Page 2 of Run to Me
After locking the door, I go to the bathroom to get towels, the first aid kit, and medical tape. I grab Tylenol from my dad’s room on the way back to the basement, and find the man flipped onto his back with his body convulsing.Shit. That can’t be good. None of this is good. Dropping everything to the ground, I leave the basement and rush out the front door, needing air. I can’t breathe. My knees crash to the ground, pants soaking from the wet grass as I tug at the collar of my shirt.
“What’s wrong, son?” A deep voice comes from beside me but my world is spinning too fast to know from where. I fall forward, wrapping my hands around myself, rocking, and the tears fall faster than before as I hyperventilate. A large weight lands on my back and voices grow louder around me.
Someone says something about calling for help, and that’s when a deep panic rests heavily on my chest. “No,” I scream, curling into a ball on the grass.
“It’s okay, son. We’re calling for help. They’ll be here soon.”
“Fuck. His head is bleeding. Who did that to you, kid?” another voice says.
“Tell my dad I can’t do it anymore.” I rasp out a breath, my head feeling light and heavy all at once. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I’ll take my punishment in the storm room for however long I have to. Just tell him not to make me do it anymore.”
“Do what?” A man looks down at me with furrowed brows.
“Be like him,” I say before my whole world goes black.
One
Jace
Fifteen years old
The kitchen goes from being filled with laughter and light conversation to quiet when I enter. Years of therapy and spending time in group homes have done nothing to help me feel like I belong any more than I did the first time my mom came to get me from the hospital. I remember the distraught look in her eyes as she reached for me. She held me for hours, promising to never leave me again, and then she did when I wasn’t acting normal enough for her. I didn’t eat more than once a day, hardly spoke, locked myself in my room, and slept in the closet. To them it was something to worry about, but for me it was what I’d become accustomed to. All I was doing was following the rules. Before, I got in trouble for breaking them, and now I get punished when I abide by them.
“Morning, hun,” my mom says, with a smile on her face. “How’d you sleep?”
“Good enough.” I shrug and sit in the empty chair, inhaling the delicious scent of pancakes on the table.
“Are you taking the bus to school today, or did you want me to give you a ride?” Terry asks. He keeps wanting me to refer to him as dad, but doesn’t seem to understand how detached to the word I’ve become. I’m also struggling to find a connection here. Calling someone mom every day is already almost too much for me to handle.
“The bus is fine.” I reach for my fork, shifting in my seat.
“Are you sure you’re ready? You don’t have to rush it.” My mom’s eyes fill with worry, and my stepbrother Nate has barely said a word to me ever since I moved back in a week ago. He just stares like I’m some new breed at the zoo he’s trying to figure out. He’s either scared of me, or doesn’t like having to adjust to me being here. Maybe both. I’d made a mistake on my second day back. I meant well. It had helped the others. They thanked me for it too, sometimes.
Nate had looked like he was having trouble sleeping, so I crushed up some of my sleeping meds and put them in his water bottle when he wasn’t looking. I only wanted to help. Why can’t I stop doing the wrong thing? What does that even mean anymore? Years later and my brain is still somewhere trapped between bad and good, unable to fully differentiate the two. Will I ever get it right? Will I ever belong here? My stomach feels as if a boulder has landed inside it.
“I’m sure. I miss school—regular school,” I finally respond. I do too. Homeschooling is lonely when it’s only me and my mom. She’s better company than my dad was at least, giving me room to learn from my mistakes instead of beating me every time I get something wrong. And she smiles a lot more. I both prefer it and hate it. Why give me those now when I needed them more before?
My mom rests a hand on mine. “Okay. But if you need me to come get you at any time—”
“I’ll call you. I have everyone’s number saved on my phone.” My mom got me a new one for when I was away from home, so she could call me every day. She mostly talked while I listened, and I nodded like she could see me, but she never brought up the day I’d let my dad down. It’s taken a while for me to come to terms with the fact that he was the one who messed up, not me. What we were doing wasn’t for the good of anything or anyone except him and the sex-trafficking ring he got himself wrapped up in. He told the cops they’d come after me if he stopped providing what they agreed upon, but I doubt that’s the main reason he kept at it.
My dad liked the fancy life—nice cars and our big house in a quiet neighborhood. He was too lost in his own dreams to care about anything else, and I was too scared to believe anything other than what he was telling me. Scared and loyal. As kids, we only have our parents to rely on. To teach us and guide us. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing half the time. Everything I learned to be from my dad has been ingrained in me, and it’ll take a lot longer than a few years to unlearn.
We finish eating in silence. They can’t be their full selves around me and I don’t even know how I’m supposed to be, or who they want me to be. That’s why I don’t do anything but eat until it’s time to leave for school. Nate steps up onto the bus behind me, walking past me to sit by his friend Jenny. I sit alone, holding my backpack to my chest, watching the bus doors close. They’re so loud. Everything is. The kids singing and laughing. The music playing from someone’s phone nearby.
The seat squeaks as I shuffle my legs. Maybe I was wrong and I’m not ready. I need to be out of that house, though. I’ve been cooped up inside for too long. I can go outside whenever I want now, and I can talk to anyone, but it all still feels like something I’m not supposed to do. My heart races every time I open my mouth, and I wish I could get my dad’s repercussions out of myhead, wipe my brain clean of him and all I knew for the first eleven years of my life. He went to prison and is serving time for his crimes. He won’t hurt me anymore, and I can finally be who I want to be . . . do what other teenagers do. Sleep in. Watch too much TV. Hang out with friends. Sneak out to parties and go on dates.
Except I don’t know how to do any of it without feeling like I need to be punished afterwards. I also know nothing about being someone my age, carefully watching everyone at school and home so I can mimic them the best I can.
When the bus stops in front of our school, I get off after everyone else and head straight inside, the hot sun leaving a warm spot on the back of my neck. I find my locker, place my backpack inside, and take what I need for my first class. I pretend this is a usual day for me. To sit around other people my age and lend someone a pencil when they ask. Taking notes in chemistry and buying pizza from the cafeteria for lunch with money I got from a weekly allowance. I’d hate to get used to it only to have it taken away again.
My stomach twists. I don’t want to go back to the group home and wonder if I’ll ever see my mom again. I don’t want to go back to dad’s house either, or the basement storm room. I can be like Nate, can’t I? I can be the son my mom always wanted, one she’d never consider leaving behind or sending away. I take a deep breath and keep walking through the crowded hall.
The rest of my day consists of smiling at people in the hallway and making small talk. When I turn toward the guy using the locker next to me, I say hi, and he’s friendly back until some football player comes up behind him to whisper something in his ear.
“Oh, shit. You’re that freak who should’ve been locked up with his old man. Yeah, I’ll have to talk to someone about getting a new locker. I sure as hell won’t be using this one anymore.”
“Yeah. You don’t want to end up in this guy’s basement,” his friend jokes, shooting me a glare, and they walk off in the opposite direction together. My chest tightens when I realize how many people heard them. They’re all looking at me. The room’s closing in on me, the air surrounding me feeling tight on my skin. It’s like I’m being trapped between two heavy walls. My books slip from my hands and I run toward the front exit, slamming into Nate who at first blended in with everyone else.
