My bare feet slap against the dirty, tiled floor as I run away from her—the woman who is meant to love me above all else, but instead hates me more than anything. My heart beats so hard in my chest that I swear it will explode out of there at any second.
I can hear her voice getting closer… louder—the raspy tone from smoking two packs of cigarettes a day making me shiver as fear flows through me.
I run down the hallway, slipping through the gap of her bedroom door when I reach it, careful not to make a sound as the slice of bread drops from my hand and onto the floor. My eyes flit around the messy room, trying to find a spot to hide in as I forget about the hunger pangs that started this. I shouldn’t have come in here, but my only other choice was my room—if you can even call it that.
My pulse skyrockets as I hear her footsteps near, my breaths becoming gasps as she gets closer and closer.
I need to hide.
My eyes land on the space between the bedside table and the wall, and I make a dash for it, knowing it will be a tight squeeze but seeing no other option.
I fold my arms around myself as I bend down, bringing my knees close to my chest before slamming my eyes shut and hoping that she won’t find me.
“Where are ya, ya little shit!”
I cringe at her voice, my eyes opening of their own accord and looking down at my dirty, bare feet.
I can’t remember the last time I was allowed to wash; the thought of water on my skin, taking away all of the grime and dirt makes me feel at ease, but when I realize it’s a mere fantasy, my mood takes a nosedive.
“You can’t fucking hide from me, ya dirty, little bastard!”
Keep calm, Evan. Don’t move an inch.
I hear something crash against the wall as she searches for me, the air crackling with anger as the secret stash of food she keeps in here splays all over the floor right in front of me.
My eyes widen at the sight of it, my mouth salivating and my stomach growling with hunger.
When was the last time I ate? Three days ago? Four?
I hold my stomach tighter, trying to push away the hunger pangs as my mouth waters.
“When I find ya, I’m gonna lock ya in the hole for a week!”
My hands fly over my ears, trying not to hear what she’s saying as my eyes squeeze shut again.
If I can’t see or hear her then maybe she won’t find me.
My gasping breaths come faster as I think of the four small walls of the hole—of being in there for so long.
Deep breath. In. Out. In. Out.
“Gotcha!”
Pain rips through my scalp as she grips my hair in her hand, pulling me up and shaking me like a ragdoll.
“Thought you could fool me? You’re a dirty, little rat bag,” she sneers.
My throat clogs, tears beginning to break free, but I do my best to hold them back because I know not to let her see them—all it will mean is that I’ll be in the hole longer.
She drags me out of the room and pulls me down the hallway, my feet scraping against the old, worn carpet that is littered with cigarette burns and full of so much dirt that it would be impossible to get clean.
I trip over my own feet as she walks us closer to the lone door at the end of the hallway.
Please don’t put me in there, I silently plead. If I said it out loud it would fall on deaf ears; it always does.
She pulls the door open and flings me into the dark, four-foot square space. My eyes land on the vicious dog standing behind her as he snarls at me, warning me not to move.
“That’ll teach ya to steal my fucking bread! I tell ya when ya can eat!”
Her face twists into an ugly mask just before she slams the door shut, the vibrations traveling through the small space that I’ll call home for the next seven days.
My head drops against my boney knees as I try to block the thought out.
I only wanted a piece of bread.