Page 106 of Daring You

Dad shrugs. “It was a thought. But read the same story to him five times over instead, then.”

Mom chuckles, pushes Dad playfully when he walks by, then lays a peck on his cheek.

“Come on, honey,” she says to me. “Time for bed.”

“But noooooo.”

“But yes.”

“I wanna meet Daddy’s friends.”

“Another time. C’mon.”

Mom lifts me and I curl my limbs around her soft body, always warm, always fragrant from soap. I cling to her neck as she hums a tune down the short hallway, and drops me off in bed.

My favorite story, Green Eggs and Ham, is ready on my nightstand, next to my emergency nighttime sippy cup of more apple juice, in case I wake up and need comfort, instead of running to Mom.

Mom reads to me, and I chatter along with the parts that I know, pointing and laughing. In the middle of round two of the book (because I always win), my eyelids go heavy.

Last thing I remember is Mom’s lips pressing against my cheek, and she rubs the spot with her fingers when the scent of her drifts away. “Night night, Ry-Ry…”

Peace. Until…

STOMP.

BANG.

Breaking glass.

My eyes snap open in the dim light, my Slimer from Ghostbusters nightlight lending small clarity. I blink, rising on my elbows, the sounds of my parents’ voices hitting my ears.

“Please! We didn’t—” CRACK.

“Oh! Oh, God, Tim, no! What did you do to him? What—?”

“Shut up,” an unfamiliar, male voice says. “Just shut the fuck up.”

“Let’s do her,” someone else says.

“In a minute. We need to talk to this guy first, and something tells me knocking his woman around, maybe fucking her in front of him, will get him to talk.”

“Please! Leave her alone. Let her go, I’ll tell you everything—”

I creep out of bed, towards the door and the shaft of light underneath. Carefully—because something inside me is saying to be careful—I turn the knob and peer around the frame.

My mom’s back is to me, her floral dress stained with red splatters. She’s on the ground, held by the hair by a tall, thin man, dressed in a black coat and dark jeans. If he has red splatters, too, I don’t see them.

Mom’s crying, her shoulders shaking. Dad doesn’t sound like Dad. His voice is much higher, and crackles, and I think it’s the sound of sobbing.

Sippy cup. I need my emergency apple juice, because I don’t feel very safe anymore.

I turn back to my room, and as I do, the floorboard creaks under my foot.

The man holding my mom snaps his head around.

Sees me.

“Well, lookie here,” he says, his pale grey eyes taking in the sight of me and my race car pajamas. “Hey, Lopez. We have an unexpected guest.”

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