TOMORROW’S MY BIRTHDAY. You’d think I’d be excited about turning ten years old, but it’s just another reminder that life isn’t going to get any better. I used to go to bed at night thinking that tomorrow would be a new day, a hopeful wish on stars. But stars don’t grant wishes. I’ve lived in this house with Pike for almost two years, and I now know that tomorrow is nothing but a repeat of the day before and stars are nothing but burning rocks.
I wonder if I’ll even be let out of this closet for my birthday. Unlikely. This is where I have spent nearly every weekend since the day Carl first tied me up a year and a half ago. When I told Bobbi what had happened, her response was, “Well, what did you do to provoke him?” Yeah, turns out, she doesn’t give a shit about me or Pike. We’re nothing more than her paycheck. A means to get by, to pay her bills and put food on the table, food I rarely get to eat since I’m always locked up with my hands bound.
I feel like I live in the dark more than I do the light. Pike sneaks down every night to talk to me. There’s not been a single night that he hasn’t spent with me outside of this door. I quickly learned to train myself to sleep during the days so that I could be awake when Pike would visit me. I didn’t ever want to be alone and without him.
Carl likes to slap me around before tying me to the garment rod, and there is now a padlock on the outside of the door. I’d tell my caseworker, but I’m terrified of losing Pike. And there’s no guarantee that the next home would be any better; at least here, I have my brother. So when my crappy-ass caseworker does decide to show up, which is about once every few months, I keep my mouth shut.
Shifting up to my feet, I allow the blood to drain back down my arms. I pee as I wait on Pike. The filth of spending days peeing on myself doesn’t even faze me anymore. It used to embarrass me, but now, it’s second nature.
“Elizabeth,” I hear Pike whisper, and I’m relieved that I finally have him here with me—my distraction.
“Hey.”
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t even know why you still ask me that question,” I reply.
“Sorry,” he says. “Happy birthday. It’s after midnight, so it’s officially your birthday.”
“Wish me a happy birthday when I turn fourteen,” I tell him.
“Just four more years.”
“It feels more like four hundred,” I say in defeat. I’m starting to feel like I’m never going to escape this hell and see my dad. I don’t believe life can be that good.
“Well, it’s not four hundred, it’s only four,” Pike tells me.
I situate myself back onto the floor with my hands bound above my head, and ask, “Since it’s my birthday, can I pick the game tonight?”
“Go for it.”
“Umm . . . how about food, but it has to be junk food,” I say. Pike and I play alphabet games with each other. One of us will pick a theme and whatever letter our words ends with has to be the beginning letter to the word the other person has to come up with. If you can’t think of a word, you lose. It was Pike’s idea to start playing these games. I used to just sit and cry when he would come to me at night, so this was his way of keeping my mind occupied.
“Okay, junk food,” he starts. “AirHeads.”
“Swedish Fish.”
“Happy Meal.”
“That’s not a food, Pike. It’s a meal,” I laugh.
He tries defending his play, saying, “Yeah, and what is a meal made of? Food.”
“But it’s not an actual food because you can choose what you want in it.”
“Yeah, but no matter what you choose, it’s still junk.”
Pike is nothing but serious in his argument, which makes me laugh. Our connection with one another is strong. He’s everything a brother should be: protective, caring, annoying, and everything else I could have imagined a sibling would be.
“Uh uh. You can’t use that as a game play,” I tell him.
I can hear the irritation in his sigh before he says, “Fine. Ho Hos.”
“Those are so good.”
With a chuckle, he agrees, “I know.”
We continue with the game, and eventually, I win, making sure I rub it in since he’s beaten me the last two times we’ve played.
After a while, Pike has to go back to his room and I’m alone once more. Resting my head back against the wall, I shut my eyes and try to relax enough to at least drift a little, if not actually fall asleep.
I startle awake when light hits me. Opening my eyes, I quickly clamp them back shut from the pain of being in the dark for the past three days. Who knew light could be so painful? But it is. It always takes a couple hours for my eyes to adjust.