“I’m so sorry,” he says, and I know it’s bad. He only says that when something bad is about to happen. He doesn’t let go of me as we stand there, holding on to each other.
I didn’t think life could get any worse for me, but it could—and it would. I’ve always battled with the idea of hope. Hope had always failed me, but for some reason, I kept holding on to a tiny piece of it. I was scared to know what the world would be like if I didn’t have it. But Pike’s next words to me would stab me from the inside—white horror—filling me with the blood of life’s harsh reality. A reality that would spit its gritty words in my face, telling me, “Hope is for the ignorant, little girl. Give it up.”
Taking his arms from around me, he cups my cheeks, takes out the knife, and stabs me to the core with his words.
“You’re gonna be okay, Elizabeth.”
My whole body shakes, my voice trembling in confusion, “What?”
Pressing his forehead against mine, I hold his wrists in a death grip as he says, “I’m leaving.”
He just siphoned all the air from my lungs with those two words, and I turn cold, shaking my head vigorously against his.
“I have to go. They’re placing me in a group home.”
“No.”
“I’m so sorry,” he painfully breathes.
“No.” My word, a wretched plea.
Pike presses a hard kiss to my forehead, and I cry out, “No!” as his back shakes against my hands. “No!”
“It’s done. Apparently Carl made a call. He wants me out.”
“Don’t go. You can’t go.”
“I don’t have a choice,” he says, and when he pulls back, I see the fear in his eyes, and I know it’s all for me. We both know what’ll happen without him here. I’ll be all alone for Carl to do with as he pleases.
“You can’t leave me here. You can’t leave me with him,” I desperately plea.
He takes a step back, fisting his hair, gritting under his breath, “Fuuuuck.” He paces as I stand in shock, crying. Eventually, he turns back to me and affirms, “Fourteen is still gonna be your year. Your dad won’t be coming back for you, but I will.”
“Don’t do that,” I tell him. “Don’t you dare give me hope.”
His eyes are burning, dark coals when he says, “I swear to you. I’ll give you that fairytale. Let me age out. I’ll come back for you.”
“A year? Pike, don’t leave me here with him for a year!”
“We can’t run away now. Think about it—two of us go missing—it’s too risky. But just one—you—we could get away. Less than one year, you’ll be free from here. One year alone and out at fourteen; you can do it,” he tells me while I cry in fear of what life is going to be like without him. “You’re so fucking strong,” he asserts. “I will come back for you.”
I sling my arms around his neck, and continue to beg him not to leave me. I’m terrified I’ll never see him again, my only friend, my only family—my brother. Who’s going to protect me?
“I have to pack,” he whispers.
“Now?”
“My caseworker is downstairs waiting on me.”
“Oh my God,” I mutter to myself. I can’t believe this is happening. My heart feels like a wrecking ball inside my chest, pounding away at my pathetic life. I wander over to Pike’s bed and sit down, gripping the edge of the mattress with my hands, and watch as he starts shoving clothes into his duffle bag. The tears simply fall from my eyes with no effort. I lost my dad with the faith that I would see him again, and now I’m losing Pike with the knowledge that life doesn’t guarantee you anything, no matter how badly you want it.
Once his bag is zipped, he kneels down in front of me with his hands on my knees. He’s a blurry vision, muddled through the tears that separate us. “You’re all I have,” he says. “You’re it. I won’t lose you, and you won’t lose me.”
“Please.” It’s a vague plea—a plea for anything, really.
“I need you to listen to me, okay?” He takes his thumbs and wipes the tears from my eyes. “Really listen to me.”
I nod.
“I’m with you,” he assures. “When you’re in that closet, I’m with you. When you’re in that basement, I’m with you. I’m always with you, okay? But I need you to make me a promise. I need you to promise me that you’ll turn yourself off. Just shut it off. He can’t hurt you if you don’t feel. The people who get hurt in life are the ones who allow themselves to feel.”
My tears grow heavy, plunking to their death in a free-fall, landing on my knees. Looking down at him, without much thought, I kiss him. We’ve never kissed outside of his bed when we’re having sex, but I kiss him now because I don’t know what else to do. He holds me tight, kissing me back as I cry against his lips, refusing to let go of him.
When our mouths part, he looks into my eyes, saying, “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He stands, grabs his bag, and promises, “I’ll come back for you.”
And just like that, as if I ever had a choice in the matter, my brother, my only lifeline, walks away from me.
And I’m all alone.
I DON’T NEED to tell you what happened next.