The moment his eyes fall back to mine, he pushes himself into me without a moment of hesitation. I gasp from the sudden force of him, shocked by the intense pleasure that takes over the momentary flash of pain. I wrap my arms around him and move with him as he grips my leg tighter, then covers my mouth with his. I close my eyes and let my head sink deeper into the mattress as we use our love to temporarily ease our hatred and despair.

His hands move to my waist and he pulls me against him, digging his fingers deeper into my hips with each frantic, rhythmic movement against me. I grab hold of his arms and relax my body, allowing him to guide me in whatever way can help him right now. His mouth breaks away and he opens his eyes at the same time I open mine. His eyes are still fresh with tears, so I let go of him and bring my hands to his face, attempting to sooth his pained features with my touch. He continues looking at me, but he moves his mouth to the inside of my palm and kisses it, then drops himself on top of me, stopping suddenly.

We’re both panting for air and I can feel him inside of me, still needing me. He keeps his eyes locked with mine as he slides his arms underneath my back and pulls me to him, lifting us both up. We never separate as he turns us around and slides himself down to the floor with his back against the bed, me straddling his lap. He slowly pulls me in for a kiss. A gentle kiss this time.

The way he’s holding me against him protectively now, trailing kisses along my lips and jaw—it’s almost as if he’s a different Holder than the one I had just thirty seconds ago, yet still wholly passionate. One minute he’s frantic and heated…the next minute he’s gentle and coaxing. I’m beginning to appreciate and love the unexpectedness in him.

I can feel him wanting me to take control now, but I’m nervous. I’m not sure that I even know how. He senses my unease and he moves his hands to my waist, slowly guiding me, barely moving me on top of him. He’s watching me earnestly, making sure I’m still here with him.

I am. I’m so completely here with him right now I can think of nothing else.

He brings one of his hands to my face, still guiding me with his other hand on my waist. “You know how I feel about you, baby,” he says. “You know how much I love you. You know I would do whatever I could to take away your pain, right?”

I nod, because I do know. And looking into his eyes right now, seeing the raw honesty in them, I know he’s felt this way about me long before this moment.

“I need that from you so f*cking bad right now, Sky. I need to know you love me like that.”

Everything about him, from his voice to the look on his face, becomes tortured. I would do whatever it took to take that away from him. I lace our fingers together and cover both of our hearts with our hands, working up the courage to show him how incredibly much I love him. I stare him straight in the eyes as I lift up slightly, then slowly lower myself back down on top of him.

He groans heavily, then closes his eyes and leans his head back, letting it fall against the mattress behind him.

“Open your eyes,” I whisper. “I want you to watch me.”

He raises his head, looking at me through hooded eyes. I continue to slowly take control, wanting nothing more than for him to hear and feel and see just how much he means to me. Being in control is a completely different sensation, but it’s a good one. The way he’s watching me makes me feel needed like no one’s ever been able to make me feel. In a way, he makes me feel necessary. Like my existence alone is necessary for his survival.

“Don’t look away again,” I say, easing myself up. When I lower myself back onto him, his head sways slightly from the intensity of the sensation and a moan escapes my throat, but he keeps his tortured eyes locked firmly on mine. I’m no longer in need of his guidance, and my body becomes a rhythmic reflection of his.

“The first time you kissed me?” I say. “That moment when your lips touched mine? You stole a piece of my heart that night.” I continue my rhythm as he watches me fervently. “The first time you told me you lived me because you weren’t ready to tell me you loved me yet?” I press my hand harder against his chest and move myself in closer to him, wanting him to feel every part of me. “Those words stole another piece of my heart.”

He opens his hand that I have pressed over my heart until his palm is flat against my skin. I do the same to him. “The night I found out I was Hope? I told you I wanted to be alone in my room. When I woke up and saw you in my bed I wanted to cry, Holder. I wanted to cry because I needed you there with me so bad. I knew in that moment that I was in love with you. I was in love with the way you loved me. When you wrapped your arms around me and held me, I knew that no matter what happened with my life, you were my home. You stole the biggest piece of my heart that night.”

I lower my mouth to his and kiss him softly. He closes his eyes and begins to ease his head against the bed again. “Keep them open,” I whisper, pulling away from his lips. He opens them, regarding me with an intensity that penetrates straight to my core. “I want you to keep them open…because I need you to watch me give you the very last piece of my heart.”

He releases a vast breath and it’s almost as if I can see the pain literally escaping him. His hands tighten around mine as the look in his eyes instantly changes from an intense hopelessness to a fiery need. He begins moving with me as we hold each other’s gaze. The two of us gradually become one as we silently express with our bodies and our hands and our eyes what our words are unable to convey.

We remain in a connected cadence until the very last moment when his eyes grow heavy. He drops his head back, consumed by the shudders that are taking over his release. When his heart rate begins to calm against my palm and he’s able to connect with my eyes again, he pulls his hands from mine and grips the back of my head, kissing me with an unforgiving passion. He leans forward as he lowers my back to the floor, trading dominance with me, kissing me with abandon.

We spend the rest of the night taking turns expressing how we feel without uttering a single word. By the time we finally reach the point of exhaustion, wrapped up in each other’s arms, I begin to fall asleep in a wave of disbelief. We have just wholly fallen into each other, heart and soul. I never thought I would ever be able to trust a man enough to share my heart, much less hand it over completely.

Monday, October 29th, 2012 11:35 p.m.

Holder isn’t next to me when I roll over and feel for him. I sit up on the bed and it’s dark outside, so I reach over and turn on the lamp. His shoes aren’t where they were when he took them off, so I pull on my clothes and make my way outside to find him.

I walk past the courtyard, not spotting him sitting in any of the cabanas. Just as I’m about to turn around and head back, I see him lying on the concrete next to the pool with his hands locked behind his head, looking up at the stars. He looks so incredibly peaceful right now, so I choose to walk back to one of the cabanas and leave him undisturbed.

I curl up into the seat and pull my arms into my sweater, leaning my head back as I watch him. There’s a full moon out, so everything about him is illuminated in a soft bask of light, making him appear almost angelic. He’s lost in the sky with a look of serenity across his face, making me grateful that he’s able to find enough peace within himself to get through today. I know how much Lesslie meant to him and I know what his heart is going through today. I know exactly what he’s feeling, because our pain is shared now. Whatever he goes through, I feel. Whatever I go through, he feels. It’s what happens when two people become one: they no longer only share love. They also share all of the pain, heartache, sorrow, and grief.

Despite the calamity that is my life right now, there’s a warm sense of comfort surrounding me after being with him tonight. No matter what happens, I know for a fact that Holder will see me through every second of it, maybe even carrying me through at times. He’s proven to me that I’ll never feel completely hopeless again, so long as he’s in my life.

“Come lay with me,” he says, never taking his eyes off of the sky above him. I smile and ease out of my seat, then walk toward him. When I reach him, he removes his jacket and places it over me as I ease down onto the cold concrete and curl up against his chest. He strokes my hair as we both stare up at the sky, silently regarding the stars.

Pieces of a memory begin to flash in my mind and I close my eyes, actually wanting to recall it this time. It feels like a happy one, and I’ll take as many of those as I can get. I hug him tightly and allow myself to fall openly into the memory.

Monday, June 14th, 1999 7:00 p.m.

“Why don’t you have a TV?” I ask her. I’ve been with her for lots of days now. She’s really nice and I like it here, but I miss watching TV. Not as bad as I miss Dean and Lesslie, though.

“I don’t have a TV because people have become dependent on technology and it makes them lazy,” Karen says. I don’t know what she means, but I pretend I do. I really like it at her house and I don’t want to say anything that will make her want to take me back home to my daddy yet. I’m not ready to go back.

“Hope, do you remember a few days ago I told you I had something really important to talk to you about?”

I don’t really remember, but I nod my head and pretend I do. She scoots her chair closer to mine at the table to get closer to me. “I want you to pay attention to me, okay? This is very important.”

I nod my head. I hope she’s not telling me she’s taking me home now. I’m not ready to go home. I do miss Dean and Lesslie, but I really don’t want to go back home with my daddy.

“Do you know what adoption means?” she asks.

I shake my head because I’ve never heard of that word.

“Adoption is when someone loves a child so much, that they want them to be their son or daughter. So they adopt them in order to become their mommy or daddy.” She takes my hand and squeezes it. “I love you so much, that I’m going to adopt you so you can be my daughter.”

I smile at her, but I really don’t understand what she means. “Are you coming to live with me and my daddy?”

She shakes her head. “No, sweetie. Your daddy loves you very, very much, but he can’t take care of you anymore. He needs for me to take care of you now, because he wants to make sure you’re happy. So now, instead of living with your daddy, you’re going to live with me and I’ll get to be your mommy.”

It feels like I want to cry, but I don’t know why. I like Karen a lot, but I love my daddy, too. I like her house and I like her cooking and I like my room. I really want to stay here really bad, but I can’t smile because my tummy hurts. It started hurting when she said my daddy couldn’t take care of me anymore. I wonder if I made him mad? I don’t ask if I made him mad, though. I’m scared if she thinks I still want to live with my daddy, that she’ll take me back to live with him. I do love him, but I’m too scared to go back and live with him.

“Are you excited about me adopting you? Do you want to live with me?”

I do want to live with her but I feel sad because it took us lots of minutes or hours to drive here. That means we’re far away from Dean and Lesslie.

“What about my friends? Will I get to see my friends again?”

Karen moves her head to the side and smiles at me, then tucks my hair behind my ear. “Sweetie, you’re going to make a lot of new friends.”

I smile back at her, but my tummy hurts. I don’t want new friends. I want Dean and Lesslie. I miss them. I can feel my eyes burning and I try not to cry. I don’t want her to think I’m not happy about her adopting me, because I am.

Karen reaches down and hugs me. “Sweetie, don’t worry. You’ll see your friends again someday. But right now we can’t go back, so we’ll make new friends here, okay?”

I nod and she kisses me on top of the head while I look down at the bracelet on my hand. I touch the heart on it with my fingers and hope that Lesslie knows where I am. I hope they know I’m okay, because I don’t want them to worry about me.

“There’s one more thing,” she says. “You’re going to love it.”

Karen leans back in her seat and pulls a piece of paper and a pencil to the spot in front of her. “The best part of being adopted is that you get to pick your very own name. Did you know that?”

I shake my head. I didn’t know people got to pick their own names.

“Before we pick your name, we need to know what names we can’t use. We can’t use the name you had before, and we can’t use nicknames. Do you have any nicknames? Anything your daddy calls you?”

I nod my head, but I don’t say it.

“What does he call you?”

I look down at my hands and clear my throat. “Princess,” I say quietly. “But I don’t like that nickname.”

She looks sad when I say that. “Well then, we will never call you Princess again, okay?”

I nod. I’m happy she doesn’t like that name, either.

“I want you to tell me some things that make you happy. Beautiful things and things you love. Maybe we can pick you a name from those.”

I don’t even need her to write them down, because there’s only one thing I feel that way about. “I love the sky,” I say, thinking about what Dean told me to remember forever.

“Sky,” she says, smiling. “I love that name. I think it’s perfect. Now lets think of one more name, because everyone needs two names. What else do you love?”

I close my eyes and try to think of something else, but I can’t. The sky is the only thing I love that’s beautiful and makes me happy when I think about it. I open my eyes back up and look at her. “What do you love, Karen?”

She smiles and puts her chin in her hand, resting her elbow on the table. “I love lots of things. I love pizza the most. Can we call you Sky Pizza?”

I giggle and shake my head. “That’s a silly name.”

“Okay, let me think,” she says. “What about teddy bears? Can we call you Teddy Bear Sky?”

I laugh and shake my head again.

She pulls her chin out of her hand and leans toward me. “Do you want to know what I really love?”

“Yeah,” I say.